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wcters · 8 days ago

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𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k+

summary: after travelling with lando to the last couple of grand prix’s, it takes another driver flirting with you for him to realize his feelings

request: “i've been seeing clips of lando not eating and taking care of himself properly during this short break and max stressing out on the stream could you please write a lando x reader please, where reader is close friends with lando and max and takes it upon herself to travel with lando for the remaining of the gps to make sure hes well. maybe one of the drivers tries to flirt with her during one of the races and thats what makes lando realise he has feelings for her. “

warnings: sweating, talks of unhealthy habits, awkward flirting | what other driver to flirt with her than the one who flirts with everyone, sorry i’ve kind of make him look like a dick i just don’t know how to flirt 🤷‍♀️ not too confident in this one

You’d been friends with Lando almost as long as Max had. You’d been friends with Max for almost your whole lives ━━ meeting him when his family was visiting some of their family during the summer in your town and you two hit it off. You had known about Lando, but you didn’t fully meet him until about a year after the two boys had met. The two of you connected instantly. Both of you don’t know why, though Max had always joked that you two were each others person . . . and you both didn’t know, but he tried the trick the two of you into getting together. He could see the look in Lando’s eyes when he’d look at you, but he’d always make excuses. ‘She’s just a friend, I’m too busy with formula 1,’ etc. Max would just roll his eyes.

You were a bit more accepting to the idea, because you did like him a little bit. Though you didn’t want to ruin the friendship and didn’t want to interrupt his career. You cared too much, and would rather be friends with him than mess it up in a chance that he liked you. Don’t get me wrong, you’d had boyfriends over they years, but the came and went, and you ended up going to Lando or Max about another boy who broke your heart. Every time that happened, Lando swore his heart broke a little bit, but he never told you. He was never really open with his feelings, and that’s why you didn’t notice he wasn’t doing for awhile.

You had known Lando was stressed about this current F1 season. He always talked about it, not about the stress, really, just more about how the car was, the team was, and there was undertone that only you or Max could sense. You both kept an eye on him, but you had recently gotten busy with some stuff. Checking your phone had slipped your mind and you don’t even think to do it until you finally had some time to yourself and you ordered some takeout. It wasn’t until you texted the group chat that Max called you.

“You alright?” You asked him, mouth full of Chinese food. “Yeah. You?” You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, “yeah.” There was some silence before a sigh from the other end. “Usually I don’t get into his business because he can handle himself, but I’m worried about Lando.” You raised your eyebrows and set your food down on the coffee table and paused your television. “What do you mean? Is he okay? I know he’s been stressed but I didn’t think it was anything he hasn’t handled before. It’s Lando, you know?” You ranted, eyes drawing to a picture of the three of you on your wall.

“I know. I wasnt going to do anything besides talk to him about it, but he’s blocked me out. He’s been mentioning ━━ unknowingly, because if he did he wouldn’t say it all ━━ that he’s not been eating well. In the sense that he’s eating expired food that will get him sick but he doesn’t want to go out and not showering a lot. At first, I thought he was just over-exaggerating, but then it continued and when I’d ask, he’d push me off. I don’t think he’s well.” You frowned. “Where is he now? At home?” “Yeah. We’ve been streaming together, and that’s when I started to notice his tone of voice and stuff. I think the stress of the championship is taking a toll on him.”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll force him to talk to me. I’ll see what we can do. And before you apologize, I know you have other shit going on right now. It’s also nothing to apologize for. He’s our friend. I’ll let you know how it goes okay?” You smiled, hoping Max was feeling better. Knowing him, he was. You picture him with his shoulders becoming less tense and him letting go of the ridge of his nose he was squeezing. “Okay,” he sighed, “let me know if you crack him. “Like an egg.” You both laughed and you ended the call.

You grabbed your computer from the coffee table and opened it, checking the time. It was eight pm. Monaco was only an hour ahead of the UK, and you knew he’d still be up. He’s usually is ━━ and he doesn’t sleep well when he’s stressed. You went on to FaceTime and clicked his name. It only rang a couple times before his face popped up. “Hey.” He greeted you. Even before he talked you could tell something was wrong ━━ his sunken cheeks, his pale face, he literally lived in Monaco, he should not be pale, and his eye bags. His voice solidified your thought. It was tired and strained, like he didn’t have the energy to fake it.

“Hey buddy, how are you?” He replied with an ‘okay and kept eating whatever expired thing it was now. “. . . Are you sure?” You paused before asking, not wanting to set him off. He paused as well and looked up at the screen. “Did Max put you up to this?” He asked you. He wasn’t even mad, he was just tired. “Lando, you’re not doing okay.” You softly told him. He was about to reply before his resolve cracked and he started to sob. You wished you were there to hood him, knowing that he was alone, and he was alone while he want okay. “I know, I know I’m not. But I’m too tired to do anything about it,” he hiccuped as he spoke, “i just wish you were here. I cant do this alone. I have to go back in two days and I’m not ready.”

It was at that moment you made your decision. You kept him on as you booked a one way ticket to Monaco. “Then you won’t be,” you told him, “I’m coming over there. Max can’t, but I can. And I will. You won’t be alone Lando, not anymore.” The man let out a sigh in response and his face started to loosen up. It was quiet before a small ‘thank you’ made its way out of his mouth. “Always.” You smiled at him. “Now, when I get there I expect your ass to be waiting for me in one of those stupid cars of yours.” Lando let out a guttural laugh, and he had to admit it felt good. “You got it.”

Lando kept his promise, and as you stood out front of the Monaco airport, you spot him. His face is scanning the area, trying to find you, but he passes right over you. You shake your head ━━ for a formula one driver, he can be oblivious. “Muppet! Over here!” His eyes finally meets yours and his face lights up. “Hey.” You greet each other as you hug. “Hey. Nice to see you.” He told you as he grabbed your bags and piled them into the trunk. “You too. Someone had to save your ass.” He looks at you with a ‘really?’ face and you shrug and get in the car.

You chat all the way to his house. It took a little while because when you stopped for gas, a couple fans spotted him and asked for pictures, but you weren’t in any rush. A rush meant less time with him. You also knew meeting the fans made him happy, his face may not say it, but when you three would FaceTime he’d rant with a giant smile on his face about the fans he’d met and gifts he’d got. You and Max always teased him about it, joking that he’s such a hotshot and ‘you’re so popular!’ but that’s all that it was, jokes.

When you got to his house, you only pulled a couple things out of your suitcase as you were leaving with him the next day. You showered, and then forced him to take you to the grocery store to make him real food, not food that’s been sitting in his fridge or freezer for months. You ended grabbing things to make Alfredo and headed back, putting music on, grabbing some wine, and getting to it ━━ though it was mostly you cooking and Lando almost hurting himself with the most random things. You didn’t know how he lived by himself.

After that, he still hasn’t packed his bag ━━ which you scolded him like a child for ━━ and helped him pack it. You think his neighbours thought it was a domestic by the way you two bickered.

“What about this one?” “I don’t know.” “Lando. You have until tomorrow, and at this rate, you’ll be going naked.” “People won’t mind that.” “You’re so gross. Get out of my sight.”

You continued to bicker to the point where you shoed him off with a wave of your hand ━━ he didn’t actually leave, just talked to you with a smug look on his face ━━ and you chose clothes for him. You were definitely telling Cisca about this. At the end of it, you two were giggling at the movie you had put on, drunk off wine and delirious after the loss of sleep. You didn’t even know you fell asleep until you woke up by the sound of Lando’s alarm. You had to wake him up with so much force it almost pushed him off the couch. “Wake up you dickhead.” You two were a mess of limbs tangled together. That was the closest you two had ever been.

It didn’t take long ━━ with you practically shoving him out the door ━━ to arrive at the airport and get on the McLaren private jet. You felt a bit weird getting on as you even offered to get your own flight, but Lando looked at you like you had grown two heads and replied with “Oscar’s girlfriend uses it, you get to too.” That made you blush. You didn’t think he realized how the words sounded. When you got in, Lily and Oscar were already seated. You greeted each other and you went off with Lily as Oscar and Lando talked about the race coming up with their team over a zoom call.

Though you had heard of Lily, this was your first time meeting her. She was incredibly nice and you two got along great, even exchanging numbers incase you wanted to rant about ‘how annoying the boys were’ with a wink. That was pretty much how the plane ride went, you and Lily chatting and laughing as the boys talked strategy. Both of you didn’t know this, but you and Lando kept stealing glances at the other. When Oscar asked, Lando’s excuse was ‘she’s my best friend, just making sure she’s alright,’ but yours was a bit different.

You had been showing Lily pictures of the three of you: Max, you, and Lando, and sharing stories before she asked “what’s up with you and Lando?” You paused and turned to look at her. “What do you mean?” She gave you a look. You sighed, “we’re just friends.” “In a ‘I’m denying it way’ or a ‘I like him, but we’re just friends’ way?” “The second one. I mean, he’s my best friend and I love him, but I like him a little bit. But I’d rather face it alone than lose the friendship.” You whispered that part, looking to make sure Lando wasn’t looking. She nodded, “I get that . . . But are you sure he doesn’t like you back?” “He burps in my face and eats my food. I’m sure.

She let out an ‘okay’, dragging out the ‘y’. Though Lily wanted to say that Oscar did that too ━━ besides the burping part ━━ she didn’t. She figured you’d eventually figure it out, or she and Oscar’s would give you the little push you needed.

You must’ve fell asleep soon after you put in your hand phones and put on your playlist as you woke up to someone attempting to pick you up. “Hm?” You asked, still half asleep. You heard a quiet ‘shot’ before the voice spoke up louder. “Time to wake up.” You opened your eyes to see Lando standing in front of you. “What a way to wake me up with a jumpscare of your face.” You mused as you got up and stretched. You were always a bit grumpy when you woke up and that’s why Lando wanted to lift you so you’d stay awake. “I will hit you.” He replied to you as you made your way down the stairs of the plane and on to the tarmac. “I’ll tell Cisca.” That shut him up real quick.

The city of Austin, Texas passed by you in blurry images. Usually Lando would’ve poked you until you finally turned to him and hit him in the back of the head, but it was your first time in Austin and he let you take it all in. When you got closer to the hotel though, that’s when he started to annoy you. You did hit him in the head when the car parked in front of the hotel, and Lily and Oscar heard the aftermath of that with Lando mumbling an ‘ow’ and rubbing the back of his head.

“I don’t even hit you that hard!” “Yes you did, I have brain damage.” “I’ll give you brain damage if you keep complaining.”

The four of you made it into the hotel and up to your rooms, albeit with a little fuss with you and Lando bickering, but when you got into the room, you immediately flopped on the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a hotel with a bed as nice as this.” Lando looked surprised. “Really?” You nodded as you sat up and crossed your legs. “You told me Max payed for you for that one hotel in Italy?” You stayed silent. “Did he not pay for you?” “No, i payed for myself . . . At a different hotel. It’s not his fault though, I told him you payed for me.”

You knew you were in for a scolding when you saw his face, and you were. You tried so hard not to giggle at his face. He was halfway through a sentence when you finally broke. “What?” “Your face is really funny when you’re mad. You make a weird face.” “I do not!” “You do, ask Max.” “Whatever.” He continued and then made you promis to never do that to him or Max with a pinkie promise. You rolled your eyes and did it. After that, you two got ready for bed. You had gotten into your individual beds and turned the lights off when you spoke up. “It was a good plan though. None of you had a clue.” “. . . It was good. But you’re not doing it again.” “. . . Damn.”

You stayed with Lando for the rest of the US Grand Prix, only letting him go for interviews, racing, and media ━━ though you made sure to check on him during the day when you could. When you couldn’t be with him, you’d hang out in the garage with Lily, or you’d tag along with the other girls who were there that Lily introduced you to. You’d particularly made friends with Alexandra, you two hitting it off almost immediately.

You passed out almost immediately when you got back to Monaco for the next couple days before you had to leave again, and it felt like a blur. You only remember a little of it ━━ showers, movies with Lando, and sleeping ━━ before you were being shipped off to the next Grand Prix. You had no idea how he did it. You knew he’d been doing this awhile, but the jet lag was enough to hve you feeling hazy. You were sure Lando had gotten so many pictures of you sleeping and sent them to Max. There was one time when you woke up while he was taking one and you couldn’t get his phone in time . . . Though you did threaten to post an embarrassing photo of him during his teenage years if he didn’t delete. He showed you him deleting it, and the redownloaded it. You found this out later after Lando sent it to the group chat. That dickhead.

You were now in Brazil, two weeks later, heading into the Paddock with Lando. You offered to stay behind and let him have pictures taken of just him but he waved you off, joking that ‘you’d make him look better.’ In response to that you gave him the finger and walked in front of him ━━ thought you had no idea where you were going ━━ with his laugh resonating behind him.

You were excited for Brazil. You’d always wanted to go there since you were kid, fascinated with the culture and country, but your family never had enough money and you had been busy every previous time the Brazil Grand Prix took place. You had ranted to Lando the whole car ride there, him giggling at how excited you got. He didn’t find it weird or annoying, just happy that it made you happy. You hung it in the McLaren garage with the boys and Lily until it was time to start media, then you made your way to the Williams garage to find the other Lily. It was one of the races she was able to make it to and you had planned to meet up.

When you got to the garage, you passed Alex and Franco. You had met Alex, but you had yet to the men the new rookie. You’d heard of his flirty reputation from Lando, laughing at him. You eventually found Lily with some help and you two stayed at the Williams garage for a little bit before you both decided to grab some coffee. You talk about her career, your families, friends, and things going on recently. You told her how you ended up here ━━ obviously keeping some details out for Lando’s sake ━━ as you grabbed the coffee and made rounds around the Paddock.

It when you had stopped by the bathroom so Lily could go that you saw Franco again. You were on your phone when you heard his voice. “I saw you at Williams, no?” You lifted your head to see him leaning against the wall beside you, facing you. “Yeah. I was going to see Lily.” He nodded and hummed. “Are you here with Lily?” He smirked. When he did that you realized what he was doing. “No. I’m with someone else. A friend.”

“A friend, huh?” You forced yourself not to roll your eyes. You nodded. “Well, since they’re just a friend, do you want to get to know each other?” You were about to respond when Lily came out. You handed her her stuff as she greeted Franco. You were about to leave before you turned to him, “not really.” He looked like he’d been slapped in the face, not expecting that response.

Lily never asked, but you had a fleeting she knew what took place based on what you said last to him, the look on her face, and the quiet giggles she let out. You two continued to walk around the paddock until Alex texted her that he was done. She apologized but you told her not to be and tell Alex you say hi.

You weren’t in a hurry to get back to the McLaren garage so you took your time, strolling past different areas and looking at food stops. When you did get the garage, you saw Lando with an annoyed expression and you made your way over, bumping your shoulder into his. “What’s up?” He looked at you. “You met Franco?” You raised your eyebrows, not expecting him to know that. “Yeah . . . How’d you know?” “Oscar told me.” You nodded slowly. He seemed upset. There was a beat of silence before you realized what he was feeling.

“Are you jealous?” He spun his head around to face yours. “No!” You raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Sure.” You looked at the screen he was just watching, pretending to leave it as you noticed him fiddling with his hands. “Yes. I was.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, almost as if he was scared to say it. “Why?” He cleared his throat, “because he was flirting with you. I know he was.” “Why does that matter?”

There was some more silence. “Because i like you.” You opened your mouth in shock, not prepared to hear that. You opened and closed it before you spoke. “Really?” He took your expression in the wrong way and responded with a ‘forget it’ and moved to put his headphones back on before you grabbed them out of his hands and forced him to look at you. “I like you too, you muppet.” Now it was his turn to be shocked. When he repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, you grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him. It was weird. I mean, you’d imagined it, but you never expected it to happen.

When you pulled away, his cheeks were red and he had a sappy smile on his face. “So . . . Can I take you out on a date after this then?” You snorted, “well I hope so. I want to be treated, Mr. Norris.”

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caffeinewitchcraft · 13 days ago

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AITA for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a scare on my husband?

EDIT: For those of you coming here from my brother’s post (X) to shit on me, you look like idiots. Try to have an original thought and really contemplate who’s telling the truth after hearing both sides.

I (32f) am one of three siblings. We come from a very well off family. My dad is a former Cryptid and he pioneered the Hook Man in the 70s, so he still gets residuals off of that. We grew up very comfortable and with the ability to do anything we wanted in life. My older brother went to a very prestigious school and my dad gave him the money for tuition. Because my older brother got scholarships, he was able to save some of that money. Right now he works in human tech (very lucrative), but his long-term plan is to use the money to start a Cyber Spook business once he is satisfied with his knowledge foundation.

I ended up taking a gap year before going to community college, but I never felt anything click. I worked part-time jobs spinning out scarer costumes and even did some part-time work as a slasher before deciding it wasn’t for me. I finally found my calling when I offered to help cater for my high school reunion, and now I run a fairly successful catering business.

When it came time for my younger brother, “Steve,” to get his money, he didn’t tell anyone what he was going to use it for. He was working as a Slasher at a small firm in town. We all assumed he’d either go to Scare School or invest the money to start a business like our older brother did.

So when Steve showed up to Halloween dinner one day, six feet taller with extra joints in his arms and legs, we were all shocked.

Dad was furious. He gave us all the same talk about the scare industry when we got our first part-time jobs documenting missions at his company. He told us that scare work was hard and backbreaking. We couldn’t buy our way into it or use his connections to become successful. If we were interested in it, we had to work our way up from the ground like he did. If we didn’t, we’d more than likely end up dead at the hands of a final girl.

He especially emphasized that mods had to be considered carefully and were NOT a substitute for skill.

Steve thought they were. When his company didn’t pay him back for his body modification AND didn’t promote him from Slasher to Regional Nightmare, he quit. But the surgeries drained his cash and he couldn’t afford his apartment anymore. He had to move back in with Mom and Dad. As always, Mom totally coddled him. She said that he didn’t have to pay rent and agreed with whatever he said when he’d go on these long tirades about his former company.

I could tell Dad wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he’s never been able to go against Mom. So he mostly kept his mouth shut though he did try to get Steve a job at his old company. However, last I heard, Steve was set against anything corporate and was spending a dozen hours a day driving around using the app SlashDash to find jobs.

About a year and a half ago, I was over for dinner with Steve, Mom and Dad. Steve was talking about work. He said SlashDash wasn’t working out for him and was taking too many fees out. I offered advice since I’d done Slashing in high school. I recommended sites like Scarework and Midnighterr to get more gigs.

Mom told me I interrupted Steve. She gestured for him to continue and tell me about his exciting new setup.

Steve told me he was beyond the sites I recommended. He said he’d bought a scanner so he could listen to broadcasts of active corporate missions. When those fail, he arrives on scene to kill any straggling humans before the scare company in question can send a cleanup crew. And since he’s a Slasher on their scene, they have to give him emergency pay for doing it. It’s a total ambulance-chaser, bottom-feeder move.

Dad was just staring at his plate, not saying anything, but I could tell he was ashamed of Steve. Steve was bragging about being a vulture in the profession Dad helped build.

I asked Steve if he was proud of himself for living off of leftovers. Steve blew up at me, but so did Mom. She chided me for not respecting my brother’s hard work and that his idea to get a scanner was genius, not predatory.

After that dinner, Steve and I rarely talked. Most of the news I got about him came from our older brother bitching about Steve badgering him for scare connections or Mom bragging about Steve killing and “meeting quota.” She would get very cold with me when I told her he was finishing a quota someone else started and not doing his own work. She told me if I couldn’t respect Steve, then I was welcome to not come over while he lived with her.

(Yes, Steve’s always been the golden child.)

I stopped interfering with Steve and focused on my own life. Shortly after, I met my wonderful fiancé “Reginald” while catering an event at Dad’s old company. Reginald is the head of sanitation and he’s the one who gets sent out to clean up any unexpected events during a Scare (like any magical residue or body parts that can’t be explained away through human means). He used to want to be a Cryptid, but he’s got a heart condition that prevents him from working in the field. He says that he’s happy being the “janitor” and happier being with me 😊

Reginald and I got engaged after only eight months of dating. Dad always says that when you know, you know. I invited everyone in my family to an engagement party. Steve didn’t bother answering the invitation. Even though Steve and I weren’t on good terms, I was still hurt when he didn’t show.

When I confronted him about it afterwards, he said that he’d been promoted to Regional Nightmare and he was patrolling his territory, and that’s why he couldn’t come. I asked him what company he was working for, and he said he was still using the scanner.

I pointed out that he couldn’t be a Regional Nightmare without a state license since only the state can assign territories. He started going on and on about being his own “Monster” (and let me tell you, extra joints DOESN’T make you a Monster, those guys are way more committed) and that he had passed the state exam.

When I told Reginald about my brother calling himself a Regional Nightmare, he was concerned. He works closely with the legal department, and he said that Steve is opening himself up to lawsuits by declaring public slashing grounds as his “territory.” He offered to talk to Steve.

We went over to Mom and Dad’s house together to confront him. Dad didn’t know he was calling himself a Regional Nightmare and he went pale when I told them why we were there. Reginald explained to Steve and Mom that being certified was different than being licensed. Legally, Steve is a Slasher even if he can control shadows now (which is a VERY expensive talent to acquire if you aren’t born with it. I think Mom may have paid for it).

The conversation didn’t go well. Steve said a lot of nasty things about Reginald not hacking it as Slasher and claimed he was just jealous. He picked on Reginald’s health which I had me seeing red. I asked Steve what there was to be jealous of since he still mooches off of our parents? Mom got involved and it went downhill from there.

All this to say that I didn’t expect Steve to show up at my gender reveal party less than 5 months later.

Reginald and I weren’t planning on kids this early, but we knew it was meant to be as soon as I got that pregnancy test back. We decided to put off our wedding so that our baby can be part of the ceremony that makes us a family. That being said, I did still have a lot of things ordered for the wedding so I turned the day into a baby shower/gender reveal instead.

That brings us to the party my lovely brother wrote about. First of all, he wasn’t invited by me. Mom invited him, and when I found out, I wasn’t happy with her, considering he never apologized to Reginald after our last fight.

Reginald was stuck at work (some idiot brought together a whole summer camp of final girls and the aftermath was brutal) so I had to force myself to be a good hostess. It was mostly fine. We have good friends and my older brother was very kind in helping me with some of the baby games we were planning to play when Reginald finally got there.

Steve, however, was NOT helpful.

He was annoying the whole time. He messed with the kitchen and he hounded the guests. I’m PREGNANT and the smell of raw meat triggers my gag reflex. He took the meat off the heat without me noticing and basically prevented me from eating lunch with everyone else.

Additionally, Steve claimed in his post that the party was dying??? Reginald and Dad have a lot of friends in common so the party did NOT die. They were all interested in talking to Dad. Dad’s voice is very quiet and raspy from strain over the years, so everyone was being quiet to hear him better. Steve was the one practically screaming over him to talk about his scummy job. The new Hook Man who succeeded Dad was there and Steve basically treated the poor man like a novice even though he’s a Cryptid.

Reginald finally got home and I could tell he was exhausted when I met him at the door. He still put on a smile for me though and said he didn’t need to miss out even when I told him it would be okay. He wanted to be there in our big moment to celebrate our family. He went upstairs to change.

I went back to the guests to tell them that we would start the games soon. That’s when I heard Reginald scream and fall down the stairs.

I’ll never forget the look on Reginald’s face. He was lying at the base of the stairs and looked like he was dying. He was gasping for breath and clutching at his chest. I was terrified his heart was giving up. I asked Hook Man to call an ambulance.

That’s when Steve started laughing.

I lost it. I screamed at Steve to get out. He told me to calm down, he’d just scared Reginald a little bit as a joke. I told him he knew about Reginald’s heart condition and that it was incredibly disrespectful to scare my fiancé in our own house.

He said he didn’t mean to scare him that bad, but that he was just better at it than he thought. His scares were too powerful. He seemed smug and was still laughing.

I accused him of intentionally hurting Reginald because of the licensing versus certification argument we had. I said he was a bully and an idiot.

Mom jumped in and said it was an accident.

Dad FINALLY said something. He shadow-walked (the first time in YEARS) up the stairs and hooked Steve by the neck. He dragged all twelve feet of him down the stairs and told him to get out.

Steve said, “For what? It’s not my fault that weak-hearted son of a bitch can’t take a joke.”

Dad lost it. He told Steve a REAL scarer wouldn’t use their abilities like that on their own families. He told Mom and Steve it didn’t matter if he meant it as a joke. The fact is he used his scare tactics on a layperson, and he could get blacklisted from the profession for it.

Dad kicked Steve out and told him he wasn’t welcome back into the basement until he got a REAL job. Steve kept arguing, but the paramedics arrived then and I lost track of the rest of it.

I went with Reginald to the hospital where Reginald insisted we both get checked out. The stress wasn’t good for the baby and doctor told me it might be best to go on maternity leave sooner rather than later. Reginald is also going to be taking a leave from work. He had a heart attack because of my brother.

Things could have ended worse, but they didn’t end well. I told my parents that I refuse to have Steve at my wedding or even to see my child after they’re born (and now I STILL don’t know the gender! Only our older brother knows since he got the gender reveal cake).

Mom started to protest, but Dad said he understood. He said that both he and Mom just wanted me to be happy and healthy and that they would take care of Steve.

So now I leave it up to you. Having read both of our posts, who do you think is the real asshole? My brother for being “proud” of scaring my fiancé into a heart attack at our baby’s gender reveal party? Or me for never talking to said brother again for the health of my future family?

AITA?

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This week's story is based on this (x) prompt from Writing-prompt-s:

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

#my writing #reddit parody #aita reddit parody

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kateschi · 2 months ago

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surprise delivery: husband edition!

synopsis: when you're just chilling after a rough mission, your husband makes an appearance to make your day better.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the day is brutal. patrols, villain takedowns, and media interviews—being a pro-hero means long hours with little time to breathe.

as you finally step into your shared apartment, all you want is to crash on the couch and shut out the world for a while. the second you close the door behind you, your hero jacket hits the floor with a thud.

just as you start making your way to the kitchen, the front door swings open, and in walks bakugou katsuki, your husband, still in his full hero gear.

his mask is off, revealing that ever-present scowl, though you can tell by the slight sag in his shoulders that he’s had a long day too.

"hey," he grunts as he kicks the door shut behind him, his sharp gaze zeroing in on you. in his hand is a plastic bag, the familiar sound of crinkling bringing a small smile to your lips.

"katsuki," you greet, raising an eyebrow. "didn’t expect you back so early. thought you were still on patrol."

he throws the bag onto the kitchen counter with a huff. "got a break. figured I’d check in on you. heard your last fight was a pain in the ass."

you smile despite yourself. "it was fine. nothing I couldn’t handle."

he shoots you a look, his eyes narrowing. "yeah, yeah. you say that every damn time, but you look like you’ve been through hell."

"you’re one to talk," you shoot back, gesturing toward his own disheveled appearance.

his hero suit is scuffed, his gauntlets still covered in dust from whatever explosion-filled chaos he’s left behind. "looks like you weren’t exactly on a peaceful walk yourself."

"I handled it just fine," he says, waving off your concern. "anyway, shut up and look in the bag."

amused, you walk over to the kitchen and peek inside. to your surprise, it’s packed with your favorite snacks—energy bars, flavored drinks, and even a bag of those chips you always crave after a tough day.

you pull one out, giving him a teasing look. "you got this for me?"

he crosses his arms, looking away with a grunt. "don’t get all mushy on me. you’re not invincible, and I’m not gonna let you crash and burn because you’re too stubborn to take a break."

your heart warms at his blunt words. it’s such a katsuki thing to do—care deeply but cover it with his tough, no-nonsense attitude. "thanks," you say softly, popping open a drink. "I needed this."

he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks tainted a barely noticeable pink, "damn right you did."

you both lean against the kitchen counter, sharing a quiet moment as you sip your drink. the silence isn’t awkward—after years of working as pro-heroes and being married, you’ve grown comfortable in these rare moments of peace together.

still, the concern for each other is ever-present, unspoken yet deeply felt.

"how’s your arm?" katsuki asks suddenly, his sharp eyes scanning over you. you look down, realizing he’s talking about the burn you got in your last battle.

"it’s nothing," you reply, brushing it off. "just a scratch."

"bullshit," he mutters, stepping closer and taking your wrist gently, though his grip is firm. he inspects the burn with a scowl, clearly not pleased. "you’ve gotta be more careful."

you smile up at him. "and you’ve gotta stop blowing up everything in your path. not everyone can walk away unscathed like you, mr. dynamight."

he grunts, letting go of your wrist. "I’m not the one who got singed." his brow furrows slightly, a rare moment of softness crossing his features. "you know I hate seeing you hurt."

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a second, the busy world of pro-hero work melts away. in moments like this, it’s easy to forget how explosive and brash he usually is.

beneath all of it, he’s someone who cares deeply for you, even if he has a funny way of showing it.

"I know," you say gently. "but I can handle it."

he scoffs but doesn’t argue, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. "I know you can."

just as you’re about to make another playful comment, his phone buzzes, breaking the peaceful moment. katsuki glances at it, his expression darkening in annoyance.

"damn it. I’ve gotta head back."

your heart sinks a little, though you know this is just the reality of being heroes—time together is always cut short. "already?"

"yeah," he mutters, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "heroes don’t get long breaks." he hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking back to you. "but listen, don’t go out on any more patrols tonight. you’ve done enough. rest."

you raise an eyebrow. "you know I don’t need you babying me, right?"

"yeah, well, too bad," he shoots back with a smirk, pulling you closer by the waist. "I’m your damn husband, and I say you’re staying home."

you roll your eyes, leaning into his chest. "bossy."

"it’s for your own good, y/n; you know that," he mutters, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "so, take a break. eat the snacks. watch some tv, I don’t care. just… don’t go bein’ reckless while I’m not around."

you smile, warmed by the concern under his rough words. "fine. but don’t come back looking like you’ve been through a war zone, okay? I’d like my husband in one piece."

he smirks, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face. "please. it’ll take more than a couple of lowlife villains to take me down."

with that, he steps away, grabbing his gauntlets and heading toward the door. but just before he leaves, he turns back, his voice softer but still carrying that familiar bite. "save me some of those snacks, yeah?"

you chuckle, nodding. "yeah, yeah. go be a hero."

he huffs, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "try not to miss me too much."

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x female reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n

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lemonlover1110 · 3 months ago

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Sukuna

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Sukuna teaches his nephew a very important word.

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Yuji, come here.” Sukuna signals his three-year-old nephew to walk over to him, and Yuji frowns before reluctantly walking over to his uncle. Sukuna looks around, checking if there’s anyone supervising him. You’re in the bathroom doing lord knows what, and his brother dropped Yuji off for a couple of hours… He’s clear. “Say fuck.”

“Fuck?” Yuji repeats, which makes Sukuna smirk. He’s curious about what the word means since it’s not used around his house, but he’s obedient and he’s going to listen to his uncle.

Yuji has heard a couple of words that he can’t repeat like darn or moist (which Sukuna doesn’t even get, it’s just a word that makes Jin uncomfortable). Nothing as extreme as fuck. Sukuna is thrilled to be the person to teach his nephew this new vocabulary.

“When your aunt comes out of the bathroom, say fuck you.” Sukuna orders, and Yuji’s little eyebrows come together in a frown. He’s not going to mindlessly say something to you when he doesn’t know what it means. He’ll ask first. His mistake? Asking the man that he just learned the word from.

“What does that mean?” Yuji asks, and Sukuna is wickedly smiling.

“It’s another way of saying I love you. I know you love your auntie so much.” Sukuna watches as Yuji’s eyes grow wide, amazed by the new vocabulary. The child nods in response, more than willing to say he loves you.

“Took you long enough.” Sukuna says when you finally walk out of the bathroom and you roll your eyes.

“I was busy.” You respond, walking over to him and taking a seat next to him.

“Auntie.” Yuji goes to you, and a soft smile overcomes your face. You raise your brows, waiting for him to speak. “Fuck you.”

“Huh?” Your eyes go wide and your jaw drops. Did you get that? You stare at his lips before requesting that the child, “Say that again?”

“Fuck you!” He’s smiling, over the moon that he found another way to express how much he adores you. You snap your head to glare at the man next to you, one who laughs at his nephew.

“Sukuna, I will kill you.” You say, and Sukuna is smirking. You stare at each other for a minute, tense silence taking the room before Sukuna claims,

“It’s funny. He’s not even yours, so you’re not responsible for what he says.”

“Jin is going to kill you. The man thinks moist is a bad word.” You remind him, which only further amuses the man. You hear Yuji shushing you for using the word that his father doesn’t like, though he goes unheard since you have bigger problems at hand.

“Let’s be serious, I’d win.” Sukuna responds, which isn’t entirely a lie. You’re about to argue with him but before you can open your mouth, he turns his attention to his nephew. “Okay, when daddy comes in, you’re going to greet him like you greeted your auntie.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryoumen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna jujutsu kaisen

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lowkeyremi · 4 months ago

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Slightly suggestive!!

“Brat’s down,” your husband murmurs quietly with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Thank you for putting Shoko to sleep babe.” Katsuki nods firmly. You’re sitting on the couch minding your own business but you can see the blonde staring at you out of the corner of your eye.

“What? Is something wrong?” You ask wiping your face, thinking that there may be some chocolate cake crumbs left on your mouth.

“No it’s just… our other three brats are at sleepovers ‘n Shoko’s down for the night with Mina comin’ ina few minutes.” His lip turns upward at the corner; just acknowledging the fact that all four of your kids are occupied for the night.

“And..?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“And, we have finally have some time for a date.” Katsuki’s not wrong. With his line of work he often doesn’t come home until late and when he does come home early you guys are busy with your four children.

It seems you two are always missing each other. The passion is still there of course, it just feels like you guys don’t have the time to just enjoy each other’s company, which you both knew that would be the case going into parenthood, but it’s still something you’re learning to get used to.

“Seems that way, huh? Are we gonna get some dinner then do something else?” You can’t remember the last time you and Katuski went out to dinner without the kids with you.

“Was thinking dinner and a lil bit of fun after that.” You know what he’d implying by “a little bit of fun” by the way he licks his lips.

“That fun better involve some condoms, because I’m done having kids.” He chuckles at that, and that’s when you truly realize how much time the two of you have spent together. When he laughs there are little wrinkles around his eyes and you usually hear him complain about the occasional grey hair growing on his head.

“Fuck rubbers, I’ll pull out.” Katsuki folds his arms just hearing the word condoms.

You snort at his statement, and he glares, “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You say you’ll pull out. Every. Single. Time. And guess what? We have a seven month old baby now.” It’s your turn to fold your arms at Katsuki’s ridiculousness.

“That’s different, I was trying get you knocked up.” Your eyes widen and you gasp loudly, “Katsuki!”

“You seriously didn’t realize it?” His lips turn upward again and you chuck a pillow at him which he catches and throws back at you with more force.

“Condoms. That’s final.” He groans quietly as to not wake the baby.

“God, we haven’t used condoms in years. Aren’t you getting to the age of menopause anyway?”

“Are you serious??? I am NOT that old.” You know he’s joking by the way he snickers.

“Fuck, fine. I’ll go buy some. Just for you.” He says it with a grimace on his face, but you know deep down he’s okay with it because he’ll do anything to make you comfortable.

“Thank you baby. I’ll go get ready for dinner while waiting for Mina.”

“Damn, I don’t even know what size I’d be.” The blonde scratches his chin in thought.

“Probably a small.” He charges to the couch to lift you up over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” Your demand is followed by a shriek when he slaps your ass, hard.

“Take it back then.” Back in the earlier stages of your relationship, Katsuki never held back with slapping your ass, but now that you guys have kids, you’ve deemed it inappropriate. You were used to it back then but now it’s caught you off guard since it’s been so long.

“Take what back?” The innocence you fein doesn’t faze your husband at all.

“Take back what you said about my monster sized cock.”

Now you can’t help but laugh at that. “Do you always have to be so childish, Katsuki?

“S’not childish it’s the truth.”

“Okay your dick is big, put me down.” He huffs, clearly not satisfied with your answer, but he puts you down anyway.

10 minutes later he returns from the convenience store, with no bag in hand.

Mina had arrived while he was gone and the two of you had been catching up for a little while.

“So, Katsuki… where are the condoms?” You ask when you realize he has nothing in hand.

“They didn’t have my size.” He says cheekily and you’re sure that was far from the truth.

“Really?” You say sarcastically.

“Really. Anyway, thanks Raccoon Eyes for stepping in to watch our baby.” Mina giggles at his implications earlier.

“You two have fun!!!” You roll your eyes, but you’re secretly very excited to spend time with your husband one on one.

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

Interested in other dad!bakugo works? Check out:

Morning with the kids, He wants a big family with you (drabble) and When you give birth (drabble) !

tagging: @omitea and @satorisoup hope you guys enjoy!!! 😂😂

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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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LOOKIN' LIKE MOTIVATION - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT. pairing: sports physical therapist!reader x hockey player!rafe; friends to lovers.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud.

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you.

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made.

And he made a lot of those.

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury.

You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan.

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots.

It was refreshing.

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain.

It was from trying to resist the need to say something that might actually cross the line.

But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes keen, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s.

Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard.

“Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. That look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.”

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year in college.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about.

Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you chastised, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, m’focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you.

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise.

He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful.

It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, he couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend.”

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, then adding most absolute out of pocket suggestion. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, biting his tongue not to add the unfortunately’. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to ignore how much your rejection hurt his feelings.

"No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing straighter. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a earth shattering smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But he was hard to read when he wanted to be. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting.

Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And he had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up.

The words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest did that stupid thing where it almost stopped. Not in a good way.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“C’mon sweetheart, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know.

Protectiveness instantly swelled inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden from you, saved it for the ice. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words trapped in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back started to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. The kind of emotion he only felt when his team was being robbed by referees or losing.

He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you pleaded quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe rebutted, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made you want to cry even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted. He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently held your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he reassured you, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, not giving you a chance to doubt yourself again. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand slowly rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes practically glazed with love sickness as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant peck to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away.

He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone.

But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened. He could wait. He’d wait forever for you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice.

As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety started to mess with your head. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You were going to miss him.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point.

But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart.

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“Y’know sweetheart,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the not so subtle excitement in his tone.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal.

He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step. A friend maybe.

“I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“I’m just doing my job,” you shook your head, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you admitted, unable to keep your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing like a school girl. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply.

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more.

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back.

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair.

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

"Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge.

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

"God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out.

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it.

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of."

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

"Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high.

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

"You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you, drowning in affection. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #hockey!rafe

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luvdwkki · 26 days ago

Text

Anniversary

Chan x gn!reader

Word count: 1951

Summary: It is your fourth anniversary with Chris! Will he remember your special day or will you have to make do all alone?

Your eyes fluttered open as the shining rays of morning sun spilt through the curtains. You instinctively reached for your phone, squinting at the screen. 6:00 AM. You let out a sigh of relief, realising you still had an hour and a half till your alarm went off. You nestled back into the warmth of the blankets, feeling Chris’s familiar form beside you.

You watched him for a moment, still amazed at the peacefulness of his face when he slept. He always seemed so much lighter in the mornings, his usual tension nowhere to be found. You brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and snuggled against his shoulder, feeling his arm instantly wrap around your figure. You two hardly get mornings like this anymore. Everyday seemed to move around his demanding hours at the studio; your time together was more often than not reserved for late-night takeout or quick hellos and goodbyes.

You laid in a comfortable silence as he slowly drifted awake. You wondered if he’d remember the day. You had celebrated your first anniversary with a weekend getaway, then your second and third anniversaries with special dinners and thoughtful little gifts. But in the past year, his career had really taken off, and though you were thrilled for him, you had noticed the hours he spent at the studio growing longer, his mind wandering further from home.

“Morning already?” Chris mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“Not yet,” you whispered. “We still have some time.”

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you closer and nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. You both laid there, drifting in and out of sleep, comfortable in the familiar warmth of each other’s presence. It felt like a small luxury. A rare, unrushed morning just for the two of you.

Eventually, the vibrations of his phone rang throughout the room, the first reminder of his busy day ahead. A groan left his lips as he reached over to silence it.

“What's on your schedule today?” You asked, already sure of the answer.

“Studio, studio, and more studio.” He chuckled, stretching his arms. “We’re wrapping up a new album, so it’s all hands on deck.”

“Sounds intense,” you said softly, hiding your disappointment. “Guess I'll see you later tonight?”

“Yeah, I'll probably be back late.” He glanced over at you, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. “But hey, let’s do something soon… Maybe get out of the city? Just us.”

A smile tugged at your face, feeling just a flicker of hope. “I’d like that.”

With a final sigh, you both got out of bed. Chris threw on a pair of sweatpants along with a black hoodie, wandering into the kitchen as you headed towards the bathroom to wash up. By the time you joined him, he was already sitting at the counter, toast in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through the endless amount of emails.

You poured yourself a cup of tea, watching him from across the kitchen, wondering if he would say anything about your anniversary. You didn’t exactly want to bring it up; you wanted it to be something that he remembered on his own. As he ate the last bit of his toast, it was clear he was already mentally at the studio, immersed in the day ahead.

“Chris,” you said, arm reaching for the small box you had left on the counter. “Before you go...” you handed it to him, smiling as his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking the box into his arms.

“Just something to get you through the day,” you explained. “Open it when you get to the studio, okay? And text me when you do!”

A grin spread across his face as his eyes stared deeply into yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He leaned in for a quick peck on your cheek, giving your hand a nice squeeze before he grabbed his bad. “See you tonight?”

You nodded with a small, heartfelt smile, giving him a small wave as he walked out the door, leaving you alone in the stillness of your apartment.

At the studio, Chris was finally able to sit down, remembering the box that was hidden inside his bag. He opened it with a slight smile, finding a stack of neatly tied envelopes inside. Each one was labelled with a number and time. Curiosity sparked, making him shoot you a quick text.

Chris: Hey, just opened the box. What’s all this?

You replied almost immediately.

Y/n: Open the first one now. Then, every hour, open the next. It’s just something to remind you of us. I love you.”

Intrigued, he opened the first letter.

Letter 1:

“Chris, remember the day we met? You walked into the coffee shop I worked at, juggling your phone, a bag, and what looked like half the contents of your car. You nearly tripped on the door frame, and I thought I should probably come over to help. Instead, you just laughed, looked right at me, and said, ‘I think the universe is trying to tell me I need a coffee!’ I felt the pink rush over my face as we made eye contact, and right then, I knew you were the kind of person who could turn anything around. You made me laugh before I even knew your name! I love that about you.”

Chris chuckled to himself, the blood rushing to his cheeks as he read the words slowly, savouring the memory. You had always remembered your first meeting in a way that made it seem like it was destiny. He found himself lingering over your words, feeling a sense of warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

By 10:00 AM, he was already looking forward to the next letter. He opened it eagerly the second the clock struck.

Letter 2:

“Our first road trip! I was so anxious, afraid we’d gotten lost, but you just cranked up the music and said, ‘What’s life without a little adventure?’ We ended up dancing in the rain when we stopped for gas. I can still remember the blood rushing through my veins with the way your hands felt on my waist as you spun me around hehe. You remember, right? I felt like I could be myself with you. You have always made me feel like I could be myself with you. You have always made me feel like the world was full of possibilities.”

He smiled, remembering the wild freedom of that trip and how you both had gotten drenched but didn't care. You had always been the one to bring out his playful side, grounding him in those little moments that felt like they’d last forever.

Every hour, your letters transported him back to another piece of your shared history, each one crafted with love and a thoughtfulness that struck his heart deeply. 11:00 AM reminded him of the night you said you loved him for the first time; you then stayed up talking till the sun was directly above you. 12:00 PM was about your first anniversary and how he had whisked you away on a surprise weekend trip just to see you smile.

With each letter, your memories brought him closer to the man he’d been when you two first fell in love. The day slipped away as he moved from one letter to the next, each memory digging up a part of himself he’d left behind in the rush of his career. He had realised how much you had been there for him, every step of the way, always supportive, always patient.

By the time 9:00 PM rolled around, Chris was lost in thoughts of you. His heart ached with a newfound appreciation as he reached for the final letter, opening it with a big smile, expecting one last beautiful memory.

Letter 12:

“Chris, I can’t believe it’s already been four years. Time has flown by, and yet, I feel like I've known you my whole life. You’ve been my rock, my best friend, and my greatest love. From our first coffee shop meeting to our midnight dance parties in the kitchen, I have truly loved every single moment. You’ve made me feel so seen, so loved, and so endlessly grateful for us.

I know sometimes life pulls us in a million directions, but what matters most is that we have each other through everything. Thank you for loving me, for always protecting me, for always making me smile, and for being you. I love you. Happy Anniversary, Chris”

He froze as he read the last sentence, your worlds settling over him like a bittersweet warmth. Your anniversary. He had completely forgotten.

How could I have forgotten? He thought. His heart sank with a pang of guilt and longing. He grabbed his things and quickly left the studio, stopping by the convenience store to get a bouquet. He hurried home, a proud smile on his lips and a chest tight with anticipation. He was ready to tell you just how much you meant to him, to celebrate your love and make up for lost time.

His hand twitched with excitement as he put the key through the hole. The darkness of your apartment was the first thing that welcomed him home, but the sight was not unusual as he had grown accustomed to being met with silence due to his work hours. He flicked on the light before noticing a single envelope that laid on the kitchen counter. His heart raced with this new level of fondness as he picked up the very last letter. His eyes quickly scan your handwriting.

“Chris, you’ve been the music of my life, filling the quiet spaces with laughter and dreams. I cannot find the words to express just how deep my love runs for you...”

His smile was now bigger than ever, the pink blush creeping up on his face once again before he read the next line.

“But somewhere along the way, I lost parts of myself. I've waited and hoped and begged, but I've realised that I have to find my own rhythm now. Chris, I'll always love you, but it’s time I found out who I am without you. So I'm letting you go. This is goodbye, Chris. I hope someday you'll understand.”

He felt the words cut through him like a blade. His pulse pounded in his ears as he re-read your words over and over again, desperately looking for any sign that it was some sick joke. He looked up towards your bedroom, the paper trembling in his hands, disbelief washing over him. The flowers fell to the floor as he rushed to your bedroom, his stumbling feet betraying his true wish. His hands quivered as he reached to turn the knob.

Inside, he found a room that had been stripped bare of your things. Everything of yours that had once rested in there so comfortably, so pleasantly, so rightfully, was now missing. All that remained was a single teddy bear, the one he had given you on your second date, sitting alone in the middle of the bed.

Chris sank down, gripping the bear tightly against his chest, the tears trickling from his eyes and his heart heavy with a crushing emptiness. All those letters you had written for him, all the love you had poured into your words, they had been your way of saying goodbye. A final gift from the person who had once filled his life with light, and now, in the silence, he finally realised what he had lost, although all too late.

Hey guys! This is my first ever fic and im lowkey scared to post it but whatevs. Not sure how to feel about it tbh so pls dont be shy to lmk how you found it 😭 Oh and please do tell me if you find a mistake somewhere!

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devil-in-hiding · 4 months ago

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So thank you all for all the love on my little assistant idea! here’s a little more, it’s a little rushed but i couldn’t get this outta my head 💕

Returning back to base with four huge, expensive looking shopping bags, you storm towards John’s office. You don’t bother with knocking, you never do, and you find he’s bent over a file, hat long gone and a bottle of scotch near by.

He lifts his eyes, which light up at the sight of your bags and sits up. “Oh good, I see Sally got you sorted.”

“John Price what the actual hell? I can’t- This is much to-“

“It’s not coming out of your pay love. It’s on me.” He calms, but you shake your head, confusion and hope swirling in your chest.

“I don’t understand?” Is all you can say, and John looks away for a moment, clearing his throat before standing.

“You are aware that the base is hosting the Ball this year…” he starts, to which you let out a soft groan “don’t remind me, i’m so tired of looking for catering-“

“i was hoping you’d accompany me.”

“it’s hard enough trying to decide on something the four of you- i’m sorry what?”

“I would like for you to be my… date.” You have never, in the two years you’ve worked for the Captain John Price, seen him so flustered. His cheeks were flushed, arms crossed over his chest and not looking you directly, his gaze on the ground.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, a moment John takes as a ‘no’ and he is quickly trying to put distance between the two of you, walking back behind his desk.

“Of course, there’s no problem if you don’t want to. I know you’re probably very busy, I don’t want to-“

“I would love too.” You breathe out, heart thumping loudly in your ears as John finally makes eye contact with you, and you grin, feeling giddy now as you hug your shopping bags close.

“You don’t have to just because I’m your boss sweet-“

“No no! John I’d love to go to the Ball with you.” The sincerity in your voice has John grinning that grin that could nourish a god damn garden all on its own.

“That’s- brilliant. Perfect!” He laughs, walking around once more to stand in front of you. Before you can stop yourself, you lean up, brushing a soft kiss to his bearded jaw before pulling away, a sweet laugh echoing in his ears as you turn around.

“Goodnight John. We’ll talk in the morning.”

#captain john price #john price x reader #john price #cod x reader #cod mwii

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noosayog · 1 year ago

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002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!”

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly.

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile?

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says.

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble.

“True. But he is an idiot.”

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale.

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.”

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter.

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?”

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen.

“Why not?”

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you.

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl.

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently.

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in.

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.”

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps.

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating.

“So, found a guy to take you out?”

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have.

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.”

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this:

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases.

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both.

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?”

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation.

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim.

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant.

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child.

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!”

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently.

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.”

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice.

“‘Samu…”

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.”

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you.

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted.

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight.

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on.

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular.

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter.

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.”

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before.

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.”

“Dude, nice try,” you had said.

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night.

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break.

“I’ll walk with ya.”

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit.

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time.

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight.

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway.

“I’m onto ya,” he starts.

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.”

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you.

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face.

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself.

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had.

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway.

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone.

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs.

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?”

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes.

“Who?” you mumble.

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air.

“I don’t know… I just…”

“Are ya still in love with my brother?”

��No,” you answer honestly.

Osamu raises his brows.

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.”

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?”

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off.

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin.

“I wanna get him back,” you admit.

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!”

“Huh?”

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-”

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.”

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation.

“Osamu…”

“Am I wrong?”

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before.

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used.

His question goes unanswered.

–

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu.

It doesn’t make you miss him any less.

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around.

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision.

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock.

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth.

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?”

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter.

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-”

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say.

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-”

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu.

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system.

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone.

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.”

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks.

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act.

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory.

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do.

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-”

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out.

“Hey, ‘Samu!”

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face.

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope.

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy.

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you.

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly.

“You just…?” he prompts.

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself.

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.”

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?”

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you.

“And I like you so much, Osamu.”

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?”

He stops stroking your hair.

“What, ya don’t like it?”

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk.

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him.

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time.

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?”

You nod shyly.

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.”

“I want it.”

“Alright. C’mere then.”

You oblige.

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck.

You nod.

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?”

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle.

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.”

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth.

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs.

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

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pucksandpower · 6 months ago

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Black Magic

Charles Leclerc x witch!Reader

Summary: famously non-superstitious Charles takes drastic measures to break the Monaco curse

Charles rubs his temples as he stares at the phone, mentally rehearsing how he’s going to convince you to meet with him. He knows it’s a long shot — from what his mother told him, you’re not exactly eager to use your … abilities, as she called them. But he’s desperate at this point after years of the Monaco curse haunting him.

He takes a deep breath and taps the call button. It rings once, twice, three times before you finally pick up with a cautious “Hello?”

“Y/N? Hi, this is Charles Leclerc. I was given your number by my mother ...” His voice trails off as an awkward silence stretches between you.

Finally you respond, sounding confused. “Pascale? But why would she ...”

Charles rushes to explain. “She said you might be able to help me with … well, with breaking a curse of sorts. One that’s been plaguing me for years at the Monaco Grand Prix.” He pauses, cringing a little at how ridiculous he sounds saying it out loud.

There’s another long pause before you let out a soft sigh. “I should’ve known this would happen eventually. Listen, I only do that kind of thing for family emergencies these days. Curses and spellwork … it’s not something I take lightly.”

“I understand,” Charles says quickly. “But you have to know what the Monaco Grand Prix means to me. It’s my home race, the most meaningful one on the calendar for me. And yet, every single year something goes wrong — mechanical failures, crashes, bad strategy calls, communication issues. It’s like I’m cursed to never win it.”

You’re silent for a moment, seeming to consider his words. “I’m aware of the … situation,” you say finally. “But even if I did agree to look into it, breaking an actual curse isn’t something that happens overnight. It would take time and effort.”

“I’ll give you anything you need — time, money, whatever it takes,” Charles insists. “Just … please. I’m desperate here. My heart can’t keep taking these kinds of blows.”

Another pause, then a resigned sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise to take this seriously and listen to what I say. No skepticism, no brushing it off as some kind of joke. This is real to me.”

Relief floods through Charles. “Yes, absolutely, I promise. When can you come by? I’m staying in Monaco until the race next weekend.”

“I’ll need a little while to prepare,” you say slowly. “But … I can try to come by Tuesday? We’ll need to talk more about this in person.”

“Tuesday is perfect,” Charles agrees eagerly. “Truly, thank you for this. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your time.”

You let out a small huff of laughter. “You keep your championship hopes, I’ll keep my soul. We’ll call it even.”

A bemused smile crosses Charles’ face at that. “Whatever you say. I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Yes. I’ll be there Tuesday.” You hang up abruptly, leaving Charles staring at the phone with a mixture of hope and trepidation. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into … but he’s willing to try anything at this point.

Two days later, you show up at Charles’ apartment looking rather apprehensive. He ushers you inside, eyes raking over you with obvious curiosity. You’re younger than he expected, maybe mid-twenties, with a casual air and slight frame that doesn’t exactly scream “all-powerful witch“.

Still, he tries to withhold any skepticism as promised. “Thanks for coming. Can I get you anything? Some wine, or ...”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’d rather just get down to business if that’s okay.”

Charles nods and you both settle onto the couch, an anticipatory silence stretching out. Finally you clear your throat. “So. Tell me more about this … curse.”

And so he does, relaying in exhaustive detail the string of unlikely disasters that have befallen him at nearly every Monaco Grand Prix since he started in Formula 2. Crashes, mechanical failures, pit stops gone wrong, you name it … it’s like the racing gods have it out for him every year on his home streets.

You listen patiently, nodding along, your expression unreadable. When he finishes, you’re quiet for a long moment before speaking. “You know curses and superstitions have existed in motorsports for decades, right? It’s a high-adrenaline, high-risk environment … prime territory for that kind of thing to take root.”

Charles frowns. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“I’m not saying that.” You shake your head. “I’m just … managing expectations here. Breaking an entrenched curse, if that’s even what this is, isn’t easy. It’ll take much more than a couple of days of spellwork.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So you’re telling me you can’t help.”

“I didn’t say that.” You eye him levelly. “I’m saying this is going to require time, patience, and an open mind from you. If you’re willing to put in that kind of commitment, then I’ll do what I can. But you have to go into this knowing it might not work.”

Charles is silent for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally he nods. “Okay. You’re right, I’ll stop being skeptical and doubting this. I’m ready to fully commit, whatever that takes.”

A small smile flits across your face and you nod. “Alright then. I’ll need to gather some supplies first, do you have anything personal I can use? Something meaningful, something that represents your driving?”

Charles scrambles up to rummage through his drawers, finally emerging with a battered red fireproof racing glove, handing it over to you. “Will this work? My godfather gave it to me when he first started teaching me to kart.”

You take it with a nod, turning it over in your hands. “It’s perfect. I’ll need to attune it and prepare a few … components.” You glance up at him. “This may take me a day or two. But after that, I can try to get a sense of what we’re dealing with.”

He nods, feeling that flicker of hope rekindle in his chest. “Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You rise, slipping the glove into your bag. “I will. And Charles?” You hesitate, looking almost nervous for the first time since you arrived. “I know we’ve only just met, but … I want you to understand how serious I’m taking this. Messing with forces like curses … it’s not something I do lightly. If I can’t help in the end, it’s not for lack of trying, okay?”

Something about your sincere tone puts Charles at ease and he nods. “I know. Thank you for this … really.”

A shy smile ghosts across your lips before you slip out, leaving Charles alone with his doubts and hopes alike. Over the next couple of days, he tries to distract himself with race prep and strategy meetings, but his mind keeps drifting back to you and your mysterious preparations. He’s not sure whether to feel hopeful or just plain foolish for entertaining all of this curse nonsense.

Finally, Thursday afternoon rolls around and you arrive once more at his door, looking oddly serene. You accept his offered glass of wine this time as you settle on the couch, clutching the battered racing glove and a few other strange items.

“Okay,” you say, taking a fortifying breath. “I’ve done what I can to attune myself to your energy and prepare. I should be able to at least get a sense now of what we’re dealing with.”

Charles nods, feeling an anxious flutter in his chest as you close your eyes, seeming to slip into some kind of trance-like state. The seconds tick by, tension building in the air around you. Just when he’s about to break the silence, your eyes fly open with a gasp.

“Wow,” you breathe out, looking utterly stunned. “This is … wow.”

“What?” Charles prods urgently. “What did you see?”

You shake your head, almost looking scared now. “I’ve never encountered anything like this. The sheer scale, the power … Charles, this isn’t just some simple bad luck curse. This is dark, powerful magic rooted over years and years. Maybe even generations.”

A leaden feeling sinks into the pit of Charles’ stomach at your ominous words. “So you’re saying you can’t break it?”

“I didn’t say that.” You draw in a steadying breath. “But it’s not going to be easy. Or quick. This is going to take serious ritual work over an extended period of time. I’ll need more supplies, maybe some help from others. It’s … a huge undertaking.”

You look up at Charles, expression grave. “But I think I can do it. If you’re willing to fully commit and see this through, no matter how long it takes or what I need from you, then I’ll put everything I have into breaking this curse.”

Charles stares at you for a long moment, feeling the weight of what you’re saying. This is so much bigger than he ever imagined. Part of him wants to run from the sheer enormity of it all.

But then he pictures it — finally winning his home race after all these years, the crowd roaring as he drinks in the euphoric feeling. No more bad luck, no more disasters clouding his joy. Just pure triumph.

His jaw sets in determination as he meets your eyes. “Whatever it takes. I’m in.”

A slow smile spreads across your face and you nod. “Okay then. We’ll get started right away. This may get … intense at times. But I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” Charles says fervently. “Truly, thank you for taking this on.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you reply, something sparking in your eyes. “We’ve got work to do.”

And just like that, you dive into preparation mode — making lists, sending messages, gathering spell ingredients and components that have Charles raising his eyebrows more than once. He tries to follow along as best he can, but it’s like a foreign language to him.

After a while, he can’t help but ask. “So … did you always know you could do this kind of thing? The witchcraft, I mean?”

You pause, considering his question. “It’s a family tradition, passed down. My grandmother started teaching me from a very young age. But I’ll be honest … I never fully embraced it until recently.”

Charles feels himself grow curious. “What changed your mind?”

A strange look crosses your face and you’re quiet for a moment before replying. “My grandmother was ill. The doctors had … given up, more or less. So in desperation, I tried to help the only way I knew how. And it … worked, somehow. After that, it was hard to keep denying what I could do.”

“Wow,” Charles says softly. “That’s amazing. I can’t even imagine ...”

You shrug, suddenly looking almost shy. “It’s a lot, I know. Probably hard to wrap your head around. Which is why I appreciate you being so open-minded about this.”

Charles gives you a crooked smile. “Well, I’m relying on you here. I figure I should at least return the favor and be open-minded.”

A surprising laugh escapes you and you shake your head in amusement. “You’ve got a point there.”

A surprisingly comfortable silence lapses between you, broken only when you glance at your watch. “Alright, enough waiting around. We should get back to work if we want to be ready before race day.”

Charles feels nervous anticipation flutter in his chest again. “You really think we can pull this off that quickly?”

“We have to try,” you reply, already focused and in work mode once more. “Just be prepared … this isn’t going to be easy for either of us.”

Charles swallows hard and nods. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Over the next several days, Charles is swept up in a whirlwind of strange rituals and practices — chanting, incantations, symbolic offerings, things he never could’ve imagined before this week. You lead him through it all with a calm patience, guiding him every step of the way.

It’s completely draining, leaving him wrung out and exhausted every night … but he can’t deny the noticeable shift he feels with each passing day too. It’s almost like a weight, a cloud of dread he’s carried for years, is slowly dissipating. He tries not to get his hopes up, but it’s hard … especially with the way your face glows with quiet pride whenever your eyes meet his.

Finally, the night before the race arrives. You’ve worked practically around the clock except for when Charles had to leave for free practice and qualifying, both of you barely sleeping or eating as you poured everything into breaking the curse.

As the sun sets over Monaco’s famed harbors and hills, you finally seem to pause, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I think … I think that’s everything we can do for now.”

Charles stares at you with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “You mean … it’s done? The curse is broken?”

You exhale slowly, looking suddenly drained but at peace. “As much as it can be, at least. The groundwork is laid, the ritual completed. But actually severing that kind of ancient tie ...” You shake your head. “We’ll have to see what happens tomorrow. I’ve done everything I can.”

Relief and gratitude wash over Charles as he reaches out to grasp your hand impulsively. “Thank you,” he says fervently. “For all of this … I can’t even begin to express how much it means.”

You seem surprised by his emotional outburst for a moment before squeezing his hand back gently. “You’re very welcome, Charles. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure I had it in me at first. But you put so much faith in me. That meant everything.”

He holds your gaze, feeling an unexpected sense of connection pass between you. So much has happened in such a short span of time — he came to you a skeptic, but now he feels like he’s been through a transformative experience. And you … you’ve put your entire being into helping him, far beyond any reasonable expectation.

The air almost seems to crackle with tension as you both search each other’s eyes. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, you start leaning towards each other infinitesimally. Charles’ heart kicks up a staccato rhythm as your faces inch closer together ...

Until finally, your lips meet in a soft, almost hesitant kiss. It’s achingly gentle and sweet, at odds with the intensity thrumming underneath. When you finally part, Charles feels almost dazed, his heart pounding.

“Wow,” he breathes out, unable to tear his eyes away from yours. “That was ...”

“Yeah,” you murmur back, looking equally affected. “It was.”

A silence stretches out as you simply gaze at each other. So much has passed between you in these short days — an entire lifetime’s worth of intimacy and connection. It’s overwhelming and exciting all at once.

Finally, Charles seems to shake himself out of the dazed reverie. Clearing his throat, he says gruffly, “Anyway, um … thank you again. I should probably try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

“Right, of course,” you respond quickly, flushing slightly. “The race. Yes, that’s … probably a good idea.”

An awkward pause hangs in the air before Charles blurts out, “You’ll be there though, right? At the race, I mean? As my guest?”

A slow smile spreads across your face and you nod. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He returns your smile, feeling lighter than he has in years. “Okay, good. That’s really good.”

With that, and one last lingering look, you gather your things and slip out, leaving Charles alone with his whirling thoughts and cautiously rising hope. He has no idea what tomorrow will bring — triumph or despair. But for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s not facing it alone.

As he climbs into bed that night, his mind keeps drifting back to that unexpected, electric kiss and the connection you seemed to share, if only for a moment. He can’t stop replaying it, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your skin ...

With a groan, Charles rolls over, trying in vain to shut off his thoughts. He needs to rest. Tomorrow is everything he’s been working towards for years — his best hope at finally ending the Monaco curse. And you’ll be there, your faith and magic bound to his dream.

Finally, Charles manages to drift into a restless sleep, his unconscious mind swirling with visions of chequered flags and your smiling face in the crowd. Whatever happens, he knows nothing will ever be the same after tomorrow.

***

The next morning dawns bright and clear, a perfect Monaco day. As Charles gets ready to head to the circuit, he can’t shake the anxious flutter in his chest.

This is it. His moment of truth.

Just before he’s about to leave, a soft knock comes at the door. When he opens it, you’re standing there looking almost as nervous as he feels.

“Hey,” you say with a small smile. “Thought I’d come wish you luck in person. And … give you one last thing for the race.”

You hold out a small silk pouch which Charles takes curiously. Opening it up, he pulls out the same battered racing glove he’d given you days ago, now embroidered with strange runic symbols.

“I imbued it with every protection ritual and good luck charm I could think of,” you explain. “As an extra boost on top of the work we’ve already done. Maybe it’ll help settle those pre-race jitters too.”

Charles feels a wave of affection crest over him as he looks at the glove, then back up at you. “You’re incredible, you know that?” He says softly. “Truly, I don’t know how to thank you enough for everything.”

You duck your head shyly, but he can see the pleased flush on your cheeks. “You don’t need to thank me. Just go out there and get that win you’ve been waiting for, okay?”

“I will,” Charles promises fervently. He pauses, then seems to make a split-second decision, stepping forward to cup your face in his hands. “And when I do … I’m taking you out for the biggest celebration Monaco has ever seen.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but you give a breathless little nod. “It’s a date then.”

The corner of Charles’ mouth quirks up. “It’s a date,” he echoes, letting his thumb brush over your cheekbone lingeringly before forcing himself to step back. “I should get going. But I’ll see you out there later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you confirm, looking almost as flustered as he suddenly feels. “Good luck, Charles.”

He shoots you one last, blazing look before tearing himself away, hurrying out to his waiting car. The entire drive to the circuit, his heart is pounding wildly in his chest. He can’t decide if it’s just pre-race adrenaline or something more … something sparked by you and that searing, promising look you gave him.

By the time he arrives, gets into his race suit and fireproofs, and settles into the cramped cockpit of his Ferrari, Charles is wound up like a tightly-coiled spring. His eyes keep drifting over to the embroidered glove still clutched in his hand, feeling the weight of everything it represents — your devotion, your magic, and the hope of finally breaking free from years of heartbreak.

As the cars are wheeled out onto the grid and the pre-race festivities begin, Charles scans the garage until his eyes finally land on you. You’re standing with a perfect viewpoint, eyes already locked on him, and when you catch his gaze you mouth “Good luck“ with an encouraging smile.

A determination like he’s never felt before surges through Charles’ veins. He’s going to win this race, not just for himself but for you too after everything you’ve sacrificed. Giving a firm nod, he slips the glove beneath his suit and grips the steering wheel tightly, watching the lights flick from red.

And as they finally go green and the cars roar away, Charles leans into the first turn in pure focus and exhilaration. For once, his mind is clear of any doubt or dread about the Monaco curse. He can only think about racing, about achieving his dream ...

And afterwards, celebrating that dream coming true with you.

***

As the deliriously happy celebrations continue around him at Monza, Charles can barely catch his breath. The euphoria of a hard-fought victory is still pulsing through his veins, that cherished feeling never getting old no matter how many times he experiences it.

He’s in the middle of accepting congratulations from his mechanics when he sees a Sky Sports reporter, making a beeline for him with her microphone in hand. Trying to tamp down his giddy smile slightly, he turns to face her.

“Charles! Huge congratulations on another amazing win today,” the reporter gushes as soon as she reaches him. “You’re really hitting your stride this season, what a comeback from the early struggles.”

“Thank you. Yes, the team has been doing incredible work to get me a car capable of winning,” Charles replies graciously. “I’m just thrilled to be able to deliver for them.”

“And for the fans too, who have been utterly captivated watching this gripping title battle unfold,” she continues. “Speaking of which, I have to ask — the viewers have been flooding us with one question in particular recently. What’s the story behind those little symbols that keep popping up on your race suit collar? Some kind of good luck charms maybe?”

At the mention of the embroidered symbols, Charles feels his lips quirking up into a small, unconscious smile. He should have known someone would eventually ask about them — the fans on social media have certainly been speculating endlessly.

“Ah, you spotted those?” He says lightly. “Well, it’s um … it’s actually something my girlfriend does for me before every race weekend.”

The reporter’s eyes widen with obvious interest, scenting a prime bit of gossip. “Your girlfriend? We had no idea you were dating someone, Charles! Do tell us more.”

Charles lets out a slightly self-conscious chuckle, feeling the tips of his ears going pink. He’s intensely private about his personal life, preferring to keep you out of the spotlight as much as possible. But the story behind the symbols is too meaningful to brush off entirely.

“Yes, well my girlfriend prefers to stay out of the public eye,” he explains carefully. “Let’s just say she comes from a rather … unique background and heritage. She has certain talents and practices that are very important to her.”

The reporter blinks at him in obvious confusion. “Wait, is she some kind of … psychic or something?”

“Not exactly,” Charles demurs, fighting back an amused grin at the mental image. “More like … well, I suppose you could call her a witch, of sorts.”

A shocked silence falls over the surrounding reporters who have tuned into their exchange. For a long beat, no one seems to know how to react to such an unexpected revelation. Charles doesn’t think he’s ever seen the media look so bemused before.

Finally, the reporter seems to find her voice again. “A … witch?” She repeats slowly. “As in, like, cauldrons and broomsticks and the whole bit?”

Charles lets out a full laugh at that. “Well, not quite like that, no. But she does practice certain … rituals and magics, let’s say. Most of which, I’ll admit, still seems completely mad to me.”

The reporter’s expression is one of fascination now as she leans in closer with her microphone. “And she does these rituals and … magics ... for you? Before races?”

“Exactly,” Charles confirms with a nod. “She adds protective symbols and charms onto things like my race suit, my helmet, sometimes other items depending on the ritual. It’s her way of looking out for me, of sending some extra luck and security my way on race weekends.”

He pauses, his smile softening unconsciously as he thinks about you. “I’ll be honest, I was pretty skeptical of it all at first. The whole concept of witchcraft and curses seemed ... well, rather far-fetched, you know? But she’s been so devoted to her practices, so sincere in her beliefs about the positive energies she wants to send my way … how could I not start to believe in it too?”

The media seems to be hanging on his every word now, caught up in this bizarre but undeniably romantic tale. The reporter lets out a wistful sigh. “Well, it’s clearly been working like a charm so far this season! Maybe the rest of the grid had better start looking into getting their own race day witches on board.”

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group at that as Charles shakes his head in amusement. “Yes, I can see that becoming very popular around the paddock.”

“So does she come to all the races then, your witch girlfriend?” Another reporter pipes up curiously. “Is she wandering around doing spellwork in the backrooms?”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that,” Charles chuckles. “She prefers to keep things … subtle, let’s say. Just the little symbols and charms. Though she is here today actually.”

The reporter’s eyes light up like she’s just struck journalistic gold. “She is? And does she get to celebrate with you after wins like this?”

A soft, almost shy smile plays across Charles’ lips as he nods. “Yes, whenever her schedule allows she tries to come to the races. And we’ll definitely be celebrating together tonight, just us.”

He gets a slightly far-off look in his eyes, seeming to get lost in the thought for a moment. The reporters watching on collectively hold their breaths, waiting for him to divulge more juicy details about this mysterious girlfriend.

Finally, Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat. “But anyway, I should really get back to the team to share this incredible day with them properly.”

The reporter makes one last attempt. “Oh, go on, just give us her name at least? Enquiring minds want to know about this charming race day witch of yours!”

Charles throws her an apologetic look. “You know I have to protect her privacy. All I can say is … she’s pretty remarkable. And she’ll probably hex me if I start giving out too many details about her!”

Laughs and groans of disappointment rise up from the reporters at being denied the full scoop. But they know better than to push Charles too far. With some final shouted congratulations, they gradually disperse, no doubt rushing off to publish their articles about the shocking revelation of Charles Leclerc’s witchy girlfriend.

As the small crowd clears out, Charles feels a light touch on his elbow and turns to find you standing there, eyes sparkling with amusement and fondness.

“Well, you’ve certainly given the paddock something to gossip about now,” you tease lightly. “A charming race day witch, am I?”

Charles makes a show of rolling his eyes, even as his cheeks flush a bit at your teasing. “What was I supposed to tell them? You know how much I hate discussing our personal lives with the media.”

“I know, I know.” You rise on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m just giving you a hard time. I thought it was … sweet, actually. How you talked about my practices.”

Charles’ expression softens as he gazes down at you. Ever since that electric evening in Monaco when you first worked your magic on the infamous curse (and him), your relationship has deepened into something truly beautiful. At first, he admits he was still somewhat skeptical of the mystical rituals and protective charms you claimed to do for him.

But race after race, as the victories kept mounting with no traces of bad luck or mishaps, he’s become nearly as devoted a believer as you. And it goes far beyond just race day superstitions now. Seeing the depth of your spirituality, your connection to unseen mystical forces, has opened his eyes in so many ways.

He pulls you flush against him, cupping your face tenderly as he murmurs, “I meant every word. What you do … it means everything to me, you know that right? Whether the magic is real or not, your rituals give me a sense of peace and security I’ve never felt before.”

You gaze up at him with those captivating eyes that never fail to make his heart stutter. “I know. And that’s why I’ll never stop doing them for you. You make me feel … connected. Vital. Like my gifts can actually make a positive impact, instead of being some weird family quirk.”

Charles lets his thumb gently trace the delicate line of your cheekbone, drinking in every detail of your beloved face. “They do make an impact, mon cœur. Probably more than either of us can comprehend.”

He draws you into a lingering kiss, one that sends delicious sparks of heat ricocheting through his body. When you finally break apart, you’re both smiling and slightly flushed.

“Mmm, I should really start charging the team for services rendered, if that’s the payment plan,” you joke breathlessly.

Charles arches one eyebrow at you. “Trust me, they would go broke in a week trying to keep up.”

You let out a full laugh at that, the musical sound making his heart swell. He loves this — the moments of playful intimacy and banter, feeling so incredibly grounded and content with you. Before you came into his life, such tender domesticity always seemed like an impossible dream given his lifestyle.

Pulling you close once more, he nuzzles into the soft skin of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs huskily. “I have a victory to properly celebrate … and I require your particular skills again tonight.”

You shiver slightly in his arms, drawing back just enough to fix him with a heated look. “My skills are always at your service. Shall we summon a portal or ...”

He huffs out a laugh at your playful tone, secretly loving when you tease him about the more fanciful aspects of witchcraft. “Why don’t we just take the car for now? No need to alarm the locals by apparating in the middle of the paddock.”

Chuckling, you lean up to steal one more lingering kiss before murmuring, “Deal. Now let’s get out of here before that reporter comes sniffing around for more gossip.”

Taking his hand, you start leading him away from the crowded pit lane and back toward the nearby motorhomes. With every step, Charles can feel the thrum of excitement building in his veins, fueled by much more than just the adrenaline of his race win.

There’s a steady warmth pulsing deep within him now, a sense of gratitude and contentment that suffuses his very soul. Ever since that fateful day in Monaco when he let you into his life, everything has shifted into vibrant new focus.

He’s never been superstitious, not really — he prides himself on being practical, logical, leaving little room for spiritual or religious beliefs. And yet … with you, a whole unseen mystical world has opened up to him in the most extraordinary way. Even if he still doesn’t fully understand the intricacies of your rituals and practices, he knows with certainty how they make him feel.

Protected. Centered. Empowered.

Loved, more deeply than he’s ever experienced.

As you make your way hand-in-hand through the chaos of post-race celebrations, trading giddy grins and teasing jokes, Charles feels it all shining outward from his very core — past the fame, the accomplishments, the never-ending pressures of being an elite athlete. With you by his side, he’s found a serenity and sense of self far beyond what any championship could provide.

So tonight, as you cuddle together and let your energies flow over him in that uniquely intimate way, he’ll pour every ounce of devotion and love he feels right back into you. Because in the end, that’s the most powerful force of all — one that transcends even the wildest of your spells and charms.

As long as you two are bound together on this path, no force in the universe could ever curse him again.

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bueckers · 7 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ━━━ 𝐏𝐁

part two. a/n | hiii! new blog but not new to wbb or writing, i’m infact true to this! masterlist & blog introduction soon but i thought i’d get a fic out first (this is lowkey long but bare with me).

summary: in which the pleasure elicits a confession.

warning(s): smut with plot! fingering, fear of being caught, praising, pet names, scissoring, some angst at the end, angst at the end, idk paige is absolutely obsessed with you..

pairing: paige bueckers x fem reader

You hadn’t particularly expected yourself to get sexually involved with the star athlete of UConn, but it kinda just happened.

You’d met Paige Bueckers through Azzi Fudd during yours and hers junior year. Hitting it off with her and the team was no problem. You got along with everyone and it was one of the many qualities that could be admired, but Paige found a sense of comfort with you.

During the start of her recovery, she found it hard to go back to going out like she used to. But the one night she’d decided to make an appearance for the first time since tearing her ACL, she met you and it changed everything. You had morals that changed her perspective, a bright smile that lured her in, and confidence that wasn’t too cocky to be deemed unattractive. You were everything.

From hangouts with the group to study sessions and finally hanging out alone, you found yourselves entirely comfortable with one another. So much so that the team had gotten so used to seeing you together, that they asked where the other was when you were by yourself.

One night when Paige had decided to stay over at your dorm, you’d been wrapped up in a conversation about relationships and the complexity that came with them. You both had similar ideas just like you did on nearly everything. Paige not being able to really commit to anybody with her busy schedule, and you just simply not being into dating. It never went well for you. The last girl fucked up and if there was one thing you always got sick of, it was waiting for people to change.

An idea sparked your mind, and just like always, you spoke it. It was a suggestion that would possibly change your dynamic forever, but as Paige watched the words slip out of your mouth and your eyes dart between her lips and eyes; something you always did but it seemed different this time, she couldn’t say no. It felt like a bad idea. She really liked you and wasn’t sure where that would lead the two of you, but she would’ve taken any part of you she could get her hands on.

Now, a little less than a year later, it was safe to say your dynamic had changed. Completely. Paige was at the highest point in her career, her popularity only expanding just everyday. Your casual sex continued, but the more intimate you got, the more Paige found it hard to deny the feelings she felt for you. She distanced herself. You didn’t talk the way you used to and surely didn’t hangout the way you used to, because those hangouts always turned into more.

You missed Paige. You had her but you didn’t have her, and although you knew what your suggestion would bring, you still couldn’t pinpoint why she couldn’t open up to you anymore. Why she avoided conversing with you alone. It was an abrupt change from the comfortability she’d showed when everything first started, exploring each other in ways past imagination because that’s what the agreement was for. But everything changed so quickly, and Paige found more meaning in the words she whispered while reaching her high, more meaning in the flirty jokes, and more meaning in your lingering gazes. She over-analyzed everything, and it was fucking driving her crazy.

Nobody knew. You couldn’t even fix your lips to tell Azzi how you’d been hooking up with her best friend. You were sure everyone had an idea though; paige could hide a lot of things physically but the glint in her eyes when she looked at you was undeniable, and although KK and a few others had pointed it out jokingly, you two brushed it off like it was nothing.

Currently, you’d been sitting at a table with some of the team members at the bar. It had been getting late despite you only being on your second drink and not feeling a bit of it, engrossed in a conversation with Aubrey about all kinds of things. Sometimes you wished you were a lightweight.

A few minutes later, Paige slid onto the stool next to you, but you didn’t acknowledge her. You hadn’t talked to her in a little bit over a week, and finally decided that if she wanted to play the distant game, you would too. She seemed a little tipsy to you, her continuous movements you caught in the corner of your eye proving so. You could admit she looked good when she first walked in. She must’ve worn braids to practice or something because her wavy locks had been flowing over her broad shoulders, a look she knew you fell weak to.

Your attention averted at the sound of Azzi’s voice. “I’m heading out!” She announced loud enough for her friends to hear. They bid her with goodbyes as you began to gather your things, stopping at the feeling of Paige’s hand creeping up on your thigh. She turned to you, a look on your face that you could’ve mistakened for a slight pout.

“I wanna take you home,” was as all she said, and your eyebrows furrowed for a moment. You understood her words, but found it hard to comprehend as her thumb began stroking the crease dangerously close to your center.

Regaining composure, you cleared your throat. “‘S okay. I rode with Az, she can take me home,” You replied almost sharply. You didn’t question her silence over the past week, not in the mood to cause a scene; just responded like everything was normal, yet one thing you could never hide was an attitude.

As you turned to get up, content with the few words exchanged, Paige twirled your stool back around to her with her opposite hand, stopping you. “I wanna take you home,” She stated again, her voice low but firm. You knew Azzi had been stalling as she waited for you, so as you locked eyes with Paige’s piercing blue hues, you knew what you had to do. What felt right but so wrong.

Averting your gaze, you whipped your head to Azzi’s direction, immediately catching her eye and jerking your head to the side slightly to indicate that Paige would be taking care of you (in more ways than one). She gave you a knowing look, causing you to roll your eyes and spin back around to Paige. She had her suspicions, but they weren’t confirmed so it didn’t matter.

As soon as you did so, Paige easily stepped down from the barstool, grabbing your hand so she could help you down, a bigger challenge for your height. “We’re heading out too,” She stated simply, and the crew eyed your exchange, little chuckles escaping their lips. The entire group had their conspiracies about you two, simply because they’d never seen Paige act like this around any other girl.

Saying your goodbyes, you hadn’t realized Paige’s hand still interlocked with yours as she looked around the bar, seemingly antsy and ready to go as you said goodbye to her teammates. As you dragged her out, she glanced down at your hands, quick to pull them apart and cover it up by reaching to slip her lanyard out of her pocket, the ringing of the keys interrupting the silence.

You only stared at her a second longer before sighing, licking your lips as you crossed your arms. Your position didn’t falter the entire way there, and the walk from the campus bar to Paige’s dorm felt like ages.

“Is there a reason for that lil’ attitude you got?” Paige chirped, the two of you barely making it through the door as she walked in before you, her back turned as she flung her keys to the counter. You scrunched your face up as you shut the door behind you, your arms finally uncrossed.

“What are you talking about?” You asked in fake oblivion. You were aware of the sharpness in your tone when you first replied to her. Your demeanor the whole walk here even.

Paige only chuckled, turning around swiftly as she leaned against the island. “Heard it there too,” she said, pointing out the way you’d responded. “I do something?”

It was your turn to chuckle, audibly shocked that she had the nerve to even ask such a thing. “How’d you decide that tonight was the perfect night to have sex with me again after ignoring me for a week?” You ask rhetorically, a smile on your face. You wanted to punch the stupid smirk off of hers. She was too cocky for her own good, and you knew your words would only ignite that trait.

“If you wanted me sooner you could’ve hit me up, you know this,” She replied, her arms now crossed over her chest as her tongue swarmed her mouth. She was amused.

You scoffed, walking closer as you spoke which was something you tended to do when you were upset. You got in people’s faces. “That’s not the point, Paige.” You stuttered out, looking for the right words. Only Paige could make your normally nimble-minded self stutter at such a comeback.

Her eyes scanned your face. “Then what is the point, ma?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden pet name. This girl knew you in and out and she was using it to her advantage. It hurt, but you blamed yourself.

You stopped in front of her, trying not to let her looks get the best of you as you bit down on your lip. “You’ve been distant,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze as you stared at the ground. You felt pathetic— something you’d only felt a few days out of the year. It was rare. “And I hate it.” You finally emphasized, peering up at Paige who seemed to have lost any of her previous confidence at your words.

Her lips were plump and parted as she stared at you. It was enough to know you’d noticed and that you cared, but she didn’t want to address it, she wanted to kiss you. In one swift motion, she dropped her arms to their respective places, like a default and they knew where to go: one gripping your waist like her life depended on it, and the other cupping your face like she was being handed something she was told to take care of.

Your body trembled as you softened underneath her, your lips automatically moving against hers as you used all your pent-up emotions to keep up with her. You’d forgotten all about your said attitude and the way Paige had totally dismissed the conversation, but right now, it was the last thing you cared about.

Her tongue slipped into your mouth, eliciting a whine from you at the quickness that made Paige’s knees buck. She loved to hear you. She loved any sound you made. You made her weak.

“Can never get e-fucking-nough of you,” she breathed out, the comment more to herself. It was words like these that made you question how casual your hooking up was. She got so poetic and warm in the world of sex with you, and you loved it. It didn’t matter if she was praising or belittling you because you would eat it up every damn time.

Your hands roam through the waves of her hair, finding a spot that you comfortably grip and tug, the motion causing Paige’s lips to part from yours as her head tilted back slightly. You brought your lips down to her jaw, peppering kisses down the line and to her neck as you held her by her hair, Paige smiling above you. It always started like this— a constant fight for dominance that Paige always won. It was why she’d been smiling so hard.

It didn’t take long for you to find that good spot of hers, her smile instantly becoming a face of pure satisfaction as you sucked a light hickey onto her neck within seconds. You never did that because you knew Paige would only have to cover it up, but it felt right.

As Paige’s hands hooked under your legs and hoisted you up, you yelped, following the gesture with a giggly laugh that Paige couldn’t help but crack a smile at. She missed you. “Tired of standing,” she mumbled, carrying you to her bedroom. During the short way there, your lips had found her face again, never getting enough of all of the places you could leave a wet, sensual peck.

Setting you down at the edge of the bed, Paige turned around so she could shut and lock the door. She slid her UConn sweatshirt off in the process, pivoting back to you as you sat there in all your glory, laid back on your elbows. Paige immediately got to work, pulling off your pants as she hovered over you, her bottom lip sitting snug in between her teeth.

Glancing up at her, you immediately wanted her closer as she took them off painfully slow, and as soon as she was done throwing them into a corner of her room, she didn’t have any time to fully turn her head before you were pulling her into you, kissing her eagerly for the second time that night.

Her hands roamed beneath your engulfed bodies as her mind already knew where everything was without having to look. If there was one thing she learned from having sex with you, it was your body. She knew it as if it were a topic she’d studied for hours. Her fingers glided over your clothed cunt, causing your body to squirm at the unexpected touch.

She smiled into the kiss at your reaction and the feeling of your wetness, her body falling next to you as she propped herself up with her elbow. She pushed the fabric to the side with two fingers, her lips continually moving against yours as she circled your clit. Without warning, she pushed her two middle fingers into you. You never needed much foreplay because of how wet you got so easily, but that was a gift only Paige received.

You instantly pulled away from the blonde at the feeling, your head glancing down to her moving fingers as your mouth fell agape. Paige’s hooded eyes stared at the side of your face as your head eventually settled back onto her leaned arm with a gasp. She licked her lips, looking at the way her fingers moved in and out of you so effortlessly. “Look, baby. Doin’ so good for me.” She praised, your moans sounding like music to her ears as your eyes fluttered shut.

Suddenly, she curled her fingers, eliciting a loud, pornographic moan from the depths of your throat. “I told you to look,” she stated firmly. You opened your eyes slowly but surely as Paige lifted her arm underneath you so your head was at an elevated angle to see the bottom half of your body, and you swore you would come simply at the sight and Paige’s strength that had been showcased from her holding you. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she cooed. Another praise. Paige never cursed, but when she got in bed with you, it was inevitable.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” you told her, and although your mind had been completely fucked out, you were still good at picking out the things Paige got weak about, which realistically would be everything, including when you called her baby.

Her breathing picked up, the room becoming hot. “Yeah? Can’t wait any longer?” Paige questioned, and you automatically shook your head through moans, turning to look at Paige who had her eyes locked on you. She took a snapshot of you with her eyes, a picture she would frame in the Louvre if given the chance.

“N-no. Can’t wai— fuck!” You came undone on Paige’s fingers with a loud groan as her pace quickened inside of you, your juices coating her fingers. She couldn’t revert her gaze from your glistening cunt and the way it reflected on her slender hands, getting an urge to taste you, yet she held off.

Your chest heaved as she slowed down, a noise being made as she slipped out of you. You laid back once more despite the fact that Paige’s arm must’ve fallen asleep by now, watching through half-shut eyes as her fingers came into view. She shoved them into your mouth, her lips parting as she tilted her head slightly and watched you lick your own slick.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, nearly drooling as you grabbed her hand with your own, pushing her digits further into your mouth. You indulged at your own pace, peering up at her, knowing the thrill it would give her. Your tongue slid between the two fingers, working its way to slurp everything off. Finally, Paige had enough.

She forced her fingers out of your mouth, sliding out with a pop because of how tight you’d wrapped around them. She got up and made her way around the bed, settling with her back against the headboard. You followed her there with a crawl, laying in between her slightly spread legs as you leaned into kiss her. As your lips moved, you felt the urge for more, pulling away abruptly. Catching your breath, Paige couldn’t control her own as she looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” She breathed out, her hands still cupping your cheeks.

You looked down, your head moving in between her cupped hands. “Too many clothes.” You panted, prompting a smile from Paige who was quick to lift her hips up, your bottom halves crashing for a moment as she slipped her sweatpants off, throwing them off the side of the bed. You followed suit with your shirt, leaving you in a lacy, purple bra that made your tits look fucking phenomenal.

Paige leaned back against the headboard, taking in the sight as you sat up before her, teasingly running your hand up the strap of your bra while you looked down. You knew what you were doing, purple is Paige’s favorite color. Eventually, you brought both hands to the clasp in the back, finally glancing at Paige who seemed to be stuck in a daze. You smirked slightly, not tearing your eyes away from her as your tits fell from its holder, and Paige was ready to dive into you.

“C’mere.” Her voice was husk as she whispered for you to come closer, and you obeyed, crawling back to your previous position between her legs with a smirk. Thinking Paige was going to kiss you once more, you brought your lips closer to her, but she dipped her head to your collarbone, her mouth immediately getting to work as you moaned softly, bringing your hand up to play with her hair.

She began sucking, and you swore you started to feel dizzy. You glanced down at the pink-ish mark forming on your skin above the place she’d now been getting to work on, making you a bit confused in the mist of your heavy breathing before you glanced down at the spot on Paige’s neck that had now been a dark purple color. You didn’t think she’d noticed, but obliviously she had. Paige knew it wouldn’t be a good look to her friends, but she didn’t care. It was fair game and she couldn’t resist you.

She then moved down, beginning to fondle with your breasts. She massaged one with one hand, attaching her lips to the other, her tongue swarming your nipple. “Missed you so much.” You whimpered, bringing your hand around to tuck her hair behind her ear, getting a good sight of her. How pretty she looked beneath you like this was all you could think about.

A few moments later, she pulled her lips away, seemingly content with the work she’d done. She hastily pulled her boxers down afterwards, you following eagerly with your soaked panties, the same ones Paige hadn’t even bothered to pull down when fingering you. Just as the two of you tangled your legs together, your beating cunts an inch away from igniting the longing pleasure, the jingle of keys and distinct chatter interrupted the moment, making you whip your head around towards the door.

You could make out the voices of Amari and Ice, realizing they must’ve left a little bit after you and Paige. The walls were too thin for this.

Without notice, Paige pressed her bottom half into you, making you moan out. She was quick to cover your mouth before you could yourself, your eyebrows furrowing through pleasure and fear of being caught. “You know I love hearin’ you but you’re gonna have to be quiet for me, baby, okay?” she whispered, making you nod. Although the chances of being caught were high because of the unlocked door, the warmth of Paige’s clit hitting yours over and over was enough to make you forget about all of that.

You moved against her in a way Paige thought was painfully slow, a bead of sweat already forming at the top of her head as you both couldn’t tear your eyes away from where your bodies interlocked. She brought you down to her face, peppering soft kisses to your lips as you could barely build up the strength to kiss her back, all of it going into the way you moved.

Through low curses and pants, you finally mustered the strength to move your hand to Paige’s cunt, her reaction resulting in her dropping the hand previously over your mouth, her bones feeble. “Shit, keep going,” Paige murmured, her words enough to make you speed up your motions. Your hips bucked back and forth on her, whining as you tried to get as much as friction as possible.

Paige’s hands shot down to your waist, gripping them as she admired the way her fingers molded into your skin. They trailed down to your ass, her head tilting to the side a bit so she could get a good view of the way you looked from behind. She couldn’t quite fathom how you looked good in every position.

Dazed and breathless, you both felt your high bubbling within you as you continuously moved, the sound and smell of sex filling the room. “Paige, I’mmm.. fu— almost..” you could barely get any words out, but the blonde could make out what you were trying to say as she pushed her hips up further, getting any resistance she could.

“I’m right with you, fuck,” Paige dragged her words out, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to hold off a little longer, but she physically couldn’t. Her stamina was a bit better than yours overall because she was an athlete, but tonight she wasn’t holding off.

You leaned down to rest your head in the nape of Paige’s neck, the slightly new angle pushing you both over the edge. You felt intoxicated as you came undone, Paige’s center never giving the throbbing a rest as she came right with you like she’d promised. “Sh-shit.” Paige’s voice had gotten high for the first time that night. “I love you so fuckin’ much, fuck.” Paige admitted, her words rushed out. You only panted, bringing your head up to rest against her forehead as your chests heaved and you both stopped moving. Paige opened her eyes at your touch, only being able to stare into your eyes for so long— caught in a different universe as your lips hovered over hers.

Still breathless, Paige managed to wrap her arms around you and set you down next to her, your wet, sweaty body hitting her sheets. Coming down from the sacred high and finally having room to think, you’d only just then comprehended what Paige had said, knitting your eyebrows slightly from next to her. You turned your head, realizing she had managed to hoist herself up and put her clothes back on, grabbing scattered pieces of clothing in the process. Your scattered pieces of clothing.

You propped yourself up on both elbows, her comforter covering your chest. You realized that if anyone were to walk in right now, there would be no hiding the fact that you’d indeed just fucked— your mascara smudged, your hair an absolute mess. You cleared your throat, indicating you were back in the right state of mind and Paige’s body shook. Her back was turned to you, but she could already feel the tension heavy in the room.

Paige had never, not once said those three words to you. And with the way she was acting, you could tell it wasn’t one of her heat-of-the-moment sayings. She’d meant it. “Paige—“ she cut you off before you could address it.

“You should go. It’s late.” Despite her attempts to shake you off, Paige knew better than anyone that she wouldn’t get the last word with you. She might’ve been too full of herself, but you were one quick-witted individual.

You chuckled from behind her, an attempt to hide the actual hurt in your tone. “You’re serious?” you asked, although you knew she was. Your eyes were widened and you couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing before literally kicking you out.

She turned around and effortlessly tossed your clothes onto the bed, the garments landing right in front of you. She didn’t have to say anything. You could fucking feel it. You didn’t have the energy to put up a fight or an argument because it simply did not seem like she cared enough for it. Her words would only hurt you more. You’d known and learned this girl through and through and you would’ve never thought she’d do such a thing. You normally stayed the night, took a shower together, or even just stayed in each other’s warmth until having to tend to something. But tonight, she’d dropped a bomb and resulted in acting like an asshole.

You had a slight frown on your face as you hastily gathered your things, your clothes sloppily thrown on your body like you were sneaking out from a one-night-stand. You tucked your hair behind your ears as you put your shoes on, ignoring the unreadable expression on Paige’s face as her eyes shot daggers into you. Why weren’t you saying anything back? Why weren’t you shouting the most cruel things in her face? She felt like she’d deserved some backlash for what she just did, yet you seemed more hurt and eager to get out of her room than angry.

Without a second glance at the blonde, you rushed out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind you which elicited a slight jump from Paige. Waltzing across the living room, you almost didn’t catch the widened eyes of Amari and Ice in the kitchen. You didn’t care that their speculations had been confirmed, because it was shut down now. Despite being the only girl Paige had been fucking for months on end, she treated you like just another fling tonight, and you were hurt. You were hurt because you loved her too and she didn’t care enough to say it again.

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