#she dragged her feet every step of the way but he would not let up.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; haunted by the aftermath of your choices, a surprise visit unravels old wounds and buried emotions, as a tearful confession forces you to confront a tangled web of guilt, pain, and forgiveness.

⚠️ warnings; blood and graphic depictions of violence

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Your eyes drifted to the ripples in the water, your thoughts sinking beneath the surface as you replayed the journey back to the coven.

König hadn’t hesitated. He had all but dragged you back, his grip firm yet careful, as though you might shatter if he let go. There was no stop to regroup, no pause to process—just a direct route home, the tension in his towering frame mirroring your own.

And so, the head sat on your lap the entire ride home, its weight a grim reminder of everything that had transpired. You refused to part with it, even as the blood seeped through the fabric, staining your clothes further. You hadn’t spoken a word, your focus locked on the bag as if it might come alive again.

Sybil had kept watch the whole way, her eyes scanning the passing horizon through the window as she curled protectively by your side. She didn’t whine, didn’t nudge you, only remained steadfast and silent, as though sensing the fragile thread you were hanging by.

Even now, you could feel the phantom weight of the bag on your lap, heavy and unrelenting, as though it had been branded into your skin.

Your thoughts drifted to the moment you had walked through the grand doors of the manor, every nerve in your body screaming with pain and exhaustion, yet your focus razor-sharp. You hadn’t paused to speak to anyone, hadn’t stopped to explain.

The staff had stared long and hard, their whispers trailing behind you like ghosts. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, except what needed to be done.

You had found her in the dining hall. Your Mother sat at the long table, elegant as ever, her posture immaculate as she shared a quiet dinner with your Mom and their familiars. The glow of candlelight softened the room, the quiet clink of cutlery the only sound as they ate in peaceful conversation.

That peace shattered the moment you entered.

Without a word, you stepped into the room and strode forward, your steps echoing sharply against the polished floor. Your Mother looked up, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly at your disheveled state, but before she could speak, you dropped the bloodied bag onto the floor with a dull, wet thud.

The room froze.

The maids gasped, their hands flying to their mouths as they stepped back. Your Mom’s fork clattered onto her plate, her face painted in shock.

Then the bag fell open. Cath Palug rose up and hissed, while Barghest simply stared.

The severed head rolled out, its lifeless eyes staring at nothing, and the room seemed to tilt with the collective intake of breath.

Your Mother’s expression didn’t falter—not entirely. Her gaze flickered between you and the grisly trophy at her feet, but her voice remained steady when she finally spoke. “So it’s done, then.”

You hadn’t answered. You couldn’t. The tightness in your chest made speaking impossible, and the burning in your throat made it clear you would break if you tried.

Instead, you turned on your heel and walked out, leaving behind the whispers, the questions, and the horror etched into their faces.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. The sound was gentle, hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side knew how fragile the moment was.

“Come in,” you said, your voice hoarse from disuse.

The door creaked open, and your Mom wheeled herself into the room. She was alone—not with Horangi, not with your Mother, just her. The sight of her brought a lump to your throat. She stopped by the edge of the tub, her sharp eyes scanning you silently for a moment before she spoke.

“Figured you’d still be in here,” she said softly, her tone laced with a quiet understanding. “Thought I’d come check on you.”

You lowered your gaze, your knees pulling closer to your chest as the lukewarm water rippled around you.

She didn’t wait for a response, her hands working deftly as she reached into the bag hanging from the side of her wheelchair. From it, she pulled a clean towel and a small jar of salve. Her movements were steady, deliberate, as though trying to ground you through her actions.

“Let me see,” she said, her tone firm but gentle.

You didn’t argue. Slowly, you unfolded yourself, exposing the myriad of cuts and bruises that marred your skin. She leaned in, her hands careful as they traced over the wounds that had already been tended to.

Her attention lingered on the bite mark at your neck. Though it had been cleaned and treated, the faint outline of the fangs still remained, a cruel reminder of how close you had come.

Her fingers hovered just above the wound, her jaw tightening. “The venom was extracted in time,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “Your nature did the rest. If you weren’t a witch…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

You didn’t need her to finish. You knew. You would have turned—become one of them.

She sighed, sitting back slightly as she set the jar of salve on the edge of the tub. “You’re lucky, you know. Stubborn, reckless, but lucky.”

Her words made you blink, your gaze snapping to her face. There was no anger in her expression, no reprimand—just quiet understanding and something deeper, something that made your stomach twist.

“I need you to listen to me,” she said, her voice quieter now. “This is going to go against what your Mother wants, what we’ve always told you. But I can’t ignore what I see.”

You swallowed hard, her words settling heavily in your chest.

“If this isn’t what you want,” she continued, her sharp gaze meeting yours. “If you want to leave—to go back to the pack and leave the coven for good—I’ll help you.”

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” she said continued. “I’ll make sure you get where you need to go. But it has to be what you want. Not what they want, not what I want, and not what anyone else expects from you.”

Her hand reached out, resting lightly over yours, her warmth grounding you. “Think about it. Really think about it. Whatever you decide, I’ll stand by you.”

You looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since you got back. She was… older. Older than you remembered. The lines around her eyes seemed deeper, her posture less rigid than it once was. The strength she always carried so effortlessly now seemed tempered, worn down by time and worry.

A flicker of emotion stirred in your chest—pity, maybe even sorrow. You tried to feel sorry for her, and you did, just a little. But it wasn’t enough to sway you.

Sitting up straighter in the lukewarm tub, the water sloshed against the sides as your gaze met hers, steady and unwavering.

“It’s too late,” you said quietly, but the conviction in your tone was unmistakable. “I’ve made my decision. Just like I told you and Mother before.”

Her expression faltered, a shadow of something unspoken crossing her face, but she said nothing. She only waited, her silence heavy with anticipation.

“I will become the new leader,” you continued, your voice firmer now. “This is what I’ve chosen. What I have to do.”

Her lips parted slightly, as though to speak, but the words never came. Instead, she exhaled softly, her shoulders sinking just a fraction as she studied you.

There was no pride in her gaze, no triumphant acknowledgment of your strength. Only quiet resignation, a sadness that settled into the lines of her face.

For a moment, she simply sat there, the distance between you feeling both vast and unbearably close. Finally, she gave a small nod, her hand still resting lightly over yours.

“If that’s your choice,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with sorrow. “Then I’ll support it. Just know… it doesn’t have to be the only path.”

Her words lingered in the air, but you didn’t respond. You had already made your choice, and nothing would change that.

. . .

The day of your confirmation came with a grandeur that left little room for subtlety. The entire town, along with the coven, had spent weeks preparing for the festivities—a week-long celebration to mark your ascension as the coven’s first seat.

Witches of every background, from the powerful High Covens of the North to independent practitioners from distant lands, came to greet you, to confirm your role as the one who would inherit your mother’s seat when she chose to step down. Each arrival was marked with gifts, blessings, and no small amount of scrutiny, their curious gazes ever-present.

The town itself was open to all—a rare gesture meant to foster goodwill among practitioners and the mundane alike. Yet with the open gates came an unease you couldn’t quite shake. It was tradition, yes, but one that carried its risks.

Now, as the celebrations roared outside, you found solace in your new studio, tucked away from the crowd.

The room was an eclectic blend of past and present—a reflection of your position as both a keeper of old traditions and a harbinger of new leadership. Ancient tomes lined the shelves alongside sleek magical tools. The faint scent of lavender and sage lingered in the air, mingling with the soft scratch of a quill as you worked on a letter to one of the visiting covens.

Sybil lay sprawled near the large window, her silvery coat catching the golden light as she watched the festivities below with quiet vigilance.

The moment was broken by a firm knock at the door.

You glanced up and called out, setting down your pen. “Come on in.”

The door creaked open, and Fiona stepped inside, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern. Her crisp uniform was immaculate, as always, but the faint crease in her brow spoke of something out of the ordinary.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she said, her tone clipped but careful.

You frowned, unsure of who would bypass the usual process of introductions to demand your attention directly. “Who?”

The name hit you like a jolt. For a moment, you could only stare at her, your mind racing to make sense of what she’d said.

“What?” you echoed, disbelief thick in your voice.

Fiona nodded, her frown deepening. “She’s at the front door. Said she wanted to see you.”

Your stomach churned with a mix of emotions—shock, anger, and something dangerously close to relief. You tried to process the name that had haunted you for so long.

“Did she say why?” you asked quietly.

“No,” Fiona replied, her tone softer now. “Just that she won’t leave until she speaks with you.”

Sybil’s ears perked, her gaze shifting to you as if sensing the storm of emotions brewing within. She rose to her feet, padding silently to your side.

You took a deep breath, your hands tightening slightly on the desk before you pushed yourself to stand. “I’ll see her,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

Fiona hesitated. “Are you sure? I can—”

“I’ll handle it,” you interrupted gently, offering her a small smile.

Fiona gave you a lingering look, then nodded and stepped aside to let you pass.

With Sybil at your side, you made your way toward the main hall, each step heavy with anticipation. The hum of the festivities outside faded into the background as you approached the the entrance hall.

And there she was.

Leah stood there, framed by the warm glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the open door. She looked… different. Tired. Worn down by time and whatever journey had brought her here. And yet, she remained beautiful as the first time you saw her. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, laden with bad memories and unspoken questions.

“Leah,” you said finally, your voice calm despite the swirl of emotions beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Her lips parted as though to respond, but no words came.

“I came to see you,” she said at last, her voice quiet but steady.

The words hung in the air, their simplicity belying the weight they carried. You stood there for a moment, studying Leah’s face, before finally gesturing toward the hallway. “Come with me,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Leah hesitated, her eyes darting toward Sybil before nodding and following you. Sybil padded silently behind, her dark eyes watchful as always. Fiona herself watched the two of you go, a frown still set over her features.

As you led her back to your studio, the silence between you was heavy, punctuated only by the soft thud of footsteps on the wooden floors. She began chattering nervously, her voice quick and uneven, filling the quiet with fragmented observations and apologies.

“I wasn’t sure you’d even see me,” she said, her words tumbling over one another. “I mean, I didn’t know what else to do. I—this place, it’s beautiful, I—”

You didn’t respond. Your silence seemed to unnerve her further, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, not yet.

When you reached your studio, you opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. “Apologies for the mess,” you murmured, though the room was hardly disorganized—save for the stacks of books and papers scattered across the desk.

Leah hovered uncertainly near the entrance, her hands wringing together. Sybil walked past her, settling back near the window but keeping her gaze trained on the two of you.

You crossed to a small bell on the desk and rang it once, summoning someone from the kitchen. “I’ll have some food brought up,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Leah opened her mouth to protest, shaking her head. “That’s not necessary, I—”

“Sit down,” you interrupted sternly, your eyes meeting hers. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Just sit.”

The weight of your tone silenced her, and she sank onto the nearest chair without further resistance. Her shoulders sagged as though the act of sitting had drained the last of her strength.

While you waited for the food to arrive, the room filled with a tense silence. You leaned against the edge of your desk, arms crossed, watching her carefully.

It was Leah who broke first.

She sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white as she stared down at them. She took a shaky breath before starting, her voice low and trembling.

“It started… months ago. I was out clubbing with some friends at Konni” she began, her gaze flickering briefly up to meet yours before dropping again. “We’d gone to celebrate something—maybe exams or someone’s birthday. I can’t even remember now. It’s all so foggy.”

Her fingers twisted together nervously. “That’s where I met him. Makarov. I didn’t know his name then—didn’t even know what he was. He was just… there. Charismatic, charming, and… different. He stood out.”

Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. “I don’t even know how it happened, how he pulled me in. I just… I wasn’t myself anymore. He had this way of making you feel like everything you wanted was within reach, and I believed it. I believed him.”

You remained silent, letting her continue. Suddenly, Sybil was next to her, her snout nudging into Leah’s lap. She looked surprised for a second, before hesitantly moved to stroke Sybil’s fur.

You let Sybil be. She was always best at things like this.

“I didn’t even know how much time passed,” Leah admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “Weeks? Months? I lost track. It wasn’t until you and your mother found me—helped to heal me—that I even started to remember who I was.”

Her gaze lifted to yours, and you could see the tears pooling in her eyes. “B-but I remember when you came to the pack’s house to treat me. I was so out of it, but… when you were there, it was the first time I felt like me in weeks. Like I was finally waking up from this nightmare.”

Leah’s voice wavered as she continued. “And then I learned what was happening with the pack—how they’d been affected, how I’d twisted them…” Her voice faltered, and she shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I never slept with them. Not that it didn’t almost happen. There were moments…”

She shuddered, her shoulders trembling. “It haunts me. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened, what almost did.”

Sybil nudged her hand gently, and Leah took a deep breath, her fingers curling around the Borzoi’s soft ears.

“I was just a student,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “I was in school, working toward my degree. I had friends, a life… and now it’s all gone. I disappeared without a trace. No one knows what happened to me. I’ve lost everything—my home, my friends, even school. I miss it all. I miss them. I miss the normalcy.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of Leah’s quiet sobs as she buried her face in her hands. Sybil stayed close, her presence steady and warm as Leah clung to her.

Leah’s hand stilled against Sybil’s fur, her voice trembling as she spoke again. “I’ve been staying with Laswell,” she said, her tone low and hesitant. “She’s been… kind. But it doesn’t feel like kindness, not really. It feels more like punishment. Like I’m a prisoner.”

Her gaze dropped, tears streaking silently down her cheeks. “And maybe I deserve it,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Her voice cracked under the weight of her words. “The pack… they treat me like a disease. Like I’m toxic, like just being near me will make everything worse.”

She took a shuddering breath, her tears falling faster now. “I get it. I do. I know where they’re coming from. I know what I… what Makarov did to them. But it still hurts.” Her voice broke completely, her shoulders trembling as she clung to her words. “It hurts so much.”

Leah’s gaze lifted to meet yours, her eyes red and swollen, her voice dropping into something almost too raw to bear. “But what hurts the most? What I did to you. To all of you.”

She pushed herself to her feet suddenly, the chair scraping back as she staggered toward you. Before you could stop her, she dropped to her knees in front of you, her hands reaching out desperately.

“Leah—” you started, but she didn’t let you finish.

Her hands found yours, gripping them tightly, and before you could pull away, she pressed her forehead against them, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“I didn’t know,” she choked out, her voice trembling with desperation. “I didn’t know what I was doing, how much damage I was causing. But it was me, wasn’t it? It was me, breaking your heart. Breaking their hearts.”

Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. “Please, forgive me. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything, anything to make it right. Just… please, forgive me.”

Her raw sincerity hit you like a blow, her tears soaking into your hands as she clung to you with an almost unbearable desperation. Sybil rose from her spot beside her, letting out a soft whine as she nudged Leah’s shoulder gently, but she didn’t move.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of her quiet sobs, each one breaking the stillness like a fragile thread snapping. The weight of her plea lingered, heavy and unrelenting, settling over the space like a final, inescapable truth.

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[sableflynn]

all stilled

Felicia tries to slip out in the night.

(non-explicit noncon warning)

---

She slept in his bed for a week before she dared to make a move.

Rain lashed the windows, ran down in rivulets. She could almost convince herself that the sound of it would mask her movements, muffle her sounds as she crept out of the room and fled this miserable house.

In sleep, his grip around her had loosened to a single arm tossed over her side, not quite brushing her bare breasts. She shifted minutely, holding her breath as he breathed evenly beside her. Each rustle of the sheets spiked through her, and she was sure it would wake him—but then she was out of his grip, and her feet were on the hardwood as she sat at the edge of the bed, and he slept on.

She was in his room. Not her own prison cell of a room, not the basement with its chains and knives, but his bedroom, and she was untethered, and he was asleep, and as she carefully lifted herself off the bed she swore she’d find something here to make it worthwhile.

She stood frozen, counting her heartbeats as she watched him. He didn’t stir. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and her gaze settled across the room, on the door.

Her steps were silent as she crossed the room, and he still slept. She considered the bedroom door, the ornate handle, and threw another look over her shoulder at the bed. He still slept.

The metal of the door handle was cool under her palm, and—locked. There was no mechanism she could see, no keyhole or deadbolt, but the door wouldn’t open—

He was watching her.

She knew it without turning to look, in the way that all prey is acutely aware of a predator’s presence. She didn’t need to look at him to know that his eyes were gleaming in the dark, and his lips were curving into a smile. She felt him looking, and some part of her already knew she had lost.

But she was untethered, and she was somewhere new and there had to be something in his room she could use, so she forced herself to ignore him and continued her slow circle around the room.

The door was locked, useless, but maybe something in his desk, maybe the balcony door—

“Tomorrow, I’m going to bring you to the basement and whip you.”

She flicked a glance at him; he was already half-hard.

“Twenty times,” he continued as she made her way across the room. “I’m going to keep adding more until you get back into bed.”

She pressed against the unyielding balcony door, dread and frustration wrestling in her mind. She wasn’t getting out. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, making things worse for herself.

“Twenty five.”

But every atom of her being rebelled against it; she could no more bring herself back to that bed than she could grow wings and fly from this place.

His desk. It was a small thing, not like the behemoth in his office, but still, there had to be something—

“Thirty.”

Locked. The drawers were locked, and her frustration grew into silent rage and she clawed at the table, flinging frantic arms across it and sending pens and trinkets skittering across the hardwood floor—

“Thirty five.”

—and as soon as the rage had flared, it was extinguished. She wasn’t leaving. She’d have screamed, if she had a voice that mattered.

She dragged herself back to the bed and stood naked just beyond his reach. Shadows shifted across his face as his eyes trailed up and down her body.

“Forty,” he said.

She fell back onto the bed. The sheets were still warm where she’d been lying; the whole thing couldn’t have taken more than five minutes.

He cupped her cheek and traced his thumb along her cheekbone. “If you get me off now,” he said, hand sliding to the back of her head and exerting the slightest pressure, “I’ll let you choose what I whip you with tomorrow.”

He was all shadows now, and that made it easier for her to shut him out. She ducked out from under his grasp and rolled over to sleep, her back curled from him. There was a huff of a sound from him that might have been a laugh, and then he lay beside her. His arms were a vice around her, his arousal a knife in her back. Somehow, she slept.

[tls123]

kim dokja had to drag han sooyoung kicking and screaming into the found family

[snoopyracing]

birds of a feather // cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

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

warnings: google translate french and swearing

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

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

masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

five and eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/D/N!"

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

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

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

"Merci."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi." You said meekly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mine too!"

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

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

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

"Ok!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ten and thirteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll be fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever. At least I finally learned."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him forgetting about you. 

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thirteen and sixteen

Thirteen is a very weird year for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But its-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well.” You didn’t skip a beat. 

“What?” 

“You think you speak English very w-” 

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

“Charlie. You better run.” 

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

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

“Oh my god!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” 

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

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

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

“Alright then everyone get after it!” 

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” Yes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

sixteen and nineteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he was a flirt – noted. 

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

“Our little girl is growing up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think only time will tell.” 

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

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

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

“Ah! Chérie!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

“Well no but-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never liked that asshole anyways.” 

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

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

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

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

“You gonna tell me what happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

seventeen and twenty 

He had done it. 

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

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

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

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

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

DING

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

Charlie: come out back 

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

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

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

“What’s got you so happy, Leclerc?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Je t'aime aussi Charlie.” 

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get this helmet off, yeah?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Although after Monaco– things changed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leah— Charles' girlfriend.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Distance himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um yeah. Always busy doing something recently.” 

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

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

“I-um-It’s in my-” 

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

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

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

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

“Good luck tomorrow Charles.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

“Bonjour?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oui?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise.” 

twenty two and twenty five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if I quit?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He mumbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

twenty three and twenty six 

The Monaco Grand Prix. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” He states sheepishly. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I take it you liked it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh please don’t.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I should go to bed too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise Charlie.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Je t’aime aussi.” 

thirty three and thirty six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @rana030 @blueflorals @sltwins

[shotmrmiller]

the tale of how simon got himself a gf without stepping a foot outside of base.

anyone can tell you that alcohol reduces the ability to use logic. to see reason. it lowers inhibitions and blurs the boundary lines you've drawn in the sand.

but indulging in drink tonight is justified. you're in need of reprieve after this shit week: broke up with your boyfriend, deadlines at work appearing out of thin air, a flat tire on your morning commute. you even stepped on the end of your cat's tail.

miserable. (she's okay, just giving you the cold shoulder. you'll buy her some tasty snacks tomorrow.)

but for tonight, you're wallowing in your own misery. some uninteresting show is playing on the television, you're cradled by the cushions of your couch, a fluffy sherpa throw over your socked feet.

if only there was a way to melt this week's accumulated stress away even further.

cue the drunk texting your ex cliché.

anyone can tell you that it's detrimental to moving on. it's akin to reopening a wound that's already begun to heal. a step back when you should only be moving forward. your friends would drag you by your hair for being so dumb.

but there's an incessant throb in between your legs that's only getting stronger with every glass of wine you toss back. you're wound tight, violin strings stretched to the brink. a couple of bow strokes away from snapping.

you'll deal with the consequences tomorrow, along with your hangover.

typing in his (deleted in a fit of heartbroken rage) number with fumbling fingers and send a picture of you with the hem of your sleeping shirt between your teeth, the swell of your bare breasts on full display with a cheeky little missing you <3

he responds in minutes even though it's 2:30am.

send a vid and show me how much you miss me.

it makes your pussy clench around nothing, already slick, drooling, begging to be filled. you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you bring up the camera.

when simon first gets the text, he's on edge, gripping his phone hard enough to crack. no one should have this number except for price, johnny and kyle. he's made sure of it-- had laswell pull strings to give him a secure line. no scam likely's, no cold calls, nothing.

but then some silly little bird dials his number by mistake and the sweet cherry on top is that you've sent a nude. breasts on full display-- soft looking, hard peaked. it makes his mouth water, his gums itch. he'd love to sink his teeth into them, into you, hard enough to bruise. mark. claim.

but that's for later, once he finds you.

he texts back and what you send him in response fattens his cock. a small hand tucked beneath the waistband of your flimsy knickers, gusset dampened with warm arousal. you lick your bottom lip, leaving it glossy with spit. your chest heaves with the sharp gasps of breath you're drawing.

but there's a problem. he can barely see what you're doing. he doesn't have x-ray vision, your knickers are in the way. while he can understand the allure, he himself doesn't have the patience for it. either you let him see your bare cunt or don't waste his time.

he wasn't expecting you to agree this fast. maybe a bit of push back, a little snapping of teeth until you relent but no. you're an obedient thing. submissive. just how he likes 'em. (if he wants to break someone in, that's what johnny's for.)

soft, inviting thighs spread wide, a couple of fingers curling inside your glistening cunt. (duly noticing how your 2 fingers are the size of 1 of his.) your moans spill from your lips unreservedly when you roll your pearl in tight, precise little circles. he spits on his hand, heavy length resting in his calloused palm and tugs himself at the pace you've set: jerky, quick, messy.

you come with a whimper, eyes shut and pliant body coiled tight. a frothy, sticky cream coats your fingers, dripping down to your arse, pooling on your couch.

you miss me too? sent 3:27 am

(he decides to keep you. simon can't remember the last time he's had a climax that spine stiffening in a while.)

[vivwritesfics]

Smooth Is The Descent

All your father did was talk of rest, but the emperors didn't take that well. Punishing your father didn't do much, so you were punished instead. It's a shame the champion gladiator they gave you too has no interest in being anything but sweet to you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Warnings: sa (not explicitly written but heavily implied), Canon typical violence, use of the name whore (let me know if I've forgotten anything)

Chapter Two

You were never supposed to bear the weight of his words. You hadn't been the one to say them, to let such blasphemies leave your lips. Yet here you were, facing the punishment for them. 

"No!" Your father cried when Geta turned his attention to you. "Emperor Geta, please! The words were mine! Do not punish my daughter for them!" 

But the general was ignored and you were taken away. 

For such punishment, you would have thought it treason your father had spoken. But no, he only spoke of rest, of spending some time at home with his wife and his daughter. His wife, Lucilla. She was not your mother, but you respected her still. The woman your father had chosen to marry after your mother's tragic end. 

No more details of your punishment were given to General Acacius. The twin emperors, with sickening smiles on their painted faces, sent your father away before you could utter a word to him, before you could assure him that you would be okay, that you were strong. 

Of course, if he knew the true nature of your punishment, he would have stormed the Palace to get you back. He would have taken on every man that stood between him and the twin emperors, slain them then and there. 

Whatever your fate was, you knew no harm would befall you. Well, no lasting damage, nothing that would send you to the afterlife. For the moment your hand was placed in Death and you allowed her to lead you to a forever slumber, their control over your father would have been lost. 

But it was still a punishment. 

With your wrists shackled together, you were led away. Emperor Geta had controlled his men with nothing but the flick of his wrist and you realised that your punishment had been preplanned, prepared for the moment your father stepped out of line. 

You had no idea what awaited you. Lashings, beatings. Maybe Caracalla would have you dance for them, for their entire court, the senate, and your father, wearing nothing. That had happened before. Your face had burned with humiliation and your father had been unable to look at you. 

Instead, you were taken from the Palace. The control the twin emperors had over your father was no secret, the reason why their hold over him was so strong was no secret.  

You. It was all because of you. 

"Feed her to the barbarians," the man pushing you out of the Palace had said once you'd made it to the Colosseum. 

Feed her to the barbarians.

Suddenly, you struggled. "No!" You cried as you tried to twist out of their hold. "No, you can't!" Barbarians. Once slaves from conquered nations, now gladiators, fighting for their freedom. 

Your father had been the one to conquer their lands, the one to take them prisoner. There was no telling what would happen once they found out who you were. 

"Please," you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, they'll kill me! Once they find out who I am, they'll kill me." Clutching the soldiers armours, you dropped to your knees, still sobbing. "Please," you cried. "Please." 

He kicked you away, his sandal hitting your chest. It knocked the very wind from your lungs, left you struggling for breath as you tried to get up. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he spat. 

The men outside of the Colosseum, the ones that had watched you pathetically sob, grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You couldn't help they way you cried, your feet dragging and the gravel digging into your skin. 

They carried you into the darkness, the only light source being the flicking lanterns along the walls. When you were far enough into the labyrinth beneath the Colosseum, they let you go and pushed you to your knees. The dirt and the gravel bit into your palms as you were pushed forward. 

"Come and get your fill," one of the men that had dragged you called, but they weren't talking to you. 

One hulking gladiator stepped forward. The very ground shook with every step he took towards you. He crouched in front of you, fingers beneath your chin forcing you to look at him, to look into your eyes. He took in the finery of your clothing, the gold atop your head and the bracelets around your wrists. A girl of status, that was clear. 

When he smiled, you saw mostly gums. The smile was ghastly, twisted and evil. The sort of smile you had only seen the twin emperors wear. "She'll do," he said and dragged you to your feet. 

"No!" You cried again, screaming in his face as your struggled against your grip. But he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he dragged you away. 

A night of torture. That was what it was, nothing more. Torture that never seemed to end. Gladiators that never grew weary, gladiators that kept your torture going through the night. Torture that kept you from the reprieve of sleep. 

The sun might has risen, but you weren't to know. It was only when soldiers came to fetch you, threw you a cloak to hide your tattered clothing and your broken state, that you allowed yourself to breathe. 

Breathe without the foul scent of gladiator surrounding you. Breathe without tasting death. 

Your body ached as you were again shackled and taken back to the twin emperors. Geta and Caracalla revelled in pain and torture, this you knew. Even as General Acacius's daughter, you were not exempt. 

You were dragged before the twin emperors, cloak pulled from your body. Geta grinned at the sight of you, at the bruises marring your skin, at the way your legs trembled in exhaustion. At the way your clothing hung in tatters, showing too much of you. It was nothing they hadn't seen before, again down to your punishment. 

"A fitting reminder to your father of what will happen should he dare to question me again,"  Geta said and held out his hand. You couldn't help but tremble as you took it and kissed his ring. 

He pushed you away with a demand to clean up before the games. They were in your father's honour, after all. Sick and barbaric games, all for the pleasure of the emperors. Games meant to be in your father's honour, yes, but you knew how much he hated this. 

Your horse walked slowly, as if he was aware of just how much pain your body was in. Your patted his neck in appreciation as you rode towards your home. The gates opened as you approached and you rode through. You were slow as you jumped from his back and handed his reins off to your groom. 

Holding your cloak closer to your body, you headed inside. As much as you didn't want your father seeing you like this, as much as you wanted to run to the baths before your father or Lucilla could catch sight of you, you couldn't avoid it. 

There your father was, dressed all in white. Ready for the games, you realised. He wore concern on his face when he took in your appearance. "Oh, my daughter." General Acacius couldn't hide the sadness from his voice as he strode towards you. "I swear they'll pay for this." When his hands touched you, touched the bruises you were trying to keep hidden, you hissed and pulled away from him. 

"Do not speak such things, father," you said as you stepped away from him. "I will be ready for the games shortly."

You bathed as quickly as you could, desperate not to make your father late. God, you could only imagine the anger on Geta and Caracalla if you made him late, could only imagine the punishment that would be placed onto you. Lucillas staff helped you to dress, helped replace the jewellery the gladiators had stolen from you and helped you to fix your hair. 

Gathering your skirts, you joined your father and Lucilla. Things were quiet, you refusing to speak on your way to the games. Games, what a silly word for it. What a silly word for men fighting each other for the pleasure and amusement of other men. 

You sat silently, head bowed as you rode towards the games. Your father said nothing, you said nothing to him. It was better that way, better if you didn't talk about it. The less he knew, the better. The better for the both of you. 

At the Colosseum, you were led to your seats. Led to the Emperors box. Geta and Caracalla stood, observing the crowd as the games announcer announced your father. The crowd roared as your father stepped towards them at the request of Emperor Geta. A request he answered when Geta looked to you in silent threat. They cheered his name and clapped their hands. 

"Speak to them," said Emperor Geta as your father turned to return to you and Lucilla. Another request your father couldn't deny, another silent threat made towards you. 

It was hard to listen to your father as the Colosseum surrounded you. Mere hours before, you had been here, you had been tortured beneath her walls. The men that would come and fight in the name of your father had been your tormentors through the night. Your eyes stung with fresh, hot tears, but you didn't let them fall.

You were all too aware of the man sitting behind you. Macrinus, the gladiator king. The title did not come from his ability to fight, you knew, but his ability to choose. Choose the best fighters, the one that would win him the most coin. These were his fighters, you realised as your father finished speaking. He came and took his seat between yourself and Lucilla. The crowd was still cheering his name, showing him more love and loyalty than they showed their emperors. 

The barbarians from Numidia. That was what the games announcer had called them. You watched, none of their faces those of your tormentors, they they strode into the middle of the Colosseum. Their armour was minimal, some carrying swords, some carrying a sword and shield. Some pointed at the crowd tried to get their attention, tried to elicit cheers, and the rest were more concerned with what was to come. 

And one looked towards the Emperors. At least, you thought he was looking towards the Emperors. But Lucilla stilled, and polite smile dropping from her face. "What is it, my love?" Your father asked her, but she could not bring herself to answer. 

The rhino and its rider. You knew the face of it's rider, the face of the man that had taken you first the night before. Your blood ran cold as you watched. For the first time, your support when to the barbarians, to Macrinus. 

The rider pulled a weapon, something sharp and deadly. The crowd around you cheered for him. Your focus was for the Numidian front and centre, instructing the other gladiators. Unable to hear what he was saying, you sat forward in your seat. 

The rhino charged and the gladiators broke, running for the wall. The Beast kicked up sand, preventing you a clear picture of what was happening. "Do not watch the brutality, my daughter," your father whispered, but you couldn't help yourself. 

Violence and death didn't fascinate you like it did men. But to see the rider of the rhino brought to his knees? You weren't looking away for one second. 

But there was a reason he was undefeated. 

You watched the Numidian pick up the gravel and sand in his hands. The rider was focused on him, you realised. He charged but the gladiator stood there, unyielding. He was going to get himself killed. 

At the last moment, he threw the sand and it spread out around him, blocking him from view. The rhino still blindly charged, but the Numidian man leapt out of the way. Suddenly, hope soared within you. If anybody could bring down the rider...

With its horn smashed and its rider no longer on its back, the rhino sat in pain. But the two gladiators were on their feet, racing towards the sword. You held your breath as the Numidian grabbed it first, repeatedly used its hilt to hit your tormentor in the head. 

But then your tormentor twisted in his hold and grabbed the sword. He kicked the Numidian until he was on the floor and then roared to the crowd. 

No.

"The gates of hell are open night and day," Geta said with a grin as he looked down at the Numidian man. "Smooth is the..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember the rest of it. 

"Sooth of the descent, easy is the way." 

You tore your eyes away from the Numidian man as Lucilla stood. 

But the fight was still happening and you were entranced by it. The Numidian was given a shield to aid in his fight. You couldn't help but watch him, eyes roaming over every inch of muscle as he fought back. He was strong, but so was the rider. An even match, the end result came down to skill. 

But the Numidian was on the floor and the crowd was chanting. "Mercy! Mercy!" You heard them chant again and again. 

"Blood," Caracalla said to his brother wearing a twisted grin. Caracalla always wanted blood. 

Geta turned his attention to you. "What shall we do? Shall we show the barbarian Mercy?" No matter your answer, Geta was going to do what he liked. 

"Mercy," Lucilla said suddenly, before you could give your own answer. 

Geta brought his hand down, channelling the Gods. It was a farce, your God's wouldn't allow this. He clenched his fist, his thumb sticking out. As he did so, the crowd fell silent, waiting with trepidation. 

His thumb raised. Mercy. The Numidian man was to stay living, and so was your tormentor. Your breath caught in your throat from the unfairness, the injustice. If the Gods were out there, how could they le this happen?

"No mercy!" The Numidian man shouted as he got to his feet.

"Your life has been spared by the Gods-" 

"I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!" The Numidian shouted, interrupting Emperor Geta. Foolish, foolish man. 

But the fight resumed. The Numidian man dodged out of the way. He picked up his own sword, and the fight truly began. 

It wasn't long until his blade went through the stomach of the rider. Undefeated, yet all it took was a man from another land to end his life. As he sat there, on his knees, the Numidian man took his head from his body with a mighty shout. 

He was dead. The man that had taken you so forcefully last night was dead. Many of your tormentors were still alive down there, but not for much longer, not with this barbarian around. 

You released a choked sob as the barbarian gladiator walked away. 

Emperor Caracalla turned to you, still wearing a sick smile. "Perhaps we should give our new champion a prize," he said, lounging back in his seat. "An insensitive to keep winning." 

"You know, brother? I think you are right," Geta agreed and looked back to you. "A fitting prize for our new champion, wouldn't you say?" 

Hands gripped your arms and pulled you from your seat. "No!" Your father cried. "Emperors, please! You have no reason to punish her! We have done nothing wrong!" 

Emperor Geta levelled your father with a vicious, horrible look in his eye. "If you care about her life, Acacius, you will stay quiet." Geta snapped his fingers and you were dragged away, unable to look your father in the eye. If there were Gods, why weren't they helping you?

They dragged you to the baths and pushed you inside. You fell to your knees in front of the baths and the guards backed away from you, locking you inside. 

There he was, already in the water. His eyes tracked you as you stood up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. If you could stand to look at him, you would have seen just how beautiful those eyes were. 

"You don't belong down here," he said, 

You held your hands in fists by your sides as you watched him, waiting for him to move in some way. But he was completely still, watching you. Waiting for you to move, just as you were waiting for him. 

"You're right," you said, holding your chin up high. "I don't belong down here." 

He stood, water dripping from his skin as he stepped out of the baths. You looked at your sandals, unable to properly gaze upon, to see how much of a man he really was.

The gladiator laughed when you averted your gaze. But he got dressed, bothering with everything but his shirt. That you could look upon. The defined muscles of his chest, his thick arms. He was beautiful, you realised.

"You don't belong down here, yet you are here. Why?" He asked as he stood before you. You couldn't help but shrink under his gaze as he took another step.

You couldn't press yourself any closer to the wall. But you raised your chin, as if in defiance. "I am here as punishment."

His fingers touched your chin, face close to yours. Even after his bath, he still smelt like the Colosseum. "What did a little thing like you do to deserve punishment?"

Finally, you tore your eyes away from his intense, blue stare. "My father spoke of rest," you spat as you stepped away from him, arms crossed over your chest. "Rome is hungry, she must be fed."

The gladiator released a laugh, bitter and sad all at the same time. "Tell your emperors I don't want the general's whore." He walked away, leaving you in the baths.

Again, you were alone in the Colosseum. If last night was any indicator, it wouldn't be for long. You released a sob as you sat there and desperately wiped at your eyes. 'The general's whore.' The gladiator had no idea who he was talking to. Good.

Footsteps, sandals against the stone floor of the baths. You looked up, your eyed looking into the stormy blue of the handsome gladiator. "Come on," he offered you his hand.

Swallowing, trying to act like you hadn't just been crying, you placed your hand in his. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you against him as he walked you through the Colosseum. The other gladiators stared at you, their eyes hungry. But you looked away, kept your focus on the gladiator holding you. "Why are you doing this?" You whispered.

"You wouldn't survive a night wandering around down here," he murmured as the door to his cell was pulled open.

You swallowed as you walked in. The door was shut behind you as the gladiator walked in. "Sit," he said and gestured to the bed.

You did what you were best at and obeyed. Sitting on the bed, you looked as he sat before you, his hands clasped together. He wouldn't touch you, not in the way the emperors intended for him to. That much was clear.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He stared at you, unspeaking for a good long moment. It was unnerving, the way he just stared. His stormy eyes focused on you. "Hanno," he answered and turned away from you. "I was taken from my home by the general whose bed you warm."

"I do not warm his bed!" You shouted, suddenly on your feet. The notion had bile ready to rise in your throat.

Hanno laughed. "Yet you enjoy his company. You sit with him while you watch us, get sick pleasure from watching us maim each other.”

"I was there by order of Emperor Geta!" You challenged, standing up. "You act as if I have a choice, as if I want to sit there and watch men get slaughtered. No, I hate it! I don't see why you have to fight!"

He stood, too, towering over you once again. "I fight for my freedom." His voice was so low, dangerous, even. "I fight because my home was taken from me by your general. My home, my wife, taken from me because, what? Because Rome was hungry. Do not lecture me on choice."

You sat back down, tears in your eyes. You knew what your father did, but being told such details was something else. "I'm sorry," you sobbed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. "On behalf of Rome, of the general, I truly am sorry."

A sigh left his lips as he sat beside you. "It's not your place to apologise for what the general has done," he said and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Rome has been a corrupt place, long before you came along."

You blinked up at him, tears resting on your lashes. "What was your home like?" You asked and turned your head towards him.

He told you everything, told you about his wife, his home. The chickens he chased away from the crops and the harvest. The conversation always steered back to his wife.

You didn't ask what happened, didn't force him to relive the trauma so soon. But you couldn't hide your yawns, or the way your eyes were drooping. "Rest now," he said as he stood from his cot. "I will not disturb you."

You laid down, but you didn't sleep, not immediately. Your eyes were shut, but you weren't asleep. Every time Hanno moved, you opened your eyes to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to use you. Not that you could stop him. But he didn't. He never laid a hand on you.

Eventually, you drifted off, eyes shut and breathing steady. Hanno watched you for a moment. It wasn’t your fault, what Rome had done to his land, to his home. It wasn’t your fault, what the general had done, and he wouldn't take it out on you.

a/n: definitely more parts to come! I won't lie I didn't mean to find Paul hot but his charms have bewitched me

[wileys-russo]

can i request something with alexia x reader based off one if the videos post win. the one where olga tried scoring on alexia but instead of missing reader makes it and then copies alexias celebration

goalscorer II a.putellas

you weren't sure whose hand would break first, yours or albas, with the way you both had a death grip on one another as the extra time slowly ticked down to zero and it felt as though the entire stadium held its breath.

then finally, the whistle.

for a brief moment it was like time stood still as the players raced onto the pitch, your body on fire as every hair stood on end and the ground beneath your feet vibrated with the thunderous roar of a stadium full of culers.

then arms were thrown around your neck as alexia's family all screamed happily and exchanged hugs, your own parents sat in the row behind forever supportive of your fiancé since the moment you'd taken her home to meet them.

you blinked and suddenly snapped back into reality, the screams deafening in your ear as you were drowned in affection from the elated putellas-segura family surrounding you.

your heart swelled with pride as you finally caught alexia's eye, a beaming grin flashed your way and both her hands waving before she was called over for the trophy and medal ceremony.

eventually you were all ushered down toward the front of the barrier, eli and alba going first as they engulfed your fiance in bear hugs, both women with tears streaming down their faces as alexia rolled her eyes playfully and squeezed them tighter.

with a nudge in the back from her uncle and a wink you were next, two strong hands helping you over the barrier as your feet touched the pitch and your eyes remained locked with the blonde grinning down at you.

time once more seemed to stop and suddenly it was just the two of you, your congratulations and how proud you were murmured over and over in her ear as finally your arms wrapped around one another and you'd never felt safer than being within them.

you let out a laugh as you were held tighter and lifted momentarily up into their air, spun around for a moment as alexia's forehead pressed against yours, lips just grazing your cheek both of you well aware that despite the intimacy of your embrace it was anything but a private moment.

"taking your captain title to a new level mi amor." you teased, tugging at the barcelona flag draped around her shoulders like a makeshift cape, reeling in the very slight blush which coated her cheeks at your words which you knew if you called her out on she would dismiss as flush from running around.

"captain catalunya, hero of barcelona." you grinned, kissing her cheek and stepping away for a moment to allow some of her childhood friends to rush in and express their own congratulations, dragged away by alba to speak with your own parents and eli.

"no i did not!" you denied with bright red cheeks as your father embellished a story of how the first time you'd watched one of alexia's games with them at home you'd almost thrown the remote through the screen when your girlfriend at the time was fouled.

"stop laughing! you'll just encourage him." you shoved alba who only threw her head back as you playfully shot your grinning father a glare, relaxing as familiar arms looped around your waist and a chin settled on your shoulder.

"hola amor." the soft raspy murmur as a subtle kiss was placed on your jaw and you melted backwards into your lovers touch as praise for her showered down from those around you.

"hermana! we were just talking about the time that-" alba started as you kicked at her causing the girl to gasp and shove you, alexia's hand shooting out to swat her sisters away and a warning look set in her features as alba rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, turning around to converse elsewhere.

"aye go speak to maría's parents, mami take him away por favor he has had too much sun!" you groaned catching the teasing look on your fathers face and nodding behind them where your second parents milled around happily, your childhood best friend nowhere in sight.

though it wasn't long before she made an appearance, bursting out of the tunnel yelling at the top of her lungs, brandishing her little barcelona flag that had acted like an emotional support throughout her injury.

you'd tried scheming with ingrid to get rid of it after mapi started to sleep with it in the bed and then almost took your eye out waving it around like a mad woman as you sat beside her at a game, alexia almost snapping it herself after seeing the deep purple bruise under your right eye where your best friend had accidentally poked you with it.

but watching the childlike joy twinkle brightly in her eyes as she raced around like an overgrown toddler, chased by lucy's neice and nephew you couldn't help but smile and shake your head.

"maybe she will retire the flag now we are four for four this season and she will be back on the pitch soon." alexia chuckled, still hugging you tightly as you grinned, leaning your head back to catch her eye as she winked.

"at least it has been a distraction from her making us say thank you every time we go out with her and ingrid." you rolled your eyes, turning in her hold to face your girlfriend who hummed.

it had indeed been mapi who introduced the two of you after a game years ago, a friendship blossoming between you and alexia long before a relationship. but despite that the tattooed defender relished in the ego boost felt from telling anyone with ears that it was all thanks to her that you two were together.

"can you imagine her speech at the wedding?" you sighed with a shake of your head, alexia letting go of you to fiddle about with the flag tied around her, picking at the knot.

"i remember the day they first met, because it was all thanks to me that we are even gathered here today! chica's...you are so welcome." alexia mocked making you laugh as she pulled the flag off.

"maybe i can get her so drunk she will pass out before the speeches?" you suggested, your fiancé instead draping the flag around you and tying it loosely over your shoulders.

"a perfect plan cari." the blonde winked, squeezing your shoulders. "who is captain catalunya now?" the footballer teased, tugging at your new cape and glancing over your head where her name was called for more photos.

"go amor, i'll find you later." you promised, squeezing her hands as she nodded and pulled you into another tight hug, lips grazing the side of your head as you softly rubbed her back and begrudgingly let go, her figure retreating into the swarm of people on the pitch.

you were mid conversation with some of the other girls families, stood beside alba and twisting around your engagement ring on your finger when she struck.

"campeones! campeones! campeones!" you hurtled forward nearly barreling over jana's parents as a body launched themselves onto you, legs wrapping around your torso as panos hurried to steady you.

"gracias! lo siento." you thanked the goalkeeper before profusely apologising to jana's parents as the young midfielder was busy doubled over laughing, your cheeks bright red at the disruption.

"mierda!" the brunette swore as you wrenched her legs off, causing her to drop promptly onto the ground with a wince, jana falling to the floor laughing even harder as alba joined in and mapi glared up at you with a huff.

"algunos bienvenidos. is that a way to greet your best friend!" the girl pouted as you rolled your eyes and pulled her back to her feet. "maría!" you groaned as once more she launched onto you, this time in another forceful koala hug but from the front.

"campeones de europa!" the girl threw her head back and screamed, a smile unable to stay off your face as you held her thighs and she grabbed your cheeks, kissing your forehead over and over with a repeated loud mwah noise.

"vale vale!" you laughed, dropping her again though this time she remained on her feet, the two of you hugging normally as you told her how proud you were. "i did not even play idiota!" the older girl shoved your head as the two of you pulled away.

"no, but your contributions to the team morale and being their biggest supporter even not on the pitch mean just as much. you know that, sí?" you promised, tone softening as did the defenders face. "gracias mi chica." the girl smiled, kissing your cheek and waving her flag around which she snatched up off the ground.

"if you poke her eye with that flag again león we are going to have a problem." you smiled as your fiance slotted herself in behind you again, a warning look at the tattooed footballer in front of you making mapi roll her eyes.

"tan dramática her eye healed fine! and she almost broke my flag." the girl cradled the piece of cloth and plastic tenderly in her arms, stroking it like you might a newborn making you roll your eyes.

"oh i am so sorry my poor face nearly broke your stupid flag maría." you shook your head feeling alexia chuckle as her body vibrated against your back. "gracias, now was that so hard?" mapi smiled as you lunged for her and she raced off.

"idiota." you rolled your eyes allowing alexia to lead you away back toward where your families were milling about.

"mi amor." you looked up from speaking with your mother, raising an eyebrow to your fiance who held up a tiny football in her hands with a suggestive grin.

"really?" you chuckled, but sighing in acceptance when her grin didn't drop, gesturing for her to give you the ball as she rolled it to you and backed into goal.

"vamos bebé, score a goal! if you can." the blonde teased in challenge. "what do i get when i score putellas?" you questioned crossing your arms, foot resting on top of the small childrens football.

"if you score, anything you want preciosa." alexia grinned cockily as you rolled your eyes and backed up a few steps. "remember to kick the ball and not the air amor!" your fiance continued to tease.

"vamos captain barça, maybe we will get you a job as the water girl for the team!" you turned to shoot your best friend a murderous glare as her face paled and she scurried off to find ingrid no doubt, her much better other half.

spurred on by the lack of faith from your loved ones, even your own father joining in with alexia's teasings, you took one more step back and lurched forward.

you made sure to do exactly as you'd watched your fiance do a million times in your backyard, driving your foot forward and following through, the ball zooming forward at a pace alexia clearly didn't anticipate as it shot past her.

you let out a cheer and pumped your fist in the air, racing around in a circle and grabbing the bottom of your alexia's jersey intending to tug it off exactly the way the blonde had an hour prior after her own goal.

"ale!" you laughed as a strong arm wrapped around your waist and another swatted your hand away. "mi amor you are ruining my celebration." you tutted with a shake of her head and a sigh.

"my celebration, and you are keeping that shirt on!" your fiance warned as you rolled your eyes and she teasingly flicked your ear. "oh wait-" you pushed away from her as she looked on curiously.

you cleared your throat and took a dramatic bow, a few onlookers clapping and cheering making you grin and alexia now the one to roll her eyes. "mm hilarious princesa."

"i thought so. now cariño...what was that about anything i wanted?"

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).

Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.

Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.

You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.

“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.

Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.

And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.

Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.

“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”

“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.

A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.

But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.

And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.

Whatever fine means.

“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.

You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.

“That depends, you gonna let me win?”

“Never.”

“Y/N! There you are.”

You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.

But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.

“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”

“Yeah.”

Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.

Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.

“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.

“…I know.”

You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.

What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”

You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”

Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!

“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”

Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”

“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”

You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.

“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?

In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.

“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”

Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.

Keyword: friend.

He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…

“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.

But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.

Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.

And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.

The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.

Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.

He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.

This was it.

…

…

…

…

The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.

Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?

Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?

No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.

And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”

A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.

“I knew it.”

[suguru-getos]

"Please- please-" you raggedly breathe, knees scraping against the hard floor as Satoru dragged you by your wrist, a soft whimper escaping your lips. You had no idea why he had gotten so angry. You have been nothing but good. You're forced to stand up next, hard grip on your hair sure to give you migraines. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't understand-"

This is the first time Satoru has been so silent, it terrifies you, the very marrow of your bones. He is big, tall, looming and so unwavering when he wants to be. Your hurt and panic breaks into a sniffle, lips parted to utter what he'd call a pathetic excuse of an apology. "What did I say, when I said I would be okay with you going out?" He raised a brow, and your pupils wavered in the bone-chilling coldness of his tone. Harsh blue eyes and pursed lips ready to attack his little prey. "Yo- You- you-" Fuck, you're stuttering. Just like you always do when you're scared and panicked. "Yo- You- you-… what. Did. I. Say?" Satoru hums, after mocking your tone.

You sniffled, "s-said to me to not go out apart from the estate premises."

"Do I need to make sure you listen to me in a different way?" For Satoru, it's simple. You have tried to run so many times that his patience has worn out, the constant fear of you going away is making him the monster he is now. The outside world is filled with curses, and bad things. You, are a non-sorcerer and you should know better. Besides, after today's incident. He is ready to do anything.

"Why the hell were you outside then?" He yelled, Satoru… doesn't really yell. The problem is, a special grade spirit was sighted near the store you decided to go see for yourself. While that's something rare, it's increasing his anxiousness a tenfold. What if you had been there, you had been a bag of fucking bones! "I just- wan' wan' wan'ed you know- I just-"

"Speak to me properly or I will break you in ways you can't take. Wouldn't let you walk for days." That causes you to cry out, why is he overreacting so much! Christ! He already has you here, rotting, against your will. You sobbed, heart racing and breaths shallowing.

Satoru was… tolerable… you wouldn't call yourself the unluckiest person in the world until today. He had abducted you, but he was never… this.

"Can’t talk to her or she will have a FUCKING panic attack." His jaw grits, holding you by the neck and pinning you against the wall. Your hands instinctively hold his wrist, but they're meek, sweaty with fear, and powerless. "If I see you step out again, I will kill everyone you hold near since you love watching me helplessly try to make you compliant, without hurting you, no?" Without hurting you… yeah right.

You nodded, "W- Won't step out." It's getting harder for you to speak with every second, eyes losing focus and fight or flight kicking in. Satoru's harsh expressions are blurring out, you were passing out.

And you do, fall limp against him. His feet impatiently tapping the floor once he sees you collapse. Another reminder of how you could die in an instant and leave him like Suguru did. A soft sigh escapes him once the throbbing headache kicks in. The high adrenaline calming down and kicking in with brutal headache. He lets you fall on the floor, ignoring the slight bruise in your head at the impact. You should know better. At least this is keeping you from not fucking dying.

He walks away to get the medication for his head, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn't… look like himself. He leans in, watching the colour of his eyes greying. Something's wrong. That's when it kicks in.

Yandere Satoru was influenced by the same special grade curse he had killed. Why else were his thoughts so messy? You had escaped so many times but he always thought you'd just… understand one day.

A cold blood rushes through his spine once his cloudy thoughts clear up, and the idea of you passed out on the cold flooring floods him. Satoru has never been more quick to pick you up, cradling you close. Some part of him is happy, you wouldn't run away anymore. Another part of him is unsure if it's him truly thinking it, or if it's the curse's energy tampering with his own. A small part of him wants to die for putting you through this. Satoru Gojo needed to figure this out.

And then… he needed to build his relationship with you from scratch once he finds out what you did go out to buy. There were ingredients of his favourite Kikufuku. You were trying to make him… Kikufuku.

The small part of him that wanted to die isn't so small anymore. Months, if not weeks, it will take months to get you to love him like this again…

[poguelandiarafe]

broken promises 2 | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - angst, mature langauge, mentions of infidelity.

summary - after your relationship is destroyed when rafe cheats on you with sofia, you reveal you're pregnant and leave. he's consumed with guilt and wants nothing more than to make it right. sofia turns up and he shuts her out, needing to find you and talk to you.

(sorry if it's bad, i just wanted to get something out cause it's been a week since uploading. this is more of a filler chapter. also, thank you being patient with me)

not a one-shot, read part one here <3

masterlist

part three

--------

rafe stands frozen in place, flinching when the front door slams. the pregnancy test is still by his feet, a cruel reminder of the life he nearly had. he can't bring himself to pick it up, not when your words still linger in the air, playing on repeat in his head. his mind is spinning, the way you practically spat the words he'd unknowingly longed to hear at him making him feel sick.

the buzzing of rafe's phone breaks the silence, and stupidly, he lets himself think it's you. he quickly leans to pick it up, only to be met with sofia's name lighting up the screen. pressing ignore, he slams his phone face down on the bed. when she keeps calling, he keeps ignoring her until she eventually gives up.

the walls feel like they're closing in on him. his chest tightens as he finally bends down to pick up the test with trembling hands. a shaky breath escapes his lips as he reads the word on the small screen, clear as day.

pregnant 3+

"fuck." he breathes out, a hand dragging over his face in disbelief.

rafe's just lost everything. you, his baby, his perfect future. a future he didn't even know he wanted until he couldn't have it. he let it slip right through his fingers, all of it gone in the space of a day.

----

in a sadistic way, the miserable day you’re greeted with outside calms you, reflecting your feelings. the cold air causes goose bumps on your skin, and you feel compelled to leave immediately. tears pool in your eyes, yet you refuse to let them fall until you're in the safety of your car, where rafe will be unable to hear your sobs.

you need to leave, to get away from him and this house, before you lose the courage to do so. you grip your car keys tightly in your hand, knuckles turning white. sliding into the driver's seat, you slam the door shut with more force than necessary, somewhat satisfied with the ounce of relief that brought you.

the tears fall hot and heavy the minute the first one trails down your cheek, and you give in, letting yourself break. your hands shake as you attempt to put the keys into the ignition, and you have to grip the steering wheel to try to calm yourself.

all you can think about is the betrayal as you drive away. you trusted him with every part of you and he took advantage of it. you believed you could have a future, a family with him, and now this baby is going to be born into a broken home, something you promised yourself would never happen.

----

back inside, rafe's world is collapsing. he's sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest with the test balanced on them. tears prick at his eyes for the millionth time since you left, but he doesn't let them fall. he doesn't deserve to cry, not when he's made your own home a place you can't stand to step foot in, where every time you look at your shared bed you feel disgusted.

slowly, rafe rises to his feet, test clutched in his hand. his mind is racing, trying to come up with ways he can make this up to you, how he can get you to forgive him. something in him turns into overdrive and he starts to panic. he can't lose you, he won't.

grabbing his keys, rafe rushes down the stairs, focused solely on making things right with you. his chest is heaving as he opens the door, and he freezes as he locks eyes with sofia.

she's walking tentatively up the drive, guilt written all over her face and the sight of her ignites a newfound hatred and anger. he doesn't have time for this.

"rafe-" sofia begins, her voice barely above a whisper.

"no," he snaps, voice cutting through air, "i'm not doing this right now."

"please, rafe, i-" she tries again, but he's not interested in what she has to say.

"she's pregnant, sofia," he cuts her off, voice laced with a mixture of frustration and desperation, "she's carrying my fucking baby, and this stupid mistake with you fucked up everything."

sofia's shocked and her eyes flicker to the test rafe's still protectively holding. her mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. rafe steps closer to her, nostrils flared and fists clenched.

"i don't know if y/n will even let me be in this kid's life anymore. she won't respond to my calls, my messages, nothing! all because of you." he knows it's not just her fault, that he played a big part in this too. it's just easier to blame her rather than himself.

sofia lets out a humourless laugh, her eyebrows raised as his words sink in. how could he possibly think this was all her doing when he was the one asking her to go home with him? of course she feels guilty, but to blame this mistake only on her is completely uncalled for.

"don't act like this was all on me, rafe. you brought me back here remember?" she argues, accusingly pointing her finger at him, "we're both to blame here. i should never have agreed to come home with you but you shouldn't have asked me in the first place."

rafe's jaw tightens, sofia's words a slap of reality. he wants to shout, to tell her to leave him alone and never talk to him again, but he knows she's right. he made the decision to bring her home while you were blissfully unaware of your relationship crumbling, and now you're both paying the price for his actions.

"yeah, well you did. so now i have to try my hardest to fix this because i love her, and i love that baby," taking a deep breath, he takes a step closer to her until he towers over her, "now get the fuck off my property, sofia."

not giving her a chance to respond, he storms to his truck and throws himself in the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. he punches the steering wheel over and over again until his knuckles are sore and from his wing mirror, he sees sofia still standing on his drive.

he drives all over the island looking for you, obsessively checking his phone for a missed call or a text back but nothing comes. your absence is killing him, and he's slowly losing hope there's a chance you'll take him back.

--------

meanwhile, you feel numb. you try to focus on the road, but the image of the pregnancy test flying through the air and hitting the floor continues to play in your mind, no matter your efforts to think of anything but. telling the love of your life you're pregnant is meant to be a joyous occasion, not like this, your heart heavy with betrayal.

your phone has been buzzing nonstop while driving, patience already wearing thin. in the end, you've had enough, sending him a quick message about needing to think things through. the silence that follows when you turn off your phone feels like a weight off your shoulders.

time blurs as you continue to drive until you eventually pull into a parking lot near the beach. it's where you go whenever you need to clear your head, a place that brings you a small amount of peace during the turmoil. the fact rafe is nowhere to be seen tells you he doesn't know you as well as you think he does. if he wants to talk so badly, he should be here.

you sit in the car for a few more seconds, wiping away the last of the tears. despite the weather, you step out into the cold air, arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt to bring yourself warmth. the bitter wind bites your skin as you make your way down a path to the beach, the sand damp beneath your shoes.

looking out at the stretch of the sea in front of you, you feel so lost. you don't know where to go from here, how to make this right, not that it should be you fixing this.

"y/n."

the voice startles you, having been so consumed in your thoughts you didn't even hear a car pull up. your heart lurches as you glance over your shoulder, rafe slowly walking towards you. you can't look at him, turning back around to face the water.

"please, we have to talk about this," he continues, stopping a few feet away, "i've been looking everywhere for you."

taglist: @hellothere7 @faephoria @samwinchesterisawhore @xcinnamonmalfoyx @alyisdead @maybankslover @vdotcom @kundaquarius @lil-sparklqueen @flvredcas @esquivelbianca

[suksatoru]

002. CARNATIONS

word count: 2221 words

Touya wasn't fitting in very well.

There were a lot of things you noticed about him during his first week. He didn't talk much—he'd sit in silence a lot more than he should. It was bad. He was spending too much time with his own thoughts, and you were becoming afraid that he would end up swimming too far into his own mind where drowning would only be inevitable.

He didn't eat much either. Only when he absolutely needed to—and he'd take a few bites before stubbornly pushing his plate away. It was hard trying to get him to talk to you too, because he simply refused to cooperate.

There was this faraway look in Touya's eyes. Like he couldn't even begin to fathom what his life had come to. He had so many plans—so many things to do. They were all hopeless now. He had an entirely new checklist—and he couldn't even be bothered to pick it up. Was it bad that he had no will to live?

Touya didn't understand why his father wanted him alive. He hadn't seen him since the war, only hearing his name whispered amongst the doctors when they thought he was asleep. Touya truly didn't see the purpose of his family fighting so much for him—he was falling apart. Both mentally and physically, straining the doctors for no reason when he should just die. He'd done terrible things, and in his mind, he deserved death.

"He won't listen to anyone but you."

You blow out a breath of air with a nervous chuckle, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you look up at your supervisor. She looked mad. Her brow was ticked upwards, a wrinkly finger holding up a sheet of paper that had 'Todoroki' scribbled at the top. His latest speech evaluation report.

"He can talk just fine with the insults he was spitting at the other doctors. That man has a foul mouth, and an even fouler mood. No doctor that comes even within five feet of him is spared his horrible remarks and glares. But in all of your reports, you never once mentioned him saying anything exceptionally rude. He's... quiet around you."

Your brows pinch together as your gaze stays on the report in your hands

Touya was confusing you.

"And I understand you have other patients, but they've all progressed nicely with their treatments. Todoroki—well, he is a special case."

You were being asked to accept the job of having Touya as your sole patient. You knew his condition was bad—but you didn't think it was this bad. The other doctors had all come to the same conclusion, that he was in desperate need of a single support system. Someone who could help him every step of the way. And they had made the unanimous vote for you to be that person.

You accepted. You thought you'd have to think more about the proposal, but...

"Touya, do you like board games?"

For the first time in this entire evening, Touya's eyes lift from the tiled floor he'd been glaring at as he turns to you with a look of disinterest. You try not to let him see the way you're fighting back a smile when he finally speaks for the first time this afternoon

"I haven't played one since I was a kid. I don't even remember how they work."

"That's ok—can teach you!"

He looks out the window, gently rolling his shoulders as the muscles under his hospital gown shift from the movement

"Why? Just sounds like a waste of time to me." He says, his voice gruff as you gently drag your chair closer to his bed

"Well, some of these games involve some brain work. Don't you think it'd be a nice challenge to try and work them out? We can even—"

"No."

You pause when he interrupts you, folding your hands in your lap as you patiently wait for him to continue. Your smile falters when he starts staring again, his eyes opening a little more to watch you as he remains silent and still—not elaborating any further.

"Ok—"

"Call Endeavor."

You pause, trying not to show your surprise as you quickly close your parted lips when you meet his gaze.

Nothing. His eyes were devoid of even a speck of emotion as he stared at you. If it hadn't been for him moving to run a tired hand through his white locks, you would've thought he was dead. That is just how dull and lifeless his eyes looked.

"Well... let's talk about this first, okay? Why would you like to call him, Touya?" You ask softly, moving to grab his hand like you'd do to comfort any other patient before your fingers awkwardly hover over his hand

Touya did not like to be touched.

He narrows his eyes at you with an annoyed sigh before he looks away again, clearing his throat before speaking

"I need to do something."

You frown, taking a quick glance at the emergency phone across the room. There were a few contacts Touya would be allowed to call—one of them was, unfortunately, Endeavor's.

"Are you sure you'd like to call your father—"

"Don't fucking call him that."

You freeze, a chill running down your spine that feels like being dowsed in ice cold water when he snaps at you. His eyes burn to life, the hatred in them so strong that you can't even bring yourself to look at him as you realize you'd crossed some sort of an invisible line.

"I—okay, I'm sorry. Do you not like it when I address him as that?"

His silence was all the answer you needed.

Maybe it was your guilt that had you hesitantly reaching for the phone. You power it on—and you can see the poorly hidden surprise on his face when he quirks an eyebrow, surprised you were fulfilling his request.

He almost feels bad for what he's about to do. Almost.

"I'll hold the phone up to your ear, Touya. Let me know if I'm too close, ok?" You ask gently, and he nods his head with a grunt. He's not staring anymore—he's actually avoiding your eyes. Maybe you should've taken that as a sign that something was wrong, but you were too busy trying to understand what was going through his mind that made him want to call his father so out of the blue.

You pray silently that Endeavor won't answer—but the phone is barely on the third ring before it cackles to life

"Touya? Touya this is your number calling me—Touya are you there?"

The air is tense with your anticipation—could this mean progress? Barely two weeks in seemed a little early, but you sent Touya an encouraging smile anyways.

That was the last thing he needed to give him the courage to open his mouth

"Fuck you Endeavor! Burn in hell you flaming piece of shit!"

Your yelp doesn't surprise Touya at all as you hastily end the call, fumbling with the phone as he kneels over and grasps the railings of his bed—before he laughs.

It hurts so much to smile, but he does it anyway—his laughter is a hoarse wheeze as his chest shakes. You power the phone off with trembling hands before whipping towards him

"Touya—y-you tricked me!" You sputter, clutching the phone to your chest as he struggles to breathe. He whacks his chest, as if he's trying help the oxygen reach his lungs—and your eyes widen in panic

He lets out a deep exhale, turning to you with a barely noticeable smirk when he sees the dread in your eyes

"That was too easy. You shouldn't be so nice to me, Doc."

"Well... this could be considered progress, sir! He's, uhm—open to communication?"

Endeavor is not amused. He drills you for another fifteen minutes—demanding to know every little detail about Touya's recovery process, and each minute that passes has you shrinking further and further into your seat.

Who knew Touya would be the one to come to your rescue?

The undeniable beep that comes from your pocket immediately rips away your attention from Endeavor

Beep beep beep beep—

"What is that?" He nearly growls as you fumble with the small device in your hands, desperately trying to turn it off as your feet move towards the double-doors quickly

"Touya's emergency button, he's calling me—I'm so sorry, but we need to continue this conversation another time! " You yell over your shoulder before he can even get another word out, racing to the elevators as you come to a stumbling stop in front of them—you press the third floor button four times before the beeping starts up again

Your mind immediately thinks the worst, and you're practically flying up the stairs as you run by two families and nearly knock a fellow doctor off his feet in your race towards Touya's room

Touya jumps when his room door slams open, his brows furrowing as he discreetly tries to see what made you run into his room in such a haste

There were a few strands of hair that had fallen from your updo—you're panting as you take in Touya—sitting just fine on his bed as he stares at you. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes when he sees you before he slowly turns away

He peers down to the device in his hands as he points it at the TV—clicking the small red button on it over and over again.

"A-Are you-"

"It won't turn off."

He waves the remote at the TV again, grumbling all sorts of profanities under his breath as he stubbornly tries to will the screen to shut off—the news played softly through the speakers as you slowly nod your head

"We use this remote for that."

He eyes the device in your hands before holding up the one in his hand

"Then what the hell is this for?"

"Emergencies. You press it when you need me and it is urgent—I check in periodically anyways, so you only use this remote when you really need me to come right away. You pressed it a bunch of times earlier, so I had to run here. I thought something was wrong." You sigh, rubbing your temple as he turns over the device in his hand with a thoughtful hum. You gather the fallen strands in your palm and work on quietly fixing your hair.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

You pause from where you were tying your hair—lowering your hands into your lap as you tilt your head at him in confusion. Touya's glad he interrupted you while you were tying your hair, because now it falls over your shoulders in soft waves. He thinks you look... nice like this. He wonders if this will be the only time you'll let your hair flow freely in front of him.

The bluntness of his question was what made your hands drop. His words hang in the air as you try to formulate a response, but he cuts you off before you can get a word out.

"The other bastards treat me the way I deserve to be treated. How come you're actually trying? What's in it for you?"

He seems annoyed. But then you see the sincerity in his eyes—and you realize he genuinely didn't think he deserved any form of kindness. You want to hug him—but you also would like your limbs to stay in tact, so instead—you lean forward with a soft smile.

"You see, I like to think of people as flowers."

He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

"Some grow in open fields with the sun shining over them all the time. Some grow through the cracks in concrete—and some die from drowning in too much rain or being dried out from the heat."

Something in his eyes softens at your words

"All flowers are beautiful, you know. The ones people say are too far gone can still be preserved. I really like pressing flowers, you know, in glass. It reminds me that their beauty is an everlasting type of thing."

You pretend not to notice the sheen in his eyes when he stares at you. It's quiet. The curtains move from the gentle breeze that enters through the open window, and it catches wisps of your open hair in it as you smile.

Touya had thought he'd seen it all. The ugliness of the world, the terrible parts no one should venture into. How many times had he lied when he'd said "I've seen it all." ?

He realizes how wrong he was when he understands he forgot to look through the cracks in the dark walls he'd been surrounded by for so long—the splits and breaks in the surface where hope seeped through. There was still so much he wanted to see.

Flowers. Who knew something so little could mean so much?

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

tags!

@dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse

@starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo @bbluefllame

⬆️ i love u all for the support 🥺🩷 thank you. i am seriously so greatful :(

please let me know if you would like your username to be removed or added!! i got a little excited with the taglist sowwy 😖

[ervotica]

maybe mean!rafe x crybaby!reader? he gets mad at her for not sitting down on the couch with him and he yells at her, dragging her by her wrist and forcing her to sit with him… only if you’re okay with it(I’ve never requested anything before)

warnings; mean!rafe, dom/sub undertones, brat taming, crybaby!reader, barry is a shit stirrer but we love him for it <3

a/n; thanks for the request, angel! hope you enjoy🥰 (side note; may or may not be thinking abt being rafe & barry’s shared gf😍 they’re just too hot together jfc)

You get agitated in a sort of frenzied way that has always driven Rafe insane; you start to twitch, tapping heel clad feet and cracking knuckles until the sound of it has his jaw ticking in vexation.

You're rocking back and forth on your heels, red solo cup clutched between clammy palms; you can see Rafe in your peripheral vision, never letting him too far out of your line of sight in fear of being left to fend for yourself at one of these parties packed with drug-addled teenagers.

The smell of cheap, stale beer and sweat pervades your senses and you cringe, the blaring music paired with the way Rafe is staring you down- cerulean eyes piercing straight through you- forcing your brain into overdrive.

"Would you quit it and come sit down already?" Rafe snaps, thick digits outstretched as an offering for you to take; your lip spills into a pout, tightness pulling at every inch of your skin as the tension pools and gathers between your crumpled brows.

"I don't wanna," you whine, dragging out every syllable plaintively until he's standing, storming towards you with a thunderous expression carved into his features that you're not often on the receiving end of.

"I told you to fucking sit down! What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Can't even do as you're told, can you?"

You feel the tears tickling at your waterline the second he raises his voice, your gaze snapping up to him as the first wave spills over your wide eyes.

"For God's sake, kid. Come sit down," he grouses. His tone softens when your expression crumples and he hooks a thick bicep around your neck, drawing you into the warm expanse of his chest. You're pulled along in short, shuffling steps until your bum hits the leather couch and Rafe's bruising grip digs into your calves to splay them haphazardly across his lap.

"You're mean," you sniff, backs of your fingers smearing across your teary eyes until they're caked in black. He pinches your thigh before delivering a firm swat to the afflicted area, his arms a vice around your squirming body as you try to free yourself.

“I told you to sit down and be fuckin’ quiet. Take a nap or something, cranky pants.” He rolls his eyes, fingers spreading across your jaw to settle your head in the hollow of his shoulder.

You grumble something indecipherable before he feels you go slack on top of him, lashes fluttering as you fight the fog of fatigue that invades every inch of your skull. He smears a kiss along the curve of your forehead.

“Y’alright, Princess?” Barry queries, only amused by Rafe’s sudden glaring of daggers at the shorter man. “Country club bein’ mean, huh?”

“She’s fine,” Rafe snips as you stir and start to whine once again. “Just bein’ a brat. Needs a rest ‘s all.”

“Rafe.”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, kid. You be quiet or I will spank you raw in front of all these people.”

You sigh and curl up and into his embrace, exhaustion settling heavy in your bones once he cages you into his chest with a firm squeeze.

“Good girl.”

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter four ♡

Summary: Halloween night arrives at the Hoffman barbecue, and you find yourself masking feelings again.

Word count: 8.5k

A/N: Oh, i'm not over... - thank you for your comments, they're so fun lol you all make me laugh !! <3 Hope you enjoy this part.

October 31st. You let your feet drag across the cool bathroom tile, feeling every step. There was something comforting in that small heaviness, your body still lulled by the weight of lunch, and your mind restless, carrying the remnants of memories you'd been revisiting all afternoon. You turned on the shower, waiting a moment before stepping in, the heat closing around you like a second skin. As your fingers combed through your hair, scrubbing it softly, your thoughts slipped forward, out of your control, toward the evening ahead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.

Last year felt impossibly far away. Sarah had wanted to be a vampire. You’d found her a set of plastic fangs, which she wore with a grin that pushed her cheeks high up on her face. Her cape was metallic, shiny as foil, falling past her shoulders, and she looked so delighted, bouncing on her feet in front of the mirror. You'd managed to take more photos than you ever needed, laughing at her exaggerated grimaces and capturing her tiny poses. Joel had been there, too, playing along, wide-eyed with pretend fear, leaning away from her “fangs” in a way that made her giggle. Every single picture was still on your hard drive—photos from a time you could hardly believe was only a year ago.

This Halloween was different. Sarah had decided on her costume weeks back—an astronaut. You’d spent the better part of September helping her piece it together, and she was beyond excited. She’d be with her friends tonight at a “scary” sleepover, which she’d told you about, bright-eyed and practically bouncing with anticipation. It was strange that she wasn’t here. It felt like there was a piece of Halloween missing, but she hadn’t felt it that way at all. To her, this was the most exciting plan in the world. You’d felt it too, in her voice, like a little pinch in your chest.

This would be the first Halloween in years you’d spend without her, alone at the Hoffmans' barbecue. And without Sarah, Joel wouldn't come either. His attendance at these neighborhood gatherings had always been more about you than the event itself, which you’d always appreciated without needing to say it out loud. You could picture him, standing with a beer, blending into the background, jokingly complaining about the crowds. He’d said he didn’t care for the noise, the small talk, and the endless kids weaving through adults like they were on a secret mission. But you’d noticed the way he’d watch Sarah, his face softened as he looked on, his attention lingering in that way that showed he didn’t mind being here, really, because it was with you and her. And the two of you—Joel and you—could talk about anything. He made everything feel like a continuation of one long conversation, like you’d just pick up right where you’d left off, glancing at each other and knowing what the other meant without even saying it.

You could also picture Clara, who’d come over to him every year, her voice lilting as she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her laugh soft and maybe a bit forced. She had that amused smile, that slight lean toward him whenever she spoke, and you couldn’t resist teasing him about it later. He’d always looked so puzzled whenever you brought it up, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were hinting at. She’d been living in the neighborhood for years, a few houses down, in that bright yellow house, and you knew she’d nursed a quiet crush on him for a while. And Joel, for his part, never seemed to notice.

The thought made you smile, picturing him in that moment, eyes narrowed, brows creased, looking at you as if to say, “Why would she be interested?” But as soon as you felt the smile, the weight of reality caught up. Joel was no longer in your life in the same way. He wasn’t “your” Joel anymore, the friend you’d poke fun at and swap knowing glances with. He wouldn’t be coming to the barbecue this year. With Sarah gone and things fractured between the two of you, he’d have no reason to come. 

Maybe this would be the year he’d finally spend Halloween as he’d always said he wanted to—in the quiet of his house, watching a horror movie, the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters breaking the silence as he handed out candy. The picture of him there, his small, self-contained world entirely separate from you, felt like an ache that had been growing for a long time, quiet and steady.

You missed him. And it made you furious to feel it, like he had somehow taken something from you by hurting you, even though you knew, rationally, that wasn’t true. Still, the feeling stuck, simmering somewhere in the background. You hated that you missed him at all.

*

Your steps matched Travis’s as you left the house, his voice filling the space around you, his hands carving shapes in the air with his animated gestures. The crisp October air wrapped around you, a lingering autumn sun casting a warm, golden wash over everything—the leaves curling on the trees, the lawn stretching out beside you. You hugged your flannel a little closer, fingers brushing over the thick fabric. It was just the right layer—a deep green fleece, oversized, over a worn black T-shirt. You were warm, content, happy even, if only you could hold on to that feeling.

Beside you, Travis was recounting a work spat, his colleague’s tone and insults reimagined in Travis’s flurry of hands. You caught the edges of his words, murmuring a few responses that seemed to satisfy him. By the time you reached the Hoffmans’ house, you were both following the gentle glow of orange lights strung across the yard, stepping into a scene that felt dreamlike, suspended in that late afternoon haze. There was a large oak tree strung with little yellow lights, glowing faintly in the dying sunlight, the whole place set up in the same meticulous, festive way the Hoffmans always did. 

Every corner had been turned into Halloween, with cobwebs woven over bushes and pumpkins large and small lining tables, some carved and flickering with candles, others untouched, casting shadows across the tablecloths. Guests mingled at scattered tables, warm drinks in hand, their voices and laughter filling the air with a kind of warmth you hadn’t known you’d needed. The grill added a woodsy scent, smoky and rich, mixed with spices that made your stomach hum with anticipation. A few feet away, kids dressed as witches and monsters zoomed around, their laughter spilling into the light breeze, punctuating the chatter of the adults.

It was the kind of evening that felt ripe for sinking into, letting go of all the worries that had weighed on you lately. You wanted to let yourself simply be here.

Travis glanced at you then, his gaze softening in that way he had, his question as warm as his smile. “I’m heading for food—want anything?” he asked, eyes moving from you to the spread at the far end of the yard.

You pushed yourself up from the table, your hands planted firmly as if grounding yourself.

“I’ll come with you—this is the best part, right?”

The food was better than ever. Tender, perfectly cooked meat, salads piled high, and a sense of community humming through every bite. You found your spot at the table again, balancing your glass of beer on the edge, the faint strains of music drifting from the outdoor speakers blending into the buzz of voices around you. And then, like some personal invitation to memory, you heard the familiar intro; Eyes Without a Face, by Billy Idol, that unmistakable beat curling around you.

Your shoulders started to sway, almost without permission, and then there he was again—Joel. Just like that, back in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you. You could picture it—two years ago, slightly tipsy, singing that song in his living room, his hand on your waist, both of you spinning each other slowly to the rhythm, his head tilted back in a deep laugh, voice just slightly off-beat, and you trying and failing to contain your own laughter.

“You okay?” Travis’s voice pulled you back, concern lacing his tone as he looked at you. Your gaze had been locked on some invisible point on the table, your head leaning slightly, reliving a memory that suddenly felt all too close.

“Oh—yeah. It’s nothing. I just love this song.”

He smiled, nodding knowingly. “It’s a classic,” he said, his fingers tapping along with the beat.

You looked up and there, just beyond Travis, the Hoffmans’ glass door slid open. You stopped breathing for a second. Joel stepped out, looking like he’d walked out of some old photograph, hair a bit damp, dark jeans and a gray and black flannel layered over a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black converse grounding him to this moment. He moved toward one of the tables, brushing his chin absentmindedly, his lips moving in time with the music, glancing around as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

And then his gaze found yours.

You held your breath, as if that could somehow make you invisible, as if that would erase this moment. But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, a half smile on his face or maybe just a neutral expression—some mix of familiar and distant, like he was watching you from a place you could never fully reach. You swallowed, shifting your focus back to Travis, who had his eyes on his phone now, idly typing something while he continued to eat.

“I should’ve dressed up tonight,” you said, your voice intentionally light, trying to shake the weight that had fallen over you. “I don’t know what I’d be, but still. It would be fun to pretend for a night.”

Travis chuckled, leaning in closer, but you could still see Joel over his shoulder, that steady gaze, watching from his own table.

“I know a party tomorrow night—my friend’s hosting, if you want to go with me. We can pick out costumes tomorrow morning, make a day of it.”

You smiled, surprised at how genuinely it formed, pushing your hands together in excitement.

“Really? I’d love that! I haven’t dressed up in years.”

Travis’s face lit up. “Then it’s a date. We’ll figure out the costumes in the morning. Anything you want.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, that lightness in his offer, something to look forward to. Your gaze wandered to Helena and her little daughter by the pool, her laughter carried to you on the breeze, her face illuminated in the soft glow of fairy lights. You patted Travis’s hand and stood up, gesturing for him to follow. He caught on, falling into step behind you as you made your way to greet them. 

But as you moved, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, lingering there in the space between.

It had been more than a month since you'd last seen Helena. She had traveled back to her home country after her father’s death, sorting through family matters, settling things that couldn’t be left undone. Now, with her daughter Iris perched on her lap, she looked better, lighter even. There was a calmness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Iris’s shoulder as the little girl, dressed as a bumblebee, poked unenthusiastically at a slice of pumpkin bread. You sat next to her.

“Hey,” Helena said, catching sight of you with a warm smile that seemed to melt away everything around you—even the awareness of Joel, somewhere behind you, his gaze like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” you answered, hesitating as your eyes drifted to Iris, who looked up at you with a shy, dimpled smile. “When did you get back?”

“A few days ago. I was actually planning to stop by tomorrow,” Helena replied, brightening as she added, “I thought we could have dinner, get the girls together, and our guys.” She gave a little chuckle, nudging Iris lightly. “Paul would probably love having Joel around too. The poor guy spent the entire trip surrounded by women—my sisters are wonderful, but you know how it is. It was just him and my dad with all of us, and now…”

Helena had three sisters, each one of them stunning, with the same striking green eyes and dark hair that she had. When you’d met them last Christmas, it was as though you’d stepped into some enchanted fairytale—they moved with an effortless grace, magnetic and ethereal.

Helena’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward Travis. “You should come too, Travis,” she said, a mischievous glint in her expression. She shot you a knowing wink, which Travis, ever polite, caught with a smile.

“Sounds great,” he replied with an easy grin, though you felt a twinge of discomfort at the mention of “our guys,” the thought of Joel slipping into your mind unbidden. Trying to brush it aside, you nodded and shifted the conversation.

“Is Paul not coming tonight?” you asked, hoping to keep things light.

“No,” she sighed. “He’s been swamped at work, trying to catch up after our trip. But I really can’t complain. He was so great, staying home with me all this time, so I told him tonight he should just take his time.” 

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you!” Brenda, always the life of these gatherings, came over with her usual warmth, her gaze lighting up as she reached out for Iris. 

Brenda’s costume was a striking homage—her spiky orange hair and dark lipstick made her look both bold and playful. She wore a white shirt stamped with slogans in block print, a chunky pearl necklace framing her smile. As she was sitting in front of Helena, she caught your eye and grinned.

“I'm Vivienne Westwood!” she announced proudly, preening a little under your gaze.

“You look amazing,” you said, meaning it. “And the food is, as always, incredible. You outdo yourself every year.”

Brenda gave your hand a squeeze in response, her gaze softening, but just as she was about to respond, her attention shifted beyond you, a pleased expression lighting up her face. “Oh! Joel, come over here!”

Your body tensed at the sound of his name, feeling as though the space behind you had just closed in. He was there, his footsteps echoing toward you until he was nearly at your back. You wanted to stand up, to avoid the moment entirely, but it would have only made things worse—too obvious, too awkward. Brenda couldn’t have known. Joel had always been a fixture in your life; it wasn’t strange to see him here, even if, for some reason, it felt like he was moving in a world that was no longer entirely yours.

You glanced up, catching sight of Joel as he leaned down to kiss Brenda’s cheek while she patted the seat next to her. His smile was casual, easy, as he greeted the others with a nod, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you and Travis than felt necessary. He looked completely at ease, unbothered by the tension knotting up inside you, sitting comfortably in front of you.

Brenda’s hand rested on his arm as she looked up at him with a fond smile. “Where’s your Sarah? I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She’s at a friend’s sleepover,” Joel replied, a hint of concern threading through his words, though he tried to disguise it with a smile. “So I’m here on her behalf, I suppose.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Brenda said, her tone nostalgic as she gave him a soft smack on the arm.

Joel shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile flitting across his face before his gaze moved to Iris. “Tell me about it. I remember when she was this little…”

Helena’s hand drifted over her daughter’s hair as she smiled back at him.

“It all flies by, doesn’t it?” she said, her voice soft. “We really have to hold on to these moments.” She turned toward Travis, and he nodded, a gentle look in his eyes as he watched Iris. 

“How old is Sarah now, Joel?” Travis asked, and you noticed a subtle shift in Joel’s expression, a kind of hesitance before he replied.

“Twelve,” he said, his voice quieter, his gaze falling briefly before meeting Travis’s, smile dissapearing.

“Twelve?” Brenda’s tone was incredulous. “I still remember the day you moved in, Joel! She was so little then, a perfect little angel! And you—how old were you then?”

“Twenty-seven,” Joel answered with a wry smile, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

“You were just a kid yourself,” Brenda replied, shaking her head. “Always working, always rushing somewhere. And always putting your baby first.”

Joel’s smile softened, his eyes meeting Brenda’s with a warm gratitude.

“I couldn’t have managed without you,” he said simply, as though she understood all the years of support and help she had given him.

Helena glanced over with a thoughtful look. “Didn’t you just have a birthday, Joel?” she asked, her voice casual, but the question landing with a weight that made your heart leap. 

“That's right,” he murmured, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers against the edge of the table. “September twenty-sixth.”

“Hey, happy belated birthday then,” Helena said brightly, her smile lighting up the words. “Did you have a nice time?”

Joel looked at you briefly, and something flickered there, like he was turning over a memory he hadn’t expected to find. He shifted his gaze back to his hands. “It was good. Full of… surprises, I guess. Pretty sure Sarah told you all about it, huh?” He shot a glance at Brenda, as if grateful for a way out of the conversation.

“Oh, I heard all about it from Sarah,” Brenda said, grinning, her gaze settling on you with a warmth that made you blush. “You’re a lucky guy, Joel, to have two sweet girls looking out for you like that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make up a little bag of candy to take home to her, all right? I know she loves the caramel ones.”

You smiled, trying to ignore the prickle of Joel’s gaze on you. And then a feeling dragged you back to years before, to when his Sarah was just three. You could pictured her as a toddler with wide eyes and a toothy, mischievous grin. Joel had shown you those old photos once, and you remembered how adorable she looked, her tiny hand clutching a toy tightly. Sarah had his smile—that same easy warmth, with eyes that crinkled and all but disappeared whenever she laughed. That gesture was even present in Tommy, now that you thought about it. Maybe it was purely a Millers thing, but it—

You realized Brenda was talking to you and straightened up, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, what?”, you asked.

Brenda chuckled, looking at you with a soft smile. “I was just asking, how old was Sarah when you first met her?”

“She was eight,” Joel answered before you could, glancing at you with a faint smirk.

"Yeah, eight," you echoed the number, ignoring the way his gaze moved over you, lingering with a warmth that felt almost invasive.

At that moment, Helena called Brenda’s attention back to a conversation about Christmas and Iris’s upcoming birthday, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, searching your face like he was looking for something only you might understand. You tried to keep your own expression neutral, feeling Travis’s hand come to rest on your knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch helped you to breathe a little easier, though Joel didn’t miss the gesture. His gaze hardened as he glanced down, the line of his jaw tightening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, finally addressing Travis. “So, how’s business going, Travis? I heard something about real estate taking a hit. Times are rough, aren’t they?”

Travis, completely unfazed, nodded, his hand still on your knee. “It is. At least for now things are still good, but of course, I can speak for myself.”

Joel gave a slow, mocking nod, feigning an interest he didn’t feel. “Well, you seem quite competent. I have no doubt you sure are handy with business. Is your dad still running the company?”

Travis smiled, oblivious to the subtext that hung in Joel’s question. “Yep, still going strong, but I think he’s planning to retire soon. My old man is tired, I think.”

Joel raised his eyebrows in a mock gesture of understanding. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like the kind who’s got a knack for that… you know, the charm. Every successful businessman needs a little bamboozling spark, don’t they? And I... I think you fit the role.” 

“Joel,” you warned quietly, hoping to temper the tension you could feel growing at the table. But Joel merely looked back at you with a faint, defiant smile, ignoring the caution in your eyes.

Travis, patient as ever, simply shrugged. “I appreciate your good faith, Joel. It means a lot coming from you, I know what a hard worker you are.”

The kindness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes—it made your heart soften. You turned to look at him with a warm smile on your face, how was he immune to the sharp words of the man in front of him? And Joel had a special talent for formulating painful and provocative sentences, but apparently Travis was not the easy guy to gnaw on. And you were grateful for that. 

He turned to you, his eyes warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to get us some drinks. Need anything, beautiful?”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

As he rose and walked away, he gave your shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. You noticed Joel watching Travis’s every move, his expression darkening, and once Travis was out of earshot, Joel’s gaze returned to you. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, his eyes narrowing in an almost accusatory way as they moved over your face, searching.

“Joel, really,” you whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He’s never done a thing to you.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he leaned closer, eyes dancing with a kind of challenge. “Treat him like what?”

You shook your head, pulling back to put some distance between you, but Joel’s gaze followed, steady, like he was waiting for you to react, hoping for it even.

Murmuring an apology to Brenda and Helena, you stood, slipping away to the table by the big oak tree where your empty plate and half-full glass still sat. You picked it up, taking a long drink, grateful for the quiet moment, even as you felt his eyes on you from across the garden.

Travis appeared in front of you, a warm smile on his face as he handed over a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, topped with a dollop of cream shaped into a ghost and dusted with coconut. The sweet smell hit you right away, and you leaned in, inhaling the scent, your mouth already watering. You took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate—it tasted like all of Brenda Hoffman’s best baking, delicious and indulgent.

“Maybe after the barbecue, we could head back to my place for a while,” Travis said, his expression slightly tentative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of your response.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied with a small smile, trying not to feel self-conscious. As you savored another bite, you glanced toward the pool where Joel was still deep in conversation with Brenda, Helena, and Iris. A moment later, you noticed Clara, all golden hair and easy confidence, sliding into the seat you’d left vacant. She placed two plates on the table, one for herself and one for Joel, who glanced up as she settled in, looking pleased.

Travis followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a knowing look.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” he said, sounding almost amused, though his eyes held a faint hint of confusion. “I think I might understand why, i mean, i think i know why but…”

You blinked, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge of guilt.

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” you said, brushing off the thought. “He’s just acting… well, like a jerk.”

Travis nodded slowly, digesting your words, but then his eyes softened with curiosity.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… what happened with you two? Weren’t you best friends? I remember you two were always together, but lately…”

You sighed, feeling the tension build as you searched for a way to answer. Travis didn’t need the full story, not yet.

“Like I just told you, he's acting like a jerk,” you said, and it didn't take long to sense that Travis wasn't satisfied with your answer.“Honestly, we just… had an argument a few weeks ago,” you said, carefully choosing each word. “It’s been weird between us since then, I guess.”

Travis seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go deeper, and thankfully he let the topic slide, moving the conversation in a new direction as he began to tell you about the last book he’d read.

“I just finished The Red and the Black, actually,” he said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he picked up his fork, poking at his plate absently. “I didn’t like Madame de Rênal. I thought her choices were a bit… unconvincing.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you swallowed the last bite of cupcake. “Well, we're talking about revolutionary and passionate times, you know. I mean, Stendhal had his characters reflecting all that intensity. Have you read Goethe’s Werther?”

Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the Werther book. The one with the famous suicide, right?”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the one. The famous suicide and the iconic outfit. I know it gets heavy, but I’ve always liked it.”

He chuckled, nodding as if to humor you.

“My sister made me read it as a teenager, actually. I thought Werther was too… sentimental for my taste.”

You tried not to smile too widely, picturing a young, disinterested Travis, brow furrowed over Goethe’s verses.

“I get it. I was probably more sympathetic to Werther than I should’ve been. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic myself, so maybe it made sense to me. Though I’ll admit, he does get insufferable.”

“Definitely insufferable,” Travis said, still amused. “I’ve always been more into horror anyway.”

The comment made you smile—Travis had a whole shelf at home stacked with DVDs and old VHS tapes of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Cujo, and The Birds. You’d teased him about it, of course, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

As the conversation flowed, a faint twinge made itself known in your stomach, and you shifted in your seat, trying to ignore it. You’d had a glass of beer and two tall glasses of water before coming over, so the feeling wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, excusing yourself as you rose from your spot.

In doing so, you glanced over Travis’s shoulder, only to catch sight of Joel and Clara by the pool. Brenda had moved elsewhere, leaving Clara at Joel’s side, closer than casual. She was leaning into him, her hand resting against his shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, her laugh light and flirtatious. Joel didn’t seem uncomfortable with her proximity. In fact, he was smiling back at her, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made your heart sink just a little. 

You looked away, feeling a strange pang that you couldn’t quite justify. Had he been ignoring Clara before simply because you were there, next to him? But now, alone with her… he didn’t seem to be ignoring her at all.

As you headed toward the house, you forced yourself to shake off the thought. You slipped through the door and let out a sigh of relief, the cool interior air calming your nerves. Walking quietly down the hallway, you reached the bathroom and knocked gently to check if it was free. It was unoccupied, so you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You paused by the mirror, glancing at your own reflection, almost surprised by the tension in your eyes.

What was Joel doing, looking at Clara like that? Wasn’t he still with Sienna? And what would she think if she saw him now, flirting? It was hard not to wonder if Sienna was like Clara, someone completely different from you. 

Clara was a flash of brilliance, a woman who looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover, golden curls that fell like soft waves of sunlight, her skin bronzed from Texas summers, her green eyes glinting with a brightness that made her seem almost elemental, like an extension of the sun. Her voice was soft, delicate; every word felt chosen, measured. She was flirtatious, always laughing, always seemingly content with the way things were. You could almost imagine that Clara might be Joel’s type—a vibrant, sunlit presence. It would make sense; he was her opposite in every way. When you thought of Joel, you thought of nighttime, the murmur of crickets outside a darkened window, strong coffee and smoky whiskey, a deep, hidden undercurrent. 

And you? You weren’t sure what you were. You weren’t quite the night, nor the day. Maybe you were something in between, or maybe you were just… undetermined. You wanted to think you had some affinity with the moon, but even that seemed too defined.

You sighed, breaking your gaze from your reflection as you felt an urgency to finish up. A moment later, you were washing your hands, the warm water and lavender soap grounding you a bit as your mind drifted again, wandering along with the suds down the drain. You dried your hands with a soft cotton towel, inhaling the fresh, clean scent.

But when you opened the door, you froze in place. Joel was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He had been staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard you, his gaze flicked up. There was an intensity in his expression that made you pause, waiting for him to say something, to step aside, to let you pass. But he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the small space like a slow crack.

“Are you with him now?”

“With who, Travis?” you said, sounding more dismissive than you’d intended.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Who else? Or is there another I don’t know about?”

You took a few steps closer, folding your arms, letting your expression go cold and tight, the same way it always seemed to be now, whenever you looked at him.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Joel.” You lifted your chin. “I mean, last time I checked, you haven’t been all that open about your life either. So why would I tell you anything about mine now?”

Joel’s smirk twisted into something sharper. “Didn’t stop you from telling Tommy, did it?”

You shrugged. “Well, you’re not Tommy.”

Joel scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “Telling Tommy is practically the same as telling me.”

You lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that.”

But his amusement faded, and he looked at you with something almost searching, like he was trying to find a trace of the way you used to be with him—kind, understanding, open in a way that had made him comfortable. You saw the shift in his face, in the way his eyes flicked between yours, like he was looking for some doorway back to that version of you. But she wasn’t here. Or maybe she was, just not for him anymore.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper, as he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

So you simply met his gaze, letting silence serve as an answer, your lips lifting in a faint, cryptic smile. And then you saw the moment he believed it: his jaw tightened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes seemed to darken, hardening.

The question hit you, and you stayed silent, unsure if an answer would expose the bitter knot you felt at your center. You hadn’t slept with Travis, not yet anyway. But Joel didn’t know that, and you found a petty thrill in letting him wonder, letting him believe what he wanted—that other hands, other lips had erased him from your memory, replaced every touch. That he had no longer been the last man to touch you. 

It was pathetic, you knew it, but the curiosity to see his reaction was stronger than anything else. So you decided not to answer, to let the silence lie for you.

“Like I said, none of your business,” you finally said, feeling something small and satisfied flare inside.

Joel chuckled, but it was a grim sound. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up, there was an almost cruel gleam in his eye.

“Did he know where to touch you?”

You scoffed, turning the question back on him. “Do you really want to know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You knew Joel well enough to know he would go there if he could. But you couldn’t let him gain the upper hand, not here. If anything, you needed to keep him off-balance, keep him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m all ears,” he replied, his smile gone now, leaving only a hard, steady gaze that felt like it was drilling into you.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you held his gaze, determined.

“He was the best I’ve ever had,” you said, letting each word hang in the air, daring him to question it. You tilted your head, feigning a fond, private recollection. “Gentle, but rough when I wanted him to be. And you want to know the best part?”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, his expression softened. The dark look in his eyes deepened, his smile long gone.

“Afterwards, when I woke up,” you went on, drawing out each word, “Travis was still there.”

Joel’s head dipped, his eyes dropping to the ground, and you took a brief, selfish moment to take in the sight of him, almost broken in front of you. But something twisted in your chest; the satisfaction felt hollow, quickly replaced by a pang of something closer to pity, almost regret. You had an impulse to reach out, to tell him you hadn’t meant it, that Travis wasn’t even in the picture, that he hadn’t been the best or the first or anything. But you couldn’t allow that. 

You had to remind yourself why you’d stopped letting Joel in—how he’d left you out in the cold, how he’d made your feelings seem like nothing, as if they didn’t matter enough to consider. You had to remind yourself of Sienna, this woman who felt like a ghost, hovering between you and Joel, even though you’d never even met her. And if he was really with someone else, what was he doing here, pushing and prying, acting like he had the right to know these things about you? Why was he acting like he cared if you’d moved on, or if you were with someone else, when he was so openly flirting with Clara just a few minutes ago in Brenda’s backyard? Had he become a complete asshole, or had he always been like that and you were just now realizing it?

As the memory of it all flooded back, the tenderness you'd felt earlier drained away, replaced by a familiar, suffocating anger. It surged up from somewhere deep inside you, visceral and sharp, and before you could stop yourself, your body moved instinctively—stepping back, away from him—until your back hit the cold wall by the bathroom door. The impact was jarring, but it felt like a small, needed separation. 

Joel didn’t speak right away. He stood still, his eyes shifting downward, slowly, moving over your body, before meeting your face again. His expression was unreadable, like a mask he didn’t quite know how to remove. It irritated you, this silence, this uncertainty that hung between you two like an unwelcome guest.

Finally, you broke the tension, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping back, away from him. But just as you tried to distance yourself, his voice vibrated through the air, low and deliberate, cutting into your thoughts.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

A shiver ran through you, a mixture of anger and something else—something hotter, something less easy to define. You didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, and it was impossible to ignore.

No. This wasn’t about that. This was about him—how dare he?

In a sudden movement, your hands moved to the buttons of the flannel, fumbling with them in a rush, eager to take it off, to rid yourself of him. But as you tugged the fabric down over your shoulders, you felt Joel’s hand close around your left wrist, his palm warm against your skin, halting you, slowing you down. The touch was too familiar, too intimate, and it sent a jolt of something you couldn’t quite identify straight to your stomach.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor you, like he was trying to hold you in place. “It’s yours. Don’t take it off.”

You snorted, a dry, incredulous sound, and with an almost violent motion, you yanked your hand away from his, finishing the job of removing the flannel with a sharp tug. 

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further, and for a moment, you could see the effort it took him to stay still. His eyes lingered on you, tracing your every move, as you held the soft fabric against his chest. You could feel the air shift, feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, and your heart beat a little faster. 

You looked up at him, the anger suddenly spilling out of you. “No. You’re right. It’s yours. I should have given it back to you a long time ago.”

His hand moved up to his chest, over yours, taking the fabric from you with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Put it back on,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying to smooth over something that had frayed. "It's cold outside."

You wanted to fight it, to say something sharp, but your irritation bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good thing I live across the block, then,” you blurted, the words coming out thicker with frustration as you pulled your hand free from under his, feeling the heat of his fingers linger on your skin.

Joel's patience was running thin. His hand shot out again, grabbing the flannel in a fist and pulling it closer to you, the fabric stretching between your bodies.

“Stop being so stubborn and put it back on,” he said, his tone more demanding, more urgent. His voice had a sharpness to it now, almost like a warning.

Something inside you snapped. You shoved his hand back hard, with as much force as you could muster, pushing him away—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. His body didn’t move, though. It stayed solid, unyielding, the broadness of his shoulders making you feel small, like you were being swallowed by his presence.

Frustration bubbled inside you, gnawing at your chest as you turned sharply on your heels, determined to leave. Your steps were quick, purposeful, as you made your way toward the hallway exit, the air heavy with everything left unsaid between you and Joel. But then, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back to him. You pivoted on instinct, meeting his gaze with eyes darkened by anger, sharp and focused.

For a moment, your mind flashed with the impulse to tear his hand off your wrist, to wrench it away and walk out of this whole mess. But you let it go. Instead, you locked eyes with him, your breath catching as your irritation turned into something more potent—exasperation.

“Enough, Joel,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I'm tired of fighting with you.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and inside, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to this—how two people who once fit so easily together had ended up here, so broken and scattered. 

“Then let’s not fight,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was pleading. There was a quiet desperation in his words, a slight hitch, as if he was offering a fragile truce. “We can—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” you interrupted, your words sharp and cold, the bitterness clinging to every syllable. “I can’t stand you anymore.” As soon as they left your lips, you realized how hard and cruel they sounded, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. Tired of the games, tired of the back-and-forth. The anger inside you surged again, hotter than before, as his fingers tightened around your wrist, forcing you to feel the weight of it. Desperation.

“Don’t look for me,” you continued, the words raw and unrelenting. “Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t look at me. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve had enough of all of this. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything, I’d avoid all of this shit.” The heat in your chest built as tears threatened, burning behind your eyes. “But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you, so leave me the fuck alone for once. Avoid me if you can and I’ll avoid you. Pretend I don’t fucking exist. I don't know. Just stop it, Joel.”

The impact of your words hit him like a physical blow. You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his mouth twisted, his face contorting in a wince. Something inside you sank, and for a moment, regret pierced you. But then, the anger pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t been considerate of you before, had he? And that thought, that realization, let the remorse slip away.

His grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t release you. Instead, his fingers trailed down to your palm, stroking it gently with his fingertips, his breath shallow and measured, like he was holding himself back from saying something more. 

For a moment, you both stood still, suspended in that space, him looking at you, and you trying not to look at him—waiting, anticipating what would come next. What was the right thing to do now? You should walk away. Right now. Now. 

But then his voice, quiet and soft, cut through the air.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“No,” you said, the word escaping before you could stop it. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, and the second it left you, you could feel it: the squeeze in your chest, the twisting of your heart. It wasn’t true, not really. But you wanted it to be. You wanted it to be true more than anything.

Joel’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like they were searching for something in your face that wasn’t there. His expression faltered, his hand falling away from yours, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if the weight of your words had crushed him. 

“I know that’s not true, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t name, but it was too much. You couldn’t bear to see it.

You shook your head, refusing to let the crack in your own resolve show.

“Maybe not, yet,” you said, your voice colder now, harder. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it true.”

With that, you turned away before you could second-guess yourself, before you could see his reaction and let the guilt undo you. You didn’t want to stay. Not now. If you stayed a moment longer, you knew you would apologize, you’d cave, you’d let him back in. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t keep doing this. 

You walked quickly back to your seat, each step carrying you farther away from him, from the tension that had become unbearable. You barely noticed Travis’s worried look when you sat down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You were gone a while.”

You nodded, forcing a weak, half-smile. But inside, it felt like everything was crumbling. Your bones felt brittle, as if they might snap with the weight of it all. Your body had turned to lead, your muscles drained of all strength. Your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were a reflection of the ache in your chest. 

You just wanted to go home, crawl into your bed, and never come out. The lump in your throat grew larger with every second, and the cold air stung your neck, making you shiver.

“What happened to your shirt?” Travis asked, noticing the way your body had become tense and cold.

You didn’t answer, relieved when he stood and came to stand beside you. You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, his movements gentle, as he draped it over your shoulders and helped you tuck your arms into it. 

Once you were warm, Travis slipped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him, his soft kiss to the top of your head offering a fleeting moment of comfort. You couldn’t help but lean into him, resting your head on his collarbone, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of being held, the peace of someone who wasn’t trying to tear you apart.

But then you heard it—the sliding door opening. And you knew. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him. Joel. Walking out of the house, his pace slow, deliberate, as he clutched the flannel shirt in his left hand. His eyes were cast downward, but when he looked up, they locked on you. His expression shifted, something unreadable in the way he looked at you, and your stomach dropped. 

He walked toward his table, his fist clenching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white, his gaze never leaving you. You couldn’t look away either. It was like a magnetic pull. 

At his table, Carla was waiting, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk circling prey. You felt an involuntary surge of disgust. You wanted to stand up, to march over there and shake her, to tell her to leave, to stop, that she was being pathetic. But then, the sharp, bitter truth hit you: Carla wasn’t the problem. You were. She reminded you of yourself—the way you’d clung to Joel, the way you’d let him define you. 

Joel spoke, his voice angry and loud enough for you to hear from where you sat. 

“I’m going home,” he said, his eyes cutting through Carla as he raised his head to her height. Then he pulled back, holding out his hand. “Y'wanna come with me?”

And there it was—the knot in your chest tightened. Carla nodded, flushed with a victorious smile, and took his hand. The same hand that had held yours just minutes before. 

You closed your eyes, sinking further into Travis’s embrace, the ache in your chest spreading, overwhelming. 

You couldn’t leave now. Not with him walking out, not with her next to him. What would you do? Cross paths with them on the way out? Watch them walk away together? The thought was unbearable.

“Can we go to your place for a while?” Your voice was small, almost breaking as you whispered into Travis’s chest. 

“Sure thing, honey,” he murmured, the warmth of his body offering a small, fleeting comfort against the storm of emotions inside you.

-

@nobodyssfool @gigistorm @ @auteurdelabre @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @powellssaturn @kyloispunk @paleidiot @aceaubrianna @liciafonseca @kaolusha @beeboopski

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[chuulyssa]

── ★ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 !

a/n: i finally reached impel down arc so here's me coping with ace's inevitable death read on ao3

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 — stripped and locked up in impel down with your boyfriend doesn't sound too bad, not after the mind-blowing ways he helps you pass your time there

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — fluff, angst, comfort, smut smut pure filthy smut ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎──‎‎‎‎─ tw reader is a strategist on wb's crew, humiliation by stripping and parading by jail wardens, cat-calling by creepy prisoners, overall really uncomfortable till you get to ace, implied mentions of assault, public sex, exhibitionism, bondage by cuffs, nipple play, dry humping, oral both f and m!receiving, face sitting, begging kink, praise kink, cockwarming at the end

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ace x f!reader ft. cameo by crocodile

You shuddered from the cold wind as it rose goosebumps on the bare skin of your body.

It had been over an hour since you had been stripped of your clothing, plunged into boiling hot water to get 'baptized,' and hauled all the way here with nothing but a towel covering your naked frame. Slowly, as if to punish you through humiliation, you had been dragged by your hair downstairs, level by level, passing each and every cell filled with prisoners who gawked and wolf-whistled at your thighs and collarbones. They had hurled along each step, making a racquet and screaming for the warden to let you in their cell for 'just one night'. And for a moment, you seemed to think that was exactly what the jailers would do, before they yanked your hair up in another direction, and you heaved a sigh of relief despite the pain. It couldn't have been more horrifying.

Throughout your journey down to Level 6, you had passed many 'hells', as they called it. To think that an organization called themselves the harbingers of peace and unity, only to enforce such horrific scenes, and the even more terrifying formations such as the Buster Call, it was no wonder there was an army working day and night to bring down the World Government.

The stone of the final level had felt cold under your bare feet. Your head had been aching for a while now, and your body was trembling entirely. If it hadn't been for the ruthless jailer holding you up, you were sure your legs would have given in already.

"Move along!" The warden had screamed, and you had bitten a harsh remark before complying.

Here, too, the men of the lockers had screamed in delight at the sight of you, eyes widening out of their sockets and hands attempting to reach out to you from behind the bars. You had nervously hiked the towel that covered your breasts and crotch higher up, locking an arm to the side to stop it from falling over.

The head jailer, Domino, had opened a rather secluded cell. It was hidden well away from the rest, with just one cell in front of it. A man already sat inside it, his head hung low in defeat. She had pushed you inside it with all her might. You had fallen to the ground, the towel coming off your body slightly but still enough to hide the main parts. She had locked your hands apart, uncomfortably close to the other man.

Just as they had been about to lock you away for good with the man, the Warden, Magellan stopped and looked at you.

"To think that you still haven't learnt your lesson after escaping death from the World Government all this time," he snarled at you, and you glared right back at him. "Let us hope you rethink your decisions as you rot away here before your execution."

"I'm not gonna be executed."

"We will see about that. Oh, and," he walked back into the cell and tore the towel away from your body, "this won't matter in a few weeks."

You scrambled to hide yourself as the jailers left, everyone other than the Warden laughing uncontrollably. You could feel countless eyes on you from other cells. People craned their necks to get a better look at your body in spite of the dim lighting of the prison. You tried to move desperately to save some dignity, but the clanking of the chains around your wrists echoed in the room, and the vicious comments only grew louder. You seemed to be the only woman on this level, and the prisoners thus took this as a chance to memorize every curve of your body.

"That's enough," a familiar voice declared from beside you, and the jeering immediately stopped.

Your eyes focused on the man beside you. His messy black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat from the suffocating heat of the prison. His face looked hardened and tense. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring, as if he was ready to burst out in flames at any moment, despite the heavy shackles chaining him down.

Ace’s chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, the fury in his eyes growing hotter, sharper, as if silently promising death to all those who had had the nerve to comment on your fragile form, as well as to those who were the cause of it.

"Ace," you said softly, more so to yourself than you did to him. After all, how could he know the countless nights you had spent with the crew, awaiting his return as he sought revenge on Blackbeard? How could he know the sickness that overtook you when you found out of his imprisonment and ultimate execution? How could he know the relief you felt right now, just by the innocent sight of his face?

"Why are you here?" he said quietly, not looking up at you at all.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a prisoner," you tried to inch closer towards him, but the chains that bound you did not budge.

"If the strategist I fell in love with did not foresee possible capture and execution, then she must be an impersonator."

You swallowed hard. You knew better than anyone that he wasn't angry with you — he was angry with himself. Angry that, despite all the warnings, all the plans, things had gone so wrong. And now, here you both were: stripped of everything, thrown into a nightmare where escape seemed impossible.

Yet now, in this hellish prison, with the cold iron chains cutting into your wrists, all of that seemed to fade into the background. The mere sight of him, alive and breathing was enough to satisfy all the anxiety you had had for the past few weeks.

"You're right," you bowed your head down. "I knew this would happen."

"Then why—"

"I missed you."

A deafening silence hung around the air before his eyes snapped back to you angrily. His entire body tensed, the chains around his wrists rattling as he shifted.

"You missed me?" His voice was low, and the fury in it was unmistakable. "You knew the risks, you knew what they would do to you, and you came here anyway? Why? Because you missed me?"

"You don't get it, do you?" you said softly, eyes meeting his. "I would rather be here with you, in this place, than out there without you."

"You're being stupid right now," Ace growled. His fists clenched in the chains, the metal creaking as if they were just a breath away from snapping under the pressure. "Do you know what you've done? You could've escaped all this — you didn't have to come here. Not for me. I'm not worth the—"

"I love you," you interrupted. The fire in his gaze flickered briefly.

"You know I love you too, but—" His voice softened. He wasn't good with words, never had been, and now, in this moment, he seemed to be fighting against them to keep you safe, even as you both sat in chains.

"If you're dying, I'll die with you," you whispered without hesitation.

Ace's breath hitched. He was angry, yes — but now more than ever, at himself. He couldn't protect you from this. He couldn't protect you from the world that had dragged you both down here.

"You shouldn't have to die with me," Ace muttered.

"But I want to."

"You said you were not gonna get executed," he reminded you, to which you shrugged.

"That was a lie. Of course, given the blocked exit points and the tight security against Whitebeard, there's no way we could escape from here without external help. Even if we do, assuming we got a few allies, what with Blackbeard becoming a Warlord, the chances of survival are 6%, which is not a lot, really."

"Wow. All of that flew right over my head," Ace smiled, one leg hiking over your hip to inch you closer. "Why didn't they dress you in prison clothes?"

"I threw a spear coated with sea stone at Magellan."

"Oh, is that why he was huffing around? That's my girl." Ace struggled to kiss your forehead, so you brought your face closer to his to help him. "I'm assuming they didn't try anything."

You shook your head, and his smile grew. "You look cold, baby."

"You know the drill," you giggled, crawling as close to his body as the cuffs allowed you to be, snuggling into his warmth. The goosebumps that coated your bare skin disappeared one by one. Ace let your hair back with his mouth before leaning down to kiss a cold nipple.

You gasped.

"Don't worry. Look," you looked in the direction he hinted at and watched most, if not all of the prisoners, drop down fainting.

"Conqueror's Haki?"

He winked in return before going back to the other nipple to lick it. Your body shook wildly. Ace's thighs stiffened around yours to lock your position on his lap, and you humped along his clothed cock, getting wetter by the second. Your tits bounced up and down with each movement, and he couldn't help but bury his face in them, sucking hickeys all over the area to make you wear his claim.

It didn't help that his body heat was beginning to rub onto you too, deepening the pit in your stomach. Clasping your thighs together, you nuzzled your face into his neck to lick your way up it. Ace laughed at the attempt, because although both his hands were currently chained to either side of his head, he was still very much in control of the situation.

"This is just like every day in our ship, princess," he groaned. "Tied up like this as I fuck my way into you, isn't that right, pretty?"

You mewled in response, the heat from the friction generating in between the rubbing of both of your crotches growing unbearable now. It was like music to his ears. Ace smirked and started to move his hips in a circular motion steadily.

"Is this enough for you, or should I lend my mouth to you too, princess?"

Your eyes widened and you nodded vigorously, stopping the humping movements before standing up and bucking your hips towards his face. You looked down into his eyes, but they focused on only one thing: the absolutely beautiful cunt in front of them.

The wetness dripped onto his face charmingly, and you swear you could've come just by that sight alone. He moved his head forward before sticking out a tongue and rubbing it softly in one stroke along your slit. You whined, legs giving in, but he held you up by putting his face under your cunt.

You felt your feet being lifted off the ground, and Ace was right under you, drinking in your juices so as to not let even a single drop go to waste. You moaned his name loudly, loud enough that you were scared the jailers might return, or a demon guard might catch the two of you, or maybe even the unconscious prisoners might wake up. But right now, all that mattered to you was Ace, and the mouth he was putting to such good use by sucking your clit like it was his last meal.

Your hips shook violently, and it took all of Ace's will power not to drop you down harshly onto his dick right then and there.

"Didn't know you grew so sensitive without me," he teased, the vibrations of his voice further aiding into your release.

"Shut up," you cried, and he grinned against your cunt.

"Roger that, baby."

At those words, you came as hard as you could. It had been so long since you had felt this good. All those countless nights you had spent putting on Ace's cologne onto his pillows and fingering yourself were nothing compared to the bliss you felt right now, his warm and wet saliva sticking out of your cunt and mixing in with your release.

You got off his face, trembling. You still hadn't gotten completely over the mind-blowing orgasm he had just delivered to you. You watched him lick his lips clean before he tried bending down to lick your cunt clean as well. You giggled, bucking your hips up to allow the access, giving him a loud moan in return.

"My turn," you said, bending down to nuzzle your face on his shorts. It seemed as if the jailers had decided to let your chains a bit looser than Ace's to aid you in covering yourself. If only they knew the way you were putting that blessing to use now.

"Yes, please, baby," he groaned, voice hoarse from eating you out for the first time in months.

You pulled his shorts down with your teeth, batting your eyelashes at him as his big cock sprung free from its shackles. It had been a while since you had taken his whole length in your mouth or cunt, but he seemed bigger than ever now that you were caged together.

"So big, so pretty," you muttered, peppering kisses over his balls and watching him crumble underneath the touches. "I wonder what happens if I do this?" You gave one kitten-like lick along the tip of his cock, and his eyes snapped shut and he bucked his hips up roughly.

"Fuck, ah."

"Crude language," you pouted, and his cock twitched at the sounds you were making. "May I please suck your cock?"

"Please," he choked out a moan, and you smiled victoriously, engulfing his long dick into your warm mouth in one, practised motion. Your cheeks were completely filled, yet you forced them to move up and down to please your needy boyfriend.

"Ah— fuck, so good baby, you're doing as well as always," he mumbled, looking up to the ceiling with tears in his eyes at the growing pleasure.

He was such a reckless mess for you, and you loved every bit of it. Smiling lightly, you bobbed your head up and down his dick to lubricate it with your saliva and make your movement easier. Unfortunately, you couldn't use your hands, but that made the determination in you to help him climax without a handjob even brighter.

"More, more, more! It's so good— ah— I can't imagine what I've been missing out on all these months," Ace groaned loudly, and it took one last effort from you to deep-throat him, making him spasm wildly around, tears reaching down his shirtless body and eyes burning from pure ecstasy.

"I'm gonna—"

You hummed along his dick, which seemed to be the final thing he needed to let go. With one final jerk of his hips, he came down your throat. So much. It was so much, too much for you. And yet, you swallowed everything down to the last drop. You didn't know how the food in Impel Down tasted, but by God it could never surpass the taste of his cum.

The two of you lay in the cell for some time after that, neither of you moving an inch. Although Ace still had limited movements he could choose from, you had longer chains and were thus able to move around much freely. So when your lips finally stopped shaking, you got up from your position to look around at the other prisoners.

"How long are they gonna be knocked out?"

"I don't know," Ace said, spreading his legs to invite you over to sit on his cock. "The Haki effects have obviously worn out now, I have no idea why they're still unconscious. Perhaps just lazy."

"Or maybe sleepy, like you always are," you giggled, hovering his cock, ready to slowly take him in inch by inch.

"That's not nice," he chuckled darkly before snapping his legs up to pull you down onto his cock harshly. You almost screamed, muffling the loud sound of protest against his neck, biting a hickey into it as revenge. He whimpered in response but continued to move his hips up and down nevertheless.

"You won't believe how much I've missed this," he murmured in your ear. "You riding me, looking oh-so-pretty with your boobs bouncing at the impact."

"You're so fucking dirty, honey," you tried acting as if the constant rutting of his cock into your cunt didn't affect you in anyway, but this position made him feel even bigger than your mouth had adjusted to some time ago, and now you felt as if you were gonna be torn up right from the pussy.

For quite some time, the only sounds heard on the entire floor were of Ace's balls slapping against your bare cunt, your squeals whenever his dick hit just the right spot, and his pants whenever he heard the melody that escaped your lips. The smell of sex lingered around the area, and you wondered what would happen if it reached any of the jailers who were in charge of this level, but it was hard to think too much with Ace whispering about all the fantasies he had had about you during his various trips before he got captured, about how every dream you appeared in used to leave him with a hard cock, and how he used to jerk off to the thought of your delicious cunt that awaited him once he reached back home.

You wanted to tell him all you felt too: about how it was getting so hard and suffocating being in the same ship as others without him, how your own fingers could never satisfy you the way his slender ones and coarse tongue did, and how the heat pooling in your cunt grew warmer and warmer till you couldn't take it anymore and at times burst into tears from the faux-pleasure humping yourself dry on his pillows would bring to you.

But you couldn't get a word out. Not with how his dick was rutting into you at a quicker pace now. Not with how balls-deep he was getting inside you now. Not with how you could feel his high approaching rapidly, and how he was getting more-than-ready to get his load into you after fucking you senseless in this dirty, dirty prison ward.

"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm—" you chanted more to yourself than you did to him, and he shushed you.

"Hush, baby, me too," he groaned loudly, itching to touch you with his fingers even though he knew he couldn't. "At the count of three, yea?"

"Yes!" You cried back in response, your own hips moving at the speed of light. Ace counted backwards, and you both released heavily, liquids intermixing and spilling onto the floor. Yet the two of you paid no heed, continuing to move against each other like nothing happened. You bounced against him, ignoring the sploch! noises the sound of your cums together made, the stickiness encouraging you to get off your high using the man in front of you as your fucktoy.

Soon, the two of you had calmed down. You were still sitting on his cock, helping him keep it nice and warm. You lay your head onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. It had seemed like a dream come true for you. Not only had you managed to reunite with Ace, but it was real, you really were there in his arms at that very moment, catching your breath after the wreck you had made on his cock.

From the cell in front of you came a chuckle. Your eyes snapped opened, and Ace lifted his head to glare at the source of the sound. Surely, no one had enough guts to announce their presence and interrupt your intimate moment.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure standing in the shadows of the cell across from yours. His skin was tanned and weathered. His slicked-back black hair gleamed under the dim light, along with a large golden hook in place of his left hand. His eyes were fixed on you both. He looked both amused and disdained. A cigar was perched lazily between his lips. He didn’t seem fazed by the prison, by the chains, or by the two of you tangled together on the cold floor. In fact, he seemed entertained by it all.

"Well, well," Crocodile purred sarcastically. "Looks like I've got front-row seats to quite the show." His smirk widened. "Didn't realize Impel Down had become so... lively."

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 3

kenji sato x reader

summary: you learn all about the kaiju baby and the developments it has made, while spending time with kenji sato

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

warnings: none:), lots of fluff, reader and kenji being emi's parents

masterlist !

next morning, you were perched on a chair beside professor sato, yawning in fatigue.

kenji and professor sato made you stay the night at the mansion, providing you with a guest room.

you were up and early in the morning, eager to learn more about the kaiju baby at your disposal.

"come on. we have to stand up and measure you," professor sato spoke in a soothing voice.

"and analyze your entire genetic make up," mina added, hovering beside you.

but the baby kaiju still seemed doubtful of him, her beady curious eyes darting to you every so often.

"you guys are up already?" kenji stepped towards you, stopping at your side.

you spared a glance his way, giving him a sleepy wordless wave of greeting. you weren't one to get all cheerful and all in the morning. your brain had to flush out the exhaustion and drowsiness.

"kenji smiled back at you, offering you a cup of coffee, "thought you could use some,"

"oh, bless you. i can't thank you enough," you accepted it, sighing in bliss after taking your first sip.

kenji seemed pleased with your reaction, resting his elbows on the edge of your chair and standing behind you, his biceps bulging, "so, what are you doing?"

"we need to examine her so we can plan a training regimen to protect emi from protectors," professor sato said playfully at the kaiju baby.

kenji blinked, "emi? uh wait," he paused, "did you name her after mom?"

"i think she would approve,"

emi was still trilling in worry.

"okay emi," professor sato held up bunny in the hair, "now stand up nice and tall,"

emi got to her feet, slowly straightening up to her full height.

"my god," kenji deadpanned, "my dad's a kaiju whisperer,"

"good girl," i appreciated. emi's attention turned to you, letting out a happy squeal at your approval as her eyes brightened in excitement.

"ah well. looks like she's starting to like you," kenji stated.

"mina, please prepare to insert the microtracking device," professor sato instructed and the ai floated over, injecting as emi held out her hand.

"mina, treat please," professor sato took the donut when the ai handed it to him and held it out to the kaiju baby, "and before we eat, we say itadakiamsu,"

emi took the donut and munched on it, but few seconds later, her stomach let out a grumbling noise, and she looked like she was about to puke.

"professor sato, dr. y/n," mina addressed you both, "i believe that emi is experiencing a bit of nausea from the medicine.

you felt your chair being pulled backward and noticed it was kenji's doing.

"this never ends well," he stated as a matter of fact, "might wanna protect your coffee,"

i placed a hand over my cup, leaning back wearily as i let kenji drag me back.

"uh, dad, step away please," kenji waved at his father to get back when the professor didn't move,"

"oh she's fine," he brushed it off, "itdaki!-" the professor was knocked off his feet as he went flying backward, emi's puke hurling him to the wall at the far end, "-masu," he groaned, sliding to the floor.

kenji pursed his lips in amusement while you covered your mouth with your cup of coffee, letting out a laugh when emi trilled in joy.

you were jotting down everything kenji told you about emi's growth and development in these past few days, when emi leaped out of his hands and ran all around the room.

"get back here," kenji panted, "right now, missy!" he was in ultraman form, struggling to grab hold of emi, but the baby kaiju kept dodging him, running between his legs

emi squealed in delight, finding the entire situation entertaining.

you had put on your war suit to aid kenji; you couldn't grow in size like kenji but you had strange inhuman superstrength, much like kenji's alien genes.

you dodged a table emi had kicked your way, catching it and setting it down.

"here, baby. uh, c'mere," you had distracted her with a fish, handing it as a peace offering and got her to settle down.

emi sat on her butt in front of you, accepting the snack.

"that's my girl," you appreciated, caressing her leg as you leaned back on her.

after putting her to sleep, you headed to your guest room and took a long hot shower, easing your tired muscles.

you stepped out in nothing but a towel as wet strands of hair fell, framing your face.

you halted when you saw kenji sitting on the edge of your bed, wearing on his sweat as he had a towel slung on his shoulder.

"k-kenji," you stammered, placing a hand against the towel wrapped around your body, "w-what're you doing here?"

kenji's eyes widened at the sight of you, jaw going slack. he pursed his lips, taking a moment to reply, "it's been like thirty minutes and dad's hogging the water supply in my bathroom,"

his gaze followed a drop of water that dripped down your throat, following the dip of your collarbone and eventually into your cleavage, which was more prominent now because of your hand pressed against it.

kenji snapped his eyes away, feeling blood rush to his face, "s-so, um, i just wanted to use your shower. if you don't mind,"

"of course," you nodded, "go on. it's your house after all,"

"and it's your privacy after all," kenji stepped towards you, "i can't step all over it, can i?" he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze so sharp that they could burn the fluffy towel covering you.

you watched him in silence, contemplating his next move. he reached a hand forward and tucked a wet piece of strand behind your ear.

your skin tingled, goosebumps rising in your skin.

he brushed the back of his hand down your cheek, noticing the effect he had on you.

without another word, kenji stepped into the bathroom, grinning to himself, leaving you all bothered and flustered.

you were fixing your warbird suit in kenji's basement, having it haning in front of you.

seated on the table while your suit was held out in front of you.

emi who was watching her favourite rhymes about kaiju, ditched it and headed towards you, mesmerized by your suit.

you hadn't noticed her yet, too focused in the task in front of you.

it wasn't until she nudged your shoulder with her nail that you turned to her, "oh hi, emi baby," you greeted her kindly.

something about your voice captivated the kaiju baby and she stared at you in curiosity.

"uh, mina," you called the ai, it floated towards you, "why do i feel like emi's giving me heart eyes?"

"she is in a kind of way," mina spoke, "i suppose she can sense the feminine energy in you. naturally, her instincts would point her to the nearest-"

"-female," you completed, turning towards emi completely, "fascinating. didn't know her instincts were that sharp," you held out a hand for her and closed your eyes in uncertainty.

but emi surprised you by snuggling her giant beak into her palm, letting your hand slide over her big cheeks.

you snapped your head back to her, laughing in astonishment, "that's cute,"

emi let out a squeal, motioning her hands to you about something and you nodded, pretending to listen and just happy to be there.

that night, kenji came home to find you asleep on the floor with emi. the kaiju baby placed a hand over your body protectively (but it wouldn't touch you to not crush you under the weight of it).

mina had pulled up the baseball stadium stimulation and right now, you were in the middle of it with kenji and emi.

emi wanted to show you her batting skills that she learned from kenji, and you were more than intrigued to see a kaiju swing a baseball bat.

you stood beside kenji as he tossed the ball to an awaiting emi, "okay, girl. here comes the ball," he tossed it.

emi swung the bat with the right precision, sending the ball flying ahead.

"woaah!! that was amazing!" you dragged out the word, causing her to squeal out in contentment from her.

"yeah baby!" kenji pumped his fists into the air, "now, y/n, your turn,"

"what!" you defended, "hell no,"

"oh c'mon," he grinned, "emi would like to see you play too,"

"i can', and i won't, kenji sato," you stated firmly, crossing your arms.

"emi wants her mama to play too. isn't that right, emi?" kenji asked out loud.

emi trilled in reply, handing you a baseball bat to hold in an attempt to encourage you.

you stared down at it, "i don't know how to hold it,"

"i'll show you," kenji stood behind you, placing his hands over yours as he showed you how to swing the bat, his body covering yours.

you could feel his body heat radiate in waves, slowly engulfing you, "kenji..."

"yes, sweetheart?"

"w-what're you doing?"

his mouth pressed to your ears, grinning, "teaching you the basics,"

you nearly shivered, a tingle passing down your spine.

emi tossed the ball at you and you swung the bat with as much force as you could (with kenji's help too, of course). the ball went searing through the air and out of you.

"whooo!!" kenji appeared in front of you, jumping on his toes in excitement, "yeah!! that was great, y/n,"

his fingers caught yours, "now c'mon, we gotta run the bases," he pulled you after him, running down the path.

you ran after him, your hair blowing back and letting little laughs escape your lips. kenji chuckled at you over his shoulder.

emi chased after you and kenji, hands stretched in front of her as her face was pulled in a giggle while mina floated along cheering.

you and kenji jumped into the spot after finishing your laps, and emi followed your actions, hopping up and down with you both, sending sand flying in all directions.

everynight, professor sato would read the legendary ultraman stories to you, kenji, and emi, re-enacting them with hand motions.

you would lean back on emi's leg, while the baby kaiju rested its hand nail on your palm for you to hold.

kenji would glance and his heart would skip a beat at the sight every time.

step by step, you and the professor trained emi to defend herself using holographs; from drones, missiles, or from another kaiju.

emi made satisfactory progress as time went on, and you jotted it down, discussing the results with the professor.

while kenji was having a bad streak at his baseball matches, he was slowly climbing his way up, able to keep up with everything due to the help he got from you and his father.

the critics were finally favouring his side and showering him with praises and honors.

you, emi, and professor sato would sit together and watch kenji's matches together, cheering and hollering like fools.

the night the giants made it into the playoffs, kenji came home with a wide smile and you all celebrated his accomplishment.

kenji embraced you, lifting you off your feet for a moment before placing you back down.

you all were fast asleep in the basement, emi snuggled against you when your watch beeped once.

groggily, you peeked at it, sitting bolt right up from the incoming call.

"agent," the captain of kdf spoke into the phone when you answered it.

"yes sir," you nodded, conversing with him as he asked the needed questions.

you spared a glance at the others over your shoulder to make sure that they weren't eavesdropping, "nothing to worry sir, i have it all under control,"

TAGLIST !

@earth-to-mee @sassy-cat-in-town @breaddippedinorangejuice @nuhteyam @gameboigyu @byunpum @jennypenny-19 @doublebunv @moonjellyfishie @m00nd0v3 @despacito-uwu16 @reivelmin @seyoran @warlike-morning @crimson-mage-02 @b3e-sat0 @miffysoo @t4naiis @lovingyeet  @imsimping4life @mmeerraa @btszn @jusmango-shak @yobriisstuff @goldenpoison @fruchtgeschmack @iateurdad16 @bandolls

[muddyorbsblr]

bad feeling

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Loki's entrance into the Avengers Compound depends on your approval

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warning/s: minor character that's teeming with douchebag energy and doesn't age check before sliding into the DMs; language (nope still not sorry, Rogers); my rusty af writing (it's been months and honestly this might be cringe but if it is don't tell me i'm sensitive--) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: metahuman Reader in denial; instalove trope alert (i didn't think i'd ever be writing that but here we are)

"Brother, this is truly unnecessary," Loki groaned, fighting every urge to drag his feet as his brother led him down the halls of the Avengers Compound, avoiding the mix of curious and alarmed stares from the Midgardians donning near-identical jumpsuits. "Rogers' begrudging approval of your truly asinine idea was enough, you need not lead introductions. I am quite sure that Stark and the rest of your comrades have not forgotten who I am."

Thor simply rolled his eyes in response. "Of course they have not forgotten, Brother, but we have had quite the number of newcomers, and I will run not the risk of them reacting with hostility if they cross paths with you. So I shall conduct a simple extemporized introductory session with them so they may…acclimate to your presence in the Compound. And not think it a clandestine invasion and trigger a security lockdown."

As if right on cue, two faces, one familiar and the other quite new to the god of mischief approached, the sounds of their jovial exchange coming to a deadening halt. The smiles on their faces quickly morphed into furrowed brows and battle stances. "Thor, why have you brought him here?" the woman with auburn hair questioned, a red energy that he recognized as Chaos Magic forming in her hands while her companion, Romanoff, looked ready to strike.

"Please, stand down, my friends." The blond god held his hands up in front of them. "He means no harm, I promise you. I've brought him here so that perhaps he could join--"

"Not a fucking chance, Barbie," Romanoff seethed. "I still remember the mind job he did--Wanda what are you doing? Why are you actually listening--"

"Because some time ago I did what you call a 'mind job' on the rest of you," she answered the former Russian spy simply, standing down and waving her magic away. "And now here I get to stand, calling you all my friends. Because you forgave me for my misdeeds. Gave me a second chance. I think we should all extend the same kindness now."

"I commend the way you think, Maximoff," Rogers' voice echoed across the common area, bystanders not so subtly beginning to crowd the area surrounding them, only parting to let the super soldier through and take his stance in the middle of the group. "Much as I'm not the biggest fan of Mister Leather and Metal 'you will all kneel before me', Wanda's right." He took a step back and addressed the room. "Everyone, Loki will be joining us for the foreseeable future. I expect you all to make an effort to help him adjust to his new life here on Earth. Or at least not get in his way. Now, back to work. All of you."

The curious agents all scattered about, returning to their tasks prior to the Asgardian brothers arriving.

"Thank you, Steven," Thor spoke up once the bystanders made themselves scarce. "You will not regret--"

"Not so fast, Odinson." Rogers threw his hand up, stopping his brother's words short. "I want him to meet Y/L/N first. If she says he won't give us any grief, then he can stay. She says no? You'll have to find another place to park your brother."

"Hey--!" Loki fought back the urge to throw a dagger in the soldier's direction. "I am not some meager property that needs to be set down--"

"If you would rather Strange lock you back in an eternal fall, that can be arranged," he shot back, the muscles in his jaw twitching in a telltale sign that he was fighting back a smug grin. He motioned toward the interrogation area, showing the way. "Meet Y/L/N, and we'll go from there."

Thor led the way further into the Compound and past the common area, the temperature dropping significantly and impelling the god to cast an enchantment that would raise his core temperature so as to not trigger his Jotun form to emerge. "Apologies, Brother," he spoke as they made their way down the hall. "There have been suspicions that an intern for one of SHIELD's departments has been a HYDRA operative attempting to pilfer data to fuel some form of invasion. This individual is in one of the interrogation rooms now awaiting Y/N's arrival, and the temperature was her idea. Put the young man in a sense of high discomfort to lower his guards."

"Have him focus on making his body cope with the temperature rather than his mind on deflecting her queries," he surmised, nodding his head as they stepped into the viewing area, laying eyes on the clearly novice employee in that same jumpsuit the others wore outside. His breathing was jittery and labored, rubbing his hands furiously to generate even some form of heat. It wouldn't be difficult to break through his defenses. "She's a clever one, that mortal. Though I could save you all the interrogation and read the lad's mind--"

"No no," Thor waved him off, motioning for him to look into the room once more. "I want you to see her at work. It's rather fascinating watching her work, and the machination of her mind is rather…perplexing."

"Should we be contacting one Doctor Foster to inform her of his…fascination of yours, Brother?" he gibed, raising an eyebrow in suspicion and finding himself a touch more curious when Thor simply laughed off the question.

"My heart is Jane's and Jane's alone, Brother. You know this," he answered, giving his brother a pointed look. Guilt sat heavily on his heart, knowing full well the words that the god of thunder chose to omit. Considering that I destroyed the Bifrost just to protect her from you.

It would take time before amends were made for making that particular threat, no matter how empty it truly was.

Before Loki could say anything, the door on the other side of the two-way mirror opened, a hard-faced Agent Romanoff entering the room and taking the seat opposite the suspected traitor. She made a point to shrug off her jacket and bare her arms, the action making the young man's face twist in derision, undoubtedly because it challenged his quite fragile ego even more.

"I have nothing to say to you," he said, the shaking tone of his voice betraying him. "Why aren't you cold? You all did something to me, didn't you? Made your freaky witch friend cast some curse on me?"

Romanoff leaned back against her chair, her smirk growing as his scowl deepened. "Where I was from, this is what summer felt like," she shot back casually, keeping her tone even despite the bold-faced lie. "And I don't need you to say anything." She jutted her chin in the direction of the door, a proud look on her face as you walked in to the room. "I just need her to look at you."

"Mister Park…" you droned, taking your time to cross the distance from the door to the cold metal desk. "I'm Agent Y/L/N, I'll be your interrogator."

You leaned in to the edge of the table, gripping the corners. Your body stiffened for a few seconds as you took a sharp breath, adjusting to the frigid cold. There was a distant, calculating, enigmatic smile on your face as your eyes roamed his features. Almost as if you were picking away at the fragments of his protective shell, exposing the answers he refused to give with just that one look.

It was a sight that was all too familiar to him. Something his mother would use on suspected traitors to the Realm back in Asgard. Perhaps that was what you were doing, after all. Or perhaps it was a well-crafted facade. Something that Romanoff or another former spy within SHIELD's ranks had taught you to unnerve its recipient.

"Like I told Agent Hot Stuff over there, I have nothing to say to any of you," he sneered.

"And like Agent Romanoff told you, we don't need you to say anything. All you have to do…is sit there." You squinted your eyes at him, sighing deeply as you said the words that apparently cemented the suspected traitor's fate. "I've got a bad feeling about you." You leaned in close, invading his personal space and making him even more visibly uneasy, not even bothering to mask how his body was shaking. "Nice contacts."

In a heartbeat, Agent Romanoff leaned across the desk and grasped the bottom of the apparently confirmed traitor's face, the man they called Park now wincing and groaning in even more discomfort as she inspected his eyes. "Implants?" she asked you.

"Seems buddy boy here's really committed to the cause," you remarked, mocking their organization's salute. "Helium Hydrogen or some shit."

Park slammed his fists down on the table, neither woman even flinching at the outburst. As if you both saw it coming. "It's Heil Hydra, you stupid bitch!" he screamed, fighting against Romanoff's hold and trying to stand up from his seat to charge at you.

You, however, simply responded with a self-satisfied grin as you called out toward the other side of the door, "And there's our verbal confirmation! Lock 'im up." And just to goad the traitorous intern on further, you ruffled his hair and looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Thank you for your cooperation."

Right as you said the words, Rogers burst into the room along with two other agents, flanking him and restricting his movement so he couldn't charge at anyone in the room. "Put him in the holding cells until transport gets here," he instructed the agents, who simply nodded and walked the traitor out of the room.

You and Romanoff turned off the lights and walked out arm in arm. Loki caught a smidgen of your conversation about meeting the significant other of another new Avenger. Something about "earning your stamp of approval".

"What did I tell you, Brother?" Thor prompted, nudging his arm.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, unable to wipe the image of that enigmatic smile of yours from his mind. Wondering what you looked like when you were genuinely beaming at something. Or someone. "It seems she's somewhat telepathically inclined."

"That is what many of us have been trying to tell her, but she refuses to listen. Insists that she is simply better inclined at reading others from her years of dreadfully flawed relationships of 'every kind'," he explained, leading him down the same hallway that you and Romanoff had disappeared to moments ago. "Repeatedly tells us that her most effective and only teacher has been, in her words, her life's revolving door of shitty people."

"And Rogers wishes for me to meet this Y/N so that she may what? Approve of my being here? He defers to her when it comes to newcomers in your merry band of his realm's mightiest heroes?" He tried to mask his curiosity with his signature smarm, trying to seem disinterested in what seemed like an initiation rite.

But in truth he was all the more looking forward to being face to face with you.

"She has not yet been incorrect in the years that I have known her. And you have nothing to fret about, Brother. You will make a fine addition to this team," the blond said proudly, both of them finally arriving to the considerably warmer common area. Loki finally lifted his enchantment, no longer concerned of his Jotun form emerging as his brother raised his hand and called out in your direction, "Y/N! I have returned from Asgard and there is someone I wish for you to meet--"

"In a minute, Barbie. Carter's bringing in her latest beau. Something about her wanting me to have a read on him before she gets too invested," you answered him, throwing your hand up in their direction. You threw a cursory glance their way, barely registering the raven-haired god, before returning your gaze to the door where another unfamiliar face walked in, arm in arm with a man whose entire aura screamed 'philanderer'.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet Nathan. Nathan, sweetie, this is my friend--"

"Wow you're stunning," the man said, raising his hand in front of him, seemingly to shake yours. But the positioning seemed…off. As if he were to turn your hand and kiss the back of it the second you even brought yours a fraction of an inch upward.

One look into this Nathan's thoughts all but confirmed it. Along with all the other deplorable indiscretions he had stacked against him.

If the god's suspicions were right and you truly were telepathically inclined, you would see those indiscretions, too. With the right guidance, you could explore the true scope of your abilities. Perhaps even advance them.

Your unmoving stance brought along a disquiet to your friend's features, her smile fading into a grim line as her eyes drooped and her posture slumped. She'd seen this reaction from you before, and she seemed to already brace herself for your next words.

"I've got a bad feeling about you," you said in an ominous tone, standing at your full height before tilting your head slightly. From where he stood, Loki could see the man grow visibly anxious, his pulse quickening and beating furiously against his neck.

"What--Why what'd you see?" your friend croaked out, fighting back sobs.

You chose to instead address the deplorable excuse of a man. "You checked out no less than three women since you walked through the front door, and at least twice you wondered if any of them would be down for a threesome. You have a secret social media account that you use to sext other women and send them your dick pics, ohh and by the way…that pump that you're using? Doesn't do shit."

The god had never seen someone's complexion visibly pale until now, Nathan losing all color in his face as if he'd been drained of blood. "You--You d-don't know what you're talking about, you fucking freak!" He looked to Carter, his eyes rife with panic. "Babe, your weird friend here's just pulling this all out of her ass, she's lying--"

His paltry laughable excuses were cut off with a chorus of hissing sounds and "ooh"s and "yikes" from your team, as if his words were so offensive they physically stung. Stark spoke up, clapping his hand down on the man's shoulder. "Now see here, Rudolph the horny reindeer, you've made at least five mistakes since you stepped through that door. But calling Y/N here a liar? Yeah, that dug your grave, dick for brains."

"Well then she's wrong!" he whined, grabbing for his lover's hands and holding on with a death grip. "Baby, you know me, I'm your pookie bear. I would never hurt you--"

"Oof goddamn now I wish I was lying," you quipped, a mixture of surprise and disgust coloring your features. "You couldn't waterboard that nickname out of me. Maybe try going for something that doesn't sound like a name a toddler would give a stuffed animal for the next one? You probably have her all lined up, right? Somewhere in all those DMs and FaceApp'd shrimpy photoshoots?" You took a step closer, not seeming to care about how his free hand was clenched so tightly into a fist that it began to shake. "By the way, I hope you age checked those girls. I'll give you two pieces of free advice. First? Age of consent in New York is seventeen. Second? Don't treat it like a damn target."

Your friend Carter finally jerked her hand out of his and struck him across the face, the sound reverberating through the common area. Stark raised his brows and nodded at her in approval, making a remark about how he wished he had some popcorn.

"It's over," she told him. "I don't ever want to hear from you again." Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she said the words and motioned toward the same door they walked through just minutes before.

"I'm not going anywhere," he insisted, acting like a misbehaving toddler and stomping his foot. "Why would you even believe this freaky little bitch over your own boyfriend, I thought we had some--"

"Because we trust her, cradle robber. And to this day she's never been wrong about a damn thing," Stark sniped, walking over and putting himself between you and the increasingly belligerent Nathan. He placed a tablet in Carter's hands. "I took the liberty of getting into his second account and sending screenshots of his messages to…well, just about everyone in his contacts list. But I figured you ought to see it and scroll through the messages first hand, Sharon."

At this moment, Loki caught another glimpse into the philandering man's mind, seeing a vision of him intending to attack you and strangle you with his bare hands. And just as the god suspected, you had glimpsed the same thought running through his mind, side stepping out of the way just before Nathan could get a hold of you. He watched with more than mild amusement as Thor stepped forward next and grabbed the whining man by the back of his shirt and lifting him into the air.

"Any mortal capable of even the tiniest amount of coherent thought would know better than to attack my friends," the blond said in a low, authoritative tone that eerily reminded Loki of their father. He promptly walked Nathan to the same door that he and Carter had walked through; Loki could see that his brother was physically fighting the urge to give the impudent puny mortal a swift kick to his rear as he gave him a nudge out of the premises.

"Thank you, Barbie," you spoke, an equally amused look on your face after witnessing the whole ordeal. "Always knew it was a good idea to have an Asgardian bouncer guard dog around."

Once Thor had made his way back to you and the rest of the team, you and he grasped each other's forearms. A show of respect that the blond oaf usually only had reserved for his closest comrades, the Warriors Four. Only recently had he even done that with Loki, and while the god of mischief would never admit it aloud, the gesture had him fighting back that traitorous prickling in the backs of his eyes.

"Speaking of having Asgardians in the Compound, there is someone I wish for you to meet, Lady Y/N," he spoke, motioning toward his brother. You tilted your head, a smile so starkly different from the one you had in the interrogation room brightening your features the moment your eyes met Loki's. "This is my brother, and he could be quite an invaluable asset to the team."

"With your go ahead, Agent Y/L/N," Rogers spoke from his seat, intently watching the scene play out before him. Once again agents had begun to crowd around them, completely halting their movements to bear witness. "Like Stark said, we trust you."

You barely gave a response, the only indicator that you'd even heard Rogers' words being a slight jut of your chin in his direction. Loki took your considerably smaller outstretched hand in his, taking every bit of his strength to stay upright as the visions bombarded his mind. The smallest gasp slipped from your lips. You took a moment to compose yourself before you spoke, addressing the team.

"All clear, he can stay," you announced, a boisterous whoop coming from Thor the second you gave your judgment. Neither of you made a move to let go of the other's hand.

"Okay not to take a page out of your book here, jellybean, but…" Stark spoke, breaking you two out of your own little bubble. He pointed his finger back and forth between you and the raven-haired god. "I've got a bad feeling about the two of you."

Stop smiling, you literal idiot, you chided yourself as you paced the floor of your apartment. There was no logical reason to even be thinking of the new member of the team now that you weren't around him, and yet you couldn't get the jet black-haired Asgardian dressed in dark emerald leather out of your mind.

The bar must have been in hell if all it took to get you to actually smile was the fact that the second you two met eyes, no alarm bells went off the way that they did for that newbie traitor…or Sharon's now ex boyfriend. The only hunch that you got looking at him was that he was definitely there to watch the interrogation and trying to figure out how you clocked the iris implants on Park.

"Maybe if he figures it out, he could clue me in on it, too, because I don't have the foggiest fucking idea where that came from," you muttered into the emptiness. And then like clockwork, you found yourself thinking about his blinding brilliant smile again.

And the way his hand completely dwarfed yours.

And how even in those few moments in the common room, being around him for some reason blanketed you in this feeling as if, for the first time in a long time, you didn't have to be as careful anymore. Like you no longer had to constantly be looking over your shoulder because someone might actually have your back and--

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Y/N," you grumbled at yourself, staring down your reflection. "How many times have you had your heart shattered from trusting too easily? Feeling safe around him is exactly why you shouldn't feel safe, why is it that for all the people that trust your instincts, you can't seem to listen to them yourself? And have I lost my freaking mind I am talking to my own--"

Knock knock knock

The sound came from your front door, snapping you out of your rant. "Who in the fuck?"

A lump formed in your throat when you opened the door, looking up at the exact stormy blue eyes that refused to leave your mind since you met him a little over an hour ago. The ones that made a question form in your mind that you couldn't bring yourself to voice out.

Why do I have a good feeling about you?

"Loki…" you said his name slowly, trying your best to ignore how bizarrely right it felt to say it. As if you were meant to. As if you were going to say it -- scream it, even -- for years to come.

"Good evening, Y/N." What you couldn't ignore was how the sound of your name from his lips made your knees want to buckle. "I wish to speak to you about something that I saw when I touched your hand earlier. A vision. Of the future."

The lump in your throat suddenly got bigger. "Ohh God am I gonna die? Soon? Because if I am I don't want spoilers, not even hints, what's gonna happen is gonna--"

"I saw us," he cut you off, reaching for your hands and rubbing circles on the inside of your wrists. "Years of stolen glances and missed opportunities and unsaid words. And it was only at the brink of losing you forever that I finally would find the courage to tell you of my affections."

There were no words, all you could do was blink at him as you tried to process his words. Looking desperately for the telltale signs that there was a disconnect between what he was saying and what his actual intentions were for coming to you like this. The disconnect that was present with most men that you were face to face with.

And yet your intuition, that hadn't failed you for as long as you could remember, was practically squealing with glee that you could feel safe around the god.

"Why are you telling me this?" you asked him. You were surprised you could even form words. Or that you somehow managed to bite your tongue from letting slip a more abrasive question.

He stepped closer to you, a soft smile on his face as he gently framed your face with his hands. "I don't wish to spend the next years pining away and foolishly waiting for the timing to be just right. I had glimpsed our future, and it was…" His smile widened into a brilliant grin, his thumbs tracing along your cheekbones. "It was resplendent. Having even the most fleeting glimpse that what we would have, it had me awash with…peace. The kind that I had longed for for centuries."

Your breath hitched when he pressed his lips to your forehead, your heart pounding away furiously in your chest. You knew a little too well the feeling that he was describing. That feeling of peace. Of a calm quietude that put you at ease even if the world would have been crashing down around you.

That feeling like you were home.

"Now as for your unspoken question," he whispered, breath warming your skin. "Of what am I doing here…I wish to change that future. Or rather, hasten it along. If that is what you want as well, of course."

He pressed his forehead to yours, loosely wrapping his arms around you. All you could do was nod, secretly grateful that he was holding you upright because the violent fluttering in your stomach was making it hard to stand.

That feeling spread throughout your entire body like wildfire when he briefly brushed his lips against yours; you could feel how much restraint he was exerting to pull away. To test the waters. To wait for you to tell him it was alright.

And you let out the words that were fighting to break free since you first saw him earlier today. "I have a good feeling about you."

A/N: *peeks out from behind the laptop* ohai there…long time no see 🙈 Imma say it again because it bears repeating: I'm rusty as all fuck and I might be for a while, but I'm trying to get back into writing since I haven't really done much ever since starting the new job. But things are finally beginning to settle down and normalize, so I'm trying to somehow find a groove again.

I'm gonna be so real w/ y'all, the next stuff on my queue is RTC and 'the final Lady Sharpe' and with how rusty my prose feels, I'm so scared to touch them 😂

Also this is another story that was inspired by a TikTok pov trend. The one where people lip sync and act along to the song that goes "Oompa Loompa doopadeedoo I've got a bad feeling about you", as if it wasn't cringe enough 🥴🫡

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