#she was always there with you. from start to finish she was there…

[pucksandpower]

Changing the Game

platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same

The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.

His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.

He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.

A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.

He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.

As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.

Sponsors.

Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.

He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.

“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.

The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”

“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”

The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”

Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”

“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”

“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.

His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.

But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.

Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.

“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”

Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.

“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”

You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.

“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.

“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.

“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”

“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”

You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.

There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”

“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”

You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”

And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.

***

The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.

The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.

Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.

“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.

When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.

“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”

Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.

The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.

Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”

You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.

“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”

Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”

You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”

Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”

Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”

You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.

“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.

Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”

You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.

“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”

You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.

“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.

Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”

You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.

Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.

"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."

***

It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.

You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.

“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”

Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”

You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.

As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.

Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.

“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.

The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.

“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”

“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.

You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.

“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”

He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”

You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.

The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.

“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”

You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.

Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.

Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”

You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.

Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”

You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”

You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.

You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.

Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”

Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.

“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”

You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.

But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”

Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”

You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.

Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”

***

The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.

Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.

You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”

The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.

You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.

Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.

Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”

“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”

You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.

“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”

You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”

Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”

You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”

“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”

There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”

The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”

Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”

You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”

The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.

“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”

You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.

“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”

Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.

“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”

You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.

***

The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.

He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”

You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”

Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.

Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”

“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”

Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”

You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”

Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”

You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.

Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”

“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.

The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”

You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”

You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”

And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.

As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.

Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.

Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.

The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.

As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”

The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.

Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.

When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”

Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”

You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.

As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you

***

Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.

To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.

He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.

On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.

Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.

The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.

“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”

Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”

You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”

Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”

You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.

“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”

Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”

Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”

You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”

Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”

Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”

Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.

Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”

Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.

“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”

You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.

“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”

Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”

Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”

You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.

“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”

Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”

The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.

By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.

As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”

You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.

Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."

***

The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.

Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.

You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.

As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.

Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.

You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”

“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”

You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”

Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.

Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.

You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?

Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”

Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”

You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.

He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”

You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.

“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”

“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”

As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.

And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.

***

The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.

In your rookie season.

The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.

The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.

“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”

A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.

As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.

But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.

You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.

You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”

He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.

When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.

“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.

He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”

You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.

Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.

Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”

For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.

“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”

You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.

“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”

It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …

Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.

“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.

Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”

The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.

You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”

Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”

Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”

You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.

Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”

As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.

“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.

Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.

As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.

“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”

He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”

And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.

***

The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.

Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.

He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.

“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”

You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.

“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”

A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.

“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”

He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”

You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.

“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.

Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”

His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.

“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”

You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.

“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.

He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”

He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”

There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.

“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.

Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”

He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”

You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.

“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”

The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.

Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.

“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”

He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.

“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”

He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.

The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.

By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.

As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.

After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”

You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”

He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”

You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”

Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”

His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”

***

The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.

He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.

Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”

You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”

Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”

You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”

Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.

“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”

“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.

Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”

As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.

“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”

Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.

You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”

Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”

You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.

Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”

You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.

He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.

“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”

With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”

Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.

As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.

He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.

Make them remember your name.

The lights go out, and the race begins.

***

The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.

Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.

You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.

“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”

Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”

“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”

“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.

The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.

A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”

You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.

“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.

The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.

Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”

He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.

Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”

“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”

Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.

You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.

“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.

But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.

He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.

“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.

Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”

You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”

“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”

The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.

“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.

The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”

You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”

Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”

You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.

“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”

***

Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.

“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”

Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.

“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”

Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.

You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”

Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”

The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.

Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.

“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”

Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”

“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”

Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”

“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”

You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”

Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.

But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”

You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”

You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”

You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.

As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.

***

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.

Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.

Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.

As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”

“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”

The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”

There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”

Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.

The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.

Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.

The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.

The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.

When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”

For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.

“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”

“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.

As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”

***

The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.

As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.

It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.

He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.

You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.

“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”

He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.

“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”

You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”

For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.

The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”

Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.

“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”

Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.

“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.

“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”

He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”

Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”

You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.

As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.

Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”

Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.

This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.

This is his greatest achievement.

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. THAT’S MY SISTER YOU BITCH

Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafe’s volatile relationship, that’s your sister.

Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.

You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.

Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.

Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.

"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.

They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.

"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.

Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"

Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.

“Well?” You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon he’d come looking for you- and you’d rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.

“Okay times up.” Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafe’s self defence lessons had done some good. “Oh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.” She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.

Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully you’d had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, “Don’t worry you still look just as bad as before.” You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, you’d really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.

“Just wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.” One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. “Yeah I’m sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.” You laughed, Topper wouldn’t touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.

“You want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.” You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. “That’s my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.” At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.

You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarah’s face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. “You are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. You’re family.” Turning to John B, you continued, “That extends to you, hubby.” You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.

With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. “Don’t need to thank me for doing something I’ve been wanting to do for months.” Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.

“Now, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and I’m not sure you want to see him.”

—————————

“Baby, please be more careful next time.” Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasn’t even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadn’t gotten over her.

“In fact, there will be no next time. Ever.” Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadn’t had a good relationship in years, he couldn’t just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldn’t let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.

You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, “Rafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you can’t protect her I will.” Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.

“She’s our only family, Rafe.” He didn’t move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

[danidrabbles]

This was so devastatingly sexy.....

First of all: LOVE the no-outbreak setting, I always enjoy reading about that softer pre-outbreak Joel getting to live his life without being so hardened by everything that happens to him in canon. Second: This taking place on and around Bill and Frank's wedding is such a stroke of genius, what a fun setting!

The tension between them is so apparent from the start, the way he calls her sweetheart, the way she's immediately wound up the moment he's in the room. (The way they're both touching themselves to the thought of the other, oof...)

The moment when she helps him with his buttons and his bowtie was SO good, I loved that they both had this sense of "Is this okay?" but couldn't help themselves.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again. You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and– The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

I could just feel this 😩

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

She's so brave for just going for it. It's so fun and refreshing.

And your Joel kills me his, “If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”, “Shit, sweetheart, she’s soakin’ for me.” and “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”, but ESPECIALLY

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

I love the ending so much, the way he pulls her in for "one final, saccharine sweet kiss", and thanks her, and the promise of more between them... wow. Thank you so much for writing and sharing!!

every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect. 

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now. 

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. “Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you. 

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing��you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel. 

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life. 

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning. 

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same. 

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point. 

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins. 

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out. 

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so. 

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating. 

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[imaginespazzi]

can we please get a short birthday blurb of them since we basically got a hard launch with the “precious princess” AND how u wrecked us yesterday…

As always with these little blurbs, I wrote this in ~30 minutes (and somehow finished it 10 minutes before Azzi's birthday ended) and didn't edit but hopefully y'all like it and maybe everyone will finally stop yelling at me...

This is obviously fluff but there's a shit ton of underlying sexual tension + alluding to it and also since it's me obviously a warning for swearing lol.

***

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," a soft voice sings in Azzi's ear and she can't help the soft smile it sparks on her face, "happy birthday dear my Azzi," she sleepily giggles at the possessive preposition as she feels herself being nestled into the arms of a warm body, "happy birthday to you."

"Is it midnight already?" she asks groggily, keeping her eyes shut as she breathes in the scent of all things Paige.

Honestly Azzi had tried -as she often did (and failed) the night before her birthday- staying up, had even picked a loud action movie in the hopes that the sound of it would keep her awake. But in between the feeling of her girlfriend's arms blanketed around her and the calming sound of her breathing in Azzi's ear, she'd been too comfortable to not fall asleep.

"Exactly midnight," there's a smile in Paige's voice as she presses a delicate kiss against Azzi's lips, "happy birthday baby."

Azzi finally opens her eyes to find cerulean blue eyes, gleaming with love and adoration, staring at her as Paige gently strokes her cheeks. And she's sure she'll get a thousand gifts today, from friends, from family, from Paige herself. But no present will top the one that fate itself gave her seven years ago; the girl in front of her -with her silly quirks and beautiful kindness- is Azzi's greatest treasure.

"Thank you," she whispers back, stealing another kiss.

She means to keep it chaste but Paige has other plans, pulling the younger girl flush against her body, slipping her tongue past Azzi's lips as she pushes herself on top of the brunette, grinding their hips together. Kissing Paige is all-consuming, like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time and Azzi thinks she'd be perfectly fine doing this for the whole day.

A whine escapes her lips when Paige pulls away, causing Azzi to chase her lips as she smirks, "patient baby."

"It's my birthday," Azzi pouts, "I don't have to be patient on my birthday."

Paige laughs at the childlike sulking, "you're so precious," she giggles, pinching Azzi's cheeks, "my precious princess."

"People's princess," Azzi corrects as she petulantly looks away.

Paige's eyes darken as she captures Azzi's chin between her thumb and her index finger, pulling the younger girl's face back to face her, "no, my princess."

Azzi gulps at the intensity in the older girl's eyes but she stares at Paige defiantly, "don't look at me like that if you're not going to do it."

"Look at you like what?"

"Don't look at me like you want to fuck me if you're not going to do it," they both suck in a sharp breath at the profanity.

"Silly girl," Paige shakes her head, a smug grin on her face, "of course I'm going to fuck you," she says casually ike it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Azzi's tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip and she's mesmerized by the way Paige's gaze follow the path it takes.

"What's taking you so long then?" she asks coyly, bucking her hips up slightly against the older girl's, who practically whimpers at the action and Azzi can't help but be pleased with herself. Seven years and they both still have this impact on each other; seven years later and they've become experts in known which match can start a fire between them.

And then Paige averts her gaze, facial expression morphing into something much shier as she mumbles, "wanted to give you a gift first."

Azzi raises her eyebrows, unsure why this of all things would make her girlfriend nervous. Paige has given her a plenty of gifts before and Azzi has loved all of them.

"Baby you know I'll love anything you give me right?" she says as much as she gently tries to coax Paige's face back up to meet her.

"I know," Paige says quietly, "this one just uh- it means a little more."

Azzi furrows her eyebrows as Paige slips off their bed -well really it's Paige's bed but considering Azzi sleeps in it every other night, it's basically their bed- and begins to rummage through her nightstand. The brunette sits up from her lying position when she can tell that Paige has found whatever she's looking for. She waits patiently as the blonde sucks in a deep breath before turning back towards her girlfriend.

Azzi doesn't notice the present at first, keeping her focus on giving Paige a reassuring no matter what i love you smile first. And then her gaze drifts downwards and she gasps, eyes widening at the sight of a silver infinity band in a red velvet box.

"Paige-"

"Don't freak out," Paige says in a rush, cutting off whatever Azzi was going to say, "I'm not- I'm not asking you to marry me or anything. Not that I don't want to marry you but like you know- I'm just- I'm not asking yet-"

"Paige," Azzi says again, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as she cuts the older girl's ramble off, "can I see it."

Paige nods, nervously handing over the box so Azzi can inspect it. The infinity band itself is simple, encrusted with small silver crystals and it must've cost Paige a small fortune. But its the the encryption behind it that has Azzi's eyes swelling up with tears, for the half that makes me a whole.

"Today is your birthday," Paige begins again, her voice timid and quiet, "but I think it's a little more than that. For me today's the day my other half was born. Today is the day that the person I was meant to find- the person who'd complete me- was born. And so today, is the most special in the world. Because today is the day that you were born."

Azzi's quiet for a moment, letting herself be immersed in the warmth of Paige's words and the sheer sincerity in them. It's the truth, she knows, that Paige is without a doubt her other half, the person who makes her feel complete.

"I love you," she whispers, as she hands the ring back to Paige and then holds out her hand, "put it on me?"

And she thinks if she could memorize one still image of her life, it would be this one -it would be the way Paige's eyes glow brighter than the moon outside as she eagerly fits the ring onto Azzi's ring finger.

"I love you more," the older girl whispers as she brushes her lips against Azzi's knuckles.

"Not fucking possible," Azzi shakes her head as she launches herself into Paige's lap, arms wrapping around the older girl's neck as she pulls both of them back down onto the bed, "now can you fuck me?"

Paige laughs, "you say the sweetest things to me Azzi Fudd."

"I try," Azzi smirks, pressing her lips against Paige's briefly before she pulls away, the silver ring on her hand glinting in the moonlight as she caresses her girlfriend's cheek, "and just so you know, when you do ask, the answer will always be yes."

Paige grins, pulling Azzi back down to kiss her, "happy birthday baby."

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Please could you write more Caitlyn (arcane) x Reader?!? Omg I loved that fic, but Idk if you still wrote for arcane

Social Events

|| Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, drunk sex, top Caitlyn & bottom reader, reader receiving, breast play, fingering, praise kink, orgasm, finger sucking, good girl use

|| Summary; when reader and Caitlyn meet at a social event, things get heated pretty quickly. With the help of a few drinks.

Requests closed!

Started; November 11th

Finished; November 11th

~~~

Social events. They were never really your favourite, but you had to represent your family. Being the eldest daughter and all. For the wealthy, it was pretty common for them to have gatherings and socials. Just keeping up to date in each other's business. Because the upper classes of Piltover didn't know how to stay out of each other's shit. You tried your best to keep to yourself, occasionally engaging in conversation when someone would approach you. Or the rare time you found someone interesting enough to talk to.

There was one girl whose eyes you kept meeting. Every time you did, she would send you a smile. God, she was stunning. You couldn't keep your eyes away from her. It wasn't often you found someone interesting enough to just stare at them. Like some weirdo. But you couldn't help it with this girl. You thought you recognized her, Cassandra Kiramman's daughter maybe? That was your guess. Though you weren't 100% sure.

Well, no time like the present. You decided to walk over and try and start conversation. Maybe flirt a bit if you were lucky. "Hey, Cassandra's daughter, right?" You asked, silently praying you weren't wrong in your assumption. Otherwise that would make this incredibly awkward.

The girl nodded," It's Caitlyn. But, yes." Caitlyn held her hand out to you and you gave it a gentle shake. The smile never leaving your lips when you heard her talk. Damn, that accent was going to be the absolute death of you.

"Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself go her and Caitlyn raised a curious eyebrow. You were part of the L/N Household? She's heard many things about your family. Your family was more wealthy than her own, it would've been nearly impossible to have not heard your name before.

"Is that so?" Caitlyn looks at you with new found interest. Before, when your eyes kept meeting hers she thought she'd recognized you. Somewhere, somehow but she couldn't put her finger on it. Now Caitlyn knew why. She's always been rather found of you from a distance, your morals were something she could agree with. That was getting rare in Piltover. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." You replied. After that, conversation between you and her flowed easily. As did the drinks. And before you knew it, Caitlyn was pulling you away from the social event. Not that you had any complaints, of course.

Caitlyn got you to her room, where she then closed the door before pushing you up against it. You grunted as you felt the wood suddenly behind you. Smirking as you met her eyes once more. Caitlyn looked into your own for a brief moment, before her lips were on yours. Hand cupping your cheek and bringing you impossibly closer. You kissed back with ease, as though you'd kissed her a million times before.

When her lips left yours, she bit your bottom lip. Getting a small sound of you. Your hand then intertwined with hers and Caitlyn pulled you over to her bed. Pushing you into the sheets as she got on top of you. Your hands went to her hips, pulling her down until she straddled you. Caitlyn laid herself across your body. Kissing at your neck as she worked to get your top off. You tilted your head to the side, giving her more access to your neck. She placed one hickie, then another before pulling your top over your head.

Caitlyn took a moment to just admire your breasts. Then her lips latched the nipple, sucking and rolling it between her teeth. With every suck, a moan left your lips. Your back arched into her touch as her hand slid down your stomach slowly. Brushing against your abdomen with her thumb while her hand moved aside the rim of your pants. Slipping through and past your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt her graze your clit, smirking against your skin. Caitlyn let go of your breast with a pop, a small gasp leaving your lips.

"F-fuck-" You muttered when her fingers applied gentle pressure to your clit. Rubbing and rolling it between her fingers in a soft massage. Your head fell back against her pillows and all you could do was moan when she pushed a finger in you.

She certainly didn't go easy on you. The moment Caitlyn knew you'd adjusted, she added in a couple more fingers. Pumping relentlessly until your stomach twisted in knots. Your moans got louder, back arching further into her touch. Trying to get more. Fuck, more.

"You're doing so good," Caitlyn whispered, but loud enough for you to hear her over your moans. Your leg twitched and flicked, nearly kicking her. Your grip on the sheets tightened. She just laughed at that and held your leg down. "Shh, just relax your body."

That was it. The extra touch on you. You were already sensitive as it was with how hard she was fingering you. You cummed on her fingers, practically screaming out.

"Ah- Caitlyn- fuck!" You screamed her name as she helped you through your high. When you finished, she slowly pulled her fingers out and into your mouth. You happily sucked them, looking into her eyes as she gave you an encouraging nod.

"Good girl." She murmured. Fuck, you hoped that wasn't the end of it.

Thankfully, it seemed to only be the beginning.

[toxicanonymity]

Hello sweet toxic! May I pretty please have an age gap fic or drabble with game version of Jackson Joel ( my favorite long and grey haired man )!

Maybe something where in the beginning Joel comes off as shy and nervous and sweet but once he and reader get together he’s got the nastiest fucking mouth she’s ever heard once he’s confident that she likes him as a love interest

parts

JOEL x f!READER | 1.8k

"He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. 'Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say...'"

NOTES: Hi sweet nonnie ❤️ I watched some tlou 2 gameplay for this, so I hope it helped. idk if I met the "love" interest part but she makes her interest known. Joel is quiet, then dom / dirty

WARNINGS: 18+ Age gap (Joel 60s/reader 20s-40s), objectification of reader, slutty descriptions of men as usual. Joel calls her "honey" and one time, "little girl" (condescending). Beginnings of D/s dynamic, no arrangement, no consummation. Joel holds out, a little grumpy/mean. talk of being owned. degradation, praise, body/pussy inspection.

He stood like a man who no one could bother. Stone cold and solid, with a face that always meant business. His clothes were rugged and worn-in like a cowboy, and the obscenity of his tight jeans left nothing to the imagination, from the back or the front.

The first time you became aware of him, it was from behind, and you did a double take. He ran a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his shoulder-length mane with his other hands on his hip. He was talking to Tommy, and when you heard his voice, the twang put you at ease. He sounded like a nice guy, nicer than he looked.

Your first time at the mess hall, he was kind enough to show you around. You took that as a go-ahead to follow him around anywhere. You began to watch him around Jackson. Not exactly stalking him, but you didn't have anyone else to latch onto. You learned where he went, and you happened to go there too. You were full of questions about how things worked. He always took it seriously. He was a good teacher and didn’t seem interested in anything but helping you when you wanted help.

He taught you how to ride a horse—he must not have noticed you arrived on one. Your loins buzzed as he demonstrated how to sit. His big hands on the reins and the horn were enough to make you wet, but the bulge of his jeans and the way it shifted as he started off at a slow walk. “Now look close, okay? See how I hold it?” You were looking very close.

He taught you how to shoot. Stood behind you and you never felt more safe than holding a pistol with his arms around yours, his chest against your back.

“Attagirl,” he said when you shot the glass bottle target. “Look at that,” he marveled.

To be fair, you weren’t (just) trying to get him in bed. You had lost your traveling party and you joined another one but you felt like the odd one out. It never felt like you had someone to look out for you, specifically you. You hadn’t felt the affection or encouragement of a big, capable man in a long time.

Still, there was no denying you had a crush on him. It felt like a shock that he didn’t have women following him around in droves, until you got to know him and found out he was pretty shy. He didnt't seem to have much interest in anything but practicalities and survival. He was sweet, but never crossed a line.

Even when you started crossing some yourself. He took you on an errand one day, and he was buckling in your seatbelt, and you stopped is hand. You put his hand on your thigh, and watched his face. He kept the same, composed expression, but he couldn’t hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. He left his hand there on your thigh for a moment, then pulled away without acknowledging your move. The time it took him to move his hand made you think he liked it there. It was as though he didn’t want to take it the wrong way, wasn't sure your intentions. He cleared his throat, finished buckling you in, and ran his hand over his smooth, gray hair. It was always so well-kept. You had to wonder what it’d look like first thing in the morning,

One night, at the tipsy bison, you came in by yourself in a short dress. He looked you up and down and gave you a curious look, but didn’t acknowledge you. He was talking to Tommy. Tommy craned his neck to get a look, raised his eyebrows, and gave you a nod before grinning at his brother and resuming their conversation. Tommy was hot, too, but he was taken. Otherwise you’d love to see him in nothing but that ponytail. You sat at the other end of the bar and Joel tried not to look at you, but Tommy gave you a wink.

Another night, you showed up to the mess hall too late for dinner, and he was on his way out. He lived close enough and offered to make you something at his place, no problem.

When you came inside, you took off your boots, he took your coat, and when he finished hanging it up, he looked back to see you in a thin, low cut shirt and no bra. His mouth hung open and you gave him a flirtatious smile, as though to say, what?

“Ya’ain’t cold, are ya?” He asked with a pink hue creeping up his neck. He rubbed his beard.

“No, are you?” You asked.

“No,” he muttered, then composed himself and went to the kitchen alone.

When he came to serve dinner, your eyes were on his jeans. The heft of his manhood was always apparent, but there seemed to have been some growth in the time since you’d been at his house. You leaned over the table as you ate your meal, and he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. It was a small, round table, and there wasn’t much of anywhere else to look. He looked at his meal as he ate. You looked at his forearms.

After he finished eating, he dabbed each corner of his mouth with his napkin, folded it, dabbed his beard, and cleared his throat. Meanwhile, your foot nudged his ankle. His face darkened. Your foot moved up his pants, and reached the seat of his chair. He didn’t bat your foot away, but he didn’t look at you until your foot slid right up his thigh and gently nudged the hard bulge in his jeans.

His strong chest heaved, and he didn’t make a move, but his face was reddening as he cleaned his hands with the same napkin.

He looked up as he finished wiping his hands. “Think I’m your plaything, little girl?” He harshly smacked the cloth napkin down on the table, then his strong hand wrapped around your entire foot in his lap. His eyes darkened with a forward tilt of his head, and his voice took on an edge. “Or you tryin’ to be mine?”

You rubbed your lips together and looked at him fondly. He raised his eyebrow to prod for a response.

“Wanna be yours,” you answered matter-of-factly.

“You dunno what you want, girl.” He pushed your foot away, then adjusted himself.

When he stood up to take the dirty dishes, the silhouette in his jeans made you throb. He did the dishes, and when he was finished, he opened a beer.

He walked through the dining area on his way to the living room. “Still here,” he muttered, but didn’t stop to talk. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio, not inviting you to join him.

You joined him anyway.

You sat on the sofa, not too close, with your hands folded in your lap.

“You wanna know what it means to be mine?” Joel asked.

“Yes, please,” you answered.

“It means I own you,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m yours.”

He looked at you skeptically. "I’ain’t agreed to own ya yet,” he clarified. "Ain't just something ya do. Takes work from both'a us."

"of course," you acknowledged.

“Gotta know it’s somethin’ ya really want, and if it is, we’ll agree on some rules, safe words and shit.”

“Okay,” you agreed excitedly.

He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. “Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say, okay?”

You nodded.

“But later on if ya *are* mine, you do what I say, when I say it.”

He was so serious and official about this, it sounded like he was briefing his men for some kind of operation.

“Okay” you agreed.

"so what's it mean to be mine?" He asked.

you shrugged. "You do what you want with me."

He nodded hesitantly.

“It means I take care'a ya, protect ya, and I own your body. it ain’t yours anymore,” he looked you up and down. “It’s mine,” he stated emphatically. “*if* I decide I want it.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” You asked.

He blew out air through puffed cheeks as if there was a long list.

“Ain’t got patience for brats.”

”I can be good,” you promised.

”Ain’t got patience for tears either. Too distracting out here, still gotta focus on survivin'.'

You tried not to show your worry.

”Ain’t sure ya can handle it,” he admitted

"Ain’t lookin to break in some tight little pussy while she cries and bleeds, either.” he cocked an eyebrow at you, and grabbed the massive protrusion in his jeans. “This ain’t no joke, honey. I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you insisted.

“Yeah? Well ya better fit four fingers 'fore ya 'spect me to try it."

“And I promise I’ll do what you say.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, take your clothes off.." He held up his hands to acknowledge your freedom "OR leave, and we’ll forget this ever happened”

You obediently stripped.

He took sips of his beer as he watched your body emerge from your clothes. “Alright,” he nodded. “Good girl.”

Once you were bare naked, he instructed you to turn around. You did just as he asked.

“God damn,” he whispered. “Now, c’mere.”

With him manspreading on the sofa, he made you stand between his knees and bend over.

“Spread your pussy for me,” he demanded.

You hesitated.

“Don’t have to,” he reminded you.

You reached back and tried to do it with one hand, one finger on each side of the lips. “Like this?”

”Both hands, darlin’. “

You spread your pussy lips for him with both hands.

”Good girl,” he said. “Wide as ya can. Wanna see your parts if they’re gonna be mine.”

You pulled wider

He let out a low whistle. “Juicy little thing. Sure would like to use it...But I’m thinkin’ it might not fit, honey.”

“Why don’t you try it?” You asked.

You turned around and tried to straddle him. He visibly tensed. You reached for the bulge in his jeans.

He snatched your wrist to stop you. “You don’t get to touch me without askin’,” he admonished you. “Notice I didn’t touch you that whole time?”

Your face heated in shame, and his hand loosened. You got off of him.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it? ‘

“I’ll think about it.”

Your eyes were tearing up.

“Ya did good, honey, it’s okay,” he promised. He picked up your clothes and helped dress you. “Just ain’t the kinda choice ya make on the fly. You gotta think about it too, okay?”

You finished getting dressed and nodded.

“I’ll think about it too,” you agreed.

“Good girl,” he answered, rose to his feet, and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then he got your coat and opened the door. As you began to leave, he stopped you, “Hey,” he lowered his voice. “Ya got a beautiful body. Anyone’d be lucky to own it.”

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Thank you for reading 🖤🖤

[ribread03]

Our Song I

m.sturniolo

Summery: When you receive a DM from nick asking you about doing a collaboration with them you cant help but say yes!

THIS IS MY WORK AND MY IDEA! PLEASE DONT USE THIS AS “INSPIRATION” OR TAKE IT WITHOUT GETTING MY PERMISSION FIRST! thank you :)

AN: this is part one of the series “our song” if you would like to know more about “y/n” you can use the mood board! Enjoy :)

Y/N POV

You’re sitting at your desk editing the newest YouTube video you plan to put out. Music is playing in the background as you zone out into your computer. Your phone dings, pulling you out your computer to see who might have messaged you.

Your heart skips a beat when you see “nicolassturniolo sent you a message” in your notification stack. You’ve been a fan of the sturniolo triplet since what felt like forever, and now Nick is messaging you on instagram. You’re in such a state of shock as you open the message, hands trembling as you read what it says;

“Hello, Me, Matt and Chris have come across your YouTube channel and we’re wondering if you want to collab with us sometime in the future….”

Flash Back Two Weeks Ago…

You had just finished editing a YouTube video to post, hitting the post button you close your computer and lay down to take a nap. Expecting the usual few hundred comments and likes when you wake up in a few hours.

Boy were you wrong… A few hours go by and you wake up and see that your video has blown up, thousands of views, thousands of comments, and thousands of new subscribers. Your eyes scan your phone “congratulations on 1 MILLION subscribers” was in your email.

“OH! MY! GOD!” You screamed out, alerting your parents who happened to be downstairs, to hear you. Jumping up and out of bed, starting to exit your room, stepping over piles of books and clothes.

“Y/N? Are you okay!?” You can hear your mother frantically call up to you while walking up the stairs.

“I HIT A MILLION SUBSCRIBERS!” You say excitedly while meeting her in the hallway…

Back to the present…

“Oh. my. god…” you say quietly, fingers hovering over your screen, scared that if you hit anything this will all be a figment of your imagination. Clicking on the notification you hold your breath as your phone unlocks and opens instagram… this is no figment of your imagination. This is real life and the triplets really want to collaborate with you.

You let out a few more silent “omgs” before heading downstairs to talk to your mom about all of this. You exit your room and walk down the stairs, “Momma?” You say softly as you round the corner into the kitchen.

“Yeah sweetie?” Your mom says as she’s washing the dishes. You sit on a small stool on the floor before you talk again, petting your cat, nugget, that was by your feet.

“I got a message from Nick Sturniolo, asking if I wanted to collaborate with them,” you can hear the excitement in your voice as you tell your mom. Your mom also knows that you’ve been a fan, and practically obsessed, with these three boys since high school and have always wanted to meet them one day.

“You did? That’s great honey, what did you say?” She asks turning the sink off and turning to face you.

“I didn’t answer yet.. I'm honestly scared because what if they change their minds?” You explain to your mom with a nervous chuckle. Your cat had now made its way up onto your lap, purring loudly.

“I think you should do whatever you want, just know that a flight out to LA might be expensive.” You took your mom’s words to heart and gave her a small nod.

“I want to go out and meet them, a collaboration would help me so much.. maybe if I get a little more information then I’ll be able to see if I can afford it or not,” you explained back to your mom, pulling your phone out to DM Nick back.

“I would love to collab with you guys one day! That has been an absolute dream of mine forever. I would love to share some more information about when and where if possible.” You hit send with slightly shaky fingers before talking to your mom again, “I just messaged him back, I asked him for some more details on when and where we would collab”

“Okay sweetie,” your mom says softly before returning to whatever she was doing in the kitchen, before you came out there to talk to her. You give your cat a few more pets before standing and going back into your room, waiting for Nick to message you back with more details surrounding this possible future collaboration…

Matts POV

“Did you ask her yet?” Matt was sitting next to Nick looking over at his phone. Matt had seen your YouTube video and thought you were the most beautiful, funny, and relatable person on the internet, and he knew right then and there he needed to meet you.

He had asked Nick and Chris what they thought of some of your YouTube videos, hinting at the idea of a collaboration with you. Saying and pointing out things that would hopefully catch his brother's attention and make them also want to meet you, just maybe not for the same reason.

Matt would find himself scrolling through your instagram when he was bored, careful not to like any of your posts, wanting to keep you out of his fans stalking obsessions before he could even properly meet you. Thumbs carefully scrolling on TikTok as he watches every video you’ve made on there, watching how every video is a little different.

“Yes Matt, I did ask her,” Nick says with a slight eye roll, becoming tired of his brother’s constant asking. Nick's phone dings lightly, alerting that someone messaged him, the someone being you. Nick opens instagram and the messages that the two of you have sent back and forth. Matt's eyes scan the screen quickly, not caring that he might be invading some privacy of his brothers.

Matt's eyes land on the words, “I would love to collab with you guys one day! That has been an absolute dream of mine forever…” and he immediately becomes happier, his smile widening and eyes seem to sparkle and little more.

Nick sends you a quick DM back, asking if regular texting would be easier to send information through and that the collab would be sometime within the next two months. “I can’t believe she said yes!” Matt explains to Nick, his excitement evident in his tone.

“I didn’t think she would say no,” Nick says calmly, typing out his phone number to send to you…

AN: i hope you enjoyed this first part! If you would like to be on the tag list for this series comment on this post! Just asking to be added and i will do so :) feed back and thoughts are always welcome!

All boarders are from @issysh3ll

[hannieehaee]

How about Joshua with a s/o who always wears baggy clothes and doesnt feel attractive because she doesnt wear revealing ones ?

If u want to write it pls do it only if u are ok with it and feel inspired ♡♡

content: bf!joshua, established relationship, some talk about insecurities, fluff, etc.

wc: 605

a/n: so sorry i took so long to write this!!

masterlist

"hey, babe, have you seen my shirt? you know, the grey one with the loose neck? i thought i- oh."

"huh? what was that?", you asked as you took out an earbud, turning to look at the boy who'd been trying to call your attention.

chuckling, he rounded the kitchen island to reach your side, hands practically attaching to your waist like magnets as he aided you in removing the other earbud, placing both on the counter next to you.

"i was just wondering where my band tee went, but i think i have my answer," he chuckled, pressing a sweet peck to your temple.

"oh, fuck. sorry, josh. do you want it? i can go change," you went to disconnect from him, but he wasnt having it, instead nuzzling his head on your shoulder.

"hm. it smells of my cologne still," he said almost to himself, "you don't have to take it off. i like you in my clothes," he reassured.

you could only scoff.

"your clothes are baggy on me. just like all my other clothes. what difference does it really make?"

joshua shrugged, "just like knowing you're wearing something of mine. you're style's cute. you're cute."

"flattery will get you everywhere, hong," you laughed.

it was one of those nice, domestic moments that occurred every so often. you basked in it, enjoying it before the two of you went back to your regular days.

it wasn't until later that you started to think about what you'd said to joshua earlier.

you did have a tendency to wear baggier clothes. hell, there really was no difference between wearing something of his and a piece of your own. it was incredibly rare for you to show skin or any sort of silhouette, and those instances were really reserved for nights too warm to handle in which you had to opt for some shorts and a tank top.

but even then, you went for looser ensembles. clothes that showed your figure were never really your forte.

you couldn't help but wonder if this ever bothered josh. would he have preferred if your style varied more? what if he thought of you as a prude? maybe he-

"what's got you thinking so loud?", the boy in question interrupted your inner turmoil.

you hadn't realized as you sat in front of your vanity, face wash in hand and still unused, that you'd frozen in place as you thought. his presence in the restroom hadn't registered until he spoke.

"just, uh," you pondered as to whether or not to voice your concerns, but his compassionate smile reflecting on the mirror made you decide, "i was thinking that maybe you'd like it better if i dressed differently? you know, maybe show more skin?"

you voiced it as a question, insecurities building in you as you sought a direct expression of his preferences.

"are you kidding? i like how you dress. and it's not really something that bothers me. you're comfortable and you're beautiful. it's a win-win situation for me," he kind of chuckled as he spoke, finding your question very sudden and unnecessary.

"oh."

you felt a bit dumb now.

"has this been worrying you? you know i'm like obsessed with you, right? you could wear a trash bag and i'd still be as obsessed," he joked, closing in on you similarly to how he'd done earlier in the day.

he finished his statement with a kiss pressed to your lips, humming when you kissed back.

"this just gives me free reign of your closet. i hope you know that," you jested.

"baby, i'm rich. take whatever you want."

[agirlwithglam]

🌟 become your dream girl before 2025! 🌟

THIS WILL *ACTUALLY* CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

do you know how many people are waiting until next year to glow up and actually start to become their dream self? now just think, if you started now, before 2025, how far you would be. how much more skills and knowledge you would have. you're literally getting a head start. so what are you doing dilly-dallying until 2025? heres your guide to ending this year accomplishing everything you need to and starting 2025 with everything you need.

in this post i will include mindset shifts, how to become a better person, actionable advice, actually becoming a new person <3

👑know what you want.

who do you want to become at the end of this year? what does your dream girl look like? what kind of body does she have? her clothes? who are the people she hangs out with on a daily basis- friends?

create a very clear version in your head and use pinterest to show photos of what your goals are- for ex: girls at the gym, journalling, writing, studying, reading, learning, walking, with friends, spending time outside, going swimming, playing sports, doing a skill/ hobby.

you can also find an idol/ an inspiration- a youtuber, influencer, parent, anyone who you look up to and want to somewhat have a similar life like them. (for ex: thewizardliz, tam kaur) whatever is important to you this goes hand in hand with the next point:

👑goals.

any unfinished projects, any goals you said you'd do in the beginning of the year, get them all down on paper. if you've finished any of them, great!- tick them off. but if you haven't then its time to lock in. pick the ones that are most important to you. that you know that achieving these will 100% get you closer to your goal. doing this makes sure you get rid of the ones that you think are "productive" when in reality they just help you procrastinate.

finish any unfinished projects or books you have before the new year begins because 2025 is about bringing in new, fresh opportunities and things. for me personally, i have a few crochet projects that i want to finish before the end of this year so i can start the new year with nothing old from the year before!

👑cutting.

you are going to be becoming a new person- new mindset, new values, new perception on life, etc. the people in your life currently probably won't align with this new version of you. because if the people around you still only know the old you, your growth won't happen because it will feel extremely unnatural without the right people around you. this means you're going to have to decide whether you are letting any of your friends go. if they don't serve you or make you feel happier or bring in any value to your life, im sorry but its time to cut them off.

but of course if you actually have good, kind, loving friends who grow with you and support you all the way, keep them. the goal is to remove the people who don't serve your highest self. not remove the people who you know will be there for you.

but along with this, if you notice that those people are acting a bit more weirdly/ strangely now that you're improving- giving you backhanded compliments, talking about you behind your back, or just giving you a weird vibe in general, trust your gut. those people don't want to see you going to a higher place where you're thriving- keeping them in your life can be terrible for your highest good.

remember that doing this doesn't mean that you're not going to get better because BETTER ALWAYS COMES. god will give you more people who you couldn't have ever dreamed could be so amazing. so never keep toxic people in your life out of fear that you'll be alone forever. (remember: 8 billion people in the world.)

👑mindset.

dont wait to change your mindset only once you achieve the dream body or the best grade- start now. people can take away everything from you but they can't take away your mindset, skills, and knowledge. here are some mindset shifts to develop:

the abundance mindset. know that everything happens for your highest and greatest good only! everything will work out in the end for you because God hasn't put you on this earth to suffer. if you are religeous (God) or spiritual (the universe) or even believe theres a higher faith, why on earth would you willingly believe that your purpose here is to have a bad time? obstacles will come your way and you will make bad decisions and mistakes. but all these jsut contribute to the person you are today and the person who you'll be in the future!

i will make it. believe in your vision and yourself so fiercely that you know in your bones that you will achieve your goals. you will travel the world and discover new places, you will get to retire your parents, you will get to buy expensive bags for your mom, you will be that rich sister/daughter/ wife, you will help people around the whole world, you will have people around you who love and care for you, you will achieve whatever dream you had since you were a kid and whatever dream you have right now. you will you will you will! know this so strongly but also know that i will achieve there one day, but i also am so blessed and grateful for the life i have right now! i have so many privileges and such an amazing life that i would never trade away for anything.

growth mindset if you fail, IT IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD. please stop being afraid of failing, be afraid of never trying!! you have no idea how freeing failing is because once you do, then you'll never have that "what if" in the back of your mind, never have that small voice asking what could have happened if you had done that thing. so if you do fail, perfect! that means that you won't waste any more time wondering what would have happened. having a growth mindset means that you know you're human and you'll make mistakes, but that doesnt make you a bad person and it doesn't take away your capability to still accomplish your goals. if you fail be able to brush it off, and keep trying again and again. Thomas Edison had 1000 failed attempts to make the light bulb. yet he learnt from what didn't work, took that into consideration, then tried again. and again. and again. and now? your probably sitting in a room with light that you have because he persisted in his goal!

stay positive always have a positive outlook and perspective of life. look at the beauty and what you have instead of what you lack. feel happy joyful energy vibrate through you everyday. do things that just make you a more positive person in general! feeling happier makes you look 100x more attractive and will change the way you interact with the world!!

👑be a better person.

new year new you right? so its time you up level the way you talk and treat others. because the goal isn't to be A b*tch, the goal is to be THAT b*tch! so going around being rude isn't going to do anything for you. being kind however- having manners, checking up on people, asking how their day was, being charismatic, etc- thats what can get you so much more opportunities! you're going to be kind, but not a people pleaser- ofc prioritise yourself always but also at the same time- if you have made a commitment to be somewhere for someone at a certain time, honor that commitment. be the friend you wish you had.

being mean to everyone just because you were hurt by someone else is not it. yes, so you were hurt. grow, evolve, heal. you're stronger than this. you're stronger than you think. you can overcome anything and you can become an even better person, capable of loving fully and wholly!

misc tips:

change what you consume. start watching thewizardliz, tam kaur on youtube. have an inspiration/ idol to look up to in life.

workout. i dont care if its not one of your goals to have a fit body, but don't workout for that. workout because you love yourself. because its actually proven to make you happier, because you deserve a healthy, fully functioning body.

DRINK WATER. do you know how many benefits something as simple as that has? clear skin, unchapped lips, better digestive health, weight management, better health, feel more alert and energized, better for immune system, increases brain power, eliminate toxins, ETC ETC!

have a morning routine that literally sets yourself up for success. stimulate your mind with reading self help, learn something, study, focus on a skill, do something that makes your mind active.

journal & check in with yourself.- document your progress! write about how you felt after everyday. did you feel esp happy during anything? do you feel satisfied at the end of the day? or do you find that your day made you feel tired and drained? do you feel regret and wished you did more at the end of the day?

diary- links with the earlier point. document the day. you can write about it, or what i also like to do is video myself yapping to the camera. talk about whatever you want and let your mind wander free!

you are that it girl! dress the part, smell good, make yourself feel so good that you just can't help but feel like you can conqure anything!!

make sure you're consistently reminded of your goals. what do you want? why do you want to achieve it? reminding yourself of your goals will actually motivate you and make you stop procrastinating. for me its that i don't want any old projects or books having to continue into the new year so i've made a plan that will definitely get it done before the next year!

[drewsbraziliangf]

funny seeing you here | Drew Starkey x black!fem reader

summary: after seven months of not seeing his face, you find yourself at the same party he’s at. And he clearly made it his mission to be noticed by you. So what are you gonna do now?

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive smut

a/n: Here's part 3 of nothing to say when heaven falls. As the title called it, it was 100% inspired by ‘funny seeing you here’ by Jack Harlow which I recommend listening to during the reading. Comments and reblogs are never required but always very much appreciated 🫶🏻

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"Hey," he said and you could barely hear the smile on his voice. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

No escape.

"Hi," you replied with a low voice, unsure if he had heard it over the loud music. "Yeah, I'm with Frankie."

"Uh, yeah, I saw her," he voices as he scoots slightly closer to you. "This does look more like her scene."

At that, you nod and mentally curse the fifth generation of this damned bartender who has yet to finish your drinks.

Everything around you is spiraling at this point. You were not ready for this, especially with how casual he's being about everything. It was not in your plans to run into him tonight and all you wanted was to get as far away from him as you could.

Your salvation comes in the shape of your friend, who you can see right past her excitement about how much she just wanted to take you out of that situation. She held your arm lightly and, it was as if you weren't waiting for almost ten minutes the bartender returned with both your drinks.

"Hey, uhm, what's taking so long?" Frankie says and pretends to be shocked when she looks up at Drew. "Oh hey! Long time, no see." As the words leave her mouth you notice how the stiff smile on her face shows her displeasure at his presence.

"Hi Frankie," he says a little taken back by her and you notice how he starts tapping his fingers against the glass the same way you were doing moments ago. A shared habit that the both of you didn't get to brush off of one another it seems.

"Let's go, babes! I still have so much to tell you."

With your drinks at hand, you followed her and immediately felt a weight fall off of your shoulders. Still, you weren't able to hold back and you looked over your shoulder just to see him checking you out.

Your face was burning after that and you just prayed to whatever God that Frankie was able to distract you enough to make you not act on the alcohol in your veins.

It wasn't a secret to anyone the effect that he had on you. I mean you were together for years and about to get married - obviously, you had to be attracted to him. And he just had this thing about him that made it very hard for you to ignore.

He looked handsome, but that was no surprise. He always looked so fine, except this time it seemed like he had filled out more. The black shirt he was wearing fitted him perfectly, the sleeves stretched around his biceps, and even from a glimpse you were able to notice how much bigger they were since you last saw him. His outgrown hair now looked more like a growing mullet and, god, that did work with him. At this point, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or your brain talking about how insanely good he looked.

“Y/N, honey, you good?” She asked once the both of you got back to your spot.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” You retorted to which she just stared at you with uncertainty.

“I don’t- I don’t know, you just looked like you were about to vanish in thin air back there,” she voices smoothly still looking at you.

“Yeah, I uh, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that to happen,” you confess.

She nods and sips on her drink, her own eyes scanning the room this time, and once she looks up at you once more you see a glimpse of regret there.

“I didn’t know. Had I known I wouldn’t have brought you here,” She declares with sorrow and you shake your head quickly.

“Hey, I know that! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

At that, neither of you is sure enough.

You could feel that it was way past one in the morning, the air just felt different. The party was less crowded but the music was still blaring through the speakers. Frankie was entertained in a talk with a tall dark-skinned man who was whispering in her ear every now and then earning giggles from the brunette.

You had been nursing the drink in your hand for a while now, the condensation around the glass caused your fingertips to be wet. You were much more drunk than you’d normally get, but for once in a long time it felt good to let yourself go.

Still the numbness the alcohol brought, did not evade the feeling of what happened earlier. It had been so long since the last time and you were not expecting to see him like that. What would’ve happened if Frankie had not interrupted him? What would you have done?

“Hey,” You heard Frankie’s voice closer to your ear this time, “Would you mind if I left for a while? I promise I’ll be back and you won’t even notice.”

It amazed you that even with the amount of drinks she had, her pleading eyes didn’t fail to convince you. And honestly, she needed to have fun with the hot guy as well. So with a nod you sent her off watching her excitement as she followed him.

At least you were alone with your thoughts and could think and rethink everything, from your coffee orders to your love life as you downed the last of your blue coloured drink. But as if they were trying to prove a point, the spot next to you did not remain empty for long.

The same cologne that woke forbidden memories hours ago was flooding your space once again but this time it was subtle. Almost as if it was fading and taking with it your sanity.

“I thought we’d never get the chance to talk again,” was what he said and it didn’t take you long to notice that he too was a few drinks in.

Guess this isn’t a sober conversation, huh.

“I’d rather if it stays like that,” you mumbled as you watched him push a bottle of cold water towards you.

“Come on, this is a quieter spot. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” He leans in, just like Trent did with Frankie.

It felt so weird being close to him like this after so long. It felt like getting something you’ve wanted for so long but you were scared that you got the wrong thing. Does that even make sense?

“How's your sister and your niece?” You asked since there was no escape.

“They’re fine. Both of them, Lily still cries a lot but they’re good,” he voices as he sips from his own drink.

You unscrew the water bottle and take a big gulp out of it. Why were your hands so sweaty now? You didn’t have an answer to that so you just nodded and looked around the room as less and less people filled the dance floor and the bar.

“You look beautiful,” his compliment breaks the silence and goes straight to those confusing thoughts you were having. You have to control yourself. “I thought a lot before talking to you earlier, but I just couldn’t help myself when you looked like this. So pretty”

Even with his sweet words you couldn’t forget who he was and the history between the two of you. It was hard because even if you denied it a part of you still missed him so much. I mean, you shared years of your life with him so it isn’t that easy to ignore how much his absence affects you sometimes.

“What are you doing here, Drew?” The words leave your mouth before you could even process the thought.

He doesn’t say anything for a while and you finally look at him. His hair was slightly darker than it was months ago, the low cut shirt he is wearing gives you a peak of his chest hair and some freckles he has there. Looking into his eyes made your blood freeze for a second, it was like you were drowning in the bluest sea.

He scratched his overgrown beard while he looked down at the cup he was drinking from.

“I miss you,” He confesses with a sigh.

You shake your head as you set the water bottle back on the table.

“No, you can’t do this now,” You say and pray that he can hear you over the music. “Not after everything.”

“I-I fucked up and I know that,” he admits and that makes you feel dizzy. “I want to make things right between us.”

“Oh, now? You don’t even know if I have someone,” you scoff. “How’s Odessa by the way?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s been a while since I last talked to her,” he says.

“Well so it’s best if I look over your shoulder since she might pop up from thin air,” your snide remark doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not here to talk about anyone else but us. So can we please do that? Let’s find somewhere where we can actually talk because you just left and I know that what I did was the radon to that, but still.”

Your eyes met his for the second time that night and without much thought you found yourself nodding. You texted Frankie letting her know that you’d be getting an Uber home so she didn’t have to worry about you and in the next second you were following your ex out of the club.

It didn’t shock you that he was still living in the apartment you used to share. It looked almost the same just a few new pieces of furniture decorating the space and you couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had helped him to pick them out.

“Do you, uhm, wanna drink something?” He asked after he locked the door behind you.

“Yeah, I could use a glass of water.”

“Okay, lemme get that for you,” he says and walks to the kitchen.

You stay in the living room and take it all in. Why does his house feel this warm? Why did you feel comfortable in a place you chose to leave? Why wasn’t this freaking you out anymore? Before you could begin to dwell in any of those questions, his footsteps against the wooden floor pulled you from your thoughts.

“Here,” he hands you the filled glass.

“Thanks,” you say before taking a small sip from it.

“So, how have you been?” He asks and you can see that he immediately regrets it, “Fuck that’s a stupid question.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that and he quickly follows suit.

“I am okay. I’ve been worse, I’ve been better” you admit to which he only nods.

“I felt like shit, you know? I knew I was fucking up but I was so entranced by everything that was happening that I didn’t realize how much it was affecting you,” he says as he leans against the wall.

“It wasn’t easy for me to come up to you and say those things but I was so fed up that I didn’t know what to do anymore,” you admit as you take a step closer to him without even realising.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care about you or your feelings.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to be an intruder in our own relationship. There was a point where I felt like I needed to talk to her to get to you. And I know there is history between you two, I just didn’t want to doubt that there was still something going on.”

You sigh as one of your fingers traced the rim of the glass.

“I mean, there were a few times that I called your phone and she was the one picking it up. That made me feel so insecure and so scared that I was being lied to.”

“I-what? I didn’t know that.” He truly seemed surprised by your words.

“Well,” you scoff as you shake your head, “I guess she never told you that I called you then.”

You turn around and put the glass on the centre table. He simply watched you and even if he might not admit it yet seeing you in his house again made something in chest warm. Something in him just told him that you belonged there.

“You see, this is what I am talking about.” You add without turning to look at him. “This shouldn’t be normal.”

“I really didn’t know and when I looked at my calls registry your name wasn’t there so I assumed she was telling the truth.”

He did feel guilty about that, but he wasn’t lying. He truly didn’t know of that happenstance.

You sigh and you look back at him, your eyes burning as you feel a deep sense of deja vu.

“I really thought you were it for me, you know?” You confess and a tear streams down your face.

As if it was a reflex thing, he immediately reaches for you and wipes the tear off your face.

“I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that,” he says looking into your eyes.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the vulnerability that enveloped the both of you, but you couldn’t help more tears from following that first one. It felt so calming to be talking about this with him after so long, like a ton was being taken out of your chest. Obviously you had people to talk to but it wasn’t the same.

You rested your head on his shoulder as his hands were on the back of your neck. He went in for the first touch, his lips kissed the top of your head. That made you tense up for a second and as you looked up your gaze was immediately captured by his.

His nose touched yours first and as he leaned in for your lips, you couldn’t help but pull back. That happened twice more and you knew that he was frustrated but you were just so scared of opening up to him again.

“Please,” he begs with a breathy voice and as you look into his eyes you are able to see the same man you fell in love with years ago.

After that you didn’t resist anymore and his lips quickly found yours.

Oh.

One of his hands cradled your face as he deepened the kiss and the other was occupied squeezing the softness of your hips. Now, you could’ve lied to yourself about many things, but this was never one of them. He knew exactly where to touch you and how to do it.

You pressed your body against his and the sigh that left your lips when you felt his bulge pressed on your stomach. He moaned on your lips at the pressure and in a blink of an eye you had your legs wrapped around him.

He now held you with one of his arms as he guided the both of you towards the bedroom. His lips didn’t leave yours, the only time he broke the kiss was when he pulled your lower lip between his teeth, but in the next second he was devouring them again.

When he reached the bedroom he didn’t bother to close the door. He laid you on the bed and you breathlessly watched him pull his shirt off with one hand before he knelt between your legs.

Please God, don’t make me regret this.

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[fruithoughts]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤHow to catch a hufflepuff?

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjeonghan x fem!reader  

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  jeonghan.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ one sided beef, he tries to a dick but he's too in love lol what a loser, MANY PET NAMES(pretty girl, doll, puppy...), reader is a muggle, smut at very end, smut with plot, rough sex.

September, 1 

— Are you still not over yourself? — A new year at Hogwarts begins, and just like that, Yoon Jeonghan it’s back to his favorite hobby of tormenting his favorite girl.

— Hogwarts should get over itself! It’s insane that we still have to write with quills — the Hufflepuff answers, obviously frustrated and with a good reason to be so, it’s 2024 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry it’s still stuck on writing with quills? In individual papers? This fact alone it’s crazier than most spells they’ve ever teached.

— You say it as if the muggle option is much better — he lies straight through his teeth, knowing damn well that pens are, with no doubt, much easier to use than quills. Jeonghan is Jeonghan, don’t take him too seriously or you might actually punch him in the face. Much like he expected, his false observation is pointed out by the girl sitting right alongside him in this train stall almost immediately after it leaves his mouth, the Slytherin has always had too much fun bothering the school’s sweetest girl who just so happened to be cursed with world’s biggest puppy eyes.

It wasn’t friendly like this back then, though. No, not even close.

These two despised each other with a burning passion, well, Jeonghan did; for the far majority of this nemesis thing, the hate was very much one-sided. Coming from an insanely racist family definitely rubbed off on him and when his academic life expectations were ruined by the fact that the entire school seemed completely in love and constantly in awe of that stupid muggle girl, he decided right there to make her life a living hell. 

Which he succeeded in doing, kind of. Her life was surely miserable when around him but she didn’t seem to care about their relationship as soon as she was with her friends, housemates, just anyone at all, Jeonghan felt invisible at times, and it infuriated him to no end. Last year was the worst era for sure. The bitterness had been going on for so long, they were both exhausted and having to work together on an astronomy assignment was the last straw, so out of nothing but pure rage; they settled on an alliance for long enough to finish that thing. But it didn’t end there, of course it didn’t, they continued talking even after the assignment, they weren't friends then, absolutely not, but they started interacting like normal students for once, asking for notes, doing small talk every little in a while.

Their push and pull habits never truly died, but it wasn’t out of hate now, they were clearly having fun with this whole enemies till death tell us apart game. So much fun in fact, Jeonghan spent his entire break missing their banter like he was going crazy. It didn’t even cross his mind that he would think about that girl after the year ended, but oh, boy, did he do it.

 Maybe that was the reason they were going together in the same train stall for the first time in all of these years they’ve known each other, maybe Jeonghan lied and his friend’s stall isn’t full like he said it was, maybe he just missed his shiny eyed sweet girl, maybe.

September, 12 

— Do you have any interests other than being the center of attention? — she asks, it’s a fair question. The walk in between classes always brings out the worst out of everyone, huh? — I like pissing you off sometimes — Jeonghan answered.

Watching that cute little face transform into an annoyed and tired one never fails to make the Slytherin feel a rush of pride, he just adores it, he just adores her — Can you answer seriously at least once? Instead of being a lil bitch? Perhaps? It’s that too difficult for you? — she said imitating the tone he usually used to brother her, school’s sweetest girl being a bully, who would’ve thought. 

— Woah, woah, woah, I've been nothing but condescending and mean to you and this is how you treat me? — Jeonghan grabs his chest dramatically, his expression telling any bypassers that this man has never, in his entire life , felt as offended as he’s feeling right now — Come on now, puppy, it’s this a way you should treat a dear friend?

There it is, the classic Jeonghan urge to frustrate his pretty girl for no reason at all.

— Keep talking and I'll poison your food — the Slytherin chuckled at the threat — You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried, you’re not allowed in herbology class without the presence of a teacher — he pointed out without missing a beat — How do you still remember that? — she asks incredulously. I was made for you, of course I remember, the bastard thought to himself.

Like always, Jeonghan regretted coming to class the very second the professor opened his mouth, choosing to busy himself with going through his girl’s notes instead. They were mostly doodles or borderline intelligible for him, her handwriting was neat but her logic? Questionable, to say the least. But he loved reading whatever she wrote anyways, getting a little too happy whenever he found anything evolving his name or a silly doodle of his face. Once every twenty or so minutes he’d get distracted by her side profile instead, this was the only class where they sat together, so he shamelessly stared at her every time. For just a second, she looked back and smiled, as warm as the sun. He felt strange, he felt like a child again, liking her felt rather lovely, but did she like him too? 

October, 18 

It’s a tradition at this point, students of all houses gathering together in secret to play quidditch in their pajamas every friday night. Organization is barely existent, rules? Optional. This whole thing is a mess, it really is one of the worlds most confusing mysteries on how the teachers haven't found out about this yet(They have, but they pretend they haven’t because it’s the only time all students get fairly along with each other)

Mingyu begging Seungkwan to be the judge just off the chance that possibly, on a day where Kwan felt extremely nice, he could cut him some slack(it has never happened). Watching them from a far was arguably nicer, Jeonghan thought; sitting isolated from all of the other students with his trusty Hufflepuff by his side, both sat there in comfortable silence, this one was new for them.

— What bad music have you been listening to these days, ugly thing? — he inquires, as nice and cordial as always — Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy? — she answered staring daggers into his face, oh, if only Yoon Jeonghan was as unbothered and cool as he pretends to be, maybe then he could stop the way his heart pathetically races at the sound of her voice. 

— I always wanna know what’s going on up that little head, it’s usually just air, but sometimes we get lucky, don’t we? — the Hufflepuff rolls her eyes at his statement while the asshole who said it only grins — I could put on some songs I've been listening to, if your highness so desires — she suggests, and Jeonghan isn’t one to say no to his pretty thing. 

It started off with a soft guitar melody, much like most of the songs she listened to.

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

The girl always had a type for softer sounding things, for gentle things, it made  Jeonghan feel unsure of himself at times. How could the sweetest girl in the school like the company of such a bitter guy?

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Was it normal? Was this how things should be? What even were they at this point? Acquaintances? Partners in crime? Friends? 

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

The school year had barely started and Jeonghan could swear he was balding from stress since week 2, why is he acting like this? Why is he sitting far from his friends and housemates just to spend “alone time” with the girl he swore he hated less than a year ago?

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

There were many things in this world that the Slytherin would never agree to admit. He refused to believe in just how fast his mind changed from last year. Everything happened too fast and I couldn’t see it coming, that’s why I didn’t stop it; is what the man in question kept telling himself, clearly because is the truth and nothing but the truth, clearly NOT because he could never bring himself to terms with the fact that he has always looked at the “stupid muggle girl” in the very same way he’s looking right now.

You look perfect, you look different

I don't wonder about your indifference

— Spending time with you is giving me brain damage — he speaks up, for no reason other than to listen to the sound of her laughter, which works — Don’t blame me for your psychosis — the hufflepuff answers while giggling.

If I said you could never touch me

You'd come over and say I looked lovely

She yawned and stretched her arms out, arching her back, as graceful as a swan. It’s that feeling again.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to make me cry

He lies down on the concrete, both hands behind his head.

It was simple, you are sweetness

Let's just sit a while

She lies with him.

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I'll feel the sickness less and less

The night was beautiful, birds flying through the dark sky, he could hear his friends playing quidditch in the distance, his pretty little thing resting her head on his shoulder as they lay on the cold floor and watch the stars. It felt gentle, it felt nice, it felt perfect. He knows they won’t talk about this tomorrow.

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we'll never have sex

Friends shouldn’t make each other feel like this.

October, 29

— I’m just saying, it’s a Sunday evening — Jeonghan felt like getting to the point of his argument after rambling for about 20 minutes on end — And? — she inquired, eyes still on her book, which made the Slytherin close his own, he hasn’t read a single word ever since he opened his mouth, just using his habit of reading as another cheap excuse to spend the night in the library with his lovely friend — We could do something else, you know… — he suggested, knowing damn well this isn’t going anywhere, his girl did not play about her poetry books. 

— Like what? — she engaged, also aware of the fact this is a one way street — Literally anything else, maybe have dinner somewhere — he slouched against the hardwood chair — Dinner? The thing that killed Jesus? — her answer received nothing but a very judgmental look from a very judgmental Jeonghan who didn’t stay quiet about his discontent for long, like always — You’re such a disaster — he says averting his gaze to anywhere else so she couldn’t clock the painfully obvious heart eyes he was giving her.

— Why do you spend so much time here anyways? — after about 32 seconds of nice and peaceful silence, he asked again — Reading is fun, even if it’s reading about being a loser — the Hufflepuff responded already setting the terrain herself so Jeonghan couldn’t have the pleasure of calling her out on only reading melancholic books.

— We could never live together — the Slytherin states as if it isn’t the only future he could fathom to imagine — What if our books got mixed in the bookshelf? I might have a heart attack. Imagine receiving visits and have them wrongfully assume that I read poetry? I would rather die — anybody from a mile away can tell this man has thought about this very scenario way too much for his own good — And yet you’re the perfect amount of dramatic and pretentious to be a poet yourself — every once in a while he would notice that she talked like a book, he hated it, it was better when she talked like an chronically online alien who’s only life mission is to make sure he has at least one bad day a week.

Jeonghan, ever the most mature student of Hogwarts, sticked his tongue out in his friend’s direction, which was answered with the exact same action back at him — What are you even reading, ugly? 

— The world’s wife, by Carol Ann Duffy — at the end of that day, after his pretty girl had already left to her dorm, for the first time in history; Yoon Jeonghan rented a book from the library.

November, 1

Looking at her made him feel all sorts of things, even from across the room. From an overwhelming sense of warmth just by watching his little flower engage in silly conversations with her friends after she’s done writing down notes to erratic heartbeats and goosebumps when she catches him staring and tilts her head, looking at him just like a confused puppy while mouthing “why are you staring?”. She made him feel all sorts of feelings he wishes he didn’t fall victim to, all sorts of fantasies he wished he didn’t understand, but Jeonghan was no saint, especially when it came to his little angel. 

There were only two things in his mind today, which was an improvement in comparison to yesterday when there was only one, i’ll let you guess what it was, but right now there were two; 1. The argument with Josh, and 2. Her.

Jeonghan isn’t one to hold grudges against those he loves the most, as a trickster himself; he isn’t used to taking things personally, but Joshua… Joshua had gone too far. Just when the Slytherin was ready to finally pour his heart out to somebody who he deeply trusted and loved and open up about his feelings, he was met with the most terrible response! It just wouldn’t leave his head…

— She’s perfect for me, everything about her is perfect, I think about her all of the time and it’s messing me up — Jeonghan pathetically went on and on for what could’ve been anywhere from 30 min to 2 hours, poor boy was just so confused about the simplest of feelings — And the obvious conclusion to take away from this situation is…? — his Gryffindor friend tried helping — She’s ruining my life — and it didn’t work — You’re in love, you stupid idiot — so Josh decided to be a little more direct. He was right, like always, but that didn’t stop Jeonghan from sulking the whole entire night. 

It was infuriating, what even happened to him? All it took was a pair of shining eyes and sweet smile and he’s completely done for? It’s not like the guy in question ever was the kind of student who engaged in class or was interested in anything the teachers had to say at all, but this is another level, it annoyed him to no end. That stupid girl just held his mind and all of his thoughts in her hands as if it was nothing, that stupid girl with her stupid unique personality and her stupid hauntinly beautiful face and her stupid cute outfits and the stupid boy who could not take her out of his stupid brain. 

He left a letter at her desk after class, she would only find it the next morning while he was two classes away from being interrogated about said letter. 

November, 15

Hogsmeade was full to the brim, but somehow, this moment felt very intimate. 

Maybe it was the alcohol in their systems, maybe it was the casual way they didn’t even consider sitting with their housemates before claiming the little table by the window just for themselves, maybe it was the way they were both sitting while leaning completely forward, chins resting on their arms, faces just a few inches away while yapping away the end of exams season, it felt childish, it felt nice, it felt sweet. 

— You don’t think I'm manly? — Jeonghan questioned as if this was about to become his villain origin story — You’re manly… Just in a peacock kinda of way — she answered giggling like there was no tomorrow, he loved everything going on here. Her flushed little face decorated with a big grin, her nose crunching up everytime she smiled, her voice slightly louder and whinier because of the alcohol, the slurred way her words came out sometimes, it was all perfect.

— Can I tell you something, puppy? — he whispers, knowing he isn’t anywhere near drunk enough to not remember this tomorrow, he doesn’t really care — There’s nothing in this place that I adore more than you.

He watched in awe as her eyes grew so much bigger, lips forming a little pout of shock, that specific cartoonish surprised look she always had when anything happens while she’sdrunk, looking both sides before leaning in and going “Really?” which is immediately followed by a little giggle.

In moments like this the Slytherin swears there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have his girl all to himself, nobody else deserves this view. Isn’t all of this desire so ugly? Isn’t all this wanting so gross? Isn’t it all his? Just the thought of leaving Hogwarts and never seeing his pretty little thing again was enough to give him a full body shiver followed by an ever so present nauseous feeling.

 — If I have to remember you for longer than I've known you, I might lose my mind a little — Jeonghan mindlessly admitted, a sly smile slowly makes its way in his friend’s face — Don’t you think you already lost it? — she asks.

— Maybe a little.

December, 24

— Won’t your friends be worried? Do they know or did not even tell them? — Jeonghan questions while trying to look at everything everywhere all at once. It was his first time spending Christmas night in the muggle realm, he wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was — Why wouldn’t I tell them we’re going out? — the Hufflepuff answers his question with a question — As far as I remember they were very defensive about you becoming friends with big, bad Jeonghan, have they moved on from that? — his question only got him a smack on the arm.

— They haven’t cared about that for a while now, and you interrupted me! Again! — she stated before angrily letting go of his hand, which she had been holding so they wouldn’t go far from each other and get lost, yeah… that was definitely the only reason — My sincere apologies, your highness — not taking her attitude for granted, the Slytherin quickly holds her cold hand into his own much bigger one, it was ironic in a way, the Hufflepuff who’s body is always cold and the Slytherin who’s body is always warm — Now I don’t wanna talk anymore — apparently, she didn’t accept his apology, but didn’t let go of his hand either. 

Jeonghan wasn’t sure if it was his sick mind making him hear things, but he could swear that as time went on, the sweetest girl in Hogwarts had become more and more of a brat, just for him tho. Maybe he was a bad influence. 

— Go on, keep talking about the anime girl with the blue hair, I'm listening — did he understand most of what she was talking about? No. But she was happy to share her thoughts about Hatsune Miku’s new song, so really, who was he to say no? For all Jeonghan cares she could break his brain in two, it was only ever hers to mess with anyways.

Walking through the local christmas market was much more pleasant then the pureblood snob would ever imagine or admit, but she could tell that he was having a great time, and that was enough for both of them. Jeonghan has always had a terrible case of resting bitch face, so she really couldn't give less of her mind to anybody who stared at them weirdly, the Slytherin himself barely even noticed, too focused on this cozy new place.

They ate good food, took pictures with her digital camera, petted some strays here and there, it was a perfect evening. And just when they thought things couldn’t get any better…

— Come on, it’s not that deep — the bastard insisted while dragging his pretty thing along his arm to some bar’s doorstep, there was a mistletoe there — Is it not that deep or do you just want to kiss me? — the Hufflepuff teased, her flushed face betraying the casual tone she spoke in.

Finally at the bar, they stood there. Jeonghan, with that infuriating little grin in his stupidly beautiful face, looking down at his friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest the second they arrived, looking back at him with the an annoyed expression and an angry little pout that forced him to resist, with all of his might, to the overwhelming urge to melt directly to the floor.

— That’s for me to know, — he said pulling his doll into his arms, a hand going up to her face to make sure no stubborn hairs got in the way of the moment — And for you to wonder.

Much to Jeonghan’s surprise, maybe he really wasn’t the manly one in this relationship after all. Because when the Hufflepuff straight up yanked him by the collar of his jacket to meet his lips, he could swear that he was made to be manhandled by a pretty girl. Ever the profissional, he relaxed into their kiss almost immediately, holding the back of her head firmly in his hands so he could take some control.

It was just as good as he imagined it would be, pillowy lips massaging his own, his puppy just so pliantly allowing his tongue to explore, it was sugar sweet and addicting. 

Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a blessing, the girl wasn’t exactly sure while she was getting dragged around for the entire two and a half they spent going around in the christmas market. The sly prick just couldn’t control himself, whenever he saw a mistletoe, it was time. Jeonghan was so obvious, he started actually tricking her into thinking he was just interested in places. He would look around, engage in conversation with the sellers, get some nice food then the second they were about to leave, he would just pull her towards a certain spot, his girl already giggling and whining about getting tricked again. These two lost count of how many mistletoes they used to their advantage in just some hours, but at last, it was time to go. 

Surprisingly, Jeonghan wasn’t really nervous about spending the night in his friend’s apartment, they have gotten extremely close after all. The thing bothering him was something else. 

He wore some white t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants she found somewhere in the depths of her closet, probably due to a friend forgetting them. She was wearing a leopard print shirt and some black fluffy shorts, he loved the way she dressed much more than he could handle, it was too cute for him to handle. Their pajamas were the comfiest things they’ve ever worn in each other’s presence, you can only be so casual in School.  

After whining about who got to choose what they watch before sleeping, they settled in any Netflix cliche christmas movie because of how often she made fun of the scripts in those movies, and she was right, they could’ve played a cliche movie bingo and checked all of the places before the movie hit the 40 minute mark. 

Of course the film in question was nothing more than some background sound to their yapping session, what else could it be? Their conversations just flowed so easily, each topic and scenario just slipping through their fingers, eventually they got to the best part, talking about the people they both hate. At first it was the usual; “How long do you think that friend group is going to last?” and “Do you think that couple is going to get back together?” then it eventually turned into; “Do you think your friend group will last a long time?” and “How long do you think it will take before we miss our professors?” and…

— What are you gonna do after Hogwarts? — the Hufflepuff asks innocently, causing a mental turmoil to burst in Jeonghan’s head. He snaps before even thinking, and it’s probably for the best.

— What are we gonna be after Hogwarts? — the air caught in her throat was almost visible, the way her breathing got heavy, the way her eyes seemed to wander even though she didn’t break eye contact, this was a difficult conversation to have. After this they’ll either come out of this apartment as partners or as strangers, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

— We don’t ever talk about it, we don’t ever dare bring it up but we both know what’s going on, don’t we? The year is ending, flower — he had that look in his eyes, that look he had at hogsmeade, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but there it was again. Jeonghan had never looked so soft, in some oversized t-shirt and fluffy zebra print pajama pants she would never witness him wearing in any other situation, his hair as soft as ever, strands romantically sitting in front of his face as he reaches a hand to hold her cheek, the most gentle touch.

— I know we started this just messing around, we’ve been messing around since last year and it felt nice, it was fun, it was new and becoming closer was so rewarding that we just couldn’t stop it — he recalls the beginning of their alliance — But it’s not so light anymore, is it, dear? The tension became too much, I know you think about me too, I know you feel me it too — he spoke his heart out, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, all of the words that have been drowning him for the past few months were finally bubbling to the surface — I wanna stop it, we played around and it was fun but I need something solid now, I need to know where we go after this is over — he kept going, his eyebrows furrowing as his breathing got more erratic. 

— We don’t have all of the time in the world so I need you to be honest with me right now — Jeonghan leaned in, he could almost see all of her thoughts and emotions right on those shiny eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, in all of this time; his sweet girl had never changed, but unknowingly, she changed him. 

— Do you want me too? — the Slytherin asks.

A rushed “i need you too” was the last thing he could process before the Hufflepuff was yanking his face into a heated kiss, hugging his neck so she could sit on his lap, Jeonghan was in heaven. 

His pretty girl softly pulling his hair to make him gasp into her mouth, his hands trying to be everywhere before he settled on holding her hips to keep her from moving too much. His sweet girl was a little too desperate for his taste. Why were her panties completely soaked and sticking to her core when he finally dipped his hand into her shorts? Was she getting hot and bothered the entire night and just taking it instead of asking for his help? — Own, did I leave my baby waiting for too long? My poor lil thing… — the motherfucker spoke up as condescending as always, only causing her to whine as he teasingly cupped her warmth through the moist underwear — Don’t worry, puppy. You know I’ll make it up to you — and “make up” he did.

As soon as the bastard found her bedroom, it was game on. At this point they’re unsure of how much time have gone by, one arm holding her waist firmly in place on her plush bed while the other held one of her legs up so he could have more access to the little pussy he spent so long dreaming about, he needed to eat his girlfriend out properly, let her know he’s the one for her, that no one would do it better than him, even if his efforts make his jaw hurt like crazy the next morning.

Jeonghan was having the time of his life, hearing her soft voice turning into a higher pitch whenever she whined about him teasing for too long, that she was ready to take him. And of course, being as annoying as ever, he couldn’t let the humiliation be just that, no, he made her repeat it every time — What was that, doll? — he looks up as if her sweet moans interrupted his holy feast, his chin soaked with her juices, his lips glistening with her honey, this view could kill — I need you, Jeongie… — she finally had the strength to answer, making the devil grin. 

He had no intentions of stopping, no, he needed that little cunt on his face until he suffocated. The bastard kept going after the first, the second and for a miracle, the third orgasm was his last straw, and even though he could devour his stupid girl right there… — My pretty baby did so well for me, didn’t she? — he gave her a much deserved break before getting down to finish their business. 

It felt as though there was nothing else in the world, nothing other than them. Passionate slow kisses, arms cradling one another as their hands caressed each other’s bodies, this moment could last all of eternity and neither culprit would complain, not even once. Feeling his hard on pressing against her thighs was driving the Hufflepuff a little bit insane, tucking on his waistband made her mouth feel awfully empty.

The Slytherin didn’t even remember that being hard was so damn painful, a soft touch of her hands on his crotch was enough to make him hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together, the sight was pretty enough to make one cry, he’s was just such a beautiful boy, how could she not want to have him in her mouth? — Please, please, pleas-

— You don’t have to — he tried shushing her, not wanting his baby to do any work — Want to… Wanna make you feel good, Jeongie… — that whiny tone made his knees buckle quickly, mind racing far too fast for him to stop himself before just sitting back on his knees and letting his pretty girl have her way with him.

For someone who was in full control just fifteen minutes ago, Jeonghan surely sounded like a bitch in heat. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but letting go before it happens so he can moan like a whore just before the pleasure becomes too much and causes him to throw his head back, looking at his girl was too much to ask from him, everything was too much. Looking just so pretty trying her hardest to fit his thick base into her mouth, not paying any mind to all of the gagging, working so hard to please her Hannie, he could bust just from this fact alone, the man was losing it. 

His appreciation for her hard work did not go unappreciated for long, not when he got his doll on all fours for him, shoulders pressing down on the mattress while he pounded that pussy into another dimension not even ten minutes after getting the head of his life. The squeaking of the bed, the sound of skin slapping, the begging for more whenever he grabbed her hair roughly and used it as a leash to pull her body into his, his chest pressing against her back while he praised his pretty thing for being “such a good puppy for him, taking all of his cum”, only for the moans to go louder when he slammed her face back into the bed, the soft squelchy sound coming from where their bodies kissed, the music in this room was Jeonghan’s favorite. 

These two were wild animals for a long time, their muscles would most definitely feel their efforts tomorrow, but right now, after having the best orgasms of their lives, the lovebirds were in absolute peace, staying in the bed for much longer than expected after sex; just holding each other, just loving each other. After a nice shower, a change of sheets and some instant ramen, tho? Ready to go to sleep, if anything; desperate to go to sleep. Jeonghan felt a slight shift on the bed alongside him, he could feel his preciosity leaving his grasp just before he succumbed to the tiredness of his bones, he reluctantly opened his eyes; she’s on her phone? 

— Did I fuck you so good that you’re writing poetry? — he asks, it’s a fair question — Shut up, Slytherin — the Hufflepuff answers just before hitting send message into her groupchat, telling her friends everything they could possibly need to know about the past two hours or so with just 11 words.

[strnilolover]

NNN - matt sturniolo - period help

You and Matt were laying in his bed together, limbs tangled with one another as your eyes were focused on the movie you were watching. Here and there, matt would make some remark, causing you to rebutted against it — and occasionally your laughs mingling with one another as you joked about the movie.

“No — no, she definitely has feelings for that kid. I mean she literally acts so dumb in front of him and not around anyone else.” you argued, propping yourself up onto one arm as you spoke to matt.

He shrugged, “i don’t know — i don’t see how, i mean she acts dumb around other people too. how can you rule this out to her liking him?” he asked, his hand coming up to poke at your temple. You just rolled your eyes, “I have a feeling.” you retorted back.

He hummed, taking his eyes away from you to train back onto his tv, your own doing the same as you settled back into his side. After a while, you felt the urge to pee — having drank all that water and sodas not long ago.

So you carefully shifted, trying to shimmy your way out of matt’s grasp. But, when you shifted to slide off the bed, you felt the unmistakable feeling of warmth between your legs — and your body froze. Your eyes went wide, looking down to where your body sat on matt’s bed, seeing the stain of red under you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the embarrassment seep into you. ‘Fuck — fuck’

You shifted uncomfortably, hoping that matt wouldn’t notice how ridge your body went. But to no surprise — matt always being attentive of you — you heard his voice behind you, soft and concerned.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” he asked, his hand coming out to rest against your shoulder, rubbing small circles. You swallowed, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You nodded slowly, opening and closing your mouth a few times before looking over your shoulder at him. “I just — uh —“ you stammered, your gaze falling to your lap and the bed again. Matt furrowed his brows, moving on the bed to sit beside you. His gaze now looking down to where yours was at, and his face softened.

“Oh baby,” he whispered, his hand now resting on your lower back. “Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head to look at yours better. You looked at him, face red with embarrassment. “mhm…you — you aren’t grossed out?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. You wanted the world to open and swallow you whole.

He shook his head, his body now moving to stand as he moved in front of you — holding his hand out. “It’s a natural part of you, why would i be grossed out by something you can’t control?” he said, and you head tilted back to look at him before putting your hand into his.

He helped pull you up, the gross feeling still clinging to your skin. “Do you need me to run you a shower baby?” he asked, and you nodded. “yes please.”

He hummed, letting your hand go and walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a hoodie of his and a pair of sweatpants, also grabbing a pair of your underwear you seem to have left here. He walked past you, going out the bedroom door and into his bathroom to start the shower for you — making sure it was hot enough.

When he was done, he came back into the room, you body still planted where he left you. Holding out his hand again for you to take, he tugged you toward the bathroom. “Do you need anything else while you’re in the shower? snacks, heating pack?” he asked softly, letting you step into the bathroom as he began to turn away.

“Uh…some of those rice cakes with peanut butter and a heating pack please.” you muttered, and he smiled, walking away toward the kitchen as you closed the bathroom door.

When you were finished with your shower, getting dressed into the clothes matt picked out for you and using a pad (or tampon) from the pack you kept here just in case — you wandered out of the bathroom.

You set the towels in the washing machine before pivoting and walking into matt’s room. The sheets on the bed were already changed and the things you requested were already there waiting for you. You smiled softly, walking over to the bed. You didn’t hear matt’s footsteps behind you, his arms wrapping around you.

You jumped slightly, a giggle then following. “There’s my pretty girl.” he mumbled into your neck, pressing a few light kisses there. You couldn’t help but smile more, letting your head tip back to rest on his shoulder. Matt pressed one last pec to your neck before pulling away, “I got everything you requested and-“ he paused, bringing something around in front of you. “- i figured you might want this guy.” he held mr.wrinkleton up in front of you, swaying him back and fourth.

A big grin spread across your face as your hands reached to grab the stuffed pug, wiggling out of matt’s grip to turn around. “You’re the best, did you know that?” you said, pressing a light kiss to his jaw. He chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the small of your back once more. “I mean, i’d do anything to make you comfortable — i hope you know that.” he admitted, and you nodded in understanding.

“So — want to get back into bed now?” he asked, already detaching himself and going to his bed. You gave him a look that already spoke for itself, walking over to the bed and climbing in under the covers.

Once you were situated, you turned your head to matt, holding his stuffed pug close to your chest. “I do want one more thing though.” you said, and matt’s eye brow raised slightly. “Yeah? what’s that?”

You smiled, scooting closer to him and swinging a leg over his slowly. “Lots and lots of cuddles.”

© strnilolover

[rwrbficrecs]

Our September & October recs ❤️

make lemonade by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@dot524: This author consistently posts stellar works but I often finish wanting more of that world. This one is nice and long — yay! I loved this meet-cute where Alex’s daughter Claudia has a lemonade stand and Henry is one of their favorite customers. This was a bit of an exploration of divorced dad (single dad) Alex. His mixed feelings about coparenting and starting a new relationship were nicely developed. Such a great warm fuzzy fic, with a nice bit of angst and character development mixed in to make things interesting. And I loved the kid character, Claudia!

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by @coffeecatsme (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This road trip AU is so fun, partly because of how soft our favorite boys are, but also just because of Alex's bright personality throughout the whole thing, and the faith and hope that's a critical part of the book!

we should get married by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: I had heard people talking about this green card marriage AU for months, and the hype was definitely warranted (as with all of this author's writing)! Little details from the book used in a new way, instant attraction, both of them being exactly what the other needs, exploration of other relationship dynamics within the book... this fic has so much depth in its 4 chapters, and it's fantastic!

Cleansing Downpour by @sprigsofviolets (book-verse)

@na-dineee: It often seems like things between June and Nora were always easy, like they were just meant to be. But what if it wasn't that simple? Feeling stuck in life, June is caught between writing a book she’s starting to hate, and navigating her growing feelings for her best friend. A beautifully written story of change, friendship and love, and figuring out who you really are.

runaway now and forever more by tonystarked (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Aged Alex and Henry, a US Senator and an English Prince, have been pining for each other for what feels like forever. Could tonight, at a glamorous charity event, finally be the night they open up to one another? This beautifully heart-wrenching and incredibly poetic fic has been stuck in my head ever since I read it!

The Candy Tax by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is absolutely adorable! It's the perfect nostalgia trip for anyone who went trick or treating, and it incorporates some of the pop culture references from the book in the best ways that just add to what make this fic so cute!

Heart enough by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: What if Henry's the one who has to travel for the apology tour and instead of celebrating New Year's, they have a Halloween party? This fic adds so many layers and soft moments to the original, but still includes the heart and references we all love!

Halloween at Kensington by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is the Arthur POV of Halloween when his kids are little I didn't know I needed until I read it- this is so adorable, and Henry and Phillip's characterization in it is perfect!

I was cold as a stone (but I found what I'm lookin' for) by @miharaikko (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Author Henry has retreated to a small, secluded cabin in the mountains, hoping it will spark some writing inspiration. That's where he meets Alex, the owner of the cabin... The mountain and campfire vibes are absolutely wonderful. It's such a fluffy and heartfelt one-shot – just as recommendable as the other fics in the Flufftober: A Red Umbrella Collection.

Red, White and Royal Switcheroo by @xthelastknownsurvivorx (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This body swap AU left me wondering how everything would have been different in the rest of the story- it's that good! It has the heart and content of the original, plus moments that are brand new- and watching the boys pretend to be each other is fantastic!

Oblivion by @milowren29 (book-verse)

@dot524: This story has been on my reading list for a while and wow, did it live up to expectations! Alex and Henry are kidnapped during their visit to the hospital, and they trauma-bond during their experience. But what will happen afterward? How will this change things between them? The action, angst, and longing in here is spot-on and the storytelling is so well-done.

Sounds of Someday by dazedandconfused (book/movie-verse)

@na-dineee: USA 1972, three weeks on a road trip on the 'road to nowhere' heading toward Texas: writer Henry and farm boy Alex. This fic is so layered and full of hurt and emotions. The ending completely knocked the wind out of me. An absolute masterpiece, please everyone, read it – it's phenomenally good in terms of language, storytelling, and capturing the spirit of the time !!

blizzards and broken boundaries by @gayhoediaz (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Age gap – I love this trope with Henry and Alex. Here, it’s a 20+ year difference: Alex is a student, Henry his professor. Alex makes the move, Henry is very amenable. The alternating POV is so cleverly done, the tags say PWP, but I definitely felt all the feelings. Absolutely delicious!

These violent delights by @lizzie-bennetdarcy (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Henry as a vampire hunter in this fic is such an intriguing concept and the backstory of it and the fic's conflict is so well done!

With magic soakin' my spine, can you read my mind? by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Pining and magic and revelations abound in this fic that's written so well, it gave me chills. This fic is definitely a must-read if you want a canon divergent fic that has just a hint of magic!

to belong to a family (even beyond this world) by @read-and-write- (book-verse)

@suseagull04: The Mexican part of Alex's heritage absolutely shines through in this- and this is definitely a fic you want to read if you want Día de los Muertos fic and all the Arthur feels! I also love all the neurodiversity in this fic!

A Beautiful Reality by @tinyarmedtrex (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Priest!Henry is back. The second part of The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To Is When I'm Alone With You is out!! And – surprise: He’s not a priest anymore. But it’s not that easy to shake off those deeply rooted beliefs and Catholic guilt. Luckily, Alex is so patient and totally in love.

The Brightest Star by @aforgottennymph (book-verse)

@dot524: Single dad Alex meets children’s book author Henry, and they connect immediately. The obstacle in this story is Alex’s sense of duty to his daughter, Bia. She’s quick and creative, and she’s brimming with opinions. I’m a bit picky about OC’s and kids in fics, but this one was so well done. It’s full of fun dialogue and well-realized feelings and angst. Definitely check it out!

A Love That Haunts the Land by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Once again, this author has blended Mexican culture and RWRB in a way that's so authentic- plus there's magic! This is one you won't want to miss!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 11

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (eventually lololol)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Angst, stupid people, dramaaaaa

A/N: I aint ready for peace yet 😇🫶🏻

Masterpost

NYU 4th Year

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon as you exited your lecture hall, your bag slung over your shoulder and your mind already racing with thoughts of your looming paper. The quad was buzzing with students heading off to their weekend plans, and you were lost in your thoughts when you spotted Natasha leaning casually against a lamppost, her red hair catching the golden light.

“There she is,” Nat called, waving you over with a grin. “What took you so long? I’ve been standing here for ages.”

“Class ran late,” you said, rolling your eyes as you walked up to her. “Professor decided to drop a surprise reading quiz on us.”

Natasha scoffed, falling into step beside you. “Reading quizzes on a Friday should be illegal. Anyway, there’s a party tonight at Walker’s place. You coming?”

You hesitated, already feeling the weight of your weekend workload. “I don’t know, Nat. I’ve got that big paper due next week, and I’m kind of behind. I was planning to get a head start tonight.”

Natasha groaned, clasping her hands together in an exaggerated plea. “Come on, please? Wanda already bailed on me, and I really want to see this guy who’s going to be there. I can’t get stuck with the boys by myself—they’ll ruin my whole vibe.”

You sighed, torn between responsibility and the infectious energy of your best friend. “Fine,” you said reluctantly. “But I’m starting my introduction before we leave. No arguments.”

“Scout’s honor,” Natasha said, raising three fingers in a mock salute.

You gave her a pointed look. “You weren’t even a Girl Scout.”

She grinned, undeterred. “True, but I can feel it. In another life, I was definitely a spy.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you parted ways. “Yeah, sure, Nat.”

By the time you got back to your dorm, Natasha was already busy texting, her phone lighting up with each rapid-fire message. You could tell by the sly smile on her face that she was talking to her crush. The thing about Natasha was that she always knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. She was a spitfire, sharp-tongued and unapologetically confident, but underneath all that fire, she was a hopeless romantic. Most guys your age weren’t ready for someone like her, but that never stopped her from trying.

You sat at your desk and opened your laptop, determined to at least get your introduction done before the night derailed into party chaos. The words flowed easily, and by the time you finished your intro and even managed to start your first paragraph, you felt a small sense of accomplishment.

Alright you texted Natasha, I’m done for now. Let’s get ready.

Within seconds, your phone buzzed with her reply: Finally!!! Be there in 5.

True to her word, Natasha burst into your room moments later, her arms loaded with a makeup bag and a pair of heels. You both commandeered Wanda’s bed, laying out a mess of possible outfits, debating the merits of each one as you tried to find the perfect look.

You finally settled on a sleek black mini-dress that hugged your figure in all the right places, paired with short heels and of course your signature neckless: your locket. Natasha went for a bold red jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and sky-high heels.

Standing side by side in front of the mirror, Natasha let out a low whistle. “Damn, we’re hot.”

You giggled, adjusting the strap of your dress. “We clean up nice.”

Natasha’s eyes drifted to the delicate gold locket resting against your collarbone, and she smiled. “That locket… you’ve been wearing it forever. I’ve never seen you without it.”

You glanced down, your fingers lightly brushing over the familiar weight of the locket. “Yeah, it’s kind of a family thing, my mom gave it to be before she passed"

Natasha, smiled sadly her curiosity piqued. “You never did tell me what’s inside.”

You held the locket, fidgeting it between your fingers. “On one side, there’s a quote about love that my great-great-great-grandmother supposedly wrote. My grandma told me everyone who’s had this locket would place a photo of the man they loved on the other side—so they’d always be close to their heart."

Natasha’s eyes softened. “Your whole family sounds like a bunch of hopeless romantics.”

You laughed. “Apparently. Guess it runs in the blood.”

Natasha smirked, leaning in. “So… who’s in yours?”

You hesitated, your fingers lingering on the locket before closing it. “No one,” you said, offering a small smile. “I don’t really have anyone to put in there right now.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Mhm, sure. No one at all?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not everyone is as quick to fall head over heels as you, Nat.”

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand over her heart dramatically, “I just know what I want.”

“And what you deserve,” you added with a grin.

Natasha nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”

With that, you both grabbed your bags and made your way out of the dorm, ready to take on the night. Natasha’s phone buzzed again, and she couldn’t hide the excitement on her face as she typed back.

You glanced at her, smiling softly. “Texting your mystery man?”

“Maybe,” she said with a wink. “Tonight’s going to be fun—you’ll see.”

The crisp night air buzzed with the energy of the weekend as you and Natasha made your way down the crowded street, laughter and music spilling out from houses along the way. The distant thump of bass grew louder with every step, and soon you were standing in front of John Walker’s house, its windows glowing and the porch already packed with students.

Natasha looped her arm through yours as you approached the door, her heels clicking against the pavement. “You know,” she said, her voice light but teasing, “I always thought you might have Bucky’s picture in that locket.”

You stumbled slightly, your eyes snapping to hers. “What?”

She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, don’t act so surprised. You two have been inseparable since kindergarten. Best friends, sure, but there’s always been… something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she didn’t give you the chance. “I mean, hey, no judgment. I’m just saying I’m a little surprised he’s not in there.”

You were about to respond, to come up with some half-hearted deflection, but before you could, Natasha grinned and yanked you toward the door. “No time for heart-to-hearts now. Let’s find the boys.”

The moment you stepped inside, the heat and noise hit you like a wave. The living room was packed, bodies swaying to the beat of the music as red solo cups were passed around. You caught a glimpse of a makeshift beer pong table in the corner, surrounded by a cheering crowd. The scent of cheap alcohol and sweat mingled in the air, and someone had already spilled something sticky on the floor.

Natasha scanned the room with a practiced eye, her grip still firm on your arm. “There they are,” she said, nodding toward the far side of the room where Steve and Bucky were leaning against a wall, talking. Steve had his usual easy smile, but Bucky’s eyes flicked across the room, as if he was keeping tabs on everything and everyone.

Natasha released your arm and nudged you forward with a sly grin. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Before you could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, already hunting down her mystery man.

You took a deep breath and weaved your way through the throng of people, your heart picking up speed as you got closer to them. Bucky’s head turned slightly, and when his eyes landed on you, a slow smile spread across his face. He nudged Steve, who looked up and gave you a warm wave.

Here’s a revised version with smoother transitions and more natural dialogue flow:

“Well, well,” Bucky’s voice cut through the noise as you and Natasha finally reached him and Steve. He leaned casually against the wall, a lopsided grin on his face. “Look who decided to show up.”

Steve chuckled, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. Thought you had some big paper to write?”

“I did,” you replied, crossing your arms with a smirk. “But Natasha here wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said it was a life-or-death situation.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Natasha, relentless? Shocking.”

“She’s practically a force of nature,” you said, glancing around. “So, drinks?”

Steve drained the last of his beer and set his cup down with a satisfied sigh. “You two go ahead. I’m gonna head over to the keg and see if I can beat my personal record tonight.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Best of luck, Stevie.”

Steve winked as he stepped away. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need it.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, you and Bucky stood there in a comfortable silence for a moment, the bass of the music thumping around you. Then, Bucky gave you one of his signature half-smiles, the kind that always made your heart skip a beat. “Come on,” he said, reaching for your hand and pulling you toward the drink table.

His touch was brief but enough to send a spark up your arm. You followed without protest, a small smile tugging at your lips. When you reached the table, he handed you a drink, his fingers brushing against yours—a fleeting, seemingly innocent moment that left your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you lifted the cup to your lips.

Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. But before you could think of a response, Natasha appeared from behind you, clapping her hands together, cutting through the moment.

“Alright, people,” she announced, her tone playful. “What’s the plan? Beer pong? Dancing? Or do we just stand here and look devastatingly cool?”

Bucky smirked, his eyes still on you. “I think we’ve already nailed the last one.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “How about we find Steve before he gets himself into trouble?”

Bucky raised his cup in agreement. “Solid plan.”

With that, the three of you moved back into the crowd, weaving through the crush of people and the haze of music. Even as the party buzzed around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Bucky’s lingering gaze—or the way your locket, pressed against your chest, seemed to grow heavier with every step.

"There he is!" Natasha beamed, stopping "Buck you go watch him, me and my girl are gonna dance for a bit!" Before either of you could respond, Natasha was already pulling you away, you turned around glancing over your shoulder briefly to see Bucky's blue eyes smiling at you as he gave you a single wave.

The music thumped loudly in your ears, the bass vibrating through the floor as you swayed with Natasha in the middle of the crowded living room. The alcohol buzzed warmly in your veins, and for a moment, you let yourself forget about everything—about the paper, about the tension that always seemed to linger whenever Bucky was around.

You and Nat were giggling, holding onto each other as you moved to the beat. It was freeing, exhilarating even, until your gaze drifted across the room and landed on him.

Bucky was leaning casually against the wall, his signature smirk firmly in place as he talked to a blonde. She was laughing at something he said, her hand lightly resting on his arm. They were close—too close. Her hair glinted under the dim party lights, and the way she leaned in, hanging on his every word, made your stomach drop.

Your world stopped for a second. The music faded into the background, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You blinked, trying to shake it off, telling yourself it didn’t matter, but the familiar ache settled in your chest anyway.

You tore your eyes away, grabbing your red solo cup and downing the rest of its contents in one go. The burn of the cheap liquor didn’t help, but it gave you something to focus on. You crushed the cup in your hand and let it drop to the floor, the plastic crumpling beneath your heel as you forced yourself to keep dancing.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, plastering a fake smile on your face.

Natasha laughed beside you, her movements loose and carefree. She slurred slightly, her words barely audible over the music. “Hey! You… you took your necklace off!”

You frowned, reaching up to touch your neck instinctively. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then where is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she swayed in place.

Your hand moved frantically over your collarbone, panic setting in as your fingers found only bare skin. Your locket was gone. “Shit,” you whispered, your eyes wide as you started scanning the floor beneath your feet. “Nat, it’s gone!”

Her hands immediately went to your shoulders, steadying you. “Don’t panic,” she said, her voice slurring but her tone trying to stay calm. “It… it can’t be far.”

But it was too late. The panic clawed its way up your throat, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. The music was too loud, the crowd too thick. You dropped to your knees, your hands scrambling over the sticky floor as you searched desperately for the locket.

“Excuse me! Sorry!” you mumbled, trying to push past people, but it was no use. The sea of feet around you made it impossible to see anything.

You backed up, bumping into someone behind you. A pair of hands immediately settled on your waist, steadying you. “Hey, you okay?” the guy asked, but you shoved him off without even looking, your vision blurring with tears.

Natasha was back at your side in an instant, her hands on your shoulders again, her mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear her. The world felt like it was spinning too fast, and all you could think about was the locket—your family heirloom. The one your mother had given you before she passed away. The one that had been passed down for generations. And now it was gone, lost in the chaos of some stupid party.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stumbled backward, your breathing coming in short, panicked gasps. You didn’t even realize someone was pulling you out of the house until the cool night air hit your skin.

“Hey, hey,” that same guy's voice said, low and urgent. You blinked through the haze of your tears, and your heart twisted painfully when you saw who it was.

Bucky.

He had his hands on your arms, guiding you away from the crowd, his eyes filled with concern. “Come on, you’re okay,” he murmured, leading you to a quieter spot on the porch. “Breathe, alright? Just breathe.”

You tried to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your vision still blurry from the tears.

“Look at me,” Bucky said softly, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His words, his presence, grounded you just enough to pull in a shaky breath. “It’s gone, Buck,” you finally managed, your voice breaking. “The locket… my mom’s locket. It’s gone.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he glanced back toward the house. “Okay,” he said, his voice calm but determined. “We’re gonna find it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “There’s too many people. It’s probably already stepped on or—or lost for good.”

“Hey,” Bucky said firmly, his hands tightening slightly on your arms. “We’ll find it. I promise.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was unwavering determination. His eyes softened, and he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Wait here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m going back in.”

“No, Buck—”

“I’ll find it,” he interrupted, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Just stay here.”

Before you could protest, he turned and disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone on the porch, the night air chilling your skin. You sank onto the steps, your hands trembling as you clutched at your knees, praying silently that he was right.

The minutes felt like hours as you sat on the porch, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every time the door opened, you looked up, hoping to see Bucky stepping out with your locket in hand. But each time, it was just another person stumbling out into the night, oblivious to your panic.

Finally, the door opened again, and Bucky emerged. His expression was serious, his steps purposeful, but his hands were empty.

Your heart sank, the last bit of hope slipping away. He walked over and crouched in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with a steady calm.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice firm but laced with regret. “I checked everywhere I could. Asked everyone. It’s just… not there.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening as you tried to process his words. The locket—your mother’s locket—was gone. A family heirloom, passed down through generations, lost in the chaos of a party. You tried to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

“It’s gone,” you finally whispered, the words feeling heavy and final.

Bucky’s hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding you. “I know how much it meant to you,” he said, his voice steady. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t find it tonight. But we’ll figure something out. I’m not giving up.”

You shook your head, blinking back the tears that blurred your vision. “It was the only thing I had left of her,” you said, your voice breaking. “And now it’s just… gone.”

Bucky’s fingers gently squeezed your knee. “I get it,” he said quietly. “It’s not just a thing. It’s her.”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears kept coming. “It feels like I let her down,” you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “I should’ve been more careful.”

Bucky shifted, sitting beside you on the step. His shoulder brushed yours, and he looked out at the street, his voice calm and certain. “Hey, your okay, its gonna be okay”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to absorb his words. “How can you say that? Its gone,” .

“I know,” he said, his tone understanding. “But your mom wouldn’t want you to carry that weight. That locket—it was important, sure, but it doesn’t change the connection you had with her. You’ve got all those memories, all those stories. She’s still with you.”

His words settled over you, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You leaned into his shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh. “Thanks, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice still thick with emotion. “For always being there.”

His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Always,” he said simply.

For a while, you just sat there, the distant hum of the party fading into the background. The ache of losing the locket still lingered, but Bucky’s steady presence eased it, bit by bit. He didn’t try to fix everything, didn’t offer hollow reassurances. He just stayed—solid, dependable, exactly what you needed.

You broke the silence, your voice soft and hesitant. “What about that girl…?���

Bucky didn’t let you finish. “Forget about her,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I have my best girl right here” his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between you, something heavy and meaningful.

Eventually, you sat up, brushing the last of the tears from your cheeks. You gave him a small, wry smile. “Guess I owe you one,” you said quietly.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added, “Except maybe a rematch at beer pong.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Deal,” you said, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

Now

Sam takes a deep breath as he reaches the door to your shared apartment, bracing himself. He isn’t entirely sure what he’s walking into, but he knows Bucky isn’t handling things well. He knocks firmly and waits, listening for any movement inside.

After a long pause, the door creaks open. Bucky stands there, looking like absolute hell. His hair’s a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and he’s still in yesterday’s clothes, rumpled and wrinkled.

“Sam?” Bucky’s voice is hoarse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, man,” Sam says, leaning against the doorframe. “I came to check on you. Can I come in?”

Bucky steps aside, muttering, “Yeah… sure. Guess you uh probably know everything already.”

Sam walks in, his eyes immediately catching the shattered lamp on the floor, pieces scattered across the living room. “I know her side, but there's two sides to every coin” The air feels heavy, tense. He turns to Bucky, his voice steady. “She’s at Steve and my place. She’s safe if you're wondering.”

Bucky winces, looking away as his shoulders slump. “Good… that’s good.” He lets out a bitter chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Guess you’re here to tell me what a screw-up I am, huh?”

Sam shakes his head, exasperated. “Bucky, I’m not here to kick you when you’re down. I’m here because we’re friends. And friends don’t abandon each other, even when one of them is making dumbass choices.”

Bucky scoffs, dropping onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, well… I deserve it.”

Sam takes the chair across from him, studying Bucky’s hunched figure. “You look like hell, man. Want to tell me what happened, your version?”

Bucky hesitates, his voice low and broken. “I don’t know. She was just standing there, looking at me like… like she was just disgusted at being in my presence ...and it hurt, i said sorry for the bar comment, but then we started to hash things out, I got so damn scared. So I did the only thing I know how to do—I pushed her away. Told her to leave.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, his tone sharp. “So you let her walk out? Alone? At night?”

Bucky’s face twists with guilt, and he nods. “Yeah, I know, i went after her but she was gone, that's no excuse i know, i put her in danger Sam, i can't believe it….And now she probably hates me.” He chuckles bitterly. “Hell, maybe she should, i do.”

“Don’t give me that self-pity crap,” Sam snaps. “She’s hurt, sure. But you know damn well she doesn’t hate you.”

Bucky exhales shakily. “Maybe she should. All I ever do is screw things up. I push her away because… because I’m too scared to admit how I feel. And now? I don’t even know if I can fix it.”

Sam leans forward, his voice firm. “You’ve got two choices, Buck. Sit here and wallow, or get off your ass and do something about it.”

Bucky finally meets his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “What do I even say?”

Sam nods toward the shattered lamp. “Start by picking up the pieces. Then tell her the truth.”

Bucky swallows hard. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Sam’s voice softens. “That’s a chance you’ll have to take, you cant just throw away the friendship you two have, i dont even know my friends from kindergarten, i couldnt tell you the slightest thing about em now….but you’ll never know unless you try.”

Bucky hesitates, then leans back, his gaze distant. “I’ve tried, Sam. More times than I can count.”

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s voice grows quieter, tinged with frustration. “I’ve been trying to tell her for years—little things here and there. Dropping hints, pushing the boundaries, trying to get her to see me the way I see her. But every damn time, she pulls back, like she’s scared of what’s on the other side of those walls she’s built.”

Sam watches him, his expression thoughtful. “And you think she doesn’t feel the same?”

Bucky lets out a hollow laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But how the hell am I supposed to keep putting myself out there when she won’t meet me halfway? Why does it always have to be me to make the first move? Why can’t she give me a sign? Something, anything that lets me know I’m not imagining this?” Bucky’s voice cracks, and he rakes a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling out. “It’s like every time I try to get closer, she pulls back. And then I’m stuck wondering if I’m just some idiot chasing after something that was never there.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re scared, she’s scared—it’s a mess, man. But sitting here, letting the fear eat away at you, isn’t gonna solve anything. You want her to meet you halfway? Maybe she’s been waiting for you to show her it’s safe to.”

Bucky shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “I’ve shown her, Sam. Hell, I’ve been there for her through everything. I’ve tried to coax her out of those walls, but every time I think I’m making progress, she shuts me down. And now? Now she’s out there, going on dates with other guys. What am I supposed to think?”

Sam tilts his head, his gaze steady. “You ever think maybe she’s just as scared as you are? That she’s waiting for you to stop hinting and just say it outright?”

Bucky’s fists clench, his frustration boiling over. “Why does it have to be me? Why can’t she take the damn risk for once? I’m not the only one in this.”

Sam exhales, leaning back. “You’re right, it’s a two-way street. But you’ve got to ask yourself—if she’s scared, just like you, who’s gonna be brave enough to break the cycle?”

Bucky stands, pacing the room. His voice drops, low and pained. “What if I put everything out there, and she doesn’t feel the same? I don’t think I could handle that.”

Sam’s gaze follows him, his tone firm but empathetic. “Or what if she’s been feeling the same this whole time, but she’s been too scared to lose you? What if she’s been waiting for you to say what she can’t?”

Bucky stops, his hands on his hips, his head bowed. “I can’t lose her, Sam. Not as a friend, not as… whatever this is. She’s everything. And if I’m wrong—if I tell her how I feel and she walks away—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Sam stands, crossing the room to face Bucky. “Buck, you’re already losing her by doing nothing. This limbo you’re both stuck in? It’s tearing you apart. You’ve got to take the leap, man. Because if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Bucky swallows hard, his eyes clouded with doubt. “And if I crash and burn?”

Sam gives him a small, encouraging smile. “Then you’ll get back up. And you’ll know you tried. But if you don’t take that chance, you’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, his hands still clenched at his sides. “I’ve never been good at this—at saying what I feel. And now, with everything so screwed up…”

“Then stop overthinking it,” Sam says. “Tell her the truth. Not hints, not half-measures. The whole thing.”

Bucky looks at him, his expression caught between fear and hope. “What if she’s already made up her mind? What if she’s moving on?”

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t know that. And you won’t unless you ask. But hiding behind ‘what ifs’ isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

Bucky stares at the shattered lamp, his mind racing. Finally, he lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll talk to her. But if this blows up in my face, you’re buying me drinks for the next decade.”

Sam smirks, clapping him on the shoulder. “Deal. Now get yourself together, man. You’ve got work to do.”

Bucky nods, though the weight of what lies ahead presses heavily on him. As Sam heads for the door, he glances back. “Just remember, Buck—she’s not the only one with walls. You’ve got a few of your own.”

Wanda clapped her hands together, her tone light. “Okay, enough brooding. How about some brunch? I’m starving.”

Natasha perked up at that, crossing her arms. “I could go for some pancakes. What about the farmers market?”

You sighed, your head falling back against the couch. “I’m down for food, but we can’t go to the farmers market.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her tone edging toward irritation. “Why not?”

“Because we can’t go there without Bucky,” you said simply, your voice flat but firm.

Natasha groaned, throwing her hands up. “God, why does everything have to come back to Bucky? He’s not exactly the Farmers Market King. We can survive one trip without him.”

You sat up, your eyes flashing. “Stop it, Nat. Just stop. Look, we’ve all messed up before. Bucky’s not some random guy who screwed up—he’s Bucky, its him. He’s been there for me through everything. We can’t just hate on him because we got in a fight.”

Natasha scoffed, her voice sharp. “I can hate on him just fine. He’s an asshole, and I’m tired of watching him drag you through this endless cycle of misery.”

Your hands clenched at your sides as you stood up, your voice snapping like a whip. “And I’m tired of you acting like it’s so black and white! He’s not perfect, but none of us are. You think I haven’t made mistakes? You think I haven’t hurt him too?”

Natasha stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “You’re always defending him! No matter what he does, you jump in to shield him, like he’s some wounded puppy. When are you gonna wake up and realize he’s not worth it?”

“He’s not worth it?” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get it, Nat. He’s not just some guy who broke my heart. He’s my best friend! You don’t throw someone like that away because they messed up once, or twice, or even a hundred times. He’s Bucky, for god’s sake!”

The room went silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Natasha stared at you, her jaw tightening before she shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Fine,” she said coldly. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart again.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed off into Steve’s room. Natasha grabbed her bag as she headed for the door. Before she left, she glanced at Wanda and Steve, her voice sharp. “All I do is try to help, but if she wants to keep sticking up for his dumb ass, that’s on her, leave me out of it next time.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Wanda and Steve exchanged glances, both looking a little shell-shocked. Finally, Wanda sighed, brushing her hair back. “I’ll go after Nat,” she said quietly. She turned to Steve, her brow raised. “You got her?”

Steve nodded, giving Wanda a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’ve got her.”

Once Wanda left, Steve turned to. Steve hesitated for a moment before following. He knocked gently on the door. “Hey… you okay?”

There was no answer at first, just the sound of you pacing. Finally, your voice came through, quieter but still tense. “I’m fine, Steve. Just… need a minute.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, his voice soft. “Take all the time you need. I’m here, I’ll always be right here…”

[passengerprincessblog]

“Lewis, Next Door”~ pt 1 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: age gap, alcohol?

Summary: Coming home from university, Y/N expects a quiet reunion with family—until she finds herself face-to-face with the enigmatic Lewis Hamilton, her dad’s famous neighbor and friend. What starts as a dull evening soon turns unexpectedly electric when Lewis offers more than just small talk.

I hadn’t been home all semester. Between studying, late-night group projects, and the occasional breakdown, the past few months at uni had been… a lot. I’d pushed through, and even though I’d missed my parents, there was something about finishing this term that made me feel a little invincible. I was finally here, though, bags slung over my shoulder as I hugged my mom in the doorway and let my dad ruffle my hair in that way he always did.

Home sweet home.

After the greetings and settling in, I noticed someone else was around. Our neighbor, Lewis Hamilton, was back too. Usually, he was off racing, so it was a rare sight. I wasn’t someone who followed F1 religiously, but I knew Lewis was a big deal—and the whole “dad’s friend” thing only made it more surreal. The few times we’d run into each other, I’d been struck by how effortlessly confident he was. Attractive? Absolutely. Intimidating? Without a doubt. But, honestly, I’d never thought much beyond that. He was just Lewis, the neighbor.

That night, my dad was throwing a big party to celebrate his latest product launch. Fancy guests, fancy decorations, fancy everything—the whole nine yards. I’d barely unpacked, and here I was, getting ready to play dress-up and smile politely for a parade of strangers. My friends were out clubbing tonight, living it up, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. But I loved my dad, so here I was, hair styled, makeup on point, feeling like I’d stepped into someone else’s life for the night.

As the party got into full swing, I did my best to stay interested, though I kept glancing at my phone, imagining my friends dancing somewhere with loud music and neon lights. Instead, I was here, weaving through clusters of my dad’s colleagues. He was chatting with a group of important-looking men, so I took my chance and approached him, feeling like a little kid again as I asked, “Can I please just have one drink?”

He shot me a disapproving look. “No. You know the answer.”

“Fine,” I muttered, trying not to let my frustration show. I wandered around a bit, catching snippets of adult conversation that were all about business deals and tax write-offs. Glamorous.

Finally, I spotted a lonely champagne glass on a table. I glanced around, and with a little thrill of rebellion, I picked it up, taking a sip. It was cold and crisp, and even though I’d never been a huge fan of champagne, it felt like a tiny slice of freedom. A few more sips, and I was actually starting to relax.

That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there he was—Lewis, giving me a knowing smile.

“I see you like my drink?” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

My stomach dropped. Oh god, I’d taken his champagne? “Oh my god. I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… I can get you a new one if you want, I just—”

He chuckled, shaking his head. His laugh was low and warm, and something about it made me relax, just a bit. “Nah, I’m messing with you. It’s fine. I don’t even really drink anyways.” He grinned, flashing a glimpse of a gold grill that made him look both mischievous and effortless, a vibe that seemed distinctly Lewis.

I managed a shy nod, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Oh… good. Thanks.” I couldn’t believe I was so nervous. But he just kept looking at me, his gaze both curious and relaxed.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You bored? I’m so bored. No offense to your dad, of course.”

I let out a laugh, surprised at how blunt he was. “It’s boring,” I admitted, feeling a little guilty, but somehow knowing he understood. He had this whole wild, glamorous life, and a party like this was probably as dull as watching paint dry for him.

“So, what? You’re back from uni, huh? That’s crazy. I remember when you were like, ten,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I feel my cheeks heat up with a pang of embarrassment. Here I was, feeling all cool and grown up, and he still saw me as a kid. Great.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light but failing to hide the faint annoyance.

“Well, you’re better than me,” he shrugs. “I never finished school.” I glance at him, surprised he’s trying to keep this conversation going. Usually, we barely exchanged two words, and now, here we were, alone, talking like… friends? Something more? I didn’t know.

“Well… yeah, but you’re a millionaire,” I say, trying to sound casual, though there’s a little hint of playfulness in my voice. I’m not exactly flirting, but maybe a little. Just testing the waters.

He raises an eyebrow, smiling at me but seeming almost uncomfortable at the mention of his money. He shrugs again. “You’re not exactly struggling either,” he teases back.

Was… that a flirt? Or was I just imagining it? It’s just the way he said it, the way his gaze lingers a moment longer than it should. My pulse quickens, but I try to play it cool.

“No… not exactly,” I say, catching his hint and matching his tone. I glance around, making a point about how dull this party is. “Just right now.”

He chuckles, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe next time, you come to one of my parties,” he says. It sounds more like a command than an invitation, like he’s decided I’ll be there.

I nod softly, trying to hide the thrill in my expression. He’s really inviting me? He seems amused, almost as if my reaction is endearing.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say with a slight shrug, finishing off the champagne. I feel his eyes on me, and when I look up, he’s studying me, like he’s considering something.

Then he breaks into a grin. “I could give you my number,” he says, casual but direct.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up. “Oh?”

“So you can tell me next time you’re bored,” he adds, giving me a cheeky wink.

I feel my cheeks flush as I pull out my phone. He takes it from me, putting his number in. My hands are shaking just a bit when he hands it back.

“There,” he says with that familiar grin. “Now you’ll be set.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. Inside, though, I feel my heart racing.

He glances back at the party, then back at me, giving me one last wink. “I should probably go talk to your dad. See you around, Y/N.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me standing there, still holding the empty champagne glass, my mind spinning. His number. His number. A part of me feels like I’m floating.

———————————

Oo La La 🙈

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