#sigh. lizzie i love you so much.

[jazforthesoul]

every time someone reduces CAPTAIN !!! elizabeth "lizzie" lafayette down to "a sad lesbian" a fairy dies bc i shoot it with my gun. like you're telling me you were spoon-fed a character that has one of the most realistic and RAW representations of grief and perseverance in the series and all you got from that was "she's sad" ????

is she a constantly happy character? Fuck no! that's acknowledged!! but to take EVERYTHING that she is, which has positive and negative aspects THAT ARE BOTH SHOWN, to take the fact that she is THE DRIVING FORCE OF THE MAIN BACKGROUND PLOT, and reduce her down to NOTHING but her relationships?? ?what the hell!!!

[crescentfool]

orpheus and thanatos 💚

[gudakdalee]

OK, I actually love that Eliza FINALLY learned how to cook bless you mr potts

bc it goes a small way in addressing the oft-used pitfall in historical dramas where depictions of headstrong, intelligent, capable women are unable OR unwilling to do traditionally 'feminine' things, seeing them as 'beneath' them/a waste of time-

even THO it's a basic life skill, not a gender role: cooking, laundry, sewing, washing dishes.

Another kudos for mr potts framing it in a way that is enticing and understandable for eliza: science and chemistry!

[cowboy1ikereid]

sweet creature ~ s.r.

‘Wherever I go, you bring me home’

Summary: Spencer calls you when he’s missing home.

Warnings: pregnant!reader x husband!spencer, reader is in her second pregnancy and they already have a 3 y/o daughter, spencer is, again, a huge softie, calls you sweetheart, he's called away on an urgent case and misses you, reader is almost in third trimester, they fall asleep on the phone, cuties, inspired by sweet creature by harry styles, fluff and comfort

Category: Fluff x Comfort

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Spencer Reid deserved to get married and have children but he has to be a girl dad and I don't make the rules. I just know he would be the most sweet, caring and loving husband/dad in the world. Anyways I kind of had to do something to this song because I saw it live (Wembley N4 I’ll miss you forever). Enjoy!!

You were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Being 7 and a half months pregnant and taking care of your 3 year old daughter alone had never been part of the plan. In fact, Spencer was supposed to be working either in office or from home during the later stages of your pregnancy, but a serious case meant that he was needed urgently by the BAU. With only 8 hours notice he was in Florida, and suddenly he was approximately 920.4 miles away from you.

It was around 9pm, and you’d been eagerly awaiting a phone call from your husband. You’d blame your anxiety on the hormones, but you knew it wasn’t just that. You’d always been like this whenever he was away, and you never quite managed to properly adjust to how much travelling his job required. Lizzie, your daughter, was laid next to you in the bed you and Spencer shared, asleep on his side of the bed. She was the same as you whenever her dad was away, even if she didn’t quite understand his job. She was a daddy’s girl, and if sleeping on Spencer’s side of the bed helped her to feel that little bit closer to him when he was away, you would let her. Her curly light brown hair was sprawled across the pillow which she drooled on, unconscious.

Your phone was on silent so the ringer didn’t wake her up, but as soon as you felt the persistent buzzing and Spencer’s name appeared on the screen, you stood, stretching slightly before leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind you, simultaneously swiping the button to answer the call.

“Hi.” You whispered softly, cautious not to wake up your sleeping three-year-old who was in the next room.

“Hi sweetheart. How are you?” Spencer’s sweet voice spoke over the phone.

“Hanging on. I managed to settle Lizzie after she cried because you couldn’t tuck her in tonight.. Little one has been quiet for now, but I just know that she’ll start getting active as soon as I attempt to sleep.” You spoke with a soft smile on your face at the thought of the little life growing inside of you whilst you tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, sitting down on the sofa with a hand on your round bump, rubbing it gently.

You heard Spencer sigh over the phone. “I miss you. I saw the three of you this morning and it feels like I haven’t seen you in months.” He chuckled. Spencer was alone in his hotel room, and it felt strangely quiet. Unfamiliar. If Spencer was home, you’d be asleep in his arms by now, your soft snores echoing in the darkness of your bedroom. Pregnancy was tiring, after all. But you struggled to sleep without each other, and you knew that. Your house may as well have been cold and empty to you without him there. Your house wasn’t your home. Spencer was, and you knew that he felt the same way about you. That was why he’d called.

“Any new symptoms? At around the seven month mark, you should expect to experience some shortness of breath, discomfort which may lead to difficulty moving, frequent urination, lightheadedness caused by the baby putting pressure on your blood vessels which can slow blood flow, fatigue-” He began to reel off pregnancy symptoms until he was cut off by your sleepy laugh.

“Spence, you’ve been gone for less than a day. You don’t have to worry about me. I feel the same as I did earlier.” You giggled.

“And that is?” He questioned. You could picture him furrowing his eyebrows, and the thought of it made your heart warm.

“Achey, tired, like a whale, hungry..” You listed, and you already knew he was going to give you advice on how to deal with your symptoms. He’d done more than enough research on pregnancy when JJ was first pregnant with Henry, and since then he’d unexpectedly found himself helping a woman give birth on a case.

“You need to rest. It’s late and that’s one of the only things that could help with your symptoms right now apart from physical activity, but I doubt you’d want to do any exercise at the moment,” He instructed, and you knew that he was being serious, even with his light tone. You’d think that you’d know more about pregnancy than Spencer, with you being mid-way through your second pregnancy, but he knew everything. Whilst anybody else might have been surprised by that, you weren’t. He’d done extensive research on the topic, after all, and he continued to. “And I can also guarantee you that you don’t look like a whale.” He added, and you could hear his smile in his voice.

“That’s what you think. I can hardly move, and when I do I waddle. I waddle, Spencer!” You pouted, and you could hear him laugh.

“Well I’m sure you look beautiful whilst you waddle.” He teased.

After a few quiet conversations between the two of you, 9pm turned to 11:30pm, and you could feel your mind wanting to drift off as your conversations slowly turned into Spencer spouting off random facts whilst you listened, his voice soothing you as though he was there with you. You decided to go back upstairs and tuck yourself into bed whilst he talked, placing your phone on the nightstand. He wasn’t really next to you, but it was close enough. You knew Lizzie wouldn’t wake up between Spencer’s soft words, the low volume your phone was on and her tendency to be a heavy sleeper. However, Spencer soon realised you were responding to him less and less.

“Sweetheart?” He said quietly, and you hummed in response, already drifting off. “Do you want me to hang up?” He asked, and your eyes snapped open. “No. Uh, I mean, I’d like it if you could just… stay on the line.” You said quietly, and he understood what you meant.

“Of course,” He responded, “Good night. I love you.” He said, and you said it back.

Soon enough, you fell asleep, and if he closed his eyes, he could picture you there next to him, your soft snores echoing around his hotel room. That was all he needed to relax, and Spencer soon found himself drifting off to sleep, feeling like he was at home. Feeling like he was with his home.

You brought him home.

[riddleriddles]

ෆ delicate

ෆ matthew riddle x hufflepuff! shy! reader

ෆ summary: the one in which Matthew can’t leave such a beautiful girl crying alone in a dress like that.

ෆ warnings: English translated from google (please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes), alteration of the history of mattheo and tom (tom is not voldemort but an potions teacher like snape).

ෆ notes: i just love shy!reader so much, im sorry if all my one shots are all with shy or hufflepuff reader, IM JUST A GIRL

𖦹

Parties have never really been your favorite way to spend time, loud music and dancing until your feet hurt in the middle of many strangers, not really your tipe of thing.

But a prom was so different, the music was slow, and the dresses, the delicate makeup, even more the winter ball, with the decorations in light shades of blue and white, was a dream.

Especially when you had someone to spend the night, a date, but maybe for lack of popularity, you hadn’t gotten a pair for tonight, your circle of friends was extremely limited, but if you did not have a pair it was not for lack of desire.

Since the prom was announced, you dreamed of being invited by none other than Cedric Digory.

He was tall, kind, sweet, confident, and extremely outgoing, always surrounded by his friends, but you weren’t special for having the attention picked up by Digory, half the girls of your year also dreamed the same thing as you, on being asked to be his date on the romantic night of the winter dance, unfortunately, you and Cedric, although you’ve interacted a few times - just a few little conversations he pulled during class, or little smiles as you passed each other in the hallway - you were very different, he was extremely confident and liked the attention, you did not.

In the little conversations you shared with him, you believed that those glances and those smiles had a greater meaning, maybe you forgot that he was just polite, or you knew but liked to pretend not, because the feeling was good, of being seen, of someone enjoying holding a conversation, and as much as you didn’t talk so much, he liked your words spoken in a low tone of quiet, or you thought he liked it.

the weeks passed and nothing came, not an owl or a letter, not even a flower, so your hopes were lost, as much as you had heard through the corridors that Cedric Digory had no pair and was considering going alone to the winter ball.

…

With only a few minutes left until the beginning of the prom, you were lying on the bed, wet hair tied in a towel with a robe around your body, looking at the ceiling with your hands resting one on top of the other in the region of your chest.

the room smelled like shampoo and the fragrance of the strawberry liquid soap you shared in the bathroom with your roommates.

"Come on, you need to go!" Lizzie, your closest friend, and roommate says excited, you and she used to make plans for a long time about this dance together. "We've been talking about it for so long, just for you to give up because of Cedric?"

She talks to you while tiing her hair delicately in a built-in braid, her yellow dress contrasting with her brown eyes and blonde hair.

"Oh Liz, you don't understand..." you whine "I don't have a pair, you at least go with someone nice."

"If that's the problem, you know I can leave Oliver dancing alone while we dance together." she rolls her eyes playfully and says excitedly, she looks at you through the mirror, you turn your face so that yours looks to meet, you smile softly at her.

"Don't do that." you say and giggles lightly.

You turn your head up again and sigh.

"All right, I’ll go..." You give yourself defeated and hear a lively scream from Liz, sit on the bed with your legs crossed.

She finishes the braid in her hair and finally turns to you looking for approval.

"do i look good?" She asks making an exaggerated pose with her hands on her waist and a smile from ear to ear.

She had a long yellow dress with several details of embroidered white flowers, and her blonde hair was in a single built-in braid with some messy strands giving her a stripped air, a yellow heel on her feet.

You smile at her and answer with a giggle "You look beautiful Liz, I'm sure Oliver will fall in love with you once again!"

Her smile changes to a shy smile and she looks at herself in the mirror again.

"I'm going to ask one of the girls to do my makeup, I hope that when I get back you'll be very ready for us to go!" She says excited and takes her makeup case, it is white with kittens and pink tulips and fits in the palm of her hand.

You suppress a smile with your lips and nod your head agreeing.

As soon as she leaves the dorm you get out of bed and go to the shared vanity, you sit on the wooden chair looking at your reflection in the mirror.

So you did your best to feel beautiful enough to go to the ball, dried your hair, and made a small braid on each side, a white bow holding them together, a light makeup on your face with a little glitter marking your eyes, and some golden accessories.

You get up from the vanity and walk to the full-length mirror that was on the door of the big wardrobe you shared with Lizzie.

The dress was hanging right next to the mirror, she went to her heels it was a shade of pearly white and made all of silk, it was beautiful, and you have been dreaming of it for so long.

You take it by the hanger and gently dress it with you back to the mirror, after fixing your hair and accessories, you turn to the mirror again and the view enchants you, feeling so beautiful, the dress had fallen so well on your body and your makeup, along with the simple hairstyle that made you so delicate.

Soon you hear the door open and turn quickly.

Lizzie gasped with an admired smile on her face and approached you quickly.

"You look won-der-ful!" She holds your hand and makes you do a little spin, a slight blush of shyness arrives on your cheeks while you give a soft giggle.

She releases from your hand and goes to the chair where two purses are hanging, one in a yellow and white tone and the other all white with small details in golden, she takes your lip gloss on top of the vanity and puts it inside the white purse, along with a mascara and a pink lip moisturizer that she puts in the yellow one, Going to you, she extends the white and you take it and put it on your shoulder.

"Let's go... the girls told me that Oliver is already waiting for me downstairs!" She says excited, ready to leave the dorm.

…

The great hall was splendid, in a whole shade of dark blue, the false sky with small and bright stars, the music was lively but still calm, couples were dancing in the center and some other people and groups of friends on the decorated tables.

You entered right behind Oliver and Lizzie, enjoying the place.

You sat at a table together where you shared a small talk to pass the time, as far as you could no longer ignore the passionate looks that Olive sent to her best friend and decided to leave them alone for a few minutes.

"I'm going to get something to drink, I'll be right back..." you asked excuse me getting up from the table with a gentle smile on her lips, Liz reciprocated shyly before giving all her attention to the brunette next to her.

Following up to a large table that was full of appetizers and different types of drinks, you took a red plastic cup and filled it with strawberry punch, from afar you could see Lizzie and olive sharing laughter, so you decided it was better to stay there for a while.

you got distracted looking down at your fingers while playing with the golden rings there, so distracted that you didn’t hear or notice when a tall brown boy came up to your side.

"Hey! you here!" Cedric said excitedly coming to your side with a little tap on your shoulder.

your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden presence of the boy, you turned to him with a small glance at his hand on your shoulder, visibly shy.

your heart began to beat faster in your chest and suddenly your throat was dry and your head could not find words to answer the boy with such beautiful eyes.

"Cedric... hi" you were louder than usual on account of the music playing, a small smile on your lips.

"You look good." he says in a charming tone approaching you, he passes by your side as he approaches the table behind you.

your cheeks are flushed with the comment and you don't know how to answer so you just chuckle shyly and admire him as he looks at the table.

"Thank you." you wanted to say that he looked good too but the words don’t seem to want to leave your mouth.

He serves himself in a red plastic cup just like yours, you watch him as he takes a gray canteen out of his suit pocket and baptizes the drink in the cup, you look at him and he seems not to notice, you look away at the couples dancing in the center of the Great hall.

He leans against your side, an arm leaning on the table behind your back without touching you, you suppress your lips, nervous with his proximity, playing with your rings again you swear you can feel your heart almost jumping from your chest.

He lifts the canteen as if offering you some of the whiskey he kept in his suit.

"Do you drink?" he asks with a gentle smile as if asking a casual question.

you look around nervous to see if any teacher is looking at you, which fortunately is not.

"No, but thank you." you gently refuse with a shy smile, he nods and hides the canteen on his suit again.

Now it’s his turn to watch the couples dancing in the center of the prom, a huge jealousy hitting his chest as he sees Cho Chang dancing in the arms of another boy.

You don’t follow his gaze, still playing your rings, the silence starts to bother you when he suddenly catches your hand, you look at him surprised, kinda bothered by the sudden touch.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks with an almost nervous smile.

suddenly you were speechless again, he wanted to dance? with you?

you nodded looking a little bit more lively, a big smile popping up on your lips.

was playing a song you didn’t know as Cedric took you to the center of the Great Hall, his hand resting on your waist.

you danced in a funny sync, but for you, everything seemed perfect. At least until you realize that Cedric wasn’t even paying attention to you.

you exclaimed softly in pain as he stepped on a finger as you danced, stopping for a few seconds.

He suddenly takes his eyes off something he was staring at behind you and looks at you surprised, then gives a little look at your foot, realizing his mistake.

"Oh, sorry, really sorry, I swear I’m not that bad normally" he apologizes with a nervous expression.

You can only nod your head and agree with a fake smile realizing that he doesn’t even care to look at you while apologizing, you follow his gaze and find none other than Cho Chang dancing and laughing with some other Corvinal boy.

You look away before he notices, and look down at your feet, gathering the courage to give an excuse to leave, he seems to notice.

"hey... you all right?" he asks with a gentle little smile and pretending to be worried.

So you look up at him, and you realize that he wasn’t trying to hurt you, of course, it was a little rude to treat you as a second choice, but it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t have feelings for you.

You sigh quietly “im sorry, cedric, i gotta go”

You don’t wait for an answer and get rid of his arms without looking at him because you know if he asks looking in your eyes you would stay.

Passing the couples dancing together you run a firm step out of the Great Hall, hoping to be alone for a while.

The thought of coming to the prom alone was beginning to look pathetic in your head, you should have stayed in your dorm.

you pass through the corridor of the stairs and follow to the courtyard, a bubble of anguish forming in your throat, along with the burning in the tip of your nose, indicating the will to cry.

You always used to cry for silly things, as simple as they were, like the end of a romantic book, or a sad movie, sometimes happiness, sometimes anger.

Now you felt pathetic, for not having a pair and having been made second choice, a mixture of sadness and upset formed the tears in the corner of your eyes.

You leaned on the stone wall, your hands covering your eyes to prevent more tears from falling.

the sound of you back on the stone wall catches Matthew attention, he looks back and would not have noticed that you were crying if not for the hand in your eyes, you sobbed silently.

He lets the cigarette smoke out of his mouth still holding it between his lips if he mentally asks if he should ask you what was happening or should sneak out while you hadn’t noticed his presence.

He analyzes your whole body, from the white Maryjane on your feet to the jewelry you wore on your neck, before sighing softly and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, his night was so boring that he needed a distraction.

Matthew also did not have a prom date, but not for lack of choice, nor would he come to this dance considered ridiculous in his vision, refused one or two dates saying that he would not attend, unfortunately, Lorenzo, one of his best friends, convinced him to stay at least a few minutes before disappearing with his escort, Matthew tired of being alone decided to go out to smoke without being caught by some of the teachers, he planned to finish and climb back to his dorm.

His plans were ruined.

You feel the smell of cigarettes and the presence next to you and take your hand out of your eyes to look at Matthew next to you, your cheeks red by crying, and now the shame of being caught crying, matching with the tip of your nose also reddish and your eyes glowing with tears.

He looks at you and then realizes why your dress is white, was to match your angelic appearance, he notes mentally to thank Lorenzo later for forcing him to come.

"hi." he whispers with a neutral expression, not so serious but also not smiling.

"Hi?" you whisper, yet come out as a question.

You wipe the corner of your eyes, looking elsewhere than him, still ashamed of being caught crying over something so silly.

"Why aren’t you at the prom?" he asks as if you’re not crying, without asking your name as if you already know each other.

Uncertain of what to say, because you did not want to open up to a stranger, especially when the unknown was the son of the frightening professor of potions, Tom Riddle.

"I... found it boring." you whisper shyly, your hands playing with the heart pendant of your necklace.

"so boring that it made you want to cry? what a coincidence, me too, I just wiped my tears." he says with a serious tone but visibly joking.

You let out a giggle realizing that he took your lie, forgetting what had just happened.

"All right, it’s just a silly motive."

"Will you tell me you don’t have someone to dance with?" he asks with a giggle as if he’s joking.

"I haven’t." Your smile falls and you look at your own feet.

He tilts his head to look at your face, not believing that someone so beautiful and dressed so well is crying for not having someone to dance with.

"you’re lying."

"I’m not." you whisper uncertainly and he giggles out of disbelief.

After a few seconds in silence, he puts the cigarette in his mouth again, and from a puff, you watch as he releases the smoke between his lips and takes the cigarette out of his mouth again.

The cold began to bother you, your hands rose and your arms crossed above your chest in search of heat, he notices and comes a little closer, not so much not to scare you.

"Was it someone who made you cry?" he asks quietly, alternating between looking at you and the cigarette on his fingers.

"yes."

"your boyfriend?"

"No." you reply, feeling foolish again, for crying over a boy who isn’t even your boyfriend. "It’s silly."

He stares at you as he leans his head against a stone wall, your eyes still sparkling from tears as you look at your shoe, he notes that the tears lightly blurred your mascara.

He lifts his fingers to the tip of your eyes and passes his thumb over the stain carefully, you look at him uncertain with the proximity, your cheeks turning pink again, and he smiles noticing you blushing with the touch.

"was stained" he clarifies

"with mascara?" he nods agreeing, the cold starting to bother him too.

"Don’t you want to come in? It’s getting cold in here, and you’re out of coat." He whispers, putting his cigarette out on the wall behind him, before throwing it on the floor, wet from the rain earlier.

"I think I’ll go back to my dorm." you whisper letting your hands slip to the side of your body.

"Oh no you can’t leave," he says quickly, thinking of some reason to make you stay, not knowing that you didn’t need much because you hadn’t yet learned to say no, as much as it was someone unknown.

"I can’t?" you ask confused

"No... because... I wanted you to dance with me." he says at once without thinking, dancing? he didn’t dance, what had gone through his head?

His voice comes out neutral but he curses himself mentally, he did not want you to leave but he also did not want to dance.

"Do you want to dance with me?" you blush and suppress a smirk, he sighs without knowing how to answer.

"Yes." No, he doesn’t.

you smile with the words that come out of his lips.

Ok, maybe he wants, just a little.

"Okay." you smile shyly, looking at him slightly flushed, he looks between your glossy lips and your eyes shining.

He accompanies you to the Great hall again, making silly comments to keep you distracted, you thank him mentally.

"I don’t have a pair either, nor is it that bad right?" he says as you arrive.

"not much" you respond softly

a song ends when you arrive, and one of your favorite songs starts playing.

You take a deep breath and your smile increases, you start to think that the universe was trying to make you sad just to make you happy again.

Matthew has his hand on your waist while guiding you to the center of the Great Hall, which did not have as many couples as before, Fade Into You played in the background while the lights changed to a dark blue tone.

Your chests were glued and you were smaller than him, he can smell the floral smell of your shampoo, and then he takes a deep breath discreetly to feel it better.

You look up at him shyly, not knowing what to say to end the silence.

I wanna hold the hand Inside you

you whisper something quietly to him

I wanna take the breath thats true

"Sorry, I didn’t catch that" he whispers so just you can hear and bends down a little to hear you better, your bodies still dancing in sync truly perfect.

I look to you and i see nothing

you stand on tiptoe, your hand on his shoulder as you say in his ear "Thank you" It is still low but he could hear why you said it in his ear this time.

i look to you to see the truth

He had no idea what you were thanking him for, and neither did you.

You live your life, you go in shadows

"oh no, I should thank you." He whispers back to you, he talks louder, and he doesn’t have to say it in your ear, but he does it anyway.

You’ll come apart and you'll go blind

you shiver with his hoarse voice in your ear as he smiles at your reaction, realizing that maybe he likes to see you blush, even if the blue light is in the way.

Some kind of night into your darkness

he leaves a kiss on your neck next to your ear before he looks up again, his action making your heart race, you had never received this much attention from some boy.

Colors your eyes with what is not there

you smile shyly and he reciprocates before looking up around, you lower your head, and lean on his shoulder, while your bodies dance slowly, his hand that was previously intertwined with yours loose and goes down to your waist, his hand that was once intertwined with yours loose and descends to your waist, his arms hold you there, on his chest, your own hands follow his movements and climb to his neck, the silence began to get comfortable.

Fade into you

Stranger, you never knew

Fade into you

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

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

word count: 13.2k

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

inspired by doomsday, lizzy mcalpine , true blue, boygenius , cool about it, boygenius !

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

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

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

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

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

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

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

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

But he noticed you both years ago.

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

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

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

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

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

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

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

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

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

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

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

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

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

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

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

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

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

Only the best.

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

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn back around, walking faster.

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

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

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

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

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers, mate!”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

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

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

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

You freeze. “Why?”

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

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

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

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

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

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

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

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

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

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

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

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

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

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

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

“The ice cream? Nah.”

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

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else do you want me to say?”

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

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

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

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You deflate. “Later.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

What the fuck does that even mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nor multi-21.”

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

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

“Honey…”

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

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

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

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

-

I’ve decided. 

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

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

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

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

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Notes. 

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

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

And it sparks something in you.

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

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

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

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

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

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

I know you very well.

-

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

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

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

“Six pages.”

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

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

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess.”

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

He nods.

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

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

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

“I got an extension.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s going to be you.”

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

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

He flinches.

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

“What?” he says, puzzled.

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

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

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

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

He waits.

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

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

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

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

“Only because you do.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

Who knew?

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

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

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

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

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

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

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

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

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

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

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

“I didn’t say it like that—”

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

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Pascale needs my help—”

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

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

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

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

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

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

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

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

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

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

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

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

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

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

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

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

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

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

-

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

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

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

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

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

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

“She is.”

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

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

“Well…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clarification?”

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

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

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

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

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

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

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

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

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

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

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

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

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

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

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

“Wake up.”

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

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

“What’s wrong with you?”

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

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

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

“Where did you get this from?”

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

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

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

“It’s no—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

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

I wish to never see you again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Either way, does it matter anymore?

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

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

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

He smiles at you. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he means it this time.

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

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

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

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

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

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

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

“Do you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

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

He bites his tongue. 

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

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

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

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

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

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

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

A gentle smile. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The more the merrier.”

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

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

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

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

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

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

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

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

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

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

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

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

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

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

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

But he refrains from doing so.

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

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

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

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

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

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

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 8

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had expected a lot of things Lizzie came home from the hospital—maybe that she’d immediately crash on the couch, maybe that Mara would knock him over with excitement, maybe that he’d have to force her to take it easy.

What he hadn’t expected was the absolute monstrosity of a bed in her bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, blinking in shock at the enormous, plush-looking bed that took up most of the space. The thing looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel suite, with an obscene amount of pillows, a thick, ridiculously cozy duvet…and at least half a dozen of other blankets. 

Lizzie, who was still a little pale but very much aware of his reaction, snorted. “Something wrong?”

Lando’s jaw slackened as he took in the monstrosity before him. He’d seen king-sized beds before, but this thing was in a class of its own. The sheer amount of pillows alone was staggering. He took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out to touch the duvet.

“This is...this is a lot of bed,” he said lamely, turning to look at Lizzie.

She laughed, carefully sitting on the edge of it. “I spent a fortune on this bed, because I’m always in here. If I have to spend half my life in bed, it’s gonna be the best bed money can buy.”

Lando joined her on the edge of the bed, eyeing the mountain of pillows suspiciously. "Half your life, huh?" he said lightly.

Lando’s expression softened. He knew she was joking, but there was an undercurrent of truth there. Between her epilepsy and the exhaustion that followed her seizures, she did spend a lot of time in bed. Of course she would make it as comfortable as possible.

Still—

“You could fit like, four people in here comfortably,” he muttered, sitting beside her.

Lizzie smirked. “Is that an invitation?”

Lando turned red immediately. “I—no—that’s not—stop.”

Lizzie's smirk grew wider at his reaction, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. Lando's cheeks reddened even more, his brain stuttering over his words.

"I-You-" He floundered for a moment, trying desperately to regain composure. "That's not—I didn’t mean—"

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his flustered state. "Didn’t mean what, Lando?" she teased. “Maybe I just want all this space all to myself,” she teased.

She leaned back against the mountain of pillows, letting out a satisfied sigh. “It’s heaven. The best investment I ever made.”

Lando watched her lean back against the mountain of pillows, and he had to admit, it looked pretty comfortable. 

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. "It looks like you’re about to disappear into that bed entirely," he said teasingly.

"God, I missed this be," she muttered as she stretched out like a starfish and he couldn't help but snort

She looked utterly ridiculous, but utterly cute at the same time.  "You look like a starfish," he teased, poking her shoulder lightly.

A starfish wearing a Ferrari sweatshirt.

Lando chuckled at the sight of Lizzie sprawled out in her Ferrari sweatshirt, looking like the most comfortable starfish in the world. 

"A Ferrari-loving starfish," he said, running a hand lightly over her stomach.

Lizzie grinned back at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey, I’m just representing my favorite F1 team," she said defensively.

She let out a satisfied sigh as Lando's hand moved over her stomach, a small shiver of pleasure running up her spine.

“You are dating a McLaren driver, and you are wearing Ferrari merch,” Lando said with a sigh.

Lizzie shrugged nonchalantly, her grin widening. "Yeah, but Ferraris are red, and that's my favorite color," she teased. She leaned up on her elbows, a glint in her eyes. "Besides, this is so old that it’s all soft and washed out. Find me a McLaren sweatshirt that feels the same and we can start talking."

Lando made an affronted noise at her words, and pretended to give her a scandalised look. "How dare you!" He said in a mockingly offended tone. "I’ll have you know that the McLaren merchandise is the best in the business. Comfier, more durable, more stylish. Ferraris can suck it."

“This is literally 30 years old,” Lizzie gave back drily.

Lando grimaced. "It's still vintage blasphemy," he muttered.

Lizzie couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face. “You're acting like I've committed a cardinal sin or something."

Then she yawned.

Lando chuckled softly at her yawn, and his expression softened. "Come on," he said gently, lightly tugging at her arm. "You should get some sleep. You're tired."

“I feel like that’s all I am doing,” she complained.

"I know," he said softly. "But your body needs the rest. You know that."

She hummed, pulling up the blankets.

“Could you let Mara out in the garden?” She asked him.

Lando's expression softened at her sleepy request, and he nodded.

"Of course," he said gently, standing up from the bed. He gave her arm another squeeze, before turning towards the door. "Just get some sleep, all right? I’ll take care of Mara."

Lando walked out of the room with one last glance at Lizzie burrowed under the covers, still swathed in her old Ferrari sweatshirt.

He headed for the back door, whistling softly to call Mara. The dog came bounding up, her tail wagging frantically.

Lando let Mara out into the backyard, watching as she darted around the lawn with joyous abandon. He threw her tennis ball a few times, clearly making Mara’s day. After a few minutes, Mara was sufficiently worn out, and came trotting back up to Lando, ball held in her mouth.

His phone rang.

Lando's head jerked up at the sound of his phone ringing, his focus shifting away from Mara. He quickly patted the dog on the head and fished the phone out of his pocket.

It was Oscar.

Lando's brow furrowed as he saw Oscar's name on the screen. He answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey, mate," he said, a hint of wariness in his voice.

“I got a bunch of Ferrari dog merch thanks to Charles. Where am I supposed to put it?” Oscar greeted him drily. “I actually brought it to the MCT. I figured you would want to give it to your girlfriend. Want me to drop it off at your house?”

Lando thought about it for a moment, staring at Mara that was happily gnawing on her tennis ball. 

"I am at her place…if you could drop it off…” Lando rattled off Lizzie's address.

“Alright.” Oscar’s voice was light and cheery. “I’ll be over in 10.” 

There was a knock on the door just minutes later. Lando opened the door to see Oscar standing there with a few bags, a grin on his face.

"Hey," Lando said, stepping aside to let him in. "You work fast."

“Special delivery from Charles,” Oscar announced, holding said bag out for him.  “For the dog.”

Lando took the bag with a sigh. “He’s really committed to this, huh?”

“Mate, he designed merch. You’re never escaping it now.”

Lando groaned, imagining the amount of Ferrari-themed dog items crammed into the bags. He could already see the red and white bandana poking out of one.

Lando rolled his eyes and shut the door, following Oscar into the living room.

Lando placed the bags on the coffee table, and started rummaging through them. He pulled out a Ferrari-themed dog collar, a red leash, and a toy that looked suspiciously like a doll version of Charles Leclerc…

"He really went all out, huh?" Lando remarked, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Oscar chuckled, taking a seat on the couch. “You know how he is. Can’t half-ass anything.”

“Lando?” He looked up to find Lizzie in the doorway to her living room staring at them. Mara took that opportunity to come bounding over,  sniffing at her things. “What…”

Lando stood up, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took Lizzie in. She stood in the doorway, looking like she’d just woken up. Her hair was a mess, and she was still wearing her old Ferrari sweatshirt.

“Hey,” he naked worriedly. “Did we wake you?”

“No…” Lizzie trailed off, her gaze flickering over to the bags on the coffee table, her eyes narrowing as she saw the words “Ferrari” written in big font. “What’s this?”

“Mara’s birthday presents. Oscar was nice enough to drop,” he explained.

Lizzie’s expression grew more incredulous as she took in all the Ferrari merchandise, and then Oscar sitting on her couch, her eyes widening. 

“…Nice to meet you, I am Oscar,” Oscar offered, painfully polite as usual, as he looked up from where Mara had stolen Charles Leclerc the dog toy, and then blinked twice at her. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…”

LIzzie just stared at him. “Same,” she finally said drily. “Nice to meet you, Oscar Piastri.” 

Oscar frowned, then glanced at the bookshelf behind her, which was filled with neatly arranged copies of her own books. His gaze landed on the name printed on the spines.

He froze.

Then he whipped around to Lando so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Lando sighed. “Here we go.”

Oscar turned back to Lizzie, looking personally betrayed. “You’re Elizabeth Treshton? The Elizabeth Treshton??”

Lizzie, clearly amused, nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

Oscar turned back to Lando, shocked. “Mate. You’re dating a bestselling author and you just casually didn’t tell me?!”

Lando just stared at him.

Oscar looked like his entire worldview had been shattered. “You—what?! No! I didn’t know! I thought you were just dating a normal person, not the author of one of the biggest romantasy series in the world!”

Lizzie smirked. “I mean, I am a normal person.”

Oscar ignored her, staring at Lando. “You weren’t just reading her favourite books, you were reading the books she wrote!” Oscar said. 

Lando shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, well… it’s different when it’s someone you—” He cleared his throat. “Look, can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Oscar just grinned. “Oh no, mate. This is absolutely a big deal.”

Lizzie laughed, watching the two of them bicker. Mara, thoroughly uninterested in human dramatics, was already trying to open her present.

Oscar exhaled like he was processing a life-altering revelation. Then, awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “So, um. Anyway. This is weird now, but—”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “But what?”

Oscar hesitated, then mumbled, “My girlfriend is, like, your biggest fan.”

Lizzie grinned. “I like her already.”

“Yeah, well,” Oscar scratched his neck, awkward. “If I go home without signed books, I might not have a girlfriend anymore.”

Lizzie chuckled at Oscar's predicament. "Well, can't have that, can we?" she said teasingly. “Especially since you brought my dog…Ferrari themed… everything.”

“Oh that’s Lando’s fault,” Oscar said quickly. “He asked Charles for it.”

Lizzie stared at him and Lando looked everywhere but at her. “You…you asked Charles Leclerc for Ferrari merch for my dog?” She asked him, sounding oddly touched.

Lando swallowed. “You said she’s the best thing that ever happened to you. So she deserves it. Even if I still think that McLaren merch is better,” he defended himself.

Lizzie’s eyes softened. "You giant softie," she mumbled, shaking her head fondly at him. “This is the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me.”

Lando blushed under her gaze, but he tried to maintain some composure

"Hey, don’t get used to it," he retorted with a smirk. "This is a one-time only thing. And only for your dog. I’m still team McLaren."

Lizzie chuckled."Of course, of course," she teased. "McLaren forever, Ferrari for Mara."

[cuteandhughesy]

Ceilings | Luke Hughes (part 2/2)

summary: you are a bet for luke and his friends, but that doesn't stop you two from actually falling in love, luke just prays you never find out the truth

[word count] 21.4K (total)

warnings: NSFW! frenemies to lovers | relationship betting | fake dating | college!au | umich!luke | angst | suggestive themes | kissing | smut | oral (female receiving) | fingering | protected!p in v intercourse | light breast play | read at your own discretion.

🎵ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

part seven: the kiss one week after matt

you never got texts from ethan edwards. mark texted you often when he was hanging with ariana, usually when her phone had died and he was letting you know her plans. rutger was usually sending you memes (that only he found funny) and anytime he wanted to know where luke was. dylan when he needed reassurance on homework- but ethan...never.

which is why when you finished your late shift at work and finally checked your phone in the comfort of your car: you were confused and slightly worried.

ethan edwards

something happened. can you come by after work?

his question had you feeling a bit panicked.

y/n

yeah, i'm on my way

you didn't ask questions, because you were to anxious to know the answers. getting there in record time, you parked your car on the curb by their house, jogging up the steps and knocking on the door rather frantically.

"hey," you say as ethan opens the door, "what's wrong?"

"hi," he says, letting you come inside. "after the third period tonight, there was some pushing and shoving, the other team started it. and this one guy pushed luke hard, and he fell and hit the ice. he's got a minor concussion. the doctor said he'll be good for playoffs in two weeks but right now...he's a big whiny baby and he kept asking for you," ethan breathes, "I didn't want to worry you too bad, but I wanted to get you over here so I can stop hearing about how much he misses you."

you're pretty sure you flush deep red at ethan's words, but you do a good job at keeping yourself collected. "okay," you sigh, "is he still upstairs?"

ethan nods, "yeah, he's in his room."

you nod without another word, making your way up the small staircase towards the second floor of the home.

luke's bedroom door is slightly ajar, and you knock once and peek your head through the gap, "luke?"

his room was empty.

you frown, and start walking further down the hall. you try not to overthink and make yourself sick with worry, thoughts of a missing luke were the last thing you needed. after all, you think, he could've been in the kitchen unknowingly to you or ethan - grabbing snacks or a drink. you glance over your shoulder to see if you catch him coming upstairs, but only find yourself running into a body.

you gasp, turning to face the chest you ran into. luke grabs ahold of your arms, a gentle smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you.

at the sight of him, you body relaxes and you let out a breath you hasn't realized you'd been holding. "luke." you state gently.

"hi there," he says lightly, hands still holding onto your biceps to keep your in place. "you okay? you look worried."

"ethan texted me all frantic so I raced over here -almost hit a squirrel, by the way. and then you weren't in your room and i panicked thinking the concussion was worse than ethan said -"

"you were worried about me?" he asks you. you stop your rambling, expecting a teasing smirk and knowing gleam in his eyes, but he's only looking at you with fondness.

you swallow, "yeah."

"I just had to go to the bathroom," he admits, thumbing behind his shoulder to the open bathroom door.

"how are you feeling?" you ask gently. he lets go of your arms fully, and you try not to dwell on the emptiness you feel without his touch.

luke shrugs, "eh, i'll be okay."

you nod once more, eyes briefly meeting the floor. "I hope it's okay that ethan texted me. he does think we are dating to be fair, which we can stop now, if you want...god, sorry I'm rambling-" you look up towards his face and he looks at you with such admiration your stomach is swooping.

"well, I was the one who told him I wanted you here - so i'm glad he messaged you." luke admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck like he's nervous. luke was nervous around you. "so don't apologize," he says softly, "don't think I don't want you here, because I do." almost hesitantly, luke reaches towards you and tucks a piece of loose hair behind your ear.

you gulp slightly, eyes searching his face to try and read him. "you do?"

he nods, "is that okay? that I want you here?"

subconsciously, you shuffle closer to him in the dim lighting of the upstairs hallway. "more than okay." you grab ahold of three long fingers, gently tugging his hand closer towards you. you look up at him gently, tongue jutting out to wet your bottom lip.

he blushes and swallows gently. "let's go to my room."

"why?" you ask gently, and you pray the hopefulness of your words aren't too obvious.

"because I don't want somebody to walk up here when I'm kissing you."

you can't help but smile slightly at his words, pushing impossibly closer to his chest. you drop his hand in favour of pressing on his abs. "I don't care if they see, I can't wait any longer."

luke smiles, reaching forward to gently hold your face, tilting your head back until you're at the perfect angle for him to lean down and connect your mouths together. although he looked nervous earlier, the kiss doesn't have any traces of that. his lips move against yours softly but skillfully, slotting with yours like you've kissed a million times before this.

suddenly, everything made sense. anytime you had been talking to matthew - that feeling of warmth you had in your stomach was because luke was always there with you. meeting up with luke wasn't enjoyable because you were talking about matthew, it was enjoyable because of luke and luke only. stupid hockey players.

slowly, he pulls away. forehead pressed against yours as you regain breathing. you peek at him, and see him with closed eyes, brows pulled together.

you frown gently, one of your hands sneaking up to caresses the side of his face."did that hurt your head?"

his eyes snap open and he stands to his full height. the way you ask the question so genuinely makes luke feel like he's healed. he smirks lazily down at you, "no -i'm feeling really good."

"oh my god," you shake your head in disbelief, but you're blushing and smiling at him anyways.

and then, you push up on your toes and nudge your nose against his. luke gets the hint immediately, and kisses you again. the second kiss is a bit messier, and you both keep smiling into each other mouths. one of luke's hands slides to hold the back of your head, and the other wraps around your waist.

"fuck, my bad."

you and luke pull apart quickly. looking behind you, you see ethan covering his eyes, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

"hold on, this is a common area," his hand falls from his face, "yall need to go luke's room before this escalates any further - i don't want to see anything too crazy."

"alright, alright," luke interrupts his friend with a breathy chuckle, "we're going."

once you and luke get to his bedroom and he shuts the door, he looks at you a little sheepishly, not meeting your eyes for too long before looking away.

you break the tension, "so you kiss all your fake girlfriends ? or just me?"

luke laughs, and all nerves from before have gone. the sight of your face and blush has him feeling more than relaxed. he reaches towards you, hands landing on your cheeks. "only the ones i'm falling for."

you smile softly, eyes sparking at his confession. "and how many have you fallen for?" your words are a whisper between you.

luke pretends to ponder for a moment, but his smile gives him away. "I think...just you."

you felt yourself blush deeper - because, oh my god, was this actually happening. you hold onto his wrist, keeping luke's hands on your face. "good, because it would've been awkward if I was the only one who was falling."

he cracks a big grin at your words. without another second, luke kisses you again. "I can't believe it took a concussion for you to admit your feelings."

"don't start with me, luke."

you kiss him again.

again.

and again.

you had stayed the night at luke's and drove home in the morning before your first class. you actually shared the class with jacob, so you agreed to ride together.

before you could leave, luke kissed you in the threshold of the front door - for all his roommates to see. a few wolf whistled, jacob faux gagging behind your back.

you pull away with a bashful smile, leaving with jacob for class. luke watches you leave, his own smile adorning his face.

once your car pulled off his street, luke sighed.

wordlessly, he moves towards the sectional in the living room, sitting with mark and dylan. ethan and rutger give each other an amused look, but don't do anything other than smirk.

dylan breaks the ice, "looks like we get to do rutgers hair soon."

luke looks beside him at his good friend with a puzzled look, "what?"

"the bet," ethan interrupts. "she's totally in love with you."

"have you hit it yet though? that was apart of it."

luke laughs once awkwardly, "maybe we should call the bet off?" he suggests and rutger laughs. "I mean with everything that's happened with matt and-"

rutger interrupts, not talking in his teammates words. "what happened with matt sucks - absolutely and that asshole is being kicked out, but that has nothing to do with the bet."

"I just don't want her to get hurt." luke admits vulnerably.

"she won't get hurt," rutger says, "she's never gunna know. the bet is still on. it's really not that deep." rutger says, taking a sip of his protein smoothie. "and then you can just break it off when this is all over - just like a normal relationship."

but it is that deep, luke thinks. this isn't just some random girl anymore - it's you. the girl he's falling in love with.

"he probably hasn't hit it yet, doesn't want to loose." ethan chuckles wearily, very obviously trying to break the tension between the teammates. mark sends him a look, but luke doesn't catch it.

the defence man stands from his seat. "i'm not feeling well, i'm going to lay down."

luke has never felt guilt like the guilt he is feeling right now. why did he take the stupid bet.

luke was never expecting you to actually fall for him. that first day when he proposed the idea, he was hoping sure, shaving rutgers head would be comical, and maybe you would end up liking him, maybe, but now he was sure he was actually in love with you. he couldn't tell you about the bet now, it would've been different if you and matt ended up together - but now it was you and luke. he's so screwed.

part eight: the first time

luke has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, fingers toying with the ends of your hair. the two of you are watching tiktok's on his phone, laughing together in the comfort of his bedroom.

just as another funny video finishes, luke laughs, rolling his head into the side of your face to stifle his laughter. every time he does that, your stomach does jumping jacks at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin.

he scrolls after the two of your regain your composure but almost immediately, your attention is drawn to the snapchat notification that comes through at the top of his phone screen.

amy is typing...

amy sent you a chat!

even her bitmoji was pretty - long blonde hair, bright eyes and she was pretty much a hockey players type on paper. she was another ariana and your face drops.

luke can feel your body stiffen and he looks over at you. "you okay?"

you nod, cuddling deeper into your oversized hoodie. he either didn't see the notification or he just didn't care. at first, you don't want to say anything - because like technically, luke hasn't asked to be exclusive. but your heart wins, and you decide to speak up. "who's amy?" you try to ask it nonchalantly after a moment of silence.

"some girl ethan used to hang out with - she wants to hook up with me."

"oh." you huff.

"i've never though, hooked up with her, I mean!" luke says quickly. you can hear the phone click off, and suddenly luke is turned fully towards you. "don't worry, I've been meaning to remove her anyways."

"am I pretty enough to be with a hockey player?" you ask it quietly, fear of your embarrassment consuming you.

"what?" luke says it so softly, hand moving up to tuck a piece of your dark hair behind your ear. "you're too beautiful to even be thinking like that."

"oh," you blush, "I didn't know that you thought that."

"of course I think that," luke sort of laughs in his exhale, "how I managed to get you to like me is just insane."

you smile, "well I think you're like the hottest guy ever so..."

luke rushes forward to kiss you, his hands holding onto your face delicately as his lips move against your own. you moan into it, hand resting on his chest to keep yourself grounded.

he rolls fully on top of you, arms bracketing around the sides of your head. his lips move down your neck, sucking and kissing your sensitive skin until you're moaning out. you pull him back up to your mouth, your hands then sliding down and slipping under his shirt, feeling his toned muscles beneath your finger tips.

"take this off," you breathe, tugging on his t-shirt. he nods, sitting back and pulling off his shirt. you're smirking up at him all pretty and luke can feel himself throb. he leans back down, lifting the hem of your hoodie until he sees the soft skin of your belly. he keeps pushing up the top, kissing any new skin that is revealed until he reaches your bra.

your breathing heavy under him, legs spread to accommodate his body between them. "can I take it off?" he asks and you nod, letting him pull off the sweater and toss it on the floor beside his bed. in your sat up position, you unhook your bra, letting luke nudge down the straps until you're completely naked from the waist up, bra joining your hoodie in a pile.

"you're so beautiful," luke says, mouth moving to kiss you again. it isn't long before your lazily unbuckled his belt, letting the leather fall open to reveal the button of his jeans.

"luke," you whisper against his lips and he looks at you, eyes glazed and cheeks rosy. he nods. "take off my pants."

he's nodding even quicker at your words and you giggle. at your laugh he smirks down at you, one hand grabbing your waistband and pulling down your leggings until they reach your ankles. he climbs down your body, using both hands to take them off from around your ankles, taking your socks with them.

luke kisses the side of your ankle and your sitting up on your elbows, watching as his kisses move higher up your leg, right until he's where you need him the most. he doesn't touch you yet, eyes glancing up to meet yours. "please touch me lukey."

he doesn't need to be told twice. he kisses you clit over your underwear first and your mouth hangs open at the touch, head rolling back slightly. luke hooks two fingers and pulls your panties to the side, immediately using his tongue to collect your arousal, dragging up to your clit and sucking.

you moan out, probably too loudly for not being home alone, but neither of you care too much in that moment.

he uses his two fingers and plunges them into you, adding to your pleasure. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access and you more pleasure. it isn't long before your gripping his hair, stomach tightening from his mouth. "luke, i'm gunna-"

you cum, clamping on his fingers as he brings you through your orgasim. he removes his mouth from you and sit up. you try not to moan when you see his face, your juices covering his chin and lips. "you're so hot," he breathes out, letting you grab his face and pull him into a lazy kiss, tongues swirling together in a hot make out.

"your pants next," you say, fingers already unzipping his jeans. he smirks, standing up so he could properly remove his clothes, pants and boxers meeting his shirt on the floor. he's crawling up over you again, and just as he's reaching your mouth, you push him down, straddling his hips.

"god," luke says breathlessly, eyes watching as you slide yourself over his dick. he was so painfully hard he thinks he might combust. "i'm not gunna last if you keep doing that."

you giggle. "you got a condom?"

he nods, " yeah...my, umm, in my drawer." you lean over, giving luke the perfect view of your boobs. he puts his mouth around on your nipples and grind down on him automatically, fingers grabbing the condom quickly before sitting up straight again.

he takes it from you, tearing it open with his teeth. you rise off him just enough so he can slide the condom on. immediately, you take him in your hand, lining him up with your entrance before sinking down, taking him all at once.

you both moan in unison. "you're so good for me," luke says, hands massaging your hips as you start to move, rolling against him, your clit hitting his pelvis with every movement.

"you're so big," you whine, hands pushing on his strong chest as you bounce on him. "fuck."

"you're doing so good," luke praises, thumb rubbing your bundle on nerves. he can feel your walls clench around him.

"i'm gunna cum again," you moan, still jumping on his dick roughly.

"that's it, baby, come for me."

it's only a few more bounces before your faltering, cumming hard around his cock, legs shaking as you slow.

luke brackets you in his arms, flipping you onto your back beneath him. he kisses you slow before he starts to move again, pounding into your pussy in search of his own high. "you feel so good," he says.

your hands run up his back, up into his hair. "yeah?"

"i'm close."

"come for me," you say, legs tightening around his waist as his hips splutter, spilling his load into the condom with a groan. "fuck," he says breathlessly.

and then he's kissing you again, slow and lazily as he pumps into you a couple more times. you both moan at the feeling of him pulling out.

he's on his knees, pulling off his condom before tying it and tossing it in his trashcan. you lay on his bed, staring at him breathlessly, a lazy smile on your lips, cheeks flushed.

"i'm gunna go to the bathroom," he says, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, "do you need anything? water? are you hungry?"

"i'm okay," you say gently and he smiles, moving back towards you and giving you a chaste kiss.

"i'll be right back," he says against your mouth and you nod.

you get dressed while he's gone, raiding his closet for a pair of sweatpants before climbing back into his bed. luke returns a few minutes later with a mug of water and a bag of chips and you smile to yourself.

after putting everything on his nightstand, he's crawling back into bed, shirt long forgotten. he pulls you into him, kissing your head. "you're amazing," he tells you.

you look up at him, "you're good at that you know."

he smirks, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, "what can I say?"

you laugh loudly, flicking his peck.

he kisses you once again. a deep hard one that has you exhaling gently, stomach swooping.

"coach texted while I was downstairs," luke says once he pulls away. the tone of his voice is definitely off and it has you furrowing your brows.

"everything okay?"

"yeah," he says, "just reminding us about the playoff schedule and like the extra practices."

"oh," you frown, "okay...what's wrong? you look worried."

he ignores how easily you can read his face. "I'm just...this is the first year of playoffs where I have two brothers playing in the NHL and they're both kicking ass..i'm worried that I won't be good enough. like, I'll just suck and let my team down - I don't want them to expect too much because I can't preform like jack or quinn."

"what? don't say that," you say, leaning up on your elbow so you can look into his eyes properly "luke...don't even think like that. I don't know much about hockey but even I know you're like stupid good at it. your team isn't expecting you to be your brothers - there expecting you. because being  you is just what they need."

he's looking at you all soft again and you run a hand through his head of curls "i'm glad you said that." he whispers.

"i'm happy you told me how you were feeling," you say immediately, "you're going to play amazing lukey."

luke smirks, wrapping his hands around your waist. "I will if you're by my side," he kisses you once quickly.

"you're my favourite hughes brother," you tease him and he laughs hard.

"I better be," he smirks, "I'm the one who put his dick in you-"

you place a hand over his mouth and giggle.

part nine: the game

"are you sure nobody can cover your shift?" luke asked you for the third time this day. you signed and rolled over to your stomach, head resting on your crossed arms. "I really want you to come baby."

"that's really nice, lukey, but I'm working." you said, running your hand through his head of curls. luke groaned, rolling off his stomach and onto his side, effectively turning his back on you.

"you can't be mad at me." you said.

"I'm not." he grumbled, back still turned.

you rolled your eyes. "look at me." you ordered him, and he did so reluctantly, flipping sides so he could see you. "I'll be watching from the tv at work, cheering you on."

"I know you will," luke says, "it's just playoffs and all the other guys girlfriends will be there and...I don't know."

you can't help but smile, "oh so i'm your girlfriend now?"

his eyes jolt up to look into yours and once he sees your playful expression. "well, yeah."

"oh I didn't know that." you shrug nonchalantly. you can't keep your expression at bay when luke jumps up, rolling you into your back and tackling you, kissing your face until your giggling. you grab luke's face to stop his attack, placing one deep kiss onto his lips, reluctantly pulling away.

he sighs again, "I wish you could be there."

"me too," you admit. "but you'll play great regardless, I know it."

he smirks, "I'd play better if you were there." you give him a look and he laughs, kissing your neck once, "I know, you have to work."

"how about I give you something else instead?" you say seductively, fingers trailing down his shirt before brushing against his waistband.

"what did you have in mind?" he inquires, a raise to his brows.

you don't say anything, instead you kiss him, hands trailing back up to hold his face to yours. you feel his hands wrap around the small of your back, slightly lifting you off the mattress. you sigh into the kiss and you can feel him smirk.

he pulls away from you, sitting up on his knees so he could take his shirt off. you bit your lip, hand touching his abs briefly before he's lifting your shirt off, revealing your gray bra. immediately, he's coming back down, ripping down one your bra cups and attacking your nipple with his mouth. your mouth hangs open in pleasure, hissing when the cold air hits your one boob while he's moving to the next one. "luke, please." you're not even sure what your asking for, but he's up immediately, tugging your leggings down your legs before discarding his own pants and boxers with them.

it's been a week since you and luke fucked for the first time, and you guys have done it many times since then, but his size never fails to impress you.

he leans back over you, grabbing one of his pillows and shoving it under your hips, all while you stroke his dick. he thrusts into your hand with a groan. "fuck, baby."

it's your turn to smirk, "put it in me lukey, before I have to leave."

he pulls your string underwear to the side, revealing your glistening wetness. he leans over you to grab a condom, ripping it open and rolling it on. he slides into you then, and you both moan out. he starts thrusting and your moans continue to get louder and more frequent until luke puts a hand over your mouth, "people are home," he says but you can't focus, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure.

luke's breathing is heavy as he's thrusting, your body jolting with every move, sending you up the bed from the force. he grabs your leg, lifting it so it can rest on his shoulder. the new angle sends you both into a new realm of pleasure, your moans silenced by his hand, luke's grunts falling into the crook of your neck.

"i'm gunna cum soon," you whine, finger blindly finding your clit to rub it. luke pushed your hand away, his own thumb replacing your fingers. "me too," he grunts.

you cum hot and loud, your walls clamping down on his cock while he continues thrusting. a moment later, his rythym picks up, hips spluttering as he releases his load into the condom.

you two catch your breath for a moment before you speak, "I thought there was no sex on game days?"

he sends you a look with raised brows, "you started it."

you scoff, "I was just gunna give you a hand job," you giggle.

he smiles, "well if we loose blaming you."

you scoff, "rude."

he pulls out of you, discarding the condom before the two of you start getting dressed (and if you have to throw out your underwear because you were too wet, that's nobody's business.)

"I should go," you say, "I work in 2 hours and I have to shower now," you send your boyfriend a look and he just smirks, flexing his arm in your direction, which has you rolling your eyes.

"yeah, I gotta head to the rink soon," he agrees.

you nod, stepping towards him and pushing up on your tip toes, to which he leans down, giving you a brief kiss. "have a good game," you whisper and he sighs.

"I will."

you get home 10 minutes later and ariana is sitting on the couch, waiting for you. "hey," you say, kicking off your shoes at the entry way.

"hey," she says, "what took you so long?"

you shrug, "we lost track of time."

ariana studies your appearance and then puts two and two together, "I don't know if i'm angry because we were supposed to start getting ready 10 minutes ago...or if i'm jealous because you just got railed and I didn't."

you laugh.

"anyways," she shakes her head, "mark dropped this off twenty minutes ago," she tosses you a jersey and you smile upon seeing the material. you unfold it, holding it up to see the back, which read: hughes 43.

"he is going to be so surprised," you settle on.

ariana smiles, "he really has no idea you're coming?"

"no," you smirk, "he thinks I have to work. i'll have to thank mark for stealing this for me."

"yeah," your friend agrees, "okay, i'm gunna start getting ready, but you like, need a shower...you smell like sex."

you laugh in disbelief at her and ariana giggles with you. "I was planning on it," you state, "I'll be back." you say before jogging upstairs for a much needed shower.

it wasn't long before it was time for the two of you to head over to the wolverines arena. luke had texted you before your supposed shift was suppose to start, once again wishing you could be at his game. if only he could see you right now.

the boys had already finished warmups when the two of you arrived. the only available seats were near the back, which was good; you didn't want luke to see you and feel distracted for the game. the wolverines had taken the ice for the first period not long after you sat down. you have never been to a hockey game before, and even though luke has tried to teach you the rules, the game was too fast, leaving ariana having to explain what offside was 5 times before the third period.

the game ended with a win for game 1 for the wolverines, and you never thought you would be cheering for your hockey playing boyfriend at a hockey game: but here you were. you and ariana had waited for most of the crowd to disappear before walking down to wait by the locker room, just like the rest of family and other girlfriends of the team.

you're not waiting too long before you see mark and rutger emerge from the locker room, who grin at one another when they see you. luke follows behind, too busy chatting with ethan to even see that you're there. but ethan sees you, nudging luke until he looks up.

"what the -" he smiles, rushing forward to wrap you in a hug. "I thought you were working."

you laughed, "I lied."

he pulls away from the hug and you let him give you a quick kiss. "I hate you," he laughs.

"you don't," you smile up at him.

"no," he whispers, "I really don't."

"alright love birds, are we going out to eat or what? i'm fucking starving and I'm desperate for some 5 guys." rutger groans, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

you and everybody else agree, 5 guys sounds heavenly. luke wraps his arm around you shoulders as you all leave, the two of you falling a few steps behind your friends.

"where'd you get this?" his hand that's resting your your arm plucks the material of your jersey.

you look up at him, "mark stole it for me. does it look good?"

he takes your hand and twirls you around, much to your dismay, but you're laughing anyways. "you always look so hot in my clothes, even when it's sweatpants and a tshirt." in that moment you think back to the party, before you and luke got together, back when you pushed your feelings for him deep down: the night when you had to change out of your dirty uniform and into his clothes. look at you now. "if you think i'm not fucking you in that jersey, you're wrong."

you gasp in shock, hitting his chest. but he just smirks down at you, the two of you continuing your way to the car.

part ten: the truth

you're standing in the kitchen of luke's home, pouring yourself and luke another drink while he and the rest of his teammates party: the guys had a healthy amount of people over to celebrate the win of the first playoff game. there's another girl in the kitchen with you, a brunette that rutger has been hooking up with - she's really sweet, a little dipsy, but who are you to judge.

the two of you are chatting amongst yourselves when somebody else enters the kitchen. you glance over your shoulder to see luke, cheeks rosy from the alcohol and smile bright as he spots you. "what's taking so long?" luke asks you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

"i'm just chatting with lacey," you laugh at his drunken state, the way he was clinging onto you - he was so cute.

"okay, well, come back...I miss you," he lazily kisses your cheek three times and lacey has to laugh behind the rim of her plastic cup.

"okay, okay," you giggle, "i'll come socialize if...you go upstairs and plug my phone in for me?" you turn to luke with a hopeful grin and luke playfully rolls his eyes, plucking your phone from the back pocket of your jeans.

"anything for you baby," he says, leaving you to make his way upstairs.

"wow," lacey says, "you have him wrapped around your finger." she observes. you shrug nonchalantly, but that doesn't stop your smile and cheeks from blushing. "you love him?"

you are kind of shocked at her question because what? it's only been two months- almost three since you've started hanging out with luke. but then yeah, you think, how could you not love luke. In a world full of boys he's the gentleman. so, "yeah," you say, "I think I do."

she giggles, "rutger must be devastated then."

you furrow yours brows, "what? why?"

she quirks a brow, "the bet. he mentioned the guys get to style his hair or cut it...whatever: if he lost the bet." lacey can see the confused look on your face and squints at you, "you know, the bet."

"I don't know about a bet." you say hesitantly.

"the one he made with luke," she says it nonchalantly, organizing all the bottles of liquor as she talks, "that if luke could make a girl fall in love with him by playoffs, they get to style or cut rutgers hair however they want- you know how he is about his hair," she laughs. "and if he couldn't, luke had to dish up $200, but clearly, he could do it. you're in love."

when you don't respond, lacey looks over to you, only to see your eyes trained on the counter, a look of anger settled on your face. lacey gulps, "I thought luke would've told you."

"will you excuse me," without waiting for her response you storm out of the kitchen. you don't see luke in the living room: he must be upstairs still with your phone. you're pretty sure mark calls your name, he can probably tell something is wrong by your face, but you ignore him, stomping up the stairs and pushing open luke's bedroom door, slamming it shut behind you.

"jesus," luke chuckles, "you scared me." he turns to look at you and his face drops when he sees the look on yours. "hey, what's wrong?-"

"I'm a bet," you seethe, interrupting him. even in the dim light of his bedroom you can see his face pale, his body tensing. he doesn't say anything, just stares at you until you become angrier. "was I just a bet? answer me."

luke knows he's caught, "yeah," he whispers, "i'm sorry." he stutters.

"god," you say while your knees buckle slightly and your eyes start to water. "so this whole time - everything we've done together was all so you could save yourself fucking $200! what the fuck luke!"

"what? no, that's not it."

you weren't listening to him. "is that why you offered to help me with matt? so you could try and crack me? just get me in your bed? huh, luke. tell me the truth."

he goes to reach out to you but you send a lethal glare in his direction so he retracts his hand. "I thought that if we were seen spending more time together- my roommates would think we were dating so then I came the fake dating idea and - y/n I didn't want to hurt you."

your lip wobbles. "that's why I couldn't tell anybody we were only fake dating, right? because then your little plan might get messed up?" all luke can do is muster up a nod. "the reason you started talking to me at that party...was because you were trying to get me to like you? so what, was I was just the first girl you saw?"

"rutger got to choose. he chose you because you don't date hockey players." his words are a whisper and you laugh in disbelief.

"oh my god! so what, flirting with me, kissing me, dating me, sleeping with me, was that all apart of the bet too?"

he's looking deep into your eyes, the guilt evident in his face. he looks down towards the hardwood then, no guts to keep your eye contact "ethan he umm, said I had to sleep with the girl - but that's not why I slept with you, y/n!"

you sigh and your legs give out, sending you to the ground as a sob rips through your chest. luke drops down to his knees infront of you, and you don't have the energy to push him off when his hands touch your knees. "did I really mean less than $200? why did you lie to me?"

luke's lip trembles slightly. "no, no! you mean everything to me, baby. I haven't even thought of that stupid bet in forever! I didn't flirt with you, or kiss you or fucking sleep with you because of the bet! I did it because you're my girlfriend."

"I wouldn't be your girlfriend if it wasn't for a bet, luke. I can't believe this...I thought ...," you sob again and luke can feel his own eyes well up watching you cry.

"please forgive me," he whispers, "I hate myself for what I did. I should've told you."

"god and your roommates! they all know, have they just been making fun of me this whole time? that's why they were always watching us! and why you needed me to act like we were together in front of them! the basketball game...the parties....stupid me, right, falling for a guy who was just going to discard me."

"I wasn't going to discard you!"

"were you ever going to tell me? even if i didn't find out?" luke stays silent and your lip wobbles as you look at him. his silence is enough of an answer for you. "I hate you," you whisper.

"please don't say that," he says, "please, can we just talk about this."

"we've talked enough, luke. I can't even stand you right now," you spit. "i'm going home."

"please don't. just stay and in the morning we can-"

"no, luke!," you snap, "we're done. enjoy cutting rutgers hair," you laugh in disbelief as you're standing up and luke can't even register you leaving until you're out the door, slamming it on your way out.

you start walking down the hall, tears falling down your cheeks. at the top of the stairs, you spot rutger, a guilty look on his face. you're not sure if he overheard you and luke or if lacey had told him she spilled the beans, regardless, you pause and look him dead in the eye, "screw you."

he sighs and starts to apologize but you brush past him, making your way down the stairs and out the house. the front door open and closes behind you, alerting you that somebody has followed you outside, but you don't look behind yourself.

"y/n," mark calls out, "let me drive you home."

"did you know?!" you spin around forcefully, eyes full of anger. "about the bet."

"please just let me drive you home." he sighs, "it's a far walk and...you're drunk."

you don't feel like fighting anymore so you just nod, a sob ripping from your lungs as mark leads you to his car.

a knock sounds on luke's bedroom door and he wipes his eyes briefly, just in case any tears had fallen. he opens the threshold to see rutger. "I really don't want to talk right now," luke says.

rutger sighs, "I should've let you call it off dude. i'm sorry, I didn't think it would be this bad..."

"well it is!," luke says powerfully, "it so fucking bad dude! i've lost the only girl i've ever loved and only because of your stupid bet!"

"I know," rutger says, "dude, I said I was sorry."

"yeah, I know," luke scoffs, "just...leave. get out. I need to be alone." he says and rutger just nods. he apologizes once more before he leaves but luke ignores him, letting him go with nothing but the shut of the door.

lukey 😍 (12:47)

y/n, i'm sorry. please let's talk

tomorrow

lukey 😍 (12:50)

please

lukey 😍 (12:52)

I fucked up but please give me

a chance to ask for your

forgiveness

lukey 😍 (12:53)

please baby

part eleven: the end

tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision briefly before they fall, rolling down your temples and dripping on your ears.

the ceiling above you has never been stared at longer. it's been almost three weeks since you found out about the bet: since you broke up with luke. you don't know why you were so upset, you'd only known luke for three months, only had been intimate with him for two weeks or so: but you just felt so....heartbroken.

you barley had any energy, only mustering up enough to work your shifts and attend important classes. thankfully, you hadn't run into any of the boys often. you'd seen mark the most, usually running into him coming out of the bathroom in your home, and well, you couldn't escape him there.

when you first told ariana about what happened that night at the hockey house, she was shocked and so very heartbroken for you. she had cuddled you on the couch all night, sharing junk food and watching sad movies as much as your heart desired. she gave mark an earful when she saw him next and you had never been more grateful for your best friend.

luke texted you a lot. usually just saying sorry, or asking you to meet up. you only responded once, about two days ago and you told him to give you space: you hadn't heard from luke since. you felt so stupid. it's similar to how you felt when you realized you were wrong about matt, expect this time it was worse. worse because it was all fake, even when luke comforted you about matt and what he did to you : none of it was real. the feelings, the friendship, the sly smirks and longing looks. you were probably the laughing stock of the wolverines hockey team - god, you think, he's probably described your face during sex -

a knock on your door has you sitting up off your bed, ariana's head of blonde hair poking through the door frame. "hey," she says, "i'm off to the game." you nodded because even if she hasn't said anything, you could tell by her perfectly styled hair and the michigan letter jacket she was sporting.

"okay."

she frowns slightly, "are you sure you don't want me to stay here?"

you shake your head, "no. just because my boyfriend was an asshole and I'm not going to- doesn't mean you shouldnt watch yours play, besides, they're doing good, right? it'll be a good game." ariana had told you that the guys had won first round and were currently in the second, only two wins away from moving forward.

"okay," she hesitates by the door and gives you another look. "are you positive?"

you laugh briefly and the skin of your cheeks feel dry from the salty water you cried before. "go," you urge.

"i'll send luke dirty looks for you," ariana promises and you smile slightly. "i'll text you when i'm on my way back, or if I end up staying at marks."

ariana left after that, making it to the bustling arena full of michigan students and staff alike, all sporting school colours and team jerseys. the game was fast and rough, rutger had even got into a fight in the third period. despite their efforts, the wolverines lost the game 3 - 2.

mark texted ariana after the game, asking her to wait by the locker rooms for him. so there the blonde stood, around a couple other girlfriends, all waiting for the boys to make their appearance. ethan comes out first, nothing more than a nod in ariana's direction before leaving the rink. rutger and mark come out together, chatting amongst themselves as they make their way over to her, luke trialing behind them, his now usual sour expression evident on his face.

"hey," mark greets, giving her a quick kiss. ariana greets him back, "good game."

"could've been better," rutger says. "did you see me lay that guy flat?"

"yeah," ariana nods, "I can also tell by that impending black eye you got going on." rutger smirks proudly.

"you want to come back to ours?," mark asks her, squeezing her shoulder until she's pushed into his side.

ariana winced, "I shouldn't, y/n is home alone and...yeah."

luke's eyes meet hers and ariana raises her brows at him. he swallows hard, "how is she?"

"dude," mark sighs.

"why would I tell you?" she snaps, "it's not your business...not anymore."

"I know," luke agrees, "I just thought id ask...I still care about her."

ariana really looks at him then and she has to stop her frown forming. he looked miserable. he had terrible bags under his eyes, and his cheeks looked gaunt, no colour when they once were always rosy. he was struggling, by only at his own fault. in a moment of weakness, ariana sighs, "she's not great. y/n, I mean. she's sad all the time but she's getting there."

rutger coughs, "hey, mark, wanna help me with something outside?" mark nods slowly, understanding the situation. he sends his girlfriend a small smile and then the two leave luke and ariana alone.

"I fucked up," luke sighs.

ariana scoffs, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. "yeah, i'm aware." luke just runs a hand over his face so ariana continues, "you know, when she told me that you and her started dating, I was shocked because she hasn't had eyes for anybody but matt since freshman year...but then I saw the two of you together, and I understood why she liked you so much. you treated her good, and you were always so supportive and then she told me it was fake...a bet. how could you do that to her?"

"it wasn't fake," luke sighs and then he backtracks, "well, yeah you're right. it started as bet and I never thought I would actually...or that she would...I thought by the end of this it would've ended differently. and then I fell in love with her and everything changed."

"you love her?" ariana asks softly.

"yeah," he admits.

"does she know that? what you just said...all of it, does she know?" luke shakes his head no and ariana sighs, contemplating if she's really about to say what she wants to say. "you need to tell her, luke. she's home right now and I think she needs to hear that. and i'm not saying this because she will forgive you, because I don't know if she will. but she deserves to hear it."

"okay," luke says, "I will go...right now. thank you."

ariana nods and watches him walk away, his shoulders a bit higher than before.

you're just hearing downstairs when your phone buzzes. expecting a message from ariana.

ariana 😈

i'm sorry in advance

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, your thumbs start moving, ready to type your response and then there's a knock at your door. even more confused, you pocket your phone, making the short trip to the front entryway and pulling on the door. luke stands there, and he looks even worse than you. good, you think, you should feel bad.

"what are you doing here?"

"I need to apologize. a proper apology, not like the lame excuse of one I gave you at that party when I was drunk and filled with guilt. you deserve a proper explanation," he says it quickly, as if you would shut the door in his face at any second. you give him a look of hesitation, "please, y/n, just 5 minutes and then you can kick me out."

you nod once, moving aside so he can step in. you gesture for him to sit on the couch, and he tried not to freak out at the lack of words from you. you walk past him, grabbing yourself a drink before joining him again. "how was your game?" you ask without looking at him.

he nods and then remembers you can't actually see him in that moment. "we lost."

you just nod, finally turning to face him. "you have 4 minutes left."

luke wipes his hands on his pants as a nervous habit. "I have never felt worse than I have felt these past few weeks. I shouldn't have agreed to that bet, and I definitely shouldn't have let rutger pick you. you are so much more than just a bet...you are the most beautiful, the kindest, most loving girl i've ever met...and I hate that i've upset you."

"then why? why did go through all that trouble if you knew..."

"I thought that it would work...the fake dating idea. I thought by the end of this you and matt would be together and then i could've told you about the bet. you probably still would've been mad at me, but it wouldn't of mattered because it worked...you would've got the guy. I wasn't expecting it to be anything."

"but it did become something."

"I know," luke agrees, "at that point the stupid bet was a distant memory. and I'm going to say it again; I didn't kiss you, or date you or sleep with you because of a bet, I did it because I fell in love with you."

your eyes go wide at his words but luke isn't looking at you but rather the hands in his lap, fiddling with the string of his pants. "and i'm not just saying that because I want your forgiveness or want to get back together with you, of course I do, but im not here for that. i'm here to try and heal your broken heart."

you grab his face softly and his eyes snap up to meet yours. "you love me?"

luke nods gently. "i'm sorry for not telling you about the bet and im sorry there was a bet in the first place...but if im being honest, im glad rutger picked that bet for me, because if he didn't i would've never found love with you."

you're crying now and it's luke's turn to hold your face. "you can kick me out if you want, or you can scream at me or hit me...whatever you need to do -"

"I love you too lukey," you sniff and you watch luke's eye go wide.

"really?" he breathes, his shoulders falling.

"yes," you nod, "and I can - in some twisted way - understand why you didn't tell me: you just didn't want to hurt me. I just wish i found out from you, instead of lacey. i'm not saying I completely forgive you, because that will take time but we can work on it." you press your forehead to his, "I'm glad matt ended up being a total creep because i like the guy I ended up with much better."

you watched him smile, and you laugh through your tears, "kiss me already."

and he does, pressing his lips to your plump ones in a toe curling wet kiss that had you gasping into his mouth, his hands tangling in your hair to hold you closer. he drops one hand, wrapping it around your waist and pulls you closer until your straddling his lap. "hold on," you breathe.

he looks up at you with concerned eyes, "did I do something?"

"no," you say immediately, "I just need to thank ariana,"

he smirks as you grab your phone, making a mental note to also thank your small blonde bestie. luke studies your face, cheeks flushed, lips pink and eyes wide, much different from when you first opened the door. in a moment of boldness he says, "I told you that you and I have chemistry."

you smile, playing with the hair at the back of his head as you think about that very first night when luke had found you at the party. "I didn't believe you back then."

"do you believe me now baby?"

"I guess so lukey." you tease and he smirks before kissing you again.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[maxtermind]

requesting an f1 fic inspired by the song “reckless driving” by lizzie mcalpine ft ben kessler? 🙏🙏 (any driver & i adore your work)

never felt this way with no one

★ : feat :: oscar piastri x reader ★ : genre :: flufff, mature ★ : word count :: 1k+ ★ : a/n :: i love lizzy so much, this was so fun to write

you were driving while a slow song was playing on the radio and as soon as there was a red light, you stopped and smiled before turning your head to look at—

oscar held your face in his hands before slamming his lips against yours. you eyes widened before you closed them and kissed him back.

he tasted sweet like the dessert you guys got before leaving the restaurant.

he deepened the kiss as his hand slipped from your face to the back of your head. it was too consuming but good.

as you got lost in mingled breaths and soft lips, the light turned green and a loud horn from behind had you stumbling backwards.

oscar cleared his throat as you started the car again. refusing to face you because his face was tinted and his heartbeat was so loud he could hear it in his ears.

what he missed out on was your own cheeks that were burning as your mouth stayed in an upright position. hard to stop smiling because this— him. it was exactly what you you were expecting from today through all the nervous getting ready for the date.

"i'm sorry..." he started before you shook your head.

"i'm glad you did, don't apologise." you murmured trying to breathe and get rid of your smile.

"i wouldn't have... i mean i wanted to but—"

you stumbled over your words but finally looked at him as oscar's hand squeezed your hand that was closest to him.

"i wanted to do it more." he admitted. "i've been thinking about it all night. i just... i wasn't sure if you'd want me to."

you chuckled as you shuffled to get comfortable in your seat, your eyes on the road, feeling a little braver now.

"oscar, i've been hoping you'd kiss me since you picked me up."

he laughed, the sound light and full of relief. "really? i've been so nervous. i kept trying to find the right moment."

you turned onto a quieter street, feeling the tension from earlier melting away. fuck, where were you even driving to? one kiss and the man had turned you into a mess

"i guess the red light was the perfect moment."

oscar nodded, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "yeah, it was."

you glanced at him to see why he trailed off and were satisfied to see that he was already looking at you— at your lips and your skin felt like it was on fire.

you knew what he wanted because you wanted the same— more.

oscar sighed as you pulled into a parking lot, putting the car in park before turning to face him fully. your insides burning with the desire to feel his skin again.

"well, we're not driving anymore." you whispered, not knowing where this recklessness was coming from.

oscar grinned and shook his head as he leaned in close once again. "no, we're not."

he kissed you again, this time slower, more tender. you wanted to be careful, not wanting to kill the flame before it was even lit but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, you melted into him, your hands threading through his hair.

and you decided that just this once, you’ll give in and let him take the lead even if his hands are off of the lead.

the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. your breaths mingled, the car feeling both too small and too intimate. but you guys were too far gone now when he pulled you over onto his lap.

oscar's hand slid under your shirt, his touch feather-light against your skin as you gripped his thigh. you gasped softly when he rubbed circles on your waist and kissed down your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. "oscar," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

he looked into your eyes, his own dark with desire. "god you’re driving me insane," he admitted, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, suddenly you brain too foggy to reply coherently, feeling the same burning need. "i want you too."

his hands continued roaming over your body, exploring, caressing. your own hands were busy, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against yours. you managed to get it open, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles.

oscar's lips found your collarbone, kissing, nibbling. you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you realized that he was leaving a mark. the heat between you was almost unbearable.

but then, as you both tried to maneuver in the cramped space, you couldn't help but laugh. the steering wheel, the gear shift, everything was in the way.

"i'm too jelly, i can't drive," you admitted, breathless and laughing.

oscar grinned, his own laughter joining yours. "you know i can drive," he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

you cracked a joke, unable to resist. "would i be worried about your driving skills off the track?"

"i think you'll be safe with me." he laughed, the sound rich and full. “won’t let anything happen to you baby.”

you leaned in for one more kiss, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of him. when you finally pulled back, you were both smiling.

oscar took the keys from you, and moved to the driving seat, still feeling the lingering heat of his touch on your skin.

you didn’t know how this happened, but you were glad it did. that it went this far. feeling like a teenager when you noticed that oscar couldn’t keep his eyes on the road.

“eyes on the road,” you joked, your breath hitching suddenly when he leaned over to squeeze your thigh in reply.

you sneaked your hand towards his vacant one and intertwined your fingers, blushing furiously when he pulled the joined hands towards his mouth to leave a kiss.

"want to go back to my place?" he said shyly, expecting you to turn him down.

but you felt a warmth spread through you at his question, the simplicity of it making your heart swell. "yes, i would love that," you whispered, your voice soft and full of affection.

(grid masterlist \ masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part two .

“you were a dick last night.” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.” “do you?” “i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—” you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?” he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.” or, the amylaurie au fic.

part  two  of  four.  (part  one) word  count.   4.9k a study on.   non-linear  storytelling,  even  more  egregious  little  women  references,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  friends  to  eventual  lovers,  stem  major!reader,  the  gifted  kid  burnout  trope, author pretending to know anything about mechanics / engineering . author's  note.   i  yapped  too  much  about  this  chapter  so  you  can  read  about  my  thoughts  HERE.  generally  treat  that  as  the  author's  notes  after  an  ao3  fic  I  LOVEEEE  talking  if  u  didn't  notice  !!   very  similar  disclaimer  that  i  put  in  my  previous  post,  though.  y/n  operates  from  a  result  of  gifted  kid  burnout,  which  is  very  much  explored  in  this  chapter,  so  i  guess  there's  a  content  warning  for  that.  that  being  said,  there's a lot of josie mention here... sorry streaks u can't tell an amylaurie story without the jo i fear !  i  promise  again  this  fic  has  a  happy  ending  we're  getting  there mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know?  cover  by  hozier,  the  bolter  by  taylor  swift,  orange  show  speedway  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  this  is  me  trying  by  taylor  swift,  chinese  satellite  by  phoebe  bridgers,  supercut  by  lorde.

THEN, 2014.

the day starts early— too early— the kind of early that feels like your body isn’t fully awake yet, your limbs heavy and your thoughts slow, swimming through freshly made molasses. your mum nudges you up from the cramped back seat of the car when you arrive, and you blearily take in the early morning light over hampshire, the sky still tinged with the last hints of dawn.

beverly is already sunburnt, despite the fact that the sun has barely been up for an hour. she’s got her earphones in, the wire tucked into the pocket of her shorts, and she doesn’t even react when josie calls her name. your mum sighs.

(bev hates the heat. hates racing, too. when you asked her why she even came, she just shrugged and said, "maggie said i should."

and, well. maggie is twenty-two and the oldest. she always knows best, so no one questions it.)

the drive to hampshire was long, sat all cramped between mags and bev, because josie called dibs on the third row all to herself, and while that would usually annoy you, you didn’t mind it much today. the whole ride, you kept turning over the ticket in your hand, running your fingers over the raised print, tracing the letters like they might disappear if you don’t.

lando’s family gave you tickets. they wanted you there.

you wonder if lando wanted you there.

you don’t know what to expect, because you’ve never seen a real racecar before. the first time you saw one up close, really up close, was probably in one of da’s magazines, glossy pages filled with detailed photos of engines and sleek bodies and captions that explained, in smaller words, what made them special. and they are special, because the way they move, the way they are built—everything is made to be the fastest, the most precise.

you know all this, but it’s different seeing them in person.

you aren’t meant to be loitering near the garages, but you keep sneaking glances, gaze darting over mechanics hunched over machinery, engineers discussing statistics on screens. this is what you love.

"you’re nosy.”

you turn so fast you nearly trip.

lando is grinning at you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his race suit, looking—well, kind of like he always does. but different, too. he’s taller now, lankier, his hair curling a little more wildly at the edges. he has that same teasing glint in his eyes, though.

"i just wanted to see," you say, a little defensive, but his grin doesn’t waver.

"want to take a proper look?"

your eyes widen. "i can?"

"i’m letting you, aren’t i?"

you nod, swallowing the excitement bubbling up in your throat. and then—

then you are inside, standing just a few feet away from a real, actual race car, and your heart is in your mouth.

“it’s a ginetta g40,” lando says, watching your expression carefully, like he’s waiting to see if you’re impressed. “junior spec. one-point-eight-liter engine, 100 brake horsepower.”

you stare at the car, at the fine lines of the chassis, at the way it sits, poised, elegant. “it’s light,” you murmur, running through the numbers in your head. “like, really light. that’s why the power-to-weight ratio makes it so—”

“fast?” lando grins.

“agile,” you correct. “fast is just a given. but if you were just fast, you wouldn’t be able to take corners well. you need the balance.”

lando blinks.

“what?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

he shakes his head, looking impressed. "you’re twelve. how do you know that?"

"i read," you mutter.

there’s a pause as he studies your face, and then: “you're scary smart, kit-kat.”

heat rises to your face, and you look away, embarrassed, unsure what to do with the compliment.

but lando keeps talking, and you keep listening, and for a while, you forget about everything else— about your too-tight shoes and your awkward limbs and the way you sometimes feel like you don’t fit into your own body anymore.

then the race starts.

you don’t know what lando is thinking when he climbs into the car, don’t know if he’s nervous or excited or both. but you know that when the lights go out and the cars launch forward, your breath catches, because there he is, in the thick of it, weaving through the chaos, pushing forward.

it’s fast, faster than you expected, and your fingers dig into your seat as you watch the laps tick by. you don’t remember what place he finishes. you only remember him crossing the line.

you only remember the way he jumps out of the car, the way he runs to his parents first, grinning so wide it could split his face in two, and then he turns and sees you and—

he hugs you.

it’s quick, barely a squeeze before he pulls back, excitement buzzing off him like static.

"did you see that?" he says, breathless.

"you absolutely obliterated that last turn!" you say, and his grin widens.

"i know!"

and then you are talking, rambling about the car, about the way he handled the braking zones, about how you could hear the engine struggling in the mid-corner but he still managed to keep it stable. and he listens, nodding along, eyes bright, because he knows you know what you’re talking about.

you are twelve years old, and you are in love—not with a person, not yet, but with the way things work. you love machines, love knowing how they fit together, how they break, how they can be fixed. you love understanding things, love seeing the world in bolts and gears and schematics.

lando laughs, bright and unrestrained, and for that moment, it’s just you and him and the machine between you.

NOW, 2024.

the first thing you feel when you wake up is nothing at all.

and then, slowly, something like sadness settles into the empty spaces.

it’s quiet in the flat, just the hum of the heater kicking in and the faint drip of last night’s rain off the eaves. the curtains are drawn, but you know it’s gray outside, that kind of dull, lifeless morning where time feels suspended, like the day hasn’t quite decided to begin yet. you shift under the covers, the fabric of your too-old pajama shirt soft against your skin, and exhale slowly, willing yourself to feel something else. anything else.

but there’s nothing pressing to do, nowhere urgent to be, and you are alone, which means there is nothing left but to sit with it. you grab your phone from the nightstand, half expecting— half hoping— for nothing, but there it is. a text from an unknown number, sent thirty minutes ago.

from: unknown number i’m sorry. can i make it up to you?

you don’t answer immediately. you get up instead, pad into the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, stall as long as you can. when you check your phone again, the text is still there, staring back at you, insistent.  you don’t have his number saved. haven’t, for a long time. haven’t needed to. but the moment you open up the message again, your thumb hovers over the contact, and before you can stop yourself, you’re typing in his name.

no. nope. no. why do you do this to yourself?

why? you type. delete it. type it again. delete it again. stupid.

you lock your phone, breathe in deep through your nose, and then—before you can think too hard about it—type back:

to: lando n how?

the reply comes faster than you expected.

from: lando n coffee? pastries? i’d offer a full english, but i know you hate the fried tomatoes.

you hate how that makes something warm and stupid curl in your chest, hate even more how he remembers.

to: lando n woking park, one hour.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the walk to woking park is cold, your breath curling in the air like smoke. it’s the kind of winter day where the sky is a uniform, dull grey, the kind that makes you feel small, like the world is pressing down on you. the streets are quiet, most people preferring the warmth of their homes, but you walk anyway, hands shoved deep in your pockets, jaw tight against the wind.

you don’t see him at first. you’re halfway down the path, watching the way the frost clings to the edges of the benches, when you catch a glimpse of him—hood up, head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of his puffer jacket.

you stop.

he sees you first. stands as you approach, a paper bag in one hand, two coffee cups balanced in the other.

the moment stretches between you, just long enough for you to wonder if this is a mistake, if you should turn around and go home, if you should put more distance between yourself and the boy who has always, always had a way of slipping through your fingers.

but then the corners of his lips curl upward as tilts his head slightly. “you look like you’re about to bolt.”

“i should.” you say, carefully, definitively. but you walk toward him anyway.

there’s coffee in his hands, a bag of croissants. "this supposed to be my compensation?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"trying to impress you," he says, offering you one of the cups. "not working, is it?"

"not even a little." you take the coffee anyway.

you walk. the park is quiet, just the sound of your footsteps on damp pavement, the occasional rustling of bare branches in the wind.

"i'm sorry," lando says after a while.

you glance at him. he's looking ahead, jaw tight, like he's bracing himself. "for what?" you ask, even though you already know.

he exhales, shaking his head. "for being a dick. for not picking you up last night."

you shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. "it's whatever."

"it’s not."

"it is."

lando shifts beside you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, like he’s waiting for you to say something. so you do.

“you were a dick last night.”

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.”

“do you?”

“i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—”

you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?”

he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.”

it’s honest. too honest. you wrap your hands tighter around your coffee, letting the heat seep into your palms.

“and did i?”

lando exhales, breath curling in the air. “no.”

there’s something about the way he says it, something raw and unguarded, that makes you press your lips together, eyes flicking away. because what the fuck does that even mean? he thought you’d make him feel better? is that all you are? some sort of safety net? some kind of comfort object? a childhood relic he pulls off the shelf whenever it’s convenient? you almost say something about it. almost. but then—

“josie would be a better conversationalist.” you say instead, because it’s easier. because it’s safer.

lando’s quiet for a beat, then, “why do you always do that?” he gestures semi-wildly at you, hands flailing slightly, drops of coffee spilling from his takeaway cup onto the gravel, seeping into the stone.

you frown. “do what?”

“deflect,” he says simply. “i asked you to meet me. you.”

that throws you off more than it should. you take another sip of your coffee to buy yourself time. “… she’s fine, you know.” you say after a moment. “busy. writing. she has a novel coming out in the summer, apparently it’s really good.”

lando nods, like he already knew that. maybe he did. maybe he still keeps tabs on her, in whatever distant, half-removed way he allows himself.  “and you?”

and you?

you hate that it feels like a loaded question.

because the thing is, josie is a better conversationalist. she always has been. she’s whip-smart and well-read and funny in a way that makes people want to listen. she has always known what to say, how to say it, when to say it. she’s the kind of person people orbit.

you don’t resent her for that. not really.

but when you were kids, when it was always lando and josie running ahead, and you— three years younger, three years too late, still catching up— when you were left behind more times than you can count, it had been impossible not to feel like you were somehow less than. not because of anything she did. your sister never made you feel small on purpose. she was always kind, always patient in the way that older sisters are, looping an arm around your shoulder, ruffling your hair, letting you tag along when she could. but you were the little sister.

not the best friend. never the best friend.

and lando— he had been different with you. not in a bad way, just in a way that had always made it so fucking clear where you stood.

because even if he talked to josie about everything— about school and friends and whatever cool thing they were obsessed with at the time— when it came to cars, to machinery, to racing, he had always turned to you. always sought you out. and maybe it was pathetic, but you’d lived for those moments, for the times he looked at you like you were worth paying attention to.

so maybe you aren’t jealous of josie. but there’s still something ugly curling in your chest, something that’s been there since you were six years old, always struggling to keep up. you swallow, push the feeling down.

lando is watching you now, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. like he’s waiting. "and you?" he repeats, like he actually gives a shit, like your answer is worth hearing. maybe he does. maybe it is.

you swallow. shift in your seat. “oxford’s good,” you say, finally. “stressful. but good.”

lando hums, not looking convinced. “you like it?”

you hesitate. “yeah.”

"liar."

you scowl, shoving him lightly. he laughs, a quiet huff of air, shaking his head.

"no, really," he says, more serious now. "i just—I dunno. i feel like you always wanted to be doing things, not just reading about them. i guess i just figured you'd be in a garage somewhere, fixing things, not stuck in a classroom."

you let out a dry laugh, more so a huff than anything else. "i'm getting the best of both worlds, aren't i?" you say. "i’m at oxford, and i’m at mclaren. probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, if i’m honest.”

lando tilts his head, studying you. “you know, i always figured you’d end up there one way or another.”

that surprises you, eyes widening slightly, focusing then on your cup of coffee, not letting him see that you had a reaction to that. “figured?”

lando shrugs, like it’s obvious. "you were always gonna go, weren’t you? you were always brilliant, kit-kat."

there’s something about the way he says it that makes you pause. something that makes your chest tighten.

because, yeah. you were always gonna go. you were the little girl who thought she knew everything, who thought she was built for something bigger, smarter, greater. and now—

now you think about the days spent staring at coursework until your vision blurred, about the moments in the mclaren garage where you felt like an imposter, about the creeping, awful realization that maybe you were never as brilliant as you thought. maybe you’re just ordinary. maybe you’ve just always been good at faking it.

just another small fish in an impossibly large pond. swimming, sinking, drowning.

lando watches you carefully, like he can see the thoughts flickering across your face, and maybe he can. maybe he’s always been able to. “when are you gonna fix my car for me?” he asks suddenly, motioning for you both to sit on a nearby bench.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “fix it yourself.” you follow him, sitting down, making sure to keep a respectable distance.

“we made a deal when we were kids,” he reminds you, all mock-serious. “you were six, had that stupidly big toolkit, told me you were gonna be just like your dad. and i told you i was gonna be a driver.”

“and now you are,” you say, quiet.

his smile falters slightly, just for a second. then he shrugs, like shaking something off: “and now you’re gonna be an engineer. my engineer, by the way. don’t get any ideas about other teams poaching you.”

you don’t reply. neither of you acknowledge the soft blush blooming on your cheeks, though. perhaps it's just the cold. perhaps it's for the better you don't.

but still, it’s easy. sitting here, like this, eating croissants in the cold, talking about nothing and everything.

you forget, sometimes, that it can be like this. that you don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.

but then his phone buzzes. you glance over as he checks it, sees whatever’s on the screen, sighs. "what?"

"uh, my management team, actually," he says. "season starts in a little over a month. lots to do before that."

you nod, swallowing down the disappointment before it can settle. "right."

he looks up at you, something unreadable in his expression. "i’ll keep in touch."

you don’t say anything. not because you don’t believe him, but because you do. because you know he’ll try. he always tries. he’s not a bad friend, not intentionally. he’ll text when he remembers, when the world slows down just enough for him to think of home, of the people he leaves behind in it. and when he does, you’ll reply. you always reply. even when weeks pass, then months. even when the messages become sporadic, spaced further and further apart, when they turn into half-hearted apologies and late-night voice notes, you will still reply.

it’s pathetic. you are pathetic. you tell yourself you won’t fall for it again, won’t let yourself be swept up in the inevitable cycle of lando comes back, lando leaves, lando comes back, lando leaves— but you know better than anyone that you are a fucking liar.

you finish the last of your coffee, let the heat sear against your tongue, grounding yourself in the bitterness of it. he does the same, crumpling his cup in one hand before shoving it into his pocket, stretching his arms over his head in that loose, easy way of his. and then he shifts on his feet, rocking slightly, like he doesn’t quite know how to end this, like there is something else left to be said but neither of you know what.

"i should—"

“yeah,” you cut in, too quickly. too eager to get this over with before you do something impulsive. “yeah, me too.”

there’s a beat of hesitation. and then he moves, stepping into your space, and for one stupid, ridiculous, impossible second, you think—

but no. he doesn’t kiss you. he hugs you. it’s quick, fleeting, the kind of embrace that shouldn’t mean anything at all, except it does. his arms curl around you, solid and certain, his chest against yours for just long enough that your breath catches. long enough that your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket before you can stop yourself. long enough to make something in your chest ache.

and then he pulls away. smiles like nothing happened.

"see you around," he says, easy, casual. and then he’s gone.

THEN, 2014.

it starts with the laptop.

the one you and josie share, the one with the crack on the hinge and the spacebar that sticks when you press too hard. the one where she writes all her stories— half-finished, scattered across folders named new draft and new draft (2) and new draft (REAL ONE) because she never thinks anything is good enough. the one she guards with her life.

it isn’t your fault. not really. you just wanted to download a simulation— a mechanical software, a model of a car’s engine, something you read about in autosport and f1 racing, something you thought would be so freakin' cool. you should have been more careful. should have checked the source. should have seen the warning signs, but then the screen freezes, glitches, and the entire system crashes before you can stop it.

you try everything—restarting, booting in safe mode, pressing every key in frantic succession—but it’s too late. everything is gone.

including all of josie’s drafts. she doesn’t talk to you for a week.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

lando is home. sometimes. in flashes, in bursts, in stolen days between races, between tests, between whatever it is he has to do now that he’s growing more and more distant, quicker than you can keep up with. always on the move, always somewhere else. but sometimes he finds the time. when he does, he’s with josie.

you try not to let it sting. really, you don’t even know why it stings.

(it’s whatever, you’ve come to realize. your mum laughs and says it’s your new catchphrase. whatever. whatever! josie can hog up all his attention, for all you care.)

josie’s been mad before, but this time it’s bad. she won’t look at you, won’t say your name, won’t even respond when you tell her you’re sorry. you are sorry. but she doesn’t care.

and then lando shows up in a chauffeured car, leaning out the window with a lazy grin, calling josie’s name. “c’mon!” he says. “we’re going to the lake.”

there’s always an open invitation for you. always a space next to him, a do you wanna come? thrown in your direction. but josie is still mad, and when you turn to her, hesitant, she gives you the look.

“can i come?” you ask, anyway.

josie crosses her arms. “no.” it’s the way she says it. sharp. final. like she’s making sure you know you aren’t wanted.

“come on,” he says, lightly, like he’s trying to diffuse the tension. “don’t be mean.”

josie crosses her arms. “i’m not being mean, lan.” she doesn’t look at you when she says, “i just don’t want her to come. not today.”

lando had looked at you again, uncertain. but josie was already getting in the car, and he always follows josie. so he does.

you watch them go. and then you grab your bike.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe it’s the anger, all hot and stinging at the back of your throat. maybe it’s the way your hands shake, fingers tightening around the handlebars, pushing harder, faster. maybe it’s the way the car gets smaller and smaller, like you’re losing something, like something is slipping away from you before you even have the chance to hold onto it.

the wind is sharp against your face. your breath comes fast, too fast, and your legs burn with the effort, but you don’t stop.

not until the back tire wobbles. not until the bike tips. not until the ground is rushing up to meet you and you don’t have time to catch yourself.

the impact is instant.

pain spikes up your arm, all white-hot and blinding. water rushes over you, soaking through your clothes, seeping into your skin. the ditch is deeper than you thought. not enough to drown you, but enough that when you try to push yourself up, something sharp and wrong jolts through your wrist, and you can’t breathe, and you can’t move, and—

you think— no, you know— it’s josie.

the sound of her voice cuts through the haze, high and frantic, breaking against the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears. you can’t see her at first, only hear the way she stumbles over her own feet, the way she skids down the slope, half-falling, half-running. and then she’s there, crashing to her knees beside the ditch, hair coming loose from her braid, eyes wide and terrified.

“oh my god,” she gasps, breathless, voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. “oh my god, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry— i didn’t mean to— i—” she whips around, looking up, and then she’s yelling. “lando! get down here and help me!”

you want to tell her you’re fine. you want to tell her it’s okay, even though it’s not, even though your right arm is bent at a weird angle and your left ankle pulses in sharp, jagged bursts of pain. but your throat feels tight, squeezed shut by panic, and the words won’t come out.

there’s movement above you, fast and urgent. another voice, sharper— lando.

the world tilts. the water is cold, seeping through your clothes, clinging to your skin, but your head feels hot, dizzy. you blink hard, trying to focus, but everything is too much. too bright. too loud. the pain makes your breath hitch, coming out in shallow, uneven gasps.

and then—hands. steady. careful. a solid weight beneath you, lifting you up, pulling you out.

you look up. he calls your name. your vision swims. you don’t know if it’s from the pain or something else entirely.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the hospital is white. sterile. too bright.

they say your arm is broken, your ankle twisted. one week of bedrest for the leg, and three weeks with the arm cast. nothing serious, but serious enough. the doctor smiles at you like that makes it better, like knowing the exact number of days you'll be stuck in a cast will ease the discomfort, the frustration, the humiliation of it all.

josie stays by your side that first night. she doesn’t say much—she doesn’t need to. she just sits there, curled into the old, soft lightning mcqueen-themed sleeping bag on the floor beside your bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes trained on you even when you pretend not to notice. you tell her you’re fine, that she doesn’t have to stay, but she just shakes her head, brushing you off like it’s ridiculous to even suggest it.

a day passes, and then another. then lando is in your room, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, even worse than falling into a ditch— and that's how you got into this mess in the first place!

you’re in your pajamas, the ones with the stretched-out collar and the dumb little cartoon gears and cogs that felt soooo cool when your da got them for you last christmas but now feel like the most childish, humiliating thing ever. you think about changing, but your arm is stuck in a cast, and your ankle’s in a boot, and lando is already here, standing awkwardly at your door like you’re the one intruding.

“kit-kat,” he says, tilting his head at you, like he can sense the mortification rolling off you in waves. he grins. “you always go to bed looking like that?”

you grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him.

he dodges, laughing, and then, because he’s so unbelievably annoying, he drops into your desk chair, spinning once before settling, all casual, like he doesn’t have better places to be. “i’ll take that as a thank you, lando, you’re so thoughtful.”

“shut up.” you cross your arms, sinking further under the covers. “what do you want?”

he scoffs. “you wound me.” but then he lifts the stack of magazines in his hands and plops them onto your bed. thick, glossy issues of f1 racing and racecar engineering and even a few autosport weeklys, their covers gleaming with high-speed shots of cars mid-corner, of engine cutaways and pit stop breakdowns. you skim lazily through the pages. “brought you these. figured you were losing brain cells just lying here doing nothing. you must be bored out of your mind.”

but then you catch sight of something— a technical deep dive into the new 2014 power unit regulations— and all at once, the irritation is gone.

“holy shit,” you say, forgetting everything else as you flip through the pages. “did you know the new energy recovery system increases efficiency by like, sixty percent? the hybrid system is so much better than kers— like, the thermal efficiency alone—”

lando raises an eyebrow, amused. “you really need to get out more.”

you ignore him. “and the turbo— look at this thing, it’s insane—” you tap the diagram of the split turbocharger, excitement spilling into your voice before you can stop it. “they moved the compressor away from the turbine to reduce turbo lag, and it’s so smart because now they can use a smaller intercooler and—”

lando leans back, watching you with that stupid grin. “you sound like a mechanic.”

you scoff. “i am a mechanic. or, i will be. one day.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease. just shrugs, like it’s obvious. “yeah. you will.”

you hesitate.

because lando, with his races and his big ambitions and his already being on the path— he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. your face feels hot. you look back at the magazine, trying to focus, but your brain won’t stop buzzing.

lando kicks his feet up on the edge of your bed. “so, what’s the verdict?”

you clear your throat, using your free, not-injured leg to push hit feet off the bed. “it’s… cool,” you say, because you refuse to let him know just how much you appreciate it.

but lando just rolls his eyes, grinning. “you’re welcome, kit-kat.”

your stomach flips. you hate him. you hate him so, so much.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

lando doesn’t stay.

he has to leave again—more races, more training, more things pulling him away, just as they always do. he says he’ll keep in touch, promises, even, and maybe he really means it, but you know better. you know how this goes. he’s always going. always leaving. always slipping through your fingers like water, something impossible to hold onto no matter how tightly you try. in and out, in and out, like the tide, like clockwork, like something you should be used to by now.

but the entire summer, every week, without fail, a fresh stack of racing magazines appears at the door.

(you know your da doesn’t order them.)

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[thomaslittlegirl]

can you maybe do drunk Tommy? Like i read a fanfic about how he forgot the ready was his wife and was like "im sorry but im married" 😭 its soo hilarious to think how funny he can be when he's drunk

But i keep remembering how he's in the show, i forgot what episode but he was drinking infront of mosley and mosley was like advising him to stop drinking or cut it and it results to him drinking more in his and Lizzie bedroom (i think) and he was just like vulnerable in front of Lizzie

Its so sad to see him like that but it warm my heart at how he trusts Lizzie enough to be like that

i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🩷

drunk. thomas shelby

warnings; none. just sweet thomas.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the brush glides gently through your hair. you look at yourself in the mirror of the beautiful dressing table your husband made built for you.

enjoying the silence, the peace.

when you finish combing your hair, you spray a little perfume on the sides of your neck and let out a sigh, ready to go to bed when you felt a knock on your bedroom door.

your brow furrows and you notice in the reflection how the door opens, revealing thomas entering the room while staggering on his own feet. the man walks until he is in front of you and kneels, resting his head on your lap.

"drunk again?" you question, and more than a question it is a harsh statement that you disguise.

shelby settles between your legs and nods, slowly. "im sorry."

you want to scold him, yell at him for behaving that way and ignore your advice. you only want the best for him, but it seems like he has a hard time realizing that.

"what did i told you about getting home wasted?" you remind him.

"i know... im sorry, princess."

you sigh. your hands go to his head and you begin to gently caress his hair, strands twining with your long fingers.

thomas buries his head further into your lap, moaning in satisfaction when you scratch his scalp.

he melts in your hands, in your touch.

a goofy smile adorns his face and warms your heart. you weren't used to seeing him so... calm, so devoted to you.

"i don't want you to drink so much." you begin, trying not to lecture him. your voice comes out soft, in a whisper so as not to break the peaceful atmosphere. "i worry about you."

"i try, i really do. i want to be the best husband for you."

you smile, your hand now caressing the back of his neck. "and you are. you're good."

thomas gives a nasal chuckle, hugging you around the waist as he lets himself be carried away by your pampering. "just for you... good boy for my princess."

you feel the affection in his voice, in his words; you feel him so vulnerable that you just want to fill him with your love until you fall apart.

"my good boy." you flatter.

thomas can't figure out if it's all the whiskey he ingested taking effect or your sweet caresses, but suddenly he feels sleepy.

the man rubs his cheek on your thigh and places a small kiss there.

you notice his tiredness, his slower and clumsier movements. "let's go to bed, baby." you help him stand up and shelby steals a kiss from you when he is almost at your height, bending his head a little to brush his lips with yours. he lets himself be guided to bed and doesn't bother to change into night clothes.

thomas sinks into the mattress and looks for your figure to rest his body on top of you. his arms wrap loosely around you while his head goes to your chest.

sweet hands caress him again and lull him to sleep. he doesn't remember feeling this safe and loved in his life.

"good night." you murmur, placing a kiss on the top of his head. thomas smiles, relaxing even more against you.

"night, mommy." he utters, his large hand resting on your barely swollen abdomen.

[impish-baby]

A few glimpses into 'both arms cradle you now' reader's childhood in no particular order

"Why do birds suddenly appear evertime you are near.." The wet tears running down your cheeks are gently brushed away, whatever nightmare plaguing your sleep seems so far away now that your dad is here. "Just like me, they long to be close to you.." Damien hoists you into his arms, still humming that familiar lullaby as he carries you to the kitchen.

"Why do stars fall from the sky every time you walk by.." You're set on top of the counter, Damien ruffling your hair softly before walking over to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. "Just like me.. they long to be.. close to you.." The warm glow of the stove makes the quiet night more cozy, the shadows along the walls retreating as well as any lingering fear.

You can feel you eyes start to droop, a small yawn leaving your lips making the man chuckle fondly. "One sec, ok? Daddy has some angel milk for you so you don't have anymore bad dreams, then we'll get you tucked back into bed."

-

"Do you want to hold him, sweetie?" Not really, but a nudge to your shoulder has you taking a reluctant step forward anyway. You're not sure how to feel about him, he's your dad's but not your mom's.

Mary scoots over a little so you can climb up on the hospital bed next to her, a tired but kind smile on her face. "Here, it's ok, you just need to make sure you're supporting his head.." She helps guide your arms into the right position, placing the tiny buddle into them, a pair of equally tiny disgruntled blue eyes soon staring up at you.

When you were first told that your stepmom was pregnant, you tried really really hard to just be happy for them. You promise. The sinking dread never went away though, no matter how much you berated yourself for feeling that way.

Babies are a blessing, but the announcement only cemented the fact that the world as you knew it was ending. Your dad isn't just your dad anymore. Even then, he hasn't acted like one to you in a while. Maybe you were just denying the inevitable.

"Ohh, I think he likes you.." Mary's head rests on your shoulder suddenly, distracting you from your sullen thoughts. "See? You're a natural with little ones!"

"He's glaring at me.."

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she sits up. "No, he's just getting used to the world, darling. He loves you, he knows he has the best older sibling he could ask for."

-

"What's even the point?" You're both supposed to be sleeping even though it isn't a school night, Aunt Lisa is strict when it comes to things like that. What she doesn't know won't hurt her though.

"Because they look cool," Avery shrugs, carful of the fact you're currently snuggled under one of his arms. "And you get bragging points for catching them." You still don't get it, they're the same thing just a different color. "You've watched me play for like an hour, and now you're bored?"

"You were actually doing stuff before.." You huff, "You've been going around in a circle for fifteen minutes."

You scoff at his comment, now filled with spite to actually beat the game. You've barely moved an inch before the battle music plays, a black and purple pumpkaboo greeting you. "Oh, um..

"I

Well, excuse me," Avery sniffs playfully, "You play since I'm not entertaining enough." The console is handed over to you, the older boy simply holding you closer. "I bet you lose the first match you try."

"Huh?" Avery sighs, quickly pouting when he looks back at the screen. "Seriously? Damm, you're lucky." He pokes your cheek, "You catch it for me and I'll buy you some fries tomorrow."

-

"You're so annoying!"

With how hard you hit the ground, you know you're going to bruise. You weren't even talking, you just wanted to hang out with them.

"Seriously, who even wanted you to come over? I sure didn't!" No matter what you do, Lizzie doesn't like you. Doesn't matter if you're as friendly as can be or give her some space, you're always doing something wrong. "You're wasting good air, you know?"

"M' sorry, didn't mean to bother you." You won't cry, you're too old for that. "Liz-"

"You didn't mean to? Yeah, right!" Lizzie scoffs, kicking dirt into your face. Dust immediately stings your eyes. "You're a pest! No wonder everyone calls you bug, you're clingy like a tick, a parasite."

Your feeble attempt to rub the dirt away isn't really helping, you can barely hold your eyes open enough to look up at her. Miles isn't going to do anything to help either, silently supporting his sister.

"No wonder your dad left you! And your mom, she must be insufferable if you're her kid-"

You don't know when you managed to get up on your feet or when you grabbed a handful of Lizzie's hair. On the bright side, it makes her shut up.

"Hey!"

Your dad emerges from the house, miles trailing behind him. Of course.

"What has gotten into you?" You've let the older girl go at this point, she wasn't even crying until he came outside.

"Ow, dad.." Lizzie hides behind Damien, flashing you a smirk. "I wasn't even doing anything and they decided to be mean.."

Any inking of doubt you had evaporates in an instant. You don't have a dad anymore, you haven't in years.

"God.." He crosses his arms, the stern look would have made you wince if you weren't already shaking. "Don't even try to give me any excuses, Miles told me what happened. You can wait out here for your mom to pick you up since you can't behave yourself. I thought you knew better."

-

"Can you at least try to eat half, please?"

Your plate sits almost entirely untouched, having just been picked at over the course of dinner. Your mom's worried frown won't leave her face. "You're still a growing kid, I don't like how many meals you've tried to skip."

"I'm not hungry." You really aren't, there's always a nauseous feeling in your gut these days. "I'll eat a snack later, don't worry, mom."

"Baby.." She pinches the bridge of her nose and you feel a pang of guilt for how stressed she must be. "Please? For mommy? Or at least talk to me about what's going on.. i- it hurts seeing you so sad all the time."

What are you supposed to say to that?

Against your will, there's tears starting to drip down your cheeks. You don't think you've ever seen the women move so fast, her chair clattering to the floor in her rush to go to your side. "Oh, my baby.."

"I- I'm sorry.." For what you don't know, maybe the fact that she's stuck with you. "I- I'm so sorry, mom-"

"Oh, hush.." You're too big for her to carry, you both know, but she still scoops you into her arms. "There's nothing in the world you need to apologize to me for."

You sniffle, tucking your head under her chin. "I- I don't want to see dad anymore.. or.. or hear about him or-"

"Shhh.." She runs a hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you, "you don't have to, alright? We'll figure it out. If that's what you want, you won't ever have to see him again."

(a/n: some ramblings while I start writing the second part to the series..reader will continue to go through it)

[jayyluvvies]

Synopsis- he promised you he'd spend the weekend with you so why did you wake up to him screaming and playing on his pc?

Warning- .SMUT MDI. tittie flashing lol, blow job, deep throating, riding, teasing, name calling (slut), slight nipple play lmk if there's more

Lizzies note^ first time nervous kinda posting. (Please laugh) OML THIS IS HAPPENINGGG PLEASE LMK YOUR THOUGHTS AND HOW I CAN IMPROVE 😔🎀

Taglist- @skyearby 🎀

He *promised* you, saying he'd spend the weekend with *you* so why on earth is he sitting in his gaming chair headphones on, hands going insane on the keyboard, man is locked in.

You sigh as you wake up groaning to his yelling in his mic. He notices and quickly apologises nit ven bothering to look at you "sorry i woke you up love" You rolled your eyes and got up fixing your shorts and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Once you're back you still see him playing thinking *okay maybe just till i finish breakfast? Then he'll be done*

And you headed to make breakfast. But no. Hours passed and he wasn't budging so you took matters to your own hands putting on a pair of pretty panties and *his hoodie* which reached above you're thighs but definitely showed the bottom of your ass peaking below

Plan 1: seduce

You walked in and he barely glanced at you and said "hi love" You rolled your eyes when he didnt even look at you *hi love my ass* you thought and made your way towards him and pretended to reach over for something across his desk making sure your ass is visible even shaking it a bit, you looked back smiling thinking he notices but to your disappointment he hadn't even bat an eye

*tsk* you sigh as you get off and initiate plan two; Tease

You smirk and got on your knees right in front of him and he spread his legs immediately while still playing, you put your hair up in a ponytail and start bending to clean under his chair making his jaw drop but still playing as the round seemed more important as he yelled at jay to cover him, you smirked and got up walking behind smirking and massaged his shoulders he groaned and kissed your hand and kept playing

Plan 3: show.

You lifted your (his) hoodie and took it off opting yo stay bra less and continued massaging and that's when he lost it and immediately got off shoving his headphones off and turning his chair around pushing you on your knees "tsk tsk such a needy slut, cant go a few hours without my cock huh?"

You pouted "you promised you'd spend the weekend with me" you added meekly wiggling your tits a little to rile him up just a bit more. He clenched his jaw and took out his dick hands going up and down on it playing with himself and when you opened your mouth to help he gently swatted you away "ah-ah you sit there and watch. Thats your punishment" you pouted and looked at him with teary needy eyes to which he just shook his head and shoved his dick down your throat "take it." He used your head and smirked seeing you moan around his dick. You bobbed your head up and down feeling hom get close by hos slight whimpering and his strong hold in your head, with a final groan he cums all over in your mouth tilling his eyes throwing his head back "f-fuck baby...that was-oh fuck" he grabs your face smashing his lips on yours and you get ok his lap getting rid of your panties throwing them somewhere random and he immediately helps you slide down on his dick breaking the kiss as his hands slide down to your waist gently massaging to calm you down as you were clenching too much "o-owh hee s-too much! Fuck!" You whine "i know baby but you gotta stop clenching mh? Cmon be a good girl and relax.. there we go good girl- fuck- yeah ride me baby show me who this dick belongs to" you immediately nod and held his shoulders for support and start bouncing up and down moaning and whining "oh fuck hee!" Heeseung smirks slapping your ass as his eyes roll to the back of his head seeing your tits bounce in his face grabbing one of them and pinches your nipple making you squel and clench around him he smirks and continues his assault and you feel your high coming "hee! Im gonna-fuck gonna cum!" He groans and nods feeling his high near as well "me too baby wait a little more lets cum together"

You nod excitedly and bounce faster and it comes crashing down on both of you shuddering and panting as he cums inside you and you whine and cum all over his lap making a mess and just stay in his lap to catch your breath while he dres random shapes on your bare back and kissed the top of your head "love you baby" you hummed and snuggled into him too tired to respond and he just chuckled running his hands through your damo sweaty hair as he carried you to the bathroom "lets take a shower love"

[dixons-sunshine]

Sweetest | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wounded and benched from runs for the week, Daryl was asked to watch the kids in the prison while you and some of the others worked on repairing a breach in one of the fences. One of the kids asked Daryl how he met you, his wife, and it made for a rather sweet tale.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.6k.

A/n: This turned out worse than I hoped, better than I expected. I don't really know how to explain it, but I hope you like this! (Thank you @ddamm and @dixondystopia for giving me your favourite moments from the entire series to add to this! They were pretty much the same, so great minds truly do think alike, as they say.)

“Mr Dixon?”

At the sound of his name being called, Daryl looked up from his baby girl and locked eyes with a little girl—Mika, he believed her name was—who was staring at him with a big smile. “Yeah?” he replied, slightly bouncing his knee when Hazel began fussing a little.

Mika giggled slightly, sharing a look with her sister, Lizzie, before turning back to the archer. “Mrs Dixon is your wife, right?” she inquired, bouncing slightly on her feet.

Daryl's lips involuntarily twitched up at the mere mention of you. He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah? Why do ya ask?”

“Well, my dad likes to talk about how he met my mom. Mr Greene has told us how he met his last wife a million times. We wanna know how you met Mrs Dixon!”

Almost as if for added emphasis, the other children all perked up and voiced their interest in knowing the tale of how Daryl met you, his beautiful wife. The archer, both amused by the children's nosiness and embarrassed by the metaphorical spotlight he was placed under, let out a small scoff and adjusted Hazel in his arms, allowing the small girl to happily toy with his fingers. “It ain't some big love story or nothin'. It'll only bore ya.”

“No, it won't,” Carl added from his position atop one of the tables. The teenager had been sulking because Rick had forbade him from helping fix the breach in the fence—where several walkers had managed to crawl through—but the chance of getting to know some insight to one of the most talked about couples in the prison brightened his mood somewhat. You and Daryl were the only couple that dated back before the outbreak, and everyone was eager to know how the two of you got together, and how you managed to keep that spark alive. “We wanna know. Come on, Daryl. Please.”

Daryl let out a small groan and rolled his eyes at the young Grimes' insistence. “Why dun' y'all go pester Glenn or somebody? M'sure he'd be more than happy to tell y'all 'bout how he met Maggie.”

“But he's told us that story a zillion times already,” one of the kids groaned. “We wanna hear your story. Please, Mr Dixon.”

Daryl let out a deep sigh. From somewhere behind him, he could hear Carol chuckle, closely followed by the chuckles of a few of the adults that were taking a break from their chores around the prison. Daryl shook his head and pursed his lips. “Y'all really wanna hear?” Almost instantly, all of the kids perked up and simultaneously voiced their clear interest, trying to talk over the other. Daryl raised his eyebrows and let out a small chuckle. “Woah, calm down. I ain't sayin' nothin' 'til y'all quiet down.” And just like that, it got so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. “Y/n and I go back many years, long 'fore all'a y'all kids were born. We're closin' in on three decades'a knowin' one another.”

“Thirty years?” Carl voiced in a disbelieving tone. “That's basically forever!”

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “Guess ya can say tha', yeah.” Daryl shushed Hazel when she began fussing a bit, lightly tickling her stomach to coax a laugh from her. “We met when we were twelve, 'side this river in the woods outside the trailer park we lived in. I admit, I didn't know wha' to think'a her at first. Refused to talk to her fer a whole month, but she never gave up. She kept pesterin' me 'til one day, somethin' happened and I broke my quiet facade. Tha's when we started becomin' friends.” Daryl stopped and tried to hide the smile that spread across his face, but to no avail. “She, uh... She quickly became my best friend after tha'.”

“When did you start love-liking her?” one of the kids asked with a giggle, closely followed by the mischievous laughter of the other kids.

Daryl hummed and shrugged. “After she did somethin' fer my sixteenth birthday. I liked her fer a while 'fore tha', but tha' occasion was my wake-up call. My feelin's fer her slapped me righ' in the face tha' day.” He stopped and let out a small sigh before continuing. “I didn't have the balls to confess to her fer 'nother year after tha'. And when I did confess, it was righ' after we went and bought pa—” Daryl cut himself off, painfully aware of the immature teenage boys that would freak out over the mere mention of pads. Because of that, he altered the truth a little. “...Pasta fer dinner tha' nigh'. Things escalated and we kissed, and then her mom walked in.”

“No,” Beth gasped, slightly tightening her grip on Judith as she thought of the embarrassing scenario.

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “It was embarrassin' as shi—crap, tha's fer sure, but we lived. Her mom was nice 'bout it all. Definitely didn't mean we could escape her teasin', though.” He pursed his lips as he thought of that moment, the embarrassment still fresh in his mind, even all those years later. “Her teasin' got even worse when Y/n and I eloped. She was kinda upset 'bout it, but she soon went straight back to teasin' us fer not bein' able to wait to have a proper weddin'.”

By that point, unbeknownst to the archer, the group that had been working on fixing the fence—a group that included you—had silently stepped into the part of the prison everyone was in to alert the kids to the fact that they could go play. However, once they heard what the crossbow-wielding man was talking about, they stopped and remained quiet, eager to hear about it all. And you stayed quiet as well, quite shocked that your husband was willingly telling stories about his past with you. He preferred to keep that part of his life private, but there he was, happily talking away. It made your heart swell with love and affection for the man.

“The two of you stayed together for all those years?” Zach—Beth's boyfriend—asked, leaning against the wall. When Daryl nodded, he continued. “How?”

Daryl shrugged and adjusted his daughter in his arms again, feeling her head begin to droop as she was beginning to fall asleep. “I love 'er. And fer some reason I still don't understand 'til this day, she loves me. Ain't tha' hard to stay committed to the person ya love the most. Relationships ain't always all sunshines and rainbows, but when yer with the person ya love, s'all worth it. Y/n taught me tha'. She's the sweetest person ever. I dun' know wha' I did to deserve her, but I thank my lucky stars every day tha' I get to call her mine.”

It went silent after that. The only sound that could be heard was the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the fences. That is, until Rick spoke up from behind the huntsman, startling him and alerting him to the fact that essentially everyone had heard him practically rave about you.

“Well said, brother. Well said,” Rick complimented him, a faint, teasing smile on his face. He turned towards the younger ones in the group and gestured towards the door. “Y'all can go play now. Just stay away from the fences.” And just like that, all the kids—except Carl—had forgotten their need to hear about Daryl's love story with you. They all excitedly darted out the door, their laughter fading as they disappeared out the doors.

Michonne smirked, playfully hitting you on the back. “Y/n, you never told me you found such a keeper. And you found him early on, too. You're so lucky.”

“Yeah, she is,” Carol chipped in, a teasing smile on her face as well. “Did I ever tell you about this one guy in our old camp that insulted her and Daryl instantly put him on his ass? He did accidentally reveal her pregnancy while doing so, but that's besides the point.”

“Was it Shane?” Rick asked, sighing when Carol nodded. “Yeah, of course it was,” he mumbled while he shook his head.

“Not to mention how he nearly killed Jenner because he wouldn't let us out—well, wouldn't let them out. He didn't care much for us back then. We all know he only wanted the doors open so that Y/n was safe,” Glenn piped in.

“Aw,” Michonne cooed teasingly. “That is so sweet, Daryl. You're just a big teddy bear.”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment as the others joined in on the teasing as well. He could feel his cheeks flush, and he would've gotten up and bolted from the embarrassing situation, had it not been for the fact that Hazel had just fallen asleep, and he didn't want to wake her.

The feeling of your hand being rested on his shoulder almost instantly made him calm down, your familiar touch bringing a sense of comfort to him. The rest of the group were to busy relaying their favourite moments they had seen between the two of you to notice this interaction, and the archer was glad about that. He was also glad that they couldn't hear what you whispered in his ear, because although Daryl Dixon wasn't a selfish man, the others didn't have to hear these words you clearly meant just for him:

“I'm proud of you. You climbed out of your shell today and did something I know you don't always enjoy doing. You're amazing, Daryl Dixon, and I love you so much.” You placed a soft, tender kiss on his cheek. “You really are the sweetest person ever.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[volimtem]

Lucky.

pairing: nika mühl x fem!reader

ib anon / ask : a girl with headaches 24/7, could you do a teammate!reader x nika fic where r has a migraines but they have an event where they have to show up to? they manage to get out a bit early and nika just takes care of her

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟmusic reqs: wondering why by the red clay strays (country) or spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ

drea speaks! — 1) for some reason I was getting 28 by Zach Bryan vibes, if anyone listens to country. 2) this is my first rec, i like to add context + give a story soo it’s not too straight to the point ☻

wc: 1.3k

LUCKY.

The fluorescent lights intensified the aches in your head.

“She’s going to chronically live with these migraines.” You heard the doctor tell your mom.

You were 8, you wish you had tuned that out like with most things. There was a comfort in the knowing, but it was also just a nagging reminder on how it’ll be never-ending.

— the present day —

“Ugh.” You groaned, Nika pulling you tighter into her embrace. She showered kisses along your shoulder, prying you awake. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice low and scratchy.

“My head hurts.”

Nika frowned, knowing how it was an inevitable mood changer for you, it set the rest of your day on a negative note.

“Do you still want to go to the ESPYs?” Her hands caressing your cheek.

“I mean we have to, don’t we?” Sass laced in the rhetorical question.

“I guess you’re right.” She sighed. “Anything I can do to help?” she perked, in hopes to better you in anyway possible. You knew of the lengths the brunette would go for you, it was no surprise.

You shifted onto your side to face the girl, giving her a warm smile. “No, but thank you. Y’know how lucky I am to have you? I love you so much.” You praised her.

“Hm. I think I forgot, a reminder would be nice.” She feigned her incompetence.

You rolled your eyes, but still fed into the girls silliness, “Well, I am the luckiest girl. The girlfriend to the Nika Mühl. Any girl would want to be in my position right now.”

“They would, wouldn’t they?” The Croatian added on, her ego amplifying with each compliment.

She laughed this off and squeezed you, imprinting chaste kisses all over your skin, trying not to be too rough since any movement could agitate your migraine.

While freshening up, Nika came to your shared bathroom to give you your pills and water.

She was sooo clingy today, maybe you should’ve faked the migraine episode.

Who was to complain? It was adorable.

She followed you everywhere; like a puppy on a string.

She wrapped her arms around your waist and watched you closely, seeing you attempt to do your makeup.

Your aches were making it the hardest thing to do at the moment.

Nika took notice in your frustration and grabbed the makeup brush from your hand, “Here. Turn around.” She told you.

“What?” You questioned her antics, confusion etched into your furrowed eyebrows.

“Turn around. I’ll do your makeup for you baby.”

She explained in a more soft voice.

“But-“, you tried to counter.

“No buts,” she interrupted. “You’re acting if I haven’t seen you do your makeup a thousand times, let me do this for you.”

You sighed, and complied with a confirming nod.

The point guard smiled and mouthed a ‘Thank you’.

As she did your makeup routine, you recieved endless compliments from your girlfriend.

“You’re so beautiful baby”, “Your lips look so kissable baby, let me kiss you”, “Your lashes are perfect.”, “How’d I get the prettiest girl in the world?”

“Stop.” you would reply. You didn’t want her to.

You weren’t one to accept compliments, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like how the affirming words fell from your lover’s lips.

She sealed the makeup routine with a soft kiss. And setting spray, of course.

The fragrant smell made your migraine symptoms even more sensitive, all your senses heightened, but you decided to keep a tough facade for the Croatian, along with your team, and coach, and everyone who you were representing; to be there tonight with your best smile.

— At the ESPYs —

The two of you made it to the event, Nika taking initiative in socializing for the both of you. You always admired how the girl knew when and how to step in for you.

To say the least, you were overstimulated. Your symptoms never waded and you were supposed to be giving a speech

, a small one, but a speech nonetheless— in front of hundreds of people.

“Hey, you okay?” Aaliyah asked you, noticing your faltering presence.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You sent her a weak smile, Nika shooting you a concerned look.

“Catch you later?” Nika directed to Aaliyah, in which she nodded.

“Are you okay?” Nika whispered in your ear, her hand placed on your mid back as she guided you somewhere more secluded.

You huffed. “I can’t— like I’m serious. I feel like I’m gonna pass out or something. This feels worse than my fucking period cramps.”

“Are you even feeling comfortable to do your speech?” She asked, really considering the fact to pick you up and take you home to rest. by force— which is completely valid with how stubborn you are, The Croatian really rubs off on you in that sense.

“Well, no. But I can’t let down everyone I’m representing, and those who are here supporting me.” You told the girl. You were one of the nominees for the Best Comeback- Athlete award

It was a big night.

A Big night for you both.

“Okay then. You’re doing your speech and then we’re leaving.” Nika said.

“But-“

“No buts, we’re leaving. I’m sure they can find another way to give you the award, which you will be winning. You just won’t be here for it.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

There was no point in arguing with the girl, she was gonna have her way. The thought of ditching wasn’t distasteful either.

smile lines creased your face, “you’re so annoying.”

“A ‘thank you baby for caring about me’ would’ve been nice.” The point guard rolled her eyes.

You two followed through her plan exactly.

You delivered your speech and Nika drove you two home.

Ironically, you turned on the channel that was broadcasting the ESPYs, while Nika was preparing some of her special soup from Croatia. She said it’s supposed to work wonders.

You were gonna hold her to it.

“We’re turning this off.” Nika reprimanded, already pushing the power-off button.

“How are we gonna head home for this migraine of yours, just to make it worse by watching TV?” She questioned your logic— in which she referred to as your stupidity.

“Can a girl, who’s one of the nominees mind you, not want to see who wins?”

The point guard crossed her arms. “We know who’s winning, and it’s you.”

“Now here, Open your mouth.” She instructed, taking a seat on the couch beside you, gesturing a spoonful of soup your way.

You did as your girlfriend said and let her spoon feed you.

“This is so good? I didn’t know I had a pro baller and a chef in my house.”

“Oh shut up, y’know this and eggs are the only thing I know how to make.” The girl chuckled.

“Well you’re good at it let me say that.”

“Why thank you, baby. Y’know I’d learn how to make anything for you, you’re just lucky this is one of the things I learned from my grandma.”

Before bed, she brushed your teeth for you.

She held your chin up to make sure she got in all your crevices and instructed you to open your mouth with “ah”s.

It was cute really, how much of a perfectionist she was trying to be.

When the lights were dimmed and she laid in bed, she gestured you to lay between her legs. She tenderly massaged your scalp and head as you enjoyed the silence between the two of you.

“Baby, you really know how to work your fingers. In more ways than the one I’m used to.” You slipped in the mischievous remark.

If it wasn’t for your migraine, Nika probably would’ve smacked your head upright. Instead, she laughed it off and blushed a little. “Should I be saying thank you?”

“No I should. I am so lucky to be your girlfriend Nika Mühl.”

“I love you.” She awed.

“I love you.”

Before you knew it, the feeling of her feather-like touches drowned out the aches in your head and you fell asleep in her warm embrace.

xx