#alex fell in love right here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 9 months

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in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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h4m1lt0ns · 9 months

Text

HEARTBREAK SYNDROME

episode four :: REMINDER.

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴max verstappen x ex!y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔y/n was always right.

fc – wonyoung jang (aged up to 28)

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕none, more messy behaviour.

y/n

♡ liked by lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux and 10,284,958 others.

y/n show her these 🕷

2,294,103 comments.

username fell to my fucking knees.

francisca.cgomes 😩😩😩

francisa.cgomes one chance miss y/l/n

→ y/n u get all the chances you want

username YESSSSSSS OMFG 😍

username ABS MA’AM HELLO???

champagnepapi oh.

→ username ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

→ username HELLOOO ????

username this is my religion, amen. 🙏🏻

alexanderasaintmleux not looking respectfully 😮‍💨

→ y/n they’re for ur eyes only bbg 🤭

→ charles_leclerc the grip YOU have on MY girlfriend is crazy

→ pierregasly i think we can all agree with that

username HOOOOOLYYYYYYYY

→ carmenmmundt what you said 🗣

→ username OMFGGGFIDKSKSK

username what god do i have to pray to 🧎🏽‍♀️

bellahadid pretty pretty girl 😍

username i folded like a pretzel

thv 😍😍😍

→ username WOAHHHHHHH.

→ username tae just like me fr

→ username OHMYNGOD

username ONE CHANCEEEE PLSSSSS

lakeithsteinfield wow.

→ username WHATS GOING AWNNN

→ username ain’t noooooo way.

→ username BRO.

miumiu 💐💐💐

username if i was max i’d be begging and crying for her to take me back

→ username i’d lick the ground she walks on

username MA’AM.

username I’m.

username GAGGED THE GWORLS

username max is probably screaming at his phone rn

username she’s an icon, she a legend and she is the moment 😩

username max probably wants to die

username sHOW HER THESE

→ username I KNOWWWWWW

→ username 4+4

→ username DEVOURED

→ username head spun.

username the only girl to ever.

☆ IMESSAGE with ; BOARD OF DIRECTORS.

babygirl alex: OMFGGGJDISKQW

babygirl alex: THE PHOTOS Y/N POSTED ???

y/n: omg alex stop 🤭

y/n: are we gonna kiss rn

girlfriend kika: I KNOWWWWWWW

wifey lily: MOTHERRRRRR

y/n: PLSSSS

angel carmen: we are NOT worthy.

angel carmen: LIKE

angel carmen: one chance pls 🧎🏻‍♀️

y/n: YOU GET ANYTHING U WANT

CARMEN 😍‼️

wifey lily: i might propose actually

y/n: I SAY YES 💍‼️

girlfriend kika: i audibly gasped

y/n: do i make u nervous babygirl 🤭

babygirl alex: i sat there staring at my phone for an hour

PIERRE GASLYYYY: i sometimes wonder who’s dating who

alabono: i been saying like ??

chal eclair: no bc how does y/n make them react like this 😀

princess george: i’ve never posted a photo and gotten this reaction out of carmen

my baby lando: y/n’s just that bitch

my baby lando: like she’s so iconic let’s be real

honey badger: she’s an icon, she’s a legend and she is the moment.

honey badger: she’s everything and we’re just existing in her world

honey badger: she’s mother

honey badger: she’s cunt

babygirl alex: daniel gets it

wifey lily: daniel >>>>

girlfriend kika: holyshit is danny a bigger stan than me 😟

angel carmen: daniel 🔛🔝

chili!: y/n is just very slay in general

y/n: omfg 😭

y/n: you’re actually my favourite people

i love you so much ???

y/n: danny, carlos and lando 🔛🔝 frfr

y/n: wait

y/n: do the french mfs think i’m not slay 🤨

alabono: not me y/n i stan and stream on a daily basis 😁🙏🏻

PIERRE GASLYYYY: i just want my gf back 😭

chal eclair: me too 😭

chal eclair: wait i’m not french >:(

babygirl alex: if y/n says you’re french, then you are french. you become french even if you’re not french. figure that shit out 🤷🏻‍♀️

chal eclair: 😟

wifey lily: what she said 🗣

chal eclair: my own gf ?????

y/n: she’s my gf now 👹

kellypiquet added to their story!

kellypiquet

♡ liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and others.

kellypiquet two years with you 💕

tagged: maxverstappen1

comments on this post have been turned off.

#f1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #alex albon x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #pierre gasly x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #smau

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formydiscordbesties · 2 months

Text

Max.V Drunk and high

"Darling!" echoed through the speaker as you answered the call from Alex.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, noting the slight slur in your partner's voice.

"I need your help. Max keeps asking for you and complaining he's been without your kisses for too long," Alex sighed, likely fending off Max's advances.

"Tell him I'm on my way," you chuckled, hearing Max's whining in the background.

Arriving at the bustling club entrance, you spotted Alex supporting a clearly tipsy Max, who was chatting animatedly with a friend.

Max perked up at the sight of your car, eagerly pointing it out as Alex guided him to the passenger side.

"Hello, darling," Max blushed as he settled into the seat beside you.

"Hi, love," you giggled at his dazed expression, his eyes tired but filled with adoration as they met yours.

"Here are his phone and wallet," Alex said, passing Max's belongings before bidding you both farewell and closing the door.

"Are we heading home?" Max asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes."

You received a contented hum in response before feeling Max's ringed hand land gently on your thigh.

Thinking he had dozed off, you glanced at him at a red light, only to find him already gazing at you.

Before you could speak, his lips met yours, his hand now gripping your jaw as he kissed you passionately.

Tasting the remnants of alcohol, you savored the moment until a honk from behind broke the spell as the light turned green.

"No, don't stop," Max whined as you pulled away.

"The light's green, Max. We'll have plenty of time for kisses at home," you reassured him, smiling softly at his pouting expression.

He behaved for the rest of the journey, but the moment the elevator doors closed, Max pressed you against the wall, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss.

It was messy, with a few missed connections, but you didn't mind.

He protested when you pulled away at the sound of the elevator reaching your floor.

"Come on, let's get you inside," you chuckled, guiding him to the bathroom.

Turning him to face you, you gently held his cheeks, meeting his eyes. "We need to brush your teeth, baby."

"Nooo, can't we do it later? I just want to sleep," he protested.

"We have to do it now," you insisted, coaxing him to open his mouth for the toothbrush.

Afterward, you led him to your bedroom, urging him to undress.

"You seem to enjoy getting me naked," he teased, struggling with his shirt.

"Just get undressed, Max," you laughed, amused by his antics.

As he tripped and fell onto the floor, you stifled a laugh.

"It's not funny," he pouted, finally freeing himself from his pants.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Come on, let's get into bed, and I'll make it up to you with kisses," you promised.

"Okay," he agreed, climbing into bed.

A smile spread across your face as you watched him settle in, but it quickly faded as he pulled you down beside him.

"Max!" you scolded, turning to face him.

"What?" he giggled, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

"What was that about?"

"I wanted you close to me," he shrugged. "Now, where are my kisses?"

>>>>You can request stories if you want to just dm privately in case you want me to do a story about one of your favorite driver ! <<<<<

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen #formula one fluff #formula one fic #f1blr #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 fic #requested #max verstappen smut

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awfcspencer · 5 months

Text

Dress || leah williamson x reader

leah williamson x famous!reader

prompt: Attending a GQ British Men of the Year event, but nobody knows you and Leah are together.

warnings: highly suggestive

a/n: Inspired by Dress by Taylor Swift

Crowds of people flooded into central London’s Royal Opera House, all engaging in conversations around you. Tonight you were invited to British GQ’s Men of the Year event to celebrate 2023 and various actors and musicians. You had initially planned on not attending as you had been busy filming a new series that is going to premiere soon, but your agents insisted that attendance was mandatory. So, here you were, dressed in a short dark emerald green dress paired with black heels.

“There is an indentation in the shape of you. Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo”

Luckily for you, there was one certain footballer that you knew would be in attendance, Leah. You had met Leah through Amelia Dimoldenberg, a good friend to both of you, and began slowly texting and getting closer. Leah’s compassion and kindness immediately made you fall head over heals for her. Leah had this unique way of bringing a smile to your face by simply just being around her, she could make you laugh without trying. She was so much more than a professional footballer, she was sweet, and caring, she cries at silly little rom-coms, and the worlds pickiest eater. She was so much more than what appeared online, and she made you feel normal again in the ‘high’ life that people usually believe celebrities live. To you, Leah was golden.

Late night meet-ups to simply just be near each other to talk and early morning cuddles with breakfast in bed, you eventually bit the bullet and told Leah that you were definitely falling in love with her and fortunately for you, she felt the same. Leah’s mere presence had utterly changed your life, she was like a missing puzzle piece that fit perfectly into your puzzle.

“Our secret moments in your crowded room. They got no idea about me and you”

Unfortunately, because you and Leah live very public lives, a world-class actor and a world-class footballer, you had decided to keep your relationship under wraps. Wanting to bask in the privacy as long as you could. What didn’t help is the constant social media lies that were posted about either you love life or Leah’s, unable to ever really just be friends with anyone without twitter or instagram having a hay day. But you and Leah were able to tune out most media garbage and just enjoy having each other. Keeping the secret from your closest friends and even Leah’s teammates to really protect your peace. At the end of the day, you and Leah knew how much you loved each other, it did not really matter that no one else knew. It was your little secret, together.

Initially you had planned to get ready alongside Leah and then just arrive separately to walk the red carpet, but Leah had arranged plans with Alex Scott beforehand, but promised to find you once she had arrived. That is how you found yourself at the bar, grabbing another drink, engaged in a conversation that you were not paying attention to, adding an occasional, ‘wow’ and ‘oh really’ every so often. Eyes laser focused on the entry door, hoping your girlfriend was going to be here soon.

As you look down to fix your dress, it’s like you could feel the air being sucked from your lungs, a looming desire. Looking up, your met with blue eyes, your blue eyes, the blue eyes you had absolutely fallen in love with. You had not known what Leah was going to be wearing tonight, she kept insisting it was a surprise.

Leah was dressed in a short laced black dress that hugged her every curve, fell right below her mid thigh, leaving little to the imagination. Your breathing quickly becomes staggered, mouth has went completely dry, overall, you were an uttering mess. Your girlfriend looked absolutely stunning and incredibly beautiful. Your eyes had yet to meet hers, only staring intently at her gorgeous dress and body. Eyes finally meeting hers, she sent to a quick wink and making her way to her designated spot at her table.

You genuinely believe you could have died in place, completely lost in a trance, a Leah Williamson trance. Regrouping yourself, you sent her a glance discreetly and smiled at her as if there was not a single other person in the room and she returned the smile.

“All this silence and patience, pining in anticipation. My hands are shaking from holding back from you.”

You went and found your table and pulled out your phone to make sure you turned it on silent. Looking at your several notifications, you can see Leah’s text that said, “You look amazing baby.” She truly had a way of making you feel as if you were the only girl in the world.

A major downside of keeping your relationship completely private was being unable to go over to your gorgeous girlfriend right now and kiss her from head to toe, letting the whole room know that she is yours, undoubtedly yours. You almost had to physically restrict yourself, holding back, a sadness that slowly killed you. The award show had started to begin but you were so far gone from being able to pay attention to anything but your girl. Being careful to only look over occasionally discreetly to not draw attention.

More than once, you had to stop yourself from texting her to meet you in the nearest bathroom, shaking slightly thinking about when you would return to you and Leah’s shared flat. Approximately checking the time on your watch, counting down the minutes and seconds until the event was over and you two could leave.

“Say my name and everything just stops.”

The event had thankfully come to an end, after what seemed like forever, and the afterparty began directly after. People gathering at the bar and chatting away, but you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

You immediately begin trying to make you way towards Leah, getting caught in a few meaningless conversations here and there. You tried your best to be respectful and chat to the guests, but your mind was fuzzy, only being able to focus on finding your girlfriend.

Escaping everyone, you finally were able to catch Leah as she luckily had also just finished a conversation.

“Y/N” Leah breathes out in a whisper, loud enough for only you to hear.

“Lee” you say out in the same tone.

There is a deafening silence between you two. Both taking each other in. Both of you speechless. For you, it was like the world stopped spinning, time stopped, the people in the large room disappeared, it was only you and Leah. You look directly in her eyes, a look of absolute lust filled her blue eyes, pupils slightly dilated.

“Do you want to get out of here?” is all you needed to ask as you both separately make your exits, anticipation building.

“Only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

Entering your apartment, your lips are instantly connected, fingers quickly finding her blonde hair. Your foreheads touch as you are kissing her, trying to get as close as possible to your other half after missing her all day. Leah removes her lips from yours and you let out a needy moan as she rubs her thumb over your lips.

She quickly turns around and points out the long zipper along the back of the dress. Placing a hand on her waist and grabbing the zipper with the other. You slowly pull it down, you could feel the heat radiating from her skin, applying open mouthed kisses along her shoulders and down her back. The air was palpable as the only sound that rings out is Leah’s dress falling to the floor.

Slowly you turn Leah around, your eyes meeting hers as you held your breath. You come close to her and whisper, “You looked absolutely beautiful in that dress Lee, but you look even better without it.” you say as you pull her in for a searing kiss.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #woso one shot #woso soccer #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #woso #woso couples #womens soccer #woso smut #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #engwnt x reader #engwnt #arsenal

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iouinotes · 5 months

Text

Beautiful Boy | Alex Walter

pairing: Alex Walter x female!reader

show: My life with the Walter Boys

warnings: mostly fluff and love confessions, but a bit of implied sexual activities

word count: 4,6k

summary: You are completely in love with your best friend. When the chance is given, you decide to finally take it and show your love.

a/n: The story will mention a review from the past, where they play truth or dare. So, I was inspired to write that scenario: match made in heaven is here!

He's everything I ever wished for. It´s silly, thinking about it, really. My ongoing crush for him since the first time I met him all these years ago.

It was during the first day after the winter holiday. It was dark outside, very cold and rainy weather. Well, unfortunately it did not look like that in the morning, so I instantly panicked after school, because I forgot to bring my jacket. Normally one of my friends picked me up after school and drove me home, but she was sick today and I heard about her being ill, last minute.

So now I´m standing in the hallway, debating if I should better start to go to the bus station (probably getting soaked) or if I just walk to the school library, hoping that the weather cools down. I was drowning in my own thoughts, when I first heard his voice.

"Are you okay?" The second my eyes landed on him, I was gone for good. Because the boy in front of me was utterly beautiful. Handsome round face, freckles, warm brown eyes and a shy smile. One look at him and I fell in love with his beauty. Little did I know, I would soon fall head over heals for his personality or the way his voice sounds when he is making fun of me, because I believe in love at first sight. How could I not, when I have met him?

He was very caring the first time we met. Even though I was embarrassed of my situation, he made me feel comfortable. When I told him about my difficulty, he instantly helped me out. He told me, that his brother also picked him up from school every day, so it wouldnt be a problem, if I came along. Not only this sweet gesture made me speechless, it was also the way he stripped out of his jacket and gave it to me without hesitation, when we went outside and he saw that I didnt bring a jacket.

"What? No, I can´t-" I tried to argue, but one blink of his lashes, one look at his eyes, was enough to keep me occupied. "My mom would kill me, if I didnt. It´s okay, I dont mind." He really was the sweetest. His jacket kept in fact, keep me warm. And it also smelled like him, thats what made me blush in the end. I didnt know, if he noticed me looking at him from time to time (but then again, he nowadays didnt noticed it either), but I could not contain myself.

He was a gentleman, shy and adorable. He was all I wished for in a guy. When his brother - who I idetified as the most popular guy of our school- Cole, came in sight, only then it clicked. The boy in front of me, with his nervous smile, was Alex Walter.

When the car parked and the headlights were visible in the rain, we quickly ran to the blue vehicle. His brother didnt talk much, so the car ride was mostly quiet, my eyes were out the window and my thoughts were on Alex previous gesture of holding the door open for me. He didnt intend for me to fall in love with him, but I couldnt think of anything else to do, better than exactly that.

"I didnt get your name?" was all he said, when the car stopped in front of my house. "Oh right, sorry. Im y/n." He smiled again at me and my heart wanted to jump out off my chest. I didnt really notice Cole in the front and his famous "Cole effect". I was all catched up, by the beautiful boy next to me.

"Alex" he shook my hand and it made me giggle. I saw his ears turning pink at my laughter, so I smiled at him, so he knew I wasnt making fun of him. He relaxed then, but much to my dislike the blonde brother spoke up, before I could say something else. "I dont have all day, so are you two done looking at each other or can you go now? I swear, I saw y´all nearly kiss." At that, I was the one who turned red. "Sorry, thanks for the ride and-" as I wanted to strip off the jacket, Alex stopped my movements. "Oh no, you can have it. I mean- it´s still raining outside, I-I dont want you to get sick." Maybe I was already at that exact moment, falling in love with him. I also think, that his words made my cheeks turn a shade of red, that wasnt even on a scala anymore, because it was so high.

"But when do I give it back to you?" The last thing I wanted to do, was crossing a line with the Walter brothers. And maybe I also hoped to see him again. "Tomorrow? I will be in the gaming room in third grade. If thats okay with you?" He spoke quickly, because Cole kept getting more annoyed. "No, its fine. Thank you, Alex." I kissed him on the cheek (dont know where that one came from) and before I could look back, I was already out of the car and running towards the house. When I opened the door and the warmth embraced me, I looked out of the window from my house. The car was already gone, but I remember smiling so bright, I almost could not contain the happy feeling that consumed me.

That was the first time, my diary heard of Alex Walter.

The next day, I searched through three gaming rooms before I finally found him, starring at his laptop. As soon as I tapped him gently on the shoulder, he turned around and looked at me suprised. When he asked me, if I had had any trouble finding him, I said "what no, it took five minutes", when in reality it took 20 minutes, but he sounded really sincere, so it didnt matter.

That was the start of our ever-lasting friendship. We became best friends quickly and are verly close ever since, he is my other half. We are always together, in the hallway, at lunch, we see each other at the weekends and we even got the price "the best of best friends" by our friendgroup. I mean it was funny and its nice, really. But it says everything. We are just friends.

It´s very funny actually, because he knows me better than anyone and I can´t keep one secret from him. He just knows, when something is up. But my biggest secret of all time, that was the part where he was clueless about.

My love for him.

He just doesnt notice and I tried to not show it, but everyone knows I like him. Well, expect for him. When I look at him too long, because I (again) got lost in his eyes or looked a second too long at his lips, while he talked, he thinks he has something on his face. When I compliment him, for literal anything, he thinks I make fun of him, so he doesn't take it seriously. And I tried almost everything, so he could finally notice. Maybe then he could make the first move.

I once talked about my ideal type, because it was a truth or dare on my birthday party and I literally described him - he didnt notice. I swoon on a daily basis over his beauty, his intelligence , his personality, his habits, his cute flaws like staying up all night to play a video game - he doesnt know. I tried to learn his favorite video game, I read the Lord of the Rings saga, I even watched baseball games with him, I do anything so he will notice, how much I care about him. But he just doesn't get it.

If I would know, he simply didnt like me that way, I could somehow cope with that. But then, there are moments, where I would catch him starring at me, where he seems to be the one wanting me. He watches romantic movies with me and lets me cry about it after, when I´m sad about the ending, Sometimes I even get to lay on his chest. He listens when I talk about my newest book obsession, he goes shopping with me, even though he hates it. He helps me studying and I can tell him anything, he´s always there for me.

So it could be, that maybe my feelings were not completely unrequited. But then again, why didnt he made a move by now? Nevertheless, it keeps me awake at night. Because I want nothing more than to kiss his soft lips, feel his skin against mine, to look at his eyes and study every single freckle from his neck to his forehead. I want to love him. In a way, he knows it.

These feelings, these thoughts are constantly in my head. Especially now, when I sit across him and simply look at his concentrated face. His eyebrows are drawn together, he´s currently biting on his bottom lip, his nose scrunched in a frown. The light of his room shows me every little detail of his face. In moments like this, on a friday evening, where we study together for a biology test, I wish he would know how I feel about him. Because it would make everything so much easier.

Its currently raining outside, a remember of our first encounter, the clouds are dark and I hear loud thunder since the last couple of minutes went by. "Do you think, it will get better? The weather clearly looks bad." I shift my gaze to look at him and when I catch him starring at me, my heart swells in my chest.

I want to break the distant between us and close the gap of our lips. Want to get to know every little detail of his body. But as he speaks up, I clear my head. "I dont know, Danny said something about a storm. I honestly didnt know, it would be that bad." He closes his textbook and stands up, looking out the window. ,,Should I go?" My question suprises him. "Now? I think if you take a step outside, you will get swept up by your feet. It´s not safe." He looks at me unwary. "I dont know, I always wanted to fly. Maybe thats a sign." I grin at him and he laughs quietly. "Yeah, of course. Let me ask my dad, what he thinks is for the best. Maybe he can get you an umbrella and you do your best Mary Poppins impression."

~~~~~~

30 minutes later I find myself in a full-on Walter-family-disscussion. "But uncle! I dont get to have girls stay overnight. Thats unfair!" Lee is looking at George, unable to hide his jealousy. "When did a girl ever wanted to stay overnight with you?" Isaac asks from across the table. Lee just ignores him, an angry look in his eyes.

"Look, its nothing that I will allow forever. But right now, she cant go home, so she is welcomed to stay here." I smile at him, thankful that I´m not getting thrown out. "Also, she is like a thirteen family member. She´s practically living here." George added. One look at Alex and I wanted to know what he was thinking. Was I just like a sister to him? "Okay enough of that. Y/n, dear you are welcome to stay the night. We will figure it out. Nathan is staying with Skylar, so his bed is free." I´m glad, Katherine is here. I thank her and George and by the time, we ate dinner and Alex got me a toothbrush, so I could get ready for bed, it was late after 11.

As I make my way back to Alex's room after using the bathroom to change into my clothes, leaving me with shorts and a shirt, Cole is suddenly standing next to me. "Well, what a great opportunity for you." He grins at me. At his comment, I am visible confused. "What do you mean?" I look up to his smiling figure. "You have him all by yourself, of course. Your chance to finally do something. I can´t stand it anymore, you like him and he likes you. I always thought you were the clever one out of you two, so please put everyone out of this misery and kiss him, because he´s a complete idiot. It's long overdue for you two to get together."

His words leave me stunned. After he´s done talking, he makes his way silently back to his own room and I´m still standing in the hallway, trying to process his words. Kiss him. He likes you. Does Alex really likes me or is that some cruel joke for Cole? I hope not. Because my friends have told me several times, that they think, Alex likes me too. But I always thought, they were wrong.

My heart is heavily pounding as I make my way back to his room, taking a deep breath as I open the door. Alex is playing a video game, as always, but I see that he also changed into something more comfortable. It helps me calm down my nerves, when I see him doing something, he always does. I take a few steps towards his chair and his concentrated figure.

I mean, what was there in life, if I didnt take any risks? If he likes me back, it could be the answer to all my dreams and if not - well, the weather was still going pretty bad and could help me out of the awkward situation.

When I decided to test their he-likes-you-too-theory, I quickly came up with a plan. Okay, so I wasnt the best at flirting, that was for sure, but I could make a move. For starters, I wanted something, I often thought about.

As I stand behind him, I trace my fingers along his shoulders, hearing his surprised breath, that he quickly tries to hide. Well too bad, I heard it.

"Alex?" My voice is quiet.

"...yes?" I can see his muscles tense, while I keep touching his shoulders, going lower until I touch his arm. Something about what Cole said, about Alex liking me, gives me a certain confidence, that wasnt there before. Please dont let the King of hooking up be wrong.

"Could I borrow one of your hoodies? I´m freezing and only have my shirt." I try not to think about the possibility that he laughs in my face and says no. But then again, I know that Alex wouldnt do that. "I-uh, yeah. You can, um, grab one out of my closet." I smile to myself, when I see his eyes nervously scanning the display. He paused the game, even though he doesnt look at me while he talks.

"Thanks." As I turn towards his closet, I get the feeling that he´s secretly watching me choose a hoodie. When I get a hold on a dark green one, I immediately know its the one from when we first met. I take it and walk towards the other bed, getting a glimpse of his eyes, that continue to follow me. And then I do something, I thought I would never do in front of him. I change out of my top, the cold air hitting my skin and I hear him gasps.

When I change into his hoodie, a settling warmth embraces me. I smile to myself, a joy blooms in my chest, the feeling of wearing his clothes, makes me feel too good to be true. The shorts I´m wearing are the same ones as before and I think, that I kinda like the casual look. And maybe it looks fine, that could be a good way to get Alex attention. My shorts cover my thighs, but because his hoodie is bigger than what I normally wear, this way it looks like I only wear his hoodie.

When I turn around and fix my hair, he already started another game again. Okay, mission getting-some-sort-of-reaction, is starting to get interesting. "Soo, what do you think? Too big?" I wait for his reaction. When he slowly turns around, one hand holding up his headphones, I see him trying not to stare too hard. But since I see his eyes scanning my body, it´s impossible for him to pretend. I smile to myself.

"And?" I make a step in his direction, watching him swallow. His eyes wander to the floor and a nervous expression crosses his face. "I- I need to finish this game so-" he turns around so fast, I´m almost surprised his neck didnt broke. Shit. That wasnt part of the plan. I glance around the room, trying to come up with something, another way to keep his attention at me. I sit on his bed, near his computer and decide to watch him play. I hear the sound of the game playing in the background, while I continue to think of a way for him to notice me.

And even though I keep my hands to myself, I see him sqirming in his seat. I laugh quietly. "Everything okay?" it seems he isnt that concentrated anymore. "Yeah, uh, are you bored? You never watch me play." His head turns to look at me. "You could teach me some moves." I say, looking at him and then the game, that shows a spider attacking some creature. He raises his eyebrows at my words.

"You sure? I thought you didnt like video games." My eyes wander to his lap as I quickly come up with a plan. "Maybe I will like it, if you show me some tricks. And also, I like you and you´re really interested in gaming, so I thought I could make an effort." His cheeks are blushing, my eyes are starring at his clueless ones.

A smile tucks at his lips, but he tries to keep his cool. "I mean, I´m really good at this, so I could teach you one or two lessons. Where do you want to sit? I only have one gaming chair, but-" he glances around the room, trying to come up with something.

"Well, we could share?" I ask, my voice sounding sincere and not as much thrilled at the idea, to sit in his lap, even though I am freaking out in my thoughts. His eyes widen, when he realizes what I just said.

"You want to-" he doesn't finish his sentence, stuttering at the idea of me sitting on his lap. "If thats okay with you, of course? I think its the best solution, I mean I do want the full experience. So its fair." I see him nervously licking his lips. "Yeah, yeah. I get that. Okay, cool, how do you want to-" I smile at him and his nervous speech. "Just relax, I dont bite. You do know that, right?" I laugh when I see his ears turning pink.

"Right. So uh, come here, I guess?" He puts his arms on the armrests to give me good access and I feel myself getting nervous. God, I never got to be this close to him. I stand up, his eyes take my form in his sweater in, I see him starring at the naked skin. And when I see something shining in his hair, I act without a second thought.

"You have something in your hair, dummy." It's a little paper ball from Benny, probably from the previous dinner (fight), I lean myself down, facing him forward in his lap and cross my legs over his thighs. I don't notice what position we are in until I lean back to show him the piece of paper and suddenly, I'm just a few centimeters from his face. Shocked by the less to no space we have left between us, he doesn't speak and neither do I. We just look at each other.

"i-i got it." The words leave my mouth, the distance between our faces -god his lips look so soft- leaves me speechless. It takes him a moment, but when he answers he sounds just as out of breath as me.

"thanks."

Again, we sit in silence. Suddenly I loose my balance and I almost fall out of the chair, but his arms are quick to catch me. So now, he has his arms around my waist and my arms linger around his shoulders for support. If I would lean closer, I could kiss him.

The thought of kissing him, makes me sqirm and when he lays his hands onto my waist to still my movements, I feel dizzy. Because Im not just sitting on his legs. Indeed, I sit literally on his lap. So when I feel myself getting wet, because he makes me so touch starved, I completely loose my mind.

"Im sorry- i didnt mean to sit that way. I just-" his eyes are so fascinating, brown, green and warm. It feels like he´s looking at my soul. He´s watching my every move. I know I should probably get up, but its the first time, he is that close to me and I cant stop looking at him.

Without a thought in my head, I raise my hand and touch his cheek. I see his lips breaking apart, so he can draw a surprised breath. "You have so many freckles everywhere." My eyes wander around his face. His voice comes back to life for a second, but only to sign. "Too many, actually." I draw my eyebrows together.

"It suits you and it´s not too much. Thats a perfectly fine amount of freckles. Look-" I start to count them. Each and every one. Starting from his ears towards his cheeks, his nose, further down until I stop at his lips. "You have one right above the corner of your mouth." I mutter, my thumb brushes his lips for a second.

Caught, my eyes sneak back to search his gaze. But he just looks at me. My heart feels like it could break any second, if I dont open my mouth to say something.

"You are" I begin to say "so beautiful to me. Every freckle you have, the colour of your eyes, your hair, your lips, your voice, just you."

I cant hold back anymore.

"i-i love you, Alex. I really do. I thought it would just be a crush that would go away, when time goes on, but it hasnt. You´re in every piece of my heart, you hold it together. You are my joy, my laugh, my sadness, you were everything for me, the first second I got to know you. Because you are the best person in my life, my best friend, my other half, my partner in crime, I would bail you out of jail in a heartbeat. Without you, my heart wouldn't beat anymore anyway. Because you make it live. Every day, every time I see you. Maybe if I would have known better, I would have never agreed to take your jacket, the first time we met. If I would have known, how absolutely in love I would get with you, it would have scared me to death. But now? Now I know better than to be away from you, because I better live as your best friend than without having you in my life. Because now, being away from you would be my death."

In one second, I bail my heart out and before I know it, he takes my face in his hands and leans forward. He stops his movement right before our lips touch.

"I think you will be the death of me too, sweetheart."

And with that, he kisses me.

Slow at first, his lips touch mine, so very soft and gentle. I almost think I´m dreaming, because his lips do feel like a dream to me. His hands caress my back and I clutch to his shoulders, afraid the moment will end. His warm hands strive back to my cheeks, tilding my head in a way he can have more access.

And I let him, mainly because I´m too caught up with this emotion and also because I would let him do anything with me. My hands are in his dark hair, gently tugging at his strings, so I get to hear that little breathless sound he makes, that makes my heart flutter.

I sink in his warm embrace, moving my lips with the same rhythm as him, hearing my heartbeat in my ears. His right hand goes to the back of my neck and this action makes me weak in the knees. And he notices it. Gently he breaks apart, leaving me with the want to have more of him and when I open my eyes - I didnt know I closed them - he looks at me, like I´m the sun and he´s the moon, that was away for too long.

"God, you´re so beautiful." His voice is deep, I can hear him catch his breath. His words make my heart ache until I think it isnt able to comprehend his compliment. I feel his lips again, my eyes flutter at the contact. One hand around my hip, holding me steady and the other one, around my neck, making me unsteady.

"alex-" a moan wants to escape me, but I try to hold myself together. His lips leave my mouth and trail further down, finding a spot at the curve of my neck.

"god, yes. Say my name again." I´m pretty sure, I never wanted him more than now.

My hands linger in his hair, I feel his hot breath on my skin and clench my thighs together. He is making me feel all worked up. As his lips leave that spot, I whimper his name, but as soon as his mouth leaves my body, he reconnects with it.

Brushing my hair aside, he kisses me again for a second before he lets go of me. With that, im completely convinced he hates me, the way he´s making me suffer. I hear him quietly laugh, so I slowly open my eyes to watch his face.

"You look drunk on love. Are you alright?" He smiles at me, looking at me, like he didnt just turn my world up site down (and my panties wet, by the way).

"What?" I ask, catching my breath. His skin glows and as I watch every detail of his face (how could I not), I almost miss his next sentence. "I would have never thought that this was your idea of gaming." I feel his shoulders move, when he tries to keep himself from laughing.

I gently smile and roll my eyes. "You are just too handsome for me, to concentrate on anything other than you." His cheeks turn red and there´s a glimmer in his eyes, that makes me feel completed. "So that´s why you have bad grades in math, maybe I shouldnt be sitting next to you then." His joke makes me laugh.

"Well, maybe you can give me some private lessons, so I could improve." At that, he opens his mouth, but no words are said. "Too stunned to speak?" I lean forward, his eyes follow my lips. "You just never flirted with me, its distracting." He looks up.

I just shake my head. One of my hands sneaks around to linger at his cheek. "Oh, trust me. I have. You just never noticed." His eyebrows rise. "Thats a shame. But I guess I have now." He catches my lips.

Yes, he definitely did notice me now.

#my life with the walter boys #alex walter #cole walter #love confessions #beautiful #love #rainyday #x reader #in love

493 notes · View notes

miloformula123fan · 5 months

Note

Full fic??

I’ve read that Logan S. felt really lonely being the only American in F1. Like, he wasn’t completely accepted in the grid. Maybe he has an overprotective older sister who is a professional soccer player (like World Cup level good) who finally has time to attend his races. She dislikes most of the grid, except Alex and Oscar, for how they treated her brother. quick to defend Logan and even as far as annihilate them during the annual driver soccer match to prove a point. Im thinking G. Russel pairing due to Logan living in England. he wins her over by treating logan right, acknowledging he could have been welcoming, etc. Just a thought!

OKAY I HONESTLY LOVED THIS! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE (let me know if you want a part 2, because it is a bit of an interesting ending haha)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

edit: i wrote part 2 - it is here

part 3 is here

George Russell x reader, logan sargeant x sister!reader

---

Y/N loves her brother, she really does. Yeah, she’s tried to get to a few of his F2 rounds, but with her soccer taking her around the world, she has had very little time. She has the entire month off though, so what better to do than visit her brother at his home grand prix. Miami is always a party, so maybe she could let loose for a bit, try and relax, and find a guy.

This is quickly vetoed when she finds Logan cooped up in his drivers room. While most people would think that he was excited for the race, most people weren’t Logan’s sister. She could tell he was thinking too hard about something, and it wasn’t good.

“Hey Logie Bear! Whatcha thinking about?” She tried to appear happy, but she could see that Logan’s smile did not reach his eyes

“Nothing, just excited for the race, the car is quick, just aiming for some points, hoping for a safety car. The garage is over there, sorry I have to warm up.” Y/N looked up as Benny entered the room and Logan stood up. She could tell how closed up he was, how he didn’t want to talk at all

“Okay, we’ll talk after the race Logan! Good luck, you'll smash it!” Y/N walked out of the drivers room towards the garage seeing the chaos of it.

Y/N watched as Logan apologised over again and again to his engineer for not making up any more places. She stood there listening to his engineer reassure her younger brother. She eventually decided that she couldn’t listen to it anymore and decided to wait in his garage room.

When he walked in, Y/N could tell he wasn’t sure whether to throw stuff or cry.

“Hey, hey, come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” She opened her arms and sat down as Logan fell down into them and hugged her baby brother, as he started talking the words just rushed out

“I just wanted to prove that I deserve to be here, feel like I’m a part of the paddock.” Logan hugged his sister back tightly, hesitating slightly.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re a part of the paddock, you’ve got your seat, y’know?” Y/N was confused as to what her brother meant, from what she had seen, he was welcomed warmly by everyone.

“Yeah but, I’m never invited to the grid parties, no one really ever talks to me, except Alex and Oscar, and Oscar is getting into the rest of the grid through Lando, and Alex is only really talking to me because I mean, he’s my teammate we have to be friends, and I just want everyone to like me… so I thought maybe if I got some points and good overtakes, then people would like me..”

“Oh, Logie… It’ll be okay. If they don’t like you then I think they’re just idiots, but they won’t. They’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

---

George watched as Y/N sprinted up and down. Okay the F1 team was never going to win, particularly when multiple women who were playing in the world cup were playing on the opposition team, but ‘Sargeant’ (who also had the same name as the rookie driver this year, who was sitting in the stands) was dominating, she had more goals then all of the f1 team, so of course the celebrity team won 4-1. She’d almost immediately jumped into the stands once the referee blew the whistle and started talking to Logan, maybe the kid got married young and just didn’t want anyone to realise.

Although she looked quite similar to Logan, so maybe his sister instead. Either way, she did not seem to like them, she called them all dickheads and shoved them over a few times. George’s knees were sore. But she was still pretty. So he approached Logan and the girl.

“Hello! I’m George and…’

“I’m pretty sure my brother knows your name, Georgie! Why don’t you say hello to him?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Say hi to Logan, George.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, almost forced.

“Hey Logan! Looking forward to the grand prix this weekend?”

“Uhhhh… yeah. ” He turned back to Y/N “I’ve got some stuff to do, so you can make your way back. See ya!”

As soon as Logan was out of listening range, Y/N pulled George in and started whispering, “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have my brother, but you need to get over it ASAP, understood?”

“I.. don’t have a problem with your brother.”

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

George stood there, mouth gaping as she stormed off to grab her bag and then sprinted after Logan. He could almost hear the f1 team laughing at his failed attempt at flirting, but all he could think about ‘was what she said true?’’

---

Y/N was going to cry.

She could see Logan in the family and friends box, hands over his mouth, eyes glassy.

That corner kick should’ve gone in, she thought, we had so many chances and we still fucked it all. Couldn’t even give Megs a proper farewell.

She walks slowly over to her younger brother and let his arms wrap around her

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dragged you halfway ‘round the world when you should’ve been training only to lose the first game.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Go pack up, we can head home and spend some time in London relaxing. I’ve got next week off before I need to be back in the factory.”

—

Y/N was awoken by a knock on the front door. Hearing Logan snoring from his bedroom, she got up off the couch, rubbing her eyes and opened the door.

Of all the people she was expecting to see, George Russell would’ve been just about the last on her list “Uhh, hey?”

“Oh, morning! Is your brother up?”

Y/n paused for a moment to let George hear the snores coming from Logan’s bedroom. “Yeah, no, sorry. I can pass on a message?”

“Oh, No I was just going to offer if he was still up to go on a morning jog with him, but as he isn’t…”

“You been doing this often?”

“Almost every week we’ve been in town. I don’t think he understands what or why I’m doing this. But, he’s a good kid, opens up a bit when you talk to him. He likes you, respects you a lot for 2 siblings pursuing their sport across the globe.”

“I’ll make some breakfast and you can stay til Logan wakes up, okay? As a thanks for looking out for him. Hard for me to do from across the globe.” Y/N looked tense, with an almost forced smile. She looked awkward, before stepping back, holding the door open so George could come in.

---

“LOGAN SARGEANT!”

“Hello, dear sister, what do you want?”

“YOU GOT POINTS!”

“I think you must have watched a different grand prix, I got P12.”

“Hamilton and Leclerc got disqualified, something about wood, but you got points!”

“OH MY! AHHH! I had no idea, oh god!”

“YEAH! MY LITTLE BRO FINALLY GETTING F1 POINTS! WOOHOO! We must celebrate when we’re both in town!”

“AHH! Shit, wait I think people are coming in, give me a sec.

You’re on speaker dear sis, Alex, Oscar and George are here.”

“HELLO OSCAR! HI ALEX! HI GEORGE! DID SOMEONE BRING CHAMPAGNE???”

---

Y/N looks at the buzzing phone on her bedside table. Well clearly she had grabbed Logan’s phone before bed last night. She looked at the contact name

‘George - probably calling about something from the GDPA.’

She picked up.

“Before you start talking, I’m not Logan and I have not signed any NDAs related to his contract so, don’t talk to me.”

“Hi Y/N, do you know where Logan is?” George’s voice was way too cheery for however fucking early it is right now.

“Yeah he’s in his bedroom, he grabbed my phone and I grabbed his, why?” Y/N swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, still rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, can you come answer the door?”

“The door, why?” Y/N got up, and walked to her front door and opened the door to …nothing.

“George, are you pulling a prank on me? There’s nothing at the door.”

“You haven’t opened the door!”

“George… Logan and I are in Florida for Christmas. I’m guessing you’re in London.”

“Oh…yes. Bugger. I came to congratulate him on his contract renewal and so now I’ve got food and flowers and stuff and he’s not here!”

“If you go round the block to 20 XXX Close, there’s a single mom there, who will appreciate some Christmas cheer Georgie.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send it over.”

“Why were you congratulating Logan, George? I didn’t think you cared. Only Alex and Oscar have reached out so far.”

“I..I remember what you said at the soccer match, about Logan feeling ostracised by all of us. So I’ve been trying to make him feel welcomed… not just because you said that, and I like you, but also because I kinda realised we’d all be failing him as a grid, so i thought if I started it, maybe others would catch on. It didn’t work, but I think he feels more included.”

“That’s very nice of you Georgie. I’ll pass on your congrats. Now it’s like 7am here, and I didn’t need to be awake today, so i will be heading back to bed. Night Georgie boy.”

#f1 fic #miloformula123fan #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant x you #george russell x reader #george russell #george russell x you

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marchingatmidnight · 9 months

Text

I know lots of people have thoughts about Henry and Alex’s wedding, but here’s what I think.

We know they get married at the lake house. I think Henry and Philip have mostly repaired their relationship, and Philip and Martha absolutely attend, along with their first child, who’s newly crossed over into being a toddler.

Have you ever been around a toddler at a party? It does not matter how many people are watching the toddler. It will toddle faster than the speed of light straight towards whatever you want it to toddle towards the least.

At a wedding, this is, of course, the cake.

Philip and Martha had no chance. The many security personnel present had no chance. None of the experienced parents in attendance had any chance.

Philip and Martha’s daughter toddles straight to the cake table during the reception and grabs the table leg for balance, the table wobbles and because this was set into motion when her uncles attended her parents’ wedding years before, the cake is juuuuuust unbalanced enough to fall right on top of her.

The cake makes a horrendous splat as it hits the floor and her, and the whole party goes silent with a gasp — except for the clicking of a camera, because the photographer is just running on instinct at this point.

Until there’s a burst of laughter. Alex is absolutely cracking up and Henry is biting his lip not to do the same. Still laughing, Alex tosses off his jacket and jogs over to where his niece is standing, covered in cake and frosting, doing the stunned baby expression where she’s trying to decide if she’s going to laugh or scream.

He’s followed by a chuckling Henry. Alex scoops up their niece, who tentatively giggles, and plants a smacking kiss on her cheek, while Henry, a long way from the uptight prince that fell into a cake at a Royal Wedding, runs a finger through the frosting on her cheek before popping it into his mouth.

“Well, love, I do think we probably deserved that, hm?”

#RWRB #red white and royal blue #first prince #firstprince

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scribble-dribble-writes · 6 months

Text

Headsets and what nots

Pairing: Alex Walter x female reader

<<< >>>

And it was maddening. To be around him. Alex Walter had that magnetic pull that the only one oblivious to it was himself. He commanded the presence of everyone around him by his silence and through his gentleness. All the words he spoke were kind, he never raised his voice. He was ready to step in and help and you couldn’t help but observe him.

It started off as a bet you made with yourself, to prove to your conscience that no one as good as him could exist because everyone at some point was bound to mess up. But not him. What had started as a game now became an obsessive chore, to crave for that vindication of being right which he made it more frustrating. He never slipped up. No unnecessary advances, the perfect combination of jokes, just the right level of touches. He kept his slate clean and you were a private investigator on the verge of going mad.

Alex led the gaming club so he was busy with new members and setting up servers or the basic orchestration of the event. Whereas you as a newly joined member was privy to the gossip and the love ridden sighs. The boys were here to play and the girls, well they were here for Alex Walter.

Everyone knew of this, except him. It was as though he was oblivious to it, impervious rather to all the attention he received. His attention was under his control. Who he gave it to, how he let the world know who his people were. You didn’t have to fight for his gaze, you had to earn it.

You kept your head down, university was supposed to be a new start. All you wanted was a friend and that was all. Locking yourself up in your dorm room only made your lonely life even lonelier and trying to meet up with people in your class did not go well either. Parties were not your scene so the only best place to be was here. In the back of this internet cafe, building cities in this virtual world along with people you only knew through avatars and usernames.

Here, you could just be, without a history.

You had forgotten to bring your headphones so you enabled the chat function and started to play the game with the people who were waiting in the game lobby. All you could hear from time to time was Alex’s name popping up often that he spent his time solving queries rather than playing.

You had one class in common with him and often passed by him in university grounds. Your eyes would meet occasionally and that was it. Apart from being far off acquaintances, you had never spent time in real time.

You were working your way through a level when out of the blue your character was attacked, making you lose the level. You thumped the desk with your fist at the disappointment when you noticed the chat. All the other players were stating it would have been easier if you were able to hear them as you had missed out on their warning.

You sunk into your seat contemplating if playing another round was worth it when someone tapped you on your shoulder.

“You can use my headset, I noticed you didn’t have one.”, you heard him.

Alex stood next to you, his face held a serene expression with a lopsided grin.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be a bother.”, you let him know, a smile spreading across your face.

But he didn’t argue with you or make a scene of his lovely gesture. It was just between him and you. He held the headset apart as he fixed it over your head gently. You had to look away because he was so close. His eyes focusing on the work at hand as you sat there frozen feeling the warm soft touch on his fingertips against your cheek. He pulled down the microscope and your lips parted in surprise because his thumb grazed the edge of your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes and when his gaze fell on you for a second, it was as though the world had stopped and it did as he paused to look at you.

He reached out to swipe your bangs to the side as he fixed them from falling across your forehead, you were certain your heart had given out because you couldn’t even open your mouth to thank him.

“Perfect.”, he said as his eye glimmered with mischief but before you could say anything he got up to plug the wire into the port and the noise of your teammate’s chatter flooded in.

With that he walked away, and now you were back to square one, you couldn’t find a flaw in him.

Alex never quite liked his position as the person who ran the club cause it was a lot more effort than he had realised.

But now as he stood at the main table, supervising the other members, he was free to sneak glimpses of you.

The bright smile after you win, the frustration creasing your eyebrows when you lost, his fingers still tingled from the bold move he had somehow managed to pull, to feel the soft touch of your skin. He would have never done this with Jackie but with you, he felt like himself. Confident and certain in what he wanted. His heart didn’t beat against his chest, it instead covered him with a sense of comfort.

There was something about you he couldn’t quite place, something that made it impossible for him to look at anyone else.

#alex walter #Alex Walter x you #Alex Walter x reader #my life with the walter boys

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logansargeantsbabymom · 12 days

Text

Anyone but me

Insecure!Logan x Fem!Reader

warnings: Cursing, Insecure Logan

A/N: Here’s something short, I wasn’t gonna post since today makes 10 years since my grandpa passed but I didn’t wanna make today abt me. Enjoy.

Another race. Miami had been another race this season that has been shit for Logan. Why was something always fucking it up for him?

First they gave him shitty cars, then whenever they did give Logan a somewhat good car, he wasn’t driving it the way he should, then they gave away his car to Alex after he crashed his. Now he had to retire the car because KMag decided to crash into him?

It’s almost lil the universe is against Logan and his time in Formula 1, which might I add is utter bullshit.

Logan hasn’t been the best driver and I knew that, but I didn’t fall in love with him because he’s a formula 1 driver, no, I fell in love with him because he’s always been there for me even when he was going through his own problems and has never once complained about it (him being a famous driver was just a perk).

Logan and I have been together for just over 2 years which means I’ve seen the best and worst of his career, but right now after he got hit at his home race was heart wrenching.

I stood by the tv screens that showed his camera footage live from his car and my hands shot up to my face when I saw the impact of the crash. The crash wasn’t what made my heart shatter for him though, no, instead it was the live radio feed from him to pit that I was currently listening to.

His groans of pain and the tremble in his voice asking if he did anything wrong was what hurt. He was so worried and scared that he fucked up something whilst driving that he didn’t pay attention to whether or not he was hurt.

They replayed that crash maybe a dozen times and each time felt like it stung worse than the previous one before it. I watched as they got the track clear from any debris and brought Logan and the car back to the Williams garage. The look of red eyes and tear stained cheeks was the sight I was greeted with.

I would’ve done anything to take his pain away in that moment. Hell, I would do anything to make sure he never felt pain again. But unfortunately, I can’t. So I had to suffice for the next best thing, comforting him.

I walked over to him and the second he turned and saw me walking over with a somber look on my face he rushed into my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace before absolutely sobbing.

The team around us walked off allowing us a moment of peace while I comforted my boyfriend. His face was in the crook of my neck as he shook with violent sobs and I rubbed my hands up and down his back trying to soothe the ache in his heart.

“Logan you did amazing, it wasn’t your fault. I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far, I love you so much” I whispered in his ear as I kissed the side of his head.

We stayed like this for a moment, as Logan continued to sob I continued to try to soothe him and murmur sweet nothings in his ear with more small kisses on his head.

After a moment or two, I felt Logan pull away before he looked me in my eyes. I could tell he wanted to say something.

“What happened, Baby?” I whisper as I bring my hands up to his face to wipe his tears away

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispers, his voice breaking again as he moves my hands from his face

“Lo, don’t” I say, tears of my own springing in my eyes

“No Y/N/N, please. I don’t deserve you. I’m not good enough, you deserve to be with someone who wins and makes podiums. Not me, someone who finishes last or doesn’t finish at all.” by the time Logan was done berating himself, I was the one sobbing.

“Logan Hunter Sargeant. Stop talking like that. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. There was before you, during you, and I never want there to be an after you. I have never loved anyone more than I love you. My heart is so filled with happiness and you’re the reason. You’re the reason I’m still alive today, I have the best life right now and it’s because of you. So please don’t break my heart because you feel like I don’t deserve you, because I never want to live without you. So unless you’re unhappy in our relationship, we are not breaking up. Are you unhappy with us?” Tears were falling like waterfalls from both of our eyes.

“No, I love you too much. I just don’t want you to be with a loser like me” My hands shot up to his face and I made him look at me

“Stop it, I’m not leaving you. I’m staying with you whether you win 100 grand prixs, 1 or none. I’m here until the Lord takes me from this earth. I promise” I said as I placed a sweet and sincere kiss on his lips before we rested our foreheads together

“I’m here always and forever”

taglist

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99

#logan sargeant hurt #logan sargent fluff #logan sargeant angst #logan sergeant imagines #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant #charles leclerc #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #lewis hamilton

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year

Text

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Pairing: when Peter learns you have healing powers, he starts faking injuries to come see you until he gets seriously hurt

Masterlist

While on a mission with Tony, Peter went to swing on a web when it broke and sent him flailing the ground.

“Ow. My butt.” Peter whined when he fell right on his tailbone.

“See, that’s exactly why I don’t swing on webs I made myself. Too risky.” Tony clicked his tongue.

“They’ve never betrayed me like this before.” Peter wheezed and rolled back and forth in an attempt to assuage his pain.

“Yeah. You definitely look like you have nerve damage.” Tony sighed as he looked at Peter.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter groaned. “My butt feels like someone just did a banging drum solo on it. I’m seriously injured.”

“And I’m seriously over your attitude.” Tony replied. “You bruised your butt. Get over it.”

“I think it’s broken. Can you break your butt?” Peter gasped and looked at Tony in fear.

“Oh my God. Fine. Come with me.” Tony rolled his eyes before scooping Peter up bridal style. Peter found it a little strange but didn’t complaint. Tony carried him to the jet and they flew off together to tower.

Once they landed, Tony led Peter down a hallway to a room he had never been in before.

“What’s this room?” Peter looked at Tony to ask.

“This is my best kept secret. Ever wonder how we all heal so quickly?” Tony smiled smugly.

“Not really, no.”

“Oh.” Tony’s smile dropped. “Well, it’s her.”

“Her?” Peter asked as Tony pushed the door open. Peters eyes moved past Tony and landed on you. Standing in the room that looked like it was dressed for medical purposes was you in a lab coat over a navy blue dress. Peters breath immediately hitched in his throat when you gave him a wave.

“Peter, I’d like you to meet my daughter.” Tony said as he put an arm around you.

“You have a daughter? Like from doing sex and stuff?” Peter asked in disbelief.

“What can I say?” Tony shrugged. “I was a whore in my 20s. And 30s. And now.”

“And I’m the result of that whoring. Hi, I’m Y/n.” You said and reached out to shake Peters hand.

“I’m Peter.” Peter blushed as he shook your hand.

“So what hurts?”

“My…my ass.” Peter reluctantly admitted.

“Okay, great. Wait what?” Your smile dropped.

“My coccyx.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Your cocks sick?” You asked and looked at your dad in confusion.

“He fell really hard on his coccyx.” Tony explained. “Do you think you could work your magic?”

“I don’t see why not.” You said snd smiled at Peter.

“What magic? She’s magic?” Peter asked me looked at you incredulously.

“I’ll have you know my lovely daughter has the power to heal.” Tony said proudly.

“So you can heal my butt?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Hop up on my table.” You instructed and patted the medical table beside you. Peter looked at Tony for reassurance and he gave him the go ahead. He left the room as Peter hopped up onto the table and laid on his tummy.

“How does this work exactly?” Peter asked as he nervously looked over his shoulder at you.

“You’ll see. Can you show me where it hurts?” You asked him in a kind tone.

“Yeah. Right here.” Peter said and went to pay his tailbone. He ended up smacking his own butt, sending a loud clap through the silent room. You and Peter were silent for a minute as the sound bounced off the walls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to smack it like that.” Peter mumbled quietly.

“It’s okay. But damn, that was a pretty loud smack. You got a lot of cake back here.” You chuckled as the shyness between you melted away.

“You mean that?” Peter looked over his shoulder with a pleased smile, making you laugh.

“I do. You could open a bakery with this thing. It’s phat with a “ph” at the front.” You replied, and it was Peters turn to laugh.

“You aren’t what I would expect Tony Starks daughter to be like.” He admitted.

“What were you expecting?”

“Have you seen Modern Family?”

“Of course.” You scoffed.

“I was expecting Alex Dunphy. Like, exactly her.”

“That’s fair. And to be honest, I wasn’t expecting the bug themed super-teen my dad won’t shut up about to be double cheeked up on a Thursday afternoon.” You said simply, making Peter laugh.

“Your dad won’t shut up about me?” He said in a swooning voice.

“Nope. I swear, he looked into legally adopting you at one point.”

“I wish he would. Then I’d get to live here instead of the shoebox I currently live in.”

“Yeah. My dad told me about it the first time he went to visit you. He told me the square footage and gagged a little.” You chuckled.

“Yep. That sounds like Tony.” Peter sighed and rested his chin on his hands.

“Well growing up here isn’t as amazing as it seems. There’s a million rooms and they’re almost always empty. It’s honestly pretty lonely here most of the time.” You told him, the playfulness in your voice gone. Peter peaked over his shoulder and saw that your smile had turned into a pensive look.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“I’m sorry too. Because I’m gonna need you to strip.”

“What?” Peters eyes widened.

“My powers can’t get through your suit. I’m guessing my dad made it and he tries to make these things as impenetrable as possible.” You explained as you put your hand over Peters tailbone to show him that nothing would happen. Peter looked at your hand before letting out a little chuckle.

“What?” You wondered.

“Penetrate.” He said then laughed again.

“Oh my God.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “Just take off your clothes. I’ll turn around.”

Peter got off your table and took his Spiderman suit off, leaving him in just his boxers. He took those off as well and told you he was done. You turned back around and your jaw dropped when you saw he was totally naked.

“DUDE!” You shrieked and covered your eyes with your hands.

“What?” Peter wondered.

“Why are your boxers off?!” You asked with your hands still over your eyes.

“You said strip!” Peter matched your volume out of instinct.

“Not all the way!” You exclaimed. “Why would you need to be completely naked for me to heal you?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how your powers work!” Peter shouted back.

“Put them back on!”

“Okay! Sorry!”

Peter grabbed his boxers and pulled them back up while you peaked through your fingers to look at him. He looked up at you and you quickly covered your face back up before he could see that you were peaking. He caught you and smirked to himself but said nothing.

“Okay. I’m decent.” Peter told you. You uncovered your eyes and unapologetically stared at his body for a second before looking into his eyes.

“Good. Now get on the table, perv.” You said and tried to hide the blush you felt.

“I’m not a perv.” He whined. “You’re the first person who’s ever seen my penis. Literally the very first person ever.”

“You haven’t seen it?” You asked with genuine concern.

“Obviously I have. But other than myself or anyone who’s ever changed my diaper as a kid, you’re the first.” Peter said and climbed back on the table.

“Wow. I’m so honored.” You chuckled and rubbed your hands together.

“So how’s this gonna work?” Peter asked nervously and looked over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna put my hand on your butt. Which I was kinda worried about doing because I thought it would be awkward but then you whipped your dick out and I don’t see things getting anymore awkward than that.”

“That’s fair.” Peter nodded in agreement.

“You’re gonna feel warm, okay? That’s how you know it’s working.” You prepared him and placed your hand on his tailbone. Your touch brought forth and incandescent glow as your powers started to work. Your hand glowed a sunset orange that traveled up your forearm and spread into Peters back.

“Okay. Tell me when it -ahhhhhh.” Peter sighed in relief when he felt the warmth you were talking about. His pain instantly melted away and he felt like he was floating on a cloud.

“Does that feel good?” You asked softly, making all the blood rush to Peters face.

“So good.” He breathed out. “My butt is in butt heaven right now.”

“Been there.” You nodded. “I call it Beaven.”

“Thank you so much. That really was magic.” Peter said as he rolled over on the table. You smiled and held out your hand to help him sit up.

“Do you have anymore injuries I can help you with today?” You asked without letting go of his hand.

“How about my bruised ego?” He asked with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m not a miracle worker, Peter.” You said seriously before cracking a smile.

“Then no. You’ve done all you could do.”

“I’m glad I could help. I will hopefully be seeing you around.” You said as you stood between his legs and rested your hands on his thighs.

“I hope so.” He said quietly as he gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips. You instinctively started to lean in just as the door swung open.

“Hey you two. How did it - oh. Your pants are off. That was unexpected.” Tony stopped in his tracks when he saw how little clothing Peter had on.

“If you want to talk about unexpected-“

“He doesn’t.” Peter quickly cut you off. He hopped off your table and gave you one last look before going to Tony.

“Thank you again, honey.” Tony smiled at you, but your eyes were on Peter.

“Bye Peter.” You waved to him as your hand glowed.

“Bye.” Peter smiled shyly before being ushered out of the room by Tony.

“So what did you think of her? Pretty neat, huh?” Tony asked as he walked Peter to the front door.

“She’s incredible. Do you know if she has a-“

“Boyfriend?” Tony cut him off. “She doesn’t. And it’s not going to be you. That’s my kid, okay? And in a way, you are too, so it’s basically incest if you think about it. So do not even think about it.”

“I wasn’t.” Peter lied as he thought hard about it.

A couple weeks later, Peter was asked to come on another mission with Tony. It was handled quickly and Peter was left unscathed, but Tony didn’t need to know that. He’d been dying to see you again after the last time so he did what he had to do and faked an injury.

“Ow. I really hurt myself.” Peter pretended to whine and rubbed his shoulder.

“Aw. Sucks to suck.” Tony said without looking up from his phone. Peter rolled his eyes but was determined to get what he was after.

“Do you think your daughter could help me?” Peter asked and pretended he just thought it it.

“I guess so.” Tony shrugged. “FRIDAY, take us to the tower.”

Peter pumped his fist in celebration and Tony looked at him suspiciously.

“Ow.” Peter whined again and rubbed his completely fine shoulder.

“Wasn’t it your other shoulder?” Tony pointed out.

“They both hurt.” Peter quickly lied.

“Uh huh.” Tony said skeptically before going back to his phone. They landed at the tower in no time and peters heart raced and Tony led him to your room.

“Oh. Hello again.” You smiled when Tony and Peter walked into your room. “Are you gonna keep your pants on this time?”

“No promises.” Peter said and returned the smile.

“What?” Tony demanded. “You better kept your pants on. Make promises.”

“I promise I’ll keep my pants on.” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“Good. Thanks a mil, hon.” Tony kissed your cheek before leaving the room.

“You’re welcome daddy.” You called after him.

“Daddy?” Peter snorted and gave you a look.

“Shut up, orphan.” You shot back.

“Damn!” Peter let out a shocked laugh as you covered your mouth with your hand.

“I’m sorry. That came out so fast. I had no time to stop it.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Peter laughed and sat on your table.

“I asked my dad about you after we met.” You admitted. “And then I deep searched you on the internet. And Peter, I mean really deep.”

“How deep?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“You know your comments on Porn Hub are visible to the public, right?” You asked, making all the color drain from his face.

“Oh no.” He whispered.

“Oh yes. But I think it’s cute you pointed out a plot hole in that one step mom video.” You told him with a smile.

“Oh my God.” He turned a deep red and covered his face with his hands. You found this cute and moved his hands away from his face to see him.

“Tell me what hurts.” You said in a soft voice. It was so gentle that Peter felt his chest explode with fondness for you.

“My shoulder.”

“Aw. Your shoulder?” You pouted sarcastically.

“Hey. It could be serious.” He playfully scolded you.

“Seriously pathetic.” You snorted. “Take off your suit.”

“You are just like your dad. And are you this mean to all your patients?” Peter asked as he pressed the center of his suit to let it slide off his body. You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw his body again but quickly looked away.

“Nope. Just you.”

“Should I be flattered or offended by that?” He asked you as you placed your hands on his shoulder.

“That’s up to you, pretty boy.” You said suavely as your hand lit up a golden orange. Peter didn’t get to see this last time since you worked on his back, so his eyes lit up with amazement when he saw your powers at work. Golden rays swirled under his skin as the familiar warm sensation engulfed his shoulder.

“How’s that feel?” You asked as you looked into his eyes.

“Really good.” He said softly and held your gaze. Your eyes lingered on gus for a minute until you regained your composure and took your hand away.

“All better?” You cleared your throat and asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Peter rolled his shoulder out and kept his eyes on your.

“Is there anything else I could do for you?” You asked and leaned your hands on either side of the table so that you were boxing him in.

“I don’t think so.” Peter gulped and looked at your lips again.

“Okay. Then I’ll see you next time you’re hurt.” You said but didn’t stop leaning over him.

“Is it weird I hope that happens soon?”

“Really weird, yeah.” You teased him.

“Good to know.” He smirked. “Thanks again.”

Peter returned less than a week later when he saw on Tony’s Instagram that he was away on vacation. Peter swung to the tower and snuck inside before finding your room.

“Back so soon?” You asked and leaned against the doorframe.

“You’ll never believe it. I got a paper cut.” Peter said and held up his finger.

“Oh no. You did?” You asked sarcastically.

“Yeah. It seems really deep too. Should I take my shirt off?” Peter asked as he walked into your room.

“Not this time, perv.” You chuckled and pushed him towards your table. He hopped up onto it and swung his legs as he watched your hands.

“Can I ask you something about your powers?”

“Go ahead.”

“Is it just your hands that can heal?” He wondered. You smiled a little and took his hand before taking his hand and bringing it to your lips. You kissed his fingertip and the golden rays he had grown so fond of a spread from your lips. He felt his cut heal while his face burned a bright red.

“Did that answer your question?” You asked as you looked at him through your eyelashes.

“I cut my pee pee too.” He whispered.

“Oh yeah? On what?” You humored him.

“Can opener.”

“A can opener?” You laughed in surprise. “What was that doing down there? A DIY circumcision?”

“It wasn’t. I just said the first thing that came into my head.” Peter admitted.

“That was very obvious to me but thanks.” You chuckled.

“Well do you think you could kiss it better?” He smiled teasingly.

“I’ll do you one better and snap it off. Then you’ll never have to worry about cutting it on a can opener again.”

“Is that your medically professional suggestion?” Peter asked in a serious tone. You laughed and shook your head at him, making him crack a smile.

“Don’t be fresh. I’ve seen your “pee pee” enough times for one lifetime.” You reminded him.

“Yeah. That moment has been haunting me since the day we met.”

“As does it haunt me. Now do you have anything else I can heal for you today?”

“Would you believe me if I said I had a cut on my lip?” Peter asked as his eyes dropped to your lips again. You smiled and started to lean in until your lips brushed against his as you spoke.

“Not a chance, lover boy.” You whispered and pushed his face away. Peter let out a disappointed groan while you laughed proudly.

“Fine. But I did have another question.”

“You can ask but you’re on thin ice.” You playfully warned him.

“Can you heal yourself?” He asked, making your smile drop. You stood between his legs and rested your hands on his chest before shaking your head.

“No. Isn’t that funny? The powers don’t work on myself.”

“So what do you do when you get hurt?”

“I suck it up. You should try it sometime.” You teased him.

“I’m not sure I know how. You’ll have to show me.” He joked as he brushed some hair off your forehead.

“I think I could manage that.” You smiled and played with the collar of his flannel. Peter watched your hands as his face flushed all the way to his ears.

“Y/n?” Peter asked softly.

“Yes?” You asked and slowly looked into his eyes.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like we have something going here.” He said and gestured between the two of you.

“Do you now?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I feel like we did before I said something.” Peter continued, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you kept your eyes down as you toyed with the buttons on his shirt.

“My dads your boss. So many things could go wrong.” You said quietly as your way of gently letting him down. Peter brought his hand to your face and used his pinky to tilt your chin up so you could look into his eyes.

“But so many things could go right.” He said with his eyes on your lips. You looked into his eyes and shook your head a little to show him you meant what you said.

“I promise that if you take a chance on me, we could be really good together.” Peter pleaded with you. As much as you wanted to give in, you knew you couldn’t cross this line.

“It’s like I told you. I can’t heal my heart if it breaks.” You said and took a step back from him. Peter nodded in disappointment but ultimately understood.

“But thank you for the offer.” You said to lighten the mood. Peter looked down at his healed finger and folded it into a fist before letting it go.

“No. Sure. Of course.” Peter didn’t look at you as he got off your table. He went to the door but stopped when he felt guilty for how he was acting. He turned to you and gave you a smile that showed he wasn’t angry.

“Thanks for healing me. I’ll see you next time.” He said sincerely before leaving the room.

You didn’t see or hear from Peter for the next few weeks. Your guilt had been eating away at you every day and you longed for the moment he’d walk through your door needed something to be healed. Finally, you got a text from your dad that he was on his way over with Peter. You put on some lipgloss and fixed your hair before setting up your medical table. Soon enough, you heard a knock at your door.

“This better not be another paper cut.” You said as you opened the door. Your eyes widened when you saw Tony carrying Peter while Peter clutched his stomach.

“It’s not. It’s really bad.” Tony said in a shaky voice as he laid Peter down on your table. Peters head slumped to the side and he could see that he had three deep scratches going across his entire chest.

“Oh my God. What happened?” You put your hand over your mouth when you saw Peters wounds.

“Giant lizard.” Tony told you.

“Giant lizard?! What?!”

“Don’t ask. Please just fix him.” Tony begged and you could see that he had started to cry.

“I will. But I can’t do it if you’re in here. You gotta go.” You said and Tony immediately left. You warmed up your hands and started to put them on Peter when he grabbed your wrist.

“Y/n.” Peter croaked out.

“I’m right here, Petey. I got you.” You told him and gripped his hand.

“It hurts really bad.” Peter said as tears slid down his bloody face.

“I know. I’m gonna heal you, okay? I promise.” You said and put your hand over his wound. Your hand started to glow but the wound was so deep that the bleeding didn’t stop.

“I don’t think it’s gonna work. I think I’m gonna die.” Peters voice cracked as he looked down at his wounds. You quickly tilted his chin up so he couldn’t see how badly he was hurt.

“You’re not gonna die, okay? I’m not gonna let that happen. Just let me heal you.” You said as your tear drops fell onto his face.

“If I die-“

“You won’t.” You cut him off.

“If I do.” Peter continued. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” You asked and stroked his face with your free hand.

“I think…” Peter began but trailed off.

“Yes?” You urged as you leaned close to his face.

“I think your butt is big too.” He said in a weak voice.

“Oh my God.” You let go of his hand and let it drop into his chest.

“I wanted to tell you that the day we met. But I forgor.” Peter said before breaking down into a coughing fit.

“I’m not even gonna heal him. I’m gonna let him die.” You said, mostly to yourself.

Peter let out a strained laugh before passing out from the pain. You quickly moved your hands along his cuts until the bleeding eventually stopped. Once you had that under control, you pressed down firmly on his chest to spread your powers as deeply as you could. Finally, his wounds closed before your eyes. You pressed the center of his suit and tugged it off of him so that you could properly clean him up. Peter ended up waking up after you had put him in a fresh pair of scrubs that you kept in your room. When you saw his eyes flutter open, you rushed to his side.

“Hey, you healed me.” He said with a soft smile. You replied by swiftly smacking him across the face.

“That’s for dying.” You told him. You then leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“That’s for coming back.” You said. Peter slowly sat up as he never broke eye contact with you. After a beat of shocked silence, he spoke.

“What kind of Disney channel ass shit was that?” Peter asked with a disgusted face.

“Are you kidding me?” Your smile dropped.

“Are you? That was the corniest thing you could’ve possibly done. It’s giving “he’s right behind me, isn’t he?”. It’s giving “uh guys, you’re gonna want to see this.” It’s giving-“

“Okay. I get it. I’ll just never speak again then.” You cut him off and held up your hands in defense.

“Wait. Come back.” Peter chuckled and pulled your back towards him by your shirt. You rolled your eyes but looked him in the eyes to hear what he said to say.

“Can you heal a broken heart? Aha.” He asked you in a fake deep voice.

“I’m about to smack the fuck out of you.” You warned.

“Okay. But you have to promise to heal me after.” He teased. You couldn’t help but smile at his antics as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He looked into your eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Can we cut the bullshit and make out already?” He asked you, puppy dog eyes in full effect.

“And you think what I said was corny?” You laughed at him.

“And you think what I said was corny?” Peter mimicked you. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Shut up and kiss-” You started to mimic him back when he pulled you into a kiss. You cupped his face with your hands as he pulled you into his lap to deepen the kiss. You were just getting into a groove when you heard the door open.

“Hey honey. Is Peter….” Tony trailed off as you and Peter quickly broke apart. You stepped back as Peter wiped your lipgloss off his mouth. Tony looked between the two of you for a long time as you all stood in uncomfortable silence.

“Honey, get your powers ready. Peters gonna need them.” Tony said and he cracked the knuckles on both his hands.

“But…but I just healed him.” You said quietly.

“You’re gonna have to heal him again.” Tony replied as he stretched his arms.

“Why?” You wondered and looked between Peter and your dad. Tony cracked his neck before staring Peter down.

“Because I’m about to beat the shit out of him.”

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