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sports-on-sundays · 13 days

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boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 3

Summary: Lando x girlfriend!reader - Being a couple doesn't automatically make everything better.

Warnings: stressing, screaming, head ache, censored cursing, use of nickname 'Lan' for 'Lando', crying, me being obsessed with Lando's curls (same old, same old), blood, I think this might be shorter than the other parts

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: Link to part 2, which has a link to part 1.

You slip, and stumble down, your knees and palms being shredded against the slippery surface. You gasp, knowing far, far ahead, your sunshine lies. But you know you can't reach him. The icy fingers wrapping around your ankles, pulling you back down- they're too strong. You gasp a little.

You've fallen over the edge, once again.

You cry out, but your mouth produces no sound. Where is your savior now? Where is your sunshine.

You slam your head on the cold, wet stones. You don't know if the puddle around your head is rain water or blood.

The moment the screaming in your head took over, and doubt clouded your mind was the moment the grip on your heart came back and tugged you back over the edge.

The moment you let them tell you your sunshine isn't real. It's all a feverish figment of your imagination. And if he were there, he would have no love for you.

He would be getting ready to break your heart, just like everyone else.

And you spiraling into the black hole of panic and confusion.

Back here, in this familiar spot, on this familiar road, it's not numb. The pain is screaming, streaming, and terrible. Like getting hit by a heavy, blowing force.

You scream out.

For a second, you wonder why no one answers.

You have been gone from this road too long, apparently.

You forgot that no one is on this road to hear you. Because the reason anyone would ever be here is because someone didn't care. Someone didn't care to keep them away. To save them.

Why?

You rest your throbbing head on the ground, defeated.

Defeat. You're letting it take you. Hold you, and destroy you. It hurts, but it's not unfamiliar.

You press your head against this road.

Here you are again, on this boulevard, with yet another broken dream.

"Y/n! Y/n! Come on! It's just a nightmare!" Lando is yelling as he intensely shakes your body.

But as you wake up, the shaking just makes you more panicked, and you grip onto his shirt, looking up at him, eyes wild and forehead sweating.

He wraps you in his arms and soothes, rubbing his hand over your hair, "You're okay... It's okay... I'm here."

"But- you weren't-" you gasp.

"Shhh," he pulls you closer, holding you with gentle arms. "You can tell me once you've calmed down more, okay? Right now, just feel me. Just be. I'm here. It's okay. Can you feel my body heat? My heart beating? I'm here. You're okay."

You lean against him, in his arms for a while longer, before you're calmed down enough, and lean away. You say with a shaky breath, "Where- where have you been?"

He blinks in surprise. "Just out on a training trip-." He breaks off kind of suddenly.

"How long has it been?" you breathe. "Alone, here... everything blurs into one, staying here all day... I don't know... I just..." You rub your head, feeling a little dazed.

"Oh, Y/n," he says, pulling you back to him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry..." But then he asks, softer, "Did my baby miss me?"

You nod slowly. "I thought... I was scared... You just left, and I... Do you ever get tired of me?"

"No!" he exclaims firmly, which makes you flinch. "Y/n, you need something else, though... you need something more than just me to keep you happy."

A pit in your stomach drops. "Is that what this is all about? You keeping me happy?"

"No!" he exclaims once more. "I want you to be happy, but that's not the only reason why I date you, muppet. Obviously. I need you just as much as you need me."

"Then how come you leave? How come I'm always the one crying in your arms? Clearly, I need you more than you need me. And I hate feeling like that."

He frowns. "You would be surprised if you knew how better my life has gotten since you. Now- why don't you come on, and we can have some breakfast?"

You nod slowly, getting up. There are emotions, problems, stirring within you, but you can't talk about them, because you can't lay your finger on what they even are.

And then your questions come. Because Lando is gone a lot, and it doesn't feel right.

You can't shake the feeling that he's avoiding you, and it's terrible.

Because the moment your sunshine leaves, you fall again, into the rain.

Back onto your road.

That boulevard.

He just seems to be keeping secrets. He's hiding things from you. And if anything is important enough to hide from you, that means it's also important enough for you to know.

"You like spending time with me, right?"

"You wouldn't even lie to me? Right?"

"Have you stopped loving me? I'd rather you be honest than not."

"Are you cheating? If you're cheating, just tell me."

"If I'm too much for you, say it. Am I too much for you?"

"Am I too much of a burden?"

And other questions like this. Every time, he assures you of his love and loyalty, but his actions aren't exactly lining up with his words.

And it's crushing you.

Or maybe you're just overly sensitive.

But finally, one day, you're done. You corner Lando and snap, your voice unexpectedly cracking, "I know you're hiding things and if you don't tell me, I can't live with you any longer in this anxiety!"

At this threat, his eyebrows crease together, and he exhales, nodding hesitantly. "Why don't we sit down? I've been thinking over a lot of things."

A lump forms in your throat as you follow him to the couch. "What are you hiding from me?" you demand.

He lets out a shaky sigh, staring down at his fiddling, folding and unfolding hands. "I haven't cheated. Of course I haven't. I love you; of course I do. And I definitely don't want you leaving."

"So? What is it, then? What are you hiding?" You feel some relief to hear him say honestly that he's not cheating.

"My own pain, Y/n," he practically whispers.

You freeze, and immediately feel a tinge of guilt deep down in your chest. "Oh, God, Lando... Lando, what have I been missing? Have I been hurting you? Did something happen? Is it my fault?"

"No!" he suddenly snaps, looking up. "Of course not! And this is why I didn't want to tell you!"

"What is?"

"I didn't want to tell you because I knew it would just stress you out. You're too fragile and perfect and delicate and untouchable and f*cking gorgeous and- and- if I tell you my problems- I just don't want to hurt you. You have enough to stress about. I don't want you to have to worry about me, too, on top of it all."

You stare, open your mouth. Close it. Sigh shakily. "Oh, Lando..." you gasp, wrapping your quivering arms around his body, pulling his body to yours. "Why do you think you're any less fragile than I am?"

"I'm lucky! I was born with practically a silver spoon in my mouth! I could follow my dreams; it was provided for me! I had enough money and resources to chase them. You didn't, and it's not fair, and there's not reason for it. But you've been broken. You have too many f*cking broken dreams and it's not f*cking fair and I wish I could just fix it and make it all better for you because-" he inhales, and you think he might be crying a little as he wraps his arms tightly back around you, burying his eyes in your shoulder, "Because I love you."

You nod slowly, holding tightly back onto him, but whisper, "So because your life has always been good, and you always had more freedom and opportunities than me- that means you aren't allowed to hurt, too?"

"It feels obnoxious for me to complain to you! I had it all given to me! You had nothing!"

"But now I have something. I have you. We have us. And the only way I'm going to have all of you- all your love- is if you talk to me. Don't pretend it's all okay when it's not. You don't need to do everything to make me happy. You've done enough. Ultimately, it's up to me, in the end, and you've just given me a boost up, to make it easier. But you shouldn't feel so responsible of me. I do hurt when you're gone, but that's something I need to work through, because I know you love me, and if you didn't leave sometimes for work, we wouldn't be living in f*cking Monte Carlo right now! Lando, no matter how much of a better hand you were given in life than me- that doesn't mean you're not human like the rest of us."

He nods into you, and now you're sure he's crying. You rock him slightly, pulling him even closer to you, as you run your fingers through his curls and whisper, "Now, let's try this being open with each other. What's been bothering you, Lan?"

He sighs and finally leans away. You wipe a stray tear on his cheek and look deep into his eyes as he murmurs, "I've just been feeling down. My performances should be better, and I know I have so much support, but it doesn't feel like it. I've just been holding in all my emotions and tiredness and anger at myself, and it's getting harder and harder to do that without breaking and showing it."

"Oh, baby," you sigh, pulling him to you again. He sighs, resting his head on your chest, staring out across the room. "Lando, just talk to me. I'm here. If you listen to my struggles, I'm here to listen to yours."

He nods, and his lips move. He speaks softly, and you listen. After your sunshine coming to save you, sometimes when his fire starts to burn out, shouldn't it be your job to give it the extra spark when he needs it?

Consider this repayment, huh?

You smile softly, looking down at him, stroking his soft curls, feeling them through your fingers, as his voice finally silences, and all the words he needed to get out have gotten out.

But he adds three more soft words at the end: "I love you."

"You love me?" you chuckle as he sits up to look at you. "I bet I love you more, after all you do for me."

He smiles softly at you. You don't mind that his eyes are a little red and puffy. He's still as handsome as ever.

Then he gently tugs you onto his lap, and a soft giggle escapes you as he presses his lips into your forehead, before whispering into your skin, "Now, what about you, baby? How was your day?"

You smile, close your eyes, and start speaking, all in the comforting rays of the sun himself shining on your cheeks.

The end.

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sports-on-sundays · 13 days

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15 QUESTIONS 15 FRIENDS

Thank you so much for tagging me @devilscherryflavouredgirl !

1.Are you named after anyone?

No.

2.When was the last you cried?

Perhaps a couple weeks ago? I almost cried yesterday, though.

3.Do you have kids?

No.

4.What sports do you play/have you played?

Volleyball and football. I've played basketball, too, but it's really not my thing.

5.Do you use sarcasm?

Whenever I open my mouth to speak, yes.

6.What is the first thing you notice about people?

How good looking they are in general.

7.What is your eye colour?

Dark brown.

8.Scary movies or happy endings?

200% happy endings.

9.Any talents?

Writing. I'm also alright at singing.

10.Where were you born?

Prefer not to answer. Not the country I live in currently, though.

11.What are your hobbies?

Listening to music, writing, singing, watching sports, playing sports, reading, SLEEPING.

12.Do you have any pets?

A cat.

13.How tall are you?

Short.

14.Favourite subject at school?

Geography, Literature

15.Dream job?

Sports Journalist

I will tag these mutuals: @dessxoxsworld @pedrimicanario @littleadaline @illusionsdelusions101 @escapism-writer

#sports-on-sundays

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sports-on-sundays · 14 days

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Thank you so much to all 907 people who voted! Charles Leclerc it is- so if you're interested in that, stay tuned. 💖

⚠️⚠️PLEASE ANSWER THIS; I DO NOT KNOW AND WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE PREFER.⚠️⚠️

Please reblog, thanks.

-belle

#sports-on-sundays #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 one shot #formula 1 #formula one #formula1 #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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sports-on-sundays · 16 days

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hello, how are you? xx

I've got a few things stressing me out haha, but over all, quite fine. Thanks for asking 💖

-belle

#sports-on-sundays #ask box

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sports-on-sundays · 20 days

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hii, could you do fluff with pau cubarsí where the reader is a volleyball player and he goes to watch her to a game but she loses and she is sad and disappointed of herself and pau tries to cheer her up? hope you’ve understood everything!

bump, set, spike / Pau Cubarsí

Summary: Pau x volleyball player!girlfriend!reader - Pau is there to comfort you after a loss.

Warnings: I love volleyball- but sorry if I got some of the game play wrong because it's been some months since I played a real game and I don't really watch it

Requested?: Yes, thanks!

It's the fifth set. Your team has won two, and your opponent has won two.

The score is close, nearly to fifteen, and it's your serve.

You breathe deeply, letting the whole world around you be drowned out. You have to do this right. A good serve is all you need to do. And pray that the volleys after that go in your favour.

You sigh, toss the ball up in the air, hit it, and watch as it soars through the air-

and over the net.

You sigh again, getting into position to be there to hit the ball back up as one of your opponents spikes it over the net. You run to bump it up, and wince as it leaves your arm, backing up, seeing it wasn't a very good hit.

You hold your breath as one of your teammates sets it straight up. You run to desperately try to bump it over the net, as it's now in the middle of the court, in front of the girl in sixth position, who just hit it.

You slide onto your knees and bump it up-

But it's not enough.

You watch as the ball hits the ground, right in front of the net.

Your head pounds as you press your sweaty forehead against the cold court.

"No..." you whisper.

You feel one of your teammates' hands on your back, and another says, "Hey, Y/n. Come on. You played well." She holds her hand out for you to take it, and you do. She pulls you up, and you walk off the court together, but not for a moment do you lift your eyes.

After you've showered and changed from your shorts, jersey, knee pads, and volleyball shoes, you're wearing a comfy yellow hoodie, grey jeans, and a light blue denim jacket. As soon as Pau sees you, he rushes to you, and exclaims, "Good job, Y/n!"

But you continue staring at the floor and murmur hollowly, "Thanks."

He frowns, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He looks at you with earnest eyes and says softly, "I'm serious. You played so well."

You shrug and mutter, continuing to walk past him, "Yeah. And we were so close to winning, too."

Pau follows you, and you hear a sigh escape his lips behind you. You continue walking, pulling your hood over your face and tightening the drawstrings. When you reach the bus stop, you plop down, glad that there's not many people waiting here.

Pau sits down next to you and rests his hand on your knee gently. "I know it hurts," he begins tentatively, "to lose. But your performance was so good."

"No, it wasn't!" you snap, your nose crinkling up. "I wanted to play better, for you! You were there watching me... I wanted to... I wanted to at least win for you."

"Buttercup," he frowns, rubbing your knee a bit. "If you can play better than you played today, you're unbelievable. Because you played really well. I am impressed. I don't care what the scoreboard said. I saw how you played, how you put your all into it, and I'm proud of you. I really am. Okay?"

Your lip curls a bit as you stare at the concrete below your feet. "You shouldn't be. I was the one who lost the game..."

"Y/n, no you didn't!" he says right away, taking your hand. "That was an amazing last serve of you."

"Yeah, but my bump was bad!"

"But it's not all your fault! You're playing a team sport. You can't blame it all on yourself. You just can't. The other girl's set wasn't as good as it should have been! Maybe someone else should have gone for that ball, like the middle hitter. You went for it. You showed spirit. And I'm proud of you for that."

"Yeah, but... it didn't go over."

"And it happens, okay? Sometimes in the ninety-first minute, the perfect chance goes just wide of the post. Whoever missed that shot can't blame the loss of the whole game only on himself. You can't blame the loss on yourself, either. You won two sets, and for all five of them, you were the shining star. You were the best."

You sigh heavily. "You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend."

"No, I'm not. I watched the whole game. I watched every player. You were consistently the best."

"Stop..." you sigh, fighting a smile, trying to hold on to your disappointment at the result.

He smiles a little and says, linking his arm with yours. "Hey, forget waiting for this bus. You must be hungry after playing so hard." He pulls you up with him as he stands up. "There's a nice restaurant a few blocks away, and I've got some cash on me. How about I get my winner some dinner?"

You grumble as he pulls you along, "I'm not a winner."

"Well, you sure do play like one. Like I said, I don't care about the stupid scoreboard. I care about my girlfriend, and I'm proud to be dating the best player on that court."

"Hmmph," you murmur, glancing away, knowing if you catch his sparkling eye, you won't be able to keep the smile off your face.

But you give into the smile as he adds cheesily, "Besides, you'll always be a winner. Because damn, I think you've won my heart."

You groan, looking at him with a big stupid grin, and murmur, "Ah, shut up."

But he grins back. "There's your lovely smile. Now, let's go get some food."

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sports-on-sundays · 20 days

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hold you while you sleep / CL16 / Part 3

Summary: dad!Charles x French!reader - Now it's time to see how much louder Charles's actions speak louder than his words.

Warnings: 'Y/s/n' means 'your son's name,' you are free to imagine the son as whatever age he acts because I leave that unspecified, crying, kissing, implied sexual actions (seriously it's like two extremely vague small paragraphs), nervousness, censored curse, random name chosen for sister

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: @milenag2008 asked me to tag them, so thank you, and I hope you especially enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Link to part 1 / Link to part 2

Even though you've been trying to go on dates with Charles now for over a month, every single time you sit across the table from him, both your hands folded on the table, you can't shake the thought of how much it looks like you're about to sit down and have a very serious business interview.

But Charles always gets too antsy, takes your hand, and starts rubbing it anxiously, until one of you starts talking.

And this time, it's you who decides to speak.

"I feel like we're two high school students dating, by the way we're carrying on like this," you say with a sigh.

His thumb gently kneads the back of your hand. "It just takes a few minutes for us to loosen up. It's okay."

"I feel like we went full circle."

He looks up, meeting your eyes. "Yeah?"

"We started out dating just like this. All nervous and awkward, until we both leaned into it and loosened up. And then... we got married, and it all happened."

"This time around, I'm going to do it right."

You nod, staring at your hands, eyes glazed over. "I think Y/s/n likes it."

"I know he likes it."

You nod again, gently entwining your fingers with his nervous ones. There's some silence, before you mutter, "You've been doing good, Charles."

He looks up. "I want to be perfect for you."

"Nobody is perfect, but you've been acting pretty damn close to it. But it's just the beginning."

He sighs, nodding. He doesn't like the negative connotation you seem to end every exchange like this with, and you both know it, but you don't intend to stop until he's really proven himself.

You don't know what that means, but...

Yeah.

You figure you'll know when you know.

"Want to come sit next to me?" Charles asks.

"That's awkward," you immediately say.

He frowns.

You stand up and walk around to sit next to him. His arm immediately pulls you into him, and he whispers, "Just want cuddles."

You smile a little as he strokes your hair.

He's so soft with you. He never pushes anything.

You sigh, and you don't know if it's a content one or not.

After another month, Charles has been hanging around a lot more at your house, and Y/s/n is loving it.

Today, as you sit at the table, playing Sorry! with Y/s/n as Charles straightens up a bit (only because he offered to, seeing how hard you were trying to balance giving your son attention and getting the cleaning done), Y/s/n suddenly says with a giggle as Charles dusts a shelf in that room, "I'm so happy Daddy is here, Mama."

You smile softly, ruffling his hair a bit. "Yeah. Daddy makes good company, huh?"

He grins, seeming to love those words coming from your lips. "Yeah! Come on, Daddy! Can Daddy play with us?"

Charles smiles and says, "I'm cleaning for your mama right now, buddy."

He frowns, pouting. "Daddy..."

He smiles and says gently, "I'll tell you a secret, Y/s/n."

You watch with an eyebrow cocked up as, of course, the young boy leans in closer to listen to his dad, who says softly, "Usually, Mama cleans, but sometimes, she gets tired. Sometimes, Mama needs to be taken care of, too."

You smile a little, perplexed, as Charles says this.

Your little son's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Charles smiles, standing up straighter again to gently set his hand on your shoulder. "Your mama loves you, and it's important for you two to play together. So that's why I'm cleaning up for her."

"Daddy?" Y/s/n begins. "Do you ever have to be taken care of?"

Charles blinks at this question, and begins, "Oh, well, I usually can just take care of mys-"

Suddenly you interrupt, though, "No, Y/s/n. I think Daddy's a little confused." You grab his arm and pull him down to your seated level, saying softer, more to Charles himself than actually to your son, "Because even Daddy needs to be taken care of, sometimes, too."

You look at your blushing partner with a little smile, and gently give him a kiss on the cheek.

Often, date nights are when you lock up, and memories that make you uncomfortable to do anything come flooding back. But just spending time, doing the most mundane things- that's when your affection just seeps out.

And Charles seems to love it.

Later that night, after you and Charles put Y/s/n to bed together, you softly singing and Charles reading a story, you sit on the couch together. You were originally about to watch a show together, but that idea was soon lost when tactile Charles pulled you into his arms, letting you lean your head in his lap, and began stroking your hair.

After a while, though, you murmur, "It's probably so late. You need to be getting back to your house."

You look up at him to see him frown. "Can't I just stay here?" he asks, pulling you closer, like a teddy bear.

"For the night?"

He nods.

You swallow. That would be a step.

But all of this has been going to fast. Both of you were trying to take it slow and easy, but perhaps since years ago, you had a relationship like this, it's easy to head through it fast.

For instance, right now, you nod. "Okay. You can stay for the night."

He nods, and you sit up a bit.

He just pulls you onto his lap, earning a little mindless giggle from yourself. "You've always been so clingy and snuggly."

"You don't mind that, do you?"

You shake your head. "Out of all the things you could mess up with, you holding me close is the least of my worries."

He sighs. There's your negativity again.

"What you said earlier- about taking care of me, too. I liked that," he says, changing the conversation topic.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, Daddy," you chuckle softly.

His nose scrunches up, but he blushes. "Don't say that..."

"Why do you blush, then?"

He groans, laughing a bit, leaning back his head.

And you're surprised to hear your lips utter, "You're good. You're a good Daddy."

"You think?" he says, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Well, you sure take care of Y/s/n well. You two are so sweet. He just adores you."

"Funny enough, I think the same thing about you and him when I watch you together."

You chuckle, "Do you?"

"Yeah," he grins. "And you know it's the best when it's all three of us."

You nod slowly, leaning your head into his chest. "Yeah. I think you're right about that."

You wake up to the shrill screaming of your son: "Mama! Daddy!" And suddenly, a little boy jumps on you.

"Huh-?" you blink groggily to see your son, sitting on your stomach, grinning.

He looks overjoyed.

"Hey- hey, love, what's up?"

He grins. "You and Daddy are cuddling! Does that mean Daddy doesn't miss you anymore?!"

"Hmmm...?" Charles puts in, his eyes fluttering open at the over-energetic boy's screaming in excitement.

But just those words from him seem to wrench your heart out, and in that moment, it hits you.

Charles can't mess this up, because it's not only about me, now. It would also break this little boy's heart.

You swallow. Sure enough, you fell asleep practically on top Charles, who has his arms wrapped around your body.

"Daddy? Are you happy now?"

He smiles sleepily, and you have to admit, it's adorable. "Yeah, I'm happy. You want to know why?"

"Why?" he asks, bouncing on your stomach a bit, which makes you go 'oof.'

"Hey, hey," Charles chuckles. "Don't hurt Mama!"

He stops, but asks again, "Why?"

"Because I've got your lovely mama sleeping here in my arms," he says softly near your ear, before kissing your cheek.

You constantly wonder if he's trying to charm you, or if he just is that charming.

"Yeah, Mama!" the energetic boy wholehearted agrees innocently. "You are lovely."

You chuckle a little, picking up the little boy and slipping out of Charles's lap, "Thank you. You're very handsome. Now, let's go get you dressed and ready for school."

Charles, whenever he's not racing, seems to make it to your house.

He's gone for a while, though, and after it being about four months, since you accepted to date him again, your head is spinning.

So after Y/s/n is in bed, and he reaches you from behind and wraps his arms around your waist, instead of leaning into it, you murmur, "Can you... not, right now?"

He immediately takes his hands away. "What's wrong?"

You shrug, going to plop down on the couch. "I'm just kind of... nervous."

His eyebrows crease together. "Why?"

You swallow. "Just thinking about us."

He frowns at this. "What about us?"

"Sometimes, I just get nervous. Uncomfortable with being held... Memories flood back... and I just don't feel very good."

He looks nervous himself now. "Baby," he says softly. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"It's... okay. I honestly think I do believe you're better now."

This seems to reassure him a bit, but he murmurs, "I wish you never had to hurt again."

You sigh. "Everyone wishes that, Charles. No point spending time on something that is impossible."

He nods slowly. "But I just want us to be as comfortable as possible, together. As a family."

"I know," you sigh.

Suddenly you sigh, and flop your head into his lap. "I just want to feel safe! Secure! I want to trust... I don't want to remember what you did..."

He nods slowly, whispering, "I wish I could erase all of that."

"Me, too," you sniff a bit.

"Lovely, don't cry," he breathes, automatically wiping at your cheek as a tear falls down it.

You swallow, but tears keep coming. You're not even sure why.

Maybe there's just a lot left to work though.

Strangely enough, you and your son go to your first race together.

Years ago, you used to go to Charles's races, and you know Charles has set up to bring Y/s/n a few times, having other people take care of him.

But you two go together, to watch Charles.

It doesn't seem like it would be, but because it's such a huge part of his life, it's important to Charles. Really important. And important to your relationship, too.

Well, at five months of dating, you finally take it to the next level of intimacy with him. Let yourself trust him enough. And once his tongue is intertwined with yours, it's hard not to melt into him and let him have control- let him go as far as he wants.

And God, you forgot how good that feels.

Of course, he doesn't do anything, or take any step, without making sure it's okay with you first.

Charles, as you realize after, as he tenderly holds you and lavishes you with affection, can have his way with you, if he so desires.

You're not sure if this fact makes you excited or terrified.

Perhaps both.

And at six months of this, you have your first argument, merely days after Charles presented you with a lovely dinner at an expensive restaurant for your half-year anniversary.

You didn't even know that was a thing, let alone that Charles was going to celebrate it.

But he seems to celebrate just by the fact that all of this is actually happening.

Your head spins with you think about all this actually happening.

The argument starts when Charles flat out comes out saying, as you drive to one of Y/s/n school events, "On Saturday, we're going out on the boat."

"Who?" you ask, looking up at him.

"You, me, Arthur, Lorenzo, Y/s/n."

"No, we're not," you say, your eyebrows knitting together.

He frowns. "Why not?"

"You can go do that, but you can't just make plans so suddenly like that and expect I'll be available."

"What have you got going on, then?" he frowns deeper.

"I promised one of Y/s/n's friends' moms that I would watch her kid," you grumble.

Charles makes an annoyed little sound, saying, "Why can't you take him out on the boat?"

"Don't be ridiculous! There's no way I'm taking someone else's kid to Monaco to go on a boat ride with my boyfriend and his brothers!"

"Couldn't you ask?"

"No!" you glare. "That's so impolite! There's no way I'm asking that."

"Please?" he groans. "Can you just say something came up?"

"Charles, it's your fault for scheduling something so suddenly. I'm sorry; I can't go. Maybe you can just take Y/s/n."

"But I told them you would be there!"

"Told who?"

"My brothers! They haven't seen you in so long- they're so glad to hear we're back together. Come onnn."

Your jaw clenches in annoyance as Charles pulls into the parking lot. "Why would you say I'm going to be there before you've even told me about it?"

"I don't know!" he groans. "I wasn't thinking!"

"Clearly," you snort ruefully as he parks. "You know, I think it's obnoxious of you. You can't think you can just make plans for our whole family whenever you want. That's just not fair. You're not in charge here; you need to check with me, first."

"Sorry! I didn't know!" he complains.

You scoff a little, unbuckling your seat belt, "You sound like Y/s/n when he's in trouble. Grow up a little. You should know."

It makes it easier, still having everything in your mind of what this same man did to you years ago, to get mad at him, for little things.

And in that sixth month, things like this start happening more and more.

You lay in bed, alone, since Charles wasn't able to come over, staring up at the ceiling.

You're nervous. What if this wasn't the right thing, after all? What if you're just going to break up again in the end, and this whole thing will be a waste that just leaves things even more in shambles than they already were to begin with?

Your head pounds, and you start to sweat a bit as you think about this, running your hand through your hair as your breathing quickens.

So when you hear a knock on the door, already in your slightly panicked state, it feels terrifying to get out of bed and pad towards the door, trying to be silent, as to not wake your son up. You stand up on your tip toes to peek through the peephole, and sigh in relief when you see it's just Charles.

You grab the doorknob with your clammy hand and twist it open, whispering, "Charles, why are you here?"

His hands gently meet your waist as he walks in and shuts the door behind himself. "I missed you. I knew I wouldn't get here until late, but I wanted to see you."

You nod slowly, taking this in, "Oh- Okay."

He looks concerned, though. "I thought you would still be awake. I'm sorry. It looks like I woke you up."

But you shake your head 'no.' "I was just laying awake in bed."

"Mind if I lay with you?"

You shake your head again, and you head to the bedroom. Once you're both safe under the covers, laying side by side, Charles says, "You seem troubled. Is something wrong?"

You sigh, thinking for a few seconds, before saying, "Just thinking about us."

He looks slightly nervous, but nods. "I have been, too."

Your eyes meet, both of your heads turned to face each other. "Oh, yeah?"

He nods. "We've been arguing more. About silly things, but I've seen a common theme in all our arguments."

You swallow. "What's that?"

He finds your hand under the blankets. "It usually all starts with me, not being thoughtful enough. I'm sorry. And ever since I've realized this, I've been trying to think of your good and Y/s/n's good more often, instead of mine, and what I want to do. It's all a process, but I just wanted to let you know where I'm at... because I think we've both learned from experience that communication is key. And I know the right thing isn't to let this end. Okay?"

You nod, squeezing his hand, a certain relief filling your whole being. "Yeah. That sounds good. I'll try to give you the benefit of the doubt more often, and remember you're trying your best, and nobody is perfect. Even," you give him a tired but playful little smirk, "if sometimes, you sure do seem f*cking perfect."

He chuckles and comments, "Coming from the most drop dead gorgeous woman I've ever laid my eyes upon."

You giggle a little, cuddling closer to him. He wraps his arms around you, and you murmur, "Will you just stay awake for a bit? Just talk to me. I want to hear your voice."

He smiles softly, plants a kiss on your forehead and begins whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

The last thing you remember him murmuring before you drift off is: "I'm so glad we can be here, right now. Together. You feel like my dream, coming true. But you've had a long day, and you've worked hard. So you can go to sleep now, baby, and let me hold you while you sleep."

And you do just that.

You lean back, lounging next to Charles, looking up at the beautifully painted sky. As the sun sinks, it looks like the horizon has been painted with all different bright strokes of a brush. It casts a golden light on everything, and reflects on the bright blue expanse of water, lighting up your world.

Charles has been talking of you moving to Monte Carlo with him. Moving back to Monaco.

And this day sure makes the idea tempting. Driving around with Charles in his luxury car, with the wind in your hair, to meet Y/s/n, Pascale, Lorenzo, Arthur, and your older sister, Rebecca, at the boat. Then swimming a bit in the water when the sun was still high. And once it started sinking lower, to sit out on the water, back in the boat eating your dinner with your loved ones surrounding you.

You had started with simply, raising your glass to the sky, "Cheers to the beautiful evening!"

Pascale had put in, "Cheers to our lovely family!"

"Cheers to to the yummy food!" Y/s/n had squealed, stumbling over his words a bit as he copied you two and stuck up his cup of apple juice.

"Cheers to Y/s/n being my favorite nephew!" Arthur had laughed playfully, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Your only nephew," you had teased with a grin.

"Cheers to the young at heart!" your sister, Rebecca, put in with a grin, looking out at the lovely sea.

"And cheers to a good life, hm?" Lorenzo had added with a glimmer in his eyes.

Just as everyone was about to clink glasses and drink to it, Charles put in, looking at you straight in your eyes and wrapping his arm around you, "And cheers to forever."

Cheers to the young at heart, a good life,

And forever.

No one sees it, but for some reason, with all the loving people around you, all the laughter and joking and joy, that brings a tear to your eye.

Because this is what I want. This is want I want.

Forever.

So now you shut your eyes against Charles, feeling the warm sun on your body. You listen to Charles's heartbeat. You listen to Arthur playing with and chasing around Y/s/n. You listen to Pascale in the kitchen, humming as she gets the sweet desert ready. You listen to your sister and Lorenzo, standing at the railing, talking softly as they look out at this beautiful world.

And it is a beautiful world, isn't it?

Your eyes flutter as your heart feels whole.

Isn't that just part of this romance?

Nine months of this, now, and you don't want it to ever stop. You don't want to ever let go of it.

And you feel Charles's warm breath on your ear as he gently whispers, "Forever, Y/n, right?"

You grin, nuzzling into him, wrapping your arms around him. "Right. Forever."

Author's Note: I was thinking of writing an epilogue to this originally, but after how this ended, I don't know, because I might want to just leave it hanging like that. But what do you think? Because if you guys want an epilogue, I'll write one.

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sports-on-sundays · 20 days

Text

football in the rain / Antoine Griezmann

Summary: Antoine x female!Spanish!reader - You met a celebrity before he became a celebrity.

Warnings: running away from home, angst I suppose, missing home, sad ending, melancholy vibes, bit of Spanish (sorry if it's not correct), slight parasocial relationship?

Author's Note: I'M BEGGING YOU. PLEASE READ THIS! I wrote this because I'm a huge fan of his, okay, but listen, I know a lot of you couldn't care less about this but it was an idea I had that I needed to write down. It's not even romantic at all, so you don't have to worry about that! I'm just super proud of this and it would make me so happy to know someone read and enjoyed it. Please, if you don't enjoy it as a fic, then enjoy it simply as a story! Anyway of course I know after this mega long author's note I'm going to get 0 notes anyway.

Requested: Be real.

The year was 2006. The rain beat on your head, soaking through your clothes, as you walked, carrying nothing but a backpack on your back, in the middle of the night.

You stared down at your shoes as you walked, watching as water squished out of them with every step. You let out a deep sigh.

But suddenly, a football gently ran into your foot.

You looked up just in time to see a soaking wet teenage boy, running towards you, saying quickly, "¡Lo siento!"

His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were also soaking, hanging from his body. He had no shoes on, which you found strange.

You picked up his ball and held it, saying, "Who are you?" A part of you assumed he was just some homeless guy who had come across a ball and decided to start playing with himself.

"Mi nombre es Antoine," he said, and it became clear Spanish wasn't his first language. He eyed the ball, waiting for you to hand it back to him.

"Are you French?" you asked.

He nodded, looking at you with his big eyes. "Can I have my ball back?"

You frowned, and, being merely a teenager, asked bluntly, "Are you homeless or something?"

The boy blinked in surprise. "No! I play for Real Sociedad." He gestured, and you were surprised to see you were right by the academy, and you hadn't even noticed.

"Really?" you had asked, sweeping a wet strand of hair out of your face.

He nodded.

"How come you're out practicing in the middle of a rainy night, then?"

You watched as his jaw tightened a bit, but he responded back simply, "I want to improve. I practice whenever I can."

You laughed a bit at that as you asked incredulously, "Don't you get any sleep?"

He shrugged. "Of course I do."

You nodded, and stood there. You glanced at his ball, before rolling it back to him. He stopped it with his foot, which compelled you to ask, "Why aren't you wearing any shoes?"

He shrugged. "They got too wet on the grass. It's easier without."

"Won't you slip?"

He shrugged for about the one hundredth time.

"Well, it makes you look homeless."

"I don't care."

You nodded, shifting your backpack strap on your shoulder, as he said, "But what are you doing, walking in the middle of the night, like you are?"

You shrugged. "I'm running away from home."

The boy blinked in shock as he began kicking the ball back near the field. You followed, somewhat intrigued by this guy, Antoine, with his bright eyes, as he asked, "Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. I'm sick of my home," you said, shrugging off your backpack.

"Want to play?" Antoine offered.

You nodded, slipping off your coat, too. You started playing, just going easy on each other, before Antoine said, eyeing the jersey you were wearing, "Atlético? Are you from Madrid?"

You stood a little straighter, proud of your club. "No, but my uncle is. He's who I'm running away to. I'm sick of my parents."

"You said that," Antoine said as he intercepted your dribble.

"You're really good," you complimented.

"I'm going to go professional, soon enough," the boy smiled proudly.

You nodded. The two of you kept playing, until the score was 3-2, Antoine winning, and you flopped down on the grass next to your backpack, both covered in not only water, now, but also sweat.

"Fernando Torres?" Antoine asked, glancing at the back of your jersey. "Is he your favorite player?"

You grinned, nodding. "He's the best."

He nodded back, and you sat silently in the grey night together for some minutes, before Antoine asked softer, "Why do you want to run away from home?"

You frowned. "I don't know. I want something new. My parents expect me to do so much, and then they never even care about me. They're so controlling. I mean, I'm fifteen! They treat me like a little kid."

"Oh..." Antoine nodded again, trailing off. "Do you think they love you?"

You blinked in surprise at that question. "Of course they do!"

He nodded, and said simply, kind of suddenly, "I'm from France."

"You said."

"My parents are still back there, and my siblings. In France. I hardly ever have gotten to see them... Since... I moved here, for football."

"Well, why didn't you join a club closer to your home, then?" you asked. It seemed fairly obvious to you.

"No clubs would take me."

"What? Why?! You're good!"

But Antoine shrugged, a sad tinge to his voice, so much so, that for just a moment, you thought he might cry. "Apparently, not good enough... What's your name, anyway?"

You told him your name, and he nodded. "Mucho gusto."

You sat there for a while, together, silently. The rain subsided a bit, and finally, you stood up, grabbing your backpack. Antoine stood up with you as you said, "Well, I better get going."

Antoine nodded and said, "Bye. It was really nice, to..." he trailed off, because neither of you really knew what had just happened.

"Yeah," you smiled, understanding. "You too. Antoine."

He grinned back a bit as you turned on your heel to get walking.

But suddenly, he grabbed your wrist. You turned to face him again, your eyebrows scrunching together. "Wait," he said.

You stared.

He let out a shaky breath, before saying, "If your parents love you... I don't think you should run away... I know it's hard, but I don't think you'll regret it in the end."

You saw the glimpse of all the sadness in his eyes. The loneliness.

He knew how it would feel.

His heart was aching for his family.

You assumed it was just a stray raindrop that slowly rolled down his cheek.

You swallowed, and slipped your hand down to squeeze his. "Thanks, Antoine. I'll think about it."

"I don't think I'll ever forget you," he said suddenly, softer.

You blinked in surprise. "W- Why?"

He grinned suddenly. Those sparkling sad blue eyes shining. "I've had a nice time with you, practicing."

You nodded, smiling a little back. "Yeah I had fun, too. Well... bye, Antoine."

He let your hand slip out of his as he called, "Thank you!"

At that time, you didn't have any idea what he was thanking you for as you walked away.

Sometimes, today, you think about it. Now you figure he was just lonely. A boy in the world striving for success, but couldn't see the bright path ahead of him, at the time. Someone who kept going simply because he was a dreamer. He never let go of hope.

That night, you didn't walk to the station and get on a train to Madrid. You went home, took a warm shower, and went to bed.

And after that, things got better for you, slowly but surely.

And you thanked Antoine for that, partially.

And you hoped things would get better for him, too.

Well, you saw that with your own eyes. You saw him get older, and get a place on the first team.

And though perhaps you didn't realize it at the time like Antoine did, the same went for you.

That night, a strange connection you would never forget was formed.

There was no way you could ever forget that lonely night with Antoine, playing football in the rain.

You stand in line, holding two jerseys in your hand. All around you, you, people gushed and huffed and jabbered and pushed in mostly excitement.

Ahead of all the people, somewhere, was Antoine Griezmann, sitting at a table, signing fans' items.

Antoine, who years ago, you played football with in the rain.

You're sure the fame, the money- it changed him. You assume that's something that happens with everyone. But there were so many moments when your heart pounded, and all you could think was, Once upon a time, I stood in the rain and talked to that boy. In that moment, on that one night, we were connected.

Now, eighteen years later, you're determined to let your paths cross again.

He's a famous footballer, with everything anyone could ever ask for. Practically all the money in the world, and a beautiful wife and children.

You're just you, a woman in her thirties who has had a generally alright life, but remain middle class and alone in the world.

But there's a connection you don't want to let go of.

There were moments.

When your uncle phoned you to tell of the news of the young Real Sociedad hotshot who was signing for Atlético Madrid.

When you watched him walk off the pitch crying, after a loss to Germany in the 2014 World Cup.

When you stood up from your sofa and screamed for joy when he scored his first goal for your club, Atlético de Madrid.

When he won the World Cup for France in 2018, and you watched him smiling in the rain with the glimmering golden trophy in his hand.

When you watched him go off to Barcelona, and still stayed his supporter through that mess.

And then you saw him come back to his club. Your club.

And become it's top goalscorer.

And now you're determined to see him face-to-face again.

It seems to happen so slow, and so quick, and the same time. You're not sure if it's tedious or sudden, but either way, at some point, you step up to the table with a lump in your throat.

He looks up and meet your eyes.

He won't recognize me, will he?

"Could you sign two things for me? Antoine?"

He nods, "Of course," and you lay down your jersey of his, with the number seven on the back of it. His Spanish is a lot better now, but you know that. You watch as he scribbles his signature on the shirt and hands it back to you with a smile.

You swallow down the lump in your throat as you lay down the second jersey.

"Fernando Tor-" his voice falters, "Torres," he finishes.

He glances back up at you.

A hint of uncertainty.

Does he really recognize this old jersey?

Is it really ringing a bell, or am I just imagining things?

You breathe deeply.

Come on, Y/n. Say something. This is your chance. This is your one moment, your mind screams as he signs the second, ragged, quite older jersey.

He hands it back to you, but his eyes linger on you longer.

You blurt, "Mi nombre es Y/n."

His bright blue eyes become slightly wider as he opens his mouth to speak.

But suddenly a fan pushes your back in annoyance, and a security guard says, "Miss, we've got a lot of people to get through, and Griezmann doesn't have a lot of time."

And just like that, you're swept away by the crowd. The moment is lost, and you stare at your shoes, clutching your jerseys. You stare at all the other shoes around you, your brain drowning out all the noise.

Your heart pounds.

He remembered me. He did.

Your head aches. All you needed was another moment. All you needed was-

What did you need? Did you really expect anything? Could you even have expected anything?

You feel dizzy, as your stomach drops, and the whole world seems to spin.

You should just be happy you got your jerseys signed, by a star like him.

But to you, he feels like more than just a distant star.

You walk out, swallowing the newest lump forming in your throat, not even taking a moment to look back and see the blue eyes still glancing up and burning into your back.

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sports-on-sundays · 21 days

Note

hello! i have a request for marc guiu where marc and reader have been best friends for a long time now and marc gets together with some girl but reader realises that the girl is just in it for the money and the clout and tries telling marc that but he thinks that she's jealous so he kind of distances her and their friendship is at strain (angst). in the end all is resolved and maybe marc and reader realise their feelings for each other? its completely fine if you dont wanna do it. thank you so much!!!

not right for you / Marc Guiu

Summary: Marc x best friend!female!reader

Warnings: heights, crying, censored cursing, being used in a relationship (not reader)

Requested?: Yes, thank you.

You stare at the girl in judgment, taking her in. This girlfriend of Marc's, that he's been talking about a lot, excessively, for a few weeks now, finally stands before you. She has long, soft brown hair, falling down her back, perfectly done makeup, a chiseled face, long legs, a skinny frame, and, well, she's gorgeous.

Just being in her presence makes you feel insecure.

Marc has his hand practically glued to the small of her back as she shows you her million dollar perfect smile.

"I've heard lots about you," you say slowly. You really did mean it to sound friendly, but do have to admit that you sound more like a cowboy from a Western movie trying to pick a fight in some shady saloon.

Marc smiles and says, "I never stop talking about you, Olivia."

She giggles at this, and holds her hand out to shake yours. You nod and shake it, still not so sure about this girl.

You try to remind yourself to give her a chance and not just go by your initial gut feeling- but it's hard. It's hard not to read this book by her cover.

Simply because it seems she's putting a lot of effort into her cover- too much effort. Too much effort for it to not reflect her inner personality.

But! You mustn't make such judgments until you really know her, you remind yourself. Despite how hard it is not to.

Well, you thought maybe you would get all buddy-buddy with her to try and see if you can figure her out, but luckily, it looks like that won't be necessary. She's not the type of girl you think you would get alone with much, anyway.

Because Marc won't, shut, up, about, her.

"She's so sweet," he's going on now, "And, like, honestly, adorable." To you, she didn't look very adorable, and rather just super conventionally attractive. But not interesting or unique in anyway. Of course, you don't say this, as he continues with a boyish giggle, "The other day, she wanted to buy this watch and these earrings. So f*cking adorable the way she looked at me with her big puppy dog eyes. I couldn't resist her."

You nod slowly, taking this all in, and say sarcastically, "Sounds just adorable."

Marc doesn't seem to pick up on it. "And then, get this-" he says as he blushes more.

"Hmmm...?" you ask, unimpressed.

And then he goes on about how sweet she was to him. Showering him with compliments and saying he's the best boyfriend ever and blah, blah, blah.

This isn't the only time you've heard things about this girl. Always hungry for the camera type, won't take no for an answer type, pulls being stubborn off as being cute type, whines to her boyfriend until he says 'yes' type. Type you don't like, and the type you reckon isn't the best for Marc, either.

He talks about how happy he is to be able to make her happy and comfortable, since he's playing professional football now, but you've figured out that this girl is clearly just getting money and attention from him for her own good, and probably doesn't really care about him as a person. Not to mention, dating Marc Guiu- though he's certainly not the most well known footballer- makes you famous on some level, for sure.

Finally Marc seems to snap, "Why don't you like Olivia, anyway?"

You frown, hesitating, before saying, "Do you really want me to answer honestly?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well, alright. I'm concerned for you, because to me, it seems clear this girl only wants you for the money, clout, and attention, and doesn't really care about you as a person. I care about you as a person, so therefore, I want you to see you in a relationship with someone who does, too. I mean, you give her things all the time- what has she ever done for you?"

Marc doesn't seem very happy with this proclamation from you, understandably enough. "I don't know! Kisses me."

You snort ruefully at the dumb answer. "Ah, yes. Of course she does. She's got to keep you interested somehow, otherwise she'll lose all the money coming into her bank account. So she knows all she's got to do is keep you romantically, and possibly even sexually, pleased, and she won't stop getting what she wants. And it's easy for her to use you, because you're falling for her gorgeous looks and letting her. She's using you, clearly. I mean, it's clear to me."

"No, she's not," Marc snaps in annoyance, suddenly standing up. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"I don't know! Of her being pretty? Of her being my girlfriend?" He scoffs and walks to the door. "I'm leaving now."

You watch as the door shuts behind him.

So that means Marc doesn't think I'm pretty?

Of course he doesn't, Y/n. He has a girlfriend who's drop-dead beautiful.

And why would he think you'd be jealous of her being his girlfriend?

You don't want to be his girlfriend- at least you don't think so.

It makes you mad to think he would immediately assume your words came from a place of selfishness. They didn't. They're from a place of concern, for your best friend.

For your best friend, who now is avoiding you like the plague.

You haven't seen Marc in two months. You haven't heard him, either. You've only exchanged a few dry text conversations that really did nothing.

You stand up on the rooftop of your apartment building, staring out and down at the sparkling cities lights. Up here, fog has set in, and you feel a chill go through your body. You tighten your jacket around yourself, breathing in the scent of it.

You feel guilty for wearing this coat, though you don't know why.

It's actually Marc's. About a year ago, he left it at your house, and it became yours. When he saw you wearing it, his eyes had lightened up, so though he didn't say anything about it, you know he knew it was his.

And you know it's kind of gross, but you never washed it. You don't wear it often, and frankly, you love the smell of it. It reminds you of him.

And right now, you need to be reminded of him, since you haven't seen him in way too long.

You walk to the ledge and climb up on the barrier, sitting on the flat top of it, letting your legs dangle over.

You feel a little rush travel through your veins at this risky position, before your body calms itself again, and the melancholy feeling returns.

"No one can hear me up here," you say into the air.

"I could say whatever I want, and it wouldn't matter. It could all just get caught in this thick fog and float away. I could forget about it, and pretend it never happened, because no one else is here to hear it."

You let out a shaky breath.

"Marc, I could tell you everything. I could say whatever I want up here, and you wouldn't even know it. It wouldn't matter."

For some reason, at this, your voice cracks a little.

You say softer, "It wouldn't matter, would it?"

You breathe deeply gasping a bit down at the Barcelona street dozens of feet below you.

"Even if I screamed, no one would hear me!" you say, your voice raising.

And you do scream: "Marc! I'll bet my life I care about you more than she does! My life!"

You stare apologetically down.

I guess I'm in he perfect spot to lose that bet.

You feel hot tears threaten at your eyes as you continue, softer, "I want you to be happy.

"You're not happy with her.

"I bet you could be happy with me, Marc."

You sniff, not even sure what you're saying. You've never said things like this before.

But now, alone, knowing nothing you say really matters? It's easier to say things you never really knew you even thought.

"She's not good for you," you practically whine, rubbing at your eyes, getting warm salty liquid all down the back of your hand.

"You're my best friend," you whimper. "And now you're leaving me alone for some faker you just met a few months ago!

"I've known you for years!"

You scream, choking up a little, "Does that mean nothing to you?"

Not even your echo answers you.

You watch as a tear fall off your cheek, and down.

And down and down.

And at some point, it hits the street below.

The thought is surreal, and makes you feel a bit dizzy, even. You clutch the side of the ledge tighter.

Your knuckles are white as you call into the night, your tone lined with tears, "What if I told you I loved you? Would you even care?"

Your head spins. "Would you?"

You shut your eyes and let out a sob, feeling the lights and cars move below you, feeling alone, and separated from the world. Isolated.

But most of all, just very, very confused.

You thought you would be happy to see Marc again. But when you open your door to see him standing there, looking like a wreck, you're not happy.

Not one bit.

"What happened?" you ask as you view the boy with his red, puffy eyes and messy hair.

"Can I come in?"

You sigh, opening the door for him, but comment rudely, "So you only show up at my house, after ignoring me, basically, for two months, because something happened, and you need help?"

"Please, Y/n. That's not the only reason," he sighs, sitting down on your couch with you. You cross your arms, staring at him.

"Then, what?"

"I'm sorry. I realize you were right, now. All along. I was stupid."

"So she broke up with you, huh?"

"I broke up with her."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What finally knocked you out of your delusions?"

He shrugs. "Your words never stopped bugging me, in the back of my head. Then she started pushing me for more. More, more, more. More money, more attention, more... well, things I wasn't comfortable with so early in our relationship."

You nod slowly. "Right..."

"So, I realized you were right. She's-" his voice breaks. "She's so f*cking greedy."

You lick your lips, still nodding, staring down at the floor.

"But I feel like it was wrong. She begged me to stay... she said she thought I loved her... But I've got to love myself, too, and she was draining me dry. Taking my- my everything."

You nod, finally softening. You put your arm around his back as he stares ahead. A single tear falls slowly down his cheek, before he hastily wipes it away with another sigh. "You did the right thing, Marc. You should have listened from the beginning, but I'm happy you realized it."

"What if I broke her heart, though?"

"That's her fault for getting into a relationship just to use someone! And besides," you add bitterly, "those were probably just crocodile tears."

"You... you think?"

You snort. "I know, Marc."

He hesitates, before saying, turning to look you in your eyes, "I'm sorry... for distancing myself from my best friend like that. I thought you were jealous. I should have taken you for your word."

You swallow back a lump in your throat. You put your hand on his and murmur, "It's okay... I forgive you."

"You- You do?"

You blink in surprise. "Of course I do, Marc. That's what friends are for. Friends will always be there, even when you walk away."

And then your breath hitches when suddenly, he pulls you into a tight hug, half pulling you onto his lap. His hand gently rubs your lower back, which gives you butterflies, and you're extremely aware of every point in which your bodies are touching. "Thank you so much, Y/n," he breathes.

You bury your head in his shoulder, murmuring, "You're welcome. I'm just glad to have my Marc back."

"Your Marc?" he grins, leaning back to meet your eyes. His deep, light brown, gentle eyes. "I like the sound of that. You know, being called yours."

You blush at that. "Only if I can be called yours, too."

He grins and mutters, "You'll always be my best friend first, Y/n. I know I just ended a relationship... but..."

"Oh, God," you squeak, eyes widening. "Are you-"

"I mean, if you-"

"Yeah, I could-"

"Good," he grins, pulling you back into the tight hug. You can feel his heart beating quickly against your chest. He leans his head against your shoulder and gives your neck a little kiss.

"So, you-" you breathe, "you love me- me back?"

His mouth smiles against your neck. "Yeah. I think I've known you long enough to say I love you."

You grin and trace the words into his back.

I love you.

"I'm glad you came around, Marc."

"I'm glad I came around, too, Y/n."

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sports-on-sundays · 21 days

Text

us / OP81

Summary: Oscar x childhood friend!female!Australian!reader - 'She fell first, he fell harder' trope. You had a crush on Oscar for years but you never thought you and him would actually happen. Fluffy thing I'm banging out for his birthday.

Warnings: censored cussing

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: It's raining right now, so that kind of inspired this.

"Ugh!" you suddenly groan when you feel a raindrop on your arm. "You've got to be kidding me! I thought it wasn't supposed to rain for another two hours!"

"It's raining?" Oscar asks, looking up at the grey sky. "F*ck, you're right."

"Yeah! I hate the United Kingdom!"

He snorts. "I can't say I disagree."

"Weather sucks. Can't even go for a nice walk with my friend without it starting to rain halfway through it!"

"Want to turn around, then? Head back to my flat?"

You groan and nod. "Sure." The two of you begin walking, retracing your steps.

You're just celebrating his birthday late with him, spending some time, and plan to give him a little gift later.

"Getting chilly?" Oscar asks as you walk, amused. "And you were so sure earlier, before we left. 'Oscar, it's fine!'" he begins imitating you, "'The rain won't begin for another two hours! I'll be fine in just this!' You're going to freeze."

You sigh. Yes, it's true. You were stuck on wearing the orange papaya crop top you just bought for this date afternoon walk with Oscar. He kept asking you why you were so stuck on it, but of course you couldn't answer. Because then you'd be admitting to his handsome face that you like him, and that you want to impress him.

He's not very impressed right now with your foolish decision to not bring a jacket, and makes this clear as he mutters, "You're so weird."

You frown. Well, that's the opposite of your goal. You want Oscar to like you, not think you're weird.

But when he catches your eye, there's a teasing look to it. "But I don't mind you being weird. Just becomes a little annoying when I have to give up my jacket in order to keep you warm."

You stare at him as he grins, slipping off his black windbreaker/rain resistant jacket and lays it over your shoulders. He's wearing a long sleeve shirt under it, but still, you feel bad.

And you're definitely not cold anymore, as you're heating up with embarrassment by the sweet gesture from him. You slip your arms into the jacket, which is big on you, and smells like whatever cologne or laundry detergent or whatever he uses.

You look up at him, catching him staring at you, with a little smile on his lips.

He looks away.

"Wha-?" you demand.

"Nothing. It's just kind of big on you."

"Right."

Well, now it's awkward.

Oscar seems to make a point of always walking on the side of the street on the sidewalks. You're not sure if it's because it's specifically you, or if he would do that with anyone, but either way, you like it.

As you walk, the air seems to get more chilled, and the rain picks up. Suddenly, there's thunder in the distance, and you flinch.

Oscar looks to you. "Don't worry. That thunder is far off. We'll be home in no time."

You frown, not convinced. "Oscar, I don't know..." You tighten the hood of his jacket around your face.

"Hey," he says suddenly, meeting your eyes. Locking your eyes with his. "Don't worry."

"It's so rainy, Oscar... I'm raining so hard now..." you wipe a raindrop from your forehead.

Oscar seems to pick up your discomfort at the rain and fear of a potential lightning storm. He suddenly grabs your wrist (which gives you a bit of a rush) and pulls you up some stairs, so that you're standing under the overhanging roof of some closed business.

"Let's just wait it out here, then," he says simply, still not letting go of your wrist.

In fact, his hand just slips down a bit, so he's holding yours.

You stare at the ground. At your hands.

And you can't help but feel butterflies.

"Hey, uhm, Oscar?" you ask.

"Yeah?" he asks back.

But you don't know what to say, so you stay quiet, watching the rain with him.

"You're feeling okay?" he asks after a while.

You look up at him. Because of his jacket around you, you're mostly dry. His shirt is wet and hanging from him, and his wet hair is stuck to his forehead.

You reach up, and without thinking, ruffle his wet hair a bit.

He just laughs, saying, "What you doing?"

You shrug, smiling at him.

And then more silence. Other than the rain beating on every surface around you, there's not noise. Other than the two of you, standing here, alone but together, there is no one else around.

Suddenly Oscar says, "I've been thinking about something."

"What's that?"

"You."

You look up, just in time for Oscar to gently put his hand on your waist.

You blush bright red.

"You like me, don't you?" Oscar asks softly, searching your eyes for something.

"Y- Yeah..." you mutter, looking away from his eyes.

He smiles. "You're so shy. Look at me."

You force yourself to look back at him.

"How long?" Oscar asks. "How long have you liked me?"

You clear your throat. "Quite a while now. Like, years."

"Years?"

"Yeah... Like, since we were eighteen, maybe."

"Oh, wow..." he nods. Thinks for a few seconds. "I've been thinking about you and me lately. Like, you know. Us."

You blush at just that word.

Us.

It's something you want, and you have wanted for a while.

Suddenly he begins to whisper. "I've liked you for not as long... recently, I've just kind of realized, but I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I just... I love your hair, and your eyes... You're so pretty, and caring... I love your teasing and your sweet personality... You feel so perfect. Like, where would I be without you. You're just, like, the missing piece to my puzzle. It's like... like, all the sudden, I just kind of realized... it just kind of clicked..."

"What did?" you breathe.

He stares at you intently, not letting your gaze escape, even if it wanted to.

"The fact that I know that I love you."

Your mouth drops.

Your head swarms.

What? How?

You have always said you liked Oscar. You said you had a crush on him, and you'd love to date him. You'd say he's cute, and you get along with him. But never had you thought you needed him, or in someway, he was your second half. You never really thought you were actually meant for each other. Never had you though you would be someone else without him. Never had you...

Never had you even considered those words.

I love you.

He loves me, and he knows it.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

He smiles a little, his cheeks finally reddening a bit. "I guess I just figured, you know, today was the day to tell you. Celebrating my birthday and all, with you... Sorry it's raining, though. It would've have been nicer news if it were sunny, and I wasn't soaking wet, looking like a pathetic wet wild animal," he jokes.

You laugh out loud, still a bit nervous, but say, "I'd still like you, even if you always looked like a pathetic wet wild animal."

He grins a little, nodding. "I mean, you know. Maybe it would be a little bit more impactful on a lovely sunny day in Melbourne or somethin', sitting with you on a park bench, overlooking-"

You giggle. "Are you fantasizing?"

He blushes. "So what if I am?"

You grin. "Well, next time we're in Melbourne... you better bring me to the park and make that come true. Buy me some ice cream. Then we can go for a real walk, without having to go home halfway through because of a rain storm."

"And without having to stop because it gets too rainy, just for me to confess my love for you," he adds, still grinning back, but his eyes softening at the same time.

I grin and mutter, "I never imagined you to be the type to fall hopelessly in love."

"I'm not," he laughs, "but maybe you're just the type to do that to me."

"Well, maybe rainy London isn't so bad."

He chuckles. "Yeah. Maybe not."

Later, after you've made it back to Oscar's flat, you're sitting on his couch, waiting for him to finish changing into dry clothes and getting some snacks. He comes back in sweatpants and a hoodie, and sits down next to you, turning on some cricket on the television. He hands you the plate of snacks, and you both start munching as you watch the television, sitting a healthy-friend-distance away from each other.

But Oscar realizes this and says, "Come on, now. You can sit closer than that." He tucks his arm around your back, gently pulling you into him. You head naturally falls to leaning against his shoulder.

You smile and shut your eyes a bit, content. "This feels right," you tell him softly.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I agree. It does, doesn't it?"

"Oh!" you suddenly say. "I still haven't given you your birthday present yet, Oscar."

"Oh yeah..." he smiles, watching you.

You reach in the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a little box. You watch him nervously as he opens it and pulls out the bracelet. You say quickly as he studies it, "I know you're not really one to wear jewelry a lot like some of the other drivers on the paddock... But I thought maybe, just, like, a bracelet... to remind you of me... because... you know... I like, miss you when you're gone and stuff... I know it's dumb, but..."

"It's not dumb," he says immediately. It's a little leather woven bracelet, with your name on it, written in morse code.

He grins and slips it onto his wrist, pulling it tight. "This is so sweet. And thoughtful. I'll wear it every race weekend. All the time."

You giggle, leaning even more into him. "I like that. You're so sweet."

Suddenly, he gently takes your chin in his hand, staring deeply into your eyes. "Maybe we'll have to get you one, too, though, so we match."

"Yeah, with your name on it in morse code."

"Exactly... And, hey..." he strokes your cheek with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?"

You nod slowly, completely taken by the romantic look in his soft, brown eyes. "Of course."

"Mind if I kiss you?"

Your face flushes bright red, but you shake your head. "I don't mind at all."

"Good," he says, and leans in. And his lips meet yours.

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sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Text

red wine / CS55

Summary: mafia!husband!Carlos x wife!reader - ANGST. You want to get out of the marriage you regret, but Carlos won't let you go.

Warnings: "dark fic," mention of murder, angst, toxic relationship, forced relationship, kissing, biting, sexual touching (nothing too serious), screaming, crying, despair, disrespect, if I missed anything let me know

Requested?: No.

You stare at the wine in your glass, slowly spinning and sloshing the bloody liquid, staring past it into the dark. You don't even look up as you hear the door open. You don't even look up as Carlos makes his way to you, immediately wrapping his muscly arms around you, slipping his hand under the low collar of your silky dress.

"Someone is needy," you say boredly, setting the glass down. Your eyes are glazed over as you mutter, "I'm not in the mood right now."

"I am," he mutters in your ear, his hand travelling further down.

"I'm aware, Carlos," you snap, slipping away from him, standing up to look down at him.

"What's wrong?" he says, taking your hand. He holds it a little too tightly.

You clench your jaw and mutter, "I'm getting sick of you. I want to get out."

He holds your hand even harder, and tugs you toward him. He wraps his arms around your middle and presses his cheek to your stomach, saying softly, "You know I can't let you do that."

"You're my biggest regret," you mutter, running and hand through his dark hair.

"What's done is done. Now I couldn't live without your sex and affection."

"But it's all in vain," you mutter, your voice even harder. "I though this would be worth it, for the money."

"You're gorgeous and rich, and I've helped you do that. You can't leave."

"What if I did?"

He grips you harder. "I won't let you. If you ever try, know that I'll find you. And you'll be in a lot of trouble."

You swallow. "What if I report you? Tell the police everything? Send you to jail?"

"Mi amor, you won't. You chose to marry me. And you've done horrific things yourself, no? We would be going to jail together. There's no separating yourself from me, and you know it," he purrs, pulling you down onto his lap.

You sigh as he begins kissing and biting at your neck, and hopelessly lean into it.

Carlos can barely keep his hands off of you before the dinner. He's been getting more... physical lately, but that's not even the part you're concerned about.

It's what he's been saying.

"Mi amor, are you comfortable? Are you happy?"

He never shows he cares about you, and you don't care about him, neither.

"Does this feel good, or do you want me to stop?"

He never cares about how you're feeling or your opinion.

"I'd do anything for you."

He's always showed he only cares about himself, and himself only. He's never done anything for you.

"I care about you so much. I wish I knew how to make you understand that."

He's never cared before.

You're sure this is just him trying to manipulate you to want to stay with him, but it's still strange. That shows he doesn't have enough faith in his own power and control to keep you.

Or it shows he really does care.

Which isn't very likely at all.

You stare into his black eyes, a hard expression in your eyes as his hands travel over your waist and he mutters in a low tone, "That dress looks so good on you."

You wear a long black slit dress with no sleeves, a pair of long, black gloves, and high black heels. The only white thing on you is a small pearl necklace, high up on your neck.

Carlos, who is wearing a completely black suit himself, says as his hand travels over your necklace, "Isn't the outfit a little dark though...?"

"And yours isn't?"

He nods. "Fair. It won't matter; you're right." He leans away a bit, saying simply, "Our guest of honour should be here any minute now."

It's all apart of his plan, and you're just here to look pretty. He's inviting an enemy over to 'discuss terms of agreement,' and then plans to poison his wine and kill him, essentially.

Nothing too out of the ordinary.

So soon you sit next to Carlos, across from the other criminal, listening boredly to their manipulative and confusing words, just eating your food.

As they speak, you feel Carlos's hand discreetly gliding beneath the tablecloth, finding its way onto your thigh, slipping in between the slit in your dress. Despite the distraction, you attempt to maintain composure and concentrate on your meal, while his large hand caresses and strokes your thigh, gradually making it's way up, higher and higher.

Suddenly you grab his hand hard, right when you think he's about to go too far, and breathe, "Carlos... Why don't you go get that new wine you bought in mind of Señor Moreno's visit? I'm dying to try it, amor."

You can't help but let out a relieved sigh as Carlos's hand slowly slips back to himself. "Right," he smiles, exchanging a look with you. "I'll go get the wine."

So soon, he has a glass for each of you. You sip from yours. You know Carlos told you the effects of the poison won't come on right away, but you still find yourself eyeing the guest.

"This is good wine, Sainz..." the man says, and the two continue their conversation.

Apparently, the man leaves before the poison can kick in.

"Is that normal?" you ask, leaning over the table to look into Carlos eyes.

"Of course it is. He certainly won't be alive to wake up in the morning."

You nod slowly, and suddenly stand up, walking to the living room. Carlos, of course, follows, and you say, not even turning to face him, "I didn't like what you were doing during dinner."

His hand grips your waist from behind, "Yes, you did."

But you spin on your heel, knocking his hand away and snap, "No, I didn't! I don't want you touching me like that!"

He seems only slightly surprised by the sudden outburst, and responds, "I'm your husband! Why should I not touch you how I like?"

"Because I don't want you to be my husband!" you suddenly scream, letting out trapped emotions of days, and weeks. And years. "I hate you!" The anger seems to be hitting your head, making you dizzy, making everything shift a little. Blurry with rage. And hurt.

"You chose to marry me!"

"What if I were to chose to divorce you?"

"I won't let you!" he shouts back, his eyes looking slightly desperate.

Slightly fearful.

"And that's why I ha- h- hate-"

And then everything slows down. Everything turns red and wrong and-

Carlos watches as you seem to freeze, mouth and eyes wide open.

And then, you crumble to the floor.

Carlos dives to his knees, and catches you in his arms and lap right before you hit the floor.

Outside of himself, his voice screams your name.

Thoughts scream in his mind.

"Y/n!"

And then it hits him.

Did she somehow get the poisoned glass?

"No... no..." he gasps, holding you close to him. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he gasps. "Please... please don't leave me... I do love you... I really do... I would... I just don't know how to treat you right... but I want to... I would change for you... Please... I would... just please don't..."

Your blurry vision falters as you look up at him with half lidded eyes. You feel him lean down and press his lips to your sweating forehead. "Please," he gasps, tears flooding his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Carlos sees you try to speak, but fail. He watches as you weakly, gently allow your eyes and mouth to shut.

"No!" he cries.

Your body goes limper in his arms.

"Y/n!" he screams as tears begin to flow down his cheeks. "Y/n, wake up! Answer me!"

He never cries.

I just didn't know how to do the right thing, his mind screams. Is this my punishment? For all I've ever done? That the only person I have that still loves me is now going to die by my hand?

"Y/n... please..." he breathes, wiping his own tear off your lovely, smooth cheek.

He sits, frozen, staring at his wife.

And then his head leans back, accepting it, letting it hit him, and the most anguished cry of your name escapes his lips, reaching every single corner of the whole house.

156 notes · View notes

sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Text

⚠️⚠️PLEASE ANSWER THIS; I DO NOT KNOW AND WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE PREFER.⚠️⚠️

Please reblog, thanks.

-belle

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sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Text

the beginning / LN4 / part 1

of wanderlust series

Warnings: headache, mention of kidnapping, injury, mention of getting scratched up, mention of escaping, mention of forced marriage

Requested?: Nuh - uh.

Author's Note: Me being obsessed with fantasy AU again!💖💖 (Those that read my first writings on tumblr, prince not so charming with Charles, already have my number) This is going to be the beginning of a long series. Who knows how long it will go? However long it takes. But please enjoy! I basically have the whole thing planned out in my head, but as you're reading this part 1 and the ones to follow, if you have any ideas for it, please feel free to hit up my ask box and let me know; I will always consider what you have to say and it's very appreciated!💖

You blink open your eyes in confusion as your senses, one by one, come back to you. You stare up at the bright blue sky, lined with dark, tall tree branches. The back of your head rests against something hard, giving you a bit of a headache. The smell of cooking meat fills your nose, and you hear the sounds of a crackling fire, running water, and birds chirping all around you.

"Hu-huh?" you breathe, slowly pushing yourself up on your palms, flinching when you feel a twig dig into one of them.

Suddenly, though, a hand pushes your chest back down, and you stare up at light grey eyes staring back down at you. "Shh, princess!" the man murmurs.

Suddenly, fear hits you in the chest like a spear. "You- You're the one who kidnapped me?" you gasp, trying to back up from him, shaking.

All the sudden, everything floods back to you. Climbing out your window, climbing down the stone ledges of your castle. Getting cut up by the rose bushes. Walking along in the woods with your pack of clothes and foods on your back, humming to yourself.

Then you were attacked, right? Wrestled, and-

That's where your memory ends.

"You kidnapped me!" you squeal, fear and tears flooding your eyes.

The man's hand clamps over your mouth as he hisses, "Shut up! And no, I did not kidnap you!"

You stare at him, not buying it one bit.

"Listen, lovely. If you promise not to scream when I take my hand away, I'll give you something to eat and tell you what happened. If you do scream..." He trails off, but his eyes wander to the rushing river nearby.

Of course no one ever taught you to swim.

Your stomach lurches as you slowly nod, showing your agreement.

He slowly takes his hand from your mouth. You gasp a little as he takes your hand, pulling you up to stand.

You stumble into him when you feel a shot of pain go through your leg as soon as you stand. You can't help but let out a scream.

He catches you, but snaps, "Careful on that leg! For God's sake!"

You breathe heavily, staring down at your leg to see it all wrapped up in bandages. You look back up at Lando fearfully.

But he doesn't give the river a look, and lets you lean on him as he helps you nearer to the fire. He gently helps you sit down on a fallen tree, and he sits next to you. He begins dealing with the food, and then-

Holds a piece of meat out to you-

On a stick.

Your nose crinkles up. "You expect me to eat that?"

"Are you hungry or not, girl?" he counters in slight disgust. "Because you're free to starve. I've made food for you. I'm giving up my food for you. So if you don't want to eat it-"

You glare and take the stick of greasy meat. "What kind of animal is this?" you dare to ask.

"Deer."

You frown in distress. "A deer? But they're such innocent creatures-"

"And we've all got to eat, miss," he interrupts gruffly, taking a bite of his food. "Now, do you want me to explain what happened or not?"

"Yes," you sigh, the pang of hunger in your stomach compelling you to begin eating the food he's given you.

"You, a lovely princess, were walking all by yourself, practically skipping and giggling, in the middle of the night, humming to yourself, like this is all just some big adventure."

"It is!"

He snorts in disbelief. "My lady, you'd be best to just stay up high in your castle."

You glare. "So why'd you attack me?"

"I saved you, rather," he says, rolling his eyes. "You're also not very observant. Robbers were about to attack you, and I saved you."

"Why would they attack me?"

He actually laughs out loud. You stare in confusion, before he finally says, "I'm sure your daddy would pay big ransom money if he needed to."

"Oh..."

"Yes. And no, I won't make your dad pay ransom money for you back. I'm not a robber."

"Then what are you?"

He hesitates, before saying simply, "I'm nothing."

"Whatever do you mean?" you ask in dismay. "How can one be nothing? Certainly you are something."

He frowns. "Not really. I'm just me."

"Who are you?"

"You can call me Lando."

"Lando? But who are you really?"

"I am really Lando," he snorts.

"Lando who?"

"Just Lando."

You frown but nod slowly. "My name is-"

"Princess Y/n of the blah blah kindgom, daughter of King blah blah blah, the great blah blah blah who did this, that, and the other thing. Yes, yes, I know," he waves his hand dismissively.

You frown. "I take great pride in who I am, even if you don't even have an identity!" you snap.

"Who cares who you are?"

You stare in shock. "I'm you're princess."

"And I'm the one who saved your life. I believe actions speak louder than words, lovely. And 'princess' is just a word."

"It's a position!"

"Oh yeah?" he suddenly looks up, his eyes fiery. "So because your daddy and mommy have special blood, you get to live in a pretty little castle and wear pretty little dresses and eat whatever you want whenever you want and do whatever you want whenever you want? Well, that's nice for you, but I personally don't care about what your parents have done. As soon as you do something noble yourself, I'll respect you."

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself, having no response for that.

You look at Lando, really taking in his appearance for the first time. He has a mob of messy curls upon his head, a little bit of facial hair, and multiple cuts and scar on his face, along with a few brown little birth marks. He wears some jewelry hanging from his neck and wrists. There's a dark brown cloak around him, and he wears high, robust looking brown boots. His sturdy beige pants are tucked into the boots, and tucked into his pants is a white button down shirt.

You stare at his sparkling jewelry, before saying accusingly, "Where did you get those? Clearly, you're a poor man."

"You're suggesting I stole them?" he chuckles.

"Of course you stole them!" you snap.

"You're not treating the man who saved your precious life very well, honey." He snorts. "Show some more respect?"

You're about to say 'If anything, you should be the one showing me respect,' but immediately remember what he said to that only a few moment ago, and don't feel like hearing that again. So you say, "Well, if you didn't steal them, where did you get them?"

"What is it to you? Must I tell you all my secrets? Because I have a lot of them." There's slight amusement on his face as he stands up to begin stamping out the fire.

You frown, not quite knowing how to respond to that.

"So, princess," the man begins, "why weren't you sleeping soundly in your castle in the first place?"

You cross your arms across your chest, sitting up a little straighter, and say with pride, "I escaped."

"You escaped?"

"Yes! I felt stuck inside that castle! I want to be free!"

He's silent for a few seconds, before saying softer, "Princess, I'm afraid I don't think this is the life for you."

"How come?" you ask in annoyance.

"Look at the cuts all over yourself. Look at your injured leg. Look at your clothing choice, for God's sake."

You look down at the dress you chose to wear. You chose a long sleeved, bright sky blue dress with thicker material that goes down to your ankles. "It's thicker, and covers my legs and arms."

"It's a bright colored dress."

You stare in shock. "Of course it's a dress! I'm a lady!"

"Then maybe ladies aren't meant for this life, if they can't wear pants, because there's no way you're going to survive wearing that."

Your jaw tightens. "I want adventure!"

"My lady, I understand you're used to being spoiled rotten, but I'm afraid there are some things you just can't have, and this seems to be one of them. You're just not cut out for this. You'll just get your pretty little self killed."

You frown deeper, stubbornly. "I'll do what I want."

"I'm sure you will. But for your own good, you should just go home. You're already injured, as it is. You would be in big trouble right now if it weren't for me."

You stare at him.

He looks up, and blinks a few times in surprise, before saying gentler, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away.

"Hey," he says, leaning closer, in an even softer tone. "Why do you want adventure? Tell me, really."

You swallow. "Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve all I have. Like you said... And I want to see new things, and explore new places. I want freedom... I want fun... And if I stay at the castle any longer..." you trail off.

"Yes?" the man asks, leaning even closer.

"They'll force me into marrying someone I don't want to marry... I feel like, despite being the highest of the high in society, I'm still controlled... I'm still trapped... I just want freedom."

You watch as Lando stares, thoughts clearly rushing through his head, behind his eyes. He slowly licks his lips, seeming to be considering something hard.

You hesitate, before whispering, "Would you say you're a good person? You don't hurt innocent people, do you?"

"Perhaps I'm not good, but no. I don't hurt innocent people."

You swallow, before suddenly taking his larger hand in both of yours. It's strong and calloused, with veins of soft texture, and a few glimmering rings on his fingers. You stare him in his eyes, before muttering, "Lando- Won't you take me with you? Maybe I can't survive out here on my own- but this is what I want! Won't you take me with you? Are you the kind of person who believes in freedom?"

Lando swallows a nervous lump in his throat. "Of course I am, but..."

"Please. I won't bother you much."

He shakes his head. "You say that, but you know I'll be taking care of you. You can't hunt. You're injured. You can't swim. You're not observant, you probably don't know your directions. You don't know how to read the signs in nature. You forget to stay quiet. You wouldn't be able to sense danger and quickly hide from it."

You blink, rubbing you eyes. "Were you born with those skills...?"

He hesitates. "No..."

"So you had to learn them. Perhaps teach yourself?"

"Well, yes..." he sighs.

"Would it have been easier if someone else taught you?"

He sighs again. "I suppose."

"So won't you teach me?"

He stares, before bending his head to run his hand over his forehead. "I don't know..."

"Please? I could repay you.. I have money... I have jewelry, if you like that... I know how to read... I can... I don't know, sing... wash clothes... Please. I can help you. I can do something. I just... you're my only chance of having freedom."

Just that last statement seems to finally convince him. He leans back, groaning, and says, "I think this might be the biggest mistake of my life, but alright, princess. You can come with me."

"Really?" you eyes light up excitedly.

"Don't ask me that, lovely girl, otherwise I might change my mind," he says with a rueful grin, but you can see the slight hint of his nod, 'yes'.

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sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Text

ER / MV1

Summary: Max x girlfriend!reader - Max won't leave your side. 101% fluff.

Warnings: hospital room, mention of injury

Requested?: No.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

Your eyes blink open dazedly, trying to make out the worried face looking down at you against the bright immaculate hospital ceiling. "Max?"

He strokes your cheek, repeating, "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

But you just smile. "Max. You came."

"Of course I did!" he says, sitting down next to your pristine white hospital bed, smoothing the sheets over you a bit.

You blink in surprise as you get a better look at him, still in his white fireproofs and race hat. His face glistens with sweat, and you murmur groggily, "Did you come straight from the race...?"

"Of course I did. And the f*cking team didn't even tell me about you until I got out of the car! I don't even know what happened to you, I rushed here so quick!"

You smile sleepily. "Messed up my leg pretty bad."

He nods. "It's propped up? Do you remember what happened?"

"Can you stop worrying so much?" you murmur, your eyebrows crinkling together.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he says gentler.

"I'm in a hospital bed, Max. I'm as okay as I'm going to be. But you worrying so much is just stressing me out."

"Oh... I- Sorry. I'll be quiet about that for now. As long as you're not in pain?" he asks, giving your hand a squeeze.

You chuckle softly. "Feel kind of woozy, so I'm assuming they gave me medication for that. I don't even remember," you yawn.

A shadow of a small smile appears on Max's lips as he watches you. He gently sweeps some hair from your forehead as you continue, "And about your team not telling you about me until you finished the race, don't be mad at Christian about that. If anything, be mad at me."

Now Max looks completely and utterly confused. "Sorry?"

You smile softly. "I told them not to tell you. I knew you'd forfeit your race for me, and I didn't want that for you. I knew I'd be okay for a while. But now," you let out a little relieved sigh, "I'm so glad you're here with me."

Max stares in surprise, before saying, giving your hand a rub, "You didn't have do. I hope to-"

"-win the world championship again anyway. I know. But it's still important. You did win, right?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah... Yes, I did. Didn't even get on the podium, though."

"You didn't?" you ask, immediately feeling guilty. "Max, you-"

"-always get to stand on that top step. I'm not going to spray champagne while you're laying in a hospital bed, all by yourself, without me."

"Won't you get in trouble or something?"

He shrugs, "I don't care. You're more important, okay? You're just stressing yourself out. You don't have to feel guilty about having a freak accident- it happens sometimes, and you can't really help it."

You sniff a little, murmuring, "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Thanks for being the best girlfriend."

You relax your head back on the pillow, murmuring, "Well, tell me about the race."

As you listen to him talk, you begin to doze a bit, and soon are fast asleep. A bit later, though, you groggily blink your eyes up to see Max, leaning forward from the wooden hospital chair, resting his head next to you, his eyes shut and his face relaxed.

You're not sure if he's asleep or not, but he's certainly adorable. You smile and cuddle closer to him, shutting your eye again and wrapping your arm weakly around him. "I'm so lucky to have you," you murmur.

If he responds, you don't know, because you're fast asleep once again, just glad to have your boy there with you, next to you.

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sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Note

OMG!! run away part two please?

run away / Marc Guiu / PART 2

Summary: Marc x girlfriend!reader - Things have gone wrong, but searching for a solution seems difficult. Angst.

Warnings: getting drunk to ease pain, mention of sex, smoking, censored swearing, mention of being touched sexually by strangers, vomiting, headache, despair, mention of suicide

Requested?: Uh huh

Author's Note: Gosh sorry this kind of looks really dark. Link to part 1

Yes. It's like how everything was, years ago.

It's like how everything was before him.

Your Marc, who now you're avoiding like the plague.

You're a wreck, and you know it, and you'll admit it. But you've been here before, so no matter how terrible it is, and how much you hate it, at least you know you can make it through.

Hopefully.

You blocked Marc's number, and everyone else's and you're alone.

Literally.

You have no one to rely on, and nothing to get you through but alcohol.

Well, you do have a new friend, but not a real friend. She's just the kind of person who has sex with every guy who's half hot and smokes cigarettes to look sexy. The kind that will tell you to indulge, let loose, calm down. Try something new and risky, and stop caring about what your conscience says in the morning.

Now she stands, arms crossed, leaning against the cold outdoor wall of the club you hate going to but still end up at anyway, covered in sweat and glitter, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

You don't even ask about the glitter.

"I saw I guy you might be into in there. Come on. I know your cash for the week is out, but I'll buy you a couple more drinks. I think you'll have fun with him."

You frown. "I don't want to mess with some guy."

"You'll feel f*cking better. Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't know," you murmur breathy, hitting your head against the back of the wall.

"Well either have some fun and wash your tears down with alcohol or actually get your life in order, because clearly you're miserable in this in-between place," she comments casually, blowing smoke out through her mouth.

You swallow. You know it's not right, but you let her take your hand and drag you back in the club. You let yourself drink all you want. You let yourself lose your mind like the idiot you are. You let men touch you that you would never, ever let sober.

But it's all in the name of fun, right?

Maybe you're choosing to run away from your problems, but maybe it's more fun that way.

And having fun is all that matters.

Right?

You stumble out of the club, not even aware of how used you've been, how disgusting you should feel. You don't even know where you're going, because your "friend" left you when some creep was touching you however he liked, and there's no way you're getting a taxi now, even if you could, since all your money is out.

You can't go to your parents like this, and you've sworn off ever seeing Marc again, which means the only thing you can do is either fall asleep in some alley or somehow walk yourself back to your one room apartment.

You trip on the curb and bend over, practically mindlessly vomiting into a storm drain, and are about to keep walking when suddenly, there are strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

It's nighttime. You're drunk. You're in a bad part of the city.

You gasp and scream, aimlessly thrashing, tears that constantly threaten to fall beginning to stream down your face, "Let go of me! Help!"

But suddenly you freeze, when you hear a familiar voice practically shout in your ear, "Calm down! It's just me!"

You breathe a little slower and calm down, putting your hand on the strong around wrapped around your middle. You know that voice. It's someone good, you think. Someone who wants to help you.

The person gently turns you around, and you freeze when you see who it is.

"Marc... Let go..." you breathe, your vision wobbly.

"No..." he breathes, and the last thing you remember is the horrified look in his glimmering eyes.

Your eyes slowly blink open, and you know you've been here before.

You're laying on Marc's couch, in his living room, in his home.

Emotions hit you like a bullet train. Guilt, fear, regret, anger, despair.

You groan softly as you sit up, becoming aware of your pounding headache. You're still wearing the tight, uncomfortable clothes from last night, and as those cursed memories come flooding back, all you want to do is tear off the wretched clothes and wash off all that shame in a warm bath.

But the first thing you have to do is get the f*ck out of Marc's home.

You can't admit to yourself that Marc is the answer. After how much he hurt you? He can't be.

You don't know what the answer is, and you know it's not what you're doing right now, either.

You're starting to think there is no answer.

And then you look up, to see him walking in. He's so strong and perfect. Literally no blemishes. Perfect body, perfect hair, perfect, face, perfect everything.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Nothing like you.

But not a perfect personality, you remind yourself.

But just being in the presence of him, and knowing how he saw you last night- the shame is almost too much to bear.

Marc sits down next to you and takes your shaking hand, which you don't like.

"We never officially broke up, you know. We just had that argument, and you left, and cut me off completely. You disappeared, Y/n. Not even your parents knew where you were..."

You look up, and see the pain in his eyes.

Oh God.

"Y/n," he says softly. His voice quivers slightly. "I didn't know if you were alive... And..." You're surprised to hear his voice crack. "I thought that could have been my f*cking fault."

You stare, mouth hanging open. On the first few tries, you can't even speak, before you manage softly, "You thought... I killed myself?"

He sticks his thumb and pointer finger in his eyes seeming to be pushing the tears to stay inside as he slowly nods. "I didn't think it... I just worried... maybe..."

He swallows hard, and you see the tiredness in his eyes now.

Suddenly, just like that, you break down. You bury your face in your hands in start crying. About how terrible you've been, and about how terrible you feel, and about how much you still can't imagine staying with Marc.

It's not like you don't cry often. But you never run out of tears, either. You're not sure if you love Marc's hand slowly rubbing your back or hate it.

Finally you swallow gaining more control of yourself, and Marc gives your back a little pat, saying, "Those close don't look very comfy. I'll get you some."

So soon you sit, staring tear-stained and vacantly ahead, warmed by Marc's clothes on the outside, but cold as stone in your heart.

"You're the one who started this all, anyway..." you breathe, barely a whisper, hating the words coming out of your mouth. "What if I had killed myself? Maybe you f*cking deserve that pain."

He holds his face in his hands now. Sits next to you silently for a few second, before saying, his voice cracking, "Oh, God..."

"Well?" you stare, face hard.

He swallows and says, "I'm sorry... I love y-"

"If you did, you wouldn't have-"

"I do love you! In a relationship, we're going to have to work through things! If you refuse-"

"Shut up!" you suddenly scream, plugging your ears and letting out a dry sob.

When you unplug your ears, you can hear Marc breathing heavily. He keeps his face buried in his hands, but you're not stupid. You know he's crying. Then he mutters through tears, "I don't want to hurt you. But you'll be harmed even more if we don't work through this. We can't pretend it's all okay. And running away won't do you any good, either."

You stare ahead, silent.

"I know I'm in the wrong, too," he breathes, his voice cracking. "Y/n, I thought you f*cking killed yourself. That's what I was worried about. Panicking about. That because I was a bad boyfriend, you killed yourself. I've thought about what I've been doing wrong. I have. I'm too harsh with you sometimes. A lot. I start discussions at the wrong times. Instead of arguing, we should be discussing. I should be gentler with you. You're delicate."

"No I'm f*cking not," you whisper.

"Yes, you are. And it's okay. You've been through a lot. We're all f*cking fragile. I just want to take care of you. Help you. Keep you from cracking, breaking more." He swallows. "But not discussing anything isn't how to do that. Discussions will help us grow. Facing problems will help them be fixed. Ignoring them, turning your back to them, will just make it easier for them to catch us off guard when we're not looking. Then our relationship really will be ruined." He hesitates, before finishing with, "Don't you f*cking see we need each other? You're a wreck without me, and I'm a wreck without you. We both need f*cking therapy, but the first step is communication."

You nod slowly, hesitantly, before whispering, "Why do you still want me?"

"What do you mean?"

"After seeing me so drunk and disgusting and-"

"Because I f*cking love you."

Just those words hit you like a shot to the heart.

You breath in sharply.

But then you stand up, murmuring, "Can- Can I get going now?" You start heading from the door.

"No!" he suddenly says, rushing to grab your arm. He turns you around and buries you in the biggest, warmest, most loving hug you've ever felt.

And he buries his face in your shoulder.

His voice cracks again as he murmurs into you, in pure desperation, "Please, Y/n. Stay. For your own good. I need you."

You swallow, slowly, awkwardly, weakly wrapping your arms around him back.

What other option do I have?

What good am I really getting out of the stupid clubbing? Every night I have fun, but every morning I'm sick.

"I just want to wake up content and go to bed content," you whisper.

He squeezes you tighter. "If we work on it, someday, we can reach that. We can. Together. Please."

You swallow.

He's my last and only chance.

You swallow and nod. "Alright, Marc," you breathe. "May- Maybe. Yes. Just, please... don't break me."

"Not in a million years," he breathes, and you feel like he might never let go of you.

22 notes · View notes

sports-on-sundays · 22 days

Text

our tree / CL16

Summary: Charles x childhood friend!reader - Another little idea.

Warnings: four time skips, little kiss scene, kind of melancholy at the end

Requested?: Take a wild guess.

Author's Note: I hope you read and enjoy, because I'm super proud of this one! 🥹🥹🥹. I actually think I was reading a fantasy book when this one came on me strangely enough.

"Alright, well, make sure to stay together! And stay in the orchard!" your mother called as you and your friend rushed out the door, running to get out the moment your mother said it was okay.

"Okay, Mama!" you called back, slamming the screen door behind you. You and your friend, a light haired boy with bright eyes and the name of Charles, ran together, racing each other automatically, without even establishing it, both of you just being very competitive kids.

Yes, Charles was a competitive kid, alright. Everyone knew that much. Definitely probably more competitive than you, but that wasn't very hard. Charles was more competitive than most people.

The young boy was running so fast, trying to beat you, that he tripped, falling right on his little chubby face. "Charlie!" you gasped, bending down next to your friend. But then you scolded, "Charlie, you gotta be more careful. Remember what Mama told us?"

Charles looked up slowly. He had a little scratch on his cheek and a mark of dirt across his forehead. His bottom lip curved forward for a moment, before he sucked it back, sniffing, refusing to cry. "I'm okay," he assured, pushing himself back up to stand.

"Are you sure?" you asked nervously.

"Of course," the little boy said, brushing himself off, still pouting a little. But he raised his hand to wipe his eyes and continued on.

You frowned. "Your knees are all scraped up. Maybe we should go back to the house..."

"No!" Charles frowned right back. "Come on. I'm okay." He showed his little toothy grin, which wasn't full, as he had a few gaps in his mouth where adult teeth would soon grow in. He held his hand out to you.

You took his little hand in your little hand and said with a little pout, "As long as we just walk now."

"You sound like my mama now!" he groaned, but agreed to it.

The two little kids walked along, until they reached the bottom of the hill that your house stood on and got to the little dirt path that led through the apple trees.

"Can I show my favorite tree, Charlie?"

His tiny little cute nose crinkled up as he asked, "How could you have a- a fav- favorite tree?" At that point, you were much more fluent in your speech than Charles, so some of the bigger words you could say just fine, he struggled with.

You grinned. "Come with me, and I'll show you." You tugged him by his hand, leading him through the orchard, until finally, you reached your tree.

It was tall with spindly dark branches and the biggest, reddest, juiciest apples you'd ever seen. There was a little crevice under it where you fit perfectly, and it's old frame provided a large area of shade.

It felt like a magical tree, and as Charles's big hazel eyes looked up at it, you could tell he saw it, too.

"Can I have an apple off it?" the young boy asked boldly.

You nodded and went to the truck, being, at that time, the taller of the two of you. You slipped your foot in the perfect slot in the tree and hoisted yourself up. You climbed a bit as Charles watched you, picked a big, red, ripe apple out of the tree, and tossed it down to Charles. He caught it and was about to take a big bite out of it, before you said, "Wait a second, Charlie!"

He looked up. "Huh?"

You climbed back down and hopped on the ground, grinning. "Do you know how to clean an apple? Make it super shiny?"

Charles frowned, perplexed. "Without water? No."

You grinned proudly and rubbed your apple on your shirt all around, saying, "It works."

He stared a few seconds, before trying it. "I don't know..." he began, studying the apple.

"Either way, it makes it taste better. That's what my papa told me."

"Alright... can I eat it now?"

You giggled and nodded. "Yeah."

You watched as he took a bite out of it, and his eyes lit up. Apple juice ran down his chin as he exclaimed, "You're right! This is the best apple ever."

You grinned. "See? It's my favorite tree."

He beamed back. "It's mine, too," he responded, avoiding having to say 'favorite' again.

About ten years later

"Y/n!" your mother had called one day from the downstairs floor. "Charles is here!"

You hopped out of your bed as soon as you heard that, slipping on your vest, boots, and backwards cap, before heading down the stairs and went to the door.

There was Charles. You couldn't help but smile when you saw the handsome teenage boy, with his dimples and sparkling eyes. "Hey, Charles. It's been a while."

He shrugged a bit. "I've been really busy with racing and stuff..."

He awkwardly glanced away, so you asked, "Well, do you want to go for a walk in the orchard? I mean, if you have time, of course."

He smiled brightly at that. "Yeah. I'd like that."

You exited the house together, letting the screen door slam behind you. You walked down the hill in silence, but once your feet reached the dirt path through the apple trees, Charles muttered, "I've kind of missed you, a lot. And this orchard. I mean, I don't know. As kids, we used to always play in this orchard. We spent hours here. You know?"

You nod slowly. "Yeah, I get what you mean. Totally... Sometimes, I'm sad I'm growing up. Like, I remember when we were little, and nothing was weird and it all felt normal. We were just happy to have fun."

Charles nodded, seeming slightly relieved that you seemed to think the same way as him. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

As you walked, suddenly your hands brushed each other, and both of you felt your faces heat up as you avoided each other's eyes and were more aware to keep your hands to yourselves.

"So... Is your favorite tree still standing?" Charles asked softly.

You grinned. "Of course it is. Charles, that tree will never fall."

He grinned back at this response and said, "So I'm assuming the apples are still good as ever?"

"For sure. Want one? We can go down to it."

Charles grinned even wider at this and said, "Yeah, let's go."

When you reached the tree, you stood on your tip toes, trying to reach an apple to pick for Charles, but suddenly he laughed, saying teasingly, "Here, I'll get it." He grinned and reached up, easily picking the apple. He looked down at you with a smirk. "Now I'm taller than you, huh? You used to be the taller one."

You rolled your eyes. "Charles, boys always get taller than girls in the end."

He shrugged and commented teasingly, "Should I rub it on my shirt? Does that clean it off?"

You blushed, glancing away, feeling embarrassed butterflies in your stomach at his little teasing. "No, no. That's just a stupid little thing."

He chuckled more and took a bite, shutting his eyes, savoring the sweet taste. "Just as good as I remember it," he commented with a grin.

You smiled, kind of nervous to ask this, but said softly, "Uh... Can you pick one for me?"

He grinned. He loved to be able to help you, and immediately picked one for you. You stood by the big tree, eating your apples, before Charles finally said, sounding more tense than before, "Hey, uh... Y/n? Can I say something kind of weird to you? Like, I mean, serious stuff, now..."

You blinked, looking up at him with a concerned look in your eyes. "What is it?"

He sighed and gestured for you to sit down under the tree together. So you sat side by side in the shade, and he murmured, "So... I just wanted to say sorry."

"For what?" you asked in surprise.

"I don't know. With all my racing, we never get to see each other anymore. But I think about you a lot..." He trailed off, avoiding your eyes as his cheeks flushed. "Like, you're on my mind a lot, I mean."

You nod slowly. "I think about you a lot, too..."

He swallowed and muttered, "I know this probably won't mean much in the end, but... I think I kind of like you."

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. "You... Like, like like?"

"Yeah. Like, really like. A lot. More than..."

"More than friends?"

"More than friends," he confirmed, nervously fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.

You glanced up at each other at the same time. And Charles, without another thought, leaned in and gave you an awkward kiss on your cheek.

Your whole faces flushed as Charles blurted, "Sor- Sorry."

"It's... It's okay," you murmured in embarrassment. "I feel the same way, too, I think..."

About ten years later; current time

Your mother slams open the screen door with a big smile on her face, saying, "What a surprise this is! Look at this- my daughter and son-in-law!"

Charles chuckles a bit, letting go of your hand as you go to hug your mother as he says, "Not son-in-law yet."

"Yes, yes, Charles," your mother says quickly, as if it's clearly obvious the two of you are going to marry each other anyway, so he's basically already her son-in-law. "So," she turns to you with a big smile. "What made you decide to just show up all of the sudden?"

You shrug with a smile, looking back to Charles. After hugging your mother, you connect your hand right away back with Charles's. "The other night we were just kind of thinking about, you know. The old days. Playing in the orchard. And my favorite tree, and everything. And we figured, why not make the trip here to go for a walk through it again?"

"Oh, and not even to see your mother!" she scoffs with a playful smile, saying, "Come here, Charles. I haven't seen you in quite a while." Charles laughs and gives your mother a little hug as well.

"Mama," you say with a little smile. "Do you mind if me and Charles just go for a walk in the orchard? Then we'll be right back to the house to visit?"

She smiles understandingly, and nods. "Yeah, you two go on. And take your time," she says with a wink, "because maybe once you get back, the apple pie I'm making will be ready."

You grin and say, "Let's go! Your pie is the best!"

Charles laughs, entwining his fingers in yours, saying, "Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n. We'll see you in a bit." He waves as we begin walking down the hill together, swinging our connected hands a little as we walk.

It has rained recently, though, so the ground down the hill is a little slick. So suddenly, your foot slides forward, and you squeal, bracing yourself to feel your bottom hit the ground hard-

But Charles's hands are there, on your back and the bottoms of your thighs. He says with a chuckle, "I've got you." He pulls you up and links his arm with you to steady you more as you finish walking down the hill.

When you make it to the path, neither of you guide the other toward your tree, because now, after all these years, you both know exactly how to get there.

You're not sure when 'Y/n's tree' became 'Y/n and Charles's tree', but either way, you like that it's kind of like both of yours now.

When you reach it, Charles immediately reaches up to pick out two of the best apples on the tree. You sit down together under the shade, not caring if your bums get a little wet, and Charles eyes you teasingly as he begins rubbing it on his shirt.

You chuckle. "It does make it more shiny."

"Rubs the dirt off," he comments, taking a bite out of it.

You sit together, eating your apples. Charles has his arm around your back, and you lean against his shoulder. Once you're both finished, Charles comments, "Taste of my childhood."

You grin. "It's just an apple."

"No, but the apples from our magical tree don't just taste like any ordinary apples, and you've always known that."

You chuckle a little. "Good point." You love that little childish side of him.

After a few moment of silence, Charles says softly, "Do you think we have a few minutes to spare before we start walking back up to the house for some of that apple pie?"

You shrug. "Probably. Why?"

He leans in closer and says softly, "Because I wouldn't mind licking some of that apple juice off your sweet lips."

You giggle a little, rolling your eyes, but shift closer to him.

With one hand caressing your cheek and the other gripping the nape of your neck, pulling you in closer, he presses his lips against yours in a heated French kiss. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth. When he finally pulls away, there's a hungry look in his eyes, and he doesn't even seem to realize the string of saliva connecting your mouths.

You let out a little breathy gasp, murmuring (and admittedly probably ruining the moment a bit), "Ew..." as you wipe your mouth to break the trail of saliva between the two of you.

He chuckles a bit and murmurs, "You're adorable. You know that? I just want to have you all to myself. Do what I want to do to y-"

"Hey, hey..." you giggle, patting his thigh a little. "Can't get too carried away, can we? We've got pie to get to eating inside."

"Right," he smiles, taking your hand and standing up with you.

"But maybe when we get home. How does that sound?"

He nods, bringing you closer to himself. "That sounds good. I look forward to it."

About ten years later (warning: just chose a random name for the girl)

You slam open the screen door, holding your little toddler in your arms, saying, "Say bye bye to Grandmama."

Your mother laughs as your daughter waves her chubby little fist and says, "Bye, bye, G'andmama..."

You walk outside onto the porch, where Charles is already standing, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking out at the orchard.

You smile, putting a hand on his back. "Want to take Viola out for a walk in the orchard? Would you like that, sweetie?" you add, looking to the little girl.

"Yes!" squeals the baby, squirming to be put down.

You set her down on the porch, and Charles takes her little hand with a smile. You take her other hand, and the three of you begin walking down the hill together.

Halfway down, Viola slips, but both your hands holding hers keeps her from falling. Charles chuckles and says, "Be careful, sweetheart."

She just giggles, tugging her parents toward the little dirt path at the bottom of the hill. When you reach the bottom, Charles says gently, "Want to see me and Mama's favorite tree, Viola? It grows the best apples in the world."

You laugh as your daughter looks up at her father with big, wide hazel eyes- same as her father's. "The best?"

"Oh, yeah. You won't want to eat any other apples, ever again, after you try these."

You smile. "I grabbed a knife before we left to cut it up for her."

Charles smiles, giving you a little kiss on your cheek as you hand him the knife. "Good idea. You're so thoughtful. And considerable. I wouldn't ever had thought to do that."

"Mama! Papa! C'mon!" your baby whines, and you both laugh, following the toddling little girl down the little dirt path of both your childhoods.

When you reach the tree, this time, Charles reaches up and picks three apples. "It's kind of a magical tree, isn't it, Viola?" he asks with a little smile as he hands you an apple.

But she doesn't respond, and instead stares at Charles in slightly disturbed confusion.

You chuckle, looking to see Charles rubbing the apple on his shirt. He laughs and explains, "It makes the apple shiny, Viola."

"Really?" she asks with wide eyes.

"For sure," Charles respond, exchanging a little look with you. Then you and Charles sit down together under the tree, and your daughter comes over and climbs on Charles's lap, watching as he cuts some thin slices off Viola's apple. "Here," he says, handing one to the little girl.

Her eyes widen even further when she tastes the sweet fruit, and she giggles, "The best!"

"I know!" Charles grins excited, ruffling her hair a bit, which is the color of your hair.

You smile, leaning against his shoulder, watching as your daughter in his lap raves and giggles about the apple.

And, then, Charles starts talking.

He talks about how he used to play with you all the time when you were little.

He tells his daughter how when he was a younger teenager, he began to fall in love with you, but with all his racing, he couldn't see you much and come to the orchard.

He tells her how when he was an older teenager, he confessed how he felt to you.

And how after that, you and him got closer and closer.

Until years later, you had your wedding.

And now here she is, your little girl.

You swallow, suddenly feeling emotional about the story. The story of your lives together.

"Papa...?" Viola says, concerned. "How come Mama...?" she trails off.

Charles looks at you and smiles. "Are you crying, baby?" he teases softly, wiping a tear from your cheek.

You chuckle. "I guess I just like to hear you telling the story."

He chuckles and kisses your cheek, murmuring, "I love you."

You lean into him further with a little smile and shut your eyes, listening as Charles and your daughter continue babbling softly with each other.

Here, in the shade of your tree.

Our tree.

Someday, your daughter will show her friends your tree. And that screen door will never stopped being slammed shut.

But someday after that, you and Charles will grow older, together. Your tree won't always be there. Someday, you'll eat the last of it's apples, and it will say farewell to this world, just like everything else does.

But by then, your love won't need something to symbolize it in order to stay alive.

Because love is the one thing that will never end.

It goes on forever.

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