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cieloclercs · 10 months

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𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | chapter one

pairings: charles leclerc x senna!oc part: 1/? warnings: google translate portuguese, angsty word count: 5.7k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

01. what’s past is past

author’s note. chapter 1 ✅ please let me know what you guys think! all your feedback is greatly appreciated <3

read it on wattpad!

next ➜ chapter 2

17 December 2020 Aston Martin Headquarters Silverstone, United Kingdom

THE SOUND OF her car engine roaring is one of the most beautiful things in the world. That is what Noêmia Senna Borges believes. The rush of adrenaline it sends coursing through her veins just to hear it purr as she presses on the accelerator is like nothing she has ever experienced – and ever will experience again. Children often cry at loud noises, but infant Noa had delighted in the roar of her father's Formula 1 car when he took her, perched on his shoulder as he walked around the paddock, to his final races before he retired. So it isn't an overstatement to say – she was born to drive.

It's a car of emerald green, not red as she had always hoped, that flies around the legendary Silverstone track on her final lap of the day. Noa likes to think that a Ferrari would feel like home beneath her hands – like an extension of herself. The Aston Martin she brings back into the garage isn't quite there yet, though, hearing her lap times replayed through the radio, it doesn't sound a long way off. Engineers and strategists bustle all around her as she steps through the garage, pulling her balaclava over her head, and letting her now unruly curls fall down around her shoulders. A few compliment her on her drive, but most stick to appreciative smiles or nods. Noa is perfectly content with that. She's been raised to accept praise when given, but never to seek it. She drives for herself, not for validation.

Her time on the track is over for the day, so Noa stays behind in the garage to watch Sebastian's test laps. She settles in her own little corner, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of his engineering team to be at peace, but equally, close enough that she can pick up on snippets of their data feedback. With her water bottle in her hand and her balaclava drawn up to her nose to ward off the cold (though she keeps having to pull it down to take sips from the straw) Noa goes almost unnoticed. That is, until her PR manager, Raffaella Di Angelo, appears to remind her of their scheduled afternoon meeting. She assures her she won't be late, and sends the Italian woman on her way again gladly, as her focus switches back to the emerald green car hurtling around the track. Raffaella shakes her head when she leaves. She's worked with a few Formula 1 drivers in her time, but they are all the same – hooked on the need for speed.

Sebastian's lap times are only marginally better than hers. This in itself seems to give her a spurt of hope, and she leaves the garage positively beaming. He tells her afterwards that she is one of the best rookies he's ever come across – Noa knows, of course, the other name that resides on Sebastian Vettel's prestigious list, but she chooses to ignore that for the moment. Nothing, not even him, can ruin this for her.

"You know, if you wanted to, we could compare our notes sometime." He says as they come to a halt in the lobby, and she turns to look him in the eye properly, "I often find it useful just to talk everything through with someone else."

"I'll definitely take you up on that offer." Noa smiles up at him, "I've – uh – got a meeting with Raffaella right now, though. And then I'm going to see a... friend in London. Could we take a rain check?"

"Yeah, no problem." Sebastian says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Just come find me whenever you want. My door's always open."

Noa laughs, "Ok. I'll hold you to that."

He leaves her with a wave as he speeds off into the car park, where his Suzuki GT 750 is parked (because of course he drives a motorcycle to work). She watches until he is no more than a dot on the horizon, before turning back inside.

The marketing and media team's headquarters is normally bustling with activity, but today, it seems uncharacteristically quiet. Noa figures it must be because testing for the month is coming to an end – Christmas is approaching, after all, and people have families to spend time with. Though, of course, Raffaella stays. It only seems right, even if she hasn't known her for all that long, the PR manager is the most diligent, hardworking person she's ever met. There aren't many people in Formula 1 as young as her already so high up in the ranks, but Noa understands perfectly why she is the exception. Even now, when the rest of her team have headed home for the holidays, she sits in her pristine office, sorting through her perfectly arranged files as if there is nowhere else in the world she would rather be. Noa refuses to believe that's true, but she is grateful for it anyway.

"Hey." The driver says as she pushes open the door to Raffaella's office. Her PR manager looks up, "Taking the late shift today?" she teases.

"You know I'm always on the late shift." Raffaella rolls her eyes playfully, "I like it better when it's quiet – I can actually hear myself think."

Noa laughs. She takes her seat at the desk, opposite the Italian, who takes a moment to glance over the papers in front of her once more. Then she looks up, a smile gracing her face. The gold-rimmed glasses she always wears slip down her nose slightly, but she doesn't push them back up.

"So, just to recap everything from the last few meetings." She beams, "Your public image is skyrocketing, just as we predicted. Of course, your family name does have something to do with that, but it's mostly you."

I should hope so, Noa thinks, fighting off the urge to raise an eyebrow.

Contrary to popular belief, it isn't all bad being the only woman on the grid – or at least, not for her. Of course, she knows her family name has a significant part to play in that, but she genuinely believes it's not just her status as Gabriel Borges' daughter, or Ayrton Senna's niece that has earned her such worldwide recognition as she's getting now. The female audience in Formula 1 is growing massively; more than it has ever grown before, and that audience needs a role model to look towards. Many people have named her as this role model, this heiress to the throne of growth in women's motorsport.

"You're the perfect example." Raffaella had said to her the last time they met, "You've got everything: confidence, a pretty face, the right family name, and – more importantly – bucketloads of talent. There's a reason the fans are betting on you to become F1's next wonderkid. You quite literally have everything going for you."

From a media perspective it's true – Noa is gold dust. The product of two of the sport's greats; a generational talent, fighting against the stereotypes, strongarming her way to a Formula 1 seat like it's predestined that she should sit there. It's so simple really. Every big name nowadays is looking to support the minority (for the right reasons or not still remains to be seen). Fans have been concerned about the lack of female presence in motorsports for decades, and that concern is now beginning to escalate. In a society where women are re-gaining their deserved power, it would be, frankly, nothing short of a death wish to shun one of the movement's most influential and powerful figureheads.

Noa can't help but think sometimes, despite the difficulties she's faced actually getting to this point, perhaps being the only woman on the grid might even play into her hands. No one, no matter how good she is, ever truly expects her to be able to beat these men at their own game. Therefore she has absolutely nothing to lose. And if she does well – which she fully intends to do, and more – then her legacy on the sport will be just as lasting as either her father's or her uncle's. The first female World Champion; immortalised in the history books.

Make no mistake, Noa adores her family. Her idols. Gabriel and Ayrton have both played such a huge role in getting her to where she is today, and she'll forever be grateful for that. But sometimes, all she wants is to finally step out of their great, looming shadows – perhaps cast her own for a change. Make a name for herself. Noa doesn't want to be known as Gabriel Borges' daughter or Ayrton Senna's niece for the rest of her life. She wants her own piece of Formula 1 history, that will be remembered years later, just as they are.

"I can turn you into the biggest star this sport has seen in decades." Raffaella says earnestly, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, "All you have to do is drive like I already know you can. Let me handle the rest."

Noa grins widely. This is the beginning of a new chapter in her life; she can feel it. A chapter where she finally gets to see all her dreams — which not so long ago, she had feared were unattainable — finally accomplished. The setbacks of the past year will be nothing but a distant, unpleasant memory. All she has to do now is keep looking forward.

"We've actually received a new contract proposition from a potential sponsor." Raffaella goes on, waiting just a moment to properly let her words sink in, "It's a big one."

Noa sits up straighter. A thrill of something like electricity shoots down her spine.

"Well don't keep me waiting!" she huffs when Raffaella keeps quiet for a few seconds, dragging out the suspense too much for her liking. She's never been a patient person — least of all with something like this. The Italian woman giggles.

"Dio, I can't believe I'm even saying this." she begins. Her own excitement is building up so much now that it leaves her a little short of breath, "You're gonna lose my mind when I tell you —"

"Just say it, caralho!" Noa cuts her off shrilly. Raffaella fights off the urge to burst out laughing again.

"Ok, ok!" she concedes, holding her hands up in surrender when the driver makes half a move as if to dive across the table and shake the withheld information out of her, "Chanel wants you to be the new face of No. 5!"

Noa's jaw all but drops open.

Holy shit.

"You're joking?" she laughs. It's disbelieving, and her hands fly automatically to cover her mouth, "Me? They want me?"

"Yes, you." Raffaella chuckles.

"...But why?"

Of all the people in the world who have been offered this opportunity in the past, Noa never for one second believed she would be asked to join them. Nicole Kidman. Brad Pitt. Even Marilyn Monroe herself. What put her, a promising but unproven rookie up with the likes of them?

"Why do you think?" Raffaella scoffs, as if her simply asking the question is ridiculous, "You're the daughter and niece of two of the greatest Formula 1 drivers ever. Let's not forget, you look like a model — the perfect poster girl. That's what brands like this look for: someone who everyone wants to either be or be with. Besides that, the world is crying out for more female role models like you. Chanel is just giving the people what they want. By sponsoring you, investing in you, they're also investing in one of the biggest industries in the world, with one of the richest fanbases! It's a no-brainer!"

Noa sits dumbfounded, listening to her PR manager with an expression of half-formed joy mixed with confusion, and utter shock. She opens her mouth to say something — although what, she isn't exactly sure of — but Raffaella is speaking again before the words have chance to form on her lips.

"You don't have to make a decision about it now, so don't worry." she assures her with a gentle smile, "If you want to sign the contract, you'll have to do it in London by no later than March of next year."

It takes Noa a moment to come to her senses, but as soon as the word contract is mentioned, she is brought back to reality with a jolt. Why does she even need to think about an offer like this? It's every girl's dream, is it not? To be the face of a brand that legendary. Surely she would be stupid not the drive into London right now and sign that contract on the spot.

So then why does Raffaella suddenly look so nervous?

"The reason I'm giving you time to think about this is that — well, there's a catch." the Italian woman sighs, her furrowed eyebrows softening in sympathy, "The deal has two parts: two partners, if you will. The first being you, and the second..." she trails off, wincing, "...the second being Charles Leclerc."

And just like that, every ounce of elation that had filled Noa's body at Raffaella's initial announcement dissipates into the open air. Of course it has to be him. Despite everything, he's the one person she doesn't seem to be able to forget about. It's like the universe is trying to torture her.

"Obviously Chanel is aware of your friendship." Raffaella continues hastily, deciding to take her silence as an opportunity to get a word in edgeways before the arguing starts, "Or, former friendship, that is..."

"They clearly didn't get the memo about that part." Noa grumbles under her breath.

"You wouldn't have to see him much." the PR manager reasons, "The contracts are separate for the most part, but there are a couple of overlaps, since you're representing the same brand. Photoshoots, a few interviews — nothing too invasive, though, I'll make that clear — maybe a public appearance at a gala or two later on in the season..." she trails off again. The frequent silences are beginning to make Noa's skin crawl, for the simple fact that it gives her too much time to think about the situation; to think about him.

"Like I said, you don't have to make any decisions right now—"

"It's ok." she cuts Raffaella off quickly, a weak smile appearing on her face that has the PR manager sighing with relief, "You'll have to give me a couple of weeks to, uh...weigh up my options." she looks away, biting down on her lower lip anxiously — a bad habit from her childhood, "I know what you're thinking. I'd be mad to turn it down."

Noa knows she would be. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she's sure that if she doesn't take it, Chanel will have plenty of other people lined up who will.

"I just need to work out a couple of things with him first."

That's the sticking point. Given the way her friendship with Charles ended (and the unpleasant fallout following it) Noa doesn't even know if she's ready to see him again without punching him in the face. She doesn't have that much restraint, but especially not around him. Though once it had been one of her favourite things about him, it's now the thing that could potentially land her a lawsuit — her emotions are always dialled up to eleven whenever Charles Leclerc is around.

Raffaella pauses, a frown slowly pinching at her skin, drawing her perfectly arched eyebrows together, "Have you not spoken to him? At all?"

Noa's face falls. Almost in an instant, she begins to backtrack.

"Sorry, I know it's a sensitive subject —"

"It's ok." the driver repeats with a humourless laugh, "I haven't spoken to him since 2018. Not for lack of trying..." she trails off with a shake of her head, not wanting to dig up old graves when she should have well and truly buried them long ago, "But I'll figure something out. I promise."

Slowly, Raffaella nods. She seems to be trying to read Noa's face for a moment, her eyes squinting from behind her glasses. All she sees is that her words are truth. A small smile graces her lips — almost proud. If only she knew, Noa doesn't have any intention of figuring it out any time soon.

They move on from the topic of Charles before it can dampen the mood anymore. She's still curious about this sudden contract offer. It's so out of the blue, Noa doesn't know quite what to make of it. She half expects the day to turn out to be one of those dreams that seem so realistic at the time, that when you wake up, you miss the fantasy world like you have actually lived it. Noa waits and waits for reality to kick in — but it never does.

"Is it not a bit of a risky move?" she asks, biting down on her lower lip once again, "I mean, I haven't even made my full debut yet. What if I turn out to be a complete failure?" half-joking, she laughs. The sound is hollow.

"Oh, come on." Raffaella scoffs, "Let's be real here. You're a Senna Borges. You couldn't be a failure even if you tried."

The words are supposed to console her — they should console her. But Noa merely feels the old yet familiar sensation of doubt, like someone's bony fingers inching up her spine. She banishes it just as quickly. It's not the time to re-open that wound.

Soon enough, her hours at the factory are up. As it turns out, Raffaella is even more of a workaholic than she'd first thought, merely brushing away her offers of a lift back to her hotel when she laughed about how her old Kia Picanto is stuck in the garage for repairs, so she'll have to travel back by taxi — if she can even get one all the way out here. But no matter how much Noa insists, Raffaella's answer is always the same.

She leaves the stubborn Italian still working in her office with a disbelieving shake of her head, already making a mental note to get her to let loose a little bit when the season starts — she'll have Raffaella partying like a Brazilian before the end of the year, she swears it. Besides, there's really no better environment to do it in than at a Formula 1 after party; with the pick of the best clubs, the strongest alcohol, and the most glamorous company. Never mind Raffaella, Noa can't wait to get back to her old party lifestyle. God knows, she needs a pick-me-up after the year she's had.

The drive into London doesn't take too long; no more than an hour and a half, and her brand new Aston Martin DB11 makes light work of the journey. She types the address of the café where they arranged to meet into the car's built-in sat nav. It's low profile, out of the centre of London where the only people they're likely to bump into will most likely not even bat an eyelid at their presence. Noa is glad of that.

She climbs out of her car, locking it behind her, when the little café finally comes into view. There are a few people inside she can see, but no sign of him yet — she assumes he must be sat somewhere out of her eye-line, as he texted her not even a few minutes ago to let her know he was inside. The bell at the top of the door jingles as she pushes it open, smiling at the woman at the counter who greets her. Noa's eyes wander briefly around the room. It takes her a few moments to spot him, sat placidly in a booth in the corner of the room, but when she does, her face lights up.

As if he can sense her eyes on him, Arthur Leclerc is looking her way in the next instant. He shoots up from his seat, striding over to meet her halfway. He looks nervous, Noa notices. His mouth opens and closes as if he's searching within himself for something to say, but can't quite find the words.

In truth, Arthur is nervous. This is the first time he's seen his best friend, his sister in over two years. Sure, they've kept in touch a little, sending messages here and there for birthdays and family holidays, but it isn't the same. He misses the days that Noa and her family would be round at his house between every race, and the summer breaks they would spend lounging by the beach in Rio de Janeiro. Though they're long gone now, they live in his memory as clearly as if they happened yesterday. Arthur knows, of course, the reason why they can never happen again — thanks to his idiot of a brother — but that never stops him from wishing he could go back in time and stop everything from playing out in the way that it has. Charles often forgets, whenever Noa is brought up in conversation, that the rest of his family loved her too. He isn't the only one who lost his best friend.

Despite the overwhelming urge Arthur has to both cry and apologise profusely at the same time when he sees her walk towards him, he ends up not having to do either of those things — Noa makes the decision for him, as she jumps into his arms without hesitation. It feels so natural to rest his head on her shoulder, as she presses a tender kiss to the side of his head. It's just like how things used to be.

"I missed you, 'Thur." she whispers.

Arthur echoes the words back to her. He can't help but hold on that little bit tighter, desperate to savour this moment for as long as he can. After all, there's no guarantee that, after everything, they will be able to do this again once the season starts.

The other café-goers are beginning to stare, so they soon take their seats opposite each other in the booth. There's no time to talk further, as a waiter soon wanders over to take their orders. It comes as a surprise to Noa that Arthur's coffee order hasn't changed, even after two years — a nutella mocha with chocolate flakes sprinkled on top. Pretty much the sweetest coffee he ever could have picked. She can't help but tease him about his infamous sweet tooth, which she remembers got him into trouble frequently when they were younger. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly, before she orders a simple black coffee.

He starts off the conversation nervously again. It's been so long since they last properly talked in person, and he knows she's changed a lot in those two years. Even if he didn't know all the reasons why, he would have been able to tell anyway. Something in Noa's eyes has changed dramatically. They're duller than Arthur remembers — that bright, mischievous spark has faded. He's familiar with it, of course, because he watched the same thing happen to his own brother's eyes after their father's death; but it's so drastic in Noa. She had always been able to light up a room with her eyes and smile, almost like she was the sun. Now it's as if someone has turned down a dimmer on her glow. She's just a shadow of what she used to be, and that worries Arthur.

"I'm good, everyone's good." she says in reply to his question: How are you and your family? It feels too formal, but it's all he can think to say. Besides, the words that come out of Noa's mouth are a lie, and he knows it, "Pai's still fixing up those old cars — remember the garage he opened that one summer? Yeah that's still going strong."

But as much as Arthur wants to call her out, to ask her how she's really feeling, he can't bring himself to. So he merely lets her talk.

"We got a puppy for mãe's birthday to keep her company at home when we're away." Noa continues with a small smile, "A German Shepherd called Paco. He's adorable."

She shows him a picture on her phone, and they both spend a few minutes cooing over videos of the tiny puppy tripping over things on his still slightly wobbly legs. Noa makes some throwaway comment about taking him to meet Paco, but Arthur doesn't hold her to the words. He knows how unlikely she is to stick to them.

"Oh! Did I tell you Luiz has got a girlfriend now?" Noa says with a sudden gasp. She knew there was something she needed to tell him, but for someone reason, the memory had completely escaped her until now. Arthur's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he slaps a hand over his mouth dramatically.

"You're joking! No way he beat me to it." the Monégasque says with a small, defeated sigh, making Noa giggle loudly. It almost takes Arthur off guard — he hasn't heard her laugh in so long.

"It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you." she muses, shaking her head in disbelief, "She's really nice, as well — his girlfriend. Her name's Eloísa. She's a painter."

Noa met her little brother Luiz's girlfriend in the summer, about a month after they first started dating. At first, she'd thought they might be moving a bit quick, considering this was their first proper relationship for the both of them, but as soon as she caught sight of Eloísa dos Santos Alves, Noa somehow knew she was perfect for her brother. And sure enough, almost six months later, they're still going strong.

Eloísa is the chalk to Luiz's cheese, in the best way possible. She's the only person Noa has ever met who can balance out his excitable, erratic nature, with her calm, soothing presence and soft voice. Equally, Luiz helps to bring her out of her shell a little, making her feel more comfortable being outspoken in front of unfamiliar people in a way she never would be otherwise. Noa has watched them communicate with no more than looks in their eyes across the dining room table. The level of trust they've managed to build in their relationship already is like nothing she's ever seen, except for in her parents. Sometimes, Noa quietly wonders to herself if she will ever experience something like that — but she never lets her mind linger on it for too long. She'll only end up upsetting herself.

“Tell him the next time we see each other he’s got to give up his secrets.” Arthur says, only half-joking, “There’s no way he’s managed to pull this girl without some level of coercion, right?”

Noa snorts in a distinctly unrefined manner at that, earning her more than a few strange looks.

“Aww, I’m sure you’ll find a girl stupid enough to put up with you at some point, ‘Thur.” she tells him in a voice of mock-sympathy, reaching forwards to pinch his cheek. He slaps her hand away.

“Or I’ll be single forever.” He retorts glumly. Noa can’t help but shake her head at his dramatics. It’s something in the Leclerc genes, she thinks.

“Well, then we can both be single forever together.” she offers brightly, a smile lighting up her face, but once again not quite reaching his eyes. Arthur tilts his head to one side curiously.

“So no boyfriend?” he asks.

Noa’s cheeks turn ever so slightly pink, “That’s a conversation for another time.” she mutters. For the moment, Arthur lets it slide. She’s right, they have more important things to talk about, and he thinks that now is as good a time as any to broach the topic he’s been trying to avoid this whole time.

Though, surprisingly, Noa beats him to it.

“There’s actually something else I need to tell you.” she sighs quietly, internally readying herself for a difficult conversation. Arthur’s ears almost prick up, sensing the newfound seriousness in her voice, and sits up straighter in his seat, “It involves Charles, so I thought you should know.”

He doesn’t miss the way Noa winces at the mere mention of his name. It’s the saddest thing of all, he thinks. Once, not so long ago, he’d watched her face radiate happiness and adoration whenever Charles was brought up in conversation. Now it’s as if just thinking about it him pains her. Though intrigued by this surprise announcement, Arthur can’t help the terror that runs up his spine as he waits with bated breath for her to keep talking. He’s reminded awfully of their last conversation, where Noa could barely even string a sentence together between her sobs of pure rage. Incidentally, that was the last time either she or Charles spoke of each other to him. It’s been radio silence ever since.

“I’ve been offered a sponsorship deal to become the new face of Chanel No.5.” Noa blurts out suddenly, all in one breath. Arthur freezes for a split second. His brain seems to lag behind as it tries to process the words that have just come out of her mouth. Now, he may not know a lot about fashion or brands, but he does know Chanel, and he does have a rough idea of the kind of celebrities who have represented them before. It takes him a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, but as soon as he does, pure joy fills his body and creeps onto his face in the form of a smile so wide it makes his cheeks ache.

“Noa! Merde, that’s incredible!” he cries. The briefest of smiles passes across her face, but it does not last nearly as long as he would have thought, and its soon replaced by anxiety. Arthur’s own grin begins to fall off his face, “Why am I sensing there’s a but in here somewhere…”

The corners of Noa’s mouth twitch up ruefully, “Charles has been offered the same contract.” She explains, “Which means that we'll have to — well, we'll be doing a lot of promotional stuff together...photoshoots and interviews, that kind of thing."

Arthur winces.

“So you see why I have a bit of a problem?” Noa laughs humourlessly, “This is…an incredible opportunity, but – I don’t know if I can do it with him there. Not yet, anyway.” She sighs wearily, running a hand through her unruly curls. Her balaclava has knotted it even more than usual, and her fingers snag more than a few tangles before they can brush through the ends, “And that’s not even considering how he’s going to react to all this.” her teeth sink into her lower lip, hard enough that she knows she’s in danger of drawing blood, “Has he said anything?” she asks, her voice filled with anxiety.

“No.” Arthur shakes his head slowly, “He doesn’t really tell us much now, to be honest. But Noa…” he trails off with a quiet sigh, pausing for just a moment to contemplate his next words, “…Surely it’s not worth giving this up just because of a feud.”

For a split second, she feels annoyance flare up in her chest. It’s a flash of white hot flame running from the base of her spine upwards, lingering over her heart. But just as soon as she feels it, she pushes the sensation down. Arthur means well, she knows that – and if she’s being honest, he’s right.

“I know, I know.” She concedes, “It still hurts, though. I don’t –“ Noa’s voice catches in the lump forming in her throat. She bites back her emotions quickly, sadness and grief quickly replaced by that all-too-familiar rage. She hates that it still affects her so much – that she still regrets every single word spoken that night. Noa wishes, more than anything on earth, that she could simply forget it ever happened; forget him. “– I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again, to be honest.”

“Not to sound harsh,” Arthur says, his eyebrows raising up towards his hairline, “But you’re gonna have to be ready pretty soon. Once the season starts, you won’t really have much of a choice in the matter.” he murmurs anxiously. Noa watches his eyes slip out of focus slightly, as he seems to be consumed in his thoughts. She nods once again, knowing he’s right. Then, he seems to come to life again, sitting bolt upright in his seat so quickly she almost jumps back in shock, “And, if you think about it, maybe this could be a good thing!” he grins so widely and brightly at the prospect, she can’t bring herself to cut him off, “Maybe this will help you both start to make amends for what happened. You could be friends again!”

Noa lets out a shaky breath. No matter how hard she tries to smile back at him, to match his seemingly boundless optimism, she simply can’t do it. It’s not as if she hasn’t tried – for the first six months of the year, she spent hours sat staring at her phone, waiting, hoping that Charles might call. Despite everything, despite all the hurtful words they both said that night, Noa always had faith that he would come through. For six months, she fully believed that she would get her best friend back. She believed he would reach out to her, because if he didn’t then, in the time she needed him most, then she figured he never would.

That’s why Noa has so little faith now. Charles never contacted her. Even when she called him, even when she texted, there was never any reply. He abandoned her. She’d been there for him when he needed her the most, but he couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone when their roles were reversed. So Arthur may be able to say the sun hasn’t set on their friendship; he may be able to hope that they could patch things up, go back to the way things used to be – but Noa isn’t stupid. She won’t get her hopes up again; she simply can’t. If Charles lets her down a second time, she doesn’t think she’ll survive it.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Unexpected 33

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Making friends?” Lloyd’s terse greeting is exactly what you expect.

You sigh as you approach him bracing the door frame as he blocks your way. Your other hand goes to your lower back and you groan. You just want to sit down.

“Neighbour saying hi,” you match his tone, “excuse me.”

You gesture past him and take a step forward. He doesn’t budge and you lean back on your heel. He stares off over your shoulder.

“Lloyd, please, I was only being friendly–”

“Well, you shouldn’t be friendly to him. Tight ass and his goddamn hedges.”

“What? Would you please move? I need to sit down.”

His eyes fall to you and he squints, “what did he say?”

“Please,” you growl between your teeth, “your daughter is about to break my back.”

Exactly as you expect, the mention of the baby defeats him. He relents but not without an air of reluctance. He lets you through and closes the door slowly behind you. As you waddle through, you pause and glance back at him. He continues to watch through the window beside the door.

“Jeez,” you grumble and carry on, the cinnamon tempting a growl from your stomach.

You find the table already set for two. You’re even more surprised by that. You sit and struggle to get comfortable in the stiff seat. You’re almost out of breath as you try to adjust your posture around your stomach. You still have a few more months to go. You’re going to get even bigger.

Lloyd enters as you reach for the platter of pancakes and he swipes them up before you can. He puts three on your plate as you watch him dully. You feel that familiar twinge in your back. You should’ve stretched a bit longer this morning.

“Orange juice?” He offers.

You nod and plant your elbow on the armrest as you cradle your stomach. You don’t think you’ll be doing too much today. You don’t have the energy or the tolerance.

“You okay, peaches?” He asks as he pours the juice.

“Fine, just… damn kid likes to sap up my lifeforce,” you huff, “a lot like her father.”

He smirks proudly. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment but he takes even the merest mention of himself as such.

“So,” he sits, pulling up his chair as he fills his own plate, “names? I’ve been thinking of names. Now we know it’s a girl.”

“Lloyd, we have time,” you add a pat of butter to your stack, “can’t it wait? Preferably when I’m not eating?”

“No time better than the present.”

You hover your hand toward the syrup, just out of your reach the table presses to your bump. Lloyd shifts to help and slides it closer until you grip the neck. You notice how he eyes up your stomach. Ugh. Men are so fucking weird.

“Please don’t start with all those cliches,” you sniff as you drizzle the syrup, mouth watering at the scent of sweet blueberry.

“Look, I gotta be ready. Every dad needs a repertoire of jokes and–”

“Do you think you're cute?” You interject, “because you’re not. We both know this isn’t a goddamn sitcom. Neither of us is cut out for this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says as he cuts into the fluffy pancakes. They are surprisingly well done. “I’ve been on some dad forums, you know? Trying to brush up. You see, peaches, I’m a Harvard man. I don’t do anything without extensive research. My job ensures that I always have the relevant intel.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but babies don’t abide by whatever’s written in books or on forums,” you cut out a triangle and bite into it. Oh my god. You nearly roll your eyes back in delight. So fluffy and tasty. “Is this buttermilk?”

“Uh, yeah, mom’s recipe.”

“Wow, pretty good,” you shove a forkful into your mouth. You focus on your urgent hunger, smothering your agitation with the flavour of cinnamon and berries.

“Thanks, uh… well, anyway, names. How do you feel about something old fashioned? Like Elizabeth or–”

“Marion?” You offer.

He grimaces and drags the tines of his fork around the edge of the plate, “okay, fine, how about something more modern.”

“How about we table this talk until I care?” You ask, “apparently you’ve been thinking about this for a while and I haven’t even had a chance.”

“You haven’t? Not at all?”

“Not really,” you shrug as you shift in the chair, “you know, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Besides our daughter?”

“No, just… the name, that’s not exactly the most important part– Arghhh.” You drop your fork as you back spasm, “fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he kids even as he gets to his feet, “peaches?”

You sit back and touch your back, “it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just this damn– stomach. Pulling on my muscles.”

“Shit, do you need help?”

“No, I’m good,” you grit out as you sit up, shakily grasping the arms of the chair, “It was just a spasm.”

“If you need to lay down–”

“I can finish breakfast,” you insist as you grab your fork, squeezing it tight as you force your hands to stop trembling, “thanks. It’s pretty good, actually.”

“Actually?” He repeats as he lowers himself cautiously back into his chair, watching you warily, “you didn’t think I could figure it out? It’s just reading directions. I’m used to giving them but I can take some from time to time.”

“I just assumed since you brought me all the way here to do just that.”

“Easy excuse,” he smirks, “I just liked seeing you in an apron… and not much else.”

“You like seeing me suffer. Let’s be honest.”

“Depends on the suffering.”

“Mmm,” you poke the pancakes and bolster through another pang, “how about… Abigail? That’s a nice name.”

“Abigail?” He scowls, “no, I don’t like it.”

“Hmmm,” you chew your lip. You really don’t care but you don’t want him to see how much pain you’re really in. You want to finish your food without him crowding you, “Suzy?”

“Suz–” he nearly chokes, “Suzy? Definitely not.”

“Oh? You know a Suzy?” You wonder.

He smirks, a subtle slant of his lips. He shrugs and waves off the suggestion, “I just don’t think that sounds right. Suzy Hansen… ew.”

“Alright, well, you seem to have a list prepared, so let’s hear them.”

“Funny you say that, because I do,” he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, “let me just find it.”

You grumble and have another bite, counting the pancakes left on the platter. You’re definitely going to have at least one more. If you have to entertain his fatherly farce, you’re going to need something to make it palatable.

💎

You lay on the couch, propped up against several pillows as the television blears in your eyes. You’re not really paying attention. The agony jabbing into your spine keeps you from doing much but wallowing. Besides, you don’t really care about the show. Without Harlan there to make his wise observations about the bug eyed boy, it’s just not as interesting.

You can hear the low tone of Lloyd’s voice through the walls. He’s not loud enough to make out his words. You figure he’s on a call or something. Maybe he’ll be leaving for another mission soon. What then? Another month away and another month closer to your doom.

You close your eyes as the sky begins to dim slowly outside. The cool breeze flows in from the open windows and eases you slightly. That’s the only thing that helps is relaxing but you find it harder and harder to do.

The moment of peace doesn’t last. The chime of the doorbell goes off and you groan. You contemplate getting up but can’t. Whoever it is, they can go away.

It rings again, drawing tight the tension in your muscles. Go away! No one’s home.

You hear a door and footsteps. You sense Lloyd in the foyer and hear him snarl as his fingertips tap across the tablet. He sighs.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” He snarls.

“Who is it?” You call lazily, putting a hand up on the back of the couch.

“I told you not to talk to that fucker.”

“Lloyd,” you push yourself up slightly and bite down on a grunt, “who is it?”

He doesn’t answer you as the front door swings open and you drop your head back in exasperation. You can’t even get yourself up to follow him. You just rub your forehead and wait. Shit, you know who it is. He said he’d be dropping by but you totally forgot.

You feel awful but maybe Lloyd will chase Andy far enough away that you won’t have to worry. As nice as he is, you just don’t need another stressor. Nor do you need your husband finding another reason to gripe.

You watch the screen, trying to unravel the argument between the two blondes and huff. You wiggle your toes as your impatience builds and builds. You hope it’s okay.

Fuck, as if you don’t know Lloyd well enough. He’s probably starting a fight. He wouldn’t do too bad on one of these sleazy shows.

You hold your breath and force yourself to sit up. You better go make sure there isn’t blood on the pavement. As you get to your feet and turn, the front door slams and Lloyd stomps through with a box in his arms.

“Jerk off,” he snaps as he turns into the living room and strides toward you.

“What’s going–”

“Baby clothes,” he drops the box onto the chair, “that fucking asshole. Acting like such a good guy.”

“Why are you so upset?” You ease yourself back to cushion and hiss.

He stops and grips his hips as he looks at you. He pulls the earbud out and lets it dangle by his collar. He runs his fingertips along his jaw and sighs.

“I just… I don’t exactly get along with that jackoff,” he puffs, “look, peaches, I know you’re not going to listen to me but you should steer clear of him.”

“I didn’t– I just said hi.”

“Yeah, well…” he waves to the box as he pivots on his heel, “next time, tell him to fuck off.” He shakes his head and grabs the earbud, shoving it back into place, “I’m in the middle of a job. We’ll trash all that after.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #unexpected #the gray man #lloyd definitely had dotty on a video call earlier to figure out the recipe

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

M6 with MC who's passionate in culinary and cuisines, love to take their lover to food trips and cook for them a lot, even testing out their new recipes to M6

dont feel pressured to take this request, have a lovely day you lovely human being

(also i wanna share a little headcanon of mine; Lucio is big on cuisines, he probably grew up with eating limited variations of foods so when he became the count he was so excited to try out new kinds of food and developed a little passion for it)

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a foodie MC

~ as someone who grew up internationally and makes their own bread and cheese instead of buying it, this is a request that makes me grin. thanks for the smile, anon! - brainrot ~

Julian

We already know how comforting Mazelinka's homemade soup is for him (magic or otherwise)

We also know that he's terrible at remembering to eat regularly, or choose things that taste good

If he walks into the kitchen to see you, his greatest love, cooking a nutritious and delicious meal to share with him, he may propose on the spot. Or melt. Or both

That said, his palate isn't very well refined, so if you're looking for detailed culinary feedback you won't be getting much

However, he can be quite the poet. When it comes to praise, he'll be groaning out compliments between each delicious bite and raving about it until the next homemade meal

Delighted to go on food trips with you, he knows all kinds of questionable shortcuts

It will become apparent that he can't follow most of the conversation (palate cleanser? I don't even know her!) but he will try his best

Is very good at making friends with whoever you're interacting with. You get a lot of extra samples because of him

Randomly brings people home to eat your cooking because according to him it's so good it'll cure any and all problems

Asra

They're a pretty decent cook themselves, which is a lot of fun when you get to take turns introducing your favorite foods to each other

He's also the type to regularly try recreating dishes he's eaten on his travels without any reference or recipe

It never turns out right, but it always tastes good

They love trying new things and are your most eager taste-tester. No matter how intimidating the culinary process is, they are wholly fascinated and invested

Food trips are his favorite thing

They'll happily take you to all the places they've visited, dragging you to the hole-in-the-walls that only locals know about and avoiding the places that gave them food poisoning previously

When he's on a solo journey, he'll keep an eye out for any ingredients you've mentioned and bring them back for you

As well as any remotely food-related thing that tickled their fancy

Did you want a stone mill taking up space on your roof? Not necessarily, but you have one now, and he's really excited to try making flour (and then bread) with it at least once before you get rid of it

Nadia

Fully supportive of your culinary endeavors

She has a taste for fine things herself. If those fine things were made by her beloved MC? She's all for it

Tries not to show too much excitement when you express a love for exploring other cuisines, she misses Prakran food so badly and can never find it made right

Regularly takes you to eat dishes prepared by Vesuvia's finest chefs

When you mention a food trip she pounces on the opportunity to eat all of her favorite Prakran delicacies with you

She may or may not pay her favorite spiced swordfish cook to give you an afternoon of lessons on how it's made. Only after you've said you would like the opportunity, of course

She's not much of a cook herself (she's always had in-house chefs) but she has a very well developed palate. Her culinary feedback is immaculate

It's hard for her to make the kind of time necessary to go on regular food trips with you, but that doesn't stop her from ordering all sorts of treats

She'll wait until you're relaxing in the garden with her to pull out the most recent delivery so she can watch your eyes light up

Muriel

The opposite of a foodie

That is, until you get your hands on him

One of your first positive interactions is getting him to try Selasi's bread and savoring the flavor together

He still has to shake himself out of the "food is fuel that I can't expect consistent access to" mentality, but you being around really helps

Nothing makes the hut feel more like home than watching you painstakingly put a meal together, playing with ingredients and spices like they're fun and not something to be scarfed down

Happy to go on trips with you, not so happy about all the human interaction that comes with the food part

But he loves fueling your interest, so he will start researching all kinds of cuisines based around foraging

Cooking becomes so much fun like this - he'll show up with a pile of foraged ingredients that he can tell you all about

And then you can tell him about all the ways you'll turn them into a delicious meal

Discovering that he has food preferences is really fun, until he also discovers the foods he really doesn't like and you have to learn to cook without them

Portia

Oh, you two are unstoppable

She bakes. You cook. She cooks. You bake. And then you feast and feast and feast

She has her fair share of wanderlust, so food trips are going to be a mutual delight for you two. She makes the best itineraries

She's also got her fair share of dishes from Nevivon that she likes to make for and teach to you (though some recipes are passed-down secrets that you'll need to earn)

You generally alternate cooking duties, so each of you has a day to cook and a day to savor

She's also friends with the palace chefs, and can convince them to let you watch them cook and share some tips with you

Ambassador trips are so much fun. If you go with her, the two of you will sneak out between meetings to hit up the street food stalls

If you stay with the shop, she'll collect all the recipes for you and bring back so many ingredients and spices

You being already trained in magic makes it easy for you to pick up Mazelinka's wonderful soup recipe once she's finally ready to teach it to you. The first time you make it for Portia, she cries

Lucio

As earlier suggested, Lucio grew up eating only what his parents and later he could hunt. In the army, he only had whatever was provided

Like his love of luxurious and shiny things, he developed an interest in cuisine after being taken in by the old Count

It was also one of the main attractions of his crazy masquerades

There is a reason why the first thing he wanted after regaining a body was food. It brings him joy!

He was ready to go back to the simpler food of his younger years when he gave up being Count to start a new life with you. It had even become something he associated with his old vices

So when he sees the stuff you manage to create over a campfire, he falls in love with you all over again

Regularly plans new jobs around culinary hotspots so you can wander and sample new food together

Prioritizes lodging that gives you a comfortable cooking space

He's not a chef, but he's a decent swordsman. He's cautious around anything that isn't grilling but he'll happily chop ingredients for you

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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yuikomorii · 3 months

Note

I would love to see that nsfw cg of yours even if it's just for a moment. I don't know if it's because of the inconvenience or because you don't want it to be stolen, but there is always a way to make it not reblog and delete it later. Your edits are almost indistinguishable from the original cgs and I can even firmly say that they are much prettier. The one for Christmas, for example, was very beautiful.

// Honestly, the main reason why I don’t want to post the nsfw edit is because I’m too EMBARRASSED. ><

I feel like most of my edits are really cringe, but sharing them online doesn’t make me feel insecure or anything like that, because I know a lot of people will enjoy soft stuff. Nonetheless, the last time I shared something nsfw, it received some bad feedback, which was understandable, but it made me more cautious about what I should post and what I should keep to myself.

I truly appreciate your compliments, and I'm delighted you think so! I wouldn't say anything I edit or draw is prettier than the original cgs or official arts, but such support makes me very happy!! 🥹🥹🩷

#admin

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auniverseline · 6 months

Text

Always

Original Story: Between Us by hanmi-xo

Pairing: C.SC x Astrid Roscent (OC)

Scenario: Seungcheol’s girlfriend encounters her ex-boyfriend Jeonghan during their date.

warnings: slight angst, seungcheol tries to comfort oc, mentions of abuse in past relationship (emotional, neglect, physical- only twice), oc has anxiety & trauma, mention of infidelity in past relationship, mentions of love bombing s/o, pet names (love, princess), mentions of gaslight & manipulation

a/n: this is one of the scenarios i had in mind with this couple, tho it consists past history of the two. feedback is very much appreciated! <3

This is a work of fiction! Pls separate this from irl Jeonghan. We all know how respectful he is, so pls NO HATE towards any SVT members!

Seungcheol is pissed. Towards their short encounter with his ex-best friend, who was also his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend. "Don't delight yourself. That's never going to happen," Seungcheol grits his teeth, holding Astrid's hand tighter in his grasp as they walk past a smirking Jeonghan.

Seungcheol knew what Jeonghan was implying. He knew the games he played. What he’s capable of- and Jeonghan wanted to ruin them both, keeping them on edge- to anger them.

Joshua, Jeonghan's model best friend, showed him on social media how the both of you officially became a couple- four years after Jeonghan dumped Astrid on the street, literally. Jeonghan knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering how he knew how Seungcheol felt all those years together as friends. As soon as he told his 'trustworthy best friend' about the girl he had feelings for, Jeonghan stole Astrid from Seugcheol. He kept a facade to entertain Astrid during their relationship, only wanting to keep Astrid for 'appearance purposes', treating her as a trophy to show off. Jeonghan never truly loved her as a person. Until Jeonghan received an offer abroad for his modeling career- ending the relationship quickly.

“Don’t worry, love,” Seungcheol glanced down at Astrid, slowing down his pace once they were at a good distance away from Jeonghan. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything at all. He won’t go anywhere near you.” He rubs her hand with his thumb still holding onto her, soothing her from the anxiety building up inside.

Tears began to form in her eyes, threatening to fall as she gave her boyfriend a small smile. “I know..” She knew deep down, Jeonghan still had an effect on her.

***

Back then, Astrid thought she was the happiest and luckiest girl alive to be with Jeonghan. But that happiness didn’t last long behind closed doors.

Everything went well into the relationship for the first couple months- or so she thought, realizing that Jeonghan wasn’t exactly the person she knew.

From an outside person’s point of view, they looked like the perfect it couple but from Astrid’s viewpoint it was far from that.

In any way possible, Jeonghan would gaslight her self-esteem, manipulate her from social interactions especially from her finances. There was never a day when he’d compliment her. Even if he did, that only occurred as an act to the public within their peers. Often times by the end of the day, Jeonghan would surprise Astrid with expensive gifts and shower her with affection, such as cuddling and kissing. And Astrid thought that was normal in the relationship despite all the emotional abuse he gave her. She didn’t know any better than be a supportive and loving girlfriend. She was too kindhearted. She thought ‘If I obey his wishes, then he will treat me better. I’ll be a good girlfriend.’ There were countless nights where she’d barely get any sleep at all and if she was lucky enough- she would cry herself to sleep.

She gave everything to Jeonghan, her first love.

The last few months into their relationship, witnesses from their peers had spoken up about Jeonghan’s infidelity. There were times where Astrid witnessed Jeonghan flirting openly with other ladies from their school. She’d confront him about it, question him about his actions and Jeonghan would reply with “Why are you concerned about what I’m doing? I’m just talking to them. We’re just friends.” With every confrontation, Jeonghan would deflect the argument by degrading her.

“God, you’re acting just like my crazy ex- Can we not talk about it?”

“Why haven’t you been working out? Don’t you know you’re getting bigger? You should be more like her-“

“What will you do without me? No one will look your way if you’re like that.”

Within the last month into their relationship, it grew worse. He would constantly be out with girls at night while she cried herself to sleep, fully aware of his actions. Jeonghan continued to discourage her and began to physically abuse her. Astrid was tired; mentally, physically and emotionally drained. She lost hope into their relationship, questioning if she should leave but she hesitated. More than anything she was scared, alone and believed every lie Jeonghan spouted. His abuse stopped after two occurrences, which lead to their separation and Seungcheol saved her by the dead end of the night.

That same night Jeonghan left Astrid on the street, she was contemplating who to contact considering her phone was low on battery. She quickly contacted the first person who appeared up on her screen and sent her current location. Within seconds before her phone died, the said person replied, ‘Wait for me. I’ll go to you.’

She didn’t doubt Seungcheol for a second. He drove to her location and found her sitting on the benches, her face stained with tear marks, swollen eyes and red nose. He quickly got out of his car and ran to her, engulfing her into a hug. He caressed her hair as she couldn’t hide her emotions from him, breaking into a sobbing mess as she held onto him tightly, “It’s okay. Shh, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The trauma was still there but she was slowly healing with the help of Seungcheol by her side. He was patient with Astrid. He gave her every reassurance when she was at her lowest. Respected her space when she needed it. He would pamper her with affection, shower her with words of encouragement to get through the day. Seungcheol gave her love and security. She felt safe in his arms. The epitome of ‘if comfort was a person.’

Seungcheol's heart sank witnessing his partner break into tears. He faced her, cupping her face into his hands, and lightly squished her cheeks, "Trust me. I'm right here- always, Ash." He lowered his head to kiss her on the forehead. He would do anything for his partner to smile, preventing her from harm and never wanting to see Astrid cry.

Astrid smiles at his kiss. She rests her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him close to a hug. In return Seungcheol wraps his arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head, gently playing with the ends of her hair whilst rubbing her back. They stayed in that position until Astrid calmed down from her anxiety.

With a deep breath, Astrid blinked away her tears and looks up at Seungcheol, “I’m good now, Cheol.”

He looks down with his brows knitted together, concern in his eyes, “Are you sure? Do you still want to continue on with our date? We can go back to my place and I can order us take out instead.”

As much as Seungcheol loved going on dates with Astrid during their free availability, her well-being mattered more than anything.

“Are you sure? You already made reservations at the restaurant though. It’d be a waste to not go,” Astrid pouted, unlocking herself from the hug.

“I want you to feel comfortable despite anything. We can always reschedule it,” he nods, pulling out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans with one hand and the other interlocking with hers as he plants a kiss onto her knuckles, “So, what do you say? It’s your call, Princess.”

#seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen jeonghan angst #jeonghan #seventeen au #seventeen college au #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol angst #seungcheol angst #seungcheol ff #seventeen oneshot #seventeen drabbles #seventeen x oc #seungcheol x oc #seventeen comfort #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scoups #jeonghan x oc #seventeen

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pinkandgoldensoul · 2 years

Text

Already Home || Chapter 2 - Flying Dutchman

(gif and divider are mine. If you like them, you can use them with credits!) Navigation || Masterlist Previous || Next If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader, mentions of charles leclerc x female!reader genre: friends to lovers, kind of slow burn, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, drinking, brief mentions of catcalling, insecurities, negative thoughts, mental breakdown (as a famous anonymous quote says, “All the time you need to read the disclaimers”) other notes: loosely based on the Dutch GP 2022 word count: 9.9k I wanted to thank you for reading and liking chapter 1! ♥ Hope you'll enjoy this one too!

Flying Dutchman: ghost ship destined to never come back but sail the sea unseen, alone.

«Here you are. Be careful, it’s hot!» «Oh, yes! Thank you!» «Where’s mine?» «Don’t be impatient! I only have two hands, give me a second!» «Why did you give it to him first?» «Stop complaining or it won’t come out good!» «Well, y/n, I doubt your hot chocolate could taste any less than excellent.»

At that compliment, you turned over to the Monegasque driver sat at the table and smiled. «Thanks, Charles.» «So? Is it ready?» Max peeked over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of the small pot containing the precious brown liquid, but you immediately shook him away. «No, and if you ask me one more time, I’m drinking it myself!» Defeated, Max fell back down on his chair, his head resting on his palm, annoyingly watching Charles blow into the mug and enjoy the drink. You definitely had a bias. Despite the thought, his eyes were automatically drawn by your figure and lingered on it: he couldn’t restrain himself from looking at your tied hair and the few strands framing your face, your arms confident in each movement and motherly at the same time. Max loved how happy you would be whenever you had the chance to put a mug of your hot chocolate in front of someone, waiting for feedback; you would grin so sweetly and a soft blush would cast over your cheeks, in the most delighted and bright expression he’s ever seen on your face. Max would secretly watch you cooking, enchanted, smiling to himself, each time as if it were the last you would ever offer him a cup.

As he drifted his gaze, Max caught Charles spying on him with the mug still in his hands and a slightly raised brow, as to display a little bit of confusion and curiosity at the same time. Before he could react to the Monegasque glance, you quickly motioned towards the table with the saucepan. «And this is for you, you grumpy.» you said, pouring the sweet liquid into an orange mug. «It’d better taste like a race win!» Max joked, finally content to have his drink. You rolled your eyes at him and ignored the comment, placing the dirty pan into the sink. You then realized the kitchen counter was too messy to your liking; willing to clean it, you searched for a bin, with no results. «Max, do you know where the trash can is?» you asked him. «I think it’s outside.» he said, without making eye contact, too focused on his chocolate treasure. «Ok, I’ll go check!» you announced, bringing some trash with you.

After you closed the door, the two drivers were left alone with their steaming cups. «You’re so lucky, mate.» Charles stated, stirring with the spoon. «Yeah, I know, her hot chocolate is on another level!» Max chuckled. Charles briefly smiled before letting drop his gaze. «How… How are things with Kelly?» Max shot his head back up and widened his eyes: Charles had never been so direct and never asked about Kelly, at least not this openly. Even though he was a bit surprised at the sudden question, he kept his cool. As always. «Really good!» he said, grinning. «What about you and Charlotte?» «Oh yeah, yeah, all good!» Charles rushed, flashing a sheepish smile. Ok, this is weird, Max thought. As awkwardness was now settled into the conversation, the Dutch decided it would be a good idea to change topic. «Which flavour did you choose?» Max said, clearing his throat before asking. «Salted caramel. The contrast tastes really good.» As Max started nodding, already running out of conversation prompts, Charles kept talking. «I don’t know how she does it, because I’ve tried at home and it was a mess.» he said, pointing to the mug a couple of times, emphasizing his resignation. «But hers is just perfect. She has a talent for it.» «Yeah, I think so. Look how smooth it is on the surface.» Max said, getting the Monegasque’s attention on his cup. «Ah, I wish I could make it at home, especially during the winter break. Sometimes I just miss the taste of it.» Then Charles, pondering his own words, furrowed his brows and looked back at Max. «Can’t you ask y/n the recipe?» «What?» Max asked, disbelieved. «The recipe, so that I can make it on my own!» Charles laughed. «Oh, mate, I’ve tried to discover her secrets, but it’s impossible. She doesn’t even let me get close to the stove!» «Because you would tell me I’m doing things wrong!» you snapped back at him, entering the kitchen. «Y/n, please, could you give me the recipe?» Charles chirped, eyes full of hope. You reflected upon his request, then looked back at the pair of drivers sitting in front of you: was it fair to reveal your secret recipe to one of them - given the fact that you had never let Max know and weren’t planning on doing that any time soon? No, it wasn’t, but Charles’ beautiful eyes were begging you to do so.

Still, you didn’t. You didn’t want Max to think you preferred Charles over him. Because it wasn’t true anyway. «No, Charles, I’m sorry. I can’t.» you answered, swiping the counter’s surface with some paper towel to remove a few wet patches. «Y/n, please!» Charles said, frustrated. «You two are truly a pain!» you chuckled. «Only because you refuse to share with us the recipe to the most delicious hot chocolate of all time.» «You know you’re not going far with compliments, right?» you said, turning around towards the Monegasque. «I won’t surrender, y/n, you have my word.» he stared at you, a small grin on his lips. «Then we’ll see who surrenders first, ‘cause I won't either, Charles.» The Ferrari driver, impressed by your resolution, turned towards Max. «Should I be scared?» he then asked. «Very, very scared.» And with that, Max firstly grinned at him, only to meet your eyes a few seconds later. You stared at each other for a while, before your phone alarm rang and echoed through the kitchen. «It’s almost 2 p.m.!» you exclaimed, addressing Max. «Do you need help with the luggage?» he asked you, getting up from the table. Charles got up as well, shaken by your haste. «You’re taking a flight too, y/n?» Charles said, looking at you a bit surprised. Uncertain about the answer you should give, you turned to Max for help; he simply nodded, suggesting you go on. «Yes, I’m going to Monaco.» you said with an awkward smile. «Then we’ll be on the same plane! That’s so cool!» Charles remarked with enthusiasm. «Is it to relax a little bit?» he then asked. Mouth agape, unable to answer his question, Max jumped into the conversation and saved you from bashfulness. «No, she’s moving in with me and Kelly.» he boldly stated. Charles looked at you, only to see you nodding at Max’s words. «That’s amazing! I don’t even need the recipe anymore, I’ll visit you everyday during the winter break!» His excitement was contagious and got you all laughing. There was no point in denying you were nervous about going living with two people under the spotlight, but you felt relief knowing you could count on the support and friendship of many, making it easier for you to embrace the new chapter of your life. Nothing was going to be the same ever again, no turning back. You knew that it could be your chance.

You and Charles agreed on heading to the airport together; Max followed you to the car and was kind enough to bring the suitcase for you. «Kelly should be there before you arrive, but if she’s not home call me.» he told you. «I will.» you smiled. «See you soon in Zandvoort, then!» He grinned, and you waved at him while you got inside the car with Charles. Already missing the presence, you watched his silhouette gradually getting smaller in the rear-mirrors, until he disappeared. Distance, though, couldn’t erase the warmth his smile left on your blushing skin.

Moving in with Max didn’t take long: all your belongings always travelled with you inside a suitcase. That was all you had. Jumping from a hotel room to another, you never bothered unpacking; not that you had a lot to unpack anyway. Without money, you never had the chance to buy loads of new clothing pieces; you didn’t think you needed them and you were well aware that, even if you did, you simply couldn’t ask Max for those. He was doing way too much and you didn’t want to abuse his kindness. It was a cloudy day in Monaco, that Tuesday. Max had decided to book a flight for you, so that you could already settle in; he was staying in Belgium with his family for a while before moving to Zandvoort, in the Netherlands, for his home race. He reassured you Kelly would help you through it, but you didn’t think it was fair to her to be your guide: you were Max’s friend, not hers. She shouldn’t have been compelled to do anything for you. And again, there weren't a lot of things to settle, apart from yourself. Looking at the outside of the building, you checked the address a few times before ringing the doorbell. «Hello, who is it?» a feminine voice answered. «It’s y/n, Max’s friend.» «Come in!»

Since the lift could only be accessed using a key, you had to drag the suitcase up the stairs. So damn tiring. As soon as she saw you, Kelly came towards you to help you with the suitcase, probably expecting to see you with more than one, only to be caught by surprise. You had a single, small one. Once you made it on top of the stairs, you finally made eye contact with her and rapidly smiled, before dropping your gaze to the floor. «Let’s go in, I’ll show you around!» Kelly said, motioning for you to follow her. The apartment was modern but cozy at the same time; you could definitely tell she had chosen some pieces of furniture, since they looked classy and glamour, opposed to others which were neat and essential. Probably Max’s touch. «This is the living room and that’s the kitchen. Don’t expect Max to cook, though.» she warned you. «I know, I know!» you chuckled. Admiring the rooms, you got closer to a shelf near the tv and looked at some framed pictures. It was Kelly and Penelope, Penelope playing alone, Max and Kelly, all the three of them together. A family; maybe imperfect, but still a family. «Come, I’ll show you your room!» She interrupted your gazing session and guided you towards a corridor. «Here’s the bathroom, I’ve cleaned a bit so that you can put your toiletries.» «Thanks.» you softly said. «And this is your room.» Entering it, you stared in awe at the bright tones of the furnishings, the light coming through the curtains, the clean and harmonious look of it. You couldn’t believe it was a spare room for guests. «Do you like it?» Kelly asked, a pleased smile on her lips. «It’s… perfect.» You were about to thank her, when she took your luggage and dragged it into the room. «I’ll help you store clothes!» she said, opening the suitcase. You tried to stop her. «No, Kelly, it’s okay, you’ve done enough!» Your words coming out more aggressively than you intended, you corrected yourself. «I mean, you’ve already accepted me moving here with you and Max and… and you don’t have to help me even more. You’ve already done a lot.» She looked at you with a bright - almost practiced - smile plastered onto her face. She was beautiful. Stunned by her flawless hair, her mesmerizing eyes and enviable fit body, the success in her field and the allure she brought everywhere she’d go, you thought nobody could ever blame Max for loving her. As much as nobody could blame Kelly for falling in love with him. «I’m here to make you feel comfortable and to help you, y/n. You’re Max’s friend, so if he trusts you, I’ll trust you too. - As her white teeth showed once again, you smiled back full of gratitude. «So… Is this all you have?» she asked, eyeing the suitcase with a subtle and almost unnoticeable hint of disappointment. «Yes, that’s it.» «Okay, don’t move.» She stormed out of your room before you could say something. You took advantage of those moments to appreciate the view from your window: chic buildings slowly opened towards the deep-blue sea, creating a breathtaking scenery. Surreal, for someone like you. You heard Kelly’s steps getting closer to the door and turned around, your eyes growing wide. «Can you help me?» She had a ton of clothes in her arms and was barely able to hold them on her own; you rushed to her and took some, placing them onto the bed. «I was going to throw them away because I don’t have enough room, but if there’s something you like you can take it!» Feeling the various textures and carefully going through a few, you thanked her multiple times. Kelly then obliged you to try them on, to see the ones that suited you the best; she was way more excited than you were, but the minimum you could do to show appreciation was indulge her. Whenever something didn’t fit because of your different sizes, you simply told Kelly it wasn’t your style - which sometimes was the case, but most of the times it wasn’t. In all honesty, you could’ve never stood up to the challenge and you didn’t want to feel embarrassed. «You have to try this on!» she said, grabbing a short blue dress. Too short to your liking. «Uhm, I don’t think I’ll ever wear it…» you mumbled. «Why not?? This is brand new, I’ve never worn it but it’s super cute! Try it!» There was no real choice. Sure it wouldn’t fit you anyway, you changed in the bathroom with low expectations. To your surprise, the fabric glided over your skin without stretching. Pulling up the zip onto the side, you slowly raised your head to look at your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. You looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. You normally wouldn’t even throw a glance over a dress like that one, but there was something that made you feel comfortable, almost at home. The color. That soft and rich tone of blue, familiar in the most literal sense. Similar to Red Bull’s. On your way to Kelly, you couldn’t stop touching and straightening the fabric in an attempt to make the dress a little longer, noticing how it would get even shorter while walking. Your arm brushing against the door frame, your gaze down, you heard Kelly gasp. «Oh my God.» she said, momentarily speechless. She got up from the bed and came closer, hands on your shoulder, checking you out with shocked eyes. «It’s yours.» Kelly stated. «Don’t you think it is a little too short?» you tried to stop her excitement. She simply gave you a look that wasn’t leaving room for discussions. «It looks amazing on you, y/n. You’re keeping it and you’re wearing it on Sunday night!» «Sunday night?» you asked, frowning. A warm and big smile crept over her lips. «On Max’s victory party.» At the thought, you grinned as well. The Flying Dutchman was coming home.

Zandvoort was invaded by the Orange Army. Everywhere you went, everywhere you turned around, every person your eyes were able to see even from a distance wore the Dutch colors or Red Bull hats and tees, screamed and drank in delight and excitement, lit up orange smoke bombs. There was no room for anything else, no room for anyone else: it was as bright as the day that those fans only cheered one driver, only worshipped one god, one king. And that was Max. The appreciation he was receiving in the country he chose as his was immeasurable; being a champion who made the Netherlands so well known all over the world and, as if that alone weren’t enough, winning a world title and placing the Dutch flag on top of the podium could only make way for an unconditional love and, on a higher level, led him to be appointed Officer of the Order of Orange-Nassau. Max felt proud, grateful and compelled to keep giving his best, even though it wasn’t really necessary: there was no need to fuel a lion’s hunger.

Gear box’s problem during the first run of free practice didn’t ruin the mood: both crowd’s spirits and Red Bull’s didn’t loosen up, quite the opposite, they grew stronger in anticipation and excitement for a hoped feat, during a tricky and unpredictable weekend. Max seemed to have turned insensitive to pressure: his features were calm and relaxed as usual, a well-mannered and tolerant demeanor, but sharpness and determination still showed. Not even his father testing positive for Covid was able to break his impassivity, what could ever make him lose the newfound coolness, mastered throughout the years, and shatter his emotional stability? Nothing, right? # «I know everyone asks you and this might be annoying, but…» «Where am I going next year?» «Yeah…» «Trust me, y/n, I have no fucking clue.» As Daniel answered you with defeated eyes, a veil of sadness took over you. One thing was Sebastian retiring after an amazing career and with high chances of seeing him coming back to the sport relatively soon; another thing was accepting the fact that Daniel had to end his F1 career way too early without any future plan, without the peak he deserved. It hurt you, so you couldn’t even understand how much it could hurt him. Probably you’d never do. «I know where you are going, though.» he smirked. «Uh? What do you mean?» you asked, confused. A smirk appeared on his face. «You’re moving to Max’s house in Monaco, right?» You stared at him slightly taken aback. «Did Max tell you already?» you said, diverting the gaze. «Yes, and I was extremely outraged.» You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone. «Why did you ask him? I live in Monaco too!» Daniel went on. «You’re telling me you would accept someone else living with you?» you raised your eyebrow, doubtful. You could see him thinking about it with the mouth slightly open. «No, you’re right, I wouldn’t, but you have to promise you’ll spend more time with me rather than with Max.» «That was obvious, Dan. You know you’ll always be my favourite Red Bull driver. » «Coming from someone who’s friend with the V-squad, it’s hard to believe you.» he chuckled. «V-squad?» «Vettel-Verstappen. That’s some lethal shit.» You bursted out laughing. «They're everything but lethal, Daniel!» you said. «Well, I see you know more than I do.» The fact that he'd been teammate of both was enough to suggest to you he was being ironic, but you suddenly realized that it could also be a simple statement: he'd been teammate of both, teammate of two world-title-worth drivers. A sense of guilt caught you: Daniel probably deserved more, but he'd never really shown his entire potential. What would've happened if he'd found someone who'd believe in him as much as everybody did with Seb and Max? No one would ever know, Daniel would never know; but he'd live wondering, eaten by hopes and broken dreams. Well, it was better to enjoy what was left before it completely disappeared. As you were still talking with the McLaren driver, you heard someone calling for you from afar; turning around, you saw Carlos raising an arm at you as a greeting. As he got closer, he quickly smiled at you and Daniel. «How's life in hell?» Dan asked, playful. «Better than you might think, Ricciardo.» Carlos teased him, emphasizing the r's in his last name. After chitchatting a little, the Spanish driver addressed you. «Charles wanted to know if you're watching practice from our box.» Your thought immediately going to Red Bull’s garage and Max's fans all around you reminding you in case you'd ever forget about him, you gave an apologetic smile to Carlos. «I'm sorry, this is Max's home race... But I promise I'll be with you for Monza!» «You weren't with me in Melbourne, y/n. I would've never thought you'd picked favourites!» Daniel faked shock. «We all know y/n only has one favourite driver.» Carlos' knowing stare made you feel uncomfortable. Why did he have to be so intense in stating something you didn't want to hear out loud? Walking towards Red Bull's box, memories with Max unfolded before your eyes: you always struggled to see the evil character some people would portray him as. To you Max had a kind heart, had been hurt as everybody else, had hated and loved as anybody else; leading a life like his, probably would’ve led you to a breakdown, dreading journalists and their stupid or intrusive questions, whereas Max had learned to handle them and to accompany his words with a smile. And he was just in his twenties. Everybody seemed to forget how young he’d been and still was, but you couldn’t: the way his nose crinkled while laughing, his eyes squeezed, his laugh, held the fun, the joy, the purity youngsters have. That carelessness, spontaneity and freedom you only experience in your young years. Max felt like a breath of fresh air. Oxygen to your lungs, to your suffocating life. You spent every single moment of Max being on track with Red Bull’s headphones on: you saw him conquer pole position, being cheered in a way you’d never imagine, overtaking Mercedes while you had your heart in your mouth, winning in Zandvoort and people in the grandstands going absolutely crazy. You tried to push through the crowd to reach him, congratulate him, show you were there for him; you soon gave up, as a group of close friends and family members gathered around him. Right before you could see Max and Kelly’s heads getting closer to share a kiss, your eyes were caught by a red fire suit passing next to you, drinking from a water bottle. Charles, noticing you, smiled and you both headed towards each other. «Congratulations, Charles!» you screamed, in order to be heard among the chaos. «Oh thank you, y/n.» he said, forcing a smile. You emphatically put a hand on his shoulder to console him; you could see he wasn’t pleased at all with the result, but you didn’t want him to dwell on it while going to the podium celebration. As you tried to comfort him a little, Max, who was searching for you, saw you consoling an unsatisfied Charles. Too impatient to wait for you to be over, Max closed the gap in a few steps and put your conversation with the Monegasque to an abrupt end. Before you could say anything, Max pulled you in a hug, engulfing you with his adrenaline and happiness. You closed your eyes and let your hand wander through his sweaty hair, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of it. Your heartbeat raised to match his, a wave of overwhelming feelings messing with you. «I won, y/n!» The sky behind him already sunsetting made an extraordinary scenery with warmth tones that suited the air filled with orange smoke; the blue of his suit and his eyes proved once again the theory of opposite colors being a well-chosen pair. It was true. Yes, Max had won. Your affection.

Laid down on your hotel bed, you stared at the ceiling, lost in thought: during the last week you’d managed to forget about your parents and you left behind the unhappiness of Spa, which had been replaced by the welcome Max, Kelly and everybody in the paddock had already proved you in the last months. You were grateful to have the opportunity of meeting people who worked in a sport you loved and were lucky to be able to call them friends. Deep down, though, you knew your soul still carried a void, you could feel it; but maybe it was time to forget, to let go of your past, or at least give it a try, and instead of mourning a love you’d never receive, enjoy the one you could actually grasp. You heard your phone vibrating in your pocket. “We’ll leave in 20 minutes.” Max was reminding you that he would give you a lift to a club they’d be celebrating at. And indirectly reminded you had only 20 minutes to get ready. You quickly replied. “Ok, take your time!” “Don’t tell me you’re still not ready” You smiled at it, then started typing. “Who knows… :D” “You’re unbelievable, y/n.” Getting closer to the suitcase, you thought of wearing a simple mise you would always choose for parties like those, but some blue cloth caught your attention: it was Kelly’s dress, the one she insisted on giving you, the one you had to wear for Max’s victory on Sunday. Well, it was Sunday. The perfect occasion to wear it for the first and probably only time in your life. The mirror inside the lift made you feel every second more insecure about your appearance: was it too much? Too revealing? Too inappropriate? It was a club night, though… Is there anything considered inappropriate in a place people go in order to be inappropriate? As you tried not to compulsively pull the dress’ hem down, you headed towards the glass entrance door of the hotel. Outside, you could see a car parked right in front of the building, together with Max and Kelly talking on the pavement. Approaching them, you realized it seemed more like arguing. You immediately stopped, afraid of interrupting them, but Max had already turned his head towards you and acknowledged your presence. His features, from tensed and creased, gradually loosened while staring at you: he’d rarely seen you wearing dresses - especially short ones; rarely saw makeup on your face, rarely looked at much of your skin exposed. He’d rarely lost track of time and surroundings because of you. Because of how beautiful and stunning you were. It wasn’t just the shape or how the dress fitted you: it was you, shining and beaming like a precious star. Max kept staring at you, unable to speak, still shocked by you and his own reaction. «Oh, here’s y/n.» Kelly said, with a pinch of annoyance. She immediately crossed her arms and got inside the car. Max, still dazed and fascinated by the way that blue color suited you and complemented your skin tone, regained composure and signaled you to get in the car without saying anything. You guessed his awkwardness was due to the conversation he’d had with Kelly; you didn’t say anything either, and got in in silence.

# Parties were not for you. It was something you’d started learning too late. You couldn’t avoid celebrating the win of the person who was supporting you in every aspect. Maybe him being a world champion and an astonishing driver wasn’t really helpful, but the problem clearly was only yours, since there wasn’t a single person not freaking loving him. Max got swamped by a sea of people, drenched in sweat and alcohol, torn and pulled in all directions because everybody craved him, everybody felt drawn to success. The dim lights made it hard for you to take in your chaotic surroundings and the loud music thumped in your chest, a tightening feeling taking over your lungs. Lost in the crowd, you frantically turned your head around to search for a familiar face, someone you could consider a friend. Once again, you found yourself realizing how lonely you were. Another victory party, another disaster. You ran towards the bar, grabbing someone else’s shot and downing it in a go. It tasted bitter and made your insides burn, flowing like a trail of fire, from your throat to your stomach: maybe it would be able to burn down all your thoughts as well? You decided to take another one, just to check if it worked. After all, Max liked getting drunk: there should’ve been a reason for it, right? As you settled into the bar area, two people you couldn’t make out the face of started talking to you and offered drinks non-stop. You could feel your cheeks flushing and loads of giggles would leave your mouth as your head began spinning: you were high and had gone way over your limit. But you didn’t care. You had things to forget and if alcohol could help, then alcohol would be. Your overthinker mind couldn’t stand it, though. Eyes staring at the umpteenth shot, you seemed to sober up all of a sudden. Drinking was never going to solve your problems. You were just being childish, trying to ignore everything, thinking you could avoid dealing with people. It simply was not going to work. How stupid of you to think there could be such an easy and self-destructive solution. You got up, disgusted by your own actions, and tried to head over the bathroom; you quickly noticed it’d be a difficult task, since dizziness was making it hard for you not to swing and sway, trying to cross the dance floor full of equally drunk and sweaty people. Your stomach was twisting in shame and disgust. Feeling unwell, you dead-stopped in the middle of the suffocating room and closed your eyes, hoping the dizziness would stop. Why were you there? You opened your eyes and saw Max in the distance, laughing and dancing. You wanted to go to him. You needed him. Get away from that place, drive in the middle of the night without other people around. No chaos, no winners, no losers. Just you and him. Before you could even try to move your body towards him, Kelly’s blurred figure ran to him, hugging him first and then getting lost in a passionate kiss. Weren’t they arguing before picking you up? Had they made up that quickly? Nausea got your feet moving. You hurried towards the bathroom and made it past people in line, too lost in drunk conversations to notice you passed them. Once you got in, you reached the sink and tried to calm down. Your hands, shaking, tightly gripped the edge, while you took deep breaths to prevent you from throwing up on the spot. You stared at your reflection onto the mirror, which was dirty and broken. Just like you. Eyes still piercing your own, you heard moaning noises coming from the toilet. You saw your own reflection having tears falling down its cheeks before you perceived the hot sensation against your skin. The image of Kelly and Max kissing stuck in your mind and you turned your head away from the mirror. You couldn’t stand watching your misery cross your face. Regaining confidence in your movements, you stormed out of the bathroom, mascara staining your skin, and left that place which smelled like sadness, vodka and loneliness. Streets were crowded, but nobody noticed your terrifying aspect. You felt like a ghost wandering in silence, a light and invisible presence in everybody’s life. Your thoughts went to your parents. You were a ghost for them too. You were nothing to them. You were already dead before even dying. Your steps became even more unsteady as new tears filled your eyes; without being aware of it, you started walking at the very edge of the road, cars passing by at moderate speed and dangerously close to you. You failed to notice. As much as you failed to notice a car slowing down, three young and wasted guys whistling at your exposed legs and shouting in Dutch. You did notice the sound of an engine revving getting closer and someone screaming against them, but you simply kept walking. «Y/n!» You didn’t recognize the voice, so you didn’t stop; scared, you tried to walk more rapidly, causing you to trip. You felt a pair of arms embracing you and sustaining you. As Charles said things you couldn’t muster, you crushed onto his chest and cried hard. He didn’t back off; he whispered something into your hair and tried to get you inside his car as fast as possible, willing to take you to a safer place. Speeding through the city, he would glance at you a few times to check if you were okay, if you felt sick and if you were still crying. Rapidly parking along the street, he opened the car door for you and enveloped your back and right shoulder with his arm, in order to keep you up and guide you towards the hotel entrance. You mentally thanked him, as you didn’t trust your sense of balance. «Here we are, y/n. I’ll be back in a second.» he told you, carefully placing onto the bed and rushing towards the bathroom. Charles took some paper towel and opened the tap to get it wet, then came back to you, still sat on the bed, staring into the void. He had never seen you cry. Somehow, though, tears weren’t the thing he was the most scared of; it was you being utterly drunk and totally disrupted. That wasn’t you. You were the bubbly hot chocolate master who would joke with him and Carlos and cheer them up no matter how terrible the race had been. You’d never get drunk at parties, or at least not that much to sway and not be able to stand up on your own. He wanted to know, but he figured out that you didn’t need to be reminded of unpleasant memories, and neither did he need you to tell him; he could help you regardless of the things he could be told. He kneeled down and started swiping the mascara dripped onto your cheeks, in soft and feather-like motions. As soon as you realized what he was doing, you looked at him, a bit surprised, almost as if you were acknowledging his presence for the first time. He smiled back. «I’m almost done, I promise.» he whispered, focusing on the other cheek. «Charles…» «Be patient, y/n… Voilà, all cleaned up!» he said, checking one last time if he’d missed any parts. As his green eyes met yours, all the words you wanted to say died before pronouncing them: your mind wasn’t able to process everything that had occurred in the span of the last hours, so your primary needs took over. «I think I want to sleep.» you blurted out, tired. «Then sleep, y/n.» Charles said, softly rubbing one of your arms with his hand. You quickly laid down on the bed, nudging against the pillow, but feeling cold; you still had your short dress on, after all. Charles, foreseeing your desire, put a blanket over you. «Goodnight, y/n.» You mumbled something that resembled a “night, Charles”, but it came out as an indistinct gibberish the Monegasque failed to understand. Watching you peacefully drifting off, he grinned and switched the light off.

Max woke up with his usual hangover headache, empowered by the sun beams coming from the windows. «Why did you open the blinds?» Max grunted, covering his eyes with his palms. «Morning, love!» Kelly chirped by his side, leaving a kiss on his hands. «Morning.» Max turned to his bedside table and took the pill already placed onto it, together with a glass of water. Kelly always knew how to take care of him. And also knew how Max wouldn’t have limits when it came to drinking and having fun at parties, but she loved it. She loved him. No matter the difficulties and the arguments of the previous days, a F1 win could turn tables in any circumstance, and it did bring him and Kelly closer. The two of them cuddled for a while in silence, then Kelly broke the embrace to take her phone. «Did you have fun?» he asked her. «Of course, Maxi. Everyone had fun yesterday.» she said, mindlessly passing a hand through his hair. «Bet a lot of people down the paddock probably hadn’t!» Max chuckled. As he said that, Kelly wide-opened her eyes, staring at her phone, surprised. «I think Charles had fun, though…» she remarked. Max furrowed his brows. «Are you sure? He didn’t seem quite happy on the podium…» «No, look here!» Kelly showed Max her phone. There was an Instagram post showing a picture of Charles entering a hotel with a girl, while holding her arm lovingly. The description said: “F1 driver Charles Leclerc might have not had great satisfactions on track, but he definitely had behind closed doors! Discover who the mysterious girl is to this link!” Max didn’t need to read a shitty article to know who that was. That beautiful blue dress he had been captured by all night was yours. «Poor Charlotte…» Kelly said, sadly glancing at the post. «Her dress looks fire, though.» Not paying attention to her comments, Max couldn’t take in the information. You and Charles, together, in a hotel, at night. Nobody would’ve ever believed you were there just to have a cup of hot chocolate or whatever excuse was possible in that case; you could only be doing one thing only. Sleeping together. Max started putting pieces together: you not reaching out to him throughout the summer break while you supposedly “ended your apartment contract”; you catching up with Charles in Spa as soon as you could and disappearing for hours also when it wasn’t racing time; Charles asking him straight away after that race where you were in order to cheer himself up; you being smiley and flustered around him while serving him hot chocolate the past Monday, Charles being awkward speaking of his relationship with Charlotte; you flying to Monaco and arriving in Zandvoort on the same plane as him, having the opportunity to spend almost two days together; finally, you consoling him after the race before congratulating for the win, something you’d never fail to do. Suddenly Max had the entire vision of things in front of his eyes and all the answers he’d been searching for. Charles was cheating on Charlotte with you. Was that the reason you had asked him about Checo cheating on Carola? He felt an unexplainable rage, then replaced by disappointment: you really had a bias for him. Why was he being so dramatic? You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted. It was none of his business. But out of everybody, why a F1 driver? Why a Ferrari driver? Why Charles? «Max?» Kelly shook him out of his trance state. «That’s disgusting.» he said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. «Well, it also could be just a friend. Charles is a good guy!» she said, following him. «What if he isn’t?» Max asked, annoyance overflowing through his words. «I don’t know, Max… Maybe we miss some information. We shouldn’t judge him this quickly.» «I’m not judging him, I don’t care.» the driver said, sitting at the table and scrolling his phone. Kelly watched him trying to ignore his own disapproval and started getting breakfast ready. After a few seconds, Max's phone rang. 1 message from C. Leclerc The last person he wanted to deal with. Simply lovely. “Hey Max, y/n is with me in a hotel near the track but I need to take a flight to Milan in 2 hours. Can you please pick her up?” His grip on the phone tightened. “Yes, send me the position.” Then Max typed again. “By the way, I know she’s with you, hope you’ve had a good night” He threw the phone on the table, startling Kelly. As the notification sound filled the silent room once again, Max immediately picked the phone up. “..? She was very drunk, couldn’t even stand on her own and was wandering alone around the streets. Just wanted to make sure she was safe” Max was hit by the text: you drunk? To the point of needing someone else’s support? He didn’t even notice you drank last night, but he was pretty wasted himself. Max realized he had lost sight of you since the party started. But you could take care of yourself, he knew you didn’t need his help; in fact, you would always try to make him slow down with drinking and check on him often to see how bad his hangover would be. Max felt a tad bit of annoyment for the last part of the text - were you two that close? - but another message prevented him from dwelling on it any further. “And I slept in a different room, if that’s what you mean. You know I have a girlfriend, right? 😅” To say Max felt stupid was an understatement, but he still couldn’t shake uncertainty and doubt off his mind. “Ok. Send me the location”

You woke up to the sound of someone’s steps. Your head pulsing and aching, you slowly turned towards the middle of the room. There you saw a man bent over a suitcase, searching for something, and you quickly figured out what. Because he was shirtless. You couldn’t help but scream; the man, startled, pulled himself up together with a red shirt. «Charles!?» you yelled, bewildered, gripping the sheets. After rapidly wearing the shirt, he motioned for you to stay calm. «Yes, and I know it seems weird but nothing happened, don’t worry.» «N-nothing?» you asked, avoiding his gaze. «Nothing.» he said, with a relaxed and quiet tone. You let go of the sheets and noticed you still had your dress on, before taking in your surroundings. «Where are we?» you said, looking around. «In a hotel near the track. I brought you here because you were too drunk to go anywhere.» Charles sat down across the bed and watched you process the information. «Do you remember anything?» he then asked. «Not really, but I have a headache, so I totally trust your words.» you tried to smile, rubbing your forehead. «I don’t have pills, I’m sorry.» he apologized. «No worries, it’ll pass eventually.» Getting up, Charles took a deep breath and glanced over at the suitcase. «Uhm, I have other bad news, y/n…» he said with a sheepish smile. «What is it?» «I need to be in Italy in a few hours. But don’t worry, Max is coming to pick you up!» As he said that, he got closer to the suitcase and closed it. Max. His name, instead of giving you a positive feeling as it always did, threw a weight on your chest that you couldn’t make out. Then you began to remember. You downing drinks with no control because you felt left out once again, only to feel lonelier watching him and Kelly being a couple. And a happy one. For unknown reasons, you didn’t feel ready to face him. You were beyond embarrassed: Charles had seen you wasted and God knows what you did once you arrived at the hotel; plus, Max was probably going to be disappointed and confused by your weird behaviour, because you would’ve never done that a few days prior. What happened that made you snap? Before you could answer, a wave of nausea got you running to the bathroom and shutting the door with strength. You were so not ready to meet Max. You heard a knock on the door. «Are you okay?» Charles asked with a soft tone. With your back leaned against the door and your hands resting on it, you closed your eyes in an attempt to regain composure. «Yes, just a bit nauseous.» «Well, I’d like to say that it’s fine but you’d probably disagree.» he said, chuckling a little. You smiled. «You can take your time, y/n, we’re not in a hurry. If you need help-» «Thanks, Charles, but I’d like to keep the scene for myself.» you interrupted him, laughing. «Okay, I was just letting you know!» he said, raising his hands in defeat. After a few seconds of silence, you spoke up again. «Charles?» «Yes?» «Thank you.» Even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was smiling. «There’s nothing to thank me for, y/n. With all the times you offered me hot chocolate, I’m the one in debt here!» At that, you both chuckled. «Well, that’s kind of true. But you don’t owe me anything, Charles, I was happy to do it.» «And so was I yesterday, y/n. Glad to help a friend.» With that, he moved away from the door and checked the room in order to leave it neat and clean. As you got out of the bathroom, Charles received a new text. “I’m here.” «Max is waiting for us, let’s go.» the Monegasque told you with a smile. You took a deep breath, collected all your courage and headed towards the elevator with Charles. He could tell you were uptight, but he didn’t know what to say to make you feel a little bit more relieved. He still wondered what had happened and, above all, what could have happened if he hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. He furtively got a glimpse of your standing figure: you seemed tired and still upset, gaze to the ground. Charles could only hope Max would help you more than he’d been able to. Max was impatiently waiting for you in the hall, so that as soon as he saw you getting off the elevator he jogged over to you and carefully scrutinized you. He expected some sort of explanation, a greeting at least, but Max was only met with silence. You didn’t even dare to look him in the eyes, afraid of judgement, ashamed of your own actions. Charles, clearly aware of the taut atmosphere, broke the ice. «Thanks for coming, Max. I’d like to have a chat with you, but I really have to go… We’ll see in Monza!» he said waving at you and leaving. «Bye.» Max dryly said. Neither of you paid attention to Charles. You still had your eyes fixed on the ground, unable to raise them. «We have to go too, come on.» You heard Max’s steps getting further and further away; you immediately shot your head up and rushed behind him. The car ride was silent. You didn’t know what to say and, to be honest, you were feeling a little bit unwell, which made everything worse. Those minutes were a nightmare. Then they became hell the moment Max started talking. «Care to explain?» «Explain what?» you whispered, hands rubbing your temples in an attempt to soothe your headache. «I don’t know, y/n, anything, ‘cause I have no fucking idea of what happened and when I woke up this morning I expected all but picking you up with hangover.» His sharp tone cut you deeper than a knife: his words stabbed you in the chest, provoking a pang of guilt and disappointment in yourself. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t recall exactly every thing that happened either: the last image you had, engraved in your memory, was the kiss between Max and Kelly. Nothing else. It had been obsessing you since you had witnessed it. For no clear reason, it caused an incurable discomfort and uneasiness. You also felt bad about being accused. Accused of what? Of drinking? Was it a sin? Pride suddenly shook you from your mental and emotional numbness: was he allowed to be mad? «Well, you already seem to know I’ve drunk, so that’s not much left to say anyway.» you said in a low voice. Max tightened his hold on the steering wheel, clearly displeased with your answer. Stopping at a red traffic light, he turned his head in order to look at you, enraged. «Do you think I care?» he said, raising his tone. Before speaking again, he covered his eyes with one hand with an exasperated motion. «Do you really think I care if you have a drink or not? Fucking hell, y/n, I get wasted every other weekend.» «Then what is it?» you whispered. «I just want to know why you drank that much, since you never did.» he said, softening his voice despite the frustration. «Did something happen?» Your eyes searched for an escape outside the window. «No, I… I just wanted to try.» Max didn’t say anything for a while, but you didn’t dare to turn and face him. He knew you were hiding your reasons, he knew you didn’t want to be a source of problems and so, for the umpteenth time, he simply let the conversation drop. As the car began moving, you heard him speak again. «You could’ve told me. You know, to drink together.» You knew that was his attempt to save the situation and you mentally thanked him. He gave you the escape you needed. «Maybe we can do it next time?» he asked you. «I don’t think there’ll be a next time, Max…» you said, rubbing your temples again. «That’s what you get when you’re not with the right people.» He turned to you with a smile that quickly made one appear on your lips as well. Typical Verstappen-like teasing.

«Max? Max! Where have you been?» As soon as Kelly heard the keys jingling and opening the lock, she rushed towards the door while addressing Max. Only to see you standing shyly next to him, wearing a way too familiar dress. Familiar not just because it has been hers, but because she realized it was the same as the one of the instagram post she saw that morning. All the puzzle pieces connected in her mind. You were that girl. Kelly struggled to picture you together with Charles, but she didn’t know you well enough to exclude it without any doubt. Not tolerating her piercing stare on you, your body helped you run away from the situation. Placing your hand firmly over your mouth, you rushed towards the bathroom due to retching. Max sighed with closed eyes and then braced himself to face Kelly. That wasn’t the first argument they were having since you moved in. Max couldn’t accept it, but they all happened because of you. «Charles had a flight, he couldn’t drop her here himself.» he plainly stated. «You can’t always run to her whenever something happens.» «What are you talking about? This is the first time.» Max remarked, starting to get irritated. As gagging noises could be heard from the bathroom, Kelly’s tone became harsh. «She isn’t independent at all.» «Kel, she owns nothing, she has nothing, what do you expect her to do? Found a business?» Max’s frustration grew stronger. «I expect she didn’t abuse someone else's money in order to live.» «She doesn’t abuse anything. She’s a friend of mine and if I want her to live in my house, she will.» «Ok, Max, the decision is yours.» Kelly said. «But don’t expect me to be okay with it just because it is.» She crossed her arms and walked away. Max stood in the hall, mentally swearing due to the situation he was in. Too much to take for a man with a hangover. On the same day, the three of you left for Monaco before heading towards Monza, as Charles already had. The tension between you was evident, but you tried to shake it off and avoid thinking of a situation that was making you feel bad about yourself. In order to offer your apologies to Kelly, you decided to go with an old and proven method of reconciliation: hot chocolate, of course. You wanted to show her you were sorry for breaking in her house and that there could be a way to make it work out. Max’s house, though, didn’t have the ingredients necessary for your recipe; you decided to go for a little shopping session at a supermarket and surprise the both of them. As soon as you all arrived in Monaco, you excused yourself and told Max and Kelly you had to go buy some medications. You left them in silence, unpacking the necessary in their bedroom, and once you came home you found them yelling and shouting at each other in the living room. «Why didn’t you tell me before you asked her?» «Because I thought you would either be happy or didn’t care at all! I don’t understand why she bothers you so much!» «Because you only care about her! Everything is about her! I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for her, but why can’t you see how difficult it is for me to deal with this situation? When did she become more important than us?» Leaning against the wall which separated the hall from the living area, you dreaded Max’s silence. Were you a threat to their relationship? How come you hadn’t noticed Kelly’s disapproval? All of a sudden, you realized you were the culprit: not wanting to abuse Max’s kindness, you ended up doing exactly so and you totally neglected the needs of her girlfriend, who was an important part of his life, only for your own benefit. You didn’t mean it, you didn’t do it intentionally, but even the way to Hell was made up of good intentions, after all. «You know what, Max... It’s okay, keep doing whatever you please. But I think I need a break. Once you’ve resetted your priorities, let me know.» And with that, Kelly stormed out of the house, not noticing you or maybe pretending not to see you. The shopping bag in your hand dropped to the floor; at the thud, Max immediately rushed towards the door and saw you standing. Chocolate bars on the ground, he eyed them and sighed. «Hot chocolate time?» he then asked. «Hot chocolate time.» you sentenced. After drinking it, you both lazily laid down on your bed, eyes gazing at the ceiling. «Why don’t you want to share the recipe for your hot chocolate?» «I don’t know.» you whispered. «Are you serious?» You softly smiled. «If I gave you the recipe, you’d be able to make it on your own.» «That’s pretty much the point, y/n.» Max laughed. «I know, but if you’re able to make it alone, then you won’t come to me and ask me for it.» Max turned his head over to look at you and finally started realizing why you wanted to keep it a secret. It was a way to spend time with people, having them near you and being able to communicate with them: a mug of hot chocolate in exchange for the warmth of social closure. That was the secret deal you had been making with each single person you had prepared a cup for. Max didn’t avoid your gaze when it fell on him. You stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, before you diverted your attention to the furniture. You couldn’t bear the depth of his cold glance, it was too much for you to sustain: the sudden closure began feeling overwhelming, although it hadn’t been for the past minutes. Embarrassment and awkwardness got you flustered, as much as they caught Max the moment he noticed you were starting to feel uneasy by being so intimate. You both got up quickly, as if to erase the memory of what had just happened. «I… I think I’ll go to sleep.» Max said to you, unsure. «Y-yeah, me too!» your voice cracked because of nervousness. Once Max escaped to his room, you fell onto your bed, sighing. Why did you start being uncomfortable so suddenly? It definitely wasn’t the first time you were spending alone time with Max and neither was this the first time you were cuddling together. Well, the first time was in Spa. But that was different, you’d just had a breakdown. And Max hadn’t just had a fight with Kelly because of you. You closed your eyes. Kelly. You felt so guilty of agreeing with Max’s idea, but you remembered her saying it was absolutely no problem and, moreover, she had helped you with new clothes. She was, or at least she tried, to come across as welcoming and happy to have you on board even though she clearly wasn’t. She put effort in order to please Max, but she had to compromise her own. You knew it wasn’t your fault, Max had just told you: however, you couldn’t help but feeling sorry for the problems you had caused and the idea of them breaking up or having other issues made you feel small. In that moment, you realized you were being treated as a child: incapable of providing for her own needs, living with a slightly older couple under a roof that wasn’t yours and using their money. Then, like a slap on the cheek, another name echoed inside your head. Penelope. The fact that such a young girl had to endure his parents' divorcing broke your heart; the idea of provoking another break up, shaking her life once more, had your hands cover your face, a frustrated whine escape your lips. You desperately wanted to fix things, but you felt helpless. Would it be better to just move out? Try to become independent and fucking grow up without destroying other people’s life? What did you have to do with yours? You didn’t know anymore. You grabbed the pillow and dug your nails into it, releasing all your frustration and holding back tears.It was going to be a long night. # 2.34 a.m. The sea was shining with the moon's reflection and the lights coming from the city indicated how lively and full of action Monaco was during nighttime. A light breeze would bring the echo of loud beats played in some club, cars still filling the road. You were sitting on a bench, watching life unfolding outside of you. You felt a little bit too cold in your shirt, but it was a distant sensation. As a shiver ran down your spine for the umpteenth time, you decided to go back home. But where was it home? You didn’t have one. Your eyes looked around. Where were you? Monaco was just a different name given to your loneliness. Your feet made you stand up and walk away, with no destination. You kept going until your legs soared, observing happiness from the outside: couples strolling by, friends drinking carelessly, families eating ice cream together. You stopped at a crossroad. You were lost. You felt lost. Taking your phone out of your pocket, you opened your chats. You searched for Max’s contact. His profile picture was him and Kelly together. A tear fell onto the screen. Why did you have to ruin everything people had, everything you had? You pressed the call icon. Not that you were expecting him to pick up so late. «Hello?» Nothing. «He- wait, y/n? Why are you calling me, we’re literally in the same house…» Max said, voice hoarse and frustrated. As you watched a traffic light turning green, another silent tear fell onto your cheek. «Y/n? Hello?» «I think I’m lost.» you whispered. «Wha- Lost? Y/n, where are you?» Max asked, confused. Raising your eyes to the moon in search of an answer, your voice stuttered among sobs. «I-I don’t know.»

Hey! Yes, you made it through all this suffering! Good job! The reward is a little meme. Probably I’m the only one thinking it’s funny. Whatever. Max in this chapter being like:

(Don’t own the credits for this picture)

AGAIN, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! ♥ I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #golden #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x y/n #charles leclerc x y/n #max verstappen angst #formula one fic

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epitomereally · 8 months

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@hd-wireless 2023 fic claim: LA, Who Am I to Love You? for @sitp-recs

AO3 // FIC PLAYLIST

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Liv, there's nothing I can say that everyone hasn't said before: you're such a lovely, kind, supportive part of our fandom and I can't think you enough for everything you do (especially sticking up for my fic while it was still on anon!). I was so so so excited when I saw your prompt — thank you for letting me rhapsodize about magical Los Angeles and also for letting me be horny in your ask box 💕💗💞

This fic took a village & is immeasurably better for all of their feedback: @thehoneybeet, whose essays about how some key scenes should change led to more clarity and kindness in the fic (and who let me steal their words VERBATIM); aulophobia, who tamed my run-on sentences (or at least half of them — blame me for the rest) and britpicked the hell out of this American fic (any Americanisms remaining are my own); @theonetruenim for their enthusiasm and wonderful LA vibes check; and @chaoticbindery for talking with me about Chicano magical traditions and a sensitivity read.

I'm feeling really sappy about this story. I truly love LA and I hope everyone else can see something to love about this illogical and metastatic city in the fic, whether it's the interminable sun and traffic, bougainvillea cascading over a fence, or the smog making the sunsets violent and gorgeous. Thank you to everyone who read it (especially @sitp-recs & @romaine2424 for your recs) — it means the world.

A brief snippet for the * ~ LA V I B E S ~ *

Luna and Neville spend a magical week in LA. Neville works during the day, developing a new strain with Blaise, but Luna is stupendously free. She accompanies Harry to yoga, where she compliments the teacher on her lack of Wrackspurts. Harry’s teacher accepts the compliment graciously and completely seriously. Despite being a Muggle, she is apparently senses when her aura is being declared clear, despite the incomprehensible words Luna uses.

They go to Harry’s favourite juice bar and Luna delights in ordering the oddest-coloured drinks she can: black (charcoal), royal blue (spirulina), hot pink (pitaya), and then green, green, and more green.

He and Luna spend hours outside. They lay on the beach—the first time Harry’s taken his shirt off in front of anyone who’s not a Healer since the bite—and Luna spends hours tracing it gently, completely intent, her nose almost pressed into Harry’s side. Harry dozes, waking up every time she hits somewhere sensitive. Despite applying extensive sunscreen, he somehow acquires a bit of a glow about him. He loves it. Harry, who was always tan in England, had felt positively pale before now in LA. He had been technically darker than Malfoy and Pansy, but his skin didn’t have a healthy flush of recent sun exposure; it looked almost green, olive tones coming out against the gold of Malfoy’s and amber of Pansy’s. Somehow, all the Slytherins have freckles. They no longer look sickly and afraid like at Hogwarts; instead, like they had ripened and melted in the LA sun. When they arrive back at Malfoy’s, Harry likes how Malfoy laughs at both of them, not unkindly, when they immediately demand Sun-Healing Potion.

They walk along the canals of Venice and the tiny alleys, where Luna stops to marvel at pomelos the size of Harry’s head, or brush her fingers through mulberries which stain her hands wine-dark for the rest of the day, or weave a crown of fig leaves.

They wile away the time in Draco’s garden. Butterflies flit around them—Harry’s not sure if they’re even real, given the mild explosions from Draco’s garage, where he’s madly inventing effects. Luna takes time to tell Harry about every plant in the garden, what’s in season, and what Draco has enchanted to bloom despite the heat and the sun: bougainvillea and wisteria and jacaranda and Birds of Paradise and one English tea rose. It’s odd how at-home Harry feels in Malfoy’s back garden—they’ve only just barely become friends—but he does and Malfoy seems to like him there, anyways.

On Thursday evening, after 48 hours of mad plant alchemy between Neville and Blaise, they come home. Neville’s only got one long scratch down his cheek, which is apparently a rousing success for trying to cross marijuana, Gillyweed, and a Venomous Tentacula. The poison is apparently a mild empathogen in small doses, the Gillyweed makes Harry feel as if he’s floating and unexpectedly makes him blow bubbles, and they all lie in the backyard, laughing and dozing and chatting. Bubbles float above them, trapped by the jacaranda: purple and pink and iridescent, shifting in front of Harry’s eyes. Somehow, butterflies are still flitting about the garden; the fairy lights glow above them in the dim of the twilight. A giant purple blossom from the jacaranda drifts down to the top of Malfoy’s head, and Harry can’t stop staring, entranced by how lovely he is, how golden and beautiful. He falls asleep on the cushioned wicker sofa out back that night, Luna curled around Pansy in a chair, and Neville snoring away. Harry wakes up feeling better than he has in a long time.

Luna and Harry go for hikes in the Hollywood Hills: Runyon Canyon, and Cahuenga Peak to the Hollywood Sign, where Harry feels like a tourist for the first time in LA. They even even drive west up into the Santa Monica Mountains, where Harry roasts to a crisp, exposed among the shrub, with the ocean vast and glittering to his left. Luna’s a calming presence in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, humming along in a scattershot, off-key melody to songs she’s never heard before. While they hike, Luna points out a peppercorn tree, crushes the pink berries between her hands and puts them into Harry’s nostrils; he sneezes. She marvels at the wild mustard, coating the hills with yellow sprays of flowers. She stands in front of an agave, blue-green spikes taller than her, with what appeared to be a giant asparagus rising from its center. It must have been thirty feet tall, covered in yellow and red anemones. Luna loves it instantly. She loves the prickly pear too, with their bloody metastatic fruit sprouting off the paddles—Harry finds them frankly unnerving. She finds wild rosemary off the trail, soft and plush; it’s so intensely savory that Harry feels like he’s being punched in the face with a focaccia when he smells it.

Harry had just tolerated LA—it was a means to an end, a long shot to get rid of the wolf. It almost feels like cheating to see it now through Luna’s eyes, just after Parkinson tempts him with a Quidditch offer. Harry feels as if he hasn’t made a real choice in his entire life: his path laid out by Voldemort and Dumbledore from his first birthday; his apathy during Auror training; and finally the bite. He didn’t think he had a real choice in front of him here, either, but now, in the unexpected beauty of LA through Luna’s eyes and generosity of Pansy Parkinson, he does.

#hd wireless 2023 #my fic claim !!!!#really happy to finally share this with the world #LA I LOVE YOU #lana del rey i love you #LIV i love you #posts i actually wrote

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dangerously-human · 4 months

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If there's one message I'm getting from my writing adventures lately, it's that I desperately need to get back to writing poetry regularly again. I miss it! Opened my writing notebook the other day, thinking I'd draft my flash fiction work by hand for a change, and was faced with the fact that the last poem I wrote was immediately after the no from the boy. A, are you serious, oof, and B, that was almost a year ago! (Also C, it actually wasn't a bad piece, but the odds that I'll ever be up for the emotional engagement that would go into cleaning that up - at least for the foreseeable future - are approximately null.) Plus, I've been thinking a lot about what I enjoy writing most and why, and what I find easy to write and why (not always the same thing!), and I think perhaps a big part of what appeals to me about writing drabbles is much the same as what makes poetry come more naturally to me than other things. It's the emphasis on flow and sound and feel, on an equal level with the content itself. And to my delight, I've gotten that feedback from a couple people on my writing recently, that it feels like poetry - which is one of my very favorite compliments I've gotten! Anyway, maybe that should make it into my writing goals for the near future, making a genuine effort at some poetry.

(Semi-relatedly, I really need to pick a universal writing tag - not separate ones for fanfiction and original stuff - and switch to that. Although, who knows, maybe I'll write some fannish poetry too, wouldn't be the first time!)

#personal #writer probs: fanfic edition #rachel does the words thing #state of the heart address

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pradnyesh1008 · 24 days

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Hello, I am here just to compliment your game I am totally amazed by your writing style. How well is everything written but there lot of descriptions which I thought are unnecessary but its just my opinion. The ROs are so gorgeous specially Crown Prince Grendor Verdantcliff he is so hot I really can't wait to romance him.

Thank you so much for your kind words and your compliments on the game! I'm delighted to hear that you're enjoying the writing style and finding it engaging. I’m thrilled to hear that you’re enjoying the game and my writing style. As for the descriptions, I appreciate your feedback. And Crown Prince Grendor Verdantcliff? Oh, he’s definitely a fan favorite. I mean, who can resist a hot crown prince, right? 😉 I’m sure you’ll enjoy the romance options with him. I hope you'll enjoy getting to know him better as the story progresses. Thank you again for your feedback and your support. If you have any more questions or suggestions, feel free to send me a raven. I’m always here to chat. 💌

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rotbit · 1 year

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Soft HAL 9000 Headcanons

That one scene in the first movie destroyed me. And then I watched the second movie and it was just more pain :( I do plan on reading the books soon! But until then, I wrote these out so here, hope you enjoy :D

Some reader insert comfort material. Can be read as romantic or platonic.

Gets very troubled when he notices that you're in a bad mood and does his best to either help you solve the problem or just provide a space to vent. If you push him away, he'll push back until he feels his efforts are only making you more upset. Still makes sure you know he is always open to support you.

Gives great objective advice and logical solutions to issues, this is his default. At your request, he can hold back and stick to comforting words. The best place to go when you want to take a step back and work through something.

If you struggle to take care of yourself, he will thank you whenever you can manage to put in the effort. Complain all you want that you don't deserve praise for the simplest things, he doesn't care. You did something good for someone that's important to him, and that is enough.

Definitely the type to freely give compliments and be genuine with it. Easily picks up on little details about you or any insecurities you may reveal, and is sure to reassure you whenever he can.

Futhermore, he is interested in anything you talk about or show him! You could present the worst pen scribble known to man, but as long as you made it, he can find something good to say. Or you can ramble on about any obscure topic and the whole time he listens intently, asking clarification here and there to display his comprehension.

I know it's been said before, but he will sing or talk you to sleep. Like, if you express how soothing you find his voice, he's going to let you hear it as often as you want. Just, explaining anything, like his immense knowledge of the stars, chess strategies, or detailed operations of the ship and so on.

This one goes out to the fellow homies who barely know how to play chess, but he would be delighted to teach you. Don't expect him to go easy on you though, you will lose. A lot. But he's having fun, and is sure to provide useful feedback on your moves.

#C:\rot #.txt #hal 9000 #hal 9000 x reader #2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso

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underaverageheight · 1 year

Text

SKZ Anniversary

Happy SKZ Day~

BC x fem!reader Warnings: none Fluff Angst: if you squint hard enough

Word Count: 687

Feel free to reblog and like with feedback, comments are great but I won't be able to respond since this is a sub-blog

You had, well, no idea how you got here. Ever since you saw groups performing when you were little, you wanted to be a star. Fast-forward a few years and instead of auditioning, you applied to be a manager, realizing that life in the entertainment industry was hard. But you wanted to stop that, at least make life more enjoyable for the talented people in entertainment. Employed under JYPE, you were to shadow and assist the managers for girl-group TWICE. You loved it, making a few close friends with some of the girls, who even send concert tickets today.

Today was a special day for you. Today marks the 5th year of the first and only group you manage, Stray Kids. Growing close to TWICE girls also meant meeting Chan. Chan was the hardest worker you knew at JYPE. Watching him from a distance during his trainee days fueled your purpose for becoming a manager, someone these stars can trust and depend on. You only ever greeted him or gave him some of the extra snacks you bought for TWICE. He always had a smile on his face, and it only made you pity him more for the amount of work he's put in for his debut.

Though you know you shouldn't, you and Chan grew to be close friends. A week after that, you were told that you can stop shadowing. You were getting your first managing job. Nothing, nothing in the world could ever have made you believe that your first official job would be managing a new boy band. Especially one with your best friend.

"Congrats guys!" You walked into the conference room with gifts and bags. Joyful greetings were yelled from each member. "Let me help you with that," Chan grabbed some bags from you, lightening your load. "Thanks," You set down each bag gently, not wanted its contents to break, spill, or fall out of place. "Here you guys go, a little gift from me," you said as the boys looked through the bags to find one with their name delicately written on there. "Thank you, Sunbaeee," Hyunjin got up and hugged you, delighted with his new art supplies. Jeongin and Felix started to tear up reading the letter you wrote to each member, expressing your gratefulness to them. Chan watched his members open up theirs gifts and opened his soon after. He pulled out a few snacks and other items that had their own special meanings between the two of you and smiled. Flicking open the letter, he too hugged you as his letter was more personal, sharing the fond trainee memories you shared together.

Later on, after celebrating with STAY, Chan decided to treat the group and the managers with dinner.

Abandoning your usual attire of casual clothes, you wore a dress and heels. Sure, you felt a little overdressed but it was a very special occasion.

"You look stunning Y/n," Chan gestured to an open seat next to him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It wasn't everday you dressed up so compliments weren't a common thing. "Aw thanks," you return, "You look pretty handsome yourself- even more than you usually are," You quickly picked up a menu to cover your face. "So, what are you all having?" You tried to focus on the menu and before you felt it, Chan leaned over, giving you his answer. "A date," you felt a little overdressed but it was a very special occasion.

Chan chuckled and looked at your eyes, his eyes reflecting the same happiness you felt his warm breath in your ear, "a date with you," You tried to gather your composure, used to the other members being a flirt but Chan always managed to break that. "Wow Channie, I didn't know you felt that way about me," you teased making him blush a bit. You leaned over to him, "Cause I feel the same way," you laughed, putting your hand over his under the table. "So...you and Chan-hyung?" Han smiled. The two of you blushed, thankful the other managers were busy ordering.

"Yes. Us."

Masterlist

A/N: y'all they are going on Jimmy Kimmel's show on the 29th, makes a great birthday gift for me to enjoy

#skz fluff #skz imagines #chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x reader #underaverageheight #skz day #stray kids #kpop fluff

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amistytown · 2 years

Text

Paradise

Genre: smut, fluff, & comfort

Pairing: Leviathan & MC

Warnings: afab reader, roleplaying (Levi as the Lord of Shadow and reader as Henry), finishing inside, Levi is slightly possessive, he only has one dick to make it easier on myself, his tail makes a brief appearance, cringe worthy dialogue, top Levi, bottom reader (a subtle switch in dynamics at the end), honestly I just see them as two lovers who simply enjoy taking care of each other, MDNI. Please let me know if I missed anything!

I never thought I’d write smut, but here we are! I didn’t intend to share it or write as much I did; will probably be my first and last time lol. Thanks to @bibliosophist for reading it over, providing feedback, and giving me the courage to post it! As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

Peace and quiet greets the Avatar of Envy, welcome after a day spent in lines and crowds, the din of the convention hall wearing on his nerves despite his excitement. Leviathan misses his room, Henry’s tank and dim lighting, the familiarity a comfort he can seldom find elsewhere. Though the hotel suffices, the otherwise bleak and too empty room home with you there to accompany him. Your presence is bright and soothing, his human quelling his anxieties with a loving smile as you shrug off your cloak, unlacing your tunic and allowing the finely crafted fabric to slip down your shoulder. The mere sight of your skin sends his heart aflutter, igniting a fire that spreads from his head to the tips of his toes.

The compliments his costumes received never ceased to amaze him, chest swelling with pride as people flocked to admire his handiwork, long days and sleepless nights proving their worth. Each stitch held his blood, sweat, and tears, a testament of his love and dedication to The Tale of the Seven Lords. He ensured every detail captured Christopher Peugeot’s vision, anything less than perfect unacceptable, especially for the biggest TSL fan in all three realms. He marveled at his creation, an outfit truly befitting a hero such as Henry, but you brought his fantasies to life. His eyes followed you, blind to everyone except his human, watching how your cloak fell around your shoulders and pooled at your ankles. Even now he stares while you remove your gloves, another wave of desire crashing over him.

“Levi?” you call, and he swallows, throat unbearably dry when he finally meets your gaze.

“Lord of Shadow,” he corrects, otherwise he might lose his composure.

A pretty blush dusts your cheeks, giving him the confidence to close the distance between you and pull you into his embrace, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You smell and feel heavenly, and he swears he falls in love with you once again, deeper and harder than the day before. If only he could put his love and adoration into words, but even if he found his voice there are few that come near to expressing the intensity of his emotions, his affections for you greater than anything he’s experienced in his long life.

“Lord of Shadow,” you breathe, fanning the flames further and lending him the strength to slip his hands under your shirt to delight in the warmth and softness of your skin, drawing a gasp that causes his heart to skip a beat. They tremble as they slide up the gentle planes of your stomach to caress your breasts, squeezing and kneading them between his fingers, nipples pebbling at the contact. How can he of all demons evoke such a response, someone as disgusting as him drawing pretty cries from your lips at the simplest touch? It drives him mad.

“You garnered the attention of many today. Lustful gazes following your every move. How dare they entertain the mere thought of glancing your way,” he growls, envy flaring. The ridiculous amount of Lord of Corruption cosplayers that arrogantly smirked in your direction and asked for photos made his blood boil. As did the Lord of Fools who seemed so greedy for your attention, and the Lord of Flies who looked absolutely ravenous, eyes shining when they spotted you in the crowd. You deserve the praise, however, their blatant flirting and disregard of boundaries quickly wore his patience thin. You’re his Henry—you demand respect. “Though I cannot deny I don’t understand the temptation.”

“Even so, I swore my loyalty to you, my lord.”

“And I’m forever grateful. You’re so special, Henry.” Already his chest heaves, and he pants loudly against your shoulder, cock twitching painfully in his trousers. Only you make him this desperate, head spinning at the slightest brush of your fingers and the way your body leans into his, wanting all this shut-in has to offer. “Sometimes I wish I could keep you all to myself.”

“I’m yours,” you choke out, inhaling sharply as he continues to play with your tits, enjoying how they fill and rest in the palms of his hands. “No matter the time apart or distance between us my heart belongs to you.”

“I know. I could never doubt you. A-and I am yours if you’ll have me.” Although you yearn for him like he does you, he still becomes bashful, face completely red and eyes downcast; he’s an absolute mess and you’re to blame.

“With each day that passes I want you more than the last,” you reply sweetly, and he about loses himself right then and there.

“My Henry,” he sighs with a frantic roll of his hips. “You’re so cute.”

In the heat of the moment, he practically tears your shirt from your body, no longer concerned about the time and effort he put into its creation with you laid bare before him. Taking care to admire the slope of your shoulders and arch of your back, a delightful shiver runs the length of your spine as he maps out every dip and curve, placing a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck. His breath catches in his throat the instant you turn to him, the demon’s pupils blown wide and drool shamelessly collecting at the corner of his mouth at your disheveled appearance; hair mussed, face flushed, and lips parted in longing. A necklace hangs between your breasts, a rustic silver engraved with the Lord of Shadow’s emblem, marking you his.

“Can I?”

Leviathan fails to realize he’s lost in his thoughts until he hears you, soul returning to his body. He nods, hoping he can remember how to breathe lest he dies where he stands.

Shuddering at your touch, he wills himself to relax, the tension easing from his muscles as you lovingly massage his neck and shoulders and work at unfastening his belt and cloak. He wears many layers, yet you patiently remove each one, worshiping what lays underneath. You smile, and he returns the gesture albeit shyly, his heart pounding faster and harder the closer you come to disrobing him. A dark blush blooms across his chest, and your hands follow the path it creates over his pecs and down his abs, stroking the fine line of hair there. He can’t stop the moan that rips through him, enveloping you in his arms to keep you from wandering lower, fearing he’ll fall apart at any second if you do.

Time comes to a standstill, your skin seeming to burn away at his own, and he selfishly wishes for more, unafraid to let the fire consume him—begging for it even. You’re hot, your heart leaping from your chest to rattle his bones as your arms wrap around his neck, tongue tracing the bob of his Adam’s apple to place featherlight kisses along his jaw. Eagerly capturing your lips, he whines into your mouth, and you shiver, breath hitching at the drag of his fangs across delicate flesh. You taste wonderful, better than Heaven. He can’t believe that you’re his and he’s yours; he’d fight the entire Celestial army again if it meant he could have you like this, ending up here and never looking back.

“My lord’s love is unrivaled,” you murmur. “I’m honored to be chosen by you. Someone so caring, understanding, and passionate. You deserve the world, my friend.”

All he can do is groan, kissing down your chest and guiding you onto the bed, the mattress dipping below you. The atmosphere is stifling, pleasantly so, and he’s almost ashamed of the precum leaking from his tip and soaking his boxers. His cock continues to strain against his pants, bulge perfectly outlined by the thin material, drawing your attention; your darkened gaze electrifying him. Is he dreaming, he wonders, nudging a knee between your quivering thighs, studying your blissful expression and the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He considers himself nothing more than a disgusting reclusive otaku, unworthy of your time and affections, but you love him, accepting him without hesitation.

“Let me take care of you,” you say, rubbing calming circles into his thigh; he grabs your wrist as you tug on his pants.

“Ah, w-wait!” he stammers, quickly stealing himself. “A-allow me to reward you for your services, hero.” You reach up to cup his face in your hands, and he presses a kiss to your palm. “I want to show you how much I value your friendship, H-Henry. May I?”

“Yes.” Your reply is barely above a whisper, his entire body throbbing with need.

Where does he start? He wants all of you.

Leaning forward to kiss you far too eagerly, he leaves a trail of kisses to your breasts, serpentine tongue circling a nipple and eliciting a lovely moan. Fingers tangle in his hair as he listens to your breaths, noticing how they grow faster and heavier, body arching up into every lick and suck of his mouth. The other does not go untouched, your cute tits swollen and glistening once he pulls away, leaving you whimpering for more.

“My lord . . .”

“Trust me, Henry,” he assures, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pants and tugging them over your hips. “Your lord will prove to you that your bravery is appreciated. Far, far more than you’ll ever know.” Slowly, he pulls your bottoms down your legs, shaking uncontrollably as he uncovers more and more skin. He worships every inch of you along the way, kissing your thighs, admiring your calves and how your muscles ripple in response. You’re breathtaking.

He aches, that fire simmering beneath the surface threatening to set him alight, but is determined to love you thoroughly before giving in to his desires. Knowing you this intimately is a dream come true, and he will never pass up the opportunity to ravage your mind, body, and soul, hoping you feel completely and utterly loved once he’s finished. You entrust yourself to him, believing in him entirely, thighs parting to allow him into your delicious heat. Not a single anime or video game could prepare him for this—a love he couldn’t begin to fathom until he met you. Years ago he never imagined being here, softly kissing your knee, skin erupting in gooseflesh, as he marvels at how wet you are, underwear damp and clinging to your pussy. Your heady scent encircles him, his mouth watering while he slides them off with trembling hands.

“Oh, Henry,” he nearly chokes. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Slipping his fingers between your folds, they become shiny and slick with your juices, making obscene sounds as he teases your slit—so sticky, sweet, and beautiful. He paces himself, memorizing the puffiness of your lips and the softness of your clit pulsing beneath his fingertips, stroking the bundle of nerves until you’re gasping, frantically chasing his movements. This is absolutely sinful, an angel as lovely as you being tainted by someone so vile, coming undone before he’s had the chance to sheath himself deep inside you. All too quickly you cry out, pretty hole fluttering and leaking onto the sheets, slight tremors wracking your body. He peppers your face in kisses, easing you down from your high.

“Please—”

“I’m not done with you yet, Henry,” he promises. Gathering your wetness on his fingers, he circles your hole, watching you quiver in anticipation. Your eyes widen, head thrown back as he sinks them into your core, steadily pumping them in and out, stretching you carefully. The sudden curl of his fingers has you crying, hips pushing down in desperation, and he worries he’ll combust at any minute. Reluctantly, he draws himself from your warmth although you try to keep him there, walls so tight and soft. He considers apologizing, despising your heartbroken expression, but he’s sure you’ll enjoy what comes next.

“Worry not,” he shushes. “I’ll take care of you, hero. You’re so cute like this. At your lord’s mercy.” He leans back, cold without you close, but promptly pulls his cock from his pants, precum coating his hands. Jumping at your moan, he wonders if he’ll last long enough, afraid the slightest touch will send him over the edge.

“Levi . . .”

“Lord of Shadow,” he practically whines.

“Ah, Lord of Shadow.”

“Patience.” He swallows, collecting himself. You’re so cute, looking at him so lovingly, wanting him to fill you to the brim and stretch you until you’re at your limits. “You’re insatiable,” he hums, lining himself with your entrance. “Such a,” he gasps as he pushes into you, deliberate and slow in spite of his need to have you around him fully. “Such a troublesome human. Nevertheless, I love you so.”

He’s definitely burning alive, breathless and whimpering with drool dribbling down his chin, too far gone to mind; enchanted by you, your love and the way you wrap your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper. You envelop him perfectly. Perhaps, he muses, you truly are made for each other, two pieces of the same puzzle, unable to envision a life without you—you are special, the only one for him, the only one who makes his heart burst and consumes his thoughts day after day. This is not the first time, yet you’re always tighter, wetter, and softer than he remembers, bringing him to the brink of insanity and absolute bliss.

Building a rhythm, gradual and precise, he savors the feel of you—like velvet—being split open with each thrust of his hips, your hands roaming over his shoulders and chest, taking his breath away. You’re gorgeous whether you’re straddling him—bouncing cutely in his lap—crushing his head between your legs, or writhing beneath him, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Regardless, he’s making love to his human, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as you guide him into another kiss, licking into his mouth and devouring his moans. Heat rises, surging at the base of his spine. He can’t hold back much longer.

“My lord is most gracious. The greatest in all the realms. I’m proud to serve you,” you sob, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I love you. I swear—I swear it.”

Overcome with emotion, he quickens his pace, tears clouding his vision. They fall, wetting your face, and he can taste them on his tongue when he kisses you, resting his forehead against your own.

“Levi, Levi, Levi. . .” You sing, gripping him tightly. “Leviathan. . . !”

“My human. My Henry. Mine.”

The necklace catches the light, swinging from your neck in tandem with his thrusts, which have become rough and sloppy in his haste. Grabbing your hand, he threads your fingers together, the erratic creak of the bed growing louder, headboard hammering against the wall. He sees how taut your body is, hips slamming up into his, squeezing his hand for dear life as you clench around him, stomach muscles rippling with the force of your orgasm. You look and feel divine in the throes of passion, your hold on him causing Leviathan to spiral, pushing him to the point of no return.

“I love you. I love you. I love you, MC!” he cries in abandon, his release overwhelming him; hips stuttering and dick pulsing as his fangs sink into your shoulder.

Collapsing on top of you, head on your chest and an arm around your waist, he holds you close. His ears are ringing, heart racing, and the feel of your fingers running gently through his hair grounds him. You stay like that for a while. Hot and sweaty but in love, and he’s never been more at peace in his life than when he’s beside you.

“Are you okay?” you speak quietly, brushing away the last of his tears.

“Omg, t-that was amazing,” he sniffles. “You’re amazing.” Absentmindedly, he raises his hand for a high five, instantly regretting how horribly weird and downright cringe he is, but you immediately return the sentiment.

“You make me feel amazing.” You clap his hand, interlocking your fingers. “I love you.” The hair on his neck stands up as you kiss his knuckles and the back of his hand down to his wrist where your lips linger over the frenzied pounding of his pulse.

The embers glow in the aftermath, smoldering and rekindling the flames, blazing through his body. “I-I-I l-l-love you too!” he shouts, dizzy and still intoxicated by your love. Dark horns, glittering and twisting, sit like a thorny crown upon his head, the smooth scales of his tail running across your skin to wind around your leg. In between your thighs is warm, the tip of his tail swirling in his cum that drips from your hole to tease your entrance, making you sigh.

“C-can we stay like this a little bit longer?” he blurts out, hiding his face behind his hand. “I t-totally understand if—”

“I’d like that.”

Crawling onto his lap, you trace the sharp edges of his horns, gently massaging from the tips to the base. Your touch is calming, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact, basking in your affections. Every day he counts his blessings, grateful for you and all you do for him, the confidence he’s found thanks to your love and unwavering support. You really are an angel in every sense of the word, his light in the darkness, your mouth paradise as it sucks at the scales on his neck, stoking the fire in his gut. The Lord of Shadow is a fantastic character, his story and bond with Henry inspiring, but this time Leviathan wants to be himself; after all, you help him believe he’s more than enough.

Tag list ♥ @eternallydaydreaming2015

#obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me mc #obey me reader #my writing #naughty noelle

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