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arlana-likes-to-write · 1 year

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Family

This story may contain themes that could be triggering.

Summary: When you save the life of the son of the Scarlett Witch and the Black Widow, your life is changed forever. For the first time in a long time you are given a family.

Warning: domestic violence, age difference relationship, rape, gun violence, injuries, miscarriage, manipulation, mention of suicide, DNI unless 18+

Word count: 5.6k

Sometimes you just acted. You didn’t think you just did. So when you were walking on your way to work you saw a young boy run out into the middle of the road, chasing after a ball and the car coming right for him wasn’t stopping, you acted. “Tommy,” You heard a woman yell. You ran to the boy, picking him up in your arms and changing your molecular makeup. The car passed through you and him You brought him back to the sidewalk and as soon as you set him down he became solid.

“Are you okay?” You asked. His eyes grew wide as he stared at you.

“Tommy,” you moved out of the way as a woman with auburn hair pulled him into a hug. “What did I say about not leaving the sidewalk?” You assumed the woman was his mother.

“Sorry Mom,” he said. “I dropped the toy Uncle Tony got me.” A redhead and another young boy joined the duo. You recognized the redhead right away. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

“Are you okay, kid?” She asked Tommy. He nodded and hugged the redhead. You looked at the other woman and you were staring into the green eyes of Wanda Maximoff.

“Thank you,” she said to you. “I don’t think we could ever repay you.” You blushed at the compliment, scratching the back of your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “I was at the right place at the right time.” You knelt in front of the two boys. “Now don’t go playing in the road anymore, okay?” You ruffled their hair. “I won’t be there to save you.” Tommy smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. You smiled, straightening up.

“Wait,” Natasha said, stopping you before you walked away. “At least tell us your name.” You introduced yourself.

“Bye,” you waved, continuing on your way to work.

“You're famous!” Your co-worker, Emilia, said as soon as you walked into the back room. You clocked in and put on your apron. You worked at a 24hr diner. It paid decently and the hours were flexible so you could still go to school.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. She rushed over to you, her phone open to Twitter. Someone took a video of you saving Tommy and put it on social media. Needless to say, the video blew up. You groaned, placing your face in your hands.

“You should read some of these comments,” Emilia said, scrolling through her phone. “I could break a lot of people’s hearts and tell them your 16.”

“Gross,” you mumbled, walking into the kitchen. You heard Emilia close behind as you made yourself a coffee.

“How does it feel saving the kid of the Black Widow and Scarlet Witch?” You didn’t answer. “Were they hot?”

“You know I wasn’t looking,” you said, blowing on the cup before taking a much-needed sip. “I was a little focused on not making sure their son didn’t get killed.” You rolled your eyes.

“I bet they have a Mommy and Daddy kink,” you scrunch your nose.

“You are just as bad as half the people online,” you said. “Come on, we have work to do.” You tried to focus on your duties at the diner; cleaning tables, taking orders, and helping in the kitchen when needed, instead of what happened today. But the universe had other plans. Someone online found where you worked and shared it with the entire world. The diner was packed which was a blessing and a curse. The day flew by and you were leaving with a lot of tips in your pocket. However, you were exhausted since everyone that stepped through the diner wanted to meet and talk to you. They asked you questions about your powers, if you received something for saving him, were your parents proud, did they offer you a spot on the Avenger team. By the end of the day, you collapsed onto your bed thankfully you had the day off tomorrow.

It wasn’t as busy when you came in but you immediately saw the Romanoff-Maximoff family with 2 Avengers you didn’t recognize. You smiled as you walked up to the table. “Staying out of trouble?” You asked the boys. They gasped, turning around in their chairs.

“I don’t know you worked here,” Tommy said, standing up to hug you. You were surprised by that. But you gave him a quick hug back.

“That’s probably because I didn’t tell you,” you tapped his nose which caused him to scrunch it. Natasha introduced you to her sister, Yelena, and her girlfriend, Kate.

“You're the one that saved my nephew,” Yelena said. Her deep Russian accent surprised you. You nodded. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you?” You didn’t mean for it to sound like a question. Wanda chuckled. “Anyways, can I get you guys started with drinks?” You didn’t mean to hover around their table and it wasn’t 100% your fault. Tommy and his brother, Billy, liked to talk your ear off no matter how many times Wanda told them you had other tables to attend to. But you waved her off, saying it was fine. Besides, their colorful imagination was making your shift fly by.

Until the bell went off signaling another customer entered the diner. You looked up out of instinct and almost dropped Kate’s pancakes. It was Jason, your on-again-off-again boyfriend, and housemate. He held the door open for an older couple as his eyes looked for you. It wasn’t hard to find you but you didn’t like the way his eyes screamed that he was upset with you. When he came in he liked you to only have him as your only table. He was best friends with the owner so he could get away with anything. Natasha said your name and you were surprised to see real concern in her green eyes. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you put on your best customer service smile but she didn’t seem convinced. “Does everything look good?” A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘looks good’ echoed from the table. “Perfect! I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy!” You brought back the empty tray to the kitchen before making your way to Jason’s usual spot, trying to calm your raising heartbeat.

It didn’t take a Black Widow spy or an Avenger to notice the change in your demeanor. Natasha watched as you walked over to a man, who had to be twice your age. You were blocking his face but Natasha didn’t like the way he was talking to you. She couldn’t hear the conversation but your shoulders were hunched over, drawing more into yourself. ‘Don’t cause a scene,’ Wanda said, placing a hand on her leg. ‘I don’t like it either.’ Natasha began to eat. The food was always good here but now it tasted bitter.

‘What do we do?’ The Black Widow asked. It took a minute for Wanda to reply as you came back to ask how the food was and if they needed anything. Yelena asked for more hot sauce. You were smiling, laughing at a joke Tommy said but it wasn’t as light. Natasha stole a glance at the man and he was staring at you as if he owned you like you were a possession. It made Natasha’s blood boil. He caught her eyes and quickly looked away.

‘We’ll leave her our number,’ Wanda said. ‘If she needs help she can call us.’ Natasha didn’t like it. She wanted to do more but what else could they do when they had no idea what was going on?

“Here you go,” Natasha passed you the check. “Food and service were amazing as always,” you felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment.

“Feel free to relax here there is no need to rush out but it was nice seeing you all again,” you said your goodbyes, not leaving the table without getting a hug from the twins. You went to finish cashing them out and you stopped in your tracks. Not because of the very large tip they left you but there was a note.

‘We are a phone call away if you need anything and I mean anything. -Natasha. Her phone number was at the end. You put that copy in your pocket and continued as you normally would, ignoring Jason’s eyes burning a hole in your back.

“You disgust me,” Jason said, throwing you against the wall. You whimpered as you hit your head. Stars formed across your vision. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me.”

“Baby,” you pleaded with him. “It wasn’t like that.” He twisted his hand in your hair, pulling you close.

“Flirting with a married woman twice your age,” he pulled your hair. Another whimper left your lips. “You are a slut.” He threw you against the wooden table. It broke underneath your weight and the force he threw you. “You think you're a big-time hero, now. That you're better than all of us.” You shook your head, tears falling down your cheeks. He kicked you in the stomach so hard you were pushed against the couch.

“Jason, stop, please,” you pleaded with him grabbing onto his leg.

“You don’t get to tell me to stop,” he yelled. “You are mine. I own you.”

You woke up in the apartment alone and with your pants off. Everything ached and there was a light pounding in your skull. Jason was no doubt at a bar. You needed to get out of here. Finding your pants was easy but a sharp cramp in your stomach made you crumble to the ground. Finding some strength, you redressed yourself, found your phone, and walked out of the apartment. You weren’t sure where you were walking to. Your feet moved as your mind was in a haze. There was no place you could go. You were an only child whose parents died during the Blip. The friends you did have moved out of the city or were your co-workers from the dinner but you didn’t want them to see you like this. You sat down on a nearby bench. The pain was becoming all-consuming. You needed help. You unlocked your phone and stared at the recent contact added - Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, an Avenger. Did you want to drag them into this mess? Another shooting pain passed through your stomach as you listened to the phone ring. Maybe she wouldn’t answer and you would have to find a place to sleep tonight. “Hello? Who is this?” She answered on the third ring.

“N-Natasha,” you stuttered out.

“Y/n? Is that you?” You nodded, knowing well she couldn’t see you. “What’s wrong?”

“I need help,” you cried. “I-I d-don’t have anyone else to call. I’m sorry. I-” Your lungs began to hurt, you couldn’t get enough air.

“Hey, sh dorogoy,” Natasha whispered. “Where are you? Wanda and I will come to get you.” You heard rustling on her side of the phone.

“I don’t know,” you told her. “I left my apartment and just walked.” A sharp pain ran through you and gasped. “Everything hurts, Nat,” you cried.

“We will be right there, okay? Just stay right there and use your powers to keep yourself safe.” She told you. “I’m going to stay on the phone with you.”

“Okay,” your voice was slurred. “I’m sleepy.” You found yourself laying down on the bench.

“I know you are but you have to stay awake for me. Can you do that?” She asked. “Talk to me. Tell me about yourself.” You hummed.

“I’m an only child. My parents are dead and I have a tattoo on my spine. I-”

Natasha was listening as she paced her kitchen waiting for FRIDAY to trace the call. She heard three sets of footsteps coming down the stairs, one set much quicker than the other two. “Anything?” Wanda asked. The Black Widow shook her head.

“FRIDAY is still looking for her,” she heard Yelena yawn behind Wanda.

“Why did you wake us up?” Her sister asked.

“You can go back to bed but we need to watch the boys if they wake up,” Wanda explained.

“Is this about the girl who saved Tommy?” Kate asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Natasha nodded.

“I found her,” the AI said. “The location has been sent to your car’s GPS. She is 30 minutes.”

“Sweetheart,” Natasha said to you. “We will be there in 30 minutes.” You hummed.

“Nat,” Yelena said. The redhead looked back at her sister. “Keep us updated.” She nodded and followed her wife to the car. Wanda was already in the driver's seat. It was Natasha’s idea to get their place, close enough to the new Avenger tower but in a nice neighborhood for the twins to grow up in. The only thing Wanda wanted was a big kitchen, the rest was up to the Black Widow. Buying a house cemented the fact this was real to Natasha. She was married, raising two brilliant boys, and retired from active missions. Wanda grabbed her hand, squeezing it. She squeezed it back. She hoped they made it to you in time.

Natasha saw your still body laying on the bench and she was out of the car before Wanda could put the car in park. She hung up and ran over to you, kneeling next to you. “Hey sweetie,” she whispered. Wanda moved next to her. Your eyes fluttered open. A smile on your face.

“You came,” you whispered. Natasha’s heart shattered.

“Yeah, we did,” Wanda smiled. “Let’s get you someplace safe.” You nodded, sitting up and Natasha watched you try to hide the wince. “Can you stand?” You nodded again but when you stood up you collapsed, a pained cry leaving your lips. Natasha caught you in her arms.

“I got you,” your head fell on her shoulder, whimpering as you squeezed your eyes closed. Natasha didn’t miss the red flash in Wanda’s eyes. She only imagined what was going on inside your head.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “So sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize,” the Black Widow said. “I’m going to lift you, okay?” She felt you nod against her skin. She was surprised at how light you were in her arms.

“Nat,” Wanda whispered as they walked back to the car. The witch opened the backseat and the redhead gently lay you down. She closed the door. “She’s bleeding.” Natasha looked at her hands and they were tainted red with your blood.

“We’ll bring her to the tower,” Natasha ran to the other side of the car and got in next to you. She shifted so your head could rest in her lap.

“FRIDAY,” Wanda said to the AI. “Inform Cho we are headed to the tower with a civilian that needs immediate medical attention.” You whimpered.

“You're going to be okay,” the Black Widow whispered. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha watched your eyes flutter close, frowning. You kept muttering apologies as you succumbed to the darkness.

It took a lot for Natasha to let go of you to hand over to Helen and the medical team. She quickly went to the hallway bathroom to wash the blood off. The water turned a light pink. It was part of her job to be surrounded by blood but the sight of your blood on her hands caused her body to heat up with anger. She left the bathroom and found her wife sitting in the empty chairs in the hallway. “The boys are still asleep,” she said as the redhead sat down. “Yelena said she’ll get them ready for school so we can stay.” Natasha nodded, resting her head on the wall. She felt Wanda move her fingers through hers. “It had to be the man from the diner, right?”

“Maybe,” she whispered. They knew nothing about you. The internet seemed to be in love with you for saving Tommy but they didn’t know who you were or what you were a part of.

“I’ll kill him,” Wanda threatened. Natasha saw the tips of her fingers glow red.

“Easy little witch,” She mumbled, kissing the side of her head. “Let’s find out what happened first.” The glow died down. It felt like an eternity before Helen walked out of your room and towards the couple. “Is she okay?” Natasha asked, standing up.

“She will be,” Helen said. “She has 2 broken ribs, a possible concussion, and wood splinters that we had to remove from her arm. She was raped too we did a test,” she sighed, resting her hand on her chin. “Do you know how old she is?” The couple looked at each other shaking their heads. You were a few years older than the twins but not at Kate’s age. That meant you were between 14-18.

“Helen, what’s going on?” The doctor bit her lip.

“She was pregnant,” Natasha’s blood ran cold. “Whatever happened to her caused her to miscarriage.”

“How-how far along was she?” Wanda asked.

“I’m guessing 2 months,” Helen answered. “She’s asleep now. You can go see her and let me know if she needs anything.” They said their thank yous to the doctor and ventured into your room. It was quiet besides the gentle beeping of the heart monitor you were attached to. Natasha didn’t like how still you were beside the gentle rise and fall of your chest. They sat on either side of the bed.

“She’s just a kid, Tash,” Wanda said, brushing some hair out of your face. You didn’t move.

“I know, baby,” Natasha remembered you telling her that your parents were dead. Did you have anyone else? “We’ll be here for her.”

You woke up slowly. The bright lights overhead caused you to groan. “Sweetheart,” you turned your head towards Natasha’s voice. There was a smile on her face, almost motherly. “Hi, how are you feeling?”

“Water,” you whispered. Your throat felt raw and uncomfortable. Natasha brought a cup of water to your lips. You drank all of the water finding relief. “Thank you,” she put the cup down.

“Of course,” you sat up, wincing as you moved but you couldn’t look at Natasha.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you saw her nod her head out of the corner of your eye.

“That’s fine,” she said. “But there are some things we need to talk about regarding your health. We can wait for Wanda if you want,” you nodded.“Hey,” you felt her fingers on your arm. “We are here for you, okay? And whatever happened is not your fault.”

“Okay,” you whispered but you didn’t believe her. It wasn’t long before Wanda returned with a doctor behind her. She introduced herself as Helen and she went over the list of your injuries; broken ribs, a mild concussion, and wood splinters in your arms.

“Now, I have to tell you something that may be hard to hear,” you didn’t like her tone. “You were pregnant for about 2 months but due to the nature of your injuries you had a miscarriage.” You felt the color drain from your face. Pregnant. You were pregnant. You moved your hand over your stomach. Your periods were always irregular so nothing seemed wrong. You weren’t sure what was happening around you. The world around you turned to white noise. You were pregnant, probably with Jason’s child but you made him angry.

“Sweetheart,” you snapped to look at Wanda. She looked worried. “You're safe here. Do you know who the father was?” She asked. You hesitated but nodded. You weren’t 100% sure if it was Jason’s.

“Was he the one that did this to you?” Natasha hesitantly asked.

“It was my fault,” you defended him. “He loves me. He didn’t mean to hurt me.” Wanda whispered your name but you couldn’t look at her. Tears were blurring your vision.

“This isn’t love.”

“Yes it is,” you said. “He loves me and it was my fault -”

“Sweetheart,” Natasha touched your arm but you flinched from her. Her face fell.

“I think I want to be alone,” you told them. The couple glanced at each other, having a silent conversation. “Please.”

“Okay, we know this is a lot,” Wanda said, standing up. “We’ll come back later.” You didn’t acknowledge them as they left your room. You felt cold, so immensely cold, as your fingers danced around your stomach and each injury he gave you. Oh, how you wished your mom and dad were here. You missed your mom’s hugs and the scent that always seemed to calm you down or your dad’s corny jokes that brought a smile to your face. You angrily whipped the tears that fell. The worst part of them being gone, you didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

To your surprise, Wanda and Natasha kept their promise and visited when they could. Their visits ended up being one-sided conversations - mostly them trying to get information on what happened. They asked for your age, Jason’s name and age, and if he worked at the diner. But you remained quiet. Too ashamed to tell them the truth about him. They weren’t deterred by your stand-offish behavior, it somehow made them more determined to make you feel comfortable around them. Rather it was Wanda, Natasha, or both of them, they brought you something. A blanket to keep you warm, books and magazines for you to read, and Tommy’s old DS to keep you entertained. They even contacted your school to explain your situation and collect your missing schoolwork.

It was odd, you had to admit, having people care about you. It didn’t make sense. What did you do to deserve their kindness? You were nobody compared to them. So why were they being so nice?

On a sunny afternoon, the couple snuck in a milkshake and french fries for you to snack on. You were sipping on the chocolate milkshake while Wanda was reading and Natasha looked over a mission report. “I’m 16,” you said to them, breaking the silence. “Technically speaking I was a part of the population that was blipped so I don’t know how that affects my age,” you put your drink down. “During those 5 years, my parents died; my mom from cancer and my dad from suicide. Jason gave me a place to live and food and loved me when I was alone.”

“How old were you when you met Jason?” Natasha asked.

“15,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “He was 25.” You began to play with the loose threads of the blanket they brought you.

“Is this the first time he’s hit you?” Your instinct was to lie like you did with Emilia and everyone else at the diner but it seemed like it was a bad idea to lie to two Avengers.

“No,” you whispered. “But this was the worst. He was mad at me and kept saying it was my fault.”

“What did he say that you did?” You felt your face burn as you remembered why he was upset. “You don’t have to tell us,” Natasha added quickly.

“He was..” Protective. Jealous. “Territorial,” you said. “He didn’t like me talking or flirting with other people. That was a lot of our fights and I stayed because I have nowhere else to go,” you sighed. “I bet you think I’m so stupid.”

“No,” Wanda took your hand in hers. “You are not stupid. He took advantage of you,” you whipped away the tears that fell with your free hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”

“And we aren’t going anywhere.”

When Helen cleared you Natasha and Wanda offered you a room with them. It took a lot of convincing but you moved in with them. Jason all but disappeared. He wasn’t there when you got the few possessions from the apartment and you overheard Natasha and Wanda in the kitchen one night that they still couldn’t find him. As you lived in the Romanoff-Maximoff household you all forgot about him. You forgot what this type of love felt like not having it since you were taken from your family. Wanda made sure all of your homework was done by the time dinner was ready. Natasha seemed to have food on her and she would pass you snacks. She even got you to join her on some of your runs.

It had been 4 months since you moved in with them. “Do you want us to see if Yelena or Kate can come over?” Wanda asked. The twins were playing video games in the living room and you were making a small snack for you and the boys. The couple had to go to the tower for a quick meeting. Although they were retired from active meetings they still help to provide insight. They didn’t like leaving you at home.

“We’ll be fine,” Tommy said.

“Besides Y/n is here,” Billy added. You rolled your eyes as Natasha walked over to you, stealing a grape from the plate. You glared at her.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” She asked you. You nodded.

“Yes, you said it will be a quick meeting,” you put the extra fruit back in the fridge. “And when you get back you can bitch about how the meeting should have been an email.” Natasha gasped.

“Language,” you smiled, bringing the fruit plate into the living room.

“We know the rules. Don’t worry about us,” you sat on the couch, your feet tucked underneath you, and opened the book you were currently reading.

“Text us if anything happens,” Wanda kissed the twins’ forehead and you were surprised as she kissed yours.

“Bye Mom,” the boys said. You smiled as they left the house. As the door closed Tommy let out a heavy sigh.

“They worry so much.” He said.

“They just care about you,” you defended, not looking up from your book.

“They care about you too,” Billy said. You glanced at the boy and he was looking at you with a smile. You smiled back and went back to reading.

You weren’t sure how long it was but Natasha and Wanda were still not home when the doorbell rang. You looked at the twins but they were engrossed with their video game. “Hey, are your moms expecting someone?” Billy shrugged.

“No clue,” the doorbell rang again. You sighed, closing your book. As you stood up a voice behind the door caused you to freeze.

“I know you're in there, little shadow. Come out to play.”

“Billy, Tommy, go upstairs and call your moms.” Jason started to giggle at the door handle.

“We can help,” Tommy said. They were training powers but they were still unpredictable.

“Go!” You ordered as the front door burst open. Tommy grabbed Billy’s hand and used his super speed to bring them both upstairs. Jason stood there, a pistol in his hand and he looked like he hadn’t bathed or slept in months. You just had to keep him away from the twins and wait till Wanda and Natasha got here.

“Hello beautiful,” he stalked over to you. “You got me in a lot of trouble.”

“Trouble?” You questioned, taking a few steps back with your hands in the air. You wanted to keep some distance from him. “Who are you in trouble with?” He laughed, pointing the gun at you.

“My employers,” his smile still seemed to send a chill down your spine. “Did you think I could ever willingly love you?” He asked. “You were a job, an assignment.” Your heart began to pound against your ribs. Could he hear it? You were backing up into the dining room.

“Who wants me?” You found yourself asking.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll be dead and I’ll crave up those little brats for good measure,” you let out a shaky breath and lowered your hands.

“You aren’t getting to them,” you said. “You’ll have to get through me first.”

Natasha was pouring a cup of coffee for her and Wanda. They were taking a short break before finishing up. She felt arms wrap around her waist and the warmth of her wife pressed against her back. “I wanna go home.” She whined. Natasha chuckled, turning around to see Wanda’s noise pinched. She kissed it.

“We are almost done, baby,” she handed Wanda her coffee. “I’m thinking of pizza and movie night?” Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw it was Billy. Showing Wanda the caller ID before putting the call on speaker. “Hi, bud.”

“Mom,” he was whispering and his voice was shaky.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“The bad man is here,” he whispered. They weren’t sure what he was talking about. “The bad man that hurt Y/n.” The couple dropped their coffee on the floor and sprinted towards their car. “Please hurry.” A gunshot went off and both of the boys let out a quick squeak.

“Boys, I need you to stay right there,” Natasha said.

“But what if she’s hurt? We can help.”

“Stay hidden. We are on our way.”

Natasha felt her heart beating against her ribs as she saw their door broken down. They called out your name but you didn’t respond. The Black Widow had her gun out as she searched the bottom floor. They made it to their dining room and found a man laying on top of you. Natasha ran over, kicking the man off of you and his body slumped to the side with a bullet wound in his stomach. Your eyes were wide, hands shaking as you held the gun in your hand. “Hey sweetheart,” Natasha put her gun away. “Can I have that?” You nodded, handing her the gun. Natasha removed the magazine from the gun and put it on the ground next to her. Wanda knelt next to you and helped you sit up. Your eyes kept glancing at this still form but Wanda brought you into her arms, sliding you from the body. You were shaking in her arms. Natasha walked over to him and checked for a pulse but she shook her head when she found none. Wanda held you tighter.

“Billy and Tommy,” you whispered. “Are they okay?” Wanda.

“Do you want to go find them?” You nodded. Natasha sent a quick text to Sam and met her wife upstairs. You were waiting for her to emerge from their bedroom and didn’t take long for Wanda to bring out a new shirt for you. Yours had blood on it. You changed quickly, leaving the bloody shirt on the floor, and continued to the guest room. “Billy, Tommy, it’s safe.” The twins didn’t need to be told twice before they ran out of the closet and straight into you. The force knocked you to the ground.

“You can’t do that,” Tommy said, hitting your chest. “Why do you always have to be the hero?” He cried. “We could have helped.” He kept hitting you but his hits got softer while he cried against you.

“Hey,” Natasha said, kneeling and placing a gentle hand on his back. “I know you are feeling a lot but we need to stop hitting her.” You overcame your shock and hugged the twins tight.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You said.

“But you're our sister,” Billy said. “We can’t lose you.” You looked at Natasha and Wanda at the term Billy called you. The couple smiled at you. They tried to convey all the emotions they were

“I’m right here,” you said. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Wanda walked out of the bathroom with a smile on her face. Her bed was full of Natasha, the twins, and you. The boys were fast asleep, cuddling against you. There was just enough space next to Natasha for her to squeeze in. “We are going to need a bigger bed if this continues to be a thing,” Wanda climbed into bed. Natasha was running her fingers through your hair. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” You shrugged.

“I know he was bad and he would have hurt me or worse the twins but I didn’t want to kill him.” You whispered. Natasha sighed.

“I’m sorry you had to be put in that position,” Natasha said. You nodded, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the feeling of her hand. Wanda gently nudged her wife’s shoulder, nodding her head. “About what Billy said.” Your eyes shut open.

“Like you said there were a lot of emotions,” you shrugged again. Wanda tried to keep her powers at bay but she could feel loneliness washing over you.

“Well, Natasha and I want to make what Billy said official.”

“I’m sorry. What?” You questioned.

“We want to adopt you,” your jaw dropped and Wanda giggled, using her pointer finger to close your mouth.

“Are you serious?” You asked. The couple nodded. Tears swelled in your eyes and without hesitation you jumped up and brought them into a hug.

“Ah,” Billy gasped.

“Is there an Earthquake?” Tommy asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You ended the hug and whipping the tears out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just happy.”

“Alright,” Wanda said. “We need to readjust so I don’t fall off the bed.” It was you in the middle with Tommy and Billy on either side and Natasha and Wanda still on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed as the exhaustion of the day caught up to you.

“No need to thank us,” Natasha whispered.

“We are a family,” Wanda said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Part 2

#wandanat x reader #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat x daughter #wandanat #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #yelena belova x kate bishop #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #Kate Bishop #marvel #Marvel AU

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f0point5 · 3 days

Note

Give us some max/emilia post Australia end cuteness. Emilia misses one race and it’s Australia. Max dnfs. Ect ect

Or have a text chain of Emilia being a pure menace texting max all the innuendos and funny commentary during a press conference.

This is too adorable. I went with the first one because I’m a glutton for punishment lol. I hope you enjoy it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m only up when you’re not down

You don’t actually speak to Max after his DNF. Huddled into the small living room of your suite in Niseko with the rest of your friends to watch the Grand Prix, you’d felt sick the second Carlos had passed Max.

“Fuck, fuck,” you’d slammed your hand on the table so hard that your coffee spilled. You didn’t even take your eyes off the screen. “Shit,”

You watched him crawl towards the pits, smoke billowing from the car. Get out, Max, get out. You all sat in silence until he was out of the car.

When the cameras showed an irate Max talking to an engineer in the garage, all Stan said was, “he’s going to be so pissed,”

He was. You’d tried to call him but it had gone straight to voicemail, a telltale sign that he just needed to stew in the rage for a while. You’d sent him a message telling him to call when he could but he hadn’t. You’d watched the rest of the race just to catch glimpses of him in the garage, hiding his disappointment so well.

Later, he’d texted he’d managed to get an earlier runway slot since he wasn’t attending a debrief and that he’d be in Japan by late afternoon, so you skipped out on dinner to meet him at the small airport in Hokkaido.

Max and Rupert disembark from the jet still talking, and you can see even from twenty metres away the day he’s had. There’s a tension in his jaw, he jogs down the steps of the plane, pushing a hand through his hair, which is getting a little bit too long. He’s moving a bit too quick and a bit too stiff for your comfort.

After nearly two weeks away from him, this is the last state you want to see him in, but you can’t ignore the sheer contentment that washes over you at seeing him at all. You’re pathetic and you know it, too clingy and too giddy, and part of you hopes that in ten years you’ll lose this feeling. Most of you knows you never will, because it’s always been there. You haven’t always called it what it was, but you always felt it. And he did, too.

You can tell by the way his shoulders sag when he comes into the building and spots you immediately, a small smile on his lips as you hurry towards him.

“Hey,” it’s whispered, an exhale, the wind knocked out of you as your body collides with his and you wind your arms around his neck. He’s warm and he smells like the t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in since the last time you saw him. You feel your feet leave the ground for a second and you don’t even know if that’s real.

His gentle, “hi,” is said into the skin of your neck, and it feels like a jolt of adrenaline fed straight to your jugular.

“You were on fire today,” you say, fingers tickling at newly cut hair at the back of his neck.

Max’s body shakes with a laugh as you pull away from him, but in an unusual twist, he knots his fingers with yours before you can move.

“I was hoping this was the day you decided to skip watching. Sorry you wasted your day,”

You squeeze his hand to get his hand to stop his eyes darting everywhere. “I didn’t waste my day, Max. Watching you isn’t a waste, ever,”

You know he’s thinking it’s a platitude, that he didn’t win so he might as well have been at home and you might as well have been skiing. You want to argue, make him hear you. He won’t believe you, and by rights he shouldn’t. So you let it go, because you have no choice.

“Yeah, that was an incredible lap I did there,” Max husks out a chuckle and looks away from you. He’s joking, but he isn’t. He’s let it go, because he has no choice.

“Well, I for one am more excited about the annual Suzuka revenge arc. It’s incredibly sexy, and now,” you say as you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw, your free hand slipping under his jacket so there’s one less layer between you, “I can do something about that,”

Max only hums in response, his fingers tightening around yours.

“Not to kill the mood, guys, but I am, you know, here,” Rupert says.

You’re embarrassed to admit you’re not actually sure when he collected his rucksack from the baggage trolley and came to stand beside Max.

Max laughs, a telltale blush spreading to his ears, while you let go of him and open your arms to Rupert.

“I could never forget you, Rupert,” you say as you hug him, “I just like an audience,”

“Oh my God,” Max groans, laughing harder. He throws his head back, and his face scrunches up. He’s looking more like himself by the second, and you figure you must be, too.

You start to meander towards the exit, following your bags out to the stupidly large SUV with the driver waiting to load your luggage. Rupert wastes no time climbing into the car, while you and Max linger by the boot of the car. This is the last moment you’ll have alone before you get in the car with Rupert, and then Max is swarmed by friends he hasn’t seen in months the second you get back.

“Oh,” you slide a hand into your pocket while Max watches you in confusion. “Here,”

You pull out his Cartier cuff and hold it out to him. He holds out his wrist and you put it back on for him, preparing for him to make some comment about how it didn’t bring him luck this time, and how superstition is stupid.

“No more skipping races,” is what he actually says, and you look up at him to find him pouting. The pout is cute but unserious. His eyes, however, make it seem like he’s asking. “Crazy shit happens when you’re not there,”

He’s right. This is the first race you’ve missed since Singapore last year

You give him a coy smirk. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

“No.” He says simply.

You’re surprised when he kisses you. He rarely does when you’re not alone, unless it’s a quick peck at parc fermé. This is a kiss that has him pulling you almost as close to him as you want to be, a kiss that feels a bit like getting back whatever part of you he took with him when he left.

When he lets go of you, he takes a second to look at you before leaning down to press one more kiss to your swollen lips.

“I missed you.” He says, no pout, all promise.

It will never not be embarrassing that three words from this nerd with one hobby and abysmal taste in t-shirts has you weak at in the knees.

“I missed you too, Maxy,” you say, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead.

You both take one more deep breath before heading around the side of the car, where Max opens the door for you with the hand that isn’t holding yours.

“Real shame that race got cancelled, huh?” You say as you climb in, meeting Max’s gaze with a wink.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees as he slides in behind you. “Really sad.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine

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dazai-ritualist · 16 days

Note

Hii! Hear me out on this, right, Alastor (in your current yandere husband au) has one-on-one bonding with our lovely Noah. (I have a cat named Noah...lowkey imagining him here.) Idk what dads do with kids but for the sake of plot I'm going to call it hunting. Reader is sitting quietly as Noah tells her all about his day in the forest and how he got to see his food before it was his food! She starts thinking that no amount of nurture can overpower someone's nature. Reader doesn't hate her son...but she's just worried and is trying her best, because in her mind, she's still a single mom and always will be. (Rightfully so) Alastor is egging this on and almost trying to get reader to lose it in front of Noah, to prove something. Other things ! Alastor is def not happy with one kid lmao. Seven years is a long age gap...better hurry up! He wants his Emilia....not because his mother is asking for it or anything like it! Speaking of his mother...god rest her soul man...i lowkey would just marry him for her to be my legal mother (in-law). Rip mom...fly high girl... (Ps, can i please hug you platonically, i literally love you and your writing so much. Please remember that you've made so many cool things and will continue to make cool things no matter which path you go. Love you girly (gn), a little more than Alastor's mom) - Charry Anon

WE’RE GONNA FLY AWAY FROM HERE

[before you read this, read the rest of the story!]

— the more and more alastor influences your son, the more he becomes just like his father. but, why stop at just one child?

— i love u i will make MORE yandere alastor bc hes now my fave

you hated this house. no matter how much alastor tried to hide it, the subtle scent of blood reeked from all over this house.

you oh, so desperately wanted to run away— hop on a train all the way to long island. but, it isn’t so simple anymore. you had a son to think of, a son who’s growing scarily closer to his father.

the thought of hurting noah might have never crossed alastor’s mind, but he wasn’t above threatening it to bring you back home. and above all that, you couldn’t leave him alone with this wolf.

and so, you stayed.

“and then, papa told me to stay quiet… and he shot the turkey! papa took me to his butcher room and showed how get the yummy turkey meat! y’know mama, papa has lots of meat in his butcher room.” your son rambled on, kneeling on a stool by the kitchen counter as you prepare for dinner. “lots of meat, you say?” you raised an eyebrow. “…that sounds really fun, baby.” you sighed.

it’s only been a month since he forced you back. and, noah’s already calling alastor ‘papa’. he tainted your sweet boy’s mind— ‘mama lied to you, she wanted to keep you all to herself. she’s really selfish, but then again, i can’t blame her!’

and, you couldn’t protest. if you did, if you broke the rose-tinted filter alastor created— he would hurt you. not physically, alastor is still a ‘gentleman’. he’d hurt you mentally, break your little mind until you can’t do anything but nod your head.

alastor would never strike his hand on noah. after all, deep down, there’s some part of him that’s still in love with you, albeit in his own twisted way. and, noah is apart of you, alastor couldn’t bear to hurt him, not unless he’s misbehaving…

“mama, can we have the turkey we hunted for dinner?!” noah asked excitedly, slamming his hands against the counter over and over again. “sure, baby… but, remember before..? you got in trouble with mr. yee because you released all his chickens…” you asked, quite desperate. this little boy, the one who finds hunting fun. he is nothing like the one who wanted to become vegan after he found out where chicken comes from, despite failing because of his love for chicken burgers.

“yeah, but papa showed me how fun hunting is!” he squealed. at the mention of papa, alastor laughed, carrying noah from behind, tickling his belly as he kissed your little boy’s head. “talking to mama about our little trip, huh?” alastor grinned.

“ah, alastor… dinner will be ready in a half hour.” you glared at him. “no worries, my love. it just means that i have a half hour to play with our beautiful son!” he smugly said. he saw the hatred in your eyes the moment he said ‘our’.

he was trying to make you lose your shit. make you seem like a hysterical woman. that way, if you even tried to divorce him, noah would be left in his care. now that you were older and wiser, you wouldn’t play into his little trap.

“alright, you two have fun.” you begrudgingly smiled. alastor’s eyes widened, showing his shock for just one split second. alastor nudged noah, “go on for a second. papa wants to talk with mama.”

oh god, what now?

once noah left, alastor went behind you, straddling your waist. “what is it, alastor?” you groaned. “i want another child, darling” he whispered against your ear. “i visited my mother with noah last week, she adored him, my love. she said she’d adore a granddaughter this time. she even picked out a name, emilia.” he rambled on. “as much as i love your mother, i don’t want another child, alastor.” you hissed out.

“oh, but it’s not just my mother, dear. little noah also wants a little brother or sister of his own.” at the thought of a little sister for noah, it would keep him busy, away from alastor, wouldn’t it? he’d gain those brotherly instincts that are so reminiscent of the soft hearted boy you raised.

“…alright…” you frowned. alastor’s grip on your hips tightened as he pressed kisses onto your neck. “good girl.” your head leaned back as you melted into his touch. as much as you didn’t want to, the warm sensation of his soft lips on your skin was to die for. “after dinner, darling.” he grinned, finally leaving you alone.

what had you done to be forsaken with this monster?

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #human alastor #alastor the radio demon #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

red flags | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

this is based off a request an anon left for @leclvrc but they opened it up for someone else to write it: 'toxic ex Charles where the reader and Carlos are together and Charles just couldn't stand that his teammates is with his ex'

word count: 13.2k (im so sorry) tags/warnings: 18+ toxic, smut, a lot of swears, really toxic, not healthy, i don’t condone any of this, this has so many red flags, more than the 2022 Emilia Romagna Grand Prix qualifying session (which was a lot) cheating, which i also don’t condone AT ALL holy moly don’t cheat on your partners, not even for charles leclerc, a little degrading, some choking did i mention this is just angst and hate and smut, thigh riding, overstimulation, p in v, all of it, this is bad this is all bad, if you ever come across a guy like this fucking run and alternatively if you relate to y/n pls seek a therapist.

Honestly, it was fucking stupid. All of it.

The way Charles looked at you when you walked into the motorhome as if you were a driver for a rival team was stupid. The way he literally rolled his eyes or made a face of disgust whenever you kissed Carlos was stupid. The way he completely disregarded your presence as you stood at the barrier to congratulate Carlos and him at the end of a Ferrari 1-2, was fucking stupid. And it was on international television so everyone and their mother was able to see the way Charles purposely ignored you after hugging the people on either side of you.

You decided to call him out on it the second you and Carlos returned to the hotel.

“What room is he in?” You demanded, storming down the hall when the elevator doors opened.

“Mi cielo, I don’t have a key to his room.”

The endearing term almost made you forget about ripping into Charles. Carlos had such a good weekend, he just wanted to relax and celebrate with you. Instead, he was following you down the hallway as you pointed at all of the numbered suites, waiting to see if Carlos would react to any of them.

And he did. He swallowed when you passed room 1250. You came to a sudden halt and looked back and forth between him and the door.

“This is his room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh my love,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth, stepping forward to cup his cheek with your hand. You felt his stubble under the pads of your fingers as you plastered on your sweetest smile. “You have a distinct tell when you lie.”

Your smile dropped as Carlos tried to argue with you, assuring you that he wasn’t lying. But he did the same thing every time a little white lie passed through his lips. He always glanced up and to the left. Very quickly, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it, but it was a nervous tell of his you came to learn early on into your relationship.

Turning on your heels, you raised your fist to the door and started to hit it obnoxiously loud. Carlos attempted to grab your arm to get you to stop, muttering something about how there were other people in this hotel, but you just swatted him away and kept pounding on the wooden surface.

Charles knew you were out in the hall. There was no one else who would be causing this much of a disturbance just to talk to him. You had done it before, before you two even broke up. There were countless times when the two of you had gotten into fights during a race weekend and he’d ask for the hotel keys to be switched, purposely locking you out for a few hours, occasionally even for a full night if the argument was bad enough.

Honestly, you should have walked away from Charles a lot sooner.

But when things were good they were really fucking good. And the make up sex after you two were finished yelling at each other was almost as good as the hate sex.

And that’s all it was that was keeping you together. The physical attraction, the intimate pull you two shared. It wasn’t love, it wasn't romance and it certainly wasn’t the idea that you two would start a family and settle down one day. It was purely sex and it was unhealthy.

Whereas Carlos was everything Charles could never be.

Obviously jumping from one Ferrari driver to another caused a bit of an uproar, but it made for an entertaining episode on the last season of Drive to Survive. The producers had a habit of creating their own drama, but they didn’t need to embellish anything between Carlos and Charles. There was tension on the track, the determination to be the better driver, the constant fight and you were in the middle of it.

It wasn’t your fault that Carlos just so happened to be standing in the motorhome when you and Charles got into one of the worst screaming matches of your lives. You both thought the place was empty, it was nearly midnight and no one had any reason to still be at the paddock.

But Carlos heard it all. He heard all of the things Charles called you. He heard every swear in every possible language you knew come out of your mouth. He heard the door slam. He heard the way you screamed ‘We’re done’ with such strength and fury that he himself was paralysed with fear as you stormed down the stairs.

And then he saw your tear stained cheeks. He saw your trembling hands and heard your ragged breaths as you landed on the bottom step. You met Carlos’ eyes and not only were you embarrassed that he was a witness to that whole mess, his pitiful stare was what pushed you to the edge.

Your knees gave out as you all but collapsed to the floor. Carlos crossed the motorhome and bent down to your level, hurrying to take off his jumper so you could use it to wipe the tears that just wouldn’t stop.

What were you even crying for? Your relationship had been over for months by that point. Charles treated you like shit. You treated him like shit. It was a toxic cycle that was finally coming to an end.

But for two years, he was all you knew. He was everything to you. The good, the bad, the disastrous, it was your life.

You didn’t intend on anyone picking up the pieces. This was your mess, you had to move on by yourself.

So when Carlos offered to take you out, get you away from the motorhome, away from Charles, even just go for a drive, you almost said no. He had seen the downfall of yours and Charles’ relationship coming for a while now and you didn’t want to burden him anymore. You should have just stood up and left.

But you didn’t.

You hung out with Carlos that night. Nothing happened, of course. Maybe because part of you was holding onto that sliver of hope that Charles would call and ask where you were, only that call never came. He was done too.

There were no ulterior motives when you decided to keep hanging out with Carlos. It wasn’t to get under Charles’ nerves, it wasn’t so you could still be around the paddock. In all honesty, you avoided the races for a while, not wanting to run into Charles. Your friendship with Carlos grew, but you kept it private. It wasn’t until the second last race of the season, nearly four months after you and Charles called things off, did you decide to show up in support of Carlos.

God did you regret that. If you had known the Drive to Survive production team was still hanging around, you probably would have stayed home. Instead, you gave them the last little bit of drama they needed before calling it a wrap.

Charles spotted you first, which wasn’t ideal. You hadn’t shown up with Carlos, but he was expecting you. Charles, on the other hand, stopped in his tracks and took his sunglasses off, narrowing his eyes at you as you walked in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Charles asked, clear annoyance on his face. To him, you were a headache with legs. He thought he’d never have to see you again.

You weren’t going to let his attitude get to you. If anyone was going to be the bigger person you made sure it was you. You smiled sweetly at him, not even bothering to stop to give him the time of day as you just pointed at the Ferrari motorhome.

“You can’t go in there,” Charles scoffed, pivoting on his heels to follow you. He reached for your arm and you were quick to pull it from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snarled.

“Then don’t show up at the fucking race,” Charles shot back. “Why are you here, Y/N? You have no reason to be here.”

“I’m just here to support my favourite Ferrari driver.”

The confusion on his face was priceless. 100% he was wondering if you were there in hopes of winning him back.

But Carlos’ timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He was walking from the other end of the paddock and picked up his pace the second he saw you and Charles already bickering. He didn’t want you two to cause a scene, but he might have already been too late.

When you spotted Carlos, you genuinely forgot about the Monegasque driver standing right next to you. Your hard features softened. Your scowl shifted into a smile. Your shoulders relaxed.

Before Carlos could even greet you, Charles let out a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking my teammate.”

“Not yet,” you shrugged. “I’ll see how well he does today first.”

It was a joke that Charles took literally. Once Carlos finally reached you, he placed a hand on your back and asked how your drive in was, giving Charles the cold shoulder.

Charles couldn’t believe what was right in front of him. His ex and his teammate. Friends? Possibly more than friends? He scoffed, pulling you both from your private conversation, “This is a fucking joke.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” You challenged him. Carlos picked up on your venomous tone and pulled you closer into his side, ready to intervene if he needed to.

Charles just looked at Carlos and slid his sunglasses back on, “Have fun with her, mate. She’s a wild card.”

“Can we just all be civil?” Carlos asked, looking between you and Charles. Neither of you said anything. That wasn’t something either of you could promise. Carlos eventually sighed, staring right at Charles, “She won’t bother you.”

“You don’t speak for me,” you snapped your head towards him.

Carlos wasn’t about to put up with your attitude right now. You were annoyed, your morning hadn’t started off the way you wanted and you were dangerously close to taking it out on the wrong person. Carlos recognised this and spoke directly to you, “You won’t bother him, right?”

You didn’t want to ruin Carlos’ day. So you nodded, agreeing to stay out of Charles’ way granted he offered you the same courtesy.

Charles stalked off immediately following that conversation. And he was true to his word, he stayed out of your way.

The only problem was, the fucking Netflix crew managed to capture most of that interaction. Even if they didn’t get audio, they didn’t need it. They could fill in the blanks and turn this situation into a goddamn soap opera.

It didn’t help that when Carlos landed a podium, you were right there against the barriers. Neither of you had crossed that line yet and had remained friends for the last few months, but the adrenaline was high. Carlos had one of the best races of his life and you were genuinely so excited to have witnessed it, to have been there to cheer him on, to be one of the first people he saw when he parked the car at the end of the race.

You made the first move, and even then, it wasn’t really a move. You kissed his helmet, barely able to contain the grin on your face as the crowd behind you exploded for him.

You didn’t expect him to pull his helmet off, that’s for damn sure. But he did. He handed it towards a team member for temporary safe keeping and grabbed your face, crashing his lips against yours. There were about twenty other people he could have celebrated with first, you were only a friend up until now, but he wanted to kiss you in front of thousands of people.

Charles never did that.

He’d hug you, maybe, if you weren’t in a bad mood and were actually watching from the garage. He wouldn’t jump into your arms like he did the rest of the team. He wouldn’t make it public that he was elated to see you in the crowd. He’d squeeze your arm or your waist, that was it.

Carlos didn’t think twice about the repercussions. He didn’t think about twitter and instagram blowing up as CARLOS CELEBRATES WITH CHARLES LECLERC’S EX-GF topped all of the trends. He didn’t think about how bad this would look for you or the team, or for the dynamic between him and Charles moving forward.

The upside was there was only one race left. One race, which of course you attended. And then you two were in the clear.

During the winter break, you were in your own little world. Carlos treated you how you knew you deserved to be treated. He didn’t raise his voice at you, or if he did it was only in a playful way or when you had stolen the remote and changed the film when he stood up to use the bathroom during a movie night.

Slowly but surely, you were falling in love with the Spanish driver.

It was a whirlwind romance that came out of nowhere and knocked you off your feet. The two of you were on cloud nine from December to March. Four months where the world beyond his house didn’t matter. The drama didn’t matter. The impending tension as you moved closer and closer to the start of the new season, didn’t matter.

You didn’t even care that Netflix painted you out to be a villain. At this point, the majority of Charles' fans couldn’t stand you and about half of Carlos’ fans didn’t trust you. Paddock Bunny, you were called. Hopping from driver to driver.

But people didn’t know about the toxic relationship you shared with Charles. No one outside of the Paddock knew you two were at your absolute worst when you were together. If they did, they’d probably be over the fucking moon to hear how Carlos was treating you in comparison. They’d probably stop rooting for the Monegasque driver.

What a sight that would be. People burning their 16 caps and CL merch because they found out how awful of a partner he was. It would never happen, but you could dream.

You were tempted to make that dream a reality when you showed up at testing in Bahrain with Carlos. You had so much dirt on Charles, so many stories that would ruin him and the Leclerc name that when he took one look at you in the paddock that first weekend in March, you nearly sent in an anonymous email to Sky Sports.

Carlos talked you out of it, telling you that you couldn’t drag his teammate through the mud.

But Charles was such a fucking asshole. He stayed out of your way, sure, but if your paths did cross he made you feel so inferior, like you weren’t allowed to be in the Paddock. He’d make snarky little comments to other drivers or to members of his team, calling you names you didn’t want to repeat, all because you were with Carlos now. He treated you like you were scum of the earth.

So…it was similar to when you were dating. The only difference now was you couldn’t scream at him or cause a fight when you felt the tension building. You couldn’t even attempt to work through it, even temporarily. Both of you just carried all of this weight and frustration on your shoulders, both angry at the other for the stupidest fucking reasons.

Flash forward to today's race when it finally came to a boiling point.

Charles won. Carlos finished second. It was a Ferrari 1-2 at the second race of the season. This would do wonders for the constructors and for both of them. You hated Charles but you would always be a Ferrari fan. You supported Carlos so in some way, you were sort of forced to support Charles. At an arm's length and through tooth and nail, but you did want to see both drivers succeed.

When both drivers made their way out of the cars, Carlos found you first. He kissed you, of course he did. He was glistening with sweat, his name was being called from all angles but he found you and he kissed you like there wasn’t a single person watching.

He made his way down the line, celebrating with his team and Charles did the same. They exchanged a hug as they met in the middle of the line and it was only a few seconds later when Charles was right in front of you.

He didn’t even look your way. He hugged the person to your left and then grabbed the arms of the person to your right, bypassing you completely.

You weren’t expecting a celebratory hug, you certainly didn’t want one. But the cameras had caught the lack of interaction and now once again your name was trending. CHARLES GIVES EX THE COLD SHOULDER AFTER FERRARI 1-2.

You looked like a fucking idiot. It didn’t help that someone with a camera captured a clip of you staring at Charles like he had just spit on you or insulted your entire family. The disgust and betrayal on your face was evident.

Carlos tried to tell you that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe he just didn’t see you. You were right in the front and you were the same fucking height, of course he saw you.

So you were pissed the entire drive to the hotel. Carlos asked you not to say anything. He practically begged for the two of you to just go back to your room, but the moment you stepped out of the elevator, your mind was made up.

Now here you were, banging on his hotel room door. The underside of your first was starting to turn numb and no matter what, Carlos couldn’t get you to stop. Each time he tried to grab your hand or pull you away, you elbowed him in the side or yanked your arm out of his grasp.

“Open the fucking door!” You yelled, landing one more exceptionally hard hit on it. Carlos winced at the contact. Your hand was going to hurt in the morning, but the fact that you paid the pain no attention right now said a lot. How often did you find yourself in this situation?

But it worked. Charles probably had enough of the disturbance and he swung the door open. You had half a mind to land a hit directly to his nose, but that wouldn’t look good for his image.

He didn’t even look at Carlos. His gaze hardened as he met your stare, “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything!” You jabbed a finger against his chest, pushing him further into his own hotel suite. Carlos tried to grab your arm and pull you back but it just resulted in him being dragged into the room after you. There was no stopping you when you were this outraged. You scanned over Charles, hating his I’m-too-good-for-this-shit, expression he wore. “What I need is for you to get your fucking head out of your ass.”

“What are you talking about?”

The nerve of this man.

“Have you not looked at your phone recently?” You tried not to scream at him, but it was hard to keep your voice at a respectful volume when the person who caused you so much grief and anger was standing a foot away from you. “Everyone saw the way you completely ignored me at the end of your race. I’m a fucking laughing stock on social media right now.”

Charles nodded, his jaw clenched, “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you brought this on yourself by sleeping with your ex’s teammate?”

You turned over your head at Carlos who was now leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets as he watched you two hash it out. This was probably a long time coming. This was also the longest you had gone without fighting, you had a lot of pent up aggression and you were certain he did too.

Carlos knew that there was a time and a place to step in, so he just watched carefully, listening for when one of you crossed a line. He couldn’t place a bet for who would be the first to do so, but he knew it was coming.

You stepped forward, expecting Charles to step backwards to keep the gap, but he was never one to back down from you. That was your problem, one of them at least. You were both too stubborn.

“I don’t know why you think this is just a fucking hook up, Charles, but let me remind you that it’s not. I love him-”

“I love you too,” Carlos added from behind you and your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t humanely possible to grow tired of hearing those words.

But again, time and place.

Charles snickered when you held up a hand towards your boyfriend, a nonverbal reminder that now was probably not the time to interject, even if he did so with the sweetest intentions.

You focused back on Charles. “I love him, so I’ll be sticking around for a while whether you like it or not.” And just to get under his skin, you added, “I know love is a word you’re probably not familiar with-”

Charles dragged his hands over his face. It was his turn to raise his voice as he cut you off mid-sentence before you could finish whatever painful truth he didn’t want to hear, “Why the fuck are you here?”

“I want you to apologise for completely disregarding me earlier.

“What are you on about, Y/N?”

You hated the way he said your name. Like each individual letter was laced with its own personal brand of venom.

“Are you kidding me?” He had to be playing dumb to piss you off even more. “I was at the barrier and you hugged every other person around me and didn’t even have the audacity to look at me. I don’t need a hug, Charles, but maybe get off your fucking high horse and show some fucking appreciation when I show up in support of Ferrari! Put on a fucking act when the cameras are around, at least.”

Charles raked his eyes over your body. Your chest was rising with each angered breath. He knew your heart was racing. He knew what you were like when you were riled up like this.

He also knew that if you weren’t with Carlos, this fight would end very differently.

He knew you would turn around and leave with Carlos when you finally got the last word in but if Carlos wasn’t glued to your side right now, you wouldn’t be leaving until Charles fucked you so hard, you forgot why you were even mad in the first place.

He’d pin you against the wall to get you to stop talking and kiss every inch of the skin visible on your neck before his hand found a home on your throat. His other hand would work to keep your wrist glued to the wall to keep you from grabbing him.

He’d tease you until you were begging for him to actually do something and even then, Charles would take his time with you. Sex with him was never easy. It wasn’t gentle or loving, it was rough and fueled by a variety of emotions, anger being the most prominent.

But that wasn’t how this fight was going to end. Charles could rile you up all he wanted but at the end of the night, you’d go back to your room with Carlos. You could take the rest of your anger out on him in bed and he’d probably run you a fucking bubble bath afterwards and kiss your shoulders. He probably had a whole assortment of ways to make you forget why you were upset, wholesome ways. Ways that didn’t make you want to claw his eyes out.

Charles hated the thought.

He hated knowing that you could stand here and yell at him and get most of your frustration out and at the end of it, you had someone else to turn to. Someone to turn things around for the better. Whereas he had no one. He had to stand here and listen to you scream at him and when you left, he’d be alone.

There would be no hate sex. No make up sex. No waking up the next morning with you in his arms. He wouldn’t be able to bury his face into the back of your neck, making you laugh softly when he muttered something about your hair being too long. He could no longer reach for your arm to pull you back on top of the covers when you tried to stand up to go take a shower.

You two had some horrible days and a lot of insufferable nights.

But the mornings were good.

Before anything else mattered, before either of you could remember why you were fighting twelve hours earlier, before a comment was said that negatively affected your mood for the next few hours.

The mornings were fucking good and god did he miss that.

He wondered if you did too.

But you probably had the best mornings with Carlos. He probably made you breakfast in bed, something that Charles was always too tired to do. Carlos probably pulled you into the bathroom to shower with him whereas Charles always complained about the type of shampoo you used and how you hogged most of the water. Carlos probably invited you out to his events, his meetings, to run errands and Charles wouldn’t even consider letting you tag along, knowing that a fight would break out one way or another.

You brought out the worst in each other.

He should have walked away from you a long time ago.

He had enough experience with red flags to know that you were the worst of them.

Neither of you could explain why you put up with each other for so long. It wasn’t love, it was never love. What you had with Carlos was love.

Charles could admit he was envious.

Why couldn’t you ever look at him the way you looked at his teammate? Why was it so easy for Carlos to make you laugh? Why did he walk in on conversations where Carlos was talking about you like you put the fucking sun in the sky?

What did Carlos have that he didn’t? Besides patience. And a sense of humour. And the ability to admit when he was in the wrong.

The more Charles thought about it, the more it sunk in that he wasn’t good for you.

He remembered when you first started dating and he wanted to be good for you. He wanted to be what you needed. He wanted to fall in love with you and he wanted you to fall in love with him in return.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when something in your relationship shifted for the worse, but it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

This whole thing was fucking stupid. You kissing Carlos after he got second place was stupid, especially when he thought about how you never kissed him when he got a podium. You banging on his door hours after the race to yell at him was stupid. And now, you standing right in front of him while your boyfriend, his teammate, listened with caution in case he had to step in was fucking stupid. You could handle yourself, Charles knew that much.

You were still yelling at him about how he had completely disregarded you after the race. Charles zoned out for a second, something he often did when you raised your voice. All of these fights sounded the same, it didn’t matter what the current problem was. The biggest problem was always your relationship in general. The two of you should not have been allowed within ten feet of each other.

He promptly cut you off, “Y/N you are the absolute last person I want to see when I finish a race.”

“Well suck it up because I’m going to be around for a while,” your jaw tightened as you spoke. The lines in your forehead were making a reappearance. You were always scowling at him, Charles couldn’t remember the last time you looked relaxed.

“That doesn’t mean I need to put up with it.”

“Yes it fucking does,” you retorted. “I’m here for Carlos and here for Ferrari. You just so happen to be part of this fucking team so unfortunately for both of us, we can’t just avoid each other all season, Charles.”

“Well we can fucking try and you can start-” he gestured towards the door, “-by getting the hell out of my hotel room.”

You tugged at the roots of your hair, inhaling a deep breath, “Oh my fucking god-”

“Can you please control her?” Charles turned his line of sight towards Carlos. Carlos looked like he didn’t want to be dragged into the middle of this, but now he had no choice.

“Control me?” You yelled. “Oh you pretentious, arrogant fucking bastard-”

“Come on, Y/N,” Carlos stepped forward, cutting you off before you could start swearing in French. He reached for your hand and you were harsh in pulling it away from him. The last thing you wanted right now was to be touched, though.

“No, mate you’re doing it wrong,” Charles interjected. A wicked smirk on his lips as he stared at you but spoke directly to Carlos. “You can’t grab her like that, she doesn’t like it. She’ll only listen if you go for the throat, choke the words out of her-”

Now Carlos was getting involved. You made a swing towards Charles, aiming for his face but Carlos grabbed you and pulled you back, his arms tightening around your waist and using his strength to his advantage, something he didn’t like doing with you. He practically pushed you towards the door before squaring up with Charles himself, nearly chest to chest.

Carlos was fuming over what Charles had said. He knew your relationship was toxic, but he couldn’t believe that after months, almost a year, of it being over, Charles could still say something so degrading, so disrespectful.

And Charles was smirking. He thought this was entertaining. He knew Carlos wouldn’t hit him. He knew Carlos wouldn’t let you hit him. He also knew that you weren’t going to be able to get the last word in, something you thrived on.

“I’m not wrong,” Charles said quietly, eyes darting towards you for a brief second as you stood with your arms crossed by the door. Charles gestured towards his own neck, “Give it a try sometime. She likes it.”

“How about you just stop talking about her, yeah?” Carlos suggested, with an underlying bitter tone that wasn’t usually present when he opened his mouth. “Don’t talk about her, don’t talk to her, don’t even look at her.”

He made the mistake of looking at you right when he said that and Carlos raised his hand to push on Charles’ chest, forcing his attention away from you.

He didn’t want to fight with teammate, but he was going to stand up for you no matter what. Time and place, he decided, and right now, Charles had to be put in his fucking place.

“She’s not worth it, mate,” Charles chuckled.

“It’s the other way around, mate.” Carlos mimicked. “You’re not worth it. At least Y/N was able to figure that out.”

They both flinched when the door slammed. Carlos turned over his shoulder to see that you were no longer standing there. You stormed out of the room. Charles tried to tell him to just leave you be, you did this all the time, but Carlos wasn’t Charles.

He followed you out and found you furiously pressing the elevator button, tapping your foot impatiently on the carpeted floor. Carlos knew better than to reach for your arm at this point, so he settled for putting his hand on your waist and stepping forward until his chest was against you. You felt the tension in your shoulders dissipate when he slowly snaked his arm around your stomach, pulling you against him.

You dropped your head to his shoulder, eyes closed and you whispered, “I hate him.”

“I know,” Carlos pressed a kiss to your temple.

What a fucking difference. Usually you were screaming ‘I hate you’ and you’d hear those three words repeated back. Sometimes in French. Sometimes in Italian. Once, Charles took you by surprise and screamed it in Spanish. Whatever the context, whatever the language, whatever the fight, you’d always hear it back.

You raised your hand to press your palm against his cheek. Carlos hugged you tighter against him and you stayed like that until the elevator doors finally opened on the twelfth level.

You pressed the button to take you to the lobby and Carlos raised an eyebrow, knowing the room you shared was on the tenth floor.

“I need air,” you answered his wordless question. “Just for a minute. I need to take a walk.”

“I don’t want you walking around by yourself this late,” Carlos was worried for your safety and that was such a foreign concept to you. When you told Charles you need to go for a walk he would say ‘I don’t care’ or ‘don’t come back’. He wasn’t concerned about what could happen to you when you stepped outside.

You extended your hand out to grab his, giving him an assuring squeeze, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Carlos walked you to the doors of the lobby, not letting your hand go until he had to. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and slid the extra room key into your jacket pocket. He then took hold of your face, tilting it upwards so he could look you directly in the eyes.

“I love you, mi cielo,” he kissed your lips feverishly. “Call me if you need me to pick you up.”

Mi cielo. My sky. My heaven. Carlos started calling you that soon after you started dating. When you asked what it meant, he said that he was calling you his own personal slice of heaven right here on earth.

That’s when you knew you loved him.

You assured him once more you’d be fine before stepping outside, letting the midnight air hit your cheeks. Your jacket was thin, but you didn’t plan on staying out for very long. With your hands shoved in your pockets, you made your way down the sidewalk, replaying the last few minutes in your head.

You really did hate Charles.

Everything about him infuriated you beyond reason.

You couldn’t stand his arrogant attitude. How he couldn’t own up to his own mistakes, in his personal life, in your relationship, on the track. Charles just couldn't be wrong. All of his problems were always someone else's fault.

You remembered the first horrible fight you got into. You had bickered here and there, all couples did, but when he returned home after a race weekend and you showed him the text you got from Pierre, one that read ‘did you and Charles break up?’ you lost it on him.

He cheated on you. Why the fuck else would Pierre be asking you that? There were no photos, no proof, and Pierre refused to go into detail, but you knew. You could practically smell the infidelity on him as he walked through the door.

When gaslighting you into thinking you were crazy didn’t work, Charles tried to blame you for his actions. He tried to say that you didn’t pay him enough attention, that you should be joining him during race weekends so he didn’t feel tempted to seek affection somewhere else. It was your fault he cheated.

And you loved him, well you thought you did, so you started accompanying him more often.

God did that just make things worse.

Everything was a constant downhill in your relationship. There was no silver lining. There were good moments, but they were always overshadowed by the impending dark clouds. It was never easy for you two.

And you weren’t perfect either, you could admit you had flaws and contributed to your relationship falling apart. You didn’t trust Charles, as much as you wanted to, you never did. There was no solid foundation for you two to ever stand on so you shouldn’t have been surprised when the cracks started forming.

You became annoyed with every little thing he did, or said, or even the way he looked at you. Qualities of his you used to admire soon because the reasons why you struggled to be in the same room as him.

The two of you were constantly at each other's throats. It was unhealthy and everyone around you saw it.

His team was probably ecstatic when they heard you broke up. They didn’t have to worry about a blow up in the garage or Charles being in a bad mood during meetings.

No one could have expected you’d show up again with Carlos.

The team walked on eggshells, watching to see if you and Charles would return to your ways, bickering, arguing, yelling.

But that didn’t happen during testing. Nor did it happen during the first race weekend, or the second. There were only petty comments made behind the others back, but nothing that caused the two of you to get into each other's faces again.

You thought maybe you could work with this. Just having to see Charles. As long as you didn’t talk directly to him, everything would be fine. That’s what the whole team was hoping for, at least.

And then this bullshit after the race happened and you couldn’t bite your tongue anymore. You needed Charles to understand where you were coming from, why he couldn’t just brush you off in front of the public eye like that.

There was so much more you wanted to say to him too, you wondered why you even stormed out.

Going for a walk and getting air wasn’t helping. If anything, the anger stirred inside of you and the more time you spent not letting it out, the more worked up you became.

Maybe that’s why you found yourself hitting button 12 instead of 10 when you returned to the hotel. You needed to get one or two more things off your chest and then you’d be fine, then you could go back to Carlos.

You knocked on the door, politely this time. Not like it mattered because he probably looked through the peephole to see who was standing in the hall.

The door swung open. Charles rolled his eyes after checking to see if Carlos had followed you up. When he realised that you were alone, he pushed the door open some more, just enough for you to step in.

“I take it you’re not done?” Charles’ assumption was correct, but it was a little surprising that he invited you in without you needing to cause a scene. Maybe he had more he wanted to say to you as well.

He grabbed the remote off the edge of the counter and paused the movie that was playing. You recognised it instantly. He was watching The Princess Bride. One of your favourite movies.

There’s no fucking way he was just scrolling through the tv guide and came across it. He had to purposely search and pay for it.

You raised your eyebrows and pointed at the television, completely ignoring his question, “Princess Bride?”

He shrugged, “It was just on.”

Bull-fucking-shit.

“I thought you hated this movie,” you recalled the number of times you tried to get him to watch it with you and he never would.

Charles shrugged again, “Well you seem to like it.”

“So you’re just now giving it a chance eight months after we’ve broken up?”

“Would you rather I not watch it?”

“I would have rathered you watched it with me when I fucking asked you too!” It only took ten seconds for you to raise your voice at him. “Jesus, Charles, when I told you it was my favourite movie you went out of your fucking way to never let me watch it.”

“You’re being dramatic. I never did that.”

“Don’t gaslight me.”

“Stop using that fucking word,” He had heard it so many times during your fights.

“Stop giving me a reason to.”

And just like that, you had fallen back into your previous cycle. Pointless, stupid, meaningless fights. Over a movie for fucks sakes. But you were both so easy to piss off. No one worked you two up quite like the other.

“Why are you here?” Charles asked, shifting the conversation back to you. “Shouldn’t you be with Carlos?”

You caught the lingering jealousy in his tone. The way he waved his hand to the side, acting as though you dating his teammate didn’t bother him, when in reality it did.

But Charles also caught the way your breath caught in your throat. He noticed how you shifted your balance from one leg to the other, something you only did when you were nervous. You may not have been a good pair, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know you.

“Carlos has no idea that you’re here right now, does he?” Charles didn’t even have to ask. He knew the answer.

Maybe that’s why he stepped forward slowly, eyes raking over your body like they had done so many times before. Maybe because he knew Carlos didn’t know your whereabouts, Charles felt confident enough to step around you and tug at the sleeves of your jacket until it was no longer on your body. You didn’t know why you let him. You came here to yell at him some more and in a split second, in the blink of a fucking eye, the atmosphere shifted.

Charles reached for your wrist and you reacted like you did every other time someone touched you, by flinching away and putting some space between your bodies.

But that wasn’t going to work with Charles.

He paid no attention to your reserved tendencies and just grabbed your other arm instead, gripping your wrist and turning you to face him before you could react fast enough. You attempted to pull away, you even pushed on his chest, but Charles was unphased. He just waited a few seconds, letting you think you’d win this and then he grabbed your other wrist and spun you around so your back was pressed against his chest, your arms crossed over your body like an X.

Charles dipped chin so his mouth was right by your ear. His breath was hot against your skin. There was no doubt in your mind that he could feel your heart racing through the clothes on your back.

“Mon amour,” Charles spoke so softly, but you didn’t let his gentle tone fool you. Neither did you let his name for you affect you the way it used to. “Let’s stop fighting, oui?”

“Don’t call me that,” you pulled against his hold but his grip was too tight.

Charles chuckled and you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach, “What would you rather I call you? Mi cielo?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you snapped.

“Yeah, I can’t believe he calls you that,” his lips travelled dangerously close along your skin. You could feel goosebumps rise over every inch of your skin. “You were always picky about pet names, but Carlos doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Don’t-”

You lost the last of your argument when Charles suddenly let you go, only to pin you against the nearby wall instead. His hand went to your throat, keeping you in place without applying any pressure. Before you could push him off of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and placed them above your head.

This was a position the two of you had found yourselves in more often than not.

But you were broken up now. You were with Carlos. You loved Carlos. Charles had absolutely no fucking right to be trying to pull a move like this.

And you had no right to be enjoying it.

“Answer me,” Charles’ eyes darkened. “Does Carlos know what you like? Does he know how to turn you on, mon amour?” He leaned in, his lips hovering right over yours, “Does he know you still think about me?”

“Let go of me,” your voice was barely audible, like you had to convince yourself to say the words and even then, you weren’t even sure if what you were demanding was what you really wanted.

Charles noticed how you avoided each of his questions, which in itself was a good enough answer to all of them.

When he released the hold on your neck, you expected his other hand to follow. You weren’t surprised, however, when his grip on your wrists only tightened. His fingers trailed down your side, stopping to push up the hem of your shirt. You shivered under his touch and it gave Charles a bit of an ego boost, the confidence he needed to go further.

You wanted him. Even if you said you didn’t, the way you reacted to the faintest touch told him otherwise.

He needed to hear it though. He’d tease you until the sun came up, he’d done it before. What Charles wanted was to hear you beg. He wanted you to tell him how desperate you were for him, how these last eight months without him had been unbearable.

He had no idea what your sex life with Carlos was like. He didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter. Charles knew he would always be the best fuck of your life. No one would ever take that title from him.

He undid the button of your jeans, all while keeping his eyes locked on yours. Waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d put up more of a fight or not.

You were the one that showed up here, alone, after an argument.

You may have been broken up, but if there was one thing Charles knew, it was recognising a fucking pattern.

He then dragged your zipper down next. He traced his fingers along the seam of your underwear and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at them to see what colour they were.

Of course they were red.

“For Carlos,” you told him, reminding him that you had a boyfriend. You wore a matching lingerie set for your boyfriend. “He likes me in red.”

“Of course he does,” Charles tossed that thought aside, “It’s a shame he won’t be able to enjoy them.”

He slipped the tips of his fingers past the seam. It was embarrassing how your back arched off the wall. Charles made sure your legs were spread by keeping a knee pressed between them and he looked pleased with himself as his hand travelled further down your panties.

His hand rested just above your clit, he didn’t need to go any further to know you were soaking. Charles knew exactly what to do and say to turn you on, to leave you craving him. His nose brushed against yours and if you tilted your chin up the slightest bit, your lips would connect.

But Charles dipped his head to attach his lips to your neck instead, the spot where your throat met your jawline. You craned your head upwards, automatically giving him easier access as his teeth grazed your skin.

Charles knew your body better than you did. He knew that the second he took your earlobe between his teeth, your breaths would become staggered. He knew that the tighter he held onto your wrist, the more you gave in, you always gave in. He knew that the moment his fingers brushed over your clit, a helpless whimper would pass through your lips.

Charles knew the pattern by heart. He knew you.

So when he did all of that and Carlos’ name didn’t cross your mind, you knew you were screwed. You should have been trying harder to push Charles off of you. You shouldn’t have even showed up here in the first place.

He started massaging your clit, slowly yet confident in his actions and you were absolutely throbbing. Charles didn’t like gentle so the fact he was taking his time right now, purposely trying to work you up even more, only pissed you off further.

Charles dropped his mouth, moving to suck on another sensitive part of your neck. He debated leaving a mark, something you’d struggle to hide when you eventually, inevitably, returned to Carlos.

“Charles,” you swallowed, legs shaking as he focused all his energy on your clit. Rubbing the nub beneath the pads of his fingers.

“Oui, mon amour?” His voice was sickeningly sweet, it was an act. Nothing about this, about him, was sweet. He lifted his head, nose brushing against yours as he dropped his forehead to yours. “Tell me what you want.”

It took a second, but you managed to form a single coherent thought, forcing the name out through clenched teeth, knowing just how much it would get under Charles’ skin.

“Carlos.”

Charles had the audacity to laugh. His lips hovered over yours, barely touching, but close enough that you found yourself trying to lean forward to connect them.

“Wrong answer.”

Without warning, Charles’s hand dipped further and he plunged two fingers inside of you. He watched with a smug look on his face as your jaw fell open and a helpless inhale was all that came from you. You attempted to clench your legs together but Charles made sure that his knee kept them apart as he slowly started to slide his digits in and out.

“You always take me so well, don’t you?” His praise sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core. He kissed your jaw softly, “So tight, Y/N. Does Carlos not know how to fuck you?”

He wasn’t looking for an answer. And it wasn’t like you were in the state of mind to give him one. Charles curled his fingers inside of you and your hips bucked against his hand, desperate to get as much out of this as you possibly could.

He was relentless with his fingers and stubborn in the way he held your wrists above your head when all you wanted to do was touch him. Each time his fingers entered you it was driven by fury and lust, a dangerous combination that you knew so well.

He was purposely keeping his lips off of you now, wanting to watch you crumble from just his fingers alone. He’d tease you with his breath hitting your lips, or grazing his mouth along your jaw, but he wouldn’t give you what you desperately wanted.

This was a game to him. Bring you to the edge until you had no choice but to beg.

He added a third finger without so much of a thought, loving the way your walls clenched around him. Charles wished he didn’t have to use his fingers to fuck you, but he could be patient. He could play the long game tonight.

And then he stopped, his fingers deep inside you but refused to move them. You swallowed and attempted to rock your hips against his hand, but Charles wouldn’t budge.

“You’re too quiet,” he said, head slightly tilted. It was true, though. There were no helpless moans or whimpers coming from the back of your throat. No pleas to go faster, harder. You were biting your tongue and holding back.

It was because you didn’t want him to know how desperate you were. It was the last bit of pride you were holding onto, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“Maybe you just don’t turn me on the way you used to.”

He laughed cruelly as he started his assault on your pussy again, curling his fingers and getting just the right angle, knowing what you said was bullshit. Charles smirked, “We both know that's a lie.”

“Fuck me,” Your head fell back against the wall, your legs were shaking. Charles was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Ask nicely and maybe I will.”

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

“That’s fine, mon amour,” Charles dragged his thumb over your clit and that familiar sensation started to build in your centre. “I will happily watch you cum all over my fingers again, and again, and again, until you forget your own name.”

He rammed his fingers in you again, picking up his pace.

“Or better yet,” Charles left a delicate kiss right below your ear, applying more pressure to your clit, “Until you forget his name.”

That should not have been what did it for you, Charles dragging your relationship through the dirt, but the second those words left his mouth you were gone.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast. What was worse was the strangled moan you failed to keep back that was music to Charles’ ears. You pulsed around him and he continued to fuck you with his fingers through it all, not letting up until you were shaking and even then he just brought them to a halt and left them inside you.

Charles released the grip he had on you and your wrists were sore and tender. You didn’t have to look at them to know how red they were, and in all honesty, the pain you’d feel tomorrow was the last thing on your mind.

You were breathless, staring up at Charles and trembling each time one of his fingers brushed against your sensitive walls. He leaned forward, once again hovering his lips over yours, both of you wondering who would make the move to close the gap once and for all.

Him fingering you was one thing. It was pure sexual tension built up over the course of god knows how long. But by kissing him, this moment would become so much more intimate. Less lust, more desire. A kiss was supposed to be shared with the person you loved, it was supposed to make you feel safe and adored.

And you didn’t love Charles.

But you kissed him anyway.

With his hand still down your pants, you took that daring step to press your lips against his. It was rough and frantic and your tongues were clashing as you held onto the side of his face, relishing in the feeling of his stubble beneath your fingers.

Charles didn’t let you enjoy this for very long. He pulled back, keeping your jaw between his forefinger and thumb as he forced your mouth open. His thumb traced along your lower lip and as he slowly slid his fingers out of you, past your aching folds, you recognised the deviant look in his eyes.

Charles brought his fingers, soaked with your juices, up to your lips. The sight of you licking yourself off of him turned him on more than anything else ever could. This was a mess he created and you were cleaning it up, without so much as a verbal instruction.

He forced his fingers into your mouth, suppressing a moan when your tongue swirled around his digits. He could see the tears well up in yours as he pushed them as far back as his knuckles would allow, getting off on the control he held over you.

That’s all it ever was. Charles needed to be in control. You wouldn’t have had a problem with that if that desire of his didn’t extend past the bedroom, but it always did.

Charles pulled his fingers out of your mouth when he noticed you struggling to breathe around them.

It was safe to say that neither of you what to do next. This wasn’t like all of the other times you fought and made up with sexual acts. You weren’t supposed to be his to fight with anymore. You shouldn’t have caved as quickly as you did.

He wasn’t holding you anymore. Nothing was keeping you from pushing him away and heading towards the door. You could storm out of here and pretend like none of this happened, like your boyfriend's teammate wasn’t just knuckles deep inside of you.

But you didn’t leave.

You stood with your back against the wall, eyes locked on Charles as the same thoughts ran through his mind. He didn’t want you to leave. The longer he kept you here, the more time you spent away from Carlos. Fuck Carlos, he thought. Fuck his teammate for stealing you from him.

Charles still wanted to hear you beg.

All it took was a microscope raise of his eyebrows and you knew you weren’t going anywhere. Charles feverishly reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it off your body, swearing under his breath when he saw the red lace bra you had on. That you wore for Carlos.

It had to go.

Before he could rip the material off of you, you grabbed his shirt and peeled it off his body. If you were shirtless, it was only fair that he was too.

And then it was a race to see who could get the others clothes off fastest. Charles’ lips attacked your neck as he pushed your jeans down as much as he could, relying on you to step out of them and kick them to the side. You unzipped his joggers and he stepped out of them, hearing him groan when you palmed his painfully hard dick through his briefs.

He cupped your panties, feeling how soaked you were through them. He had half a mind to fuck you against the wall, but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted that easily.

Charles had to fight with himself to step away from you and when he did you were confused. You stood with your back against the wall as you watched him walk backwards towards the bed, the outline of his cock constricted against the thin material.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread as they hung off the end of it. His palms rested against the blanket as he leaned backwards and nodded his head, gesturing you to follow.

And you did. Of course you did. Charles was intoxicating as much as he was toxic. You couldn’t get enough and for that reason alone, he would be the death of you.

You stood between his legs, arms draped over his shoulders as Charles took in the sight of your body, your curves that he had had memorised, the red lace that was giving him a headache.

He reached around you and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the side. Your fingers became tangled in his hair as he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers, pinching it until you moaned in pleasure, or pain, or both.

Charles kept his hand on you, continuing to fondle and show attention to one of his favourite parts of you as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the spot right between your breasts.

He was being uncharacteristically slow. Something that never lasted, but you didn’t let yourself think about it as Charles took your other nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it like he had done so many times before. When he grazed his teeth over you, your knees momentarily buckled. You could feel the wetness pool between your legs again and you needed him to do something about it.

You dropped your knee to the edge of the bed, ready to straddle him, but Charles had other plans in mind. He stared up at you, devilishly handsome, dark hair pulled in all sorts of directions, an unruly sight that was making you want to drop to your knees.

And you probably would have, had he not spun you around and pulled you to sit on his lap. Charles could feel how wet you were as you soaked through your underwear and onto his bare thigh. He used one hand to force your legs apart as the other found your neck, not yet applying any sort of restraint but it was only a matter of time.

You were so focused on what Charles had in store for you that when he gave you a second to compose yourself, you found that you were staring directly at your own reflection. There was a mirror across from the bed. Charles wanted a show.

The sight of you settled on his thigh, his hand around your throat as the light caught the bulging muscles in his arm almost made you cum again. He was watching you, eyes glued to yours in the reflection.

“You’re going to ride me, chérie, understand?” Charles raised his lips to your ear, dragging his teeth over the lobe and you shivered in response. You could see his sly smile in the mirror, “You’re going to watch yourself as you get off just from my thigh.”

All you could do was nod. You weren’t in any position to argue, nor did you want to.

So slowly, you started rocking your hips back and forth atop his leg, clenching where you could to feel any bit of friction. You found a steady pace, one that seemed to suffice as Charles watched silently, jaw locked and eyes never leaving yours.

You wished you didn’t have your underwear on still, but that was half of the tease. Charles knew how desperate you were to feel his hard thigh against your folds, bringing you to the edge, but he also knew that you wouldn’t last if that was the case. He needed you to work for it.

He grabbed your chin and roughly turned your face towards him, temporarily pulling your eyes off of the mirror.

And then he was kissing you. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue diving inside of your mouth like he owned it. His suppressed groan only encouraged you to rock your hips faster, which you did. The ache between your legs was borderline painful as you became overstimulated, desperate to find that second high so soon after your first.

Charles wasn’t going to help you at all. The most he did was trail his hand up your body, squeezing your breasts and tweaking your sensitive nipples until you cried out against his lips. Your body had been tense since you first stepped into his hotel room and now you were feeling all of your energy being sapped. And he hadn’t even fucked you.

“Please,” your helpless whisper against his lips earned you a wicked smirk in response.

“Please what?”

His dick was rock hard against you and you wanted it inside of you. It wasn’t fair that he was making you wait for it when you knew he was just as desperate to fuck you.

You hadn’t even noticed you stopped moving until Charles landed a light slap to your cheek, “I didn’t say you could stop.”

You fell into that rocking motion again. His grip on your breast was tight and it took all of you not to bury your face into his neck, knowing that you either had two choices. Look at him or look in the mirror.

You opted for the mirror, looking at how dishevelled you were. Faded mascara under your eyes. Red marks on your neck from where Charles held his grip. The girl in the mirror was desperate for a release, swaying back and forth on Charles’ thick thigh.

It was the worst possible time for Charles’ phone to start ringing.

“Leave it,” your voice almost caught in your throat, but you were in no position to be making any demands. Charles kept one hand on you as he reached backwards, grabbing the phone he had left on his pillow before you showed up.

The glint in his eye was unmistakable. His smirk, mischievous. Usually Charles didn’t have a problem letting his calls go to voicemail, but he wasn’t about to do that and you knew why when you caught a glimpse of the screen, seeing your boyfriend's name on the caller ID.

Your heart sank to your stomach, but Charles sliding his hand towards your core was a good distraction.

“Don’t,” now you were begging, but for all the wrong reasons. “Don’t answer it, please.”

“It could be important,” Charles’ tongue slid across his teeth. “I suggest you stay quiet, mon amour.”

And then he answered it, bringing the phone up to his ear, “Carlos, what’s up?”

You probably could have stayed quiet had Charles not dropped his hands past the seam of the red lace once more. He wasted no time in rubbing his fingers over your clit and you inhaled a sharp breath, watching him with worried eyes through the reflection.

“I don’t even know why I’m asking,” you could hear Carlos through the receiver. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your staggered breathing, “but you don’t know where Y/N is, do you?”

Charles looked so calm and collected as he answered. You wanted to slap the smug expression off of him, “No, why would I know?”

It shouldn’t have surprised you how believable he sounded. Charles knew how to lie, he did it frequently throughout your relationship. This was the first time you were part of his lie.

And then he slipped his finger inside of you again, something that he wasn’t originally going to do, but with Carlos calling, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He wanted you to squirm, to make a sound, to do anything that Carlos would hear and leave him questioning when he hung up the phone.

You brought your hand to your mouth to silence yourself and Charles’ devious smile only grew.

“She went out for a walk a while ago and she isn’t answering her phone now. I just want to make sure she's okay.”

You had completely abandoned your phone in your jacket pocket. It was sitting right by the door to the hotel room, forgotten about.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Charles plunged a second finger inside of you and started to scissor them. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you could taste blood. Charles wasn’t going easy on you, he wanted you to be struggling right now.

You had stopped rocking, trying to gain a little bit of control as Charles kept you angled against his chest to keep his fingers in you. He wanted to feel you dripping all over his thigh. He wanted his fingers to glisten when he pulled them out.

“She could be lost-”

“Mate,” Charles cut him off harshly, simultaneously picking up the pace with his fingers. He so badly wanted to tell his teammate that you were safe, in good hands, falling apart on top of him. “Maybe it’s for the best. You’re better off without her.”

Leave it Charles to degrade you to your boyfriend while he rammed his fingers inside of you so hard you could feel it in your stomach.

Carlos, bless his soul, you didn’t deserve him, scoffed into the phone, “Just let me know if you see her, okay?”

He pressed his thumb to your clit, meeting your stare in the mirror and taking a second before answering, just to bring you a little bit closer to the edge. Your legs were shaking, you could feel yourself climbing closer and closer to your release. Charles’ fingers in you, the attention he was giving your clit, the way he stared at you like he was challenging you to say something while he was on the phone, all of it was overwhelming in the best, and worst, ways.

There was no singular thought in your mind except his fingers, and how good they felt, and how badly you wanted to cum. You clenched your walls around him and Charles momentarily forgot that Carlos was waiting for a response. The quietest groan passed his lips and he tried to cover it by clearing his throat.

“Yeah, will do,” Charles couldn’t hang up faster. He threw his phone to the side and focused all of his attention on your pussy. Dragging his fingers through your folds, rolling his thumb over your clit.

With his other hand finally free, he raised it to your neck once more. You barely had time to take a breath before you could feel the sides of your windpipe becoming constricted under the pads of his fingers. The lack of oxygen gave you a headrush. Charles was taking complete control as you continued to sit on his lap and fuck his fingers for the second time, all while watching in the mirror.

“You’re the worst,” you spoke through clenched teeth, dragging your hand up to tangle your fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

Charles was unaffected by the words he had heard so many times before, “I told you to be quiet.”

A gasp left your mouth when he tightened his grip on your neck. You still attempted to find your voice “You- fuck, you didn’t want me to be quiet,”

He chuckled, “You’re right.”

His abuse on your clit became heavier as he pulled his fingers out of you agonisingly slowly. He nudged his leg against you, instructing you to get back to riding his thigh, you weren’t supposed to have stopped.

“I can’t help it that I love the sounds you make for me,” he was practically growling. “I wanted Carlos to hear, he’s probably never heard them before.”

You stayed quiet, feeling all logic leave you as it became increasingly harder to catch your breath or keep your eyes on him.

Charles loosened his grip for a split second, just to give you a break, “Answer me when I talk to you. Carlos doesn’t know how to make you feel this good, does he?”

You shook your head, stammering out a quiet, “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” his hand tightened around your throat, constricting your airways once more.

The only sound that filled the room was your occasional whimpers between breathless moans of pleasure. Charles continued to praise you quietly in your ear, telling you how perfect you looked getting off from riding his thigh. It was the praise combined with his suffocating grip that brought you to edge but it was the way he feverishly rolled his thumb over your clit that pushed you over.

You came undone on his lap, your panties absolutely soaked as your pussy convulsed while waves of pleasure coursed through you. Charles let go of your throat and you leaned your head back against his shoulder, pulling on his hair as you rode out the rest of your high.

Charles waited a few seconds before taking your chin in his hand and turning you to face him. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, it was one of those rare gentle moments you two shared between rounds.

“You think you have one more in you?” He asked, barely moving his mouth from yours. You couldn’t speak, but you could nod and you felt his lips curve into a smile, “Good girl.”

He flipped you around and got you situated at the top of the bed, your head falling back onto the pillows. Charles finally discarded the last bit of red lace you wore, they were absolutely ruined at this point, and he pulled his briefs off as well.

If you had the energy in you, you would have reached for him, attempted to give him a half-assed hand job or possibly taken him in your mouth, but all you could do was lay there and watch as he fisted his hand around his already hard cock.

Charles pushed your legs apart until you were on full display for him. You were staining the hotel sheets with how wet you were, not like either of you cared.

None of this mattered, it was all fucking stupid. The way the two of you ended up crawling back to each other after eight months of moving on was stupid. The way you found yourself desperate for him to fuck you after fingering you twice was stupid. The way Charles wanted to stare at you just a little bit longer because he knew this opportunity would never come again was stupid. All of it.

Charles shifted towards you, dropping his body on top of yours but using his arm to keep himself propped up. You could feel the tip of his dick run through your folds, teasing you, because that’s all he seemed to know how to do.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Charles whispered, staring down at you with a look that was filled with lust and loss, a combination you hadn’t seen before with him.

“You shouldn’t have let me in,” you retorted, not about to take the sole blame for the situation you found yourselves in.

“I’ll always let you in.”

There it was. The sprinkle of good hidden beneath the cascading tsunami of bad.

“Don’t say that,” you shook your head, swallowing when he inched his cock into you slowly, taking his goddamn time because he knew how much you hated it.

“I mean it.” Charles’ voice was hoarse as you watched his features tighten. He pressed his forehead against yours, sliding out again right before you could feel all of him. “We could have been good together, Y/N, we could have worked through our problems. Instead you ran directly to Carlos.”

You didn’t entertain that idea for a second. The two of you would have never been on the right terms. Years of couples counselling couldn’t fix what went wrong. You were each other's worst nightmare, your own individual walking red flags that should have been avoided at all costs.

But that was Charles’ favourite colour and you looked the best in it.

“Carlos loves me,” you said, which was most definitely the wrong thing to say as Charles dragged the tip of himself over your centre again.

He laughed, of course he laughed. Carlos loved you and yet here you were, about to let your ex-boyfriend, Carlos’ teammate, fuck you because you couldn’t work out your issues in a healthy way.

“And where is he now, hmm?” Charles asked, eyes darting all over your face. “More importantly, why aren’t you with him, chérie?”

You didn’t have an answer. Which was better for Charles anyway. He didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind about what was to come next.

With no warning, and a quick snap of his hips, he rammed his dick inside of you. Despite how many times he had fucked you before, you never seemed to get used to his size. Charles stretched you out, making you gasp in relief of the feeling of finally being full. You loved his fingers, but they just didn’t compare.

“Carlos can’t fuck you like I can, that’s why,” Charles answered his own question as your nails grazed his back before clenching onto his bicep. He kept at this steady pace for less than a minute, watching as your face twisted in pleasure, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Your back arched off the mattress when he pulled out suddenly. He would always fucking do this.

“Charles,” you groaned, mostly due to annoyance but your tone carried a delicate plea. That’s what he wanted after all, for you to beg for him. You swallowed your pride, you had no choice, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

You were throbbing for him and his dick teasing your entrance did nothing to help.

“For the love of God, Charles, just fuck me already.”

That was as close to a beg as he was going to get.

Charles slammed back into you, so hard and fast that a scream left your throat. God you hoped these walls were soundproof. He didn’t give you a chance to adjust as he began to thrust in and out.

Your body couldn’t take it after already coming twice. Your legs shook beneath him as you clawed his back, digging your nails so deep into his skin you wouldn’t be surprised if you drew blood.

Charles knew your body, he knew what angles to go from to hit all the right spots. Searing pleasure mixed with the pain from overstimulation had you helpless, but this was what you wanted.

You looked up at him, recognising the familiar animalistic stare in his eyes. Charles reached above you to grip onto the headboard, his pace never faltering. You don’t know what came over you as you brought your hand to his cheek, but you watched as his gaze softened for that brief second.

Charles liked it rough, but you still craved that bit of tenderness to balance it out. Even as you took your anger out on each other, you wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted to swallow his breaths and pretend that for a minute, everything was fine.

You pulled his face towards yours and kissed him before you could think twice about it. His tongue fought yours and you felt his thrusts becoming unsteady. A sound emerged from the back of his throat as you kissed him like there was no tomorrow and you swore you could have came for a third time right then.

Charles dropped his face to your neck when he felt himself starting to experience something other than lust and jealousy. He didn’t want to be craving you again, he didn’t want to fall back into this cycle.

“I fucking hate what you do to me, you know that right?”

“I know,” you dragged your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, body quivering when he kissed the spot below your ear. “And you know I hate you, right?”

“Oh I know,” He accentuated his words with a particularly hard thrust that had you reeling and it was only a few seconds later when you were seeing stars for the third time that night.

Your orgasm was earth-shattering. Almost like the entire world around you paused while waves of euphoria crashed through your entire body. Charles continued to fuck you through your high as you screamed his name, holding his body tight against yours.

Your pussy clenched around him as you shook with pleasure. Everything about you felt numb as Charles continued his violent thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall. He didn’t plan on slowing down, desperate to fuck the literal living daylight out of you for one last time, before you had to return to Carlos.

His dick twitched inside of you, followed by a string of French and English expletives under his breath against your skin. And then he was cumming too, releasing everything he had inside of you.

His body shook before he collapsed on top of your already exhausted body. Your heavy breaths were synchronised as you loosened your grip on his hair, switching to gently twisting your fingers through the dark strands instead.

Charles hummed into the crook of your neck and you braced yourself as he pulled out, wincing at how empty, and sore, you suddenly felt. You half expected Charles to stand up and go to the bathroom to give you the opportunity to leave without saying anything. You wouldn’t have even been surprised if he was blunt and told you to go back to Carlos.

But he rested his head on the pillow next to yours after pulling the covers over your bodies. He then turned your face gently so he could admire you and your post orgasmic glow. All lust behind his eyes had faded, replaced by something else now. Something you were never able to put a name to, something you once convinced yourself was love.

It was longing. A yearning desire for what used to be, what could have been. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

You knew the right move would be to get up and leave. You fucked your anger out. Carlos was worried sick about you. You needed to leave.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Not as you watched Charles’ eyelashes flutter softly until they closed, his hand still resting on the side of your face. You turned slightly to kiss the inside of his palm, and climbing out of bed did cross your mind.

You probably would have, had Charles, in his half-asleep state, not muttered, “Stay.”

It wasn’t long until you fell asleep as well, the two of you facing each other throughout the duration of the night. At one point, his hand found your waist and that’s where it stayed. Charles lovingly touched you more in his sleep than he ever did while awake.

You could have stayed in that bed for hours with him, but you had a rude awakening when you heard your phone ringing from the bedside table. Charles groaned, having woken up too, but he just waved the call off, letting you deal with it.

Your eyes were still shut when your hand fumbled around the surface next to you until you found what you were looking for. You barely registered what you were doing or what time it was as you slid your finger across the screen to answer the call.

You cleared your throat, “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

Carlos saying your name in response jolted you awake. Your eyes widened when his accent flowed through the phone, the concern evident in the way he said your name.

“Carlos,” you sucked in a breath. “I-, I’m sorry, I was out-” you didn’t even know what time it was. You were struggling to come up with an excuse as to why you didn’t go back to the hotel room, something that he would believe, but nothing came to mind. “I didn’t- I mean-”

None of what you were saying made any sense, but as it would turn out, you didn’t need an excuse. There was a more pressing issue at hand.

His heavy breath had your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach and you couldn't have prepared yourself for the next words to come out of his mouth.

“Why are you answering Charles’ phone?”

this is so long im so sorry, if you made it this far..see u in hell

masterlist here

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut #f1 one shot #formula 1 x you #holllandtrash #nsfr #im so sorry #f1 requests #f1 #cl16 #cl16 x reader

1K notes · View notes

angelrari · 8 months

Text

emotional bruises · pt. vii

lando norris / carlos sainz x singer!reader faceclaim: emilia mernes

a/n; hi! i hope you enjoy this part! tysm for the comments and the support <3

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yourusername

liked by francisca.cgomes, carlossainz55 and 1,378,968 others

yourusername to my team and everybody who has been involved on this tour, thank you. this wouldn't have been possible without you. i'm so thankful to have you guys by my side. these past months have been a roller coaster and i don't think i'd ever make it if it wasn't for every single one of you. words cannot describe the love i feel for you guys. this weekend is the last stop of the tour and i'm so happy to be back home with you guys. we will crush it once again! 🔥

view all 9,253 comments

dancer1 so proud of you!! you're an inspiration to all of us

yourusername ilysm <3

dancer2 let's go y/n!!!! 🔥

username CARLOS LIKED

username they're 100% dating there's no other explanation

username ngl i kinda feel sorry for lando

yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 2,134,327 others

yourusername wouldn't text you this late 'less there's somethin' wrong

view all 13,805 comments

username ARIANA (LANDO) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

username SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

username WHAT IF I'M NOT A CHILD OF DIVORCE ANYMORE

lilymhe text me anytime omg

username ARE THIS SONG LYRICS?

yourusername can't confirm nor deny

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 892,311 others

carlossainz55 Ready for Austin 🙌🌶️

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username @/yourusername TELL YOUR GOOD FRIEND TO GET SOME CLOTHES

yourusername get some clothes, carlos!! liked by carlossainz55

carlossainz55 send me your new song and we'll talk liked by yourusername

yourusername no!! you'll have to wait like everyone else 🫣 liked by carlossainz55

username are they- you know-

username what's in the austin air cause damn

username maybe it's the y/n touch

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, jennierubyjane and 2,457,627 others

yourusername never in my wildest dreams i could've imagined i'd be performing in a sold out stadium at home. i haven't stopped crying since i've left the stage and i don't think i will anytime soon. thank you for being by my side these past months and thank you for being the best way to end this tour. my heart is full and i can't thank you enough 💗 ps. my new single baby is dropping this friday (and there are many things to come! stay tuned!)

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username you worked so hard!!!!!!!

jennierubyjane you deserve this and much more 🫶

carlossainz55 so proud of you! 🙌

· · · · ·

taglist: @roseseraj @katcontrreras @boiohboii @eugene-emt-roe @inesven @jjsprobablywrong @nooshytushie @willowpains @shessthunderstoms @thecubanator2 @black-swan-blog27 @sltwins @peachiicherries @ietss @elliegrey2803 @@be-your-coffee-pot @leclercloml @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @nooshytushie @incoherenciass @ironmaiden1313 @nmw-am @hopefulinlove @cixrosie @florkt @malfoydracomalfoysstuff @dhhdhsiavdhaj @gaviypedrisbride @leclerc16s @ms-american-pie @tesha-i-guess @ohthemisssery

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Mrs Bridgerton

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Your ex-husband craves you in a way you had no idea about until one fateful call...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, explicit language and thoughts, dirty talk, sexting, sex tape, masturbation, pregnancy kink, smidge of breeding kink. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy, custody, parenting, heartbreak, emotions. Bit angsty maybe? Not sure.

Word Count: 4.3k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill from January here. (tldr summary: ex-husband Benedict can't stop thinking about you) Nonny, I changed up a couple of details of your ask; the porn he watches is your old sex tapes from when you were married. Also, he doesn't call once he was spent; he accidentally calls very much in the act ;) I hope that is okay. Guys, I have no idea what this is; sorry. Thanks to @colettebronte for checking I haven't completely lost it and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif used above. <3

“Mrs Bridgerton!.... Mrs Bridgerton!” A teacher calls out across the playing field as she jogs towards you. It takes you a few seconds to realise she is indeed addressing you. It's been a couple of years since you went by that name—almost a ghost from the past at this point.

“Ah, actually, it’s Ms y/l/n now,” you correct as she draws closer. “I’m, well, I’m divorced from Emilia’s dad,” you explain somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, I am so very sorry! I'm new here. I just asked her if her parents were here, and she pointed you out.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It's an entirely fair assumption to make,” you placate, shielding your eyes from the sun to catch Emilia's gaze and give her the thumbs up at the end of the grassy running track.

“Well, I just need one of you to sign this permission form for the trip to the Science Museum next week,” the teacher states, thrusting a clipboard towards you.

“Oh certainly, no problem,” you assure, taking the proffered pen and signing on the dotted line she indicates. You know how excited Emilia is about that upcoming trip, even though she insists on going to the museum with you or her father at least once every few months.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

You just nod as another teacher brings them all to the starting line with a blast from their whistle, and your focus shifts entirely to cheering on your five-year-old daughter in her first school race.

-----

He knows you haven't seen him, and he doubts even Emilia has clocked him, wearing a baseball cap pulled low as he is. He deliberately keeps a low profile when you arrive. He is here to see Emilia on her first sports day. Only that. Or so he keeps telling himself.

But then he sees you, and something in his stomach knots hard. It’s been more than two years, and still, every time, it floors him. A few months after your split, he took to using Eloise as the go-between for your shared custody arrangements and has never stopped. Since then, he has not seen you in person, too cowardly to face you. His biggest mistake was letting you go.

You met in your late twenties at a party hosted by mutual friends, and that night, he knew his life would never be the same. Something about the connection was instant and electric. He had the best sex of his life, right there in a spare room of a party. Both drunk and foolish, you didn't use protection. So it was only a few weeks into your burgeoning relationship when you found yourselves staring dumbfounded at a blue and white stick that would alter your lives forever. You married quietly two months later at the town hall, with just a few family members and close friends attending, neither of you wanting a big fuss. It was a big gamble in many ways, but you were both willing to try, crazily in love and filled with a youthful optimism that can be so blinding.

All was well until parenting a newborn drove you both to exhaustion and beyond. A wedge grew between you, even as your beautiful daughter developed into the best miniature version of both of you, with his beauty and your brains. You tried to make it work. But bickering about petty things and distancing became the only constant in your dynamic. Part of him had hoped Emilia would be enough glue to hold you together, but it was too much to pin on a small child. Just after her third birthday, he watched his world crumble as you tearfully packed up your possessions and took the light from his life with you.

And now. Now it's a regret that haunts him every day. Replaying the mistakes he made over and over, the ones that meant you slipped through his fingers. Too preoccupied with his career frustrations and plagued by chronic lack of sleep to realise the damage before it was irreparable. He knows now, too late, that with a little more effort and compromise, perhaps you would still be together as a family. He certainly never stopped loving and desiring you.

So when the teacher calls out Mrs Bridgerton, his heart almost stops beating and, to his shame, there is a stirring in his jeans. God, he wishes that was still your name, so much so there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches you correct the teacher in an endearingly accommodating way. A large part of him wants to leap up and grab you, lift you into his arms, beg that you use the name again. His name. But he doesn't; he just lingers in melancholic reverie, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to push the white gold band shakily onto your left hand as you recited your vows.

Then with a sharp nearby whistle blow signifying the race start, his focus is pulled back to why he is here. His little wonder, the centre of his universe. Emilia Bridgerton. The most beautiful person on the planet.

“Go, Emilia!!” he shouts, transfixed as his little girl moves out ahead of the pack, unthinking of anything but supporting his baby girl.

-----

Your head cuts to the side, and you freeze. You would recognise that voice anywhere. And how many Emilia’s can there be in the race?

He's not looking at you; his whole focus is on the field, but you can't seem to look away. Not even to watch your precious daughter. You haven't seen your ex-husband in more than two years. Using his sister as a go-between just seems like the best way to deal with your residual guilt about leaving him. But now? One look and your insides feel like you are falling down a chasm, lungs suddenly too small for the breaths you need to take.

Time seems to slow like molasses as you observe him. He’s wearing a baseball cap, almost akin to a disguise, but you can see underneath it that profile that still makes your heart flutter. Too much, really, considering you are exes. But his beauty was never the problem; it was part of the reason you always stayed. Those soulful eyes would draw you back every time. Those eyes that now haunt you daily, the Bridgerton genes far too strong not to override all of yours. Emilia is the prettiest little female version of your ex-husband you could ever imagine, and it's both your greatest joy and your greatest pain point, living with a growing reminder of the person who still owns your heart regardless of how much you might wish otherwise.

Looking back now, leaving him was an impetuous decision made from a place of utter exhaustion, not able to see a way out of the treadmill your lives had become at that time. But pride stopped you from admitting perhaps you made a mistake, serving divorce papers before you could think too hard about it. He didn't contest and agreed to all of your terms of custody without a fight. You didn't ask for spousal support; you earned more from employment anyway, most of his income coming from his trust. You never loved him for the Bridgerton name or fortune; in fact, sometimes, it felt like you loved him in spite of it.

And now, one look at him, and you are breathless and in a complete emotional and, yes, physical quagmire. Your body yearning for him, your traitorous brain supplying image after tumbling image of intimacy, the likes of which you have never known before or since—warm bodies wrapped around each other in ecstasy, that velvet voice pleading with you to come with him, for him, always so eager. It makes your chest heave so hard you have to look away to regain composure, doing so just in time for the universe to seemingly return to normal speed, as you watch Emilia cross the line, victorious in her first-ever race.

You cannot help it; you leap up and cheer too. And she looks over, beaming and jumping up and down. Running towards you and throwing herself into your arms as you kneel with a huge grin.

“Mummy mummy mummy!!” she peals excitedly, her breath gusting hard into your ear. “I did it! I won!”

“I know; well done!” you exclaim, rocking her happily in your arms. “You did wonderfully!!!”

“Did I see Daddy?” she asks, craning over your shoulder. You tense and swivel yourself to follow her eye line, but where he was standing just moments ago, there is now just an empty patch of grass.

“Oh, I don't think so, my love; it was probably someone else’s daddy who looks similar,” you suggest, the lie feeling odd on your tongue, It's obvious he doesn't want to be seen, and a part of you is grateful to avoid an awkward meeting. Emilia is still scanning the crowd, unconvinced by your assertion. “How about an ice cream from the van over there?” you offer cheerily, wanting to distract her from looking too hard for him.

“Okay!” she chimes happily, squirrelling a warm little hand into yours and pulling you towards the pedestrian gate.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a navy blue Jaguar pulling out of the other gate and know without a doubt it was him.

-----

He couldn't do it. He thought he could, but he feels the weight of your stare and has to leave. The minute Emilia crosses the line, he gives a little victory punch and takes off. Not able to face you. So much of him wants to, but the gutless part of him apparently resides in his leg muscles. Before he knows it, he is in his car and pulling out onto the West London streets, not daring to look back. It's not his day to pick up Emilia; that's still two days away. He would not want you angry for overstepping the agreement you have in place.

As he pulls up at a traffic light, his phone pings a match on the dating app Anthony bullied him into downloading last week. The temptation to fling his phone right out the window is strong. The idea of being with someone else, especially after the tumult of seeing you today, just feels wrong.

The only person he has slept with since your divorce was the second biggest mistake of his life. Someone he met at a bar celebrating Colin’s last birthday after too many whiskeys. A close enough facsimile to you that, through the haze of alcohol, he let himself be seduced. The lizard part of his brain somehow convinced it was you, even as she rode him in a way that chafed. Nothing like the way you moved, positively undulated, on his cock. Regret clung to his skin, the fug of hangover already kicking in as he watched her wordlessly re-dress and leave almost immediately, never exchanging numbers. He never saw her again. The fact he called your name as he came was probably the majority of the problem.

The only thing that stops him from flinging the phone is all the history it contains. Pictures of Emilia growing up from a tiny infant to now. But also his text exchanges with you, that increasingly he finds himself scrolling back through on self-indulgent nights, back to when things were good, and you would send each other little notes of love interspersed with sexting that; even now, he can barely read without getting hard. Unable to resist, as he waits for the light to go green, a dozen or more quick thumb flicks upwards on the thread for your previous number, and he finds some of his guilty pleasures.

8 March, 3:25 pm

Y/N: You had better plough me over the kitchen table when you get home xoxox

4 April, 5:02 pm

BB: Tough work day, need you, babe

Y/N: How’s this, daddy?

Y/N: [photo of your naked glowing, slightly rounded pregnant body]

BB: Fucking helllllll, I am one lucky man

Y/N: Come home, fuck me, daddy

BB: You need to stop calling me that…

Y/N: Why? I am literally pregnant with your child.

BB: Yeah, and that’s why it's so wrong…

Y/N: Just get here, pls. I am so fucking wet….

He is pinch-zooming on the photo, head tilted, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth… when a car horn makes him jump, the phone slipping from his grip and falling onto his emergent hard-on.

The traffic light has turned green.

With an apologetic nod in the rearview mirror, he drives off, shaking his head, knowing it’s probably very wrong to be looking at pictures of you, his ex-wife, and wanting to fuck you so bad that his foot leans heavily on the accelerator. His blood pumping hard, already knowing he will be taking himself in hand the minute he gets to his place.

-----

Emilia is happily smushing the cone of her 99 ice cream in her little fist as you walk the few streets to your sister's place, where you left your car earlier. She has kindly agreed to let Emilia stay tonight and have a sleepover with her cousins.

Later, you have your first date since your divorce, and you’ll probably need the rest of the late afternoon to psych yourself up enough to go. You've already cried off so many matchmaking attempts that you had to say yes eventually, just to stop the incessant badgering from all angles. Strangely, this one is Eloise’s doing, and you are still slightly weirded out that your ex-husband’s sister is engineering your first date in more than seven years.

Waving goodbye a few minutes later, you slip into your car and sit for a few deep calming inhales, trying not to think of how much Benedict stole your breath earlier. Some part of you thinks maybe you just imagined him there, a fevered mirage, your subconscious telling you to cancel this stupid date idea and stay home with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry. But then Ameila seemed to think he was there too, and honestly, it feels like you don't know what to do about anything anymore.

-----

He wastes no time, flinging aside the cap, tossing his car keys onto the hallway table and sprinting upstairs to his bedroom, only pausing to insert his noise-cancelling earbuds and discard his clothing.

He is already leaking a little when he throws himself onto the bed and fists his cock with a groan. His other hand is hovering over the play button on the video he definitely knows he shouldn't be watching, hidden in a nondescript folder.

Your soft giggle tickles his eardrums as the video jolts to life. It's one he shot of you on his phone on your honeymoon—it’s one of his favourites lately.

“Bennnnn,” your voice a teasing murmur as the screen fills with a glimpse of your breasts, his hand trying to take a sweeping shot of your body as you writhe underneath him, both of you buried in a soft glow under a tent of sheets wrapped around your bodies.

His own younger self chuckles loud in his ears, behind the camera as he is, both of your breaths loud as the movement becomes more pronounced.

This is him fucking you and filming it. The camera pans down, and there, almost too tough to see in the grainy low light, is his cock surging into you; the shot is never still enough to see in full detail.

Somehow the lack of clarity makes it more of a turn-on. Benedict whines low as his hand moves in a firm motion, jerking hard, losing himself in reminiscence of what it is like to be buried inside you, your scent, younger you panting hard, pleading quietly for him.

His hand speeds up, and he gasps as the video grows more urgent, the noises so loud right in his ear. He can hear the delicious sound of your wet cunt around his shaft, and it's like a sense memory, that viscous heated cling he can never forget.

“Ben, oh god Ben, you are so good, fuck me harder,” younger you moans loudly on the video, and both Benedicts, the old and new, couldn't resist that siren call.

“Y/n, oh god, give me your all, y/n,” Benedict growls, screwing his eyes shut, just relying on the auditory experience of the video now.

But not realising with his slurred speech; it's just given his phone a command…

-----

You are driving towards your place when your hands-free car display lights up with the last name you expect.

Benedict.

Your stomach plunges. Just like earlier when you found yourself staring at him and reimagining so many things you know you shouldn't. You reach over and click the little green button to connect the call, heart in your mouth.

“Ben?” you say his name softly, almost timid. Worried about what it might mean after that strange non-encounter less than an hour ago.

The noise that greets you makes every hair stand on end. It's a throaty groan. He seems to hiss your name, and all you do is frown as your car speakers vibrate with the sound.

“Ben, are you okay?” you check.

“Oh god, I am more than okay, baby,” he growls, and every inch of your body is rioting. “Just please, please don't stop, fuck you feel so good. So tight and hot. I want to live inside you,” the words panted, desperate.

Your foot slips hard on the pedal, and you almost crash into a damn tree.

-----

Your voice sounds different in his ear, and there is a background hum that wasn't there before, but he is so close to something so intoxicating he doesn't think to open his eyes and check the video.

“Talk to me,” he pleads low, knowing you on the video won't respond but somehow still wanting to talk to you regardless, “tell me how you feel.”

There is silence and then a slight shaky exhale.

“Ben.”

“Yes, yes, yes, say my name,” he pleads, leaking over his own knuckle as his hand becomes a frenzy on his cock.

-----

You pull over, quaking. There is only one reason he uses that tone. That's his bedroom voice, and fuck if it doesn't make you as weak now as it did back then. You can only assume his phone has accidentally dialled you while he is what? Masturbating? You flush so hotly at the very thought, and yet you can’t school what you say next. Your treacherous libido taking command of your lips.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Ben?” you breathe, and your clothing suddenly feels too tight, too hot.

Your speakers vibrate your seat as he groans loud and lewdly, and it's a beeline straight for your clit, now throbbing insistently against your car seat.

“Yes baby,” he moans and now, in the background, you can hear it, a slight slapping sound, his cock passing through his fist.

Your pussy clenches instinctually, and you feel a heavy pull, a depth charge of lust. Your lips tingle with the thought of kissing him, running your mouth over his body, wrapping around that cock you remember so well.

“I want you to come for me, Ben,” you plead, a hand straying down between your thighs, scarcely believing what is happening, what you are doing so brazen, parked up on the street mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.

“I will; oh god, I'm going to come so hard,” he snarls. “Do you want it inside you?”

Your fingers glance your clit over your yoga pants, and the heat is overwhelming. “Yes, Ben,” you pant, “inside me, give it to me, give me more of your beautiful babies.”

What you are saying is taboo. And so truthful you don't think to censor it. You would bear as many children as he wants to fuck into you. Still, even now.

“But you are already pregnant with my baby darling,” his voice taking on a softer edge, more wistful, “and you look so, so beautiful.”

You freeze.

“Benedict?” you say quietly.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs.

“Who do you think you are speaking to?” your ask is awkward, screwing your eyes shut, your hand moving away from the apex of your thighs. Suddenly mortified, perhaps it's not you that he thinks he is speaking to after all. Oh shit, did he get someone else pregnant? The panicked bile rises until he sighs the following words.

“Y/n, my wife, my life. God, I miss you so much. I know this must be a fever dream; I know we didn't talk like this in the video, but fuck if it doesn't sound so real,” he ends so wistfully.

“What video?” your question is slow, a weird weight on your chest that is your heart pounding out of control.

“Our honeymoon, darling,” he moans, and you can hear he is still masturbating, although slower-paced now. “When you let me video us fucking. I watch it so much these days that I'm surprised it's not worn out. And yet I can't not; every time I fuck my fist, it's to you.”

“You watch us? Every time you…?” your hand clutching your chest now.

“Yes, my love. I miss you so so much. I should never have let you go. You are my angel, the love of my life, the mother of my child and the only person I ever, ever want to fuck.”

The confession knocks your whole world off its axis. And you crave him. The feeling is so utterly all-consuming you struggle to take your next breath. You have to go to him. You have to see him. It's not even a choice not to. Every fibre of your being needs him.

“Ben,” you murmur, “don't come for me yet; I want to fuck you.”

“You do?” the hope in that gasp makes you lightheaded.

“Yes,” you breathe, “I miss your cock so much.”

You scramble to throw the car into gear and pull out into traffic. You are about a minute's drive away or less if he is home. Something in your movements so very urgent.

“Tell me what you are doing,” you whisper, trying your best to pitch the ask just the right level of seductive as you race down the road, turning into his street.

“I’m fucking my fist,” he moans, “but I wish it were you, my love.”

“I'm almost there,” you pant, pulling into his driveway with almost a squeal of tyres. You grab your phone and jump out of your car, crushing the handset to your ear as you run up to his front door and punch in a code, hoping it's still the one he uses. The crest of victory is palpable as the lock beeps and relents, the door popping open.

“Keep stroking yourself gently,” you order as you close the door and start to disrobe as you bound up the stairs.

“Y/n…” his voice is suddenly tremulant “this…. This isn't a dream, is it?”

“No, Ben, it's not,” you breathe, and you are down to your underwear as you skid into his bedroom, panting.

His eyes are wide with shock as you stride across the room, his cock still in hand and utterly naked; he looks just as delicious as the day you married him.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton,” you purr.

“Y/n,” he stutters, and it's everything—surprise, desire, hope, relief, yearning and ardent.

“Call me Mrs Bridgerton,” you shoot back, and the responding noise he makes is so utterly feral you almost orgasm without so much as touching him.

-----

Eight months later

“Emilia, not there,” Benedict chuckles good-naturedly.

“Then where daddy?” her pout turns epic as she hands the offending item to him. “You do it!” she huffs.

“Okay, hold still,” he laughs and slides the small tiara into her hair. “See? Just perfect,” he opines, dropping a kiss onto her chestnut tresses.

“I look like a princess!” Emilia exclaims proudly, twisting to look into the mirror.

“Yes, you do,” Benedict concurs. “A pretty princess bridesmaid.”

“The prettiest,” you agree from the doorway, and both heads turn around and greet you with mouths that gape open.

“Oh, Mummy, you look like a real princess!” Emilia gasps, running towards you and giving you a quick hug before skipping out of the room gleefully as her grandmother Violet calls her name from downstairs.

“You look breathtaking,” his tone full of wonderment as he slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you. “But isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?” he adds with a flash of concern.

You move towards him, and him towards you, drawn together. “I think we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to have,” you smirk, very much enjoying the sight of him in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. “At least I hope so, seeing as we have this thing to deal with,” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to your five-month bump.

“Thing? Darling, I thought we agreed; his name is Henry,” he sighs in mock indignation, his large hands skating around the swell of your belly, his lips warm on your temple.

“When did I agree to that name?” you frown amiably.

“Last night,” he responds silkily, right into your ear now.

“Oh no, you can’t possibly hold me to that,” you decry. “Anything said when inside me is null and void, Mr Bridgerton; you know I can barely remember my own name at that point.”

His rich chuckle vibrates against your whole body. “Well, let me remind you….”

“I’m listening,” you sigh, eyes closing as you sway into his hot neck kisses.

“It's Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles. “Or it will be again in about an hour.”

“I can't wait”, you whisper. “Say it again.”

“Mrs Bridgerton,” A dark, slow tease.

You are almost late for your own (second) wedding just downstairs.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton angst #bridgerton angst #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

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ournameisfun · 2 months

Text

Bang the Doldrums - 2ourdust portland

#emilia stop talking #fall out boy #bang the doldrums #you dont understand how hard i was cllenching my fist during this to record it and Not scream #i recorded one song last night and by god was i gonna do it right

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

Hello, hello lovely 💜 congrats on your new milestone!! I saw those new stills from Pedro back in that 90s commercial and imagined a young Joel 🥺 So could I request something with young!Joel x reader who has a huge crush on him? Unrequited love i think its called? Cause she thinks theres no way he could feel the same. But maybe he offers her his jacket when she's cold and it's all fluffy and cute 👉👈

AN | Please, this was such a cute little concept 🥰

Pairing | Pre-Breakout!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel Miller.

You sighed wistfully even at the mere mention of his name. The women in your bookclub loved gushing about the handsome, hardworking, single-father at the end of the cul-de-sac. You never joined in - oh no, you weren’t reducing yourself to that just yet - but you listened intently to what they had to say.

Sure, he’d caught your eye when you first moved into the neighborhood a few months ago, but you hadn’t exchanged more than a few words here and there. The last time was when the two of you had been leaving for work at the same time and you somehow managed to make a comment about the weather. The weather. What were you, fifty? Either way, he was sweet in response and still gave you saccharine smiles whenever he saw you. He had a lovely smile, all toothy and eye-crinkling and dimple displaying.

Stop. You needed to pull yourself together before you got too lost in your little fantasies and spilled your secret in front of everyone. The secret that maybe you were a little in lust with him, even though you barely knew him. A girl could dream, right?

“What about you?” the question snapped you out of your thoughts as you turned to look in confusion at the woman, Emilia, to your right. You opened and closed your mouth a few times in confusion before she laughed softly, “what do you think about Joel?”

“Joel…” you repeated, throat dry and mind racing with embarrassment. Had you somehow managed to voice your thoughts out loud?

“Asking him for some help with the neighborhood barbecue next weekend?” oh. Relief flooded your veins as you offered her a tight lipped smile, “he’s quite handy. He’s a contractor, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” well, that wasn’t an image you didn’t need in your mind. It didn’t help your daydream fantasies to think about all hot and sweaty and - yeah. You wrung your hands for a moment before nodding, “that sounds like a lovely idea. The more help the merrier, right?”

“Right you are,” Matilda, the head of the bookclub and resident one-woman welcoming committee agreed, “you don’t mind going over soon and asking him, right?”

“Oh, I-I c-” no, no, no. This wasn’t what you had in mind at all.

“Thank you so much, you’re such a sweetheart,” apparently you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “I’m sure he can’t say no to a sweet thing like you.”

“I really…”

“He likes apple pie,” another one of the ladies winked. Oh. Oh. Apparently this was a double ended errand - they would get the help and set you up at the same time, “just as a side note.”

“Of course,” you were screaming on the inside, wanting to run away, “I’d love to.”

“Perfect!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I can do this,” great. Now you’d resorted to talking to yourself out loud openly. It was the stress. It had to be. You swallowed thick, pacing up and down Joel’s driveway as you contemplated going to his front door to ask him for help. You’d never forgive the rest of the book club ladies for this, “it’s just a quick, simple question. Get it together.”

“You wanna come in?” you hadn’t even heard the front door open but when you whipped around, you saw Joel Miller leaning against the doorframe, watching you expectantly. Your heart fell into your stomach as you looked at him in shock, opening and closing your mouth a few times, “or were you planning on walking up and down the driveway for a while? In which case, don't let me interrupt.”

“Oh! H-hi,” your feet slowly shuffled in his direction as you held up your hand in a meek little wave, “ummm…I-I can go. Is this weird? It’s weird, isn’t it? I’ll just-”

“Hang on there for a moment,” he reached towards you and wrapped a hand around your forearm, gently tugging you closer to him, “relax. It’s okay - you’re okay.”

“I…” you looked up at him and met those big, brown eyes, looking at him in surprise. His lips twitched up in amusement, “okay.”

"Okay?"

“Okay,” and there was that winning smile that you’d been on the receiving end of many times. You relaxed slightly and quickly vowed to stop making a fool out of yourself any further, “hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated and you laughed nervously. Yeah, no, this wasn’t the business at all. Luckily Joel didn’t seem to mind at all, “is there something I can help you with? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah - yes,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “the ladies of the book club would like to kindly ask if you would be able to assist with the barbecuing for the neighborhood block party next week.”

“They did, did they?” he asked as you nodded shyly, “and they asked you to come and ask me?"

“They sure did,” you tried to read his expression to see if he considered this a bad thing or a good thing. You were currently plotting some form of revenge because you were currently dying on the inside, “umm…sorry?”

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart?” oh. You liked the way the moniker fell from his lips. He made it all too easy. The wonder of what his lips would feel like momentarily crossed your mind. Get it together.

“I don’t know,” you confessed nervously, “I just…this is not how I pictured this going in my head.”

“How did you picture it going?”

“Smoother than this,” you confessed softly, “I was kind of just hoping to ask you, maybe flirt a little, and call it a day.”

Fuck. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud at all. Your mouth was absolutely not cooperating with your mind. Joel’s smile only grew as you tried to hide your face in your hands. He put a quick stop to that and pulled your hands away so he could see your face.

“Don’t hide,” he whispered and pulled your hands away, “let me see that pretty face.”

“Joel-”

“I’d love to,” he added before you could say anything further, “I’d love to help. You just let me know what you need and when you need it, and I will be happy to help the lovely ladies of the book club.”

“Thank you,” the smile on your face was enough to let him know that he had said the right thing, “that’s really sweet of you Joel. The ladies will be beside themselves.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he shot you a wink and your knees felt weak.

“You’re like the neighborhood dilf,” oh yeah. You were never going to allow yourself to speak again. That might have been the most embarrassing moment of your life, “I…oops?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed softly and that was enough to jostle you into a small fit of giggles too, “it’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Well,” you wrung your hands nervously, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “thank you again. I’ll umm, I’ll see you around?”

“I hope so,” he agreed, giving you a very interested and hungry once over, “see you soon, sweetheart.”

“See you soon, Joel.”

-─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You smoothed down the front of your dress, pausing momentarily to question if you should go back inside and change. You felt so exposed wearing this pretty little sundress but it was also hot as hades and the idea of jeans and a t-shirt made you cringe.

This would have to do, and you were sure you could probably get away with an Irish exit at some point.

Everyone was starting to come out and socialize, tables lined up and filled with snacks, treats, and other baked goods. There was even a small lemonade stand at the end of the block, commandeered by several eager kids. You enjoyed the sense of community and enjoyed the smell of the barbecue even more. The man at helm was even more of a delicious sight.

He was wearing a fitted white t-shirt and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. He was definitely too good looking…no wonder he was the resident dilf. None of the other men came close. The man in question must have felt your gaze on him, despite all the other people and noise around, because he looked up and immediately found you. You looked like a deer caught in headlights as his face lit up with a megawatt smile.

Before you could make a fool out of yourself again, like the last time you’d seen, you turned around and made your way over to the lemonade stand. Perhaps a small gaggle of children could serve as a good distraction. It was worth a shot anyway…

But it turns out that in the end, it didn’t really matter. As soon as you got to the little stand, you felt a warm body right next to you. You looked up and found Joel Miller grinning at you. Without missing a beat, he snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you slightly into his side.

“Two of your finest lemonades please,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a generous tip that he put in their money bucket as the kids poured two solo cups of lemonade. You each took one but he still refused to let go of you.

He guided you over to one of the tables that had been set up, while you tried to navigate your internal freakout. How was he being so casual about this? How?”

“You look really nice - beautiful,” he let go of your waist but held on to your hand as he helped you to sit on the top of the table so you were almost eye to eye. His hand smoothed down your side, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of your dress. Pleasant shivers ran down your spine, “I like this dress.”

“T-thanks,” you managed to choke out as you tried not to make a comment about how it was great for easy access as well, “I haven’t worn it in a while and I figured it was a good time.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in content as he got up and sat next to you, his thigh pressing against yours, “it’s nice that you came. Everyone really likes you.”

“Everyone?” you snorted in amusement as he nodded, leaning into his side without even thinking about it, “I don’t know about that. But I figured I’m part of the neighborhood and it would be nice to meet everyone. I baked some pie - apple pie.”

“I love apple pie…”

“I know,” you looked at him tentatively, nervously, “the bookclub ladies told me. That’s why I made it.”

“For me?” his eyes were even more beautiful up close, different shades of honey and chocolate that you wanted to commit to memory. You hesitated for just a moment before nodding shyly, “that’s really sweet. No one’s done something like that for me for a long time.”

“It’s nothing much,” you shrugged, trying to ignore the pitter patter of your heart and the butterflies in your tummy, “but I hope you like it. If you do, I’d be happy to make you some any time.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he picked up his lemonade and playfully clinked it against yours. You both took a drink before almost gagging on it; it was nothing more than sugar with a hint of lemon, “well then…at least they tried. Maybe next time will be better.”

“I feel a little bad for thinking this terrible since kids made it…but this is terrible,” a bit of laughter flowed between the two of you as he set your cups down, “hopefully you won’t be saying that about my pie.”

“I don’t think that’s even in the realm of possibilities,” he insisted in a way that suggested he was talking about a lot more than pie. You really liked this man already, and part of you was already excited about the possibility of spending more time with him and getting to know him better. You must have had a daydream look in your eyes because Joel brushed his knuckles along your jaw, causing you to snap out of it, “what are you thinkin’ about?”

“Honestly?” you whispered and he nodded, “I’m thinking about you kissing me.”

His momentary silence caused you to panic and wished you’d either lied or never been born. But before you could panic entirely, he smiled in and leaned a little bit, leaving almost no space in between your bodies, “I can do that. If you’d like.”

“Yes,” you squeaked, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling inside, “I’d like that.”

And then he kissed you.

Luckily that was only the first time of many.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

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shaarlslec · 1 year

Text

me and the devil

words: 3564

introduction/part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers?, mentions of alcohol, language;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

Fools, fools, fools again – both of you, and now both for the same reason: pretending works until the boiling point, and yours has been long reached but to be exploited still.

You avoided each other for the rest of the evening. Glances were exchanged. Time-consuming and penetrating ones. Charles’ eyes on you when he engaged in chit-chat at the bar while you were dancing and having fun with somebody else within the team or not, and yours on Charles when he will get approached by any of his fans (mostly girls, mostly pretty).

It has not always been exactly like this in between the two of you, except maybe for the unexpressed jealousy only through eyes but never through words. And yet, you two avoiding talking back in the days when you were not teammates nor on each other’s throats was out of the question.

As mentioned, you followed him everywhere and he made time (all the time) to watch over you before your F2 races and to congratulate you after any of your wins.

“You have to be smart.” Charles intoned as you were walking side-by-side on an empty Emilia Romagna circuit at the dusk of sun two days before what was the time and place of your first F2 driver championship catch, “You have the same car as anyone else, therefore you have to be smart about the way you use your tires here, especially when taking turns.” He added, vrooming through the apex as if he was a racing car and you were a mere spectator.

You laughed, back then what Leclerc managed to do to you was only laughter and not hard feelings. He caught your laugh and then warned you with a finger to cut the giggles and to pay attention to him and only him as he was explaining to you the best kind of a set-up you could use for the race.

You closed your mouth shut mimicking a closed zip, being the one to cause the laughter to Charles as he watched you tossing your imaginary key far away from the place you have now stopped.

“Understood?” He then inquired, watching you watch him back with whopping googly eyes and hope flickering in the irises of your eyes partly thinking about the win, mostly thinking about him and how attractive having him advising you was.

If you were to be in school and Charles Leclerc were to be your teacher – you would have been most definitely a teacher’s pet. The thought of that scenario made your blood boil, and the way you looked while picturing that made Charles’ spine shiver in pleasure while your body heated underneath his look.

“If you want to make a pass here, you have to be careful to—” He hesitated, heavily breathing in the process.

“What?” You stopped, watching Leclerc’s words being cut short as well as his steps slowing.

You slowed yours too, wondering what was going in the back of your mentor’s mind with a slight hope that your thoughts were the same. They indeed were, and oh how much anticipation was there for them the become real and not just fantasies hidden in the corners of your minds and extremities of your fingers.

“Nothing.” Charles anxiously gulped, his eyes being fixed anywhere else on the track but not on yours that were examining him attentively, “You just —“ He then stopped again, arms close to his chest almost as if he was frightened of the thought that you might see it lifting up in a sorrowful sigh, “You are looking at me like that again.” He explained, arms falling around him helplessly, fingers snapping his knuckles in nervousness.

You let out a giggle, pretending not to know what he was speaking about. When in all trueness, you knew even since then that looks played a major role into your relationship no matter the status of it.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, proceeding in walking away from him so that he will be the one to follow now — which he refused.

With a hold of your wrist, Charles’ fingers wrapped against your skin. Your eyes widened, there have been little to no chances of him daring to touch you. You looked down for a short while, and then up again meeting his gaze.

“I have a girlfriend, Y/N.” He then suddenly spoke, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

Charles had Charlotte at that time, and you knew for the better not to ask details about their relationships. You saw them in the paddock often, and each time you would say “hello” to them while passing by the two holding hands for the photographers to capture, you would have wished for nothing but the Earth to swallow you whole.

Retracting your wrist from Charles, you adjusted your voice with a short grunt, “I am aware of that.” You muttered before a short smile, “You have to question yourself why you had to reminder me that just now.” You added, stepping away from him while your chest was aching still by that mere touch of barely hands, “I was just listening to what you were saying and I—”

“Looked at me like you never do at any other driver, Y/N.” Charles dared to say with a shake of tone, the shakiness progressively getting softer as he spoke your name, “We need to keep this professional.” He continued, enforcing the truth for himself rather than for you just as mentioning his girlfriend before.

With a smirk crossing your lips, you teased even further as you replied, “You pay attention on how I look like at any other driver?” You inquired with a sly smile hid within the tone of your voice, “My plan is not to steal you from Charlotte, Charles.” You assured him, knowing that scooping through the man’s relationship was the last thing on your to-do list when it came to Charles, “My plan is to steal your knowledge, and one day to beat you at your own game on the track.” You proudly declared, managing to shake the uneasiness on Charles’ face for it to be replaced with the humbled proudness you were used back then.

“Oh,” He mouthed, “I would like to see you try.” Charles mocked in a sarcastic tone, “Just don’t be disappointed if that never happens, tough.” He then cockily continued, clapping both his hands together before you went back to the circuit’s tour and racing advice – both pretending that the talk outside the two never took place.

Fools, fools, fools – both of you. You, for teasing him that much during your mentorship era and him for accepting and playing along, toying not only with your emotions but his too. Two days ahead of your little evening escapade on the track, you won your first major championship and Charles’ arms were fast to grab you into a warm hug once you were on the way of getting back to your garage with the trophy tightly squeezed in between your hands.

“That was amazing, Y/N!” Charles shouted within your ears as your bodies entangled for a short yet intense while, “Taking the turns exactly how I told you they are supposed to be taken, amazing!”

You laughed as you two departed, “Taking all the credits, I see.” You joked with a huge smile spread on your face, “I think I did a great job at executing them.” You proudly spoke for a minute before your smile faded as you switched glare from Leclerc to Charlotte who was standing behind him.

Greeting her shortly with a shy “hello”, your hands fully departed from Charles’ forearms as you picked the trophy back from the ground where you first tossed it for the man to have a full access on you.

“Good luck on your race too.” You spoke, the enthusiasm in your voice slowly fading as well as Charlotte’s hand grabbed back Charles, both on their way to the Ferrari garage for Charles to get ready for what was coming that afternoon.

“Ah yes, yes, yes, thank you.” Charles still frenetic spoke looking at Charlotte before taking another one good look at you and your rosy cheeks, “Send me the details to your party for tonight! You must celebrate!” He added, patting your shoulder in passing as they were hurrying on their way.

You nodded yet said nothing. Of course, there was going to be a party, but would you risk it for him to show with Charlotte as he always had done in the past and ruin your winning mood just because she had something you so foolishly desired at the age of eighteen? No, the answer was no.

You had not texted Charles that evening, although every bone within your body wanted for your mentor to attend the celebrations. Selfish mood driven by an even selfish heart, one that Charles was very much aware of and yet one that he wanted to understand without having to lose in the process. And yet, as young as reckless as you both were – mistakes were made in the form of him showing up at your hotel’s door at midnight without Charlotte or anyone else knowing.

A knock into your door as you were ready to go to sleep startled you. Your scared steps carried your body at the door to slowly open it. Yes, you would have lied if you were not to admit that you wanted for the person behind it to be Charles.

Then, seeing him standing upright with a bottle of champagne in one hands and flowers in the other – your heart sunk even deeper, and you knew that him being this close to you and at that hour will not do go to neither of you.

“I waited.” Charles begun with the same type of shakiness into his tone as the one back at the track, “I know from Carlos that you had your party.” He added, eyes all over you as you almost hid behind the door, “Did I do something wrong?” Charles then pleaded, and you had to restrain all your urges to not invite him into the room.

You declined with a nod, “No, it is just that I –” You gulped, “It was just a small party with people from the Prema Racing team, and some of my non-racing friends.” You almost whispered with a smile, “No big F1 drivers were invited, no huge fuss nor cameras, no drinks nor dances, no fun actually – really.”

You lied stumbling at your own words, avoiding Charles’ look as much as humanely imaginable until your eyes laid on the man’s slowly trembling fingers. You made that; you made him shiver even when your intentions were not to do so.

Charles guzzled as well, “I understand then, yeah – sounds like a boring one.” He then laughed, handing you what was waiting into his hands, “I came here actually wanting to celebrate with you alone, but I think that –”

You nodded even before he stopped his words, taking the bottle and the flowers into your own hands, “I think it is a good idea too.” You added, for you to leave. There was no need for one of you to utter the words, as both of you were tragically thinking the same. “Thank you for stopping by, and thanks for the flowers.” You spoke, sniffing the scent of what were your only and favorite type of flowers that you perhaps mentioned once or twice during some of your interviews but never to him, never to any boy really. And yet, Charles knew – he had documented this moment, the very first time when he bought you flowers.

“Goodnight then.” Charles shyly verbalized, grabbing the back of his neck for you to not notice any further the trembles of his fingers, “You did a great job today, Y/N.” He then added with a soft short smile, “You will do just great in F1.” Charles continued, watching you giving him one last shy smile and a glimpse of your rosy cheeks in the dim lights of the hallway before closing your door once he turned to leave and go back into his hotel room, one in which Charlotte was most definitely soundingly sleeping.

You glued your back to the door once he left, the words “keep it professional” resounded in the back of your mind. With an aching chest, you placed the flowers in one of the random vases that the hotel room had to offer but not before noticing a hand-written note enveloped on the top of the bouquet.

You have one of the best talents I have ever witnessed in this sport and not only, do not waste it – and I cannot wait for us to fight together. I would like to see you try, younger and much ruthless me.

Charles was right back then with quite a few words; you were one of the most talented drivers he had ever seen – one of the most talented drivers everybody ever seen. And yes, you were the younger and much ruthless version of him. But now, oh – Charles Leclerc was not that keen on fighting with you together on the track exactly for those three reasons alone, and for the fact that you were on to get him and slow his process of being the best that there ever was on racing circuits.

The now two-times world champion was watching you leave your own party earlier than everyone else. You wanted some time for yourself the night after your scandalous win against him, therefore you took a car straight to the hotel to ease a little. You were not eighteen anymore, and you found yourself a little too much of an alcohol enthusiast now (although you were bad at holding your liquor).

With your head ponding too much after many of Norris’ gross shots, you quickly get rid of your cloths and showered before limping to the bed. You need to get a good night sleep before tomorrow arrived when you had to take an early flight back home – three weeks without Formula 1 were ahead, and you would have never thought that you wanted a break from it more than you did now during your most successful season so far. You were almost dreaming about time spend with your non-racing friends far away from all the craziness, when a knock into your door blasted you awake.

“What are you doing here?” You awed spoke once you wide opened it, expecting for the knock to come from one of the hotel’s employees or your manager who drove you back to the hotel.

And yet, there someone else stood – the one you opened your door two more than six years ago with nervousness, thrill, and anticipation, “Leclerc, it is past midnight for God’s sake. What are you doing here?” You intoned with the annoyance of repeating the same question after receiving no answers at first try while inviting him in without giving it a second thought as you made him room to pass by you.

Charles was without a girlfriend now, and the idea of you two being in the same room late at night seemed more bearable now knowing that you despised each other rather than being attracted to the other.

Fools, fools, fools again – both of you, and now both for the same reason: pretending works until the boiling point, and yours has been long reached but to be exploited still.

“I saw you leaving.” Charles added, giving you a quick glance from head to toes, “Cute PJs.” Your teammate mockingly spoke, leaning against the wall in front of you as you closed the door, “I told you we need to talk – I am not leaving until we talk.” He demanded as you looked down at your pink and white PJs sprinkled with smiley yet creepy faces that you drunkenly ordered online one time.

“I very much like my PJs, thank you.” You spoke, eyes up now watching Charles crossing his arms at his chest.

Fuck, the training in the past years did its job. You could not help yourself but notice his biceps through the white plain loose t-shirt and the way his clothes fitted on what was now a very sculpted body. And yet, you sighed to act uninterested and even more annoyed that you were by the fact that Charles showed up without letting you know ahead, “I told you that we have nothing to talk about.” You added, glare catching his now.

You were not the only one who pretended within the room, of course not. Charles has been looking at you for the entire night, and he has seen how your body moved close to guys that were not him – and he reminded himself of all the moments he shallowed his urges whole to touch you, to caress the back of your hand with his, to glue his body on top or under yours. Yes, the view he had upon you was very much different than the one he had when you were eighteen or in the years that followed since then and yet, the shivers were the same.

That was the main reason why Charles held his hands so closely gripped to his chest even now, for you to not notice his nervousness around you anymore and for him to tame the pleadings inside of his mind as much as he could. Your dominance over Charles was turning him on more than he had ever guessed, and no one made him feel like this before – that was the trick.

“You need to slow down.” Charles intoned, the words were again spoken more for him to hear rather than for you to listen – and it was very much not about racing anymore. Leclerc’s mind was all over the place, and it has been like that since he decided to knock at your door with no plan whatsoever but just to warn you about your next steps, “This will get quite ugly in the future if you keep acting like this.” He added, eyes never away from yours.

You nervously chuckled, mimicking’s Charles’ body pose now. Younger and much reckless me, “I’ve slowed down for you in the past two years, mate.” You intoned with a very much sarcastic tone, “Are you that scared?”

“Are you that fearless?” Charles added, two steps now made towards you with both arms clasped at his back, “You went through a lot to get your seat next to me – are you planning on losing that?” Leclerc threated with a cunning smile; head titled to the right in trying to intimidate you as inches of the hallway divided in between your bodies.

“You taught me that.” You argued, the slug into your threat toughening as you parted your back from the wall and faced Charles closer, “How to be fearless,” You counted slowly, “How to fight for my seat.” You added, your fingers going up Charles’ cheek just to feel the burning inside his untouched skin, being the one between the two of you to first dare touching the other risking for the walls of your caged unspoken tormenting urges to crack, “Are you really threating me now?” You wondered, watching’s Charles’ eyelids sliding shut as you placed your whole palm on his cheek and part of his neck.

Charles took you in – you and your scent, you and your touch and all that he had been craving even more fervently now than six years ago since the first knock at your door.

And yet, winning seemed to be more important.

“If needed, I will.” Leclerc spoke with his eyes still closed to let himself enjoy the moment of one of your hands on him – although he would have enjoyed for both on him and every single part of his body, “Just a warning for now Y/N, do not stand in my way.” Charles added, stepping back and thus privatizing you of touching his skin no longer.

“What happened to you, Charles?” You breathed slowly as you watched him stating back at you now with one hand on the lock of the door, “You used to be so sweet.” You spoke, eyes on the handle.

“Sweet does not get you championships, darling.”

“So, you do care.” You highlighted, how the others call me, “Sweet might not get you championship, but neither being a dick.” You harshly spoke, placing your hand above him on the handle to stop him from clicking it down, “Look, I get it –” You paused to tame whatever was going inside that aching chest of yours, “You changed, but so did I. You want to win, but so do I.” You enunciated while your fingers gripped his, “Let’s see who wins – fair and square. No games, no threats.”

Charles chuckled, “Does not sound like us.” He spoke, hand hardly pressing the handle down for him to leave, not bearing anymore for you to touch him like that, “What’s the fun in fairness when it comes to us?” Leclerc then added, retracting his hand from underneath yours now that the door has opened, “Goodnight then, see you after the break.” Your teammate spoke, and you have never heard him speaking in such a grave alerting tone before – see you after the break was not a greeting, you had to take it as what Charles was intended for that to be: a warning.

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