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forteafy · 8 months

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Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Carlos Sainz is a best friend.

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband.

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life.

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore.

When you did wake, the bed was empty.

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes.

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side.

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you.

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him?

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself.

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea.

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic.

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept.

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs.

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact.

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him.

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.”

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now.

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to the moment he had said the Spaniards name.

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you?

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months.

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman.

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate.

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you.

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time.

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?”

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter.

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?”

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head.

You were his wife, after all.

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook.

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies.

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles.

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light.

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase.

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit.

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek.

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first.

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow.

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock.

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress.

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence.

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest.

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago.

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you.

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life.

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement.

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes.

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend.

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own.

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon.

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart.

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring.

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room.

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way.

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter.

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers.

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say.

11:32: Carlos Sainz:

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish.

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that.

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances.

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always.

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily.

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day.

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him.

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much.

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you.

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes.

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied.

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest.

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you.

“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites.

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser.

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks.

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable.

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word.

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit.

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you.

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone.

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum.

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all.

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology.

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head.

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort.

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel.

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day.

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil.

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist.

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs.

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows.

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat.

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead.

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth.

Carlos Sainz is a liar.

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind.

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.”

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction.

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier.

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases.

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months.

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from.

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home.

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other.

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago.

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon.

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence.

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible.

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance.

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival.

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call.

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark.

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you.

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh.

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom.

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now.

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind.

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

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geto suguru loves taking pictures and you are his favorite subject to photograph.

his phone camera roll is just filled with candids of you

candids from dates, candids at dinner, candids in the kitchen, candids while you're taking a nap, candids when you're both out with his friends

will patiently direct you where to stand so the sun catches your face correctly

if you say that you have a good side or a bad side, he'll get annoyed

he thinks all sides of you are pretty <3

he never asks for you to take photos of him, nor does he expect you to

he doesn't ever explain why he takes so many except for

"i don't know, i like lookin' at you."

if you're out on a hike or somewhere pretty, he'll tell you to go stand somewhere so he can take a photo of you

his favorites are when you give him a little nose scrunch and he mirrors your face behind the camera

he won't show them to anyone without your permission, and he will ask for permission every. single. time.

you'll get a call in the middle of the day that says like

"babe can i show satoru the photo i took of you in the garden?"

"sure love, you don't need to ask me if it's just satoru."

"i know, but i feel better making sure you're okay with it anyway."

his beige flag is that he changes his homescreen and lockscreen about 200 times a week

if he had to pick a favorite, it'd probably be you standing under a flowering tree beaming at him like he's your whole world

he keeps finding cute photos of you and sometimes his mood changes

so if he's feeling protective or going somewhere that makes him uneasy in the slightest, he's changing his phone backgrounds so that your face isn't visible at all

not like he'd let anyone take his phone from him, though

the photos on it are too important

also love love love love LOVES polaroids

did i mention he loves polaroids

especially likes it when he catches you off guard and you end up having a funny face immortalized on film

for one of your anniversary presents, he gets you one of those necklaces with the photo inside

the photo is of you, him, satoru, and shoko eating ice cream after a mission

suguru looks like he's on the brink of homicide towards satoru, shoko has a cigarette sticking out from her scoop, and you're smiling at the kind man who offered to take a photo of you and your friends

he's very good about getting the film in his disposable cameras developed and most of the photos end up plastered on your wall

when you're gone on a mission, he'll just look at the photos and miss you and eventually ends up calling you because no photo compares to the real muse

#geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #suguru x you #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk hcs

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f10werfae · 2 years

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Mischievous Monkey

pairing: Dad!Chris Evans x Mom!Reader

summary: After a routine family nap, a certain little Evans gets up to harmless no good deeds

-Requests are open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Evans Masterlist🌟

Full Masterlist💫

Taglist Form✨

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The mid winter afternoon sun spilled into warm living room, casting a soft orange glow over the snoring family. Chris Evans and his family were definitely one to take family naps on the daily, consisting of both his toddler Ellie and wife Y/n.

With an air mattress on the living room floor packed with blankets and pillows, and of course stuffies Ellie refused to sleep without, Elmer the giraffe. Chris lay on his back with one arm folded behind his head, another arm tucking his dear wife into his side and baby Ellie had taken it upon herself to sleep on top of her daddy’s chest.

“mmm” Ellie whimpered nuzzling her head further into her dad’s bare chest, her tiny hands clutching onto one of her mother’s fingers while the other had stuck a thumb into her own mouth for comfort. Dressed in her favourite bambi t-shirt dress, the three year old began to stir from her nap. Letting go of her momma’s finger and thumb, she lifted her head up cutely looking lost, almost forgetting where she was.

Using her diapered bottom as a cushion, the three year old slid off her daddy’s chest, landing with a bounce onto the air mattress. Ellie's specks of brown hair stood up in all directions, her face still puffy from her sweet nap.

“hmph” Looking around she felt bored but didn’t want to venture too far from her parents' side, not when there were boogie monsters hiding somewhere in the house. Her wide eyes looked around the room hopelessly, until a shiny thing by her daddy’s head caught her eye, his phone.

Stumbling to her feet, she tottered over and grabbed the phone with her hands, quiet squeals leaving her when the screen lit up. The three year old checked up on her parents, to see them now snuggling further into each other, oblivious to the antics their baby was getting up to while they snoozed. In fact Y/n now had one leg wrapped around Chris' waist with one arm around his torso, with both Chris' arms wrapping around his wife.

Little Ellie now felt left out and decided to do what she did best, cuddle. Trying to crawl into her parent’s arms seemed impossible, huffing out of her pouty lips she just sat staring at them both. Until the shiny thing once again caught her eye, her interest went further when she recognised the numbers from 1-9 on the screen, something her mom had spent time trying to teach her before kindergarten.

Pressing a wide spread of different numbers that peaked her interest, she got into what looked like a screen with multiple icons and squares, her dad’s homescreen.

“Oo birdie” She whispered seeing a blue icon with a white bird, reminding her of the times she had seen tweetie bird while watching Baby Looney Tunes with her parents during bottle time. She furrowed her brows when a complicated looking thing came up, all types of words and symbols all over the place. ‘messy’ she thought

Seeing the only thing she recognised was a ‘+’ button she decided to press it, with the alphabet coming up underneath giving her free reign to type whatever her heart felt content with. Starting with her ABCs typed out, she smiled proudly to herself before seeing the suggested words pop up above the keyboard.

Ellie clicked rapidly watching an abundance of words pop up onto the screen instantly bringing her tons of joy.

She only felt it was right to press the tick in the corner, thinking it meant she was correct, not realising she had posted it to Chris' 16 million twitter followers. Dropping the phone when she felt her father’s arm wrap around her waist,

“What are you doin up monkey?”

(Chris' P.O.V)

My eyes flickered open, my wife’s head tucked into my neck, with both my arms around her. Placing a soft kiss onto her forehead I turned my head to see my little princess facing away from me,

“What are you doin up monkey?”

“Nofin dada” Ellie replied cutely, my arms bringing her to sit atop my chest, her cute toothy smile making my heart swell with happiness.

To my side I felt Y/n pepper soft kisses onto my neck, signalling that she too was starting to wake up slowly. Sporting that same dazed look as Ellie, my wife lifted up her head and looked around before settling her head on my chest with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey baby” Y/n croaked out, bringing up a hand to cup Ellie's face as she nuzzled into it.

“C'mere love” Y/n cooed shifting over to create a small space between us, Ellie's face lightening up as she hurried to shuffle into the crevice. Her head laying on my torso, with half her body leaning on mine, Y/n’s arms kept around her waist affectionately.

Y/n who now had her head on my shoulder looked up at me, leaning forward to press a soft sweet kiss onto my lips, one which I greatly reciprocated,

“Wha bout me mama” Ellie pouted, making Y/n and I laugh, the both of us looking at each other before smothering Ellie in kisses on her face.

(Y/n's P.O.V)

Sharing kisses and cuddles with my family mid winter was always a treat, something i’m glad we included in our daily routine. I hugged Ellie tighter to my chest, basking in her soft baby powder scent, Chris’ arms enveloping us as he acted as our personal heater.

His arm rubbed up and down my back lovingly, his hands venturing up his shirt I was wearing, his other hand folded once again behind his back.

“Dads Ponies” Ellie pouted after a while, Chris smiling when he knew exactly what his daughter wanted.

“Okay monkey, let dada just get his phone alright?” Chris sighed sitting up a bit to reach his phone, only to find it vibrating every single second, hell faster if even.

“What on Earth?” He whispered unlocking his phone showing it to me, Ellie had now quietened down instead looking up at the screen with us. Chris’ twitter had hundreds of thousands of notifications over some tweet he apparently just posted, when we were asleep?

“Ellie? Were you on dada's phone” I asked sweetly

“Was only playing alphabet” She smiled turning around to hug into my body,

“I mean she definitely practiced, that’s for sure” Chris laughed showing me the supposed tweet,

“Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzaisjwjis fuck susnduwui baby usnwusjw groceries whensuje love”

“Look mama, alfbet” Ellie shouted excitedly pointing to her work on Chris' phone, Chris' face lighting up and congratulating his little princess for being so smart.

Chris then took it upon himself to take a selfie of us all cuddling on this huge mattress with hundreds of blankets, explaining the funny situation to his fans.

“Alright Ellie, time to get changed” I said slowly sitting up,

“No mama wan' hug” Ellie pouted crossing her arms, which was really her just grabbing her opposite elbows, her eyes already threatening to water with tears.

“After tubby time baby, we can play with toys yeah?”

“Toy?” She quirked with an eyebrow up, already climbing to her feet on the wobbly air bed, Chris’ hands ghosting around her in case she fell

“Tubbies mama, now”

“Alright miss bossy pants m'comin” I laughed chasing after her small body running after the stairs, feeling a large hand spank my ass as I got off the mattress. Gasping to see Chris whistling and acting as if he had just done nothing, causing me to shake my head and run after our little girl.

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @sairsei @patzammit @madebylilly @bxdbxtxh15 @tojisbabymommy @dumb-fawkin-bitch @vrittivsanghavi @chrisevansdaughter @kimhtoo17 @itsaylayay1213 @evanstanwhore @mrspeacem1nusone @thereisa8ella @seren-a-ity @pandaxnienke @chrisevansangel @royalwriteroftheuniverse

#romance #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans oneshot

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heyidkyay · 2 months

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Fourteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: First bit is a lil messy! BUT it's just a way of moving through time whilst letting you know what's going on. Apologising anyway, tried to make it as simple as possible! Idk how I’m really feeling about this series atm ngl, hopefully I’ll find some more inspiration soon x

> Just a reminder! We left the last update with Mouse and her mum talking about Matty:) You can look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Mirror

14:04, 26 Dec 2023

For Christmas Denise Welch reunites with..

LOOSE Women star Denise Welch had a fun-filled Christmas this year with her two sons and...

*picture: family gathering featuring Matty Healy in red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 Glasses and beanie combo>>> @/user2 He was wearing that yesterday too @/user3 I wish my family was chill enough to take a xmas pic😭

[HOMESCREEN] 11:12

Facetime now Matty:)!! Incoming Call

Messages 4m Finnleyyy So will I be seeing my best mate this nye??

Instagram 11m Trumanblack mentioned you in a private story

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Matty spotted out in Manchester! *picture: long trench and red beanie*

Ugh! @/user1 Matty on new years! *with old friends // red beanie tucked into a jacket pocket* > Loveme @/user2 The beanie is spotted again.. >> Saidhello @/user3 @/user2 Been all over his ig stories too 👀 friends? @/user4 I'm sort of obsessed w it and the fact it's stirring up so many questions💀 ppl, @/user5 it's so nice to see him actually happy!! lemmebepartoftheband @/user6 WAITING ON THE NEXT ALBUMMMM

Instagram

Trumanblack Story today

The Sun

23:47, 31 Dec 2023

MATTY HEALY SPOTTED OUT FOR NEW YEARS CELEBRATIONS AFTER 'SUPPOSED' SOBRIETY

The 1975 frontman was seen out in London this evening with friends and other members of the band celebrating a...

*picture: Matty Healy all dressed up and sporting a red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 shit like this ruins people @/user2 That hat again! Was it a Christmas present? @/user3 another celeb trying at sobriety, another bullshit article @/user4 Where in London even was this?

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Band's interview with Variety today, click here for the video! Will be updating later on today:) *boys all pictured: George/shades, Matty/beanie&longtee, Ross/hairdown, Adam/leatherjacket*

[HOMESCREEN] 13:52

Messages 3m Matty:)!! Just wrapping up now, should be able to call in 10 x

Youtube 9m Recommended: The 1975 - Talks of tour? | VM Radio Uk

Instagram 21m Trumanblack just added to his story

AdelineWells sent you a direct message

23 New Notifications click to open

TWITTER: Partoftheband @/user1 Talks of tour??? Are they trying to kill me? Gotabf @/user2 The beanie!! It's back!! Milk @/user3 You reckon he's washed it? People! @/user4 He wears so much designer shit, why's he wearing a hat that looks like it was knitted by my nan??

With January, came sleet and heavy rain. Forcing us all indoors and making quick regrets over arduous New Year’s resolutions.

I had half a dozen interviews lined up in the first month alone, which was a promising start to the year but also incredibly nerve wracking. I’d spent the majority of the wavering days between Christmas and the 31st fretting over each and every detail, beyond thankful that my mum had stuck around a little longer after the festivities to help keep Teddy preoccupied.

Adi, thankfully, was stuck in the exact same boat, which meant that we could both bear the burden together. Leading to a whole lot of time being spent on the phone, making plans, or down at the studio, where Teddy could roam free. We were moving up in the world, as Matty now liked to claim, and so that meant more of our time being taken up by mundane tasks such as asking Hozier’s PA what kind of drink he preferred and avoiding a couple of Podcaster's sudden opinions on us.

Still, we were forever grateful.

Though it wasn’t just the radio show getting shafted with a shit ton of toil either, it appeared that work had Finn headed off to the States for a few gallery openings, and Matty pulled in all sorts of directions whilst the band sorted out their upcoming album.

I hadn’t heard a word of it, although the singer kept on endlessly chattering away about how much he loved the songs they were now producing, suddenly leased with a newfound life. Which always left me feeling happy, even if I did have to wait alongside the rest of the world to listen in. It was nice knowing that he was enjoying it all once more. Seeing as, music made Matty and Matty made music. And all that.

So anyway, what I’d been getting at there was that the last few weeks had been all too trying. Enough so that Matty and I had hardly seen hide nor hair of each other, and our Facetime calls had been fair and few. Which was something that didn’t just sadden me, but Teddy too it seemed, who’d come to quite like the musician and all of his odd quirks.

That fact in itself had almost sent me running, in truth.

And maybe that was silly of me, but Teddy was my everything and it killed me to see him upset over someone he barely even knew. But then again, I supposed he did know Matty in a way. Whenever Matty called, Teddy was there to tell the man about his day, whenever Matty texted he never failed to ask after Teds, whenever he sent pictures and videos of the studio and whatever else he was doing they were usually for Teddy to see.

I didn’t think Teddy had ever attached himself to a person so quickly. Which really did surprise me. Though oddly enough, what surprised me much more was the fact that Matty had just soldiered on and stuck with it, instead of running for the hills the first chance he’d gotten, like I’d expected.

Which was perhaps a bit of an unfair assumption on my part, but it was something I didn’t feel too guilty over- I’d made that clear to Matty the very first day the two of them had met after all.

Saying that though, I was left to eat my words as I watched that same man galavant his way around a London Zoo with a four year old plopped atop his shoulders. Doing so without complaint, and thoroughly enjoying it too.

“There! There, Matty! You see?” I heard Teddy call out in loud excitement as I trailed my way on after them, his little fingers holding onto the red beanie Matty now often favoured. Something I relentlessly teased him about but which left me feeling all warm every time I saw it.

“Oh yeah! I do now. Wow monster, how’d you even spot him over there?” Matty replied, feigning obvious awe and grinning madly when Teddy leaned over the top of his head to poke his face into view.

“I eat carrots.”

I snorted at the simple answer Teddy gave and Matty, forever charmed by my toddler’s antics, nodded around a low chuckle of his own. “I’ll make sure to buy a couple on my way home then.”

Stepping closer, I found it strange to be in a zoo so lifeless. Which probably sounded even more peculiar, but then again, it hadn’t been my idea to go ahead and rent the entire place out just so that we could have a nose around at all the wildlife without Matty getting mobbed. What a diva, hey?

“I still can’t believe you did all this.” I murmured to him once Matty had set Teddy back down on the ground, leaving my son to run on over towards one of the caged fences, calling out to the languid lions that laid beyond it.

“It’s sick.”

That had been Matty’s only defence since having arrived and me figuring this all out, it was as endearing as it was bewildering.

“It’s mental is what it is, you idiot.”

He glanced over at me, hands tucked up in his pockets, a smug grin now painted on his face. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to be charmed by him and his inane antics.

“Admit it, you’re loving this. Not having to worry about losing the kid and actually being able to get a look in at this lot.” Matty argued, and if he were anyone else he’d be swaying back and forth in utter delight- Wilmslow’s very own Willy Wonka- but all he did was simply look back at Teddy with a prideful grin, who was now currently trying to lure a lioness in closer.

Thing is, he wasn’t wrong. And Matty was enough of a git to know it too.

I didn’t grant him a reply though and instead wandered over to drag my son away from the ever nearing lion. “Did you see, mama? She likes me!”

I had to grin and bite back my sudden hysteria, although Matty snorted from his place now back beside us. “I did see, lovely! How about we go look at the snakes though now, hey?” And with that, Teddy was eager to part from us (and thankfully the lion) , sprinting ahead in the direction of a lizard sign that stood not too far away, leaving Matty and I to trail behind.

“Where all the animals are locked behind glass, yeah?” Matty piped up after and I narrowed my eyes at him in return, refraining from giving him a right good shove.

“Shut it.”

He merely cackled and looped an arm around my shoulders.

–

“They should just get back together. I mean- the money alone!”

I chuckled quietly to myself, moving about the tiny kitchenette at the studio and rolling my eyes at the man propped up between a Guinness World Records book we had and the sugar tin.

“I’m not saying that they shouldn’t! I’m just saying that they won’t.” I argued back, still rifling my way through a drawer in search of a sharp enough knife. “Those are two completely different things.”

“So what?” Matty scoffed, his displeasure with the whole debate managing to seep its way through the phone. “Fucking pair of pillocks, can’t even imagine how the world would react, the industry alone!”

I smiled, all too familiar with the daily rants of one Matthew Healy. This particular tirade of his had been spurred on by a comment I’d made on today’s show, it seemed he’d been listening in.

“Oo, is there a brew going for me?”

I glanced behind me just in time to spot Adi making her way into the studio, a large duffle bag for tomorrow's shoot thrown over her left shoulder.

“Who else?” I quipped back, grinning victoriously when I finally found the trusty blade I’d brought over from mine so many years ago now that laid between a wooden spoon and a jar opener.

“What are you even doing?” She asked me next, having already tossed the bag down onto the sofa and made her way over. She waved when she spotted Matty’s familiar face upon opening the fridge, used to his presence cropping up here and there by now, “Alright, Healy? Thought you had big meetings today.”

“We do. I’m currently hiding out in a bin.”

Adi paused to blink at the absurd reply and then shrugged, not seeing the point in questioning it any further. “And you?” She prompted me, plucking a pint of milk from the fridge and slamming it closed.

“So full of questions today, high inquisitor.” I sang, already moving to slice into the whole watermelon I’d brought on my way in, having right fancied it when I’d passed by the fruit & veg stall up on the high street. “And what do you think, Ads? Exactly what it looks like.”

“Yeah, but why?”

I just shook my head in answer and Adi seemed to take that for what it was, a blatant dismissal. Matty though, ever so sweet, must’ve felt a bit bad because I heard him pipe up again, “She’s gone and brought a whole watermelon. Paid five quid for the thing, you believe that?”

“Five quid! Did he ask if he could spit in your face too?” Adi all but exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers as she looked over at me.

“Yes, five quid.” I stressed, having already heard enough of it from Matty, who didn’t have a leg to stand on here. “Now leave off, or I won't share.” I wielded the knife between the pair of them jokingly and Adi relented easily enough, already moving to skim a piece I’d just cut from off the counter. I cast a shrewd glance towards my phone, “And besides you can’t talk, Mr. Millionaire.”

Matty snorted.

“Is it really that much?” Adi wondered out loud, sweeping over to get a better glimpse at my screen and the man hidden within it.

I rolled my eyes and smirked, already figuring that she’d try her luck with just that thought alone.

“Piss off, Wells.” Matty laughed, amused by the ever so sweet smile Adi had suddenly conjured up for him and the way she was now batting her lashes, “How the fuck did we go from watermelon to my networth anyway?”

“Extortion.”

“Nepotism.”

I stopped slicing to taste test a chunk of watermelon and heard Matty heave a heavy sigh.

Adi, though, just moved to ask, “Did you threaten the fruit & veg man then?”

“Fucking should’ve.” I muttered, but couldn't quite bring myself to regret the wasted fiver then, not when the fruit was almost heavenly.

“Can you stop eating? I’m in a crisis you know, and fucking starving.” I heard Matty complain, his voice practically petulant.

“Actually, you’re in a bin.” I corrected, taking another chunk, “So don’t be a drama queen. If you’re hungry, order a Deliveroo or fuck off home.”

Matty was almost pouting when I slid on over to join Adi by the phone, a plate overwhelmed with watermelon now towering between us. His frown deepened. “You’re proper evil, you know that?”

I simply grinned, “You love it.”

Only Adi noticed the faint hue that bloomed across the singer’s cheeks then. Seeing as I was already rambling away once again, talking about the weekend get-together we’d planned now we all had some time to spare.

“You’re still coming, right?” I then asked Adi, who was now smirking for some reason. I raised a brow.

She merely hummed around her next slice and dipped her head at me, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, babe.”

Matty’s eyes narrowed at that but I deemed it better to ignore whatever the two of them had going on, I found life to be much simpler that way.

–

It was almost gone nine and still no sign of her.

She had texted almost half an hour ago now, saying she was headed out, but Matty still kept his phone in hand, spinning it this way and that, just in case she tried messaging again.

“You’re driving me mad with that, man.” George suddenly announced, drawing Matty’s attention back to the table at the overcrowded club they’d picked out. “Stop it.” He added, swatting at Matty’s forearm when he’d barely acknowledged him the first time round.

Matty’s brow pinched but he let the mobile go with a clatter to the tabletop, “Happy?”

George exaggerated his smile in the same sense Matty just had whilst he clasped his hands in mock prayer before him, “Incredibly.” Then he relaxed back in his chair once more, face softening as Matty’s eyes shot out across the floor for the umpteenth time, “God, you’re really fucking strung up on this one.”

“Eh?” Matty immediately asked him, his head spinning back around to spare a glance at his mate.

“Just,” George began with a slow shrug, his chin dipped against his chest now in the way that he’d leaned back making his eyes appear all the more solemn. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so invested, is all.”

“Invested, fuck’s that meant to mean?”

Goerge just huffed. “I don’t know, Matty. Just, you’re not usually the type to get so caught up on a girl you’re chasing.”

“I’m not chasing her. We’re mates.” Matty hastily defended and could feel the way his face had instantly scrunched up with the force of it.

He was gifted a short snort in return, “Yeah man, sure, and I can fly a shitting plane.” At Matty’s ever darkening expression, George sighed once more and moved to prop himself up on his knees, “Look yeah? I didn’t mean nothing by it, only curious. It’s weird seeing you all moody and pent up about somebody. Been a while.”

It had been a while since he’d last seen someone properly, but that didn’t suddenly mean that he and Mouse currently had anything going on. He’d been too focused on staying clean, working on the album, and trying to forget the last year and a half had ever happened. And Mouse… well, she had a kid and didn’t seem the type to take to anyone so easily. They were mates. Just, mates.

Matty must’ve been quiet a little too long though because when George spoke again his voice had softened, as had his face. It almost looked pitiful now, enough that Matty wanted to force him away from his line of sight. But he didn’t, only glanced back out towards the floor.

“Matty, mate. I really didn’t mean to piss you off, you know that. I’m just saying it how I see it.” Matty rolled his eyes but George only continued to talk, “It’s obvious that you like her, man. Whether it’s just as friends or something more. But do me a favour and just have a long think about it, yeah? She’s nice and all, but I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

Matty bit back the scoff that lodged itself in his throat, “If anything, G, it’d be me hurting her. Wouldn’t be that unexpected though, would it?”

George’s hand came to grasp his shoulder at that and with a firm but gentle grip he forced Matty to better face him, he leaned in so his voice would carry over the music, his forehead now furrowed. “You’re not a bad person, man. Not everyone’s expecting you to fuck up all the time.”

Didn’t that feel like a fucking lie.

The hand pressed further and George shook Matty a tad, wanting him to comprehend his words. Take them in. “You’re doing good, mate. Really good. And we’re proud, alright? We are. All I’m saying is, have a think about what you want. Make sure you’re happier for it, make sure… that you can deal with everything that comes along with it. Understand?”

Matty’s mouth felt a little dry as he stared up into George’s eyes, seeing the genuine care held within them. Almost immediately Matty felt his walls crumble down around him and he struggled to find the right words to respond with. They were proud. So instead, he just nodded and George’s hand clapped the back of his neck with a winning grin.

“Good. Now, go get her, yeah?”

Matty frowned at the words but before he could think to question it the table was moving to welcome in a couple of newcomers and he turned in his seat to meet the eyes of a smiling Squeaks.

“Hey you.”

“You made it!”

She grinned back at him, beamed actually, and Matty felt his eyes flicker down to her lips for a second, then down further to the lovely little dress she’d decided on. He hastily stood up to greet her, wrapping her up in a hug- something that had come more and more naturally to them in the last few weeks- and rocked slightly. “Get all dressed up for me, did you?”

Mouse pulled away with a laugh, her head thrown back a tad before her glistening eyes set themselves back on him, she squeezed his arm, “You wish.”

He did wish. But he didn’t voice that passing thought out loud, filing it away to stress about later, and instead shuffled nearer to whisper, “You do look gorgeous though.”

The skin by her ear prickled with goosebumps and Matty pulled away before he could get too caught up in what that might have meant. He graced her with a slow smile, “Drinks?”

She let go of a breath, then smiled brightly back at him with a dip of her chin, “Drinks.”

–

“I haven't heard a word of it!” I said, pushing my drink down onto the table. I was currently on my fifth of the night, but the guys were forever getting new rounds in and so I knew it wouldn’t take me long before I was handed another.

“You said you didn’t like our stuff!” Matty immediately answered back, his voice a tad bit higher now.

I gaped at the claim, “I did not!”

“Yes, you fuckin’ did!”

The rest of the table was watching on in ever growing amusement, Ross’s eyes were dancing back and forth between Matty and I, whilst Adi wore a grin that could probably help power Blackpool Tower.

“I said I loved your earlier work. I didn’t say I hated the newer stuff!” I rebuked, desperately trying to think back to that first show I’d mentioned Matty in. Had I really said that?

Matty went to speak but Hann cut in before he could, “You two are mental. All I asked was whether she’d heard anything we’d been working on.”

George snorted, managing to drag his eyes away from his fiance to smirk at the pair of us. “Remember she claimed the band looked spent.”

Matty jumped to point in George’s direction, pleased, whilst my eyes widened, “I wouldn’t!”

“You did, love.” George laughed, looking more amused than hurt which was the only thing keeping me from being physically sick. “It’s alright, no harm done.”

I fish-mouthed, but even with that having been said, Matty was still grinning victoriously. “Fucking told you.”

Wrinkling my nose, I turned to neck the rest of my drink. “Yeah, well. I do love your songs, alright?”

Matty’s brows upturned, as if he was about to deny the claim and accuse me of lying, but Adi cut in, “No it’s true, she's been listening to your shit nonstop since you two met. Like it’s grating at this point.”

“Harsh.” Ross dragged out and Adi gave him a coy smile when she went to pat his chest, “You try listening to his gob on repeat and then we’ll talk, yeah?” She retorted easily, dipping her head towards Matty, whose face scrunched up unhappily.

“Careful, Wells. Starting to sound like you might not like me.”

Adi flashed him a toothy smile, “Who claimed I ever did?”

I was quick to reach out and grab Matty’s wrist when he frowned, ready to open his mouth once more. The motion seemed to grab most, if not all, of his attention because he wavered in his stance before letting himself be pulled over.

“He’s fragile, Ads.” I chuckled to her, hand cradling the back of Matty’s head when he leaned in to press his face against my shoulder. “All the big rockstars have delicate egos.”

Adi snorted and I watched as she let Ross drape an arm over her shoulders, her hand finding his.

“Not fucking fragile.” Matty said, but the heat of it was lost in the mumble against my skin, I laughed.

“Sure, babe.” I murmured fondly, smiling when I felt the curve of his grin against my neck. I started to run my hand through his hair almost unconsciously, letting the alcohol dim the anxious worries that would typically cloud my mind. “You’re a real man.”

“A real fuckin’ man.”

I rolled my eyes with a shake of my head that must've disrupted Matty’s newfound peace because he pulled away slightly, hands falling to rest on my hips, keeping us close.

“You’re proper nice, you know?” He mumbled in contradiction to our previous argument, his head falling forward to press his forehead to mine. His eyes appeared so much darker in this light, the little space between us had me holding my breath. “So nice.”

Instantly I was reminded of one of the first conversations I’d had with Adi about Matty, he’d been nice then too. “Thanks.” I chuckled before swallowing, eyes trailing between his before I voiced the thought. “You’re nice too.”

He smiled, one of those lazy ones where his eyelids drooped and the skin around his mouth wrinkled. His stare dropped ever so slightly and my mouth parted on instinct.

Matty licked at his lower lip, teeth grazing it ever so slightly. “I’m glad I met you.”

My heart stuttered in my chest, squeezing in on itself so tightly that I thought it might just give out, before it finally let go. “I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

Matty tilted his head at me causing the tip of his nose to brush against mine, I struggled to remember to keep breathing. “I’m glad I met you, Squeaks.” He repeated with an air of finality, either unaware or uncaring for the reaction it drew from me as he raised a hand to drag his thumb across my jaw.

I looked up into his eyes, unblinking. Aware that I’d never felt quite like anything this before.

“I’m glad I met you too.”

–

Metro News

Feb 2024 06:21

SETTLING DOWN? | ‘75 SINGER CAUGHT IN CLUB WITH SINGLE MUM

Last night it seems our local heartthrob was back out on the town again after a few weeks of silence, only this time he wasn't alone! Read more...

[HOMESCREEN] 07:59

Facetime now Finnleyyy Incoming Call

Messages 7m Adi x Babe wake up, shits going down over on twitter!! Also (very much related) did you shag Healy last night???

Twitter 11m You now have 378 notifications

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc The Band spotted out in London last night with the MouseOnAMic girls! *picture: a story from Adelinewells instagram//blurred group photo*

backofmyvan @/user1 Is this real?? *picture: blurred Matty and Mouse in a dark club* Funnyface @/user2 Is that the radio host? she has a kid?? Saidhello! @/user3 I woke up to chaos. On another note, how are my matty girlies doing today?

97 notes · View notes

tw1l1te · 2 months

Text

The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 5

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: Mentions of traumatic pasts, fluff, angst, mental health

₊˚✩⊹

“You and I both know I’d make such a sexy Link,” you said, “Green is my color, you said so yourself!”

Wars groaned “Of course you remember that of all the things I’ve said.”

You turned to Four and Legend, who were walking a few feet behind you two, loudly whispering “I think he’s too embarrassed to admit I look better in green than him.”

Both of them nodded exaggeratingly. Wars just groaned. You cackled loudly. Both of you knew it was all fun and games, needing some humor to lighten up the journeys you've been through.

Keeping up with him, you looked out onto the expanse of Hyrule, slowly transitioning from green grassy fields to dry, sandy earth. You almost didn’t notice it by how slow it was, but you felt a shift in the wind. You looked at the others, seeing if they also picked it up, but you seemed to be the only one. The air felt heavy and threatening, like a predator was hunting you. Watching you.

“Stop.” you say, mostly to yourself, but the others hear you as well.

Hyrule jogs back to you, “What’s going on? You ok?” you concentrate on a blade of grass, putting your finger up to your lips to listen. The air is thick with tension, you could probably cut it with the Master Sword.

“Portal’s opened up.” you say, looking past Hyrule to the group, eyeing Time to try and read his face. He looks at you for a moment, an emotion that you can’t read written across his face, but he seems to snap out of it. He nods.

You pull out your phone, still the same battery percentage as when you first landed in Hyrule, the charge not depleting despite the fact you’ve been using it continuously. Flipping to your homescreen, you start walking forward, the group following behind you. You took out your phone to detect which direction the portal is located. The screen gets all fuzzy and distorted when it gets close to the portal, so it acts as a compass in a way.

You only needed to use this tactic when the portal didn’t popup in your line of sight, which seemed like the case right now.

“Careful sunshine, there’s usually monsters near portals.” Wars mumbled, his hands firmly gripping the hilt of his sword, knuckles going white from how hard he was holding it. Pointing it towards the hill in front of you, your phone finally starts distorting, the response you were looking for. You slip your phone into your pack, pointing toward the hill wordlessly.

Reaching the peak of the hill, you see the purple and black colored portal in the sandy expanse of Gerudo Valley. The group resumes walking toward it, but you hesitate. Time and Wars turn back around to look at you, noticing your hesitation. They can see the internal battle happening behind your eyes.

“I’m so fucking close, Time. It’s literally a day or two walk away for us. I-fuck I can’t do this.” you say, eyes starting to sting.

The others stay put while Time makes his way to you, slow, careful steps. Kneeling slightly in front of you, he sighs.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. Truly, I am. I wish there was some way I could help, but I can’t. We have to go through the portal, but I promise you, whichever Hyrule we land in, we’ll keep searching for you.” he says, a stern look on his face. His words do little to ease your anxieties, but you know that there’s, objectively, nothing you can do. With a nod, both of you walk through the portal, the rest of the group following close behind.

You hear voices around you before you can open your eyes. Sensing the voices didn’t hold any worry or danger, you relaxed for a few more seconds before you inevitably had to get up.

“We’re here, Y/n.” Four says, brushing the hair out of your face, no doubt getting tangled through the shifting of realities. You’d have to deal with it later.

You groan, every inch of your body sore. You look at Four, “Any idea of who’s Hyrule we’re in?”

Four ponders before answering, “Well, it’s definitely not mine, but Time says it might be his, but is unsure because we’re in the middle of a field right now. Probably Hyrule Field if I had to guess.”

Time addresses the group, adjusting his gauntlets “I’m suspecting we’re in my Hyrule, based on the terrain and layout. If we head North, I have an old friend we can lodge with for a few days.”

“Malon?” you ask.

“...Yes. She took over the ranch a few years ago, so there shouldn’t be any issues with beds or room.” he answers, partially forgetting that you knew almost every Hyrule and its people. It should have worried him, but he was glad you were excited to explore Hyrule regardless of your seemingly endless knowledge of it.

While walking on the dirt path, you, Wind, and Hyrule talk about the different Hyrules, mentioning how despite being the same land with minor shifts of architecture and layout, it still felt starkly different.

“I’m still so confused on how your land is mapped out, Y/n. You’re saying you have… cities? As in Castle Town, right?” Hyrule asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I guess yeah. But way bigger and taller. Think Castle Town but like 100 times the size.” you say.

Hyrule’s mouth drops open.

“Holy goddesses, that’s huge! How do you not get lost? I got lost in Wars’ Castle Town for at least two hours last time we were there, and it was a nightmare figuring out how to get back to the inn.”

You chuckled, remembering the frantic Hyrule entering the inn, hours after he was meant to return.

“It’s harder if it’s a new city I’ve never been to. I used to live in the city when I went to school, so I had to walk in it everyday. I eventually memorized and knew how to get around. If you guys ever land there, I’ll show you around.” you said, looking outward onto the path in front of you.

You can see the ranch in the distance, a small stream of smoke coming out from the chimney.

“Seems like she’s home, Old man.” Wars said, gesturing at the house. Time nodded in response.

“For the love of goddesses, please behave. I’m lucky enough as it is that she lets me bring you lot here.” Time says, groaning slightly.

“Aye aye, captain!” Wind shouts, earning another groan from him. You smiled at Wind, him shooting you a toothy grin.

“It’s about time you boys came around! Come in, come in! You must be hungry and exhausted.” Malon exclaims, ushering you in. “And Y/n! So glad to see you again, it's been what, 5 months now?”

“Wow, its been that long Mal? Damn, time does really have a way with catching up to you. How have you been?” you ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Ah, y’know, same old thing every day. Link’s been keepin’ ya on your toes, huh?” she teases, nodding his head at him, “Fairy boy can’t sit still, can he?” she muses.

Looking back at Time, you see him standing awkwardly. You chuckle, “He does, but he takes care of us. He’s good to us, all of us.” You smile at him, him sending you a small smile in thanks, refocusing on something the group was talking about.

Now that you’re focused on him, you realize you and him didn’t discuss what that kiss was a few nights ago. It’s been nagging you, gnawing at your brain. You needed to talk with him, but… you were nervous. You’re experiencing the beginnings of a school girl crush again, a feeling you didn’t think you’d feel again after…. them. You were scared shitless.

You’d talk to him. Tonight.

₊˚✩⊹

#linked universe x reader #linked universe au #link x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe

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sassycheesecake · 11 months

Text

In honor of Iwa-chan‘s birthday today, a small os for my bestie @rukia-uchiha-98 ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

You’re already in a bad mood when your friend drags you to a volleyball game that your school is having.

Aoba Johsai against Karasuno.

Now, if it were an actual match, you‘d understand her hype a lot more but the thing is, she really wants to watch that smug bastard Oikawa play.

Neither you or your friend knows anything about volleyball though, it’s just an excuse to watch pretty sweaty high school boys play ball and run around.

Pulling you by your uniform to some free places along the side of the gym hall, you and your friend sit down.

As soon as your friend spots the Captain of Aoba Johsai, she squeals in excitement and shakes you a little bit by the shoulders.

Letting her do what she wants, you just sit there with an annoyed expression and wait for her to calm down.

In the beginning, you watch the ball going to your team‘s field and the opponent‘s field but after a while, you get bored, so you fish your phone out of your hand.

Swiping through your homescreen, you open your Pinterest app to look at some more Satoru Gojo fanart to distract yourself.

All of sudden, your friend next to you screams out your name and she ducks to the side.

Before you can even react, an extremely heavy force lands on your face, making you see a white light for the moment.

Only a few seconds later, a vastly pain spreads through your face.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God (Y/N) are you okay?!“ A shrieking voice rings in your ear.

You barely acknowledge your friend‘s voice, as you hold on to your nose with your hands, when you felt a warm wetness against your hands.

Slowly pulling your hands back, you see blood covering your hands.

Due to your huge shock, your feel a lot of tissue papers being shoved into your face, covering half of it.

„Owwww….“ you mumble out.

„(Y/N)! SPEAK TO ME! WHAT YEAR IS IT?!“

„2012 and stop screaming in my ear, I am right next to you. Oh gosh this hurts so bad.“

„Oh sorry… let’s go to the nurse‘s office, maybe she can give you some ice.“

With both of you heading out to the gym to the school nurse‘s office, you hear a voice shouting behind you.

„HEY WAIT!“

Both turning around, you see a muscular guy in his Aoba Johsai uniform running towards you with the number „4“ on the front of his shirt.

His dark brown hair is slightly spiked up, it reminds you a little bit of a cute hedgehog.

The sweat is slightly running down on his face, his cheeks red from probably running after you.

His face shows deep concern and big regret and you can guess from his guilty face that he was the one that slammed the volleyball into your face.

Your friend is just as much as in shock like you, surprised that the Wing Spiker followed the two of you.

„Are you… are you okay?“ He pants when he stands in front of you.

„I uh… I am okay… just in pain…“ You retort.

„(Y/N) I will leave you be, since Iwaizumi is here, text me later what the nurse says.“ Your friend farewells you with a smirk on her face.

As you and the volleyball player stare after your friend, you mentally curse her for her devious smirk.

When the brunette turns around to look back at you, he frantically starts apologizing.

„I am really sorry, I-I uh…-“ You gently interrupt him.

„It’s not your fault that the ball flew in my direction, unless of course you did that on purpose, then I will slam a ball into your face.“ You threaten with a dangerous tone in your voice.

He looks even more horrified at the thought of him doing it on purpose.

„No! I swear! I tried receiving the ball from the opponent and it bounced off and flew with an incredible amount of speed into your direction.“ He mutters with a redness on his cheeks.

You hum at his explanation.

„We‘ll just blame physics then.“ You try to smile beneath the bloodied tissues, getting into the nurse‘s office.

The handsome looking stranger mirrors your smile, follows you into the room after making sure you’re okay with it because he still feels bad for your probably broken nose.

After the nurse has checked out your nose, she confirms that it is indeed broken and tells you to go to the hospital to have it checked out. She did give you some pain medication and a cold compress to hold against your nose. Luckily your nose stopped bleeding.

Both of you exiting the office, you notice you don’t even know his name, so you ask for it.

„Call me Hajime.“

„What a beautiful name. I‘ll see you around Hajime. Thank you for accompanying me.“

„Goodbye (Y/N), I‘ll see you around.“ Iwaizumi blushes a bit around his cheeks, the tips of his ears gushing red as well.

You part your ways, with you heading home and Iwaizumi back to the gym.

With a small smile, Iwaizumi walks back to the gym, a tumbling feeling settling in his stomach, like his heart is making more jumps than usual.

When he reaches the locker room, he sees his teammates almost done with changing into their school uniforms.

Hanamaki notices Iwaizumi first when he walks in.

„So? Got her number?“ The Outside Hitter asks intrigued.

Iwaizumi frowns at that.

„What?“

„We saw you running after that girl like a headless chicken, don’t try to deny it, we followed you until you both went inside the nurse‘s office.“ Matsukawa explains.

„You guys have nothing better to do than spy on my personal life?“

„Nope.“ They all say in sync.

„Iwa-chan, can I be the best man at your wedding and tell your future wife that you still collect Godzilla merch like a 10 year old geek?“

Iwaizumi throws a bottle from the bench at Oikawa, who barely dodges it.

The rest of the team laughs at their banter, happy that Iwaizumi may have found someone special in his life.

@nerd-of-karasuno @wake-uptoreality @darthferbert

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tyxoxo · 11 months

Text

RxLuSTx0_ - II.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, read part 1 here

genre: smut (aftersex/aftercare), camcouple!jeno/reader

words: 850~

warnings: none

a/n: typed this up at work LMFAO

jeno ended the live quickly, bending down to the height of the laptop to tap the “end stream” at the top right hand corner.

his audience was used to his silent goodbyes, knowing he just wasn’t the type to say any closing remarks, especially if he was the one still standing from the night's events…

which was usually the case.

all that remained was the homescreen, a picture of the two of you from one of your vacations, jeno hugging you from behind as he rested his head on your shoulder. two big grins, in front of whatever monument you all decided to track down that day in the blistering heat.

he abandoned the laptop, rising to his feet and walking over to where you lay sprawled on the vinyl floor. to no surprise, he was still hard, fighting the urge to stroke himself over your unresponsive body.

you looked so pretty, arms splayed up at your head, cum stuffed so far in your throat that it managed to come out the other end—bubbling past your nostrils with every shallow breath. you would probably be mortified to see yourself this way, but to jeno, it was the hottest sight he’d ever seen.

he noticed your tremors, jolting from the aftermath of your trouble to swallow everything he gave you. you did amazing, he thought. and he was sure the audience thought so too, considering the abundance of donations that poured in. with a smile just as soft as the picture on the laptop monitor, he bent down once again, bundling your arms over your torso and gathering your legs together.

in one swift motion, he lifted you bridal style, making sure your head fell into the crease of his shoulder for support. you finally responded to his affectionate stimuli, eyes attempting to blink away the remaining tears that pooled under your eyelids.

“you did so good baby…”

you finally set your eyes upon your boyfriend, breath hitching from the gentle tone of his voice.

“i did?”

your two words were followed by a delicate cough, attempting to clear your throat of the thick substance you thought you had swallowed thoroughly.

“of course you did…so beautiful.”

he lowered his face to your flushed skin, continuing to whisper sweet nothings against your tear-stained cheeks as he carried you over to the bed.

he lowered you onto the faux fur comforter, giving a tender kiss to your forehead before walking off in the direction of the ensuite bathroom.

by the time he came back with a warm washcloth, you had already attempted to rid your face of the mess he made; even wiping the remnants of his cum off the corners of your mouth. still, you couldn’t help but savor the salty fluid, sucking the pads of your thumbs clean with a slight pop.

jeno’s eye smile grew upon seeing your antics, adoring your effort to never waste a single drop—something he taught you very early on in the relationship.

you scooted a few inches on the bed, allowing him room to sit on the side.

the comforting silence was just what you needed to comedown from the intensity of tonight’s events.

even though jeno wasn’t much of a talker, except for when he was buried inside you or your mouth, it was a nice change of pace to receive such calming aftercare. no worries about the past, present, or future, just pure enlightenment in each other’s company.

you rose up to rest your back against the headboard as he brought his fingers forward, taking off your eyelashes that were completely soaked, or more appropriately—ruined.

you kept your eyes closed as he began wiping along your forehead, somewhat embarrassed at the realization that you were comparable to that of a train wreck.

but the warmth brought on by the washcloth now swiping along your breasts eased your worries, your upper half eventually slouching into his gentle cleansing.

“i’ll keep this here in case you need it okay.” he stopped his ministrations, setting the washcloth on the nightstand.

you craved his touches, something softer to end the night. even as he turned to set the cloth down, you reached your hands forward, clawing at his thighs, signaling that you were impatient for his cuddles.

he turned back to face you, bangs sweeping across his twinkling eyes.

“don’t worry baby, i’m here…i’m here.”

he hushed words were repeated like a mantra as he began enveloping you in a sweet embrace.

he’d always been the bigger spoon, wrapping his arms under and around your neck and letting the other rest on your hip, scooting your front further into his broad frame.

he had plenty of preferred positions, but whatever allowed him to plant consistent kisses on your forehead, was his favorite.

“you’re all mine, you know that right?”

you felt him whisper along your temple, causing a shiver to run along your spine. you arched your back in response, breasts pressing firmly against his chest. you peared up slowly, speechless from viewing absolute beauty right in the face.

“always yours…”

was the last response you could muster as the onset of slumber descended upon your eyelids; drifting off to the caresses that were of assured and everlasting peace.

i feel like this is trash >.<

#jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno x you #lee jeno smut #nct dream smut #RxLuSTx0_#i actually hate this #rip sksksks

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honkaiwritings · 1 year

Text

Big sis!Kafka

Headcanons for: Kafka

Requested by: no one

Prompt: What it’s like having Kafka as an older sister.

Word Count: 225

--------------------

•Big sister!Kafka who can't help but tease you as she wins yet another one of your sparring matches.

•Big sister!Kafka who helps you find your own sense of style.

•Big sister!Kafka who helps you apply your makeup.

•Big sister!Kafka who is secretly touched at the sentiment of the lipstick you chose being a very close shade to her own.

•Big sister!Kafka who keeps an even closer eye on you on the battlefield despite the fact that she knows you can defend yourself well.

•Big sister!Kafka who watches you release your ultimate, practically decimating your opponents in a single blow, with a proud, yet smug smile.

•Big sister!Kafka who celebrates your win with a shopping spree.

•Big sister!Kafka who will cut down anyone that stands in the way of your goal.

•Big sister!Kafka who changes the wallpaper of your lock screen and homescreen of your phone, just because she can.

•Big sister!Kafka who teases you about your very obvious crush on one of the members of the Astral Express Crew.

•Big sister!Kafka who makes it known that you, her precious little sibling, is completely off limits and if they want you, they'll have to go through her first.

----------------------------------------------------

Tag list: @simplydlightfuldestiny

A/N: if you would like to be added to the tag list, just leave a comment or send me a direct message!

#hsr imagines #hsr kafka #kafka #sibling au #hsr x reader #hsr & reader #reader insert #big sister!kafka #hsr headcanons #gender neutral insert #gender neautral reader

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fuckwallpapers · 2 years

Text

#zayn malik #zayn malik lockscreens #zayn malik wallpapers #wallpapers #lockscreens #iphone lockscreens #iphone wallpapers #wallpaper #homescreens #lockscreen #homescreen #one direction lockscreens #one direction wallpapers #one direction #1d

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twistedtavern · 2 years

Note

🍀 with selfaware!jamil finding his way out to a reader who loves him? poor boy needs some comfort

ANONNIE YOU SLAY ME 😭😭😭😭 HE NEEDS LOVE PLEASE

Disclaimer: This is a deviation from the planned plot of the Self Aware AU. It has spoilers for content that has been revealed, but not yet written at the time this post is published. If you want to know beforehand the events mentioned, look at this and this post before reading.

CW: mentions of traumatizing events, cults

Life was hard. You knew that better than anyone. Work, day in and day out, defined you, and you were sick of it. It was like everyone saw you as a welcome mat, pushing you to your limits and hardly even remembering your name in return.

In your fleeting moments of respite, you had once turned to the familiar worlds of the movies that has made up your childhood, but now that interest had taken on a new form. Twisted Wonderland, your new favorite game, which had in it Jamil Viper, your new favorite character. He was on your homescreen, he showed up when you logged in more than any other character, and it was him who seemed to have the most comforting dialogue out of all the others. Jamil's determination to undermine the one who kept him prisoner all his life while still keeping himself out of notice resonated with you deeper than you knew.

And you resonated with him.

The warmth of your love was overpowering. His heart could barely take just how much love and attention and pure understanding was poured into it. You knew him, not only at his best, or when he allows himself to be overshadowed, or at his worst, but all of him. You knew how much he hated bugs, how he used to evade his mother's wrath by hiding in pots, how much the pain of minimizing himself at every opportunity has become so commonplace that it had faded.

You were away now, off slaving away at whatever it was that had demanded your attention, and so was he. It was simply another day under the watch of this insufferable cult. The love you had given him came with its price when the script was not there to shield him. Raw, writhing envy clouded the gazes of his classmates, directing hateful glares in his direction. Sometimes, their eyes bore into his soul with fathomless, hollow expressions that carved a deep feeling of unease into him. Even Kalim, who Jamil had once known not to have a single jealous bone in his body, now did not speak to him without being first spoken to. The red in his eyes that had always reminded Jamil of the vibrant silks of home in years past now did not seem stained with dye, but with fresh blood.

He was not safe here.

He could not take it anymore.

He had to get out.

The ritual is today.

Jamil had been packing for days, everything he had considered essentials was tucked away in a magical backpack that he had enchanted himself. It was easy to hide, far deeper than it was on the outside, and magically connected to his pockets. He had everything he thought he would need, a spare broomstick, potion ingredients, a few completed potions, grimoires, food, water, first aid kit, nondescript clothing, and multiple handfuls of expensive gemstones and jewelery from the hidden crevices of the treasure hoard for anything else he might need. He did not know if magic would work in this new world, or if he would even get there, but now was the time where he not only could demonstrate his potential, but had to.

There was still room in the bag. All the essentials that he did not need on hand daily were packed and secure, and Jamil considered what else he could take with him. If this was truly his last day in the world he was born from, he would at least like to take the good with him, and maybe show it to you.

A picture of his family, a few of his favorite CDs, his headphones, a box of his favorite tea, some of the most comfortable pillows, a few of his favorite books, and his dancing shoes.

As Jamil looked around his room, he realized just how little he had allowed himself to get attached to here. With those few things removed, the space looked almost barren. His heart squeezed as he noticed just how much freedom he would have if he made it to the other side. Freedom to express himself, to push his limits instead of hide them, to love you, to love himself. Every morning he would wake up for him, and if everything went right, with you by his side.

It seemed almost impossible, but now was not the time to get cynical. He had to let himself believe, he had to. Jamil would either successfully get out or die trying, and either was better than being here.

Jamil heard a lone pair of footsteps come down the hall, and he froze to listen. The ritual would be happening today, and he could not miss it. The chatter between the members of the cult was easy to decipher, and though he had been thoroughly excluded from it due to how much the player preferred him, he had long since figured out what they were plotting. He would be a fool if he neglected to use Snake Whisper to his advantage, especially now that it was a matter of your safety.

He waited for the footsteps to pass from the door far enough, then quickly moved to peek through the door. He saw a glimpse of shoulder-length orange hair, and knew immediately that it was one of the cultists. Cater, he remembered his name being, and he was headed towards Kalim's room. Normally, he would have stopped him, but he knew what it was for, and what would likely happen to him should he interfere.

Jamil quickly hid the backpack in his closet as the footsteps returned, now accompanied by a second pair. The two stopped directly in front of his door, and his heartbeat quickened. The door handle moved just the slightest bit, before a hushed voice that was too quiet for him to decipher whose it was seemed to discourage it. The handle shifted back, and the jangling of a key ring was heard before the telltale sound of a lock could be heard.

" Kalim?" he called from the other side, injecting a fear he did not feel into his voice, " what are you doing?"

The pair walked away wordlessly, and Jamil tried pushing against the doors, knowing full well it wouldn't work. He tried remembering which pocket of the backpack he had put the vial with the alloy in as he gave a few final pounds against the door with his fist. He stepped away from the door, having made a show of being trapped, and now was the time to work on his escape.

Jamil rummaged through the backpack for the vials and bottles of potions for the right substance, pulling out one with a distinctive velvet-colored liquid that had a metallic sheen. He went over to the window, paned only with intricate gold filigree, and pulled the collar of his dorm uniform up over his mouth and nose as he uncorked the vial. Small drops of the liquid were cautiously doled out along the perimeter of the filigree, melting the gold that prevented his escape until he was able to grab hold and pull. The process was nerve-wrackingly slow, but eventually the panel came out without much struggle, and Jamil tossed it aside.

He corked the now-empty vial, reaching to put it back in the bag and retrieve his broomstick in exchange. He zipped it up, slung it over his shoulders, and walked to the other side of the room. Jamil squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, shoved his screaming doubts to the back of his mind, and pushed off, running towards the open escape route to build up momentum, broom in hand.

In seconds, he was running, stepping up onto the table, then the windowsill, and throwing himself from its ledge out into the air. And for the barest few moments, he considered, just for a little while, simply falling. Simply just... letting go of the broomstick and allowing himself to fall all those stories down... down... down... down... down... down... until everything went black and there was no pain, no need to escape, no more days where he felt overworked and underappreciated, no more sleepless nights, no more hiding.

Jamil closed his eyes as the ground got closer and closer...

And in one fluid motion, was atop the broomstick, pulling up just a bare few feet off the ground, and shooting off into the hot desert sky. It didn't matter if he didn't make it, if the connection between the worlds was too unstable to support his crossing, he would never let that filthy cult get their hands on you. He would see you every day until his last, even if that day was today. No doubt in his mind could dissuade him from his path of war as he soared at top speed towards the mirror.

Hellfire, thy name is Jamil Viper.

Jamil shot out into the mirror hall, students ducking and dodging out of the way with cries that were immediately swallowed up by the winds. Reaching into his pocket as he curved his path sharply to head for the school, he began the spell once he felt the pen in his hand. A flaming orange barrier swirled to life around him and the broom, leaving a trail in the air like the tail of a raging comet. Frantically looking over the school's spiralling towers, his sights locked on the very tallest.

The mirror room.

It only made sense. He could almost feel the dark magic pulsing from it, beckoning him closer to stamp it out at its roots. The tallest tower of the castle, clawing at the heavens, almost as if to peirce the glass above, the only thing keeping them separated from the player. As Jamil neared the building, he could see something on the balcony through the spiralling magic. It was gray, white, and blue, and as he got nearer, he could see its tiny frame. The familiar shape of the flaming ears was clear for just long enough that Jamil could see it.

It was the Prefect's sidekick, lifting himself onto the railing with his little front paws, completely split open from the forehead to the stomach, his shell hollow.

The circle of blood red candles and shining rose quartz was surrounded by all of its creators, each gaze transfixed on the open makeshift coffin they had made in its center. The coffin was pitch black with intricate gold patterns that elegantly framed a lock and mirror. Circled by broomsticks, purple gemstones, and shards of shattered glass, it was surely a sight to see. Inside the coffin was the bound form of the Prefect, with one single black key laid upon their unmoving chest with their tied hands laid over it. White flowers of purity and innocence in love were laid beside them, making it almost look as if they were dead.

But the lifeless cannot die.

The mirror room shone with ominous light as the dark mirror dripped splattered blood out into the tranquil fountain of water below it. Seven hollow shells of faceless students were laid out along the edge of the circle, half-open to reveal the purple silhouettes that had been encased inside of them to hide their identities. The silhouettes bled out from inside their prisons of skin that did not belong to them, each impaled by a shard of glass from the mirror itself.

Malleus Draconia, at the head of the ritual, extended his arms out towards the black coffin, followed by those that surrounded him. It slammed shut, beginning to rise from the floor. His voice, echoing powerfully through the mirror hall, commanded " You, whose image the Dark Mirror did beckon forth..."

The others raised their voices as sparks of all colors began to fly frantically, pulling themselves together into the shape of a golden key as they spoke in unison.

" REVEAL UNTO ME THE NATURE OF YOUR SOUL!"

The coffin rose higher as the key sped towards the lock, pushing itself in and turning with a resounding click. The black lid began to open, and a golden, almost heavenly light began to pour out from it. It swirled in place, forming a perfect swirling portal.

" Yes... YES!" the dragon fae roared in triumph, " GO! Bring them to me!"

And just as they were about to surge into the open portal, the shattering of glass stopped them dead in their tracks. It was Jamil, arms shielding his face in the barest seconds it took for the magic around the broom to begin detonating. The force of the magic blast knocked some of them off their feet, crying out in shock and surprise. The Scarabia vice housewarden made a dive for the portal, bracing himself against his broomstick as hard as he could.

He could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it, he could make it to the other side, he could see your face, he could hold you close, he could hear your voice, he could survive.

Plummeting through the brightness, the wrath of the draconic cult leader fading rapidly behind him, Jamil shut his eyes. He was suddenly hit with a sudden shift in direction, slipping off his broom as the feeling like he was being pulled upwards overtook him. Panic overtook his senses as he was swung around wildly by the current of the portal, terrified of what would be next for him.

You had already long been stirred from your sleep, hearing distant sounds of faint voices coming from your phone, and having felt how it was scalding to the touch. The screen had turned white, and was vibrating off the hook. Your back was against the wall, desk lamp firmly pointed at the device like a weapon.

Suddenly, out of what seemed to be thin air, something appeared in your bedroom, flinging itself and two other objects from where your phone had been to the floor in front of you with a grunt of pain as it landed heavily. You suppressed the scream that built up in your throat as the figure sat up, revealing itself to be quite person-shaped. The strange intruder looked back at where they came from, quickly moving to shut off the phone before you could protest.

As the screen went dark and the vibrations ceased, Jamil stopped. He let out a ragged breath he didn't realize he was holding in, and knew he just had to stop and let everything sink in and-

" W-Who the hell are you?!?" you demanded, eyes wide and still against the wall.

Jamil whirled around, hands raised in surrender, his black eyes catching on yours. And, for a moment, all he could do was stare. It was... you. The player. The person who loved and understood him most, the person who he had endured these days of struggle for, the person who he had crossed the boundaries of reality for.

It worked.

Jamil had to take a few seconds to find his voice, the budding emotions swirling in his chest, " I... I did it... It worked..." he lowered his hands, a smile starting to form on his face as a faint laugh escaped him, " I-I'm here! With you! It's me!!"

Your expression went slack, your brain trying to wrap around exactly what was going on here. You were playing the game, fell asleep, were woken up by your phone going haywire, and then your favorite character apparently flew out of the screen and was standing directly in front of you. Apparently, your hands had gone slack as well, and you dropped your weaponized desk lamp, the sound of it hitting the floor making both of you jump.

And, for a few moments, you and Jamil just stared at it. Silence overtook the room, stilted and thick, until a sound cut through the darkness. A poorly contained laugh, soft and clearly one of nervousness. One led to another in response, until both were doubled over, just laughing together.

" Why did that scare me so bad? I'm just dreaming..." you managed to say, a certain sadness settling into your eyes. You looked at him, that sadness settling deeper. Jamil had stopped laughing once he heard you speak, his black eyes baring into your own. Not in search of something, not to use his power, but purely in sheer, overwhelming adoration. You were here, in front of him, looking directly at him, not through a screen, but at him.

" I guess, since it's a dream, I might as well..." you said softly. At first he felt a bit of confusion, might as well what? His question was almost immediately answered, however, by you quickly moving to wrap your arms around him. Jamil's body became stiff as a board, eyes wide, since this was one of the last things he expected. He blinked, trying to process everything that was happening right now, and what would never happen again.

You felt his chest heave with the beginnings of a sob and gently gave him a squeeze, feeling the distraught boy cling to you with all he had. He made a strangled sound, like he was about to truly start crying, but took a sharp breath in to stop it. It was a heartbreaking sound, especially coming from someone so deprived and repressed, and it made you pull back to look him in the eyes. Something about how he tried immediately to hide his face made you think that this was far from a dream, but that was something you didn't want to unpack right now, so you just focused on comforting him.

" Jamil," you said softly, " It's okay. Let's get to bed, alright?"

Jamil sniffled, and you took his hand in yours to lead him to the bed. Pulling up the covers and getting in, you waited for him to do the same. He took off his shoes and backpack before awkwardly making his way to your side, looking at you like a sad puppy. You smiled softly, gently moving his hair aside to place a kiss on his forehead. His face heated up, and he hid his face with his hands again. You patted the spot next to you and asked in a whisper, " Do you want to cuddle?"

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head no. It was all too much right now, he wasn't sure he would be able to take it.

You looked sad for only the barest second, but said " Alright, I won't make you," and got yourself comfortable, " Good night. <3"

But, before you drifted off, you held one of his hands again, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his knuckles to soothe him. He was surprised at first, but didn't pull away. And, slowly but surely, it seemed to take effect. He fell asleep, his face still feeling warm, and soon you did too.

What a nice dream this is...

You awoke to the smell of curry and an empty bed, sleepily smiling. Your neighbors must be cooking, it smells really good, too. You got up out of bed, not registering the second patch of leftover warmth that had been very close to yours. Walking out of the bedroom, it turned out the smell of curry and the sounds of cooking were coming from your kitchen, which was a VERY alarming realization. Thinking someone had broken into your house and started cooking, of all things, you rushed to go see who it was.

Jamil nearly jumped out of his shell when you rounded the corner in a panic, whirling around to look at you. Both of you stared at each other with wide eyes, unsure of what to do but still scared witless.

" Y-You... YOU'RE REAL?!?"

" YES?"

" THAT WASN'T A DREAM?!?"

" YES??"

" YOU'RE REAL?!?!?"

" YES!"

Thoroughly blindsided by this turn of events, you gripped the side of the counter for support, trying to process it. Jamil tentatively stepped closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. There was one thought coursing through your brain right now, blaring like a siren.

You had Jamil Viper in your bed.

This boy, who was not even supposed to be on the same plane of existence as you, let alone in the same room, had been crying and sleeping and holding your hand in your bed.

" W-Wait, why are you here? How did you even get here?" you asked, genuinely confused.

" That... requires a LOT of explaining, and the curry is almost finished. I'll go over it when we start eating," he said simply. You just nodded and moved to get out some plates and silverware for him, but stopped when you realized that he had already done it. Come to think of it, he was already completely ready for the day. Hair done, makeup, fully dressed in clothes you had never seen him in before, and meanwhile you had literally just rolled out of bed.

But still, you didn't want to just leave it to him, so you grabbed some cups and asked " Do you want something to drink?"

" I've already had something. You can sit down while I get this plated," he said dismissively.

You pouted, knowing how hard he works. Having half a mind to just grab the pan yourself, you huffed " Jamiiil, I just want to help you! I'll plate it, just go to the table."

At first, he looked at you in surprise, but his eyes softened as he gave you a nod and walked over to the table, leaving you to do the rest. You happily scooped the rice and curry onto the plates, taking them over to Jamil to give him his food and sit down.

" Thank you," he said softly, his expression sweetened with a bit of softness in his eyes and smile. You smiled back at him, sending a burst of warmth into him that manifested as a blush. The two of you started eating, and seeing your eyes light up from the taste of his cooking almost made the poor boy keel over on the spot from how cute it was.

About halfway through, what he had said before began to haunt your brain again, and you looked up from your plate. You decided that it was time to pry, since he said he would tell you.

" ...Jamil?"

" Mmh?" he replied, mouth half-full of curry and looking like a deer in headlights.

" Why- well actually I'm more interested in the how, but just... You're here. How? Why?" you had stumbled a bit, but you trusted him to understand your confusion.

He swallowed, averting his gaze as he thought about how best to explain it. Jamil looked back at you, " It's a long story, but we were alive in the game. We weren't aware that we were actually in a game, though. Not until something happened that forced us to become aware, but it happened differently for each of us."

" Wait, we? It wasn't just you?"

" Anybody with eyes you can see," he explained.

" Then what happened to you?" you asked. It was a harmless question, but you saw his expression darken and his gaze become distant.

" Something very painful," he stated blankly, " And I'm glad I never forgave them. I wouldn't be here with you otherwise."

His eyes softened as he said the last part, but you were incredibly worried. Jamil moved his hand closer to yours, and when he hesitated, you gently grabbed it, " They hurt you?"

He wrapped his other hand around yours and shook his head, " It doesn't matter anymore. You're safe now, I'm free, and that's all I care about," he said. You had a million other questions swimming around in your head, but Jamil let go of your hand, " We'll talk more about it later, but you should finish eating before it gets cold."

You hesitated, but gave a relenting nod and turned to eat again. It gave you time to mull over your questions and the answers you got, some sending a shudder up your spine and making you swallow hard. It scared you to think of what could possibly have happened to Jamil while he was in the game, and the implication of you only being safe now. You felt something on your shoulder, looking over to see Jamil standing beside you, empty plate in hand, as he tried to give you a little bit of comfort.

You leaned into his touch, still not fully comprehending any of what was going on, but glad that at least it was the character you loved the most that turned out to apparently be alive and able to come into reality. It made you wonder...

Did he know? Did he love you too?

And where were you going to hide that Aladdin disk before he finds out and has an existential crisis?

~JAMIL VIPER: LOVERS END~

#self aware jamil #self aware au #self aware twst #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper

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