#And I can’t even remember if I gave him a hug goodbye. I hope I did. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

koishiro · 8 months

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# - 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Gojo watches from the sidelines as his son gradually falls in love with you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : kids romance, gojo being the best dad!

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The first time Gojo noticed you was on the platform of Kyoto Station. It was time for another school year so he was there to drop young Megumi off at the station which would lead to his new primary school.

“Do you have everything with you?” Gojo asks his son, mentally counting all of his things once more. When he doesn’t get a response back he looks at Megumi who stared off at something amongst the crowd.

“‘Gumi?” He tries again to catch the 6 year old’s attention, but he’s fully focused somewhere else. The platform was busy with people, all wishing their children luck on their first day so it was difficult to see where Megumi’s eyes were trained. But as his father, and no-less possessing the six eyes, he knew exactly what had caught his attention.

Slightly further down the platform, Gojo caught sight of you standing there, laughing and smiling with your family who were also there to drop you off. That was the first time Gojo saw you. He didn’t know who you were, but he had a feeling that, with a little coaxing, he would later on.

“‘Gumi, pay attention to your father!” Gojo whined at his son, causing Megumi to turn his attention back to the kneeling man. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Gojo gave him a smile, “I was just making sure that you had everything with you and that you don’t forget about me okay?” He pouted before hugging him, much to Megumi’s refusal, just before the platform announcement came.

Megumi just rolls his eyes in response and makes his way on the train. Gojo turns around to look at you once more and sees that you’re doing the same, delivering one last goodbye before boarding the train, flashing a big smile towards Megumi beforehand. Gojo can’t help but smile when he notices a red hue staining the boy’s face.

Gojo waved enthusiastically at Megumi who sat at a window seat, hoping he wouldn’t cause too much trouble in school - unlike last year.

The end of his first day came and Megumi prepared himself as he made his way off the train “‘Gumi!” Gojo pushed himself through the crowd, passing other parents as he bee-lined towards Megumi, “I missed you my little mochi!”

Megumi whipped his head towards the white-haired man barrelling his way towards him, a grimace on his face when he’s practically to the ground.

“How was your first day? Did you get into any trouble? I don’t want any calls from your teachers again!” Megumi seemed to curl in on himself, embarrassed by his dad’s constant pestering.

Halfway through his rant Gojo noticed the far away look Megumi had as he stared at something or someone behind his crouched figure.

Turning around he noticed you stood not too far away, giggling and failing to hide your smile as you watched Gojo fuss over the young boy. Turning back to face the raven-haired boy he had to try and contain a smile of his own as he watched the way Megumi tried to hide his small body behind Gojo’s.

Y/n, that was your name. At least that’s what he heard through the boisterous crowd not too long ago. Maybe it was time to let Megumi go, figure his own way in the world.

The next time Gojo chooses to embarrass Megumi was sports day. While Megumi was sat cross-legged on the field with his team, Gojo was behind the fence with the other parents cheering obnoxiously loud.

He even took it upon himself to wear a custom shirt with Megumi’s face plastered on it with the words: meGOmi. And if it couldn’t get any worse, you had walked up to him earlier and commented on how ‘enthusiastic’ his dad was.

So when it finally came to Megumi’s turn during the footrace Gojo couldn’t help but practically scream out Megumi’s name and a few words of encouragement.

“You can do it my sweet Megumi! Remember the bet I have going on with the other parents! IF YOU DON’T MAKE THAT FINISH LINE YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH FOR THE NEXT MONTH — I HAVE A REPUTATION TO HOLD UP!”

This caused Megumi to hide his face in the collar of his top, hiding from any prying eyes and especially a pair of honey-brown ones.

Of course Gojo couldn’t contain himself when he saw this and continued with his uplifting words, advocating himself as Megumi’s personal wingman, “Do it for your girlfriend!”

This caused Megumi to trip over his own foot, face-planting and resulting in a mouthful of dirt as he kept his eyes to the ground-now blown wide in bewilderment, too shocked to hear the whistle signalling the start of the race.

Even at the end of the race, Gojo continued his pestering as he made his way over to the boy, “how could you do this to me ‘Gumi?! Do you know how much money I put on you - oh hey, isn’t that Y/n?”

Whipping his head up Megumi made eye contact once more with your warm ones walking his way.

“Y/n! Did you see my Megumi? I think he needs some encouragement huh” smiling up at the 6’2 man, you failed to keep a small giggle to yourself, “he’s still a winner to me”

A bright red blush spread over the boy’s face at this, his eyes focusing anywhere but you. Walking closer towards Megumi you planted a quick peck to his cheek, wishing him luck on the next race before making your way back to your own team.

“If that’s not encouragement, I don’t know what is”

But it didn’t end there. Gojo had planned to visit the shop’s later that afternoon, wanting to grab a hold of some limited edition mochi he kept going on about.

But for some reason the now 8 year old Megumi stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching his dad grab his keys and wallet, “what’s up ‘Gumi?”

He shuffles in his spot for a moment, “Can I come with you?” Megumi quietly asks, his voice small and almost silent. Something Gojo is not too familiar with. Megumi never liked joining Gojo when he went out, according to him it takes too long.

“…Is this where you finally admit that you want to spend time with your ever-so-loving father?” Gojo boasts with a hand to his heart. Of course though, Gojo knows all too well that there must be a reason for his son to suddenly want to join and it definitely wasn’t to spend time with his dad.

Narrowing his eyes at the small boy, he probes further, “What’s the occasion?”

“…does there have to be a reason?” Gojo sends his son a questioning look, which causes Megumi to realise that his father knows him all too well. “I want to buy a Christmas present.” He quietly admits.

“Oh do you now? And for whom is this present for exactly?”

Megumi flusters at this as he wrings his hands together, “…for y/n”

Gojo smiles. It’s for the girl that he hasn’t been able to stop talking about - well, unknowingly that is. Ever since that kiss two years ago, he’s mentioned your name numerous times. So many times that it feels like Gojo practically know you.

Megumi always finds a way to include your name in things whether it being the food he’s eating coincidentally being your favourite, noticing a figurine advertised on tv which you happen to have a keyring of on your book bag, or how the laundry detergent reminds him of you every time you pass in the halls. Little things that he himself doesn’t notice he mentions but Gojo sure does.

Which led to where Megumi found himself now, trailing after the over-enthusiastic man to find the perfect gift for you. “I want it to be special” Megumi reminds the older male, sighing as he walks out from yet another store.

“Y/n must be special huh, the way you put so much effort into finding something special for her” Gojo stuffs his cotton-clad hands in the pockets of his winter coat as he slows down to match the steps of the gloomy looking boy, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’d be happy with a bag of Mochi honestly”

Megumi deadpans up at his father, “Good thing it’s not for you then huh” he pauses for a second before continuing in a smaller voice,

“I just-I feel… this just has to be different okay?”

Gojo just smiles down at the boy, a distant look on his face, knowing all too well what Megumi was feeling.

“Eight year old’s these days”

The next time Gojo saw you was at Jujutsu High, now 14 years old. Gojo hasn’t had the pleasure of teaching you at the school yet since you were placed in a separate class to Megumi, much to both of the boys dismay.

You and Megumi were sitting on a bench, clearly close with the almost non-existent space between the two. The way you two were laughing together at something the other said caused Gojo to slow to a stop. He couldn’t help but stare, a face of longing as he gazed at the two teenagers.

When was the last time he had seen Megumi laugh let alone smile? He couldn’t even hug Megumi without some sort of complaint along with a futile attempt at wriggling out of his hold.

Gojo couldn’t miss what he never had but he sure could hope, and damn the heavens; this was what Gojo had always hoped for, to see his son happy - he deserved to be happy.

Gojo was stood not too far away from where you both sat, unknowing of the emotional man staring.

That was until Megumi turned his head towards where the sorcerer stood. Megumi’s eyes widened, shock clear in his eyes at seeing his dad watching on.

Swiftly, Megumi makes his way towards him, “what are you doing standing there for?”

“Ah Megumi! Just reminiscing” Gojo greets his son, “I was just passing, got a meeting with the higher-ups, I’m probably late anyway” he scratches his head as he discreetly hides a paper bag, no doubt filled to the brim with sweets, behind his back.

“And you must be y/n!” Gojo says as you catch up with Megumi, now standing beside him. “The last time I saw you was when you kis-“

Quickly slapping a hand over the sorcerer’s mouth, Megumi was quick to interject, “kissed the ground! When I face-planted aha, remember that? Funny huh?”

Gojo just smiled behind the boy’s hand, deciding he’s teased him enough.

Although he doesn’t fail to notice the silver necklace around your neck. The same necklace he and Megumi went to look for as a ‘Christmas present’ for you. You still wear it, six years later.

A few months went by after that, Gojo had been patrolling the dorm hallways making sure everyone stayed where they were supposed to instead of sneaking off when he suddenly collided with a small figure barrelling their way down towards the girl’s dorms.

Looking down he was met with your worried eyes, “I’m so sorry sensei! I know it’s past curfew- I was held up but I’m on my way to my room now!” You rushed out.

Gojo shines up into a smile right away, clearly happy to see you, “Ah L/n~ Don’t worry about it, I’m no prude like that old man” he waves off.

As he says this Gojo looks down to see a plastic bag you were holding in your right hand. Noticing where his stare was directed you offered an explanation, “I went to buy some things I was running out of in my fridge, I was held up in a queue which is why I was running behind curfew”

Breaking out into a wide grin, Gojo more than happily replies, “Ah you really are wife material! It makes me so happy that my little ‘Gumi finally has someone he likes this much, honestly he’s starting to give me a headache with the amount of times you’re brought up” Gojo jokes but stops as soon as he catches the expression on your face.

“Megumi likes me?”

Gojo, by reflex, slaps a hand over his mouth. He really thought that Megumi had already told you. Something he expressed he was going to do one night weeks ago.

“Ah… so I see he didn’t tell you”

That night Gojo paced his friend’s room (or so that’s what Gojo calls him), waiting for the dreaded sound of a notification to pierce straight through his heart.

“Sit down”, came the bland tone of a certain blond, “worrying won’t solve anything”

“Maybe if I circle fast enough I can create my very own whirlpool which’ll suck me in, never to be seen again”

At this, Nanami placed his newspaper neatly on his coffee table before leaning over to grab the nearly forgotten cup of coffee. “This shouldn’t come to a surprise to Megumi, you can never keep your mouth closed”

“You know what, you’re right Nanamin! I’m not worried-why should I be? This was meant to be weeks ago-weeks, how was I to know any different?”

“So the fact that your phone is practically vibrating off the table doesn’t worry you?” Nanami hides his smug smile behind the rim of his mug.

Virtually diving for his phone Gojo rushes to open the message, prepared for the worst,

“I guess the letter was good news?” Nanami asks from the smile Gojo has plastered on his face.

Winter came later that year, Gojo was inside straying away from the cold outside. Opting to gather more wood the rack near the back door he caught a glimpse of something whizzing passed the window before hearing a muffled ‘hmph!’

Peering through the window Gojo caught sight of Megumi lying on his back with a face full of snow, making no movement to get back up.

“Oh my god, Megs! Are you okay? I’m sorry!” Gojo heard the muffled laughter of his son’s girlfriend as you made your way over to lend a hand.

This didn’t quite work in your favour though, soon joining the boy on the snow covered ground and laughter filling the air, “I am now that you’re down here”

Not even the sun on this beautiful morning was shining as much as the smile on Megumi’s face.

Just like before, Gojo stared off, a peaceful smile on his face. This was definitely more than just puppy love.

He knew from there on that Megumi would be okay, as long as he’s with you.

—

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : I saw this pic of baby megumi on Pinterest and I couldn’t help myself ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

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leclsrc · 1 year

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like you should ✴︎ cl16

genre: just. Like. sexual tension…, reader is max’s gf, no explicit smut but heavy innuendos so just beware, everyone is Morally Bankrupt so turn away if u dont fancy that

word count: 11.3k

If you don’t learn from history, it’ll stick around and find a way to repeat itself – even if the history is with your boyfriend’s rival, and its repetition happens behind his back.

auds here… hi hi hi!!! not proofread sry; i wanted to write something like this for a while haha, i had a bunch of reqs from january(!!!) that served as the basis for it. title from this it was this fic's inspo savior. full disclosure this is fiction n doesn’t at all reflect how i view max/charles :) love love love u all sorry for being mia so constantly & enjoy this jumble of sexual tension haha. happy june friends!!!

Monaco is always an affair in itself. Humid, music blaring, and full of celebrities, you pose for a few paddock pictures, exchanging no words with Max. He’s idle beside you, cap drawn over his dirty blond hair, hand on your waist, the other scrolling through emails and Instagram. Your dad’s somewhere here, too, if you remember right—he texted you about being with Christian, at a meeting somewhere about Checo or something. You can’t be arsed to remember. You flew in two hours ago after a days-long inner turmoil, trying to decide if you wanted to come at all.

Max didn’t sound too eager for you to arrive, either, but you theorize it’s because you’ve both been tired with work lately. He’s leagues above everyone else now, but the demand of work snatches what little quality time you could’ve spent with him. You suck it up, lacing your fingers together and hoping this is a dry spell—physical and emotional—that just needs to be waited out.

How’s the weather? You ask casually when you’re inside his room, burying your face into his shoulder. He presses an absentminded kiss to your head. “Should be fine.”

“Anything you’re worried about?” You make yourself busy rifling through his closet. It’s more of the same. Polos proudly showcasing the logo of the team that’s brought him to the top. He usually keeps three spare ones, but there’s an extra smaller one that you unfold and dangle in front of you. “Whose is this?”

He glances. Kelly’s. When you gesture for elaboration—Nelson Piquet’s daughter? Christian asked me to give her one. You don’t pay attention to it, folding it neatly and placing it inside again. He pipes up to answer your earlier question, voice light as it is solemn. It’s Charles’ home race.

“So?” It comes out sharper than you intend, considering Max is more a friend than his rival. You turn to try and soften your hostile phrasing. “I mean. It’s… you’ve been dominating the leaderboard.” No way you’ll show him you’re worried for Charles, too. “Their car is horseshit.” It is and it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to him for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” He’s getting up already.

“Wait—” You pause when he’s kissing your cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Make it dinner, then.”

“No,” you protest weakly. “I’m going to be with my dad.”

“Drinks.” He leaves no room for argument and leaves with the door shutting softly behind him. You exhale loud through your nostrils and shut the closet door, leaving to explore the paddock. It’s familiar grounds for you, not just because of Max but because of your dad, who began insisting you attend races again a few years ago. You should know Red Bull, he’d said then. The team I’m sponsoring. The team I give millions to.

Purely to appease him, you gave in and attended a race for the first time in a long stretch, just a few years ago. You’ve attended almost every race since then, and those have often blurred into one homogenous memory (sitting, watching, cheering, hugging, drinking), but the first race remains clear as the day your driver dropped you off at the entrance to the paddock, a VIP lanyard slung over your neck and sunglasses perched on your nose.

You stare at the just-closed door, his bag still abandoned on the bed, his dismissive tone, the polo you’ve just folded up. Max is hiding something—you just can’t put your finger on it.

—

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monza 2019! The host goes, a reporter-esque smile greeting the crowds on the big screens. Monza is intimidating. You’re being guided around the ups and downs of the paddock by somebody whose name you’ve forgotten and remembered and forgotten again, short in stature with a posh English accent. Your dad is somewhere, in a meeting perhaps, which means your re-introduction to the world of racing is up to this man alone.

“Christian!” Someone says behind you, and oh right his name is Christian. Christian—Hormut, or something. You’ve blurred his last name from memory, too. Christian ends up having to excuse himself to attend to a pressing practice problem, and he leaves you with one of his drivers.

Max is his name. He’s funny, charming, and vulgar in the way all Europeans are (you’re not at all surprised when he tells you he’s Dutch), and handsome, moreso when the topic gets to racing and he starts talking quick and with passion. It’s something you admire.

“You don’t know what quali is?” He asks when he hands you a vodka soda.

You laugh. “My dad was always insanely busy with work as a kid, so I liked not knowing anything about it.” You always wanted to remove yourself from the racing and just be your dad’s daughter. “I’ve only been to a handful of races, and even then I was way younger.”

“You’ll like this one.”

You squint onto the paddock and recall the motif that’s been teeming around you all day long—red. Red, red, and more red. There are fans whose faces are painted red, bold and shiny against the unrelenting sunny weather. Internally, your curiosity is piqued. Red Bull, perhaps? “Are those your fans?”

Max follows your gaze curiously. “Oh,” he says when he sees the crowd of red. He sips his beer. “No, that’s for Ferrari. They always attract a proper crowd in Monza.”

You hum, the name more than familiar to you. “Red sea.” You spot a few signs in Italian, a few fans taking pictures, and finally your interest wanes, eyes gravitating back to Max. “You nervous?

“Rarely am.” He smiles. “Will you be watching?”

“Probably,” you respond, momentarily searching the surrounding area for your dad. “I’ll be with my dad someplace.”

“You owe me a congratulations,” says Max as he gets up, his name being called from somewhere behind you. “Okay?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “I’ll save it.”

You’d spaced out mid-race and watched from a flatscreen TV inside instead, but lost the plot at some point, so you ask around for who the winner is. The winner ends up not being Max, you’re told by one of your dad’s assistants, Ben, when you emerge from his office after the flag is waved.

Everybody, however, is talking in a secondary racing jargon—they say things like P1 and front wing and strategist, failing to dumb things down for you. You piece things together and realize the winner is a Ferrari driver—but, if your memory serves you right, there are two drivers. You don’t know which one it is. Then again, you don’t know the drivers themselves, either.

You reunite with your dad and Christian Harper (you think) in the garage, where Ben hands you a pair of giant headphones that transmit scratchy, loud radio audio; you remove them and ask him a million questions instead. Nearby, the Ferrari garage is exploding with screams, but they don’t come close to the roars of the red crowd, which almost seems to breathe collectively, scream collectively, celebrate as one. You’re almost transfixed with how loud they are, how passionate they are, with their winner. Their golden guy. Your dad’s mouth is set in a straight line.

“Who won?” You ask, voice raised to try and become audible despite the cheering.

Ben points, squinting under his eyeglasses. You follow the direction of his finger to the finish line. There, parked beside the first place sign, is somebody standing atop his car. He’s wearing red. Showered in red. Surrounded by red. It’s tantalizing, the way his win has commanded the entire area. Your mouth is half-open, lips parted in soft shock.

You tap Ben again. “Yeah, who is he?”

“Leclerc,” he says, pinching his nosebridge. “Ferrari’s new guy. A friend of Max’s, but a rival, too.” He sighs lowly. “Your dad’s biggest problem.”

Christian Harris makes a quip about you having to go find and comfort Max, but you space out, still staring at the winner. Leclerc. You’ve got no face to his name, just the opaque visor of his helmet and the two proud fists in the air, inciting even louder cheers from the crowd. You focus harder, as if that would somehow reveal his face to you.

But he’s faceless, a winner of mystery for now—and for the rest of the evening as you’re ushered back to Red Bull alongside your dad.

—

“Do you want to come to an afterparty?” Ben asks, tapping away on his phone. Emails and texts crowd his notifications. “We need to know if you’ll need a car tonight.” He follows you around, exasperated with your quick pace that even he can’t keep up with. “And if so, which car.”

“No, no car.” You respond, walking. “Which afterparty?”

“Any, really. There’s, uh… a Red Bull one, a few yacht ones, Max mentioned dropping by APM Monaco’s and—”

“No afterparty,” you say with tense finality once you hear the option. “All the drivers do is drink and get sleazy.”

“O-kay,” he taps. “I didn’t realize you had such a… vendetta against the drivers?”

You laugh a little, peering over the lens of your sunglasses to try and spot familiar faces. Actors, models, drivers’ relatives—the place is packed, and the weather is hot. “When did I say that?” You ask, looking around at hyper speed.

“It was implied.” Ben pauses and eyes you, curious but already on the brink of suspicious. Your gaze is darting everywhere, clearly trying to find something to catch on. “What are you looking for?”

Caught red-handed, you slow down the speed at which your eyes scan over the paddock and settle them on your watch, pursing your lips. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow, turning the questioning back to Ben. “I’m not looking for anyo—”

“Hey,” comes a voice from right behind you, a hand coming up to tap against your shoulder. You don’t have time to turn and identify the culprit because he moves to stand in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks with a teasing smirk. “Max did not tell me you would be here.” He crosses his arms. “Excited? I know I am. Home race and all.”

You swallow but your throat is dry. “I’m excited to cheer for my boyfriend.”

Charles smiles, satisfied that he managed to get on your nerves. With curiosity and anticipation, Ben keeps to himself and watches the exchange unfold, arms crossed. Charles presses on. “Are you coming to the party later?”

“I might,” you say, mind changed.

“Alright, see you.” With the sun weakening the tint of his sunglasses, and his hair raked back by his backwards cap, you have a clear view of the way his left eye drops into a smug wink. He smiles again, boyish, before he’s turning to leave you with Ben, who turns to you.

“You’re friends?”

The most decent answer leaves your lips dismissively. “Acquainted.”

—

You lose all sense of inhibition (and navigation) as soon as you step a heeled foot into the club, but it’s nothing you haven’t experienced before. Years of clubbing and fake IDs have prepared you for the tactics used to snake your way through the crowd of people, eventually finding yourself at the VIP area of the Monza afterparty, where one look at your face is enough to let the bouncer let you through wordlessly.

“The team’s finest!” Christian greets jokingly with a smile. Why he’s here, you’ve no idea—you had an impression he had a family to go home to. “A drink?”

“I’ll explore for a bit,” you say warmly, smiling as he brings you in for a friendly hug. You peer at faces and over shoulders, taking shots off trays and flutes of champagne off tables to feel less stiff and out of place. You’re looking for Max.

But you catch somebody else’s eye, one who seems to beckon you over with a look. He’s laughing at something, decently tipsy, and—when you near him—he introduces himself as Charles. “Leclerc,” he adds, and suddenly everything clicks. The face you’ve finally matched to the name is handsome, chiseled and devilish and charming, with a warm smile that doesn’t match the dark in his eyes. He’s in the same kind of getup everyone is wearing—a tight black tee, blue jeans. But he makes it look insufferably attractive, unfortunately.

“You’re the winner,” you state, not lifting your tone to sound like a question. He is the winner. The champion of today’s race.

“Right I am.” He nods once, matter-of-factly. “You’re Red Bull’s princess, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” you say, blushing inwardly. Your face is warm and you feel flustered, but you play it cool, feigning a casual laugh. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp from his drink, dark and potent looking. “Max mentioned you earlier.”

“Oh.” You’d completely forgotten you were looking for him. “Is he here?”

“Around. Hey, listen,” he says, turning to collect the makings of a shot, “I’m the winner, and I make the rules. Take a shot with me.”

Your eyes close in a laugh, nodding along. You’re already tipsy, anyway—what’s another shot? You take a wedge of lemon in between two fingers and a pinch of salt, smearing it along your hand as you grip a shot glass of something. You’ll know once you taste it, you suppose; no time for questions.

“You got the last lemon slice!” complains Charles across you, and you laugh, shrugging as if to say deal with it. Your glasses clink, and you throw back the liquid; it’s ten times stronger than you anticipated and for a moment you lose control over your motor skills, squeezing the lemon wedge a tad too strong so it dribbles down your chin, through your throat and the last of it trickles through your cleavage. You manage to get some, licking the salt off before the taste becomes nauseating.

Your grimace is ever so obvious, as is Charles’ inability to take his eyes off you. Fuck, he thinks. You’re exactly his type. Pretty, eyes twinkling and half-lidded with the alcohol. Your lips are bitten, caught between your lips—it’s a habit, he guesses from how puffy they are. He might have to kiss you now.

“Still need lemon?” You ask, leaning in. “I’ve got some on me.” It’s a joke but your tone suggests otherwise, eyes lingering on his parted lips for any sign of assent. Your breath smells of citrus and wildly expensive tequila. He could kiss you now. He would. He will. He has to.

You tip your head backwards, smiling and dancing lightly to the music, your hands wraped loose around his wrists, dragging him, coercing him closer. So he does, allows himself to give into it and smiles into the skin of your neck, licking over the remnants of lemon that remain. He kisses a lovebite onto the side of your throat, one dark enough that he knows—he just knows—at least one person will ask you about it tomorrow morning.

When he parts, smiling, he asks, “Wanna smoke?” He produces a cart and waves it in between you, taking a hit and blowing grassy smoke into the air. You nod, encouraging him to take another and blow the smoke into your parted lips. All the while, he notices, your hand is rubbing over the lovebite, the soft, sore skin there.

He thinks of what you might say. The flustered explaining, the hand coming up to cover it or the sponge dabbing concealer over it. He thinks of you lying. Oh, just a guy. No, a Ferrari driver. And you’re all his, if just for tonight. And he’d be right. You were somewhat his—just for that night. The day next, Max took you to breakfast, didn’t notice the blotch of concealer, and all settled into a messy pattern of history.

—

The race is about to begin, preparations in the garage reaching their stunning crescendo. “Good luck,” you say as a sendoff, pressing a kiss to Max’s lips. He smiles appreciatively, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wonder absently what’s been going so wrong, but you suppose it’s a two-person job.

You watch him board the car, your dad coming up beside you. “I still can’t believe how lucky it is that you ended up with one of my drivers.”

“Dad,” you say, warningly.

“Just saying, honey.” He smiles. “Can you imagine anything else?”

—

“I am sure I cannot be up here.” Charles’ voice is amused, deep and echoing in the empty space of your dad’s vast office. It’s dimly-lit because he’s not here—yacht dinners have become the new venues for business deals, leaving big offices like these ones woefully empty. And yours for the taking, you’d told Charles over text when he asked what you were up to tonight.

You hum teasingly, turning. “You won today, so consider this your prize. Provided generously by a friend.” The term embeds itself into the atmosphere of the empty office and you clear your throat, turning your back to him again and walking to the window.

The awkward air between you had, for some time, dissipated, giving way to a series of texts and calls that, for the sake of clarity and concision, you don’t tell Max about. Plus, you’re not even dating Max, you tell yourself. It’s just a fling right now, no commitment, no crazy heavy labels. You met only, what, three races ago. And to be fair, you’re not even dating Charles—you’re just friends.

“It’s crazy to think this office can be folded up and shipped halfway across the world,” you say honestly, eyes zeroing in on the city. “I mean, all this.”

“It is just four walls,” he simplifies, nearing you, staring at the way your hair falls over your back. He’s scared to explore around and touch things—touch you—so he settles on nervous looking. “I don’t understand how this is a prize. I’m in an opposing team’s high-level donor’s office with his daughter.”

“It’s not just four walls,” you say when you turn, ignoring his second statement. “It’s a couch.” You lay both hands on the leather sofa, pointing to the two matching loveseats beside it. “It’s… a desk.” You walk over to it and prop yourself up against it, your feet tiptoeing with the height of the surface. Charles, amused, watches your long-drawn out rebuttal and takes a seat on the couch.

“It’s a lamp. A carpet. A display of Seb’s old race suit.” You point at each. “It’s a drawer.” You pull it open. “…Filled with Red Bull porn.” An assortment of hats and tees meet your eyes, all displaying the same emblem. You tug out a team polo, the same one Christian and Max and Daniil wear—and you whirl around, unfolding it in the air so Charles sees what you’re holding.

An idea enters your head. “Try it on,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice. He shakes his head, laughing. Still insistent, you near him, leaning over where he sits and pressing the polo to his figure, aligning it to the best of your ability to his shoulder and chest so it looks like he’s wearing it. “Looks nice.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “Never happening.”

“Can’t a girl dream?” You inch yourself forward so your faces are flush of each other’s. When his gaze switches to your lips, smiling and bitten, it no longer leaves. You think of how he’d look all donned up in one of these polos, these suits. The dark of the suit. He could use a break from all that red. You could give that to him.

“Okay,” he says, but it’s soft and distracted. His hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, craving for a form of your touch.

“We’d better go,” you respond, your voice decimated to a whisper. “Before my dad comes.”

“Come on, then.”

Your lips just barely ghost over his before you heave yourself back up, smiling teasingly. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

—

You watch the Monaco race like a hawk. Ben doesn’t ask why, but internally he rumbles with questions. Why are you so invested in this one race? He chalks it up to the prestige of Monaco as a whole, and settles for that. But still—you’re interested. You watch from the garage, almost with an unrelenting stare, unwavering. Surely you shouldn’t be worried, he thinks. Max has won before.

And Max wins again, raising the totem like it’s a crucifix. The camera focuses on your wide, proud smile and shows it to the world—there, it seems to say, there she is, the one Max goes home to! Max wins the Monaco Grand Prix—but what will become of the native hero?

You watch Max win with a proud smile, and accompanied by a nasty feeling that lines the pit of your stomach, you find yourself wishing somebody else had taken his place.

—

You never did like dabbling in racing. Your dad often encouraged you to try karting, driving, even something like PR or marketing—he’d fund it all, he promised—but you grew to almost hate the career that robbed your dad of so much time. Perhaps if you thought about it, there was one upside, and it’s sitting down across you to eat lunch.

“What brings you to the paddock?” Seb smiles. “Rare occurrence.”

“It’s part of my bid to get you back to Red Bull in 2023.” You beam back, observing his Aston Martin-green getup. “I’ve got signs and speakers loaded up in my car.”

“You always were advocating for my return.”

“You’re my favorite,” you joke. But it’s an honest quip. “My favorite Aston driver, and back then, my favorite Ferrari driver.”

It’s a statement you regret as soon as it escapes, because it gives Seb leeway to start intense interrogation. He’s always known. He’s always been observing, picking up quirks and details until he forms his own crude recreation of the big picture.

“Not Leclerc, then?”

You chew slowly, eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

He says your name solemnly, and you pause. Sigh. “What?”

Sensing your irritation, he tries a different tactic. “How are you and Max?”

Seb’s ability to almost always see through you is unrivaled. He’d been one of your closest companions back when your dad would force you to attend races and hail Seb as one of the team’s greatest. Kind as he was, he was a stellar driver, which came with the fortunate gift (and unfortunate burden) of observing everything, and being right about almost all of his hypotheses.

It’s bullshit, and you know it. He doesn’t want to know about you and Max. He might as well could’ve asked how is the weather in Wales? It’s just that farfetched—a question so unlike what usually occupies your conversations with him.

He doesn’t want to know about Max. He wants to know about you—your feelings, your turmoil, your decisions. He wants to know what’s going on with you and Max’s rival-friend-then-rival-again-then-friend. “We’re okay.”

“All good?”

“Amazing, actually.” You smile, tight-lipped.

“I met with him last night.” Yeah, you heard, you say—a party with a few notable figures. “Yeah. Him and Charles.” Jesus, Seb always finds a way to get the topic right where he needs it to be. You prepare yourself for some serious advice-giving.

He inhales, exhales. “Charles asks about you. Are you two close at all?”

No, you tell him. We know each other and that’s all.

“Well”—he says, shrugging—“I just. I don’t want you to betray anyone, not even yourself.”

It’s despicable. All you need are two couches and you’re in free Formula One therapy. They should do this to the Ferrari fans, you think. “Do you hear yourself, Seb?” Your mouth is set into a straight line.

“I’m just saying that there’s a difference—there is always a difference—between what you think you want and what you really want. Now, I can’t tell you either. Neither can your dad, or Max, or anybody. It’s all in you. You’ll know you have what you want when it’s right there.” He jabs a gentle finger onto your open palm, laid on the table. “In your hands.”

“I have what I want,” you say.

“Do you feel it?”

Seb is met with silence.

—

“Dad?” You call, voice loud to try and capture his attention. Outside, the Monaco festivities carry on. “Simon’s just brought the car around. Are we still on for dinner, or—?” You freeze when you fully enter the office, seeing your dad on the couch pouring a bottle of Scotch. Your blood runs cold almost, and your stomach could’ve dropped right beside your sandals right then.

“Hi, honey. I was just having a drink with Mr. P6.”

Charles smiles charmingly from his seat. “Hi. You’re his daughter, yes?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, so you shut it and nod instead. “Good race,” you say dryly, hiding your disdain under a façade of politeness as you move closer to your dad. Then, in a lower tone to him only, will you be long?

“We were just finishing,” he says with a professional smile. “Was telling Charles here that luck just wasn’t on his side today.”

“Sure,” you say, clipped. “We should go if we want to make dinner. Max wants me to visit the afterparty later, so.” You make sure to look at Charles after you say it, so you don’t miss his sudden eyebrow raise and clenched jaw. He downs the Scotch and, with a smile as warm as it is fake, excuses himself for the evening.

“Well, you two should get acquainted. Who knows what his future in Formula One holds? Once that contract’s over, it’s a bidding war.” He claps Charles on the back. “One I might like to win, eh?”

Your dad makes a signal for you to shake his hand, which you do. Like always, the touches between you, however small and indetectible, are electric; you try your best not to look at him when his hand wraps securely around yours, giving it a brief shake. You feel he’s burned you. Everything burns. “We’ve met before,” you say with a polite smile.

“Lovely to see you,” he says bluntly, acting like you haven’t had him lick salt off your neck before.

“You too.” You reply. He’s departing now, collecting his phone and keys.

He turns and smiles. “Hope I meet you again soon.”

“Nice fella, isn’t he?” Your dad asks when it’s just the both of you.

“Yeah. Nice.”

—

The APM Monaco party is the only one you end up attending. Max drives you both there and gets valet to take care of his Ferrari, leading you both inside. It’s not long before you split into separate directions—you’re looking for a friend, and Max is looking for his team, who have showed up to get drunk, too. You heard Kelly was around, if that mattered. Lets leave @ 2, you suggest. Good? You both discussed it en route, and neither of you wanted to stay late. A thumbs up and heart emoji greets you back.

It’s the same text you stare at at 2:45, antsily waiting for Max at the basement parking. The lobby parking—the main entrance to the place—is swarming with people; influencers, residents, YouTubers, anyone and everyone trying to gain access and catch sight of the lucratively famous drivers.

Thumbs up. Heart. Received 1:08.

See you at parking? Sent 1:55.

Video FaceTime Call. Missed 2:02.

WHERE ARE YOU? Sent 2:15.

Voicemail, voicemail, and more voicemail. The exit swings open and you’re 100% expecting it to be Max, profusely apologizing for forgetting your mutually-set curfew. Instead you’re faced with, as your father called him, Mr. P6.

He is, of course, smiling. Charming as ever. “I heard from my assistant that you wouldn’t be showing up to any parties. Then I hear Max wanted you to come and cheer for him,” says Charles, his usually jubilant voice low and only a little teasing. His accent is stronger here. It’s less of the English-French-Something he usually uses when speaking English and thick, more natural. “You are one good girlfriend.”

You look up from your phone and the unanswered texts—Maxie where are u? Are u bringing the car? Answer me—and narrow your eyes, mouth coming up into a frown. “What is your problem?”

“Problem?” He laughs. “I don’t have any.” He’s leaning against his car, content to watch you. Another car passes by without pausing to pick you up, leaving through the basement exit instantly. Not Max.

“Okay, then get back inside. You have a whole crowd of fans to appease.”

“I prefer it here.” He looks around the stale garage. “So peaceful.”

“It smells like gas and sweat,” you shoot back with a grimace.

He presses. “You should be happier. Your boyfriend got first place at a prestigious race.” For a moment, you pulse with empathy—you recall the beaten down look on his face when his car and his team failed him again and again and again. But you blink and swallow it.

“Yeah,” you say pointedly. “He always wins. Can you imagine if he got sixth place?”

A flash of something—something hurt, something shocked—surges in his green eyes. But like you, he blinks and it’s gone, replaced with a smile.

“Can you imagine if he didn’t go home at night?” He teases coolly.

“Right, right,” you say, letting him win that round. “And what’s all of Twitter saying about how all your flings look ‘exactly like Max’s girlfriend’?” You raise two delicate air quotes.

He gaze hardens, then flits down to your phone, open to the unanswered exchange. You quickly shut it off but it’s incentive enough for a continued conversation. “He’s okay?”

“Getting the car.” And like divine timing, a text from one of Max’s strategists dings in your inbox—a picture of your boyfriend, passed out on the floor of someone’s (you presume his) car. Should be fine by morning we’re about 5 min from his flat. But you don’t have a key to that flat, you realize, because Max suggested you both stay at a hotel for some “much needed relaxation” (you are anything, anything but).

Can you leave the key? You type, then stare. Max’s girlfriend for almost four years and you have no key. To his home. Embarrassed, you try rephrasing the text but nothing works. You’ll just sleep at the hotel, you think.

You delete the text and press a hand over your face. Fuck’s sake. You’re going to have to ring your driver—thus alerting your dad—at three in the morning for a car because your boyfriend is piss drunk.

“I’ll bring you home.” You look up, almost forgetting Charles was there. He pats the front of his car. “Hotel or Max’s flat?”

“Hot—hotel,” you say, breath catching from stress and embarrassment. “Hotel. Sorry.” You’re embarrassed. You’d gotten that dig on him for being P6 less than two minutes ago, but now you’re climbing into his car, meek and with small, unassuming movements. You almost want to apologize, but that might worsen the awkwardness of it, so you purse your lips and stay relatively quiet.

He doesn’t gloat, like you expect him to, like you maybe would if you were in his position. He does, however, sport a insufferably self-satisfied smirk, like he knows he won tonight somehow even if he didn’t even snag fifth. You grumble quietly from the leather passenger seat, opting to admire the lit-up nightlife of Monaco, alive as ever even as the night wears on.

“Is Max home safe?” He asks, stifling an even bigger smile.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” You scroll through your many notifications, and find no text from your drunk boyfriend. You look up, finding you’ve turned away from the city centre and into the darker, less populated area. “Where are we?”

“A shortcut.” He revs faster.

“Yeah. Okay. Like, where, specifically?” Your eyes analyze your unfamiliar surroundings. You’re not familiar with Monte Carlo at all to begin with, so the lack of buildings is setting off every internal alarm bell.

“Well,” he chuckles, sensing your apprehension, “it’s a shortcut. Cuts six minutes out of the drive to your hotel.”

“I thought everything was close together here,” you quip, relaxing a little.

“Not to a native. I know places.”

“Sure.” Your voice wavers. “Charles, I’m going to jump out of the car window if you’re shitting me, I sw—”

Charles throws his head back to laugh, like he can’t even believe you just suggested that. As if deep in thought, he sticks his tongue into his cheek and laughs a little, with exasperation almost. This girl, he seems to think. You stare, transfixed with all the little flexes his face makes.

You break contact when his eyes flicker to your figure, looking at the console first then the window, as if caught stealing a cookie from the jar. “Sue me for being concerned,” you add, for an extra layer of defense.

“You are like your dad.”

Your face warps into one of disdain. “Never say that to me again.”

“Just in the way that”—he waves his hand around to get his point across, laughing as he focuses on the road ahead—“you two are always serious, always working. I mean, you never attended races, even before.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I like to think you and I know more about each other than we let on.”

He’s right, but you won’t say it. You two have a connection so unlike what two acquaintances, friends, share. It’s undeniable and thick and impossible to uproot, an easy and intense dynamic at the same time. You know so much about him. You know how to make him laugh, hurt his feelings, get his eyes to flutter all pretty. But he knows those things about you, too.

“You only attend races for Max, yes?” He adds.

The utterance of Max’s name gives you mild whiplash—it reminds you you’re on the way to your hotel, to check if your boyfriend’s okay, and not on some drunken joyride with his friend-rival. You clear your throat and try to segue out of the topic. “I just—I take work seriously. I take everything seriously.”

“You shouldn’t.” His eyes flit over to you again, up and down, the low cut of your dress, the way your crossed arms are effortlessly pushing your tits togeth—

“You should loosen up,” he says with a cough, looking back up.

“Thanks for the tip, Leclerc.” You smile phonily, eyes still out the window. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

“Okay.” He says lowly. Then, as if to set a challenge—“Put it to good use now.”

“Now?” How? You almost add, parting your lips to let the question slip past. You stop yourself before you can, though, letting your still hazy mind run through your own fabricated answers. How do I loosen up? Then, to yourself again, for you?

It’s dark outside, and even windier when you roll down the window of his car. He drives fast, steadily but scarily fast—with the kind of control he’s built over a career around a car. You peek out, facing the dark hilly terrain, spotting the city lights in the far distance. Your hair flies over your face when you turn, finding more empty road. Everyone’s in the city. In the thick of the partying.

You dip out of the window more, letting yourself feel the breeze—it whips at your face, cold and smelling of the coast. In the car, you maneuver your legs to keep yourself upright properly, and more of your leg shows as a result, the material riding up on your thighs.

Charles maintains composure, his pace slowing so your hair brushes against your face more gently. Still, a soft, high-pitched yelp of excitement and nerves escapes your bitten lips. He wishes he could watch—he wants nothing more—but he has to focus on the road. He does allow himself fleeting, hot glances at you—your legs, your lithe hands on the window’s base keeping yourself upright, the way your dress hugs your waist. He might die.

“Careful,” he says, raising his voice firmly. He is genuinely concerned for you when he spots one of your hands lifting to rake the hem of your already short dress further down. It’s cold, you’re thinking, but you let your flimsy grip tell him the same story.

Still focusing on his next turn, he drives one-handed, reaching his other one over to help you out. Out of his immediate sight, you shut your eyes and allow yourself to shiver from the feeling of his hand, warm and calloused and big, on your knee, inching higher and higher upward and eventually wrapping loosely around your leg just above your knee, holding you steady.

A shaky breath leaves you, and you’ll say it was because of the wind, but you’ll know you’re wrong. Your hand moves down, to meet his, to let your fingertips skate over the expanse of his hand until your fingers are wound tightly around his. It’s dark. It’s intimate. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Your mind is buzzing, red hot and clouded, when you begin to lead him upward, higher, until your interlocked hands are just under the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you need him most. An invitation.

But when you crack your eyes open again you see you’re near the city, abandoning the safety and darkness of the shortcut, and the illusion is shattered.

“Get back in,” you hear, and when you feel the tension of his hand pulling yours, you let him tug you back inside. Your hair settles by your face, and you almost reach up to comb it neat before realizing your hand’s still caught in his. Slowly, your gaze meets his—his eyes bore into you, dark as the night outside. They don’t flicker when you hastily pull your hand from his grip, sighing shakily.

The next turn brings you back into the city, structures gaining a semblance of familiarity. The window, still open, is chilly against you, your cheeks cold with it, your shoulders inflicted by a mild wash of goosebumps. “Have fun?”

You clear your throat. “Not much,” you lie through your teeth, chewing on your lip.

“We are near the hotel.” The hotel, the party, the grand prix, Max. Reminders of what you’re supposed to be paying attention to ripple through your head as the car snakes through the city. It’s one of his other cars, so it’s not distinct enough that people are peeking inside; still, he rolls up the window for your sake.

He drops you off at the basement parking, not at the lobby. Privacy reasons, he says. He’s sick of parking outside. You bite back a quip about his nasty parking and stay still, heart beating quick.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “For driving me.”

“You’re welcome.” A hand rests on your thigh and you don't feel the resolve to jerk it, instead relishing in its warmth there. “Get there safe.”

“Safe? It’s one elevator ride,” you say tersely, rolling your eyes. He squeezes, his touch feather light, and your breath hitches. You need—

“I hope Max is okay.”

You blink and then move your thigh so his hand slides off; he doesn’t put up a fight, and you don’t encourage him to. “So do I.” It’s right as you’re closing the door when Charles says see you? You meet his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and shut the door fully.

—

“Yeah,” you say after a period of silence. “I feel it.”

Across you, hair raked back by a headband, Seb maintains lack of conviction. You’re not telling him the truth.

“How’s it feel then?”

“Just… good. Like thrilling.” Like danger, in a good way, peaceful and calm and patient and not complicated. You know what you want. You want the ring-clad hand wound around yours, on your thigh, stubble against your jaw. You want that. You know you want that.

But do you have it?

—

Max’s agenda in Barcelona starts on the eve of quali day. He arrives at your hotel and is greeted with music—it flows from the bathroom, where, upon his inspection, he finds you, swiping a dark line of eyeliner on in the mirror. You meet his eyes briefly, but you say nothing before continuing, humming softly to the Drake song that plays from your phone. He can tell instantly: you’re pissed.

“I’m leaving,” is all you say, dismissive and standoffish. You provide no follow-up.

Still, he tries to apologize. “The meeting ran late.” Silence. “Your dad discussed budgetary stuff.” Silence. “I’m optimistic for pole tomorrow.” And again, silence. “Come on, babe. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Okay.” You pause. “What was Kelly doing there?”

His mouth opens and then closes. “Wh—”

“Ben told me.” You wave a wand of mascara around.

“She was listening.”

“What’s her business?”

“Listening,” he emphasizes.

“Bullshit.” You’re on—he guesses—eyeshadow now. “Every time the topic gets to her, you get all skittish. As fuck. You think I don’t notice?”

“Babe,” he says, defensive, “it’s only because I couldn’t even stomach the idea of being with someone else.” And it’s cheesy and corny, but it must work, because your eyes flicker with something. Love, perhaps—clarity. Realization that you’re being irrational (are you?)

“I think I’m just,” you croak. “Just. Missing you. We never spend time together anymore—and after the stunt you pulled in Monte Carlo—” You press two delicate fingers on either side of your nosebridge to emulate your disappointment. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You were in someone’s car, blacked out. And no apology. Nothing. Just invited me to lunch the next day with your dad.” A topic you hate and a man you detest spending time with.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He comes in to hug you from behind and thanks the gods that you let him, your hands encircling his wrists. “I was being stupid. Won’t happen again.”

You just nod along, still annoyed but enough that it’s beginning to melt off. Max is sated. But even then, he should’ve known that the flicker of something in your eyes wasn’t love or clarity, the flicker he catches again in the mirror when he presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s neither. It’s guilt.

—

Quali is relatively uneventful—Max gets pole, and Charles gets something something. A good place, front row you think, but you fail to remember. Ben told you the standings, but you weren’t focused; you’ve been spacey, distracted, mind irreversibly stuck on something else during the session. Max can tell, and offers to take you out to dinner, but you decline so he leaves you by yourself nursing a Tylenol. The night is almost over, and you’re collecting your car keys and slinging your bag over your shoulder—but the evening is punctuated by a familiar English accent.

“Come on,” goads Lando, voice petulant and whiny as he tugs on your wrists. “Max said he’d be busy so he needs a proxy. He sucks at the game, anyway, you’re not filling big shoes or anything.”

The tradition (you use the term loosely) of drivers’ poker, started by Lando’s desire to master the game, is apparently so important it demands your attendance. You’ve had your run-ins with poker before, so you feel assured, but none with a volatile group of competitive guys like this one, so it’s on the fence.

“Where?” You suppose, though, that your mind could use a little clearing. A game, a win of sorts.

“My hotel room. I’ve just”—he types rapidly on his phone and presents your text exchange with him—“sent you the number.”

“Who’s playing?” You walk to your car and he follows, still insistent.

“The yoozsh,” he says, shortening usual the way a prepubescent boy might. “Alex, me, Charles, Carlos, Lance. We play a good game. The stakes can get pretty high. And I’ve won a couple times, so beware.”

You laugh a little, raising your brows skeptically. “Sure.”

“I’m dead serious, mate.” He says solemnly as he waves goodbye, standing idly and watching you start your car through the half-rolled window. “See ya. I am going to kick your ass.”

—

“Is this the part where you kick my ass?” You laugh, everyone peering at Lando’s shit hand that he’s presented to the table. “Out!” The game’s since been decimated to just you, Charles, a pool of money, and a thick atmosphere of slow, deliberate silence.

The rest of the players watch you and Charles, conveniently seated across each other, entranced by the easy back and forth that swings between the both of you. You peer down at your cards, then half-lidded, back up at him. His eyes bore into you, challenging, amused.

Tense, you hear faintly. Lando’s unsolicited commentary. In between you both is a scattered pile of creased bills of varying currencies, chips, a condom thrown in by Lance, and a few spare coins. It’s a huge pool despite how random it is, and even if it doesn’t cost much to anybody in the room considering how much you all earn, the prestige of calling yourself a winner still takes precedence.

Underneath the table, your foot brushes against his, the tip of your heel to the side of his sneaker. You poke your tongue into your cheek to conceal a smile, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“You seem nervous,” he says, trying his best to elicit a reaction out of you.

“Could say the same to you,” you quip, tracing the hem of his jeans with your foot. His breath hitches and you take it as a win, smiling to yourself.

“I’ve had a four game winning streak.” He fans his cards out. “Nothing to lose.”

“Oh?” Your legs continue to intertwine out of sight of everybody else, the friction of your bare calf to the denim of his jeans a warm addition to your already intense match. “Say bye to five.” Lando deals the final cards and the tension hangs heavy, palpable in the air as you both calculate your next moves. Carlos eyes the two of you, sensing something else is at stake here. The air is just too heavy.

“We’ll see,” he whistles, revealing his cards. The group seems to hold one collective, bated breath, waiting for you to take your turn. You do so with a self-satisfied smile, your foot still intertwined with his calf as you begin laying your cards down on the table. You slowly reveal a stunning winning hand, and Lando is the first to get up and cheer loudly.

Charles shrugs and hands you your victory with a handshake, pushing the pool of winnings in your direction. “Congratulations.”

“When you’re with a winner,” you tease lowly, just in Charles’ earshot, “you are a winner.”

He snorts. “Whatever you say.”

You both miss Carlos and Alex exchanging a glance first with you and Charles, smiling teasingly at each other—and the way his eyes go from yours, to your lips, and back to your eyes—then with each other, eyes half-wide and half-puzzled.

—

The race is intense, and Max suffers damage in the middle of it. It’s a rare occasion, but it costs him place after place until he’s vying not for P1, but P4. He doesn’t win today. You watch Charles cross the checkered flag yourself, watch the footage of him throwing his fists up in the air.

You’re there to watch the Red Bull engineers grumble, mutter dissent, wish themselves luck for the next weekend. You’re there when your dad says Charles is the team’s biggest liability. Imagine if we had him, he’d said. You imagine Charles in a Red Bull suit, but the image is cut short by your boyfriend’s arrival to the garage.

The video feedback on your father’s TV, of Charles spraying champagne all over everywhere, his green eyes meeting the camera with a brilliant charm, is abruptly cut off and you turn to find Max entering. His demeanor is stormy.

“P6,” you say immediately, sensing the pending grumbling. “Not so ba—”

“It’s a shitshow,” he retorts, disgruntled. But he’s at the top of the standings, leagues above the rest; he has nothing to worry about. Driving-wise, at least. “Fucking shitshow.”

“Max,” you comfort. “You did well. The damage was out of your control.”

But he’s pissed, and in the thick of his emotion, he pays your sentiments no mind. To him. it’s all the same regurgitated bullshit. Eventually, though he calms down, finds you in the motorhome and wraps you in a loose hug. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile. “Love you, too.”

He leaves early for a meeting—so many meetings, these days—and promises to meet you for dinner, requesting you text him. You watch him leave, slip into his car and drive off, and then call yourself a car to the hotel. You figure it’s high time you spend quality time with Max, what with all the instances you’ve been fighting or ignoring each other.

You leave at six, taking the elevator to the basement to get to your own car, parked there. You’re optimistic. A dinner. A date. Finally, some time with him. This is what you want. The coil in your belly, though, and the congratulatory text left unsent, tell you a different story. It’s one you choose to ignore.

The elevator has a bar slotted across the back wall that you lean on, typing updates to Ben and Max. The drive shouldn’t be long, you hope. You can’t navigate the new city fast enough. The door dings open and you make a move to exit, but you’re stopped by a figure across you.

Charles, in his Armani tee, arms crossed and eyes flashing with recognition when the doors reveal you. He’s still fussed up from the race, probably forced to stick around for promo pictures and interviews. His hair’s damp still. You notice the imprint of his balaclava is only just starting to soften and fade.

Your words tangle in your throat. “Congratulations,” is all you can muster when you see him. You don’t inch close. He, too, remains stagnant, standing perfectly still. Not even a smile. Like the tension between you forms a barrier as physical as it is emotional. “You drove great.” Your hand tightens around your phone, where you’ve just texted Max that you’re leaving the hotel.

“We should really stop meeting in parking garages.” He says lowly, with a small smile.

You step forward twice. “I was just leaving anyw—”

“Wait.” For a second, his voice breaks and he sounds—desperate, almost. “Remember Monaco? Last week. You told me you liked winners.” Somehow you find yourself allowing him to near you, stepping backwards for every step he takes closer, even if you realize you’re hogging the elevator, and that people might be waiting to arrive to this floor. “You told me… imagine if he got sixth.”

He steps into the elevator with you, and the doors automatically close behind him; it remains still, but he presses the stop button for good measure. He’s right in front of you, tired eyes and stubble and tall, broad, big. He sees right through you. He knows you. Your buttons, your quirks, everything.

“It was a joke,” you say, attempting to establish composure as you pocket your phone. You fail. You always fail. It’s him. Still, you try, hard enough that he thinks you don’t want him to come even closer, to cage you against the back wall of the tiny basement elevator. “I apologized.”

“Nevermind that.” A hand on the bar of the elevator, just by your waist. His grip is tight. He needs to channel all this want somewhere. “What do winners get?”

“Charles.” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just this once,” he says. He needs it so bad. You’re so pretty today, eyes looking right up at him, lips bitten the way they always are. He’s taller, he’s bigger, he’s got the upper hand physically—what, with the way you’re crowded up against the wall, nearly having to go on your tiptoes if you want to maintain distance. Your eyes flutter. Just this once. Four years. Just this once. Break a rule. But this isn’t a rule, you remind yourself woefully—it’s all the rules. “I care for you, you know.”

Your silence grants elaboration.

“You’re too serious. But everyone around you is, too.” Closer. “Max, your dad, your coworkers. You just need someone who can calm you down. Help you get peace of mind. No complications, you know.” Closer, even closer. “Someone who’s patient. Calm.”

You stare up at him, your hands unmoving until they’re slowly coming up to press against his abdomen, the hard surface there. You could push him away. You should, in fact, push and forget and walk away and apologize for the delay. But they remain planted there, eyes still meeting his. They’re so green, green and staring right into you, his parted lips just a little chapped, his stubble uneven and getting longer. You want to feel it rubbing your chin raw. Your inner thighs.

He steps closer and now you’re on your tiptoes, legs spreading a little to accommodate him. His hands are still on the bar. Yours, on his abdomen. You miss the way he squeezes the bar, so strong and with so, so much pent up feelings you’d think he bent it out of shape. He wants so badly for you to be his. And more than that—if that were even possible—for him to be yours.

Lightly, you bunch up the material of his tee, cotton wound in-between your fingers. Push him, you tell yourself. Push him away. Let go. You’ve had your resolve tested before. But you know better. You know that it’s never come to this. Again, he steps forward, and this time a hand leaves the bar and rests, gentle as it is firm, on your waist, just below it—his thumb presses against your hip. Your breath hitches.

Push him.

He comes closer and you’re fully pressed against the wall, half-seated on the bar, half held up by him—your skirt’s ridden up, legs spread and dangling on either side of his figure. Silence. Your breathing. Your eyes, big and anticipatory, staring into his, dark and desperate.

Push him.

“It can be—”

You adjust your grip around his tee, ready to loosen it and let go and—and for a second you feel the solid plane of his abs—

“—my prize.”

Push him. You tighten your grip, and pull him in to slot your mouths together.

His lips are warm, and soft, and he has another hand on your jaw now, but it’s so big it’s at your neck too. You part your lips to let his tongue slip in, and the kiss is nothing if not desperate. He’s wanted this for so long, to feel you like this, have your lips pressed against his. And you’d be dishonest if you said you disagreed. You don’t want to part for air. You feel like this could satiate you enough, just the movement of his lips, the scent of his cologne.

He needs to be closer to you—so he places two hands on your waist and naturally, it lets your legs wrap around him. You can feel how hard he is, and the reminder is dizzying. He wants you. But there is no upper hand here. If he lets his hands wander, he’d feel the damp of your panties and realize you’re just as bad as he is.

But for now it’s a kiss, messy and hot—passionate and just one big breath of finally. Your hands go from his abdomen to his face, cupping him on either side. It’s romantic, fuck—but you’ve craved this for so long, you cherish every second. His stubble rubs your chin raw. You trace patterns on his face, find indents of moles with your eyes closed. The kisses are searing.

Even if you both want it, and even if this creaky elevator grants you a semblance of the privacy, you both know this won’t be leading to sex. Just this—just this. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Your hands on his jaw, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. His, on your waist, your throat, your hips. Your gasps mingling with his.

The kiss takes and takes and takes, and it’s long, but you take and give four years’ worth of want and tension and frustration. You part, forehead pressed against his, and the absence leaves you empty—you inch forward and kiss him again, let it consume you, before you part again.

His eyes won’t stop staring. In the way they always look at you. With want. With something. A glint.

“First and last,” you say, lifted against the wall of the elevator, your hands around his face. Your thumbs roam over his face. He sets you down, breath heavy, and still his hands are on your waist and yours on his face. It was your cue to leave. But you can’t. Not yet.

Your thumbs go over his eyebrows, his eyelashes so his eyes flutter; the mark of his balaclava, the indent there; his nose, his cheeks, wiping the sweat there, then lower, finally to his lips. One thumb rests softly in the centre. Just seconds ago those lips had been pressed to yours, bringing a type of clarity you never knew existed. Everything, for just those moments, made perfect sense.

“You lie.” He repeats.

You tiptoe to kiss him again and he can’t seem to get enough, his eyebrows furrowed—so much he almost looks angry, anguished—when you kiss. “First and last,” you say breathlessly when you pull away.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to come right back to me,” he says, with so much finality and conviction it’s almost a fact. “You always will, you always do.” His eyes are shut even when you don’t kiss, relishing in your proximity.

And when you part, he watches you leave, with something between desperation and anguish. You don’t realize, he thinks, just how deep he is in his attraction. His connection to you. It consumes him, burns him alive, and it’s leaving him for someone else.

You ring the elevator open again, wiping your lips. He lets it close, leaning against the wall himself. And you both realize, with a heavy breath as you climb into your car and he disembarks the elevator: there is no way either of you will resist it anymore. That was the first, yes. But to say it was the last would be stark, stark lying.

—

You’re still licking syrup off the corner of your lip when you walk out of the hotel breakfast buffet, letting Max explain the fundamentals of a race to you. He’d apologized earlier, for not meeting you at the Monza afterparty last night—he’d gotten caught in something or other. But he’s kind, and inserts a few jokes here and there to get a laugh out of you, your eyes crinkling under the heavy lens of your sunglasses, sandals clicking against the outdoor garden cement floor.

He’s talking, and then trails off. Oh, he says, this is a mate of mine. You look up to make small talk and smile politely, but your face falls faster than you can pick it up. Tall and in sunglasses, too, is Charles Leclerc. You thought they were colleagues, not friends—this is chaos. You reach out to shake his hand, your free hand coming up to press against the splotch of concealer. Just in case.

The handshake is stiff and it reminds you of tequila and lemon, salt and teeth and kitten licks down your throat and right to the crest of your cleavage. But you blink and shake once, up and down. Firm.

“Nice to meet you.” He says, smiling. Then, to Max: “Girlfriend?”

“Hope so,” jokes Max, eyeing you. You laugh.

Charles smiles to himself, smug. He eyes you through his sunglasses with something caught in longing and want. “I hope so, too.”

—

Dinner is short and, despite your best efforts to make it a good one, boring. The food is good and sufficiently expensive, the way all European restaurants are. But nothing flows, ebbs. You talk of the same things: Red Bull, Red Bull, and if you have time, Red Bull. You ask about work, but it’s nothing you haven’t already heard. Max doesn’t ask about work, so the conversation descends into a limbo of silence and sips of rosé. “I’m pretty sure the next race is going to be great.”

“Charles drove great today,” says Max. “Didn’t he?”

You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, objectively so.”

“I was going to congratulate him… lost him on the paddock though.” He sips, drawing it out. “You seen him?”

“No,” you say, pithy. “Haven’t.”

“Okay.” He waves his hand upward to signal the bill. “I’ll drop you off and head out for the night. Helmut stuff.”

You’re torn between feeling suspicious and recalling the events of the elevator, so you nod tersely instead and make the necessary small talk from the table to the car. His hand on your waist, the same place Charles’ was just hours ago. It sends you into a cloudy mental spiral. Just thinking about it—about the way he’d gasped your name in between kisses, like he’d die if you didn’t kiss him again.

“I’m sorry,” Max says when he pulls up at the hotel entrance. “For all the work stuff. And for inviting you to lunch with my dad.” A weak laugh escapes you and you find his hand to squeeze it. It’s okay, you convey, and hope it’s enough that he lets the topic quell for now.

Your silence is permissive, so he continues. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Leans over and presses a sure kiss to your cheek. “As soon as I can.”

You nod and climb out, praying he didn’t see you shudder. The trek to the elevator, eyes skittish and searching for a sign of Charles, is tiring, and you find reprieve only when you’re pushing the door to the penthouse suite open, toeing your sandals off and dropping your bag just by the entryway. You freeze when you hear a glass clink from the living area. You’d gotten this suite for you and Max, and definitely nobody else.

Brandishing a bunch of keys in-between your fingers, you tiptoe into the area and find, to your confusion and shock, your dad. He’s seated on the couch toying with a glass of whiskey, eyes lighting up when he sees you, even if you look like a psycho with claws.

“Hi, honey.”

“Dad.” You drop your keys on the coffee table as you near him, and exchange a kiss and hug. “Wh—did you get a key from…?”

“Ben.” He smiles. “I thought I would surprise you.”

“Yeah, you more scared me.” You quip, laughing. Then you recall a detail and follow-up on it. “Max—um, he said you had a meeting?”

“Meeting? None scheduled tonight,” he says, frowning and opening his Calendar app. Nothing.

A dry quiet creeps up into the room and settles.

You pour yourself a glass and seat yourself beside him, drinking. You share a conversation for the duration of two glasses and then he’s leaving. The kiss he stamps on your forehead, you notice, is more meaningful, conveys a deeper message, lasts longer. He knows what you know now.

The usual sleepiness that comes with alcohol doesn’t arrive and you fall into an uneasy sleep; it doesn’t help that Max calls in past two, saying he’s crashing at the hotel room he bought for his dad instead of your hotel. You listen to the slurred voicemail, eyes shut and nose buried in the pillow. Eventually you lull yourself to sleep, awaiting the promise of morning and clarity.

—

Morning brings a day off. A break. But your mind does not cease to be cloudy, instead becoming even more muddled with questions and pivots and forks in the road. It helps, you suppose, that Max isn’t home. It might’ve worsened everything. You wrestle your way through a glass of water and a cup of tea, try out yoga, and even attempt going back to sleep. But it’s no use; you’re antsy.

So instead of suppressing the thoughts, you theorize, it’s better to lean into them. Succumb to them, the tempt and guilt of them. It might help you navigate the confusion of everything. So you do—you think of your years-long history with Charles, your relationship with Max. The hiding, the suppression, the pretending. Fleeting touches.

You think of how well Charles knows you, inside and out, of how good he kissed you even if he hadn’t ever kissed you before. His hands, the way he said your name, the hitch in his breath when your hands dared to venture just a little lower. The want, the pure want—the want so unadulterated even one kiss was enough. Images of close calls fill your head. All the times you were high, giggly and leaning into him, on the edge of flirty in some dark corner of a club. Your connection has always been, and will always be, completely and absolutely undeniable. No matter how hard you try.

Guilt fills you at the same time. And with the guilt—confusion. Where is Max? He wasn’t at a meeting last night, and you suspect you know exactly where he is. Who he’s with. Can you really be angry, though? Is it a feedback loop of the same thing, the same morally grey actions? Is this all your relationship has been reduced to? Questions, questions, and more questions flood the corners of your head.

Thoughts are put to a standstill when the door shakes with two knocks.

You rake your hair back and climb out of bed, into the main room, still in your lace pajamas. It might be the complimentary hotel breakfast or Max arriving, you guess. Maybe your dad—he’s apparently in the business of keying himself into your hotel rooms.

So you don’t bother looking through the peephole, undoing the latch with haste and dexterity before you’re hauling the heavy door open and staring breathlessly at the other side.

—

Abu Dhabi greets Max and you with fanfare, with a plethora of paddock paparazzi and even a few gossip rags asking questions. Some journalists drop a check-in, cameras zeroing in on your intertwined hands and your shared smiles. She’s the World Champ’s! seems to be the pervasive headline lately, and your pictures from today will no doubt exacerbate it.

He squeezes your hand when you finally gain semi-privacy, entering the motorhome. Your dad sees you, sees Max, offers a wave that you both return. Your eyes go from wide and smiling to a little blank and dismissive, a change minute but noticeable. “You okay?” He calls after you when you enter his room.

You drop your Kelly—the bag—on the seat by the door and gather your hair to rest on one side. “Fine. You nervous?”

“The planned strategy was horseshit.” Max is right and for the sake of your dad, it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to Dad for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” You’re getting up already.

“Wait—” He pauses when you’re kissing his cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Oh.” You pause to think. “We can get dinner, then.”

“No,” he says. “I’m going to be with Jos.”

“Drinks.” You leave no room for argument and leave with the door shutting softly behind you.

He stares at the just-closed door, your bag slung over the chair, the way you keep pressing against a certain spot on your neck. You are hiding something—Max just can’t put his finger on it.

#f1 #leclsrc3000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader

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mouschiwrites · 6 months

Text

Creepypasta/MH - Breaking Up With Them

Characters: Nina the Killer, Jane the Killer, Clockwork, Jeff the Killer, Eyeless Jack, Tim/Masky

Nina the Killer

She approaches you one day, eyes puffy and red from crying

She breaks the news that she wants to separate pretty bluntly

“Y/n. I want to break up.”

She has to be quick because the second she opens her mouth, the tears are going to start again

She’ll be apologizing, telling you that you’re really awesome and attractive, you’re just not the one for her

If you let her she’ll hug you, burying her face in your shoulder

Your shirt will get stained with makeup

After a while she’ll pull away, sniffling, and ask if you hate her

If/when you say no, she just nods solemnly and hugs you again

When she’s finally ready to stop hugging you, she’ll offer to help you gather your things

If you forget anything she won’t have a problem texting you about it, or even bringing it to you herself

She’ll probably still want to be friends, but distant ones

Like, you’ll keep tabs on each other every now and again, and you’ll be friendly when you see each other, but you’re not exactly besties

She keeps the gifts you’ve given to her, as well as the Polaroid photos you’ve taken together

Even when she’s over you, she likes to look back and remember the good times you had together

Jane the Killer

Sends a “we need to talk” text first

She’ll tell you to meet her somewhere private and secluded

When you get there her face is creased with pain, but she’s firm and steady as she explains why she wanted to meet up

She stands a good distance away while she speaks

Her arms are crossed, but eventually it becomes obvious that she’s trying to hold herself as comfort

Tears may come to her eyes, but they won’t fall

If you take it well, she’ll approach and hold out her hand for a handshake

But as you get close, she’ll change her mind on a whim and yank you into a rough hug that’s over before you even realize it happened

Then, with a single sharp sniffle, she’ll wish you the best and walk away

“Have a good life, Y/n.”

She won’t contact you again

If you see her after, she’s going to avoid you at all costs

It’s just too awkward and painful for her

She probably purges everything you gave her in a fit of rage at some point

Everything but something super small, like a bracelet or something

She keeps it locked away, out of sight, out of mind (mostly)

Occasionally she’ll find it and stare for a while, reflecting on your relationship

Then she’ll shove it away again and try to forget she saw it

Clockwork

She’ll try to find you alone

Somewhere quiet where you can talk and think in privacy

She might startle you a bit by jumping straight in

She doesn’t even announce her presence first

“We should break up.”

Her expression looks relaxed to the untrained eye, but you see how tired she is

She’ll try to have a civil conversation, making plans with you to execute your separation

She wants to make the process as smooth as possible, which means no emotions allowed

She saves those for your last goodbye

While she’ll be totally cold and serious throughout the whole breakup, she’ll cry when you see each other for the last time

She’ll hug you tight and tell you how much she loved you

Then she’ll wish you the best, and tell you that if you need anything you can text her

Honestly she hopes you won’t

It’s really hard for her to restrain her emotions around you, but she forces herself to do exactly that

That’s why she won’t want to see you much anymore

She puts everything that reminds her of you in a box, but she can’t make herself get rid of it

It sits in her attic, collecting dust, just like her suppressed emotions towards you

Jeff the Killer

I see him as the type to break up mid-argument

Like, in the heat of the moment, he just shouts:

“That’s it! We’re over!”

Even if it’s was small, if breaking up is something he’s been thinking about, he’ll use the argument as an excuse to do it

He won’t elaborate much; he doesn’t want to expose himself like that

After the argument, he’s really cold, but not particularly aggressive

Like, he’ll help you pack your things calmly, but he’s not going to comfort you in any way

When you actually leave he walks you to the door and just says “bye” before closing it

He immediately blocks you on all platforms

Yet he’s too “lazy” to delete all the pictures of you off his phone, or to get rid of the gifts you’ve given to him

Sometimes he finds himself staring longingly at them, wondering if he made the right choice

His finger has hovered over the “unblock” button several times

Yet if someone brings you up in conversation, he scoffs and turns his head distastefully

Might even talk a little trash about you

(He’s still trying to convince himself that breaking up was a good decision)

If he sees you though…

He’s frozen, staring at you, more doubtful of himself than ever

Eventually he just looks away, too stubborn to address his feelings

It takes him a very long time, but he finally realizes that he ultimately made the right choice

Eyeless Jack

He’s mortified when he realizes he wants to split up

He feels so bad; he doesn’t want to hurt you

Doesn’t have the courage (or emotional energy tbh) to confront you face to face

So he leaves a letter

It’s multiple pages and very gentle and emotional

He makes it clear how he feels about you, restating multiple times how delightful you are, but that you’re just not for him

He’s probably already packed your things, but he tells you to grab anything else you want

He’ll disappear for several days, letting you sort yourself out

He’ll answer if you text though

It might take him a moment if it’s an emotional text, but he’ll just reiterate what he said in the letter

To be fair, it was a very thorough letter that he wrote with the intention of you having no such questions

But if it’s something practical, like “where is my toothbrush” or something, he’ll respond really quickly

That’s pretty much how it is afterwards

He’ll answer your texts if you need something, but he’s not looking to keep emotional ties

He might keep a few things to remind him of you, but he’ll get rid of most of them

Like Nina, he wants to remember the good times

He’ll probably be alone for a long time after, so the memories you gave him are ones he’ll treasure forever, even though he doesn’t love you anymore

Tim/Masky

Does it over text

He just can’t bring himself to face you

But he doesn’t want to leave a letter either; he wants you to be able to respond

He’ll be very blunt and to the point, but he’ll be dodgy when answering your questions

He doesn’t want to be vulnerable like that

The only things he will expose are that he did love you and that he thinks you’re a good person

He’ll only say it once though

After that he’s focused on planning

If/when you meet up to collect your things, he doesn’t say much

Honestly he just acts weirdly normal

Like, he’ll help you pack it up and carry it out

Then, before you leave, he says (astonishingly casually, as if you weren’t in the middle of a breakup):

“That everything? Yeah? Okay. Bye, Y/n.”

He’s acting like you had a healthy breakup when you really didn’t

It’s because he’s already bottled everything up

Maybe it’ll spill when the going gets rough, but he’s not going to touch it if he can help it

He’s already shoved your memorabilia in a box that he keeps in his basement, and he’s not planning on opening it

Yet its presence burns in his mind from time to time, driving him to push his emotions down even further

Sorry if I broke your wee hearts my loves :( but thanks for reading!! Take care of yourselves <3

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets #nina the killer #nina the killer x reader #jane the killer #jane the killer x reader #clockwork #clockwork x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #tim wright #tim wright x reader #masky x reader

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cautionworks · 1 year

Text

Baby, Let's Make Another One

A sequel to "Baby, I'm yours".

Pairing: Na'vi! Miles Quaritch x Human! Female! Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Fluff and Smut with a dash of Angst, Post- Pregnancy, Age gap, daddy kink, breeding kink, Na'vi/Human sex, alien sex, vaginal fingering, and Linking Na'vi Queue with Human. Yes, you read that correctly because I'm a pervert and I like to find creative ways to write smut.

A/n: I wrote this because one I wanted to write more Na'vi Quaritch x Human Reader stories and two you would not believe the amount of people requesting that I write more or make a sequel.

Dog tags: An army necklace that's worn to be identified in case of death and is similarly shaped like a dog tag.

Nga yawne lu oer: "I love you."

Nga yawne lu oer nìteng: "I love you too."

@marahisthebest @sofysofiasofi @kassada @automaticwizardnerd @fourcefulcupid @anbanananna Enjoy!

Positive. You were positive on your third pregnancy test. You didn't know if it was possible but you were in fact pregnant with Quaritch's child. That could only be the case, he’s the only person you’ve been with for the past year.

Tears of joy brimmed in your eyes when the realization of a child was growing inside you and the fact it was his. You had to tell him, you wanted to tell him right now, but he was at work right now. So you waited until Miles came home, which was late in the evening. For this special occasion, you decided to make his favorite meal for dinner, Gumbo. A meal that takes him back to his hometown.

By the time you finished making dinner, you heard the door open to hear familiar footsteps.

"I'm home." Hearing his southern drawl of a voice again made you jump in excitement. You set the plates down and came to him with open arms. He immediately crouched down to hug you, his tail swinging back and forth.

Within a few seconds the aroma of spices and fresh meat filled his nose. "Is that Gumbo I'm smelling?"

You nodded your head. "Uh, huh."

He titled his head as his ears moved down. "Aw, thank you, baby." He kissed your forehead. "How ya doin’?"

"Good." You smiled but you couldn't hide the excitement bursting inside you. You smiled in a way that lets him know you're happy about something else but he didn't know what. Whatever it is, he was glad to come home and see you bright and happy.

"What's going on?" He smiled softly. "Did something happen?"

You didn't want to delay it any further so you just blurted out.

"..I'm pregnant." You looked at him carefully to see his reaction.

His eyes widened and ears perked up the moment you said 'pregnant'. He stood there frozen, his face deep in thought. He thinks back to the last time he saw Spider, after the battle of the sea dragon. He remembers when he was standing by his Irkan, injured, and reaching his hand out to Spider, hoping that he’ll come back with him to base. But instead Spider gave him a vicious hiss as his goodbye and jumped in the water and swam away. Quaritch was too injured to try and get him back and so he flew back to base on his Ikran.

It was at this moment that Miles knew that he can’t and will never have the father-son relationship he wanted. No matter how hard his memories demanded him to be with Spider, his attempts of reconnecting with his son failed.

And now here he was, at home with you and you telling him you were pregnant with his child. Could this be his chance of having a family again? Could he recreate what was broken? Were you willing to make a life with him?

"..Is this true, baby?" He said in a hoarse tone, like he couldn't believe what he just heard.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

In less of a second, he lifted you up and wrapped his tail around your thigh, careful to not squeeze you. He was the happiest man alive on this planet.

"..Oh, darlin’, thank you." He smiled fondly at you and kissed you as he spoke words of endearment.

"..Thank you."

One year has passed since the birth of your son, Jason. He was born healthy and appeared as a full human baby. No tail or blue skin but he did have his father’s eyes, which was the only unusual thing about him but you didn’t care, you loved him all the same. As long as he was healthy and functioning well, that’s all it mattered to you. You couldn’t say the same for Miles in the beginning.

When Jason was born, Miles was overjoyed but when the baby opened his eyes, his eyes held the same color as his father. Golden orbs with cat-like pupils. They were Na'vi eyes and it did not sit well with Miles. Quaritch being surprised was an understatement. He wasn’t happy, he was displeased. He honestly thought that his human characteristics would be enough to pass his children as fully human. But who was he kidding, he's a 9,5ft blue alien. It’s a miracle (to him) that his child looked mostly human.

You remembered the look he made when he saw his child open his eyes for the first time. He looked like he saw something that was wrong with your baby and it worried you. "What's wrong?" You asked him.

"He's got..” He hesitated but his memories of his past life got the better of him. “He's got those hostile eyes." He frowned.

You your lips pursed. "...Hostile?!" You whispered yelled to not scare the baby. "How could you say that about our son?" You wish you could get out of the bed and smack him but your body was still too exhausted from the labor. "You better think about your next words carefully, Quaritch."

That name. You rarely ever use that name and when you did it struck through Miles and it made him think.

Was he really upset about it? Could it be his memories of hating the Na’vi transcend onto his own son? He felt disgusted with himself with this notion. From that moment, he had a change of heart, and promised to love the child you've created with him.

He says nothing and you took that silence to heart, making the floodgates open. You started crying and this time it wasn't out of the pain you endured to bring your son into this world or the moment you saw your son for the first time, it was because the love of your life, your partner, your husband, didn't accept the baby you've made. And It hurt you.

Miles saw the hurt in your eyes and immediately regretted what he said. He carefully put Jason down on the hospital crib and approached you slowly.

“..Baby, I’m sorry.” You could hear the guilt in his voice and it made you cry even harder. He wrapped his arms around you without crushing you as best as he could. He felt such a dick at the moment.

He took your hands gently into his, rubbing the knuckles of your hands with his thumb. “I was being an asshole and I shouldn’t have said all that bullshit.”

You nodded as you wiped off the tears on your face.“..Okay.”

When he was close enough to your face, you took that opportunity to grab his ears and yank them down hard. You could’ve grabbed his queue but you didn’t want him to hurt that badly so you settled with his ears.

“..Shit-” He winced, fighting the urge to pull you off because he knows he deserves it. “Ow, ow, ow! Okay, I get it, damn it!”

“Serves you right.”

It was the beginning of January, the year was 2173. You were at home in your room, holding your son in your arms. He was fast asleep when you put him back on the crib, watching him sleep peacefully. You hear small footsteps come behind you and you turned around to see Quaritch duck his head under the door.

He pouts as he touches the back of his ears.

He puts his hand on your shoulder. "Is he asleep?" He whispered quietly.

"Yeah," You whispered back. "He sleeps so easily."

He chuckled. "Just like his old man."

You chuckled as well when the both of you left the room, closing the door quietly.

Unexpectedly, Miles lifted you up and carried you to the living room, you didn't even gasp. He's done this enough times for you to get used to it. He just likes picking you up since you're so small in size.

He sits on the couch with you on top of him, all nice and snuggled. It may be the beginning of the new year, but it was still a bit cold and Miles was a natural furnace as always.

You take the remote control and flip through channels until you settle on channel 13, a random animal documentary displaying on the TV screen. You did not expect to see a pair of lions seemingly horny and about to mate but you were curious enough to not switch the channel immediately.

“Lionesses are receptive to mating for three or four days within their reproductive cycle. During this time a male will mate every 20–30 minutes and can mate up to 50 times a day." The camera zooms in on a female lion lying down with a male behind her, positioning himself to mate with her. You see Miles' tail moves in excitement as the two of you watch the two animals begin mating with each other.

"It is known that mating sessions last less than a minute so the male can copulate many times a day."

It's only been a minute since you sat down and watched some TV and already you feel him touch your thighs, letting you know exactly what he's thinking about. You can't help but lean back into his chest to hear him whisper into your ear, smiling against you.

"..Baby, let's make another one," His hands go under your shirt and shorts." I promise I'll last longer than a lion." He grinned at you and you couldn't help but chuckle. “What'd ya say, sweetcakes?" He kisses your ear, biting it gently with his fang.

The way he said that sends waves of arousal to your already wet pussy. Welp, there goes your cervix again.

"That depends." You whispered back. "Are you sure you want me to have a big belly and bigger tits again?"

You know by now that he would say yes but you want him to say it anyway.

He wrapped his tail around your thigh to keep you from going anywhere and without hesitation he said. "Anyday."

"Then come give it to me big daddy." You smirked in anticipation.

You didn't have to say it twice. His hands slip under your shorts and panties, his fingers graze against your lips, wetness coating them instantly. You heard him groan in delight behind you.

"Damn, yer so wet, sweetheart.You really want another one, don'cha?" He dips his large digits inside you, making you curl your toes and cry out in pleasure.

"..Fuck." You whimpered. "..Y-yes."

You hear an amused hum, a low vibration that comes from his throat and spreads to you. He slides his other hand under your shirt. You weren’t wearing a bra so he grabbed your breasts and massaged them with ease as he curled his fingers inside you. It is true that his hands are large to hold your breasts but that doesn't stop him from fondling it.

He whispered to you as if you two weren’t alone. "Feels good doesn't it, baby?" He said with a mix of love and lust tinting his voice. It didn’t take long for his fingers to reach your G-spot, making your legs tremble in indescribable pleasure. You moan and squirm but Quaritch is strong enough to hold you down without delaying the pleasure you’re feeling. Once he's gathered enough wetness, he starts rubbing your clit in circular motions.

The pleasure was beginning to become too much that you couldn’t control the volume of your voice. "..Yes, please, please don't stop! Don't-"

"Sh-ssh," He hushed you, pausing his movements to slow you down. "You don't wanna wake the baby, do ya?"

Of course not. It was one of your big hurdles that you and Miles learned to fuck more quietly snice you were a vocal woman and the fact Quaritch reached your cervix every time you guys made love.

He returns back to fingering you and this time you tried to moan quietly as best you could. "Here we go," He cooed softly. "That’s my good girl."

“..Fuck, I’m cumming.” You cried as your hips wiggled.

“Yes, yes, that’s right, babygirl. Keep goin’, cum into my hands.”

And as if on command you came on his fingers. Hot spurts of cum drenched into his hands and you're still shaking from the unstoppable fingering he's doing to you. And as you continue cumming, he praises you, switching between 'good girl' and 'that's my good girl', as if you can't get more aroused. He releases his tail around your thigh.

When your high fell down, you sat up and turned around to face him. “..Let me ride you,” You whispered to him breathlessly.

He takes off his tank top but leaves his dog tag on. “M’kay, baby. Whatever you say.”

“With your queue.”

His brows rose in surprise. “What?”

“I want to try putting your queue, erm, inside me or just rubbing it against it.”

“..Sweetheart,” He sighed. “Y’know this is a Na’vi thing, I dunno if it’ll work the same way with humans, let alone be harmless to ya.”

“..I know but I trust you. I won’t ask again if you say you don’t want to.”

“Fine, we can try it but I’ll be the one who puts it on.”

You smiled at him. “Yes, daddy.” You spread your legs and used your fingers to spread your wet pussy lips, hoping to entice him.

"Who knew you're such a dirty li'l girl." He grabs the end of his braid and holds his queue out, the pink tendrils moving upwards in a continuous motion. You watched him carefully move his queue closer to your wet folds, making you anxious at the sight of it reaching closer to your privates.

As it gets closer, the tips of it touch your outer lips, it does nothing but keep moving as it did before. He brings it up to your clit and this time your body shudders in pleasure at the contact of it. “A-ah!” You moaned. “..M-miles, fuck.”

His ears perked at the tingle he just felt. “You feelin’ good, baby?”

“Yes,” You breathed. “..Put it deeper into me.”

He gave you a silent nod as he brought the tip down to your wet entrance. Within seconds, the soft tendrils latched into your inner walls, instantly making you feel its pulse. The both of you breathe deeply in unison, the sensation of feeling each other’s body for the first time overwhelms you both. You didn’t think it was possible at all but it was. You didn’t need to be an avatar or recom to experience this intimate moment, the ability to feel someone else’s body.

“Oh, my god, Miles...” You close your eyes as you take in this otherworldly sensation.

“Holy shit,” He chuckled in amazement. “Baby, are you feelin' this?”

You nodded. “..Yes, I can feel you.” You touch his large hands as you smile, a brief look of content painted on your face. “I can feel your breathing, your pulse.” A perverted smile surfaced on your face as you felt something more intense and erotic. “And how incredibly hard you are right now.”

“Me too, cupcake.” He chuckled. “I can literally feel yer pussy throbbin’ right now.” He now senses your body's need to be filled.

“You still wanna ride on my dick, huh?” He lays down on his back as his queue stays attached to you. “God, yes.” You crawl over to him and lift yourself as you take his length into your hands and align it carefully to your entrance, lowering yourself slowly.

With how slick and horny you are, his cock slipped inside you easily and did not interfere with the connection between you and his queue.

“..Christ,” He groaned and it was unlike anything you heard of him. “Ho, baby girl.” He can't believe what he was experiencing at the moment. He can feel himself stretching you and how good it feels to you.

It was a spiritual and intimate experience the two of you were sharing together and all the while you looked so sexy while you’re on top.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He muttered to himself.

The tip of it kisses your cervix and you cry out. “Ah, r-right there, Miles.” He grins at the sight of your expression, with the addition of him feeling you stretched to the hilt. "Look at you, desperate to take my cock again. You want to take my cum again, huh, princess?"

You start to bounce, lifting your hips up and down as your tits move in the same motion. "Yes, yes, daddy!"

"Mnn, and be bred again?"

"F-fuck, yes, please. Cum in me," You cried. "Gimme your cum, please!"

"Mnn, you just always know what to say, babygirl. You take me so well, always so snug around me. It's like you were made to be bred by me."

The praises and dirty words made you shiver in arousal. You bent your body over as you buried your head to his chest, his hands gripped your ass while the other was planted firmly on your small back. Miles groaned as he lifted his hips and thrusted deep inside you, his movements making you cling to him tightly.

"Mmm, yes, baby, just like that. Keep it comin’, mama. Daddy’s gonna fill you up nice and good. Soon you're gonna be so full of cum and when you get pregnant, I'll just keep cummin’ inside ya every night."

And before you were about to say something, Miles felt through his queue you were about to cum soon.

"..Fuck, I'm gonna cum, daddy." You cried to his chest, holding on to it as best as you could while your pussy was getting wrecked. The TV remained on but the sounds of groaning and whimpers and the lewd sounds of skin against skin were louder.

"Come on, babygirl, cum for me." You hear him growl, that's when you know his instincts are kicking in. "Cum for daddy." He smacked your ass.

"A-ah, AH, Miles, please!" You chanted his name like he was your savior, switching between ‘daddy’ and ‘Miles’ until you lost the ability to speak.

“That’s right. Cum.” He pounds below you hard as you whimper. “Cum on daddy’s dick..”

And before he said anything else, you felt his cock throb through the queue, hinting he was about to explode and the sensation itself made you want to release yourself.

"Shit, baby, I'm cummin’-" He grunts as his thrusts become brutal. "Daddy’s comin’,M fuck-"

For the first time in months, you came at the same time together. The two of you shudder in heavenly bliss, your pussy clamps around him so tightly as hot cum rushed inside you. You’ve never cried so loudly and you’ve never cummed this much, maybe it had to do with the queue.

He gives out a few last thrusts before he stops and stays inside you. The both of you are out of breath, hugging each other as you let the afterglow of sex take over you too.

When your high faded, you sat up and took his softened dick out of you, a thread of cum spilling out of you.

..You’re so getting pregnant after this. You thought to yourself.

You looked down to see the queue still attached to you. A grin surfaced on your face as an idea popped into your mind.

"Hey, Miles." You grabbed the tuft of hair on his queue and flatten it onto the front of your vulva. "..Look at my hairy pussy." You smirked as you looked at him funny.

His ear drooped down and his lips curled into a smug smirk and before you know it he bursted into laughter. You know he's always had a dirty sense of humor and it was one of the reasons why you two connected with each other, with queue or not.

"Nga yawne lu oer." He says to you in Na'vi.

You’re not fluent in Na’vi but you know enough to understand what he said to you, so you said, “Nga yawne lu oer nìteng.” with a smile.

#na'vi miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #avatar quaritch #avatar the way of water edit #avatar the way of water #na'vi quaritch #na'vi x reader #na'vi avatar

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dearly-somber · 5 months

Text

Because It’s Soft | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human! reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, (domestic) fluff, found family, humor, (mutual? 👀) pining, f2l (friends-to-lovers), eventual smut, high school!au

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1367

-> a/n. This is one of my favorite installments ngl

-> warnings. None!

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Oct. 23rd, 2022 @ 21:45

-> fin. Sun., Feb. 26th, 2023 @ 18:08

-> edited. Tues., Nov. 14th, 2023 @ 12:33

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

“Have I ever told you how much I love your hair at this length?”

Jungkook hisses under his breath, narrowly avoiding death from a flank-attack and managing to get cover to recoup before diving back into the match. “No?”

“Really?” Y/N muses in a shocked voice behind him, lightly touching his shoulders. Jungkook bites his lip to concentrate on what’s happening in game, the hair on the back of his neck tingling.

Y/N was dropped off here for the day because her parents had to go out of town for some or other social gathering. Jungkook remembers waiting for her by the front door, respectfully bowing his head when her father gave him a curt nod.

He remembers how his stomach fluttered when she turned to him with the biggest grin after hugging her mother goodbye, half-jogging toward him before throwing her arms around his neck in a tight, excited hug.

He remembers the way he patted her back and smiled sheepishly at her parents from over her shoulder, hoping they were too far away to notice the blush on his cheeks.

“Yeah. I think you might’ve commented on how long it’s gotten since summer started, but otherwise you haven’t said much.” Jungkook groans and throws his head back between your knees, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. That’s his sixth loss in a row.

Y/N gives him a pitying tut, using her hand on the back of his neck to gently lift his head, completely oblivious to the intense inner-rumblings of Jungkook’s wolf. She bring her hands up into his hair, dragging her fingers through the silky strands…gently tugging knots loose and running her nails over his scalp.

Jungkook’s shoulders relax and he closes his eyes with a breathy little sigh, his controller going slack in his lap.

Y/N giggles knowingly. “I really do love your hair at this length, you know. It’s nice when it’s long.”

“Mmm…” Jungkook hums distractedly, his eyebrows scrunching together at just how nice it feels to have her hands in his hair. “Why’s it…nice?”

He thinks she shrugs. “Can play with it better when it’s long.”

A smirk pulls the corners of his lips up. “Head out your ass, Kook.”

Jungkook can’t help but laugh. “Sorry. I’ll keep my hair at this length forever if you like playing with it, though. S’really nice,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch and sighing contentedly.

She continues her ministrations with a quiet hum. “Can I tie it up for you later? Wanna see if I can get it into a ponytail.”

“It’s not that long,” Jungkook pouts, eyes still closed.

“Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, letting her run her fingers through his hair in relative silence. He doesn’t even notice when he lets go of the controller to instead loop his arms through her legs, pulling his arms through until his hands are resting comfortably on her knees.

“Who’s cooking tonight?” Y/N asks curiously, as if she’s only just remembered that Jungkook’s house is never this quiet.

“Dunno. Jiminie hyung said they were going out for drinks to celebrate Yoongi’s promotion, so most of them are out.”

“You mean we’re alone?”

“No?” Jungkook says carefully. “The noonas are having a bonfire out back. Why? Are you not comfortable being alone with me?” The thought makes him deflate.

She gives his hair a reprimanding tug and Jungkook has to bite his tongue to stop himself from gasping.

She says something, but Jungkook’s too focused on controlling the rapid beating of his heart and excited prancing of his wolf to hear.

“Jungkook!”

He yelps and rubs the back of his head, flipping around to glare at Y/N, betrayed. “What was that for?!”

“For not listening to me,” she snaps. Jungkook humphs and pouts, smiling satisfied when she rolls her eyes with a sigh and apologizes under her breath. “Sorry for smacking you.”

He doubts he’ll ever get tired of the way she lowers her voice when speaking to him so sincerely.

“Sorry for not listening,” he concedes. “What were you saying?”

“Can you come with me to ask Lisa and them about food?” She reaches forward to fix his glasses and mindlessly brushes a strand of hair behind his ear.

He hopes she doesn’t notice the stars in his eyes. “Sure.”

The two of them get up and Jungkook follows closely behind Y/N as they make their way to the back yard. He closes the sliding door behind him as Y/N walks ahead, joining her with a small smile.

“‘Sup.” Jennie bro-nods at him from where she’s sitting next to Rosé.

“Hi, noona.” Jungkook smiles. “You guys having fun?” He stands closer to Y/N when he notices her shiver.

“I think we should be asking you that,” Rosé laughs, lifting her head to grin at him devilishly as she wiggles her eyebrows.

Jungkook resists the urge to flip her the bird, settling for a roll of his eyes. When he looks back at Y/N, she’s watching them butcher with a faraway smile, so he nudges her back to attention.

She clears her throat. “Jungkook and I were wondering about food. Is someone cooking?” she asks, putting her hands in her pockets and leaning into Jungkook’s arm to fight off the cold.

Lisa scoffs with a dramatic shake of her head, stoking the fire with a black-burnt stick. “You brats. Always waiting for someone to cook for you.” She shakes her head in mock-disappointment.

Y/N smiles sheepishly and Jungkook glares pointedly at his sister. “Really, Li?”

“What!” She widens her eyes at him. “It’s not like I’m lying!”

Jisoo sighs, muttering something under her breath. “Why don’t you two boil us some ramen, then? The rest of the guys aren’t going to be back until much later, so just enough for us should be fine.”

Y/N nods eagerly. “Will do. Thanks, unnie. We’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

“Thanks babe.” Jennie blows Y/N a kiss—Jungkook resists his wolf’s urge to growl at her.

“C’mon, Koo. Let’s go.” Y/N tugs on his sleeve until they’re walking side-by-side, sliding the door open and waiting for Jungkook to close it again before skipping to the kitchen.

He grabs the television remote to play some music, joining Y/N in the kitchen like it’s second nature. Which he supposes it is.

He grabs a large pot from the cupboard as Y/N turns the stove on. Fills the pot with water while she grabs the ramen packets. Sets out seven pairs of chopsticks as she puts the sauce in.

She uses a pair of chopsticks to stir everything in the pot, and Jungkook goes back to the living room to change the song.

When he comes back, she’s watching him; leaning against the counter with a small smile. He smiles back and walks straight into her arms, wrapping his arms around her back and nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

Y/N giggles, one hand on his side and the other in his hair. Jungkook will be eternally grateful for how her attitude towards affection changed after those first few months of their friendship. She had been so touch-averse, he almost cried when she kept rejecting his attempts at physical contact.

He doesn’t know when it changed, but he’s glad it did.

Jungkook breathes in her scent, rumbling deep in his chest. God, she smells so nice. So so nice. He’s convinced it’s the best smell on earth.

“Because it’s soft.”

“Hm?” Jungkook makes a confused noise, stomach fluttering at her shy giggle right by his ear.

“Your hair, I mean. I think I like it because it’s so soft.”

Jungkook grins into her neck with a small shake of his head. “Thanks, Y/N.”

She hums, scratching at his scalp until the water’s fully boiled and the smell of ramen drives her to let him go.

Jungkook watches her cook with a lovestruck smile on his face.

He can’t wait for the day that this is his norm.

The day they’re finally together the way he so wishes they could be…

Because it’s soft.

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aiizenn · 11 months

Text

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who stays standing at the end of the hall with two grocery bags in one hand while the other carries a pink-haired boy. looking at you as the apartment building owner hands you the key to the door that’s in front of his.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who can’t help but stare at you. the strong and sweet aura that pulled him in, the glowing smile you gave the owner as they said their goodbyes made him feel something inside. something that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who waits until you get into your apartment only for him to speed(ish) walk to his door. trying his best to avoid you, his hair was disheveled, his shirt was wrinkled and he had three days worth of dark circles. he wanted to make a good impression, welcoming you, not scaring you.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who waits two whole days until he goes up to your door. he was partially waiting until you completely settled in. his knuckles reach your wooden door, knocking once and twice. his heart beating loudly as he patiently waits for the door to open. the silence made him anxious, what if you weren’t home? he got ready and practiced different conversations you could have—wanting to make it as perfect as possible.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who smiles as soon as the door opens. meeting the beaming smile he saw a few days ago. “hello, i’m the front door neighbor. we wanted to welcome you to the area. we also made these muffins for you, hope you like chocolate.” you look at him and the tiny pink hair boy he was holding hands with, giving both a small smile, feeling warm inside for the sweet gesture. “thank you both, this is so sweet. and of course, i love chocolate.”

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who you get close to in a matter of days. he tells you that he’s been a widower since his son's birth. you also learn more about the little boy named yuji. how he’s a complete sunshine, bright smiles and pure giggles. his father being the opposite, although he displays smiles, they aren’t as big or as lively as his kid.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who soon makes it a tradition to invite you over every friday night and eat with him and his chubby boy. there’s been times when you arrive an hour before to help prepare dinner. even yuji tags along, sitting in his high chair as he “rolls” bread dough with his mini roller pin. light sizzles are heard as nanami places the butter in the pan, topping it with vegetables. concentrated with every movement, making sure everything cooked perfectly. he was easy on the eyes, there’s no denying that nanami was handsome, a handsome yet lonely man.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who gently and lightly places one hand on your waist as he moves you millimeters away to grab a seasoning from the top cabinet. his touch lingering on you, making you feel various things in various places—chest, stomach…in between your legs. clearing your throat you decide to help yuji with his dough. receiving bubbly giggles from him when you build a tiny doughman.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who stays in a daze as he sees you interact with his son. the moment felt perfect for him, he doesn’t remember the last time yuji laughed as much as he does when he’s around you. the apartment didn’t feel like a “house” anymore, but a home instead. he wants nothing more than to keep you close.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who sometimes asks if you could babysit yuji as he works overtime. you’d pick up yuji from daycare and take him places, time would pass by fast as you two had fun together. the adorable boy would call out for his “dada” or “papa” from time to time. it’d make your heart tighten thinking how hard it must’ve been for nanami to raise yuji all on his own.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who buys you roses everytime he gets back from working overtime. “as a thank you” he says after giving them to you. your heart beating faster every time. nanami would give yuji toys or sweets, kissing and hugging the giddy boy after hours of not seeing him. it warmed your heart seeing them together. and in that moment you made a plan.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who is beyond surprised when your “small trip” was actually a trip to the amusement park. laughter filled the rides, screams of joy and fear were heard from the big ones. children and parents playing games, while teenagers made bets. it was all new to him, it was rare when he had the opportunity to spend good quality time with yuji.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who would anxiously but excitedly get in the carousel horse ride with his boy. you’d take pictures of them everytime they appeared. yuji would wave at you every chance he got, his eyes sparkled as he looked at all the other horses. after a few spins you’d join them, sitting on the horse next to the father and son. nanami would also eagerly wait until his turn to play the ‘water balloon game’ , he’d hold yuji and place his fingers on the tool. aiming to the target and spray the water directly, the balloon getting bigger as seconds passed. a loud ‘pop’ is heard and the water splashes everywhere. both winning two cute fluffy white cats with sunglasses.

ʚ · ◞ neighbor!nanami who looks at the fireworks then at you. the wow’s and awe’s of people made the scenery lively. the fireworks reflecting on your eyes, your smile radiating even in the night light. you turn to nanami, wanting to see his reaction, but he’s already looking at you. his soft gaze making your legs weak, he looked so kissable. both of you lean closer, while he leans down, you tip toe. he looks into your eyes for reassurance, and when he sees the twinkle in them, the space between the two of you is no more. his lips on yours, the final firework forming around the two of you, as if it advertised to the world about you and him with the little boy in his arm.

@aiizenn ₓ˚. ୨ৎ

#໒꒰ྀི 🍥 ۫ ּ ᭡#୭̥ ⋆ ˖ nanami ꒱#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff

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acewritesfics · 4 months

Text

Past Love: Part 02 | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: From Anon

Fic Type: Imagine

Prompt: "We can’t keep doing this."

Warnings: Angst, Angst and more angst, swearing, goodbye kiss. Formally titled Goodbye, Tommy.

Word Count: 1,225

PART 01 | PART 03

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || TAG LIST SIGN-UP

"How long have we known each other?" Y/N asks Tommy as they sit alone in the Garrison, him on one side of the table and her on the other. The distance between them wasn't wide enough for her liking. It takes all her physical and mental strength not to stand up and walk to his side of the table.

Her body is turned slightly towards the exit in case she needs to make a hasty exit, one of her elbow's rests on the table, a cigarette hanging from her hand while the other cradles the glass of whiskey he just poured for her. Her eyes are filled with worry for the man she was supposed to marry, before Lizzy, before Grace.

"Our whole fucking lives," he says, leaned back in his seat, his hands in his pockets knowing that's the only way he'll be able to keep his hands to himself and looking at her with sad eyes.

Lizzy had left allowed the two to talk after inviting Y/N to have dinner with them later. Y/N didn't want to intrude more than she already was but the look on Tommy's face let her know she couldn't deny her invite. Instead, she told Tommy's new wife that she'll think about it. Lizzy had hugged her, whispering her thanks before leaving.

They had spent the last hour talking through the mess Tommy had gotten himself into this time. She helped him work out some solutions and made him give her his word that he will start taking care of himself again, if not for himself or Lizzy then for his children. They deserve to have a better father than they ever had.

"Maybe that's why we can't seem let each other go," she mumbles more to herself as she brings the cigarette to her lips, inhaling the nicotine before, blowing the smoke out the side of her slightly parted lips.

Tommy's head bows in agreement, having heard her words loud and clear.

She flicks some of the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the table. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Lizzy called you," he says with a roll of his eyes. "I told her not to bother you."

"She made it sound like you didn't know she was calling me," she says remembering back to the brief conversation she had with Lizzy over the telephone a couple days ago.

"She promised me she wouldn't," he says. "I took her word for it."

"She's worried about you, Tommy," she tells him, swallowing the lump that's formed in her throat. "Whether you want to believe it or not, she cares for you. I would even go so far as to say she loves you."

"Do you love me?" he asks, ignoring everything else she said. It was all that mattered to him in this moment. Not everything bad that was happening, not Lizzy, not his marriage. All that mattered was her and the light she was shining on him. Seeing her again, gave him hope, something good to hold on to that hasn't been tainted by his latest bout of impulsiveness.

"That doesn't matter," she says finishing her whiskey and stubs out her cigarette as she stands up. She couldn't keep doing this with him. Just like when she stepped through that door earlier, she knew it was a mistake to be here. She lifts her coat off the back of the chair and slips her arms inside the sleeves. "Let Lizzy know I'm sorry that I won't be able to attend dinner and to not call me again. It goes for the both of you."

"Y/N."

With her back turned to him, she hears the pain and sadness in Tommy's voice along with the scraping of the chair against the floor as its pushed back letting her know that he's now standing.

"We can’t keep doing this," her voice is quiet and strained, the lump in her throat getting larger and making it difficult to hold back the sob forming in her chest as she reaches for the door handle.

"Do you love me?" he repeats his question stopping her from opening the door.

She turns to face him with tears in her eyes. "You know that I do, Tom. I've never stopped loving you."

"Then stay," he tells her, his voice cracking.

"I can't," she says barely above a whisper as he moves towards her. He stops in front of her, standing toe to toe with her. Placing her hands against his chest as if they are a barrier between their hearts, she can't bring herself to look at him feeling the tears building up in her eyes. "After today we need-"

She's cut off by him titling her head up and slamming his lips on to hers. Knowing that she should pull away, she can't bring herself to do so as her hands move to his shoulder and the back of his neck as his go around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

The moment his lips touched hers, she was transported back to before the war and the last time he had kissed her like this. He had snuck her into the stables at Charlie Strong's yard. He had set up a picnic and proposed to her later that night. They hadn't made it back home that night and Charlie had the shock of his life finding them the next morning, curled up together, naked, under the blanket Tommy had brought with him to keep them warm.

As reality catches up to her, she pulls away from him. His fingers dig deeper into her sides, not wanting to let her go just yet.

"I love you," he says out loud for the first time in years, trying to catch his breath. His own tears threatening to fall.

"I love you too, Tommy," she returns his sentiment, her hands moving to caress his cheeks. "A part of me always will. But this needs to end. You have a wonderful wife and she needs you more than I do."

"I don't love her," he says softly.

"There is a part of you that does," a faint smile makes its way on to her lips. "Whether it's as a friend, a lover, the mother and stepmother of your children or all three. There is a part of you that loves her. No matter how small, you need to build on that."

"I love you," he repeats not knowing what else to say.

Her smile grows a little as she pulls him in for another kiss, this one much softer and filled with love. But this time there is a sadness to it, knowing this kiss isn't coming from a place of two past lovers coming back together to rekindle what they once had.

Ending the kiss, Tommy rests his forehead against her for a moment, his eyes remaining closed before pressing a kiss to her head. She kisses his cheek before stepping back from him and reaching for the door handle. She twists the knob opening the door before looking at him once more.

"Goodbye, Tommy."

With those two words, she slips through the doorway, her hand covering her mouth as she lets go of the sobs she's been holding and the tears flooding her eyes spill over onto her cheeks.

TAGGED: @chapter-in-my-old-diary - @hanawrites404 - goblinjnr - @halsteadbrasil - @forgottenpeakywriter - star-ggirl - @iceman-kazansky - @alexxavicry - @galactict3a - @crispynutella - @il0vebeingdelulu - @nicole-19s-world

Bold means your @ didn't come up when I tried to tag you. Here's a post I found that could help if your not able to be tagged: WHY OTHERS CAN'T TAG YOUR BLOG

Sometimes your blog will be linked after posted but I don't think you get the notification. Tags have been weird lately. I might start putting the tags in the comments. Let me know if you get the notification.

#acewritesfics repost #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

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holylulusworld · 2 months

Text

A fresh start (4) - Three men and a baker

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Pairing: Post-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, plus-sized reader, virgin reader, virgin Steve Rogers, fluff, falling in love

A/N: Please consider I don’t care about the timeline of Endgame.

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1

A fresh start (3) - Where to Captain?

A fresh start masterlist

16.666 followers ‘16 days of requests’ celebration

Time passed so fast.

One night Steve told you about their plan to bring all the people the world lost in the blip back, and the next thing you remember is that he came to you to say goodbye before the final battle.

You spent your days worrying about Steve, his friends, and the fate of the world. What if Thanos did something even more horrible if he found out what Captain America and the remaining Avengers tried to do?

You had faith in Steve and his friends. Still, you were scared of losing Steve forever. Just like you lost your granny.

The world was a different place, and you could only hope that whatever happened after Steve and his friends defeated Thanos would make it a better place for everyone.

You barely slept, and only dragged yourself out of bed to support the support group. It was important for you to help them cope while Steve tried to bring their loved ones back.

One day, when you opened your granny’s bakery three men stepped inside. Steve Rogers was one of them. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Steve,” you sniffled. “You’re back.” You held tight onto Steve for dear life. It felt too good having him back with you. “I feared the worst. I thought I lost you forever.”

Steve pecked your forehead, cheek, and lastly your lips.

“Whoa, Cap,” Sam chuckled as you and Steve were all over each other. “Take it slow. We are still here with you.”

“Steve, don’t you want to introduce us to the pretty dame?” Bucky poked his friend’s back. “We are here to get to know her.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve reluctantly let go of you. He looked you all over before introducing you to his friends. “Doll, that’s Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.”

You gasped. “Your friends are back! You made it.” You wrapped Sam in a hug, sniffling as he was back. “Welcome back Sam.” You turned your attention toward Bucky. He huffed, but let you hug him too. “Bucky! Steve told me so much about you and Sam. His best friends.”

“Uh-it’s nice to meet you,” Bucky said. “Steve, I can’t believe you hid a pretty dame like Y/N from us for so long.”

“To be fair, you weren’t around when I met Y/N—” Steve dropped his gaze, suddenly aware of what he just said. “Sorry. That was…”

“Hey, we were only dust in the wind,” Sam joked while Bucky grumbled under his breath. “You brought us back, though.”

“He never gave up on you,” you hastily said. “Steve missed his friends so much and tried to find a way to defeat Thanos. And he did.” You wrapped Steve in a hug again. “I knew he’d make it. He’s my hero.”

Bucky and Sam shared a knowing look. “So…this is your bakery?” Sam said to break the awkward moment. “It’s very nice.”

“It was my granny’s bakery,” you explained. “She left it to me. Granny passed away shortly before the blip.”

“It smells great,” Bucky craned his neck to glance at the freshly baked pie on the counter. “It smells like plums.”

“Do you want a slice, Bucky?” You grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Sorry, is it okay that I call you Bucky?”

“Sure, doll,” you giggled when Bucky brought your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Buck,” Steve stepped closer to you. He possessively wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gave his friend a stern look. “How about we all have a slice of pie to celebrate our reunion.”

“Aw, he doesn’t like sharing,” Sam teased. He watched you lean into Steve’s touch. “I get it, man. She’s special.”

“Your girl is nice,” Bucky watched his friend check on his phone. “Y/N said you met at the support group meeting. How long is this going on between you two?”

“She’s…I mean…she took my breath away the moment I first laid my eyes on her,” Steve nervously shifted on his feet. “I like…no, I love her. She’s the one, Buck. I just don’t know if I’m the man she wants.”

Sam huffs. “Steve, she’s completely and hopelessly in love with you. Y/N didn’t even spare us a glance. She’s not impolite, that’s a fact. Y/N simply was distracted by your presence.”

“What he said.” Bucky nodded in agreement. “What’s the problem? You love her. She loves you. A perfect match.”

Steve's cheeks turned pink. He huffed and dropped his eyes to the ground, staring at his shoes.

“She’s perfect and I love her. Y/N is the one but,” he sighed deeply. “How can I tell her that I never was with a woman before?”

“Wait—what?” Sam looked at Bucky, furrowing his brows. “But man, you’re tall and all. Women should be all over you. How can you never…I mean…”

“Stevie waited for the right girl,” Bucky placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Right? You didn’t want your first time to be meaningless.”

“Something like that,” Steve murmured. “After I crashed into the ice and lost the chance to dance with Peggy, I have never met a woman making me feel the way Peggy made me feel. Y/N is different. She’s the one and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Sam nodded and thought about a way to help his friend. He was honored that Steve felt comfortable enough around him to talk about such a sensitive topic.

“I need your help,” Steve suddenly said. “I want to make Y/N happy in any way. This includes physical love too.”

Bucky grinned. “Stevie, we’ve got this.” He looked at Sam. “Right? We are going to tell Steve how to make his pretty doll happy.”

“Do you think she’s ready to take the next step, Steve?” Sam asked. “You should both be on the same side.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to hurry things with Y/N. All I want is to be ready to give her pleasure if she wants me to. I want her to feel safe and loved when she’s with me. I would never do anything she doesn’t want.”

“Relax, Steve,” Sam patted Steve’s shoulder. “We will help you. Y/N is special and I’m glad you found someone like her in your darkest hour…”

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #steve rogers x female!reader #A fresh start (4) - Three men and a baker

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lichenes · 1 month

Note

I loved it! (I’m the same one who asked for the slow mornings) I swear I need more of your writings, they make something to me,,, I can’t explain it, but please keep doing your magic 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Awwhh thank you anon<33 (feel free to dm me btw... I'd love to talk to youuu) This is my attempt at portraying touchy Vincent cuz of the "shh baby... they're coming back" snippet that's been circling the internet because- lord have mercy. CW: slight mischaracterisation (sorry!!), physical contact, SFW wc: 474

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿_____

The first time you met, you felt a touch on your shoulder. "Excuse me miss?" You turned to face the silver haired man, struck by how bold he was. You looked at him questioningly. "Would you happen to know where the nearest ATM is?" You thought for a moment, cautious of your surroundings hoping this wasn't a kidnapping attempt.

"Uhm... I'm not sure... oh! I think one is just around the corner?" He thanked you and bid you goodbye. The interaction was so quick you didn't even register it fully, as did he.

The second time you met, he came up to you and gave you a hug. You turned around confused and angered at his forwardness. His features draining of colour when he realised his mistake. "Mon dieu- I- I'm so sorry I thought you were someone else-" He was honestly and truly sorry nevertheless, you giggled at his attempts at an apology.

"I was supposed to meet with a friend here and- and you two look incredibly similar and-" You cut him off before he managed to dig his grave further. "It's fine, don't worry about it." Happens to the best of us, he thought when you parted ways.

You didn't take him for the easily embarrassed type but giving the fact that he left looking like a freshly cut beetroot, you imagined he had something else on his mind, he wasn't telling you. You shook off the thought, assuming that this was just the way he reacted to awkwardness.

This time, he remarked the way your demeanour changed when you turned around and saw that it was him. Maybe... you actually remembered the interaction, maybe next time, he thought, he would actually talk to you. You weren't on his mind particularly often, but he kept telling himself... third time's the charm?

The third time you met, he didn't waste any time. You were just taking a stroll through the park, enjoying the frosty morning when you met him again. "Hey! Sorry!" You turned around, recognising his voice by now. He smiled in your direction, beckoning you to sit by him. "I'm Vincent." You told him your name and the conversation, as if it was the wine out of a barrel, started flowing.

"Oh that's lovely!" He laughed at your joke. He actually found it funny, you thought. He grabbed your hand in the moment and your heart stopped. He was a touchy person, clearly. He looked at your panicked expression and wanted to stammer out an apology, which you quickly refuted. "No, no- I'm- I'm okay with it..." He grinned at that, the red of his cheeks coming from the cold - deepening.

You never thought you could still act like a teen in love but his demeanour was quickly proving to be irresistible. You wondered what would come out of it... _____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°�� … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿_____ masterlist

#swann arlaud #x reader #anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #writing

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earthtoharlow · 10 months

Text

Teach Me

5. May

Warnings: Slight mention of death

Series Masterlist

Jack stood in front of his mirror, nervously adjusting his clothes. He could see Jayla peeking from around the corner watching him, thinking he couldn’t see her.

This morning, he was going out to breakfast with Ariel. The past couple weeks they would hang out after school and Jayla always tagged along. Today was different. Today it would just be the two of them. And Jack was nervous, he had never been this nervous for a date before.

“Daddy?” Jayla said from behind him.

“Yes, babygirl?” Jack spoke as he continued fumbling with his clothes in the mirror.

“Why didn’t you get me up to start getting ready?” She questioned her father.

Jack sighed before turning around to face Jayla who was sitting on the ottoman in his room, swinging her feet. Walking towards her, bending down to her eye level

“Remember, I told you before you went to bed last night that Daddy was going to hang out with Ms Love this morning?”

Jayla sat there with a frown. “Oh, you were serious about that?”

Jack gave her a questioning look. “Yes, daddy was serious.”

“Why can’t I go?! We always hang out, just the three of us!” She exclaimed, he could see Jayla starting to get worked up.

Pulling her into his chest, he tried to calm her down. Ever since he started hanging out with Ariel more often, Jayla has become more clingy and emotional.

“Deep breaths, it’s okay. I won’t be gone long, I promise. We’re just getting breakfast. Uncle Urban is coming over with Nova for a play date. Uncle Clay is coming over too! Doesn’t that sound fun?” Jack asked her.

All Jayla did was sigh into his chest. “I guess so, but it’d be funner if you were there.” She said, pout still gracing her face.

Jack hated seeing her like this. “How about this, when I get back you and I can make pillow forts in the living room and watch movies and eat snacks!?” Jack said and watched Jayla perk up at that.

“And soda?!”

“Yeah, I’ll even let you have some soda.” He let her know.

“I want to eat all the candy I want too!”

“Ok, don’t push it, little girl” Jack said tickling her, giggles ringing through the air.

Jack could tell she was still upset but not as much as before. Giving her another kiss on the forehead, “Go play while daddy finishes getting ready.”

It wasn’t long before Urban and Clay along with Nova were in his living room with the girls. Grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and saying his goodbyes. “Alright I’m heading out.”

“Young man, we expect you to be home by your curfew!” Urban says sternly, with a wag of his finger.

“Or you’ll be in big trouble!” Clay said with a smirk.

Jack rolled his eyes then checked to see if the girls were paying attention from their spot on the floor, before flipping his best friend and brother off.

Before the guys could react they heard Nova behind them. “I saw that Uncle Jack Jack!”

Urban and Clay started laughing to themselves from the couch.

“No you didn’t, Nova”

***

Jack arrived at the restaurant first, the two deciding to meet each other there. He looked down at the time, seeing he was 10 minutes early. Just as he was about to call the waiter over to bring the table some water, he notices Ariel walking towards the table. As she nears the table, Jack stands so he could greet her. He gives her a hug and presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

“You look beautiful” He says while moving to pull her chair out for her.

Ariel tries to hide the warmness that hits her cheeks, “Thank you, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long.”

Jack shakes his head letting Ariel know she didn’t.

The two made small talk after they ordered their food, Jack teasing her ordering French Toast.

“You really ordered French Toast.” He said while shaking his head, disappointedly

Ariel replied with a quiet hum. “It’s a breakfast staple!”

Jack shook his head again. “No, pancakes or waffles is a breakfast staple. French toast is basically the red headed step child of breakfast foods.”

Ariel gasped and started laughing, her laugh was infectious, making Jack laugh along with her.

Wiping the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes, Ariel began to calm down. “Wow, a girl can’t even order some good ol fashioned French toast without getting bullied nowadays.”

“Woah woah woah, I wouldn’t call it bullying. I’m just speaking the truth.” Jack said with a playful shrug of his shoulders.

“MHMM sure.”

It wasn’t long before their food arrived and they began to eat. Ariel couldn’t help but glance over at Jack’s chicken and waffles, it looked delicious. Jack was doing the same with her French toast. Both lifting their heads and meeting each other’s eyes, they spoke at the same time.

“Do you want to try some?”

There was a beat of silence before the both started laughing again as they slid each other's plates towards one another.

“First date, and we’re already sharing food.” Ariel said cheekily.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Soon after, they were walking out the restaurant holding hands as Jack walked Ariel back to her car. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had such an amazing first date. Ariel was just so easy going, he didn’t feel the need to hide himself around her.

“I had such an amazing time this morning.” Ariel said, turning towards him once they reached her car.

Jack nodded in agreement. “Hopefully we have many more of these.”

Ariel looked down shyly, pulling her hair behind her ear. She felt like a teenager with her first crush.

Letting go of his hands, she stood up on her tippy toes and pressed a long kiss to his cheek. “I hope so too.”

Jack's face immediately turned red when she pulled away and opened the car door for her.

He made sure she was buckled into her seat before closing her door. Just as she was about to pull off, Jack motioned for her to roll her window down.

Rolling her window down, confused “What’s wrong?”

Jack leaned his head in and kissed her. A small gasp escaped her lips as she kissed him back.

He soon pulled away, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t apologize. Especially when it comes to kissing me.”

Jack nodded and started walking backwards towards his car. “When’s the last day of school again?” He yelled out

“June 12th”

“Got it.”

***

“I missed you, Daddy!” Jayla said as she ate her candy and sipped her soda. When Jack got back from his date with Ariel, Jayla practically kicked everyone out of the house so it could just be the two of them.

“I missed you too, babygirl”

They stayed cuddled up watching movies together all afternoon. Even eating dinner under the pillow fort they made.

“Hey daddy?” Jayla said, shaking him lightly as Jack had begun to doze off.

Opening his eyes, he sat up when he noticed Jayla playing with her KY necklace nervously.

“Yeah, baby what’s wrong.” Giving her his full attention.

“What was mommy like?” Jayla asked nervously playing with her fingers in lap

Jack froze as his breath caught in his throat, he swallowed hard before speaking. “Well, she was very beautiful. You actually look just like her.”

Jayla perked up at that. “I do? People always say that I look like you.”

“That’s because they don’t know her as well as I do. You have her long curly hair, her big brown eyes and how could I forget about that adorable button nose you both have!” Jack said as he tapped her on the nose, Jayla giggled as he did so.

“But what made her even more beautiful was how much of a great person she was….” Jack took a pause, trying to stop himself from getting emotional.

“Your mother was full of so much love, and compassion. Your mother radiated joy everywhere she went. She had such a hunger for life, that she always pushed me to be the best version of myself.”

Jayla reached up to wipe the tears that were falling from his face, before pulling him into a hug. Jack wrapped his arm around her tightly.

“And you know what?” Jack said, pulling away.

“What?”

“I know that she loved you very very much.”

***

Ariel was helping another student when she overheard the teasing start. “THAT’S WHY YOU ONLY HAVE A DAD AND NOT A MOM!” She didn’t have to guess what student they were talking to.

Still, Ariel couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips, she immediately turned around. Jayla’s fists were balled up at her sides but there were tears falling from her face.

“Samantha Jones! That’s no way to speak to our fellow classmates. I’ll be calling home to your parents. I expect a sincere apology to Jayla as well.”

Ariel leaned over on Jayla’s desk. “Do we need to step outside the classroom to talk?” She asked quietly so no other students could hear.

Jayla just shook her head silently, and continued making her Mother’s Day card.

With a sigh Ariel walked back to her desk and she made sure to text Jack about what happened.

***

It started raining in the evening so the student pickup was moved inside. Jack had already let you know that he was going to be a few minutes late because of traffic. So that left Ariel and Jayla alone in the classroom. Ever since the incident during arts and crafts, Jayla had been quiet for the rest of the day.

Jayla was currently sitting in her favorite spot in the class's reading area. Ariel could tell she wasn’t actually reading the book that was sitting in her lap, just flipping through the pages.

Ariel decided to sit on the floor next to Jayla to keep her company.

“Ms. Love?” Jayla said in almost whisper

“Yeah?”

“What do you do when you miss your mommy?”

Ariel swallowed hard before answering. “Well, the first thing I do is close my eyes. I think about all the happy moments we shared together. I can see her whenever I want, for however long I want in my brain. While it’s not the same as her actually being here, I still cherish those memories.”

Jayla had scooted closer to Ariel as she spoke. Neither of them noticed Jack who had been standing by the doorway listening to the conversation.

Anger had been simmering in his chest all afternoon. He was angry at the kid who made fun of Jayla, angry at the parents who raised them that way and most importantly he was angry at himself for not having this conversation with Jayla sooner. She just turned seven, the older she got the more questions that came up about her mother.

Since Jack started hanging out with Ariel, the more questions she had. The past few years Mother’s Day had just been a regular day. Jayla went to school with no sadness lingering around her. Jack’s heart felt heavy listening to Jayla ask all these questions.

Ariel and Jayla were in a more comfortable position on the floor now, laying on their backs staring at the ceiling. “Do you think I’m a loser for only having a dad?”

Ariel reacted a lot better than he would have at that question. “Of course not! Do you think I’m a loser for just having a dad?”

Jayla turned her head towards her teacher, appalled that she would even ask that. “No way! You’re the coolest person I know! Don’t tell daddy I said that.”

“You’ll understand more when you’re a little older, but you don’t just have a dad, you have a mom who loves you very much. Every family is different, no family is the same.”

Jayla sat up and gave Ariel a big hug.

“Thank you, Ms. Love.”

“No, problem Jayla.”

Jack stood outside the door for a few more minutes to get himself together. Their conversation making him emotional.

As the two pulled away Jack knocked on the door lightly. Jayla hopped to her feet at the sight of him giving him a hug as well. He lifted her up, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Ariel stayed by her spot by the reading corner and returned the nod that Jack gave her. No words needing to be spoken.

***

The ride home from school was quiet, as was the rest of the evening. Jack had just finished reading Jayla her bedtime story when she asked him a question.

“Daddy, how did mommy go away?”

The innocence in her voice made Jack’s heart clench in his chest. “Mommy, got in a really bad car accident.” He paused, hugging her closer as he spoke.

“How?”

“We don’t know how it happened. Sometimes, accidents happen because people drive too fast, or someone wasn’t concentrating.”

Jayla looked up at him with her big brown eyes that mirrored her mothers. “But let me tell you something, you’re not loved less just because your mother isn’t here with us. You got a huge family with a ton of uncles who love you forever and the day after that. You don’t have to have one of each to be loved.”

She nods. “I’m going to love you enough for me and your mom. Ok?”

“I love you, daddy”

“I love you more.”

Jack pulled her in closer wrapping his arms around it. Leaning over he noticed a red piece of paper from under her pillow. “What’s this?” Jack asked, pulling it out from under her.

Taking it from his hands, Jayla opened the paper. There were three stick figures on the paper holding hands. “Is that Ms. Love?” His heart warned at the sight.

A smile crept across her face as she nods.

“Ms. Love kinda acts like my mom. Is Ms. Love going to be my second mommy?”

Jack almost chokes on his tongue, eyes wide as he looks down at Jayla.

“Would it be okay if she did?”

The silence after the question scared him, making him nervous.

“Yeah, I love her. She’s super cool.”

Jack sighed in relief, “yeah, she’s great.”

****

AN: Such a longer chapter, proud of this one. Let me know your thoughts! One more chapter left 🥲💜

Tag List:

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @blossomluvv @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @wabi-sabi1090 @violetslays818

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow reader #jack harlow blurb #teach me #jack harlow x oc

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jeankluv · 5 months

Text

Snow on the beach || Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: angst, blood, deathly disease (amber lead), law’s past, doffy (again)

Notes: the warning are all for the flashback, the flashback is in iliac form. Enjoy this new chapter and Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, if you don’t please have a nice evening and take care of yourself ❤️

Previous chapter || Materialist || Next chapter

Chapter X: 7 days for the trip

The snow fell for days after Law left. You had been happy to see snow for the first time but you had also been extremely sad for not being able to share those moments with Law. It had been over two weeks since Law had left and you hadn't heard from him, Corazon had told you that he was fine and very busy, that's why he hadn't called. You had given him Nami's house phone to give it to Law so you could talk, but during that time the phone never rang.

Now you were in the living room coach reading while having music in the background. Nami had gone out a few minutes ago to run some errands and you had decided to take advantage of that time to read the book she had lent you. You couldn't stop thinking about how lucky you had been to have met the people you had met. You had arrived in that town almost two months ago and everyone had welcomed you with open arms. You wish you could talk to your 16-year-old self and tell her that everything would be okay, that you would find that group of people who would make you feel cared for and loved.

You began to turn the pages, as the minutes passed. Half an hour had passed when a knock on the apartment door brought you out of your reading.

You put the book aside and got up from the couch. You walked to the door and opened it to see Robin, smiling at you.

“Robin!” You smiled widely.

Despite having been with her for a short time, how little you had known her and what others had told you about her, you felt that you could be yourself with her.

“Hello y/n!” She hugged you. “How have you been?”

“Good, please come in.” You stepped aside and let her in. “I thought you weren’t coming until two days.”

“I was able to leave earlier, I had some early classes so there was no problem.” She gave you a sweet smile.

“Oh.” You nodded, she was so elegant and also intelligent.

“Tell me, how is it to live with Nami?”

“It’s really fun.” You said walking towards the kitchen. “I can’t compare her with anyone, this is my first time living with someone else but I’m really having so much.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” She said while grabbing the cup you gave her. “Thank you. Are you excited for the trip?”

“Yep.” You said making a noise in the p. “It would be fun.”

“Is Law coming?” Your heart stopped pumping for a second. Was he? You didn’t think he would, you wished but the chances were really small, hell, he might not even come for Christmas.

“I… I don’t know.” You let out with a sigh.

“You haven’t been able to talk with him?” You shook your head. “Mhm… and Corazon he…?”

“He doesn’t know anything, although I’m eating with him today, so I will try to get some info.”

“That’s good. I hope he comes.” She smiles. “Your whole face lights up when you talk about him.”

“That’s not…” You tried to explain yourself.

“Y/n even Luffy has noticed it.” She winked at you and walked to the living room, leaving you with a red face in the kitchen.

You sighed, you needed to control yourself from turning red or else everyone would notice how into Law you were. You hung out with Robin until it was time for you to meet Corazon for lunch. You said goodbye to Robin and took the bus towards his house and to which for a time where yours was too.

The trip was shorter than you remember and you realized you were already getting out of the bus. You smiled when you saw. Corazon outside of his house playing with Bepo, when he saw you he waved and you did the same. Bepo started running towards you, moving his tail and happily licking your palm.

“Hello Bepo.” You smiled, petting him. “Good boy.” You praised him.”

You walked with him to where Corazon was and he gave you a hug.

“I’m so glad you came. I missed you so much.” He said while still hugging.

“I missed you too. It’s weird not being here.” You sadly smile. “But living with Nami is nice.”

“That’s good…” He looked at you. “Sadly now I need to deal with Mrs.Smith’s grandson.” He sighed.

“The grandson?” You tilted your head.

“Yeah, he came here and is staying for I don’t know how long. But he is…” He sighed again. “Complicated.

“Oh… I thought Mrs. Smith didn’t have a family.”

“She has.”

“So…” You started to think, this was the reason why Mrs. Smith told you to leave?

“Yeah?”

“Mhm?” You came back to reality. “Oh nothing, don’t worry.” You smiled. “Why don’t we go inside and start preparing everything to eat?”

“Yes.” He grabbed your shoulders.

You followed Corazon right to the kitchen, you smiled when you saw that it was a mess. Law was right when he mentioned that he was a disaster in the kitchen and honestly you were no better. You just hoped you didn’t burn the house down during the day. With Corazon, you prepared a simple plate of pasta, fortunately no one was harmed and nothing was burned.

You sat in front of him and finally let out the question you were dying to ask since you stepped out of that bus earlier.

“Do you know anything about Law?” You said poking a macaroni off your plate.

He shook his head. “He hasn’t called, I’m sure he is busy. Don’t worry.”

You bite your inner cheek, you knew Corazon didn’t know the truth and you had the need to tell him. He was his son, he needed to know, but you also thought it wasn’t your place to tell him. But Law could be in danger and he could do something, right?

“Y/n stop thinking so much.” He spoke. “He will be okay.”

“But he…” You stopped talking and looked down to your palms, what could you do?

“I know…” He let out and you looked at him back. “I know the truth and I know he will be alright.”

“You know?” He nodded.

“Yeah, I found out days after Law left.” He sighed. “Found some notes and old bills, I called him after that and he told me everything. He assured me everything was okay and that there was nothing to worry about.” He touched his forehead. “But honestly it makes me so sad that he has been enduring all this on his own. He was just a kid when everything in his life went down and I thought that us moving here was going to give him the peace and calm he deserved.” You saw how he started to get teary. “But I was wrong and my poor boy was still suffering.”

You tried to find the right words but your heart was aching for the thought of Law.

“Did Law tell you I am not his real dad?” You opened your eyes.

“Wait… I thought.”

Corazon shook his head and smiled “I meant Law when he was 10. At the time I was working undercover on my brother's organization.”

Corazon entered the room in silence, his brother was in front and the rest of the family members, like Doflamingo liked to call them were sat around a large table. Corazon walked a few steps when he fell to the ground. He slipped with something or maybe he was just being clumsy as usual. He heard the laughter of the kids, Baby5 and Buffalo.

It was then when he noticed the presence of another kid. He was skinny, really pale and with big big dark circles under his eyes. The kid rolled his eyes when he saw him.

Corazon stood up and sat next to his brother, listening to him talk about how they were going to pass the drugs to a new contact they had in the south. But he couldn’t concentrate, his thoughts were on that kid, why did he end up here? Kids shouldn’t be part of this world.

He learned that the name was Law, Trafalgar Law and was 10 years old.

The days started to pass and he noticed the white spots on the boys body, he quickly figured out what it was. Amber Lead diseas, he heard about it but thought everyone that had it was already dead. His heart attached with the thought of that poor kid losing his family to that deadly illness.

He tried for weeks to make the kid leave, by treating him badly, pushing him away or anything. But he stood there, he seemed not to care at all.

It wasn’t until he heard the kid talking with his brother that the body had lost all hopes and all meaning of life.

“I want to destroy the whole world before dying.” A shiver ran through his body when the 10-year-old boy said those words.

And it hit him, if he didn’t help him, he would become like his brother. Someone full of hate and anger in his heart. He started searching for information about the illness, looking for doctors and leaving his main mission to the side. He knew Sengoku was going to reprimand him but he didn’t care. He needed to help that kid and not let him fall like his brother did.

It had been three months since Corazon met Law when this one stabbed him on the back. But it didn’t hurt. It was not comparable to the pain that poor child was suffering.

Corazon kept researching, while keeping a low profile and continuing his mission. It wasn’t until he heard Law’s full name that he knew the mission needed to be left aside and get that kid to safety as soon as he could.

Trafalgar D. Water Law. The D. That letter his brother despised so much.

He took Law out of there and once they were far away from the other two kids, he talked to him.

Law was left speechless, that man could talk? Doflamingo said he couldn’t, not after the trauma he suffered.

“You have been lying.” He said.

Corazon sighed. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you leave my brother’s side or he will kill you once he finds out about the D in your name.” Law raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t care.” Law said, not showing a sign of emotion. “I will be dead before I turn 13.”

Corazon bite his inner cheek. There was a possibility of saving him, but that meant leaving the mission aside and probably losing everything he earned during his time in the academy.

But he couldn’t care less. He needed to save Law from his cracked date and from becoming a monster like his brother. He knew there was good on that kid and he was not going to give up on it.

“You are coming with me.” Law was small and very light, so it wasn’t difficult for Corazon to carry him and start walking away from that “family”.

“Wait, what?!” Law shouted and started to move, trying to break free. “Where are we going?”

“I think there might be a cure for your illness and I’m going to save you.”

The journey began but Corazon did not expect to encounter obstacles so soon. The doctor he was looking for apparently no longer worked at that hospital, but he was now at another one. When he tried to get the doctors there to see Law, they simply screamed in terror. Causing Law to run away from the apology. Corazon felt his body burn with fury when he saw that poor Law had walked out of there like that.

The days turned into weeks, in each hospital always the same reaction, no one wanted to treat him. Weeks turned into months and Law started to get worse, his skin was even paler and he had lost a lot of weight.

“We will be staying here for a couple of days.” Corazon whispered while he was carrying Law, who was almost asleep. “See if your fever lowers a little bit.” And he put him on the bed.

“I will die soon.” Law whispered.

Law fell asleep minutes after that and Corazon drowned his sorrows in the cheap alcohol of that motel while he looked at the moon and cried because he couldn't do anything for that child.

“Law…” He touched his cheek. “You’re still a rude little boy. And hearing you say “I will die soon” is…” He took a deep breath, trying not to cry so much. “… heartbreaking.” He let out, whipping away the tears that were rolling down his face. “You… stabbed me that day… but it didn’t hurt at all. I know you were the one that was in pain.” Corazon couldn’t stop crying at that moment and walked away, not knowing that Law heard everything and also started crying.

Corazon was woken up by Law’s voice calling.

“Cora-San.” The young kid said. “We should go and eat some breakfast.”

Corazon scratched his eyes, had he heard correctly? “Did you just… call me Cora-San?” Law shrugged and Corazon smiled as she picked him up and laughed.

“Put me down!” Law shouted. “Or I will call you Corazon once again.”

“Alright, alright.” He said laughing. “You feeling better?” He touched his forehead slightly to make sure the fever was over.

Law nodded and they both went to the hotel cafeteria for breakfast. While Law finished breakfast, Corazon made a couple of calls. He knew that Law didn't have long left, but he believed that the information he had obtained this time was correct and would lead them to that doctor.

They traveled hundreds of thousands of kilometers until they finally reached a village in the mountains, where there were barely a hundred inhabitants. The surprise came when Corazon found out that that famous doctor lived even more isolated, in the forest to be more exact, and that most people considered him crazy.

Corazon put those ideas out of his head and with Law in tow he left for that place that the villagers had indicated him. The journey was hard, due to the thick snow that made him sink under his feet and the cold that hammered his bones. Law was fast asleep on his back, his fever had returned and he barely had any strength.

But finally, as the last ray of day faded, they reached the little cabin. Corazon staggered and knocked lightly on the door, barely having any strength left to stand. He heard some murmurings inside and when they opened the door, he could see the figure of a man with a big hat.

Before fading right there, Corazon said. “Please help him…” And everything went dark.

When Corazon came back, he could feel heat and the smell of food. He opened his eyes to see an older woman sitting reading a book. She looked at him and put the book next to her.

“If you are going to stand up, do it calmly. I don’t want to carry your two meters tall body again.” Corazon did as she told him. “I’m Kureha.” She said crossing her legs.

“Rosinante.” He said, touching his head. “But everyone knows me as Corazon.”

She nodded. “So the kid wasn’t lying when he said your name was Corazon.” Corazon opened his eyes.

“Law! Where is he?”

“He is alright, he will be alright.” Corazon felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Hiriluk is taking care of him.”

“Thank god.” He sighed in relief.

“We were surprised when we saw he had the Amber Lead disease, though everyone died from it. At least that’s what the government made us believe.” She took a bottle of wine for the shelf and started drinking it.

“He is the only survivor.”

“Well it’s a good thing you brought him on time.” A man spoke, Corazon looked at him, he guessed he was the man that the lady mentioned. “He will be alright, but you will need to stay here for a bit before leaving.” Corazon nodded. “I want to make sure his liver expels all the lead from him.”

“Sure… How much I need to…” Corazon stood up.

“If you think I’m going to let you pay me something, you are wrong.” He sat beside the lady, who was still drinking. “I’m a doctor, I’m here to help people.” He then looked at Corazon. “I’m also a father and I know what it is to see your kid suffering and to be desperate to help them. So now focus on resting and everything will be better.”

Corazon nodded and walked to the room where Law was asleep. He sat next to him and in silence he watched him peacefully rest. Maybe he was going to be able to have a peaceful life after all.

Five weeks passed since they arrived at the cabin. Law had gained weight and little by little the white spots on his skin had begun to disappear, although he continued to spend his days in bed, mostly reading or playing with Hiriluk's son, named Chopper. He was only four years old but he liked to play doctor with Law and Law would occasionally read him a medical book that Hiriluk had lying around, even though Chopper didn't understand what Law was reading to him. That day Corazon went down to town, he had to do some shopping, Hiriluk was already doing enough for them, other than being the one who went up and down to buy provisions.

Corazon started going through the forest once he bought everything he needed for the house.

“Brother.” He heard.

His blood froze when he heard that voice, how was it possible? It couldn't be that he was here, it couldn't be. He had to keep pretending, keep making him believe he was on his side and keep him away from Law.

“Stop pretending my dear brother.” He spoke again.

Corazon turned around and looked at him, he was there standing,with a gun in his hand. That was his end, his brother knew everything and like he did with his father he was going to kill him, in that place.

“How?” He whispered.

“Nothing escapes from me, my dear brother.” He smirked. “You thought you could fool me? Mhm you were wrong.”

Corazon frowned and gritted his teeth. “Leave and you will never see me again, I won’t even sell your information to anyone. But go away.”

Doflamingo shook his head. “Where is Law?”

“Leave him alone.”

“I need the kid. Now tell me where is he.”

“Leave him. He is far away from here, you can’t catch him anymore.” Corazon shouted. “Now he is free!”

And then Corazon felt it, like the bullet passed through him, first one and then another and another. The snow around him began to turn crimson and his brother's footsteps began to move away, not only from him but also from the cabin where Law was. He smiled because if he died at least he knew Law would be okay, he could have a peaceful life and he could grow up. Everything would be fine.

“Fortunately I was found by Kureha and I survived.” Corazon sighed. “Then we moved here, Kureha worked some years ago at the local hospital and said it was a peaceful place where my brother wouldn’t find us.” He looked at you. “Don’t cry, it’s all in the past.”

You scrunched your nose and took the handkerchief Corazon handed you. “It hurts me to think that you and Law had to go through all that. Law was so little…” You cried again. “I'm so glad you were there for him and… that you survived that.” Corazon smiled at you and shook his head. “But… Law is with him now, what if…”

“Law is intelligent, he knows what to do and I believe in him. He will come back to us.” He gave you a smile with which you could feel immense relief. Corazon trusts Law and you should do the same too.

“Thank you for telling me this.”

“You’re important to Law, you deserve to know.” And you smiled.

After you calmed down a bit and became calmer, you finished eating and helped Corazon pick up and wash everything. By the time you realized it, the sun was already setting.

You went down the stairs from the porch of Corazon's house, you were still thinking about everything the two of you had talked about. Your heart was still agitated by all the new information. You were walking with Corazon heading towards his car, when you heard a door open, you knew that noise, it was the door of the house where you had been staying. You heard Corazon turn and greet the person leaving the house, Mrs. Smith's grandson you assumed.

Your eyes searched for the figure of the person who now occupied the place where you had been staying weeks ago. You felt the food you had just eaten rise to your mouth and the desire to vomit took over you, when you saw the person's face.

Eustass Kidd

Final note: no Law in this chapter but we got Law’s and Corazon’s past, the backstory is similar to the canon story but making a few changes, bc obviously I couldn’t introduce devil fruits in a modern fanfic, so decided to include Hiriluk and Kureha as part of Law’s and Corazon’s backstory. Also a bit of a cliffhanger with that ending. I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know in comments what you thought about it 🫶

Tag list: @smolracoon25 @phsycochan @punem699 @norasincubi @myeahnaise

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