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pucksandpower · 1 month

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Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

1K notes · View notes

livinginshambles · 8 months

Text

But what about me | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: Established relationship - You're jealous of the new girl but are mature about it, James is oblivious, and he also forgets your birthday and anniversary.

Notes: So here it is, a new version. I'm not going to continue the taglist, because it is kind of a hassle to take care of. Lily is our friend. OC Rosalie sucks. James is stupid. Spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, probably a happy ending, you know the drill.

Masterlist

“What’s on your mind?”

_________________________

You stared at James from a distance.

You shot up, your eyes widened in an alarmed manner before your posture relaxed when you saw it was Annabelle. She was a Hufflepuff ghost, a student who had tragically died during a Triwizard tournament, a few decades ago.

You shook your head in reassurance. “Nothing’s on my mind-“

“-So, the usual then?” Sirius’ voice popped up behind you and you wasted no time in elbowing him in the ribs, causing him to let out an “oomph”. You quickly waved at Annabelle who floated off.

“Watch it Padfoot,” you sternly told him, and you tried your best to give him a reprimanding look. By the laughing sound of his reaction, you failed in appearing intimidating.

“So,” Sirius began. “Big day tomorrow ey?” He wiggled his eyes suggestively. You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, my birthday. Stop making it sound weird,” you huffed, and you shook your head.

“Totally worth it, Annika just walked past us with a beet red face,” Sirius defended with a mischievous grin.

“You should stop your inappropriate comments, I mean you are literally my cousin,” you stated loudly, and Sirius earned a disgusted look from another student passing by.

Sirius’ mouth hung open and then he scrambled to defend himself. “So, we’re not related at all, she was kidding!” His voice and pitch raised by the end of the sentence as he called out to the student who’d given him a not-so-subtle side eye.

You gave him a smug look. “Fine,” Sirius relented. “Truce?” You two shook hands.

“You’re not trying to steal my girl, are you Pads?” Two arms found their way around your waist, followed by a kiss to your cheek.

Sirius let go of your hand to hold them up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare, Prongs, just chatting because she seemed lonely,” he shrugged. You shot him a glare.

“Lonely?” James’ attention immediately zoned in on you.

“He’s just talking out of his ass, Jamie,” you waved it off.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, because you were definitely not longingly looking at Prongs here, talking to that gir-“ This time, you kicked his shins.

“Nah, I’m just pranking you, mate,” Sirius nonchalantly changed course and patted James on the shoulder while he passed him. James ignored him and focused on you.

He spun you around by one arm, held above your head like you were doing a ballroom dance. His hands quickly settled on your sides when you faced him, and he leaned over to pepper your face full of pecks. You grinned up at him and he fondly looked back before pulling you in again for a deeper kiss.

“Really?” A portrait next to you spoke up snorted. “Right in front of my salad?” He gestured to the painted salad on the dinner table in front of him.

James pointedly ignored him and instead tried to pull you a little bit closer. Not that that was possible.

“Oh, now you’re just doing it on purpose,” The man in the painting complained, and you would imagine the grimace on his face if you weren’t too preoccupied with James, who was leaving small pecks against your lips.

“Don’t like what you see, look away,” James murmured against you.

“Disrespectful cretin these days. I would look away, but you are right in my sight,” The portrait huffed dramatically. You softly pushed James away to offer the poor man a sheepish look but found that he’d already escaped to a neighboring painting.

“So tomorrow,” James started, and you couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of a date with James. That giddy feeling sank very quickly when James finished his sentence.

“I’ll be training our newest Chaser for the day. That’s the girl I was talking to before,” he explained. “Her name’s Rosalie James, isn’t that funny? Like her last name is James, it confused me a lot during today’s practice,” James continued, not noticing that your mind had wandered of the brunette girl.

“She even joked that if we’d get married, I could change my name to James James,” he laughed. You didn’t particularly see the humor in that.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I know I said that we would study together in the library tomorrow, but I think we should move that to Sunday.”

You frowned, “can we not just move it to the evening then?” you asked, wondering if James was really planning on spending the entirety of your birthday with someone else.

“Well, it’s from 9 o’clock until 7 o’clock in the evening, and we have a Quidditch party thing afterwards, but it’s more of a teambuilding thing. I can ask them if you can join though?” James offered.

You blinked at him in confusion before offering him a smile in return. “What, no- I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you denied. You assumed that he’d find some time to squeeze in a birthday celebration.

James shrugged. “Suit it yourself, love.”

You didn’t actually think James would forget your birthday. After all, James was literally the perfect boyfriend. He was proud to show you off to people, always ready to lend an ear when you needed to, and most of all showering you with love, any chance he gets.

But we’re all still humans after all, today was very busy so it probably just slipped his mind. That’s completely okay, you told yourself. And so, you tried to push away your thoughts, wanting to enjoy the cake that you and the girls had snuck from the kitchen as a late-night snack.

“Red velvet is the best, I swear,” Lily laughed with a sigh as she let herself fall flat on her back in satisfaction. Marlene agreed wordlessly, preoccupied with stuffing more cake in her mouth.

“Happy birthday again,” Alice smiled kindly at you, and you beamed at her. “Thank you, guys, for today, you shouldn’t have bought me the expensive painting equipment,” you said as you motioned towards the brand-new canvasses, brushes, primer, and oil paint.

“Nonsense,” Marlene replied in mock offense. “But you will paint me one day, right?” She batted her eyelashes at you. You pretended to think about it. “I mean, for 15 galleons?” you joked and then had to rush to take your words back when Marlene agreed without hesitance.

“I was only joking,” you laughed and swatted her lightly.

“Eh, leave the joking to your boyfriend and the other marauders,” Lily teased you. “Speaking of them,” she started, and you looked down, knowing the follow up question. “What did they get you for your birthday?

“Well,” you recalled your day so far. “Peter, Remus and Sirius gifted me an expandable suitcase, so I can put all my collectables in there.”

“Damn,” Alice whispered. You sheepishly scratched your head. “Yeah, it took me by surprise too. Last I checked, it cost way too much. I sure hope they acquired it in a legal manner,” you joked.

“I mean, both Sirius and James are well off, so maybe they could afford it and actually bought it,” Alice joked along.

You shrugged. “Oh, James didn’t pitch in for the suitcase. Remus said that he’d told them he was getting something more personal for me,” you said.

“Ugh, what a sap,” Lily commented lightheartedly, and you agreed with a chuckle. “So, what did he get you then?” Lily asked exasperatedly, already expecting something ridiculously grand.

There was a beat of silence.

“Uh, I’m not sure, we didn’t get around to celebrating my birthday together,” you settled on answering.

“What?” Marlene, Lily, and Alice asked in chorus.

“He was busy,” you defended James.

“The entire day?” Marlene squinted her eyes, absolutely seeing through your bullshit excuse. You shrugged in response but nodded your head. “The entire day?” She repeated in disbelief. “Like he couldn’t pop in in the morning or during breakfast?” You shrugged again.

“I guess he forgot,” you mumbled, starting to feel down again. Alice quickly caught on to that and decided to change the subject, trying to cheer you up. “Anyway, should we picnic tomorrow by the lake?”

You exhaled in relief. “I would love that.”

Sirius and James entered their dorms and greeted the other two marauders. “And? Did she like the suitcase?” Sirius immediately asked while he made himself at home on the foot end of Remus’ bed.

“Definitely, like she couldn’t believe it. She even did the happy wiggly dance,” Peter and Remus laughed at the memory. Sirius held his hand up to high five them and grinned in victory. “I told you guys, she needed someplace to put all that stuff she collects.”

James had been utterly confused since he stepped into the room and was not at all following the conversation. It was definitely about you, he figured that much from the wiggly happy dance. But what on earth were they buying you stuff for?

“You guys gave Y/N a suitcase?” He asked cluelessly.

“Yeah, why?” Remus inquired, eyebrows raised. “Is that not up to standard to the great James Potter?” He sarcastically asked, already expecting James to start gloating about whatever he got as a present for you.

“Well, if you guys have that much money in abundance to spend, save some for great pranks too,” James complained jokingly.

Sirius stared at James in confusion. “Huh?”

Peter tilted his head while examining James’ facial expression of confusion and then hesitantly asked. “James, did you forget about Y/N’s birthday?”

Time stopped for James, and he could hear his heart beat loudly, blood rushing to his ears as realization dawned on him, entirely to slowly.

“Merlin!” he loudly cursed, wide-eyed.

At his confession, Remus and Sirius’ jaws slacked. “You forgot!?” They shouted in unison.

Peter covered his ears at their yelling.

“Y/N!”

You turned your head, trying to find the source and halted in your step when your eyes landed on James who was frantically making his way through the hordes of students, crowding the corridor. He had been trying to find you since breakfast.

“Yes?”

James stopped in front of you, out of breath, a little flushed in the face and an apologetic expression adorned his face. You already knew what he was going to say and held up your hand to stop him in advance.

“I don’t need your apology,” you sighed out. James words died in his throat, and it took a moment for him to break out of it. “Love, I’m a right twit, I know.” He unintentionally shot you a defeated look with puppy eyes that you couldn’t help but melt for.

“How was your day yesterday?” was all you ended up asking as you continued making your way towards the library. You motioned with your head for him to follow you.

“I missed you,” James sincerely answered. He still pouted, seemingly upset, but all directed at himself of course. “I can’t believe I forgot,” he frowned. “I’ll work to be the greatest boyfriend again, I promise.” His eyes sparkled with determination, and you couldn’t suppress your amusement anymore, a smile lifting the corners of your lips.

“Well, you’re not off the hook yet, Potter.”

“Not the last name,” James whined. You shot him an unimpressed look that had him accept defeat.

“So, no kisses for you anymore,” you huffed for extra measure, in retaliation to his complaint.

“Wait what? You can’t do that, that’s so mean,” James immediately protested.

“For a week,” you added. “Forgetting about me yesterday was mean to me too.”

James’ hand made its way to intertwine with yours. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But this is still okay, right?”

You squeezed his hand. “It’s twelve o’clock right now. Do you want to have lunch first or study a little bit in the library?”

James gave you a bright smile. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you to choose,” you retorted.

“Lunch, please.”

James spent the following week almost draped over you. His entire body leaned into you, your hands always together, and every time he came in for a kiss, he reminded himself to respect your wishes, which left him burying his face in your neck instead.

It was Sunday and you hummed peacefully to yourself while you were sketching in the boys’ dorms, on James’ bed. You sat in the middle of his crossed legs, his arms were wrapped around your middle. His chin was rested on your shoulder which left him with the perfect view on your drawing in progress.

“I love you,” he quietly mumbled.

“I know, Jamie. I love you too,” you nudged him. James’ arms slipped away, and he moved away from you, you frowned at the loss of contact and warmth, leaning into the pillows behind you instead. “What are you-?”

James moved in front of you and nestled himself between your own crossed legs, back to your stomach, exchanging the position you had previously been in. He slouched a bit until his head leaned against your chest.

“My, you’re putty today, love,” you teased him softly. You closed your sketchbook and started untangling his curly hair.

“I’m really sorry I missed your birthday,” James whispered. You melted.

You chuckled and shrugged. “Sometimes things slip our mind. It just made me feel a little bummed out, that’s all.”

James hummed. “Well, I can promise you that I won’t forget about our anniversary though,” he said, voice filled with determination. You laughed. “That’s still a long time from now Jamie,” you mused.

“I’m already counting down the days so that there’s absolutely no way that I’ll forget it.”

“Hey James?”

James looked up at you.

“It’s twelve o’clock.”

James blinked twice and then a wolfish grin appeared as he practically jumped up and turned to face you, tackling you to bring you in for a kiss.

You groaned at the impact of your head against the wall behind you and James grinned sheepishly in apology before grabbing your hips and pulling you further down the bed to make space so he could finally press his lips to yours, all while completely melting into you and sighing in relief at the feeling.

And for two weeks, everything seemed to be perfectly fine. Until Rosalie joined the picture again, that is.

Dorcas sat next to you in class and elbowed you softly. “What’s up with James and that girl?” she whispered. You looked up from your notes and glanced at James who was nodding enthusiastically at a drawing that Rosalie was showing James. It was a portrait of him, and you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach at how well she drew him.

Features that were so on point, up to the little details like the three tiny birthmarks that seem to disappear amidst his freckles and that one freckle on his upper lip that you often pressed an extra peck to. You knew that for such a detailed, accurate and hyper realistic drawing, Rosalie had probably spent a lot of time studying him up close.

You averted your attention back to Dorcas and forced a smile. “She’s their new Chaser,” was all you replied.

Dorcas sent another skeptical look in James and Rosalie’s direction but didn’t comment on it any further.

“Guess what, love?!” James burst into the common room where you and Remus were calmly reading. James skipped over to the couch you were sitting on and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What?” you entertained him.

“I just made a deal with the kitchen elves and they’re going to cook us a candle lit dinner for our anniversary,” James triumphantly grinned from ear to ear as if he had just won the Quidditch cup.

Your eyes widened and you jumped up in excitement and disbelief. “How did you manage to do that?” You curiously pondered.

James puffed his chest. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he secretively replied, and you huffed and swatted him with a laugh. “We’re all magicians here, James,” you pointed out with a pout.

James leaned down to press a kiss to your pouted lips. “Just enjoy dinner with me. It’s in three weeks.” He was not about to tell you that he made a deal with the elves to go and clean the kitchen every day after supper for three weeks.

“Thank you, James,” you said, voice muffled because you had your face buried in his neck, arms around him in a tight hug.

You were incredibly excited for your anniversary, having a surprise for him as well, as you managed to get him tickets to the Quidditch world cup.

You waited for James in the changing rooms, Gryffindor had just lost an important match to Slytherin, and you knew that James would be feeling down. The Gryffindor team walked in, and you got up from the bench you were seated on. When you found James, he immediately came in for a hug.

“You did great out there, love. I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

“But it wasn’t enough,” James frowned. “They’re just always better than us, it doesn’t even matter how much we practice, because in the end, we can’t beat them.”

You stroked his hair in a consoling manner.

“And what’s the point if we can’t bloody beat Slytherin,” James spat out in frustration. You threw Sirius a look over James’ shoulder.

“Don’t say that, Jamie. You’ve won the last two games, and you don’t have to win against them,” you tried. Apparently, that was not what James wanted to hear and you would later beat yourself up for seeming to discard his feelings.

James pulled away with a frown. “But it’s not enough!” You flinched at his loud tone. “I just want-, It’s,” he let out an aggravated sound. “You don’t understand, okay. The feeling of constantly losing to the same opponent, its-“ James was struggling to find the words and you tried to apologize, alarmed, and feeling guilty.

Rosalie showed up behind James and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’ll get them next time, James. She just doesn’t get it because she’s not on the team.”

You felt hurt by her dismissive statement and wanted to retort when James agreed with her. “Exactly, Y/N, you don’t even play Quidditch, you don’t know what this feels like.”

Your heart sank in embarrassment and hurt, and your mouth formed an inaudible ‘oh’.

“Come on, Prongs. It’s not her fault we lost, don’t take it out on her,” Sirius moved to stand next to James and swatted him lightly. James sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched his nose.

“’m sorry, love. That was totally uncalled for,” he admitted, and he reached his arm for you to pull you back in for a hug. You subtly evaded his arm and swiftly moved yourself to the door.

“No, no. I actually need to go meet up with Peter, so uh. You guys have fun. And yeah,” you awkwardly did a mini wave with your hand towards the team and fled.

Sirius leaned in towards James. “Good job, mate.”

“Sod off.” You didn’t leave his mind at all for the rest of the night.

You were about to scream bloody murder when you were shaken awake in the middle of the night, but a hand covered your mouth and when your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could vaguely make out your boyfriend.

“James?” you incredulously whispered. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

James motioned to his invisibility cloak. “Sleep with me?” He asked and gave you a pleading look. You folded and so you tripled to the boy’s dorms under the cloak and then nestled yourself in his arms. A leg draped over his while you two fell into a peaceful slumber.

James was once again looking everywhere for you. This time with a slight sense of dread instead of the usual excitement.

When he finally found you and saw that you were laughing along with Sirius, he hesitated. He was halfway through changing his mind on addressing the issue with you when you called out to him.

“Morning!” you said, and you slid a sandwich in his direction. “You missed breakfast today, everything okay?" You asked.

James glanced at Sirius, and he excused himself and then left.

“I know we were going to go to Hogsmeade for our anniversary, but Rosalie managed to get tickets to a Quidditch game of our favourite team, and we even get to meet them afterwards. Like I can ask them for tips on playing, it’s just such an opportunity…” He trailed off when he noticed your fallen expression, which you quickly tried to cover up.

“Hey, that sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you assured him because it was true.

“We’re still on for that candle lit dinner, though?” You tried to joke, but it came off more as an insecure question.

James immediately enveloped you in a big hug. “Of course we are, 10 o’clock in the evening and I promise I’ll make it up to you afterwards.”

You laughed quietly. “You better.”

Your eyes crinkled in laughter as the kitchen elves tried their best to cheer you up and keep you occupied while James was hopefully simply running late. But by the time it was one o’clock in the morning, you decided to call it a night and thanked the elves for teaching you two new dishes and chess.

On your way to the dorms, you heard hushed whispers around the corner. When you turned it, however, you saw it was empty, but you knew better. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, contemplating if you wanted to do this now or tomorrow.

“James,” you called out.

There was a beat of silence and then the invisibility cloak slid off to reveal James and Rosalie, sneaking back inside the castle.

“Love? What are you doing up at this hour-“ he stopped halfway through his sentence with a curse.

“Wait, Y/N, this is my fault, not James’,” Rosalie piped up, but you were done with her.

“Go.”

Rosalie shot James one last glance and when he didn’t look back at her, instead still frozen, attention focused on you, she scurried away.

“I lost track of time. We went to have drinks with the players and time flashed by so quickly and then I completely forgot. And then Rosalie got sick, so -“

“Stop talking about her for a moment.” James looked at you, confused.

“Every single time, it is always you and Rosalie. It’s always her.” You didn’t bother hiding your hurt feelings anymore.

“But what about me,” you whispered defeatedly.

James shook his head. “No, it’s not her. I swear it’s not. It’s bad timing.” he firmly stated. “This isn’t even her fault, it was me and my enthusiasm to go to the game, I-“

“Why do you keep defending her?” You cut him off, allowing tears to well up in your eyes. James bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry,’ he eventually admitted.

“Yeah,” you breathed out exhaustedly. “You always are, aren’t you? Just like you always promise to make it up to me.”

“I will,” he weakly defended. “We can go back to the kitchen right now, eat food, celebrate our anniversary,” his eyes desperately searched yours for forgiveness, but in the darkness of the castle, he couldn’t find any.

“I spent three hours in the kitchen already, I’ve eaten the great food that the elves prepared for me, and our anniversary has already passed,” you coldly stated.

James’ eyes averted to his own feet, ashamed.

You tightly shut your eyes for a moment. And basked in the silence. When you opened your eyes again, you took in James’ posture. He seemed so very small all of a sudden.

Then you walked straight past him, while he was still frozen in place. When you passed him, you halted next to him and turned your head towards him. “I really hope she’s worth it, James.”

This seemed to snap him out of it, and he turned around in a flash. “Wait!” he called out in panic and immediately lowered his voice. “You’re not breaking up with me, right?” His eyes were pleading, and he looked distraught.

You scoffed softly to yourself. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m tired, so I’m going to bed, or else I actually will,” you replied shortly and retreated to your dorm.

Sirius whistled when James entered the room and unknowingly started to rub salt right in James’ well-deserved wound. “One o’clock in the morning, damn Prongs. You two must’ve had fun in the kitchen. How was the food? Did you like the present? I helped her with that,” he boasted.

James shook his head, “I messed it up again, Padfoot.”

Sirius eyes squinted ever so slightly at James. “No way,” he ended up asking in disbelief.

James didn’t answer right away, and Sirius got up out of bed and approached James. Then he shoved him. “Tell me you showed up for your anniversary, Prongs.”

James who had been looking at the ground finally met Sirius eye to eye, tears pooling in his own eyes. “We just lost track of the time, and then Ro-“

“If you finish that sentence and it’s about Rosalie, I will hurt you, James Potter.”

James helplessly looked at Sirius. “But you guys have it all wrong. It’s not her fault-“

Sirius grabbed James by the collar and shook him for good measure. “Prongs, mate. Wake the bloody hell up, would you.” His eyes bore straight through James’.

“Rosalie fancies you. It’s as clear as day. She demands your attention at all times. Asks for Quidditch practice, specifically with you, for an entire day. She diminishes our Y/N’s value in front of everyone, is pretentious and makes it seem as if you two are more compatible. She tries so hard to have so many common things with you like her last name, and she literally has a sketchbook full of portraits of you, which is rather creepy. Besides, she fully knew you were supposed to be back by ten o’clock for your date. I get it man, it’s subtle, but you’re smarter than that.”

Sirius released James and sighed. “And worst of all, Prongs, is that you let it happen. And every time you do, she wins a little more until Y/N will stop playing this stupid game for you.”

James let Sirius’ words sink in and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how right Sirius was.

“I don’t do it on purpose, Pads. Believe me. I know everything looks terrible, but I didn’t realize it.” James took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and pulled a hand through his locks.

“I forgot her birthday, but it was just a busy day, and I don’t really have a choice as captain but to train the new players. A-and I immediately apologized to Y/N when I realized what a twat I was in the locker room. And I didn’t miss my anniversary for a date with another girl or anything, there was a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet people I’ve looked up to, and I know it looks bad together because Rosalie was involved in all those instances, but I never meant to hurt Y/N. You know I’m in love with her.”

James started pacing through the room. It was a miracle that the others hadn’t woken up yet.

“Okay, I believe you,” Sirius decided after consideration. “But maybe try properly explaining and apologizing to Y/N. And then confront Rosalie and tell her to sod off.”

James nodded. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll do that.” Sirius looked a little skeptically at James and then patted his shoulder before climbing back in bed, while James did the same.

He had almost fallen back asleep when James asked, “Do you think she’d forgive me?”

Sirius was quiet. He’d seen the hurt look on your face multiple times and had instead tried to keep your mind off of James whenever he saw you stare at James and Rosalie.

“I think she might break up with me, Sirius,” James whispered in a small voice. He couldn’t sleep, his mind was filled with guilt, distress and you.

“Go sleep James, we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

You took a deep breath before pushing through the grand doors of the Great Hall. You spotted the empty seat amongst the marauders and let your eyes slide across the Gryffindor table to look for James.

You found him talking with Rosalie, and you almost wanted to turn around and leave, when you spotted her sour face when he finally walked back to his seat. James wore a relieved expression and was greeted by the marauders with pats on the back in congratulations.

Sirius spotted you and waved you over, scooting over himself so you could squeeze in.

“Good morning,” you gratefully smiled at the boys and sat down. James absentmindedly loaded your favourite food on your plate out of habit and then hesitated. He hadn’t really dared look you in the eyes yet, still ashamed after lying awake all night, thinking of all the things he’d done.

When your stretched out hand appeared in his sight, he looked up and saw a kind expression on your face. He handed you the plate and relaxed a little.

“Sirius tells me you want to explain some things to me, so unless you have a date with Rosalie over there,” you gestured to the girl who was not looking happy. “We could talk after breakfast?”

James nodded eagerly, eyes wide. “Yes, please.” He stared at you, and almost frowned, wondering why you didn’t seem as angry as you did last night, or rather this early morning.

You noticed his stare and knew what he was thinking. “I told you; I was tired, upset and couldn’t deal with it then. But I’ve had a good night’s sleep. I have thought about everything and decided that I’m not going to rashly throw away two years of unconditional love and friendship between us, for things that I feel like you want to explain to me. It’s not so black and white in decisions when it comes to love and my love isn’t that fragile.”

“Thank you,” James breathed out, already feeling like crying.

“Don’t thank me, thank Pads, he is vouching for you,” you hummed. “But your explanation better be worth it. And that’ll be at least two weeks without kisses.”

Taglist:

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@hoshi-is-ult-bbg @dimitrampl @princesskittycatofmeowland @haitaniheux @moonys0chocolate @queenanababy @ponkaniee @starsval

@lizzxoxo @empath-bunny

@quackitysdrugdealer @frxcless @notasadgirlipromise @potter-head-phanatic @anyasthoughts @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @imnikki

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauder x reader

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bluerosefox · 2 months

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Invites

"OMA, kill meeeee" Ellie, aka Wrath complained as she allowed her head to 'thunk' on the cafeteria table in the Watchtower she phased into in order to sit in next to a boy dressed in red, yellow, and green.

"Aren't you already halfway there?" Came Robin's response as he took a drink of his water, eyeing his teammate with a raised eyebrow, though it was difficult to tell with his mask in place.

"OMA?" Asked Superboy on the other side of the boy.

"Shush you." She said towards Robin before answering Superboy "Oh my Ancients, it's like OMG but like for us ghosties."

"Tt" "Oh!" Came both their responses.

"So..." began Superboy after a few minutes of silence between them as he looked at Ellie like a confused puppy "Why?"

Ellie groaned and just stayed slumped on the table as she said "Da's dumb Observants council is hosting another dumb ball to try to get him or me hitched again, and like always I'm forced to attend because I'm Da's heir. We both hate it with a passion, most are just stuck up, power hungry, social climbers trying to get into our pants for the royal titles... Espcially if they become our Forevermores."

"Tt, why not just get rid of them? Or simply have your Father dismiss the ball." Robin said, his eye twitching in annoyance just at the thought of it. A ball sounded even more annoying than the gala parties he is made to go to.

"Sounds stressful... Also Forevermores?" Superboy asked, he was always curious of Ellie and her ghost culture but never knew what could be asked or not, he had been warned to never ask how a ghost died after all and that question is normally asked in every ghost hunter video on the internet.

"Forevermores is our term for the ONE. The one and only we will ever be with. Till our final end takes us we are always to be with them only. We are core creatures and bonding on that level is like sacred, we don't rush into bonding like that though. But everyone in the Realms hopes to be either become mine or Da's. And the ball is their best chance at meeting us on neutral grounds." Ellie explained as best as she could for Jon, it was hard trying to explain the type of level a Forevermore was "And to answer you Robin, Da can't. The Observants, despite how annoying they can get with their dumb demands, are part of the system council for the Realms, they're sadly needed to keep things in check hence their name. Da and his friends are still trying to find a loophole to get rid of them though. They were only created when they put Tyrant King to sleep and they still sadly have some backings from other powerful ghosts in the Realms, even an Ancient or two and in order to fully dismiss them we need all Ancients on board. And the ball keeps a lot of ghosts, especially the more powerful ones, errr I guess happy? Most just use it to gossip on neutral grounds, others just like to dance, network, or other junk like that. Basically, when it's not about them trying to get mine or Da's hand in ghost marriage, it's fun so Da can't dismiss it, it'll ruffle to many feathers."

"Wow..." "Tt." Were the response from her teammates.

"Yeah. Da really isn't happy because someone suggested inviting powerful people from a few Mortal Realms this time. Somehow it got approved. So... here." She said as she reached into her own chest, phasing her hand in, and pulled out two green envelopes and placed them on the table in front of them. Both boys stared in surprise to see their names written in dark purple ink and the stylized DP on it.

"CW let me invite you guys personally. Everyone else should be getting theirs in about a few minutes complete with a blaze of green fire and spooky vibes." Ellie said with a strained smile, both happy to invite them but also dreading the questions she'll no doubt have to answer once the invites were sent.

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aerithmybbgmypookiemywife · 2 months

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Genshin SAGAU where they hide in the Fortress Of Meropide in order to live a normal life.

not proofread pt2

Creator! Reader who woke up confused in Fontaine. "What the fuck..." you mumbled as you were trying to piece everything together, why were you here? Is this a dream...?

You soon realized that you died in the real world because of Truck-Kun. Now... You have to adjust into this world...

It took a little bit of time to adjust but with the help of an old fisherman living in the mountains who took you in, it didn't take long before you accepted this life.

Creator! Reader who wants to live their life in peace and don't ever want to be found by the Archons or... Any of the main characters for that matter! It'd be a headache if they found out... You didn't want people being overprotective over you.

You wanted freedom...

Creator! Reader who gets found out by the old fisherman as the Creator by accident. You looked at your bleeding hand in horror as it spew out golden blood. The old fisherman quickly grabbed a cloth and wrapped it around your finger.

The old fisherman seemed to connect the pieces together, "So this is why you don't want to go to the city... And why you just popped out of nowhere in the fields..." the old man mumbled. "I- please... Don't tell anyone...!" you cried out. His eyes widened, "Oh! No! Your Grace I would never! But... You're not safe here... There will come a time that you will be found..." The old fisherman sighed.

Creator! Reader who conducted a plan to fake a robbery. The plan was to make it look like you 'stole' from the old man. The old fisherman would report you and you would be sentenced as a thief and banished to the Fortress of Meropide, living in the shadows... Like a ghost.

When your case was being heard, you saw Furina there, that means the traveller hadn't arrived yet... That'll be a problem for you in the future but you brushed it off, promising yourself you'd avoid the traveller like their the black plague.

When you arrived there, Childe was already gone... This was bad... That means the Traveller is coming soon.

It didn't help that you also saw Wriothesley face to face, his observing stare making you nervous... But with how he let you off easily, you don't think he found anything suspicious about you.

Creator! Reader who can't seem to not help Aether and Paimon along with the three siblings, Lynette, Lyney, and Freminet. Always leaving small clues so that they can advance to the story faster, or making sure they don't get hurt or get into an accident. You already knew what the story of Fontaine was but with your current existence... You were unsure if there were some things that'll change.

Creator! Reader who gets found out by Aether...

Your body flinched as he called your name... He knew your name... "You're... Them right...?" He added, you dared not to turn around, getting ready to run away since he hadn't seen your face yet. "You are them... The creator..." he spoke out again, "Please... Don't run away..." he begged as he walked closer to you. You slowly turned around to face him, "...How did you know it was me...?" you asked.

"That... Warmth... That lingering feeling... I felt it. It lead me towards you... I-I thought you were gone, or that you were upset since I hadn't felt you in so long..." He replied as tears rolled down his cheeks, he eventually hugged you, to which you allowed him to. Rubbing his back to comfort him.

Creator! Reader who tells Aether to never tell anyone about you or your existence to which he obliged. You watched everything unfold, from the start to the aftermath of the flood. Everything went well, and not a single soul other than Aether and the old Fisherman know of your existence.

"Everything went well... Neuvillette made sure Furina had an apartment near Palais Mermonia." Aether reported to you, "That's great news." You smiled at him, "Ah! You need to go, people would probably find it suspicious if they found you talking to a random prisoner for no reason." you added to which he nodded, he was about to leave but you stopped him for a moment and gave him a head pat. He was like a younger brother, he blushed and remained standing there for a few seconds, waiting for you to stop.

You let out a small laugh, "Sorry, I got carried away." he only nodded and quickly left, too flustered to even muster a response. You watched him as he left your prison cell.

You then walked towards your bed, looking for your work clothes as you were planning on working again for tickets. You then hear footsteps, you didn't bother turning around as you assumed it was Aether.

"Aether, did you leave something?" you asked, "Aether? You mean the traveller?" you froze... That voice wasn't from Aether... You slowly turned around to see... Wriothesley. You blood ran cold as you stared at him, your mind scrambling as it tried to find words to say.

"You don't have to say anything." He added, slowly walking towards you. "You know... I thought there was something so weird about you... Something about you kept pulling me in and I didn't know why... At first I thought you were just a Fatui spy but now..." he was only a feet away from you now, "I realized that you're them... The creator."

part 2...???

#genshin impact #self aware genshin #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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thevillainswhore · 3 months

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The Ties That Bind Us

Pairing: Ex-Husband!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, small amount of angst, mutual pining, jealousy, kissing, smut, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink, p in v sex, derogatory names, spitting, happy ending.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne

“You look so pretty, Mama!” You caught your son’s reflection in the mirror, his bright blue eyes wide and in awe as you finished the final touches up of your makeup.

You were about to respond, but the words died on your tongue at the sight of Bucky’s large form rounding the corner into the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over one another. “She absolutely does, cupcake.”

The intensity of his stare made you gulp silently, and you diverted your eyes back to your son.

Bucky had been doing that a lot recently —looking at you differently, more longing in his eyes than usual.

“Thank you, baby,” you said, ignoring Bucky in favour of showing your appreciation to your son. The knot in your stomach was wound too tight to try and unravel the conflict that ravaged in your mind. “You’re going to be good for your Dad tonight, aren’t you?”

Your son did his best to try and hide the cheeky smirk on his lips — one that resembled his father a little too much. “Of course Mama, I be a good boy.”

Unable to help the smile growing on your face, you brought him into your embrace, snuggling him tightly until he let out a loud squeal when you tickled his stomach. “I mean it, trouble. No staying up late and no ice cream before bed.”

Instantly, his puppy eyes fell to his father, an innocent pout on his lips. “But Dadda—“

“Sorry kid,” Bucky held strong. Glancing to you before looking back to his son, “Mama’s rules.”

“Oh, shucks,” your son sighed as you laughed.

From the outside looking in, the three of you seemed like a perfect family. Picturesque and ideal — white picket fences enclosing a home that was full of love and laughter, wholesome family dinners and celebrations for each loved one.

But things were never as simple as you wished.

The sobering thought made your laughter die in your throat, and you checked the time on your lit up phone screen. It was almost time for your date and you were wary of being late. “Okay, cupcake. I’ve gotta get moving so I can make it on time.”

“Aw,” your son whined, and you ruffled his hair as you made your way out of the bathroom. The air was knocked out of your lungs as you squeezed by Bucky, the scent of his aftershave he had worn since you first met him filled your nose and overtook your senses.

You barely suppressed a moan, a sinful combination that your mind begged you to inhale one more time, while another internal voice scolded you. The lingering touch of his fingers ghosting over your waist made it even harder to listen to sense.

Once you reached the hallway, you shook yourself and grabbed your bag from its hook by the door. The coat over your arm was warm and comfortable as you slipped it over your shoulders.

The telltale patter of feet over the hardwood floor bounced towards you, along with another set of heavier ones not too far behind. “Where you going this time, mama?” cupcake asked.

Smiling, you leaned down and tucked a stray lock of deep brown hair behind his ear. “Just for dinner, baby. I won’t be out long and I promise I’ll be back to make you pancakes in the morning, okay, sweetie?”

He nodded before stepping closer and tiptoeing up to whisper in your ear. “Make sure he treat you good because you deserve whole world.”

Tears sprung to your eyes, clinging on to your waterline. You blinked them away quickly before your son could notice.

Though, Bucky did.

You kissed his forehead, and leaned back to look into his eyes. “You got it, cupcake.”

Stepping forward, Bucky spoke up. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Mama and go get a movie set up, huh pal? I’ll be with you soon.”

Before your son left, he hugged you. “Bye Mama, I loves you.”

You smiled as he ran off. “I love you too, baby — and remember to be good!”

Only Bucky and you were left by the door, your blanket of comfortability was gone and you felt his eyes that held too many memories burning through you.

“You really do look beautiful,” he vowed.

Fuck, you internally cursed.

You tried not to look into his eyes while you fumbled with your dress. “Thank you, Bucky.” You quickly shifted the conversation. “If he doesn’t settle then text me, okay? My phone will be on loud and I’ll answer straight away—“

“As much as I— We would like you home, I’m sure we’ll survive without you for a couple of hours,” Bucky said, recovering from his hiccup smoothly.

Your gazes met — you had always gotten lost in his eyes and even all these years later nothing had changed.

Snapping out of your reverie, you shook your head and unlocked the door. “I’ll um— I’ll be back later.”

Before you could leave, Bucky caught your hand. “Have fun, Doll.”

And with all the strength you had, you delicately took your hand out of his, taking note of the tan line of where his wedding ring used to sit. “Bye, James.”

The date went as expected.

Your company for the night wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, this was the third date you had both been on together. However, the spark you had so badly tried to ignite through bland conversations and one already ringed out similar interest fell short.

Every date you had been on since your divorce with Bucky seemed to lack a certain something for you. Although in recent light, you had come to terms with the fact you that no one’s eyes had the same shade of blue you were familiar with. Or made your heart jump in your chest from excited nerves years after your first meeting.

Simply, you hated the fact you compared every single man to Bucky.

With a sigh, you unlocked your door, careful to make as little noise as possible as you walked into your home. It was quiet, almost silent, apart from those damned footsteps that eased the weight off your chest and yet caused goosebumps to cascade down the bare skin of your arms.

Bucky rounded the corner from your kitchen to the open plan living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand in the orange hue of the darkness, provided by a single lit lamp.

“Hey,” he greeted you, the expression on his face imperceptible. “How was your date?”

You cleared your throat, struggling to keep your composure from the sight of his tight black T-shirt and denim jeans that deliciously hugged his thighs. “Um yeah— it was— it was okay.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Just okay?” He laughed. “Come on, give me more than that.”

You sighed in defeat. “I told him it was best if we didn’t see each other anymore.”

Unfortunately, there was only so much of a facade you could fake until it became noticeable to your date. It was an amicable decision with no hard feelings. But, it didn’t help to settle the confusing thoughts in your head.

Bucky took a swig of his drink, placing it on the hallway side table before he began slowly pacing towards you.

You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes, the way they feasted on your thighs or your waist. Backing up against the door until you physically couldn’t break free from the heat of his gaze, you could only watch as Bucky drew closer, right until you were a breath apart.

He brought an arm up, over the top of your head to lean against the door. “Any reason why?” he asked, a husk to his tone that granted you no favours.

A sudden pulse shot through your nerves, the ache between your thighs intense. It took everything in you to not rub them together. He would notice that you were sure of.

Desperate to escape what was sure to be a dangerous situation, you quickly slid out of his invisible hold and hastily made your way to the kitchen to pour your own drink. Bucky joined you only seconds later.

“How was cupcake?” you asked instead, attempting to switch the conversation to a safe topic. “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“He was good as gold,” he instantly replied, staring you down. A beat later, “He whined about the ice cream situation, but I promised I’d take him out for it tomorrow and he was out like a light — we had fun.”

You slightly faltered as you poured the whiskey into a second glass. You didn’t miss his small innuendo of spending more time together.

“Thanks for looking after him tonight. I know it was pretty useless anyway, but—“

Bucky trapped you against the counter as he placed his hand over yours, his deep baritone rumbling in your ears. “Don’t thank me for looking after my own son, you know I’d do it all the time if I could.” He took a deep breath. “If you would let me.”

No. You couldn’t do this.

You immediately dropped the bottle of whiskey onto the kitchen countertop, ripping yourself away from his touch to walk away.

Bucky reached out as he followed you. “Babydoll—“

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you scolded, fury in your voice.

Bucky however, wasn’t deterred. “Doll.”

“No—“

“Will you just—“ he caught you with a firm grip and spun you around to face him. “Will you stop running away from me.”

The two of you were out of breath from sudden adrenaline, harshly breathing into each other's mouths. The look in Bucky’s eyes was wild, untamed — tortured.

“Tell me you’ve never thought about it — us getting back together.” He gripped onto your arms, his eyes flicking between yours. “Tell me I’m delusional and I’ll walk out that door right now and we’ll never speak of this again.”

The ache in his voice broke your heart as much as the day you signed the divorce papers.

“Bucky—“

“Please.” He cupped your face with his hands, glancing between your eyes and your lips while his thumb slowly rubbed over them. “I’m a desperate man, baby. I’m desperate for you.”

You gulped, emotion bubbling over into your voice. “We broke up, Bucky. We’re divorced.”

He laughed wetly, but there was no humour in his tone. “And that means we can’t try again?”

The reasons for your separation seemed to blur under his stare. All the ways you weren’t good for each other leaving your mind and only making room for the good.

“Where the hell is this coming from, Bucky?” You deflected once again.

Your hands shook as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I can’t stand the thought of seeing you go out with another man again,” he whispered, painfully. “It’s killing me, Babydoll. It should be me.”

Tears rushed over your cheeks, you were too overwhelmed to hold them back any longer. You sniffled as you glanced down the hall where you son currently lied fast asleep and obvlious. “I can’t hurt our son, Bucky — I can’t.”

He smiled sadly at you, the crinkle in his eyes ever present but they only made you swoon for him even more. “There’s a reason all those dates don’t ever work out.”

You couldn’t hear it, couldn’t take what he was trying to say. “Stop it.”

“I know you’ve been holding back as much as I have.”

He was pushing you, like he always did and as much as you wanted to curse him, it was working. “Please don’t make me—“

The point of no return came in the form of your most hidden secret spilling from Bucky’s lips. “You still love me, Babydoll.”

Ice ran through your veins, hearing those words out loud that you hadn’t dared let yourself believe. Your mouth gaped open, unable to find the words to deny his accusations until your tether broke.

“Fine! I’m ruined for anyone else!” you shouted, frustrated and scared — a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You’ve ruined me — is that what you want to hear?”

His plump lips, soft and pink curled up. “It’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Leaping forward, Bucky crashed his lips against yours.

He was feverish as you both collided into each other. His hands, unrelenting yet gentle mapped out each and every slope of your body as you stood in the living room, feeling each other for the first time in years.

“Fuck,” he groaned between kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed you, baby.”

Your head spun, dizzy with want. You hadn’t been touched in so long by anyone, never mind your ex-husband and your heart pounded erratically with nerves, excitement and longing.

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, Bucky kissed you like he was starved, as though you were his only salvation. He ran his fingers through your hair, tugging it harshly to pull you closer to him even though there was no longer any distance between the two of you.

“You’ve got no idea how bad I need you,” he whined into your mouth. “Need to fuckin’— I just need you.”

Without you realising, Bucky had pushed you up against the nearest wall and even through denim jeans you could feel the hard shape of his cock while he unabashedly grinded against you.

You broke for air, gasping as oxygen rushed to your lungs. “You have me, Bucky.” He trailed sloppy kisses down your neck as you panted, desperate to stain your skin with any trace of him. “You can have anything you want.”

He growled, a sound that caused a gush of wetness to soak your panties. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, sweetheart.”

Ripping away from you, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the laundry room on the other side of your house. You struggled to keep up with his fast strides in your heels, but you just about managed as he shoved you through the door and locked it behind him.

His back was turned to you for a while and you stood nervously fidgeting, waiting for him to face you. His back rose and fell with breathless heaves, as though he was holding back — a feral beast ready to pounce.

“Babydoll,” he said suddenly, rough and graveled. “I need to know you want this before I fuck the shit out of you.”

Holy fuck, the mouth on this man. Your mouth grew dry while you struggled to think clearly in his aura. “I— I do—“ you stuttered, lamely.

He slowly turned around, a wolfish gleam in his eyes with adrenaline surging through his veins. He was tense as he took a deep breath. “Say it like you mean it.”

When you stayed quiet, too hazy to speak, Bucky stalked towards you, lifting your chin up to look him directly in his eyes. “Say. It.”

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind and swallowed before whispering, “I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my name, Bucky.”

He smirked, the kind you knew all too well — deadly. “Atta’ girl.”

You sqeauled as he suddenly hiked you up into his arms, hands under your thighs so he could place you on top of the washing machine. Laundry detergents and other products you didn’t care to take note of fell from the shelves around you as he pounced on you once again, devouring you whole with his sinful lips.

“Do you know how much I’ve had to restrain myself, Doll — Mm?” he pressed, covering every inch of bare skin you had to offer with his kisses. “How fuckin’ hard it’s been to not drag you back in the house and take you right then while you get dressed up for someone else?”

You did. Because you understood more than anyone the pain of having to force yourself away from Bucky when all you had ever wanted was him.

He unbuckled his belt, the telltale sound of the leather snapping against his hands and the jingle of metal sent bolts of electricity straight to your cunt.

Your mind couldn’t keep up, your vision blurry with the sudden turn of events. All you knew was that you needed Bucky.

“Hurry, baby. Please,” you whined.

Bucky groaned with delight, his eyes rolling to the back of his head while he bit his swollen bottom lip. “Oh, how I’ve missed you begging for me, pretty mama.”

Rushing to take off his belt, he slid the material through the loops of his jeans and threw it on the floor, not long after hurrying to unzip his fly and shuffle his pants down along with his underwear.

The tip of his cock peaked out of his black briefs and instantly you let out a high pitched moan, even shocking Bucky enough to look back up at you drooling over him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, slightly condescending. “Don’t you worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

Bucky revealed the entirety of his cock, the length just as long as you remembered and the girth as thick as you had imagined in your nights alone with your toys that couldn’t compare.

The slight curve that you could feel the ghost of pleasure from to this day caused you to bite your lip and squirm in your place.

Without waiting for Bucky, you began shifting the bottom of your dress up your thighs, too impatient to wait for him to undress you. It gave you immense satisfaction when he followed the material, slowly revealing more of your skin. His mouth gaped open while he fell to his knees, the thud that sounded surely must have hurt, but there was no other expression on his face than greed.

You stopped your dress just before Bucky could peak at your red panties and you almost laughed when his head shot up, aghast that you had interrupted the show.

The power you held, you smirked. “You want more, Daddy?”

Bucky dropped his head onto your thighs, his breath travelling up to your covered mound — your eyes fluttered, though you kept your breathing steady to not seem so desperate.

Stroking your fingers through his fluffy hair, you murmured low, “Does it hurt to know my pussy is right here and you can’t have it?”

You felt his muscles quickly lock up, his head snapping up to you with a speed that was frightening and exhilarating all at once. The blue of his irises darkened, dilating as he chuckled, “You’re very much mistaken, sweetheart. Because this pussy right here,” he shoved your dress up, spread your legs and breathed into you. “She’s mine, baby girl. And you’ve kept her from me long enough.”

A chilled blast of air hit you as Bucky tore your panties from your waist and held them up. “You wore these slutty panties for that fucker, huh?”

You gasped in shock when he brought them to his nose and inhaled the gusset deeply. He grunted as he closed his eyes in bliss. “Cos’ I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s got you this soaked.”

Your keens amused him greatly. “Bucky—“

“That’s right, mama,” he laughed with pride. “My name sounds so damn heavenly coming from your lips.”

Bucky pocketed your underwear, not caring to be discreet and his thumbs came up to your cunt to spread you open to his eager eyes. “My god, baby,” he gasped in awe. Your hole clenched at the vulgar display. “You’re just as tight as the last time I had you.”

He tested a finger over your folds, running it through the embarrassing amount of slick that coated you.

“No one,” you breathed, shaking your head while willing your scrambled thoughts to formulate into words. “There’s been— there hasn’t—“

Bucky looked up at you from his knelt position, a small slither of vulnerability shining through his lust-hooded eyes. “Just me?”

You gulped and nodded, staring into his wide blues with honesty. “Just you.”

A moment passed between you. The charged air filtered down to that spark that had always been buried through the heartbreak you both endured in your divorce.

Bucky swallowed before placing a single kiss to the inside of your knee. “Then let me make up for that.”

You leaned your head back against the shelf behind you as his lips traveled up the meat of your thighs, yelping each time he gently bit you.

He murmured obscenities you could barely respond to as he edged closer to your pussy. You offered yourself freely, on a platter, as your legs opened even wider for him — the only man who ever truly owned you.

His lips whispered over your mound, a hint for what was about to come. “I’ve been waiting to taste you again for years.”

You moaned aloud, unhinged and unapologetic while Bucky licked a fat stripe up your cunt. Your nerves were alight with pure fire and you instantly grabbed onto the back of his head to push him further into you.

You didn’t care if the action was needy — one single touch of him and you were a goner once again.

He feasted on you, not coming up for air as he switched between sucking your clit and slurping your juices. “Oh my god— Bucky, baby you gotta— holy fuck.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Bucky wrapped his thick arms around your thighs and dragged you closer to him — all too happy to suffocate between your legs. “Sweet as a fuckin’ apple pie,” he murmured into you, the vibrations only deepening your pleasure.

Looking down at him, his eyes were homed in on you, watching your every expression. They were blown out, wild while strands of his hair stuck out in every direction.

Pulling away slightly, his heavy pants blew over your throbbing clit. “Daddy makin’ you feel good, Babydoll?”

You hardly had time to reply as he immediately shoved his tongue into your clenching hole and fucked you with it.

“Bucky!” you screamed to the ceiling. However, a harsh slap delivered to your thigh snapped you back to sense.

“You know that’s not what you call me,” he barked.

Whining, you corrected yourself. “Daddy, please!”

You felt his smirk plastered over your pussy as he hummed into you, “There’s my good girl.”

Your legs began to shake as you felt your climax creep to the surface and Bucky only doubled down with his sinful tongue that you somehow had forgotten he was way too talented with.

“I’m close,” you whispered as your vision began to blur. “So close — please, please don’t stop.”

Bucky continued his ministrations while your pussy fluttered around his tongue. Your release was within reaching distance and you gripped the washing machine, ready to let go until suddenly his presence was gone.

You almost fell forward before you caught yourself with your remaining strength. The pent up tension that was wound in your stomach hadn’t loosened and it took you a second to realise you hadn’t cum.

“W—what?” you mumbled shakily as you blinked your eyes open. Bucky stood there, his cock pulsing and viciously purple, with a smirk on his face, wiping his slick covered mouth with his arm. It disorientated you.

“I haven’t—“ you swallowed the dryness of your mouth. “You didn’t make me—“

Bucky’s cock bobbed as he closed the distance between you, dizzying you even further with a passionate kiss. “No I didn’t, baby.”

You whimpered in despair, the ache worsening. “But Daddy—“

“Nu-uh,” he breathed while lining his cock against your hole. “You’re only gonna fuckin’ cum when I say you can.”

Recklessly, Bucky pushed his full length into your pussy. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into him as the sheer size of his thick cock winded you enough to wail out.

“Shit,” he cursed, a strain in his voice as he firmly gripped your hips. “Fuckin’ hell— Babydoll, how the fuck are you still so tight.”

Impatiently, you fidgeted. Whether it was to escape how full he made you or try and force him deeper into your cunt you weren’t sure. All of it was too overwhelming to process.

“I can’t,” you shook your head, tears building over your glassy eyes. “You’re too big— Bucky, I can’t—“

“Yes you can,” he declared with conviction while he lifted your gaze to him. “You can take it, sweetheart.”

Slowly, Bucky began to ease out of your cunt. His cock was coated with your wetness and he moaned deeply at the sight. He grinded back into you, his curved tip hitting every sensitive spot.

“There we go,” he brushed your hair back and kissed your forehead, praising you. “Taking my cock so good, Babydoll. Just like always.”

His touch was familiar, yet new — all consuming and claiming — and you melted into him, smothering his neck with a litany of kisses as he continued to gently thrust his cock into you.

“M—Missed you,” you confessed, drunk from lust and emotion. “Missed you so much, Bucky.”

The motion of his hips sped up as he began pounding into you with more force. “Yeah? You missed being a sweet little wife for me?” He taunted with an evil grin. “You loved being Daddy’s little slut, didn’t you?”

“Mhm— Always your slut, Daddy!” You sobbed into his skin.

His pace turned unrelenting, fierce after too much lost time. He fucked you as though he would be left out to dry after he was done.

Grabbing your cheeks, he leaned his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, Babydoll,” he grunted. “Don’t care who’s fuckin’ taking you on dates. You belong to me.”

Nodding your head, you fell mute, mouth gaped wide as you felt the knot begin to build up in your stomach once more.

Bucky looked down to watch his dick glisten with your slick. The obscene sounds created from the amount of your juices leaking out only caused his cock to throb. Your cunt squelched with each thrust he made. But it wasn’t enough for him.

Gathering saliva in his mouth, Bucky spat to where the two of you connected, groaning as it clung to your pussy and stringed out with his motions.

Your squeals of pleasure began to get louder as the coil tightened, “I’m gonna—“

Before you could rush the words out, Bucky pleaded, “Tell me you love me.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, more alert now. He didn’t falter, only fucked you with more abandon.

“Tell me you love me,” he repeated once more, a demand this time.

“Bucky, I—“

“I know you do, Doll.” His hips started to twitch, his telltale sign that he was also close to cumming. However, you had an inclination that he wouldn’t let himself go until you gave him what you wanted. “I know you remember how good it used to be. Let me come home and I’ll fuck you this good whenever you want.”

You gurgled around his fingers as he suddenly shoved them into your mouth, collecting the drool gathered on your tongue to bring them down to your clit. He didn’t ease them against you, instead rubbing tight circles rapidly, bringing you closer to the edge faster.

It was impossible to escape his dark eyes or the fierce hold of his hand at the back of your neck. “Feels so fucking good, Daddy!” you blurted.

“I know, mama,” he assured as he drove his cock into you even harder. “Your cunt feels like heaven.”

“I wanna cum,” you cried. “I need to cum.”

“You know what you’ve gotta do then, don’t you, Babydoll?”

You squeezed your eyes closed. The pleasure started to blend into a mix of pain and you were only slightly ashamed that it only turned you on more. “I—“

“Come on, baby. Give me what I want.” A few more punishing thrusts and you were treading the line of your impending orgasm. Your thighs shook violently and beads of sweat dripped down your chest. But when Bucky grounded out his next words, you fell apart. “Be a good wife for Daddy and tell me the truth.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer, the balance of your orgasm tipping over along with the truth you tried to withhold. “I love you, Bucky!”

Instantly, you felt the pulse of Bucky’s cock, a warm shoot of his load filling your cunt while you silently screamed and shook with the intensity of your climax.

Everything fell deaf to your ears as you fought to catch your breath, slumping against Bucky. His heavy breaths blew your stray hairs sticking out from the sweat gathered on your head while his hips continued to slowly pump into you from the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

You were brought back to the present with the gentle touch of his lips pressing against your cheeks, kissing your skin delicately. “Hey there, Babydoll.”

While you would have normally been nervous, the energy that he had drained you of allowed your inhibitions and walls to crumble, leaving you to smile drunkenly at him. “Hi,” you whispered.

Bucky checked you over, darting his eyes over your face. “You feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, bringing your thumb up to swipe over his stubble you had always been fond of. “Freshly fucked and never better.”

The corner of his lips curved up, a small mirth of laughter escaping him. He licked his lips and you detected a hint of nerves that crossed over his features. “I um— I’m sorry if I—“

You placed your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him. “You didn’t go too rough.” Slowly, you brought your finger down, hooking it into the collar of his shirt. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Good.” He brought one of your hands up to his mouth to kiss the palm of your hand. “Good.”

The two of you barely noticed his length still deep in you. All that you cared for was the weight suddenly released from your chest.

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asked, cutting through the peaceful silence. He was defenseless, all guards down with a shimmer of hope twinkling in his ocean eyes.

You knew exactly what he was referring to and you inhaled deeply before you replied, “I did.”

He swallowed thickly, his emotion clear though his bright eyes. “I love you too — so fuckin’ much.” He nuzzled into your neck as your hand held him close to you. “I’ve missed you.”

A lump gathered in your throat once more. Breathing in Bucky’s scent freely, without guilt this time, you sunk into his embrace even further.

“Can I come home?” he whispered into your skin, a desperate plea. “I’ll do whatever you want — I’ll go to counseling with you, we can take things slow. I just need you back, Babydoll.”

The answer was simple. You knew in your heart there was no one else for you, no one better. No matter your differences, everything would always lead back to Bucky and you were willing to give the two of you a second chance.

“Okay,” you answered softly.

His head shot up, eyes wide and red from the tears you felt gathering on your neck. “Okay?” he repeated hopefully.

You smiled, kissing him gently on the lips before you muttered, “Come back home, baby.”

The pan sizzled on the stove as you cooked the last pancake, a stack already piled high on the counter next to you for breakfast.

Music played softly on the radio and you swayed your hips side to side, covered by a long T-shirt, while you hummed to yourself.

You were interrupted from your task when a pair of thick arms wrapped around your middle, hugging you from behind tightly. “Yknow, I could have had my breakfast in bed,” Bucky grumbled into your ear, his deep morning voice causing your eyes to slightly flutter.

You huffed a laugh before you mumbled, “I bet you could, greedy.”

The bristles of his trimmed beard tickled your skin as he playfully nibbled your neck. “Can’t exactly blame a man when his woman tastes so sweet, Babydoll.”

Your head started to feel heavy as you gave into his kisses, leaning back into his hold and opening yourself up for him.

“There’s a good girl,” Bucky praised you. “You just let Daddy—“

Peaking an eye open, you watched as his hand crept forward, about to pinch a pancake from the pile. He yelped as you swatted his hand away, a pout on his lips while you grinned.

“Nice try, Daddy,” you teased, smugly.

Before Bucky could retort back, a sluggish set of small footsteps sounded over the floorboards and you whipped around to find your son, still sleepy, making his way to the dining table.

“Morning, cupcake!” you greeted him cheerfully.

With difficulty, he climbed his way onto one of the chairs, huffing with the effort and sinking down once comfortable. He looked towards you, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, mama—“

Frowning, your son looked towards Bucky, finally noticing him too. “Dadda?” he asked, confused.

“Hey, pal.” Bucky treaded, carefully.

Your son’s gaze fell to the lack of distance between you and Bucky, his hand still lingering on your waist. Keeping your composure, you waited nervously for his reaction.

“He treat you good, mama?” he asked all so innocently with a hint of fierceness in his bright blue eyes.

You watched with bated breath as Bucky stepped towards him, leaning over the table with his palm up to your son. “I’m gonna take good care of mama, “ he promised with sincerity.

Your son deliberated for a moment before nodding his head and reached out to hold his Dad’s hand. “Okay, can I have pancakes now?”

You sighed a breath of relief. “Of course, baby.”

It was silent for a moment, in your small kitchen while you plated up breakfast for your family. Bucky and you shared an intimate smile until your son spoke up once again. “Just don’t forget about the ice cream you promised me.”

Laughter filled the entirety of the kitchen, a home once again bathed in love — your perfect little family.

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