#LIAM WHEN I CATCH U LIAM >:(

[drykoolaid]

Guyyysss I Almsot forgot 😰

Also am I the only one who had a huge Ao3 Nuzi crisis??? Likeee I was scrounging 🥶

So uhhhh guess the fanfic idk???? The author liek vanished from the one u could access on safari sooooo Yur 🤪

[princesslouist]

me upon seeing Simon Cowell at Liam’s funeral holding a fucking vape

[no-144444]

simple, easy life- m.verstappen

summary: an accident happens and max's life changes for the worst

pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

warnings: main character death, death, car crashes

a/n: YUKI TO RB???? I MEAN SLAY FOR HIM BUT ALSO THE RB IS SHIT, AND POOR LIAM, AND I HATE REDBULL! (not u isack, yuki, max, or liam, but fuck u helmut marko u twat)

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Realistically, cars were Max’s first love. You weren’t disillusioned to the fact that Max was a car guy in every sense of the word, and constantly made jokes that he loved his cars more than you. 

He’d never drive a car again if it meant you never got hurt like this. 

He had been sitting at dinner, the most regular experience, the night before the China GP, and your best mate, Hailee, called him sobbing crying. 

“Max, it’s Y/n, I have no idea what’s happened, but it’s bad. She’s in emergency surgery or something, they didn’t tell me. I just- GET HERE, alright Max. Get here.”

And she hung up as his world stopped. His entire world shattered because you were hurt, you were thousands of miles away, and he had a race tomorrow. 

“Are you alright mate?” GP leaned over and questioned, his voice low. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he announced, getting up from his chair and tucking his jacket under his arm, beginning the walk out of the restaurant. 

GP fumbled to follow after him, and the voices of Helmut, Jos,  and Christian calling Max back echoed through the restaurant. “Mate, what’s going on?!” GP shouted after him as they reached the streets of Shanghai. 

“It’s personal,” he answered. “Get Yuki to fill my seat. Have Pepe fill his. Done.”

“Max, Christian isn’t going to take ‘it’s personal’ as a response, that’s going on?” GP grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “What’s happened?”

“Y/n’s hurt,” he admitted, looking down. “And she needs me.” 

His face fell, his jaw dropping. “My god, is she alright?” 

Max shrugged, emotion catching in his throat. “I don’t know.”

He'd never seen Max like that. He’d never seen him almost cry over a girl. He’d never seen him sacrifice championship points for someone, for anyone. 

“What’s going on Max?” Jos demanded, stepping out beside the two men. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, and Max tensed up. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he answered, his voice steady. “It’s important.” “Nothing’s more important than racing-”

“Y/n is,” Max interjected. “And she’s lying in a fucking hospital bed on the other side of the world, so yes, she’s more fucking important!” he argued, slapping his father’s hand away. “We have reserve drivers for a fucking reason. Use them.” 

And he walked away. Away to the airport where his jet was being stored, and he flew straight back home, catastrophizing the entire way. What if you were injured badly? What had happened? Had it been a drunk driver? Would you have serious disabilities? Would you have to take time off work? Which car were you driving, was it his? And the worst thought of all popped into his head; What if you were dead? 

He pushed it back as far as he could, but still, it stayed. Lingering like the smell of your goddamn perfume on his jacket.

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All he could smell was antiseptic and a little bit of dread. It had been an exhausting 14 hour flight, one he couldn’t rest on. Max prided himself on being able to sleep through anything, and anywhere. That was not the case when it came to you. 

“And how do you know the patient?” the nurse asked, pulling him out of his spiral once more. 

“I’m her fiancé,” he answered, eyes glassy and heavy. 

“She’s just down the hall in room 8. Be aware, it may be a bit of a jarring sight, she’s hooked up to a few machines, and she’s in an induced coma,” the nurse tried to put it as softly as she could, but no one could make that sound good, not even Bruce Buffer. “Do you want someone to accompany you? I can come in, just for moral support?” she offered, seeing the way Max’s body language changed at her words. 

He chuckled sadly. “You’re very kind, but no. Thank you.”

She nodded and he walked on. He needed to do this on his own, mostly because he didn’t really know what he was walking into. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was going to stand by you forever, if that’s how long this took. Though he hoped it wouldn’t. He hoped you’d pull through, get strong again, do all the things you wanted with your life. 

Be there with him while you both grew old, have you care for him even when no one remembered his name. 

Be in love. Get married. Have that small family you always wished for. 

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You died at 1.33am. The universe was taunting him, clearly. He held your hand. He didn’t call the nurse. He just sat there for a few moments, trying to imagine a future without you. He fucking couldn’t. His whole life was centred around you, around you being in it. After F1 he would just stay in Monaco with you, spend his days watching his kids grow up. He would walk them to school in the mornings and bring you back a coffee from your favourite shop, maybe a cinnamon roll on a Friday, or everyday. Depends on what you’d let him do. He’d come in, coffees in hand, and bring yours to you in bed, or maybe in your office. Maybe you’d kiss him. Maybe you’d smile one of those perfect smiles of yours. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, because you both knew you had another chance the next day. 

And all of that was gone. You were gone. 

So what was meant to happen now?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. 

But he had to. He ran through all the motions, he signed the paperwork, and he picked out the casket. 

But he should’ve been picking up the kids from school, holding your hand and kissing you, even if it embarrassed them. 

It should’ve been a simple, easy life. 

But it wasn’t.

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navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[dannyriccsystem]

Heyyyy can u do 5, 26, and 31 with Liam Lawson?? Theres like nothing for him rn

YOU’RE BURIED IN THE PILLOW, YEAH, YOU’RE SO LOUD…

1K SPECIAL - LL30

“Wear a jacket," “I don’t have one,” “You can borrow mine.” + “I love it when you touch me like that.” + “This is so wrong.” “So wrong.”

SUMMARY: Liam and you are forced to get along for PR reasons. Once filming is over, the tension gets unbearable, and you both finally snap.

WORD COUNT: 1.5K

WARNINGS: Hate sex, enemies to whatever the fuck this is, rough sex, P in V, SMUT

FEATURING: Liam Lawson x Teammate!Reader

NOTE: Specific music definitely helps me write 😭

LIAM LAWSON WAS A FUCKING BRAT. You figured that out the first day you really got to know him; the day his sorry ass was kicked from his RedBull seat, landing him as your new teammate. You missed your sweet friend Yuki already, regretting how you took his company for granted.

The guy was full of himself. He seemed so sure that he would be winning every race possible, and that his rookie year would then be the year of his first championship. It was almost hilarious to watch his ego crumble even if it meant taking the team down with him.

Whenever you were in the same room, banter was bound to ensue. You spat nasty words at each other, merciless insults thrown at an unrelenting pace. Who cares? Sports were meant to get dirty like this.

“Can you two at least pretend to get along?” Your media manager pleaded with the two of you, defeatedly setting the phone down. It was hopeless; this video would never get filmed, but she seemed fine with that. She’d rather not post anything ever again than have to deal with your insistent arguing.

“No,” You responded firmly. You were avoiding him like a stubborn child, your arms crossed over your chest while you snobbishly turned away from him. Liam scoffed, and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“What she said.”

Your media manager tapped her fingers against the marbled countertops, and then aggressively slammed her palm down. You both flinched, eyes wide. “Fine! Whatever! Both of you go home, we can film separately next time.”

You had never been yelled at like that before. VCARB always regarded you as a polite, kind teammate— But that was with Yuki. Liam totally changed everything, including their perspectives on you. It was somewhat worrisome to see yourself changing so easily.

You both left the building side by side, completely silent. The only sound was the upcoming pitter patter of a harsh downpour, implying rain. You huffed a sigh, pushing the doors open to confirm your worries. You had come without any sort of protection from the rain, not expecting this sudden overcast.

“Shouldn’t you put on a jacket?” You felt your fists clench at your side. Liam was standing under the awning the building provided, safe from the rain.

“I don’t have one,” You replied through gritted teeth. He was basically rubbing it in at this point, standing there so smugly in that nice coat of his…

Maybe it was because he knew you had to walk home while he waited for an uber, or maybe it was because he didn’t want to have to acknowledge the fact that your white top was just slightly see through… But Liam definitely had some sort of thought process behind his offer, “Just take mine.”

Your eyes drifted down to the outstretched offering, and then back to his face. You grumbled, brows furrowed as you snatched the jacket, throwing it over your shoulders and hugging tight to your form. “Thanks,” You uttered before storming off, not wanting to have anything to do with the guy for another second.

YOU REPEATEDLY BANGED YOUR FIST AGAINST THE DOOR, your other hand holding a neatly folded jacket. You realized you had forgot to return Liam’s freshly washed jacket when you managed to catch a glimpse of it in your suitcase. You took it to the paddock with you for qualifying which didn’t exactly go well for either one of you. If the tension was bad before, imagine what it was like now.

“What?!” You heard that snobby, annoyingly stuck up voice snap from inside his driver’s room. This only pissed you off more, and out of pure spite, you knocked again. Even more.

“I have your damn jacket!” You shouted. After a moment, you finally heard footsteps, followed by the rattling of a door. It finally swung open, and you were… Well, taken aback.

Was he always that hot? Gross.

His hair was spiked up in that classic 2000’s boy band fashion, sweat dripping from his forehead. He currently had a very annoyingly obvious lack of a shirt, letting his taut muscles breathe in the sweltering heat of the Miami air. You swallowed thickly, trying to prevent your gaze from trailing down.

Liam snatched the jacket from you, and you stood there like a fucking idiot in his presence. He got real close, muttering, “I don’t know what the fuck I did to piss you off, but you being a brat is getting really old,” His thick accent was doing something for you. Something somewhat disturbing. You hated that you were self aware of your own arousal right now. “So if you could just back off, because right now I’m really not-”

You crashed your lips against his, taking him by complete surprise. Liam stumbled back into his room, dragging you with. The door was shut behind you— Oh you were locked the fuck in.

“God— Fuck,” He grunted as your hands slid down his slides, toying with the waistband of his shorts. You had the urge to drop them right then. He pressed his tongue flat to the pulse of your neck before giving it a sloppy kiss. “Fuck, I love it when you touch me like this.”

His hands were everywhere. He pawed at your breasts, your hips, your waist, your face. He was so caught between trying to savor every last inch of your skin and pushing you away on instinct that his brain short circuited. Liam groaned curses into your ear, his voice tinged with repressed lust.

You were lifted into the air, firmly pressed against the door you just came through. You wrapped your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself, and your legs squeezed his waist. “Liam,” You tried to snap him out of it, but he was long gone.

He was fumbling around with his pants, having only one hand as the other muscular arm was too occupied with holding you up. You watched him free his strained cock, and your tongue darted out to lick your lips, which suddenly felt very dry.

“This is wrong,” He muttered, trying to get you out of those damn pants in such an awkward position. Taking pity on him, you shifted around to help him strip you down. It seemed he was too frustrated, and just lazily pushed your panties aside.

“So wrong,” You agreed. He lined himself up, but Liam froze. His gaze drifted up to you: lips slightly parted, brows furrowed, eyes dark. You combed a hand through his messy hair.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to do it myself.” If that wasn’t a good enough answer, you don’t know what would be. Liam nodded in a hurried manner, shoving the head through your soft folds. He grunted, pushing his nose into your neck to conceal his pathetic sounds and expressions.

Holy shit, you made him weak. He didn’t want to admit it, but this was on a whole other level. He stifled his sounds by latching onto your neck. He needed to be rough, and he wouldn’t dance around it. He needed it. He needed the way his hips pounded into you, and the way the room echoed with skin slapping skin and your pitiful cries.

“You’re the worst,” He grumbled into your ear, his voice a deep growl from the pit of his chest. “Always pushing me just a little too far,” His pace was relentless. “Pissing me off on purpose.”

“Clearly-” You choked out through gasped moans, your legs shaking and spasming with each thrust he forced you through. “Clearly you liked it,” Your nails scratched his back, digging into the skin. You would certainly leave marks.

“Shut. Up.” He punctuated each word with a harsh thrust, the sound a rather loud ‘PLAP.’ You winced with pleasure, burying your face in his neck.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled out, shooting strings of cum onto your thighs. With a much more tender hold, Liam set you down onto the sofa in his driver’s room. He may have hated your fucking guts, but he wasn’t a monster. Every girl deserved aftercare.

“Liam!” There was a sharp knock on the door, and you both scrambled to gather any clothes you lost. Your hair was disheveled, blouse slightly unbuttoned, and Liam’s shirt was backwards when your media manager suddenly walked in.

Her eyes widened at the sight of you two together, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. She blinked, standing frozen in the doorway. “Uhm.” She looked between the two of you, who were looking at anything but her. “I can come back another time.”

She shut the door, and the room plunged itself into silence.

“We never speak about this.” You mumbled awkwardly as you straightened your shirt out, buttoning it up at the top.

“Agreed.”

[loveharlow]

can u write a fic with jealous!jj ur blurb was soooo good

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : idk why i had this idea and i just thought it was so jj, not really a part two to the first jealous!jj blurb because they're together in this one

swearing (probably), jealous!jj, sexual innuendoes

You were sprawled across JJ's bed, phone in hand, a soft smile playing on your lips as your thumbs flew across the screen. Beside you, JJ was engrossed in his game, controller clutched tight. The only sounds filling the room were the simulated gunfire and his shouts at John B and Pope.

Once the current round ended, he glanced over, catching the gentle glow of your phone illuminating your face. He loved seeing you happy and smiling, but curiosity gnawed at him.

"...Who's got you all giggly?" he teased, though there was a hint of something else in his voice—something a little offended, shaky, and uncertain.

You glanced up at him for a moment before looking back down. "Oh, just Liam, the foreign exchange student," you replied casually. "He was confused about the group project, but I explained it to him. Now he's telling me about his family back home."

Liam. The name had been popping up in your conversations more frequently lately. He was the new kid at school, and you, being you, had naturally gravitated toward making him feel welcome, especially when you realized he was struggling to catch up. He was nice, a little awkward, and definitely harmless. But JJ didn't know that.

A silence stretched between you. You could feel JJ's gaze on you, heavier now. When you finally looked up, he wasn't starting another game. He'd even muted his mic. He was just watching you, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Has he made any other friends,like... besides you?" he asked, scratching his head. "You two talk a lot..."

You chuckled softly, setting your phone down. "I mean, I would hope so. I see him talking to other people sometimes." Sitting up, you crossed your legs and scooted closer to your boyfriend, running your fingers through his hair. "What's up, J? Why do you look like that?"

He sighed, setting the controller down beside him. "Nothin', it's just… every day it's 'Liam this, Liam that.' And you get all smiley, and it's like I become invisible to you..."

There it was. The subtle, adorable jealousy. It wasn't an accusation, just a quiet confession of his own insecurity. JJ Maybank, the fearless Pogue, a little bit possessive over you. It made your heart ache in the best way.

But it also made you frown. The last thing you'd ever want was to be a source of any kind of pain for JJ.

So, an idea sparked in your mind. Picking up your phone, you went to your conversation with Liam, scrolling all the way to the top as JJ stared, confused. Once you got to the very first message, you held the phone out in JJ's direction. "Read it," you urged, pushing the phone further toward him.

"I—I don't need to go through your phone, baby—"

"I know," you said simply. "I want you to."

A silence fell between you two. JJ trusted you, and you trusted him. He didn't want to feel like he was pressuring you or doubting you. But despite that, he took the phone from you, eyes scanning the messages.

They were harmless—introducing yourself, talking about meeting with the rest of the group for the project, answering his questions. It was nothing concerning.

But one thing did catch JJ's attention.

His name, mentioned multiple times throughout the text thread at random points.

You Hey Liam, you doing okay? I noticed you weren't talking that much today.

Liam Yes, I'm alright. Just a bit homesick. Thank you for asking.

You Oh, that sucks, I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?

Liam No, no, that's okay. I don't want to bother you.

You It's okay, you're not. I'm watching my boyfriend fix his bike, so better to distract myself before I try to jump his bones lmao

Liam Oh, you have a boyfriend? How long?

You I didn't tell you? That's odd, he's all I talk about lol. But his name's JJ, you've probably seen him around. We've been together for a little over 2 years.

Liam That's nice. It makes me miss mon amour back home in France. She sends me pictures and things everyday, but it's not the same... [1 Attachment] This is her, her name is Cami.

You Aw, she's beautiful! Hey, I'm pretty sure there's a program that help foreign exchange students reconnect with their families. They'll fly them out to you, I think, but there's probably some kind of criteria. I'll send you the link, though.

Liam Really? Dieu vous bénisse, Y/N!!

Something in JJ's heart swelled. He never truly doubted you or suspected anything, but seeing the way you talked about him—just because you wanted to talk about him—made him feel impossibly loved. You loved him, and you never failed to make sure everyone around you knew it.

You weren't all smiley because you were talking to Liam. You were all smiley because you were talking about him.

Dropping the phone on the mattress, JJ's hands took hold of your face and brought you in for a kiss, kissing you like he'd never have the chance to do it again. Lips slipped against one another, tongues dipping in between as you struggled to breathe.

When he finally pulled back, he had the dizziest grin on his face.

"I love you, munchkin."

You rolled your eyes, pushing him by the shoulder despite the sheepish smile on your face. "Stop calling me that," you scoffed, picking the device back up. "Come here," you urged, waving JJ over.

He obeyed, scooting close enough across the mattress so you could go behind him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, the phone in front of both of you as JJ tried to figure out what you were doing.

"Look at the camera, genius," you laughed, one hand gripping his chin and turning his face to look at the camera. You dipped down, placing a wet kiss against his cheek as he laughed, his face turning a dangerous shade of red just as the camera clicked. "There," you smiled, arms still over JJ's shoulders as he watched you send the picture to Liam, typing out a message underneath.

You [1 Attachment] This is JJ, my boyfriend I was telling you about.

"...You didn't have to do that," JJ said, though his heart was beating outside of his chest, one of his hands resting on your arm.

"I know," you smiled once more, planting a kiss to the side of his temple. "I wanted to. Whatever I can do to make you worry less."

JJ smiled to himself as he watched Liam's response come through.

Liam Ohhh, that guy? I was wondering why he'd glare at me when I passed him in the halls. I guess I know now lol. You two are cute. Tell him I said hey!

"See?" you told JJ, holding the phone up. "There's nothing to worry about." You assured, throwing the phone back on the bed as JJ turned to look at you. "I love you, Maybank. And if it makes you feel better, I have no problem talking to him less."

"...Thank you," JJ said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

"That's what I'm here for," you smiled brightly, pecking him on the lips. "Now, go back to the lobby! It's me and you time now, only us," you piped up, unwinding your arms from his shoulders and leaning half of your frame off the mattress to get your Nintendo Switch that had fallen off the bed.

With your ass in the air, JJ took the opportunity to squeeze it — you immediately popped back up and swatted his hand away. "Stop that, unless you plan on doing something about the problem it always causes," you glared playfully at him.

"Hey, you know I'm always up for it."

You scoffed, powering on the device in your hands. "I'm aware, hornball," you smiled, leaning back against his pillows. "You can turn me every way but loose after we run 2v2s with Pope and John B. We have to redeem ourselves from last time," you declared. "Invite me, blondie."

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

©loveharlow

[disneyprincemuke]

you can't spell lonesome without me * fem!driver

everyone and everything she's ever loved seems to be slipping away from her grasp and she doesn't know how to stop it

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, liam lawson x fem!driver

notes: hi! matt and rocky angst comes after this so hehe gl with this guyz hope u enjoy it because it actually took 20 years of my life tryna write this LOL

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

sebastian keeps telling her that it’s not her fault; to look at the bigger picture to get some perspective. but she doesn’t quite understand why the bigger picture has to have liam in it — frankly, who cares if liam’s qualified 15th and she ended up behind him? that’s not the point.

the point is she finds herself at another weekend where she couldn’t deliver results.

she hasn’t spoken much since she crawled out of her car after getting knocked out in the first round of qualifying. and she appreciates that matt hasn’t forced anything out of her just yet.

she’d stormed out of her garage and tried to get through all her interviews as gracefully as she could. but how could she ignore her results when, week after week, the questions and criticisms are the same?

it’s slowly getting harder and harder to keep her feet on the ground when things are slowly coming undone around her.

and she can’t thank matt enough for letting her cancel their plans without another word. she’d simply uttered that she just wanted to be locked away in their hotel room and he agreed without prodding too much.

she steps out of her racing home, taken aback by the 4 other bodies of her friends that are riddled by the porch, all on their phones. she tilts her head as she holds the door in her hands. “what are you guys doing here?”

logan is the first to look up, furrowed eyebrows and lips pursed in what she can only assume to be out of annoyance. “what do you mean? we’re heading out for ice cream tonight.”

she glances at matt next to her, who’s already looking at her as he awaits her response. she sighs as she looks back at her friends. “i’m sorry, mate,” she apologises, shaking her head. she weaves herself out of matt’s grasp and takes a step forward. “i’m not feeling great tonight.”

“what?” oscar whines, lifting his head from his phone with a slight frown. “is it a fever? are you alright?”

“i’m alright.” she smiles very slightly, picking on her arm as she forces another lie to her lips. “we can go tomorrow after the race, but just not tonight, i think. i’m sorry.”

liam furrows his eyebrows with a loud sigh. “is it because of qualifying?” he grins when she looks over at him. “if it’s any consolation, i’m not happy about it either, mate.”

she laughs softly. “yeah, it sucks.”

“i can’t do tomorrow. my flight’s right after the race,” mick frowns with a sigh. “i’m meeting laila for a bit before the next race weekend.”

“oh,” logan hums, turning away from mick to look at her. “we can go just us, right?”

“i can’t either,” oscar hisses, his frown growing. “i’m flying back home for an event that lily has. she needs me there.”

“ah,” she grins with a nod. she looks at logan. “we don’t have to get ice cream this weekend. it’s okay.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “you’re sure?”

she nods. “i’m sure.”

“it feels like it’s been so difficult to get a grasp of you lately. have you gotten too famous for me?”

she turns around with her head tilted, lips puckered as she takes a sip out of the pepsi can in her arms. “oh, hi max!”

“hi!” max perks up at her smile. “i’ve barely spoken to you since the second race. how are you?”

she sucks in a deep breath as she looks around the busy paddocks, people turning their heads at her and max, and some cowering away immediately when she catches their eye. she looks back at max with a frank smile. “good.”

he lifts an eyebrow. “really?”

she knows that talking to someone would probably ease her mind with all her thoughts. it might even calm her down to a certain degree.

and she almost does.

but she doesn’t. instead, she says, “of course. i feel great, even.”

“well,” max puts a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to snap her head up to look at him, “take my advice, mate. don’t be too hard on yourself.”

but the question still begs: how exactly does she not do that?

there’s a slight scowl on her face as she looks up at the podium. her arms are folded over her chest as the australian national anthem blasts from the speakers.

her best friends have made it on the podium this season — without her. while it’s not totally unheard of that she misses out on the share of glory, it’s never usually her on the receiving end of this torment.

at least not as of late.

to oscar’s left is logan clad in blue, and to his right is mick in the mercedes suit. it’s almost annoying.

there’s an itch in her brain and a smidge of resentment starting to grow in her chest. it’s wrong to feel this way — she knows it is — because these are her friends achieving big things in their sport. but is it so wrong that she’s starting to feel a little jealous?

just a little bit. just a little. just a touch.

maybe if she sleeps this off and wakes up tomorrow, all remnants of resentment would somehow no longer exist.

she shouldn’t feel this way, no. it’s not right. she forces a smile to her face, waving halfheartedly at oscar when he catches her eye. he pumps his fist into the air and waves his trophy in the air.

next to her is lily with her phone up, pictures and videos taken. and of course, ylona’s next to her, waving excitedly at logan as she points at her phone to get him to pose for a picture.

she presses her lips together, annoyance growing in her gut as her airways start to close in on itself. it’s just so hard to breathe especially with everyone pressed up against her. she’s still sweaty from the race, her hair is sticking against her forehead and her race suit starts to feel just slightly restricting.

she huffs softly, hooking a finger into the neckline of her fireproofs.

but everything feels like it’s burning.

“excuse me,” she mutters, dropping her head low as she pushes herself through the crowd. she ignores the way lily and ylona call after her in confusion.

she heaves when she manages to rid herself of the crowd, hands on her knees as she struggles to catch her breath. she catches max’s eye right by parc ferme, engaged in a conversation with charles.

she sees the way he perks up in concern at her but chooses to ignore it. she just picks herself up and heads to the media pen to do her interviews.

the feeling will eventually leave.

she looks around the ice cream parlour, slouched slightly with her hands pressed between the cushion of the seat and her thighs. in retrospect, it felt like coming out after media day would have been the ideal time to come out and indulge in ice cream.

but now that she’s sat here, stuck between liam and mick in a booth, it seems that she has made a mistake.

“what are you having, rocky?” logan asks, tapping the table in front of her to catch her attention. “rocky road with extra marshmallows still? or do you feel like vanilla ice cream today?”

with the way her stomach has been churning recently, any form of chocolate makes her feel sick. she shakes her head. “maybe just a lemon sorbet if they have that available.”

an audible gasp comes from either side of her. she throws her head back and looks between them. liam has the back of his hand pressed up against her forehead, mick’s tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows and logan’s staring down at her with parted lips.

“what are you guys doing?” she asks mellowly, swatting their hands away from her. “don’t touch me.”

“sorbet?” liam scowls, pointing a finger at her. “is everything okay? you’re like sorbets’ number one hater.”

she raises her eyebrows and chews on the inside of her cheeks. “am i?”

“yes,” logan emphasises. “you literally told me off one time for having sorbet during our ice cream dates. you and oscar wouldn’t let me live it down for weeks!”

she blinks at him. “you got a raspberry sorbet, so you had that coming.”

“no!” logan shrieks. “sorbet? really? what’s wrong with you? is everything okay? you always say sorbets are inferior to ice cream.”

she nods hesitantly. she vaguely remembers the one time that she’d gone on a drunk tangent about sorbet not being ice cream. to which she can say that she understands logan’s argument. “well, i’m not really feeling ice cream today.”

mick hums, making her turn her head to look at him. “if it’s just this one time, i guess we can excuse the behaviour.”

she hears logan humming, eyes still narrowed down into a glare. “just this one time, rocky. i’ll give you a chance.”

“great, thanks. i was worried you’d bully me into having ice cream tonight.”

“keep up the sarcasm and i’ll actually force you.”

she flinches when she opens the door to her driver’s room, only to find it occupied. she blinks. “seriously, you’ve got to stop taking advantage of seb.”

“we missed you,” oscar grins, comfortably lying in her bean bag, tapping away on his phone. “and you weren’t answering our texts in the group chat.”

she looks over at matt and points at her friends. “really? you let them in?”

the green-eyed boy shrugs, lips pressed together. “4 versus 1 argument — remember that.”

there’s nothing that she wanted all day but to come back to a peaceful and silent driver’s room. she’d wanted to simply sit with matt in silence before she had to get up and drag her feet to a conference room and come up with diplomatic answers on the spot.

she just needed a couple of hours to herself to think and recuperate. to get herself in a better headspace after these past couple of races.

“where are we heading for ice cream tonight?” logan raises an eyebrow, not sparing her a look as he continues to tap away on his phone.

“ice cream,” she mutters, trailing off as she blinks. “oh, my god.”

she shakes her head, her palm pressed against her forehead. amidst everything that’s been in her head, she’d completely forgotten to research an ice cream parlour for them to visit tonight.

oscar chuckles. “you’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

“yes,” she answers, somewhat apologetically. “i’m so sorry. and i’m busy today, i don’t have the time. can either of you find a place?”

but there’s a different answer that she hopes they would choose instead of the standard answer that they’d give her.

she finds them wanting to say nevermind; that they’ll just not grab ice cream together.

to her dismay, that’s not what mick says. “oo, can i choose?”

“give it a while, kid.”

“i don’t have a while!” she shrieks, looking around at her mobile car, cars passing her from the track. she can practically hear the comments and see the headlines once she steps out of the car when the race finishes. “tell them to fucking get it together! what the fuck is going on?”

she’s looking around wide-eyed, desperate to meet anyone’s eye for an explanation. the longer she stays parked in the pit, for what was supposed to be a pit stop, the less threshold she has to stay in the race.

“this is absolutely insane, seb. i was in p5 before this shit show.”

“rocky,” he hears her sigh into her ears, “just be patient.”

she dug her foot into the acceleration when the sign flipped to the bright green colour. adrenaline pumps through her veins as she convinces herself that her car will be good enough to put her back into a good spot.

that she’s good enough to put herself in a position where she’s no longer on the receiving end of harsh words this weekend.

above all else, she needs to prove to herself that she hasn’t lost her touch as a driver.

“you’re currently in p9.”

“what the hell happened during that pit?” she complains, the urge to roll her eyes growing stronger. “that was so fucked up, seb! you know what– it isn’t. it’s absolutely fucking unacceptable.”

“i know, rocky,” seb answers calmly, clearing his intonation to ensure that the young girl hears him. and actually listens because it doesn’t seem like she’s absorbing much of what he says. “we’ll debrief later after the race, okay? just focus on making the most out of the weekend.”

she grunts. “fine, whatever.”

“ice cream tonight?” logan pops up next to her, grinning when she lifts her head from her intense gaze on her shoe. “found a spot?”

she sighs, blinking. “no. i forgot.”

logan takes a spot next to her on the couch, furrowing his eyebrows. “you forgot again?”

“yeah,” she huffs as she looks away to avoid his gaze. “sorry.”

truth is that she didn’t look for one on purpose. she just simply doesn’t feel like heading out with them tonight.

she just waits for the time that oscar and logan will let her be. perhaps the stupid ice cream tradition needed to be abolished altogether. just seems like a waste of time.

“no worries,” logan grins, patting her head gently. “you’ve had a long couple of race weekends past you. i’ll look for one, okay?”

she breathes out shakily, smiling halfheartedly. “okay, thank you.”

she finds herself dreading the ice cream date with her friends. she trails behind the group with small steps, watching her feet with every step as she formulates a way to escape her obligations.

she clears her throat and lifts her head. “um.”

“she’s spoken,” oscar jokes, grabbing logan’s arms — previously hitting him — and turns back to grin at her. “the curse must have been broken.”

“someone found the unmute button on the remote!” logan giggles, scrunching his nose. “what’s up, rocky?”

liam hums with a smile. “your girlfriend remembered she has friends!” he looks over at matt and nods. “good for her.”

“i’m like,” she trails off, biting down on her lip as she forces another lie out, “totally not feeling great. i’m on my period and i’m kind of lightheaded. is it alright if i sit this one out?”

“aw, bub,” matt coos, shoving liam off of him, arms extended as he approaches her. he tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. “you’re on your period?”

she looks up at matt, wide-eyed as she slowly nods. “just got it before we left my room.”

which is a lie.

“aw, does that mean matt’s not coming with us?” mick frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “i haven’t spent time with him forever, that’s so unfair.”

she shakes her head, flashing mick a small grin. “no, it totally doesn’t mean that. he can go with you guys — i just wanna head back to the hotel and take a nap, really. i’ll be okay on my own.”

matt hums. “i’ll go with you.”

“you should go with them,” she laughs, grabbing his arm with a small nod. “i’ll text you when i’m back, i promise. i’ll be okay — i just need to take a nap, i reckon.”

logan furrows his eyebrows and his smile drops at her insistence. “i can walk you back to the hotel if you want.”

she shakes her head. “i’ll be okay. you guys have fun, okay?”

she kneels on her beanbag, lips pressed together as she looks out of the tiny window of her driver’s room. right by the porch of her racing home are her friends gathered, laughing and having a good time as they awaited her arrival.

“bub,” matt sighs. “are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?”

she turns around with a small smile, scrunching her nose. “i’ll be okay, bub. i’m just not really feeling like heading to the club tonight.”

he walks over to her, slumping his shoulders as she leans into his body for a hug. “at least let me stay with you? i don’t like you being alone when i’m around. i’m sure we can come up with some silly excuse that they won’t giggle at like 12-year-olds.”

“you have to go,” she hums, pulling her head back to look up at him, “it’s logan’s race win — just go in my place, please? tell him i’m really sorry i can’t be there.”

he hums, cupping her cheek. she leans into his touch with a soft sigh and her eyes fluttering close. “you should tell him that yourself. you owe him that much; he’s your best friend.”

she shakes her head, her hand coming up to rest above the hand that’s on her face. “i can’t,” she chokes, tears filling her eyes, “you know how i feel about this. just do this one for me, bub.”

“fine,” he sighs, hunching over to press his lips to her forehead. “but you can’t keep avoiding logan and oscar and throwing me out there to face them. they miss you, you know?”

she can hear logan’s laugh in the air mixed with ylona’s. she grins slightly, “i’m sure they’ve got better things to care about other than me.”

“don’t even say that,” he pulls away, “text me when you get back to the hotel, okay? i love you.”

she scratches the back of her head roughly, nails digging into her scalp as she holds her helmet in her hands.

she mutters under her breath as she tears everything off from her body: her balaclava, her gloves, the earpiece. everything’s not right, everything’s not going her way and that’s unfair.

nobody’s worked as hard as she has to be where she is right now is all that goes in her head. it’s unfair that she’s getting the brunt of the criticism when it came to andretti’s performance on the grid this year.

she doesn’t see liam getting decimated by the masses, and she clearly doesn’t see it on sebastian or her team principal or mechanics for not producing a car to get results in a weekend.

she’s qualified at the very back of the grid this time — p19. just imagine what everyone will have to say; what everyone will zoom into just to have something to say about her driving.

it’s always her skills, never the fact that the car is simply shit.

“rocky,” she hears sebastian sigh behind her. “let’s talk.”

she shakes her head, clenching her jaw as she heads towards the exit of her garage. she doesn’t bother turning around to look at him. “just fuck off.”

the one thing she wishes to stop coming by is sebastian’s excuses for the team. it’s the same thing over and over again. it’s unfair that she’s the one getting fucked over by the media.

it’s not fair.

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[leclsrc]

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff 

word count: 13.1k  

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily. 

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back. 

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course. 

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room. 

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind. 

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.” 

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything. 

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip. 

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated. 

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.” 

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.” 

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?” 

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing. 

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So. 

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers. 

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging. 

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused. 

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?” 

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft. 

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them. 

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans. 

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused. 

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway. 

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.” 

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go. 

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him. 

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one. 

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after  you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly. 

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake. 

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it. 

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.” 

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.” 

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him. 

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes. 

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

Double Babysitter - Hozier x fem! reader

Summary: You and Andrew end up with the tough task of babysitting your friend's child together.

Word Count: 6,325

Author’s Note: hi hi hi!!!! this is my first real fanfic, i’ve written little things here or there but this is the only full fic i’ve written. shoutout to the wonderful @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading this, im so grateful for u! this is based on the Bluey episode Double Babysitter, it's not required watching but if you want to watch it to understand the fic better you can. i hope you enjoy!!!

ALSO: I do not know Hozier in real life, nor do i claim to. This is a fictionalized (ish) version of him. All other characters featured are fictional. Now, enjoy!

fic under the cut <3

Andrew was always vaguely aware of the fact that he was getting older. He had spotted the occasional gray patch in his stubble, noticed a faint wrinkle somewhere on his face. He even felt his back ache every now and again, but he had always brushed it off.

It wasn't until he had been asked by an old friend from college to babysit his daughter that he can say he actually felt old.

Of course, he wasn't complaining. He had met the young girl only a few times, but to say she held a special place in his heart would be an understatement. He had just finished up the last leg of his tour, so he had all the time in the world back at home. And he did owe Liam and Quinn, her parents, a favor. They deserved to have a night out just the two of them; watching their daughter was the least he could do.

He took this responsibility very seriously. He was even on time, arriving at 6pm on the dot, as instructed (given, it was only because he told himself he had to be there at 5:30).

He walked up to their doorstep, gave their door a few light knocks, and stepped back. It took a moment, but he could hear his friend’s voice call for Quinn through the door before watching it unlock. Liam opened the door with a puzzled expression that had Andrew wondering if he somehow showed up on the wrong day.

“Andrew, you're here… on time? Are you feeling okay?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” He replied sarcastically, accompanied by an eye roll. They greeted each other, Liam widened the door, and Andrew stepped inside.

“Honey, the babysitter’s here!” Liam shouted up the staircase. Quinn quickly emerged with open arms and gave Andrew a quick squeeze once she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Andrew! It's great to see you. How long has it been?” She asked.

“About… six months, I’d say. The week before I left for the States.”

“That's much too long. We need to actually go out sometime soon.”

They spent a few minutes standing around and catching up, swapping stories about their jobs (including a concert story or two). It gave Andrew a moment to appreciate these smaller, mundane moments that seemed to slowly be becoming a rarity. He was mid-sentence when he was caught off guard by the pitter-patter of small footsteps rushing towards him.

“Uncle Andy!” He glanced down, finding a little girl already latched on to his leg; Katie, the reason he’d been asked to babysit. He reached down to pat her head, ruffling the little one’s hair.

“Hey there, lass! How are you?”

A muffled noise that sounded something like ‘I’m good’ came from the girl as she buried her face in his leg.

His sentence was cut off at the sound of another knock at the door.

“That's odd. I don't think I’m expecting anyone-” Quinn started, interrupted by Liam opening the door to find you standing on their front step. You didn’t even notice the surprised looks on everyone’s faces as you entered, blindsided by your excitement.

“Hey,” you said, giving Liam a side hug before moving on to Quinn and doing the same. Katie let go of Andrew’s leg and rushed over to you, joyfully screaming your name. A wide grin grew on your face at the sight of her, and Andrew couldn’t help but notice how beautiful your smile was. He immediately snapped himself out of it once he realized he had no idea who you were, let alone what you were even doing here.

“Hi, Katie Cat!” you exclaimed. He watched as you pulled her into an embrace, not noticing his presence until you pulled away. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, smile fading in awe.

“Y/N, this is my Uncle Andy,” Katie explained as she held on to your hand, quickly dragging you towards him until there was maybe a foot between you two before pointing upwards. A thought flashed across Andrew’s mind: Is this five-year-old playing matchmaker?

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Have you met my friend Andrew before?” Liam asked.

“You do seem familiar. Didn’t you get drunk and sing Take Me To Church at the wedding?”

“Probably.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, I am so sorry. I think I double-booked myself and accidentally asked both of you to watch Katie,” Quinn admitted. “Again, so sorry. My head’s been all over the place today.”

“It’s alright. He got here first. I’ll just go, then. Leave you to it,” you decided, admittedly a little disappointed but understanding the whole scenario. You took a step back, turning to go before a small hand grabbed yours, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don't go! You can both stay.” Katie begged, puppy dog eyes in full effect. It's like she knew exactly how to tug on your heartstrings, because after that you were willing to stay for as long as she wanted. But you still needed permission.

“I mean, as long as it's okay with… Uncle Andy.”

Andrew gave you a nod, perhaps a bit too quickly. He couldn't tell if it was because he already knew he was going to need help with this, or because he simply wanted to be in your company. Either way, both were true.

“Two babysitters it is.” He conceded.

“Hooray!” She yelled, latching herself onto your leg as she had done to Andrew's just moments before. You looked down at her, a warm smile returning to your face, before looking back up at him. All three of you could tell this was going to be… an interesting night, to say the least.

Before they left, Liam and Quinn had given you two very lenient instructions. All you had to do was put Katie to bed by 8:30 and watch the house until they got home around 10. Everything else was fair game. Easy enough of a job for two grown adults. However, the way that your night started at their kitchen table made you wonder if perhaps their rules were too permissive.

You were sat across from each other, you and Andrew on the same side, Katie on the other. It oddly felt like you were being interrogated by this small child. Which, after offering a game of 20 questions so you could get to know each other better, wasn't exactly far off from reality.

“Why do I feel like she's going to ask me why I was at the scene of the crime?” he asked you in a whisper, leaning towards you. Andrew swore he could feel his heart skip a beat as you chuckled at his remark, and he was relieved as you revealed you felt the same.

“The real question is, is she Good Cop or Bad Cop?” You replied in the same hushed tone.

“Oh, bad cop. I’ve done this with her before, and when she wants to know something she’ll badger you until she gets an answer.”

“Perfect. She can be my lawyer in about twenty years.”

That elicited a laugh out of Andrew, a small chuckle that caught Katie’s attention.

“What's funny?” She asked, genuinely feeling like she missed out on your conversation.

“It's nothing.” You changed the subject to convince her it was inconsequential. “Why don't we get started? Ask us anything,” you instructed, regretting the words as soon as they left your mouth, mostly because of the next words that came out of Katie’s.

“Why don't you have a wife?” She turned to Andrew, whose mouth was now agape. Your own eyes had widened, shocked by the boldness of her first question before remembering she is a little girl that hadn't yet developed a filter.

“You haven't seen me in a while. How do you know I don't?” He retorted, a lazy attempt at deflecting the question.

“Do you have a wife?”

“Well, no…”

“Then why don't you have a wife?”

“Ehm… I think it's her turn.” He tilted his head in your direction. Katie agreed with a nod and thought for a beat. Once she formulated her question, her attention turned to you.

"How many friends do you have?”

“God, I don't know… four? Five?”

“That's not a lot. Why do you only have five friends?”

“Good question… back to him!”

Katie turned.

“How come I don’t see you often?”

“Because usually I’m on tour.”

“Is that why you don’t have a wife?”

“Huh. Maybe.”

“Do you want to get married?”

“Yes,” you both said. You exchanged a glance, surprised you both had the same answer. The girl across the table was oblivious to this small moment you shared, and immediately went back to her questioning.

“Will Tommy be the husband?” Katie leaned across the table, an excited gleam in her eye.

Tommy. Your ex. Last time Katie had seen you, you two were in love, almost madly. However, a lot can happen in four months, and you found yourself having to explain a breakup (a particularly messy one, at that) to this naive girl. You let out a sigh.

“No. Me and Thomas… we aren't really friends anymore”

“But you said he was your true love.”

“Not anymore! Next question. Please.”

“True love is forever. Is true love not forever?”

“It is! It is.”

“Then how come you and Tommy aren't friends?”

“Well, Tommy — Thomas,” you corrected yourself before continuing, your words stunted, “and I weren't as good together as we thought. It took longer than it should've to realize, but we couldn't work. Kind of like when you’re doing a puzzle, and it looks like two pieces fit, but when you try to put them together, they don't.”

It was like you could watch the gears turn in Katie’s little head; she was trying as hard as she could to imagine your comparison. Meanwhile, Andrew was watching you as you thought, mentally praising you for not only putting into words something obviously painful for you, but explaining in terms a kid could understand. Despite the supposed ‘way with words’ he had, he knew it would take him several tries and multiple rough drafts to do the same. He let you continue, his eyes never leaving your face.

“It’s just sometimes, you think someone is your true love, when actually they’re not. Sometimes some things aren't meant to be. And that’s okay. No matter how sad it makes the both of you afterwards, or how upset you get…”

Your sentence trailed off, your throat closing up with that all-too-familiar feeling you recognized immediately. All of this had happened months ago; the breakup between you and Thomas had devastated you of course, but you had recovered. But having to explain the complicated events between you two in such a straightforward way, to put all the emotions you felt into simple terms, made it all seem real. And it only made those feelings resurface.

Andrew could tell something was off. He, of course, had no idea about this past relationship, and frankly, it was none of his business. What was his business, however, was how you looked like you were about to cry, how he could see the tears in your eyes welling up. He wasn't about to let you shed a tear over this. So, he attempted a diversion.

“Alright, I think we're done playing 20 questions. How about a movie?” He stood up, a feigned smile on his face. Your eyes lit up at his suggestion and you stood up after him, following suit.

“You know what? Good idea. Katie, why don’t you go find something to watch with Andrew and I’ll make popcorn, get some snacks ready?”

For a moment you worried she wouldn’t comply and more innocently personal questions would be coming your way. However, Katie didn't seem to mind this interjection, immediately agreeing and hurrying over to the living room to find the TV remote.

You both watched as she scurried away before looking back at each other eyes meeting for the first time that night. A few seconds were spent just staring into his eyes, noticing how very green they were. This captivation distracted you from the awkward silence that filled the air between you. You broke eye contact first, stepping around your chair and pushing it in. You walked into the kitchen, the footsteps you heard behind you letting you know he followed you. You didn't speak until you knew Katie would be out of earshot.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.

“No problem. I completely get it.”

“Jesus, my first babysitting gig and I almost cried. At this rate, I’ll have to go back to selling lemonade to make ends meet.”

He let out a laugh, and the sight of it made a smile tug at the corner of your lips, though you couldn't shake the feeling you looked a bit… pathetic.

“ You probably think I’m a loser, huh?”

“No! No, absolutely not. Love, breakups, endings … dealing with that stuff isn't easy. If I thought it was, I wouldn't write songs on the matter for a living. Having to explain it to a kid without crushing her dreams is even harder. If anything, I commend you for it.”

For a reason you couldn't immediately explain, his praise actually managed lighten your mood, to the point where you had to suppress the urge to grin from ear to ear.

“What is it?” Andrew asked, as if to tell you your smile hadn't gone unnoticed.

“That was… just really nice of you to say.”

“I mean, it's true.”

The room filled with silence for a moment before you broke it.

“Do you think we could just forget that the whole thing ever happened and get on with the night?”

“Absolutely. It's forgotten,” he agreed, borderline erasing it from his memory as soon as you asked. His attention shifted as he yelled into the other room.

“Katie, have you ever seen The Princess Bride?”

Andrew went off into the living room, following Katie, and a smile grew on your face as you looked through the pantry for microwave popcorn.

It took a solid ten minutes of searching due to the plethora of streaming services Liam and Quinn had, but you finally found The Princess Bride. Katie brought down some blankets from her room in the meantime. Given, because they came from a six-year-old’s bedroom, they were patterned with Disney characters and unicorns, but they were comfortable all the same. You sat on opposite sides of the couch, a bowl of popcorn equidistant between the both of you, and for a reason only her little brain could rationalize, Katie was sitting on the floor.

You looked at the screen in awe like it was your first time watching, when in actuality you’d seen the movie more times than you could count. You mouthed the words of the most famous lines, almost subconsciously, as to not disturb the little one’s first viewing experience. Of course, you also snuck a few glances at Andrew when the screen held less of your attention. Okay, maybe more than a few glances. It was the first time that night you both could actually relax, and you took the moment to size him up. His hair, which was up in a man-bun at the beginning of the night, had since been let down, brown curls now loosely framing his face. He wore a white sweatshirt and black jeans. On his feet were white Converse that were clearly well-loved, to say the least. Despite how casual it all was, he really pulled it off. It almost made you wish you could raid his closet, see what other unexpectedly stylish clothes he had in his possession, maybe steal a sweater on the way out.

Oddly enough, it felt natural, being this comfortable on opposite sides of the couch with a man that might as well be a stranger. It’s almost like you wouldn’t mind if this was your house, your television, your kid-

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the clapping you heard from Katie’s spot on the floor as the credits rolled.

“So what did you think?” Andrew asked. Katie’s gaze broke from the screen to look at him.

“I wanna watch it again!”

“You can watch it again another time with mum and dad.”

“I want to watch it now!”

“Katie, the movie’s over, and it's 8 at night. Get upstairs, put on your pajamas, and brush your teeth.” He scolded as he got up from his spot on the couch. He bent down, resting his hands on his knees.

“I said I wanna watch it again!”

“It's getting late, you have to get ready for-”

“Again! Again! Again!” She stomped. You knew she was bound to have a tantrum any second now. Something that, judging by the concerned on his face, Andrew had no idea how to handle. It seemed like it was your turn to come to the rescue.

You got up from your seat, walking over to Andrew to stand by his side (figuratively and literally).

“Could you help me out here?” He asked, his frustration with her slowly growing.

“Watch and learn.”

You turned to Katie and crouched down to be on her level.

“Do you want to play a game?”

She didn't give a verbal answer, but based on her frown immediately disappearing and her head nodding so rapidly you thought it might fall off, you could assume what she would say. You thought for a moment before continuing.

“All you have to do to play is go upstairs and do everything you would usually do right before you go to bed. I’m going to set a timer, and if you’ve done everything and you're in bed before the timer, you win. Got the rules?”

“Yep!” She squeaked, her excitement evident.

“Alright. Ready… set… go!”

She quickly ran out of the living room and up the stairs, leaving the two of you left stunned for a moment. You both got up from your crouching, and you craned your neck upward to be met with, to your surprise, a look of amazement from Andrew.

“I swear, you must be magic.”

You deflected his praise almost immediately.

“Please, I’m not even close to being magic. I just know that kids will do anything if you turn it into a game.”

“Which is a level of sorcery that I can only wish to achieve!”

“If we end up babysitting again, you can always become my apprentice.”

“Offering a second date already?”

You knew he was teasing, but the romantic suggestion was enough to make your heart pound in your chest. You responded the only way you knew how.

“Shut up…”

You bantered and talked, taking advantage of the very little time you had to try and get to know each other (past the deep secrets you already knew from Katie’s questions). Your conversation immediately felt as if you knew each other for years, not hours. There was almost a click to it; the back and forth between the two of you happened easily, naturally. But, like all things, it couldn't last forever. After about ten minutes, a small voice yelled from up the stairs:

“I’m done!”

“We’ve been summoned.” Andrew stated.

He started walking towards the staircase, and nodded his head to tell you to come along. You caught up to him with no hesitation.

Andrew opened the door to Katie’s room and took a look around. It was as messy as one expects a five-year-old’s bedroom to be. Toys, anything from fake jewelry to Barbies, were scattered across the floor. Her drawings, mostly scribbles of rainbows and cartoons and her family, hung on her wall. Stuffed animals and fuzzy blankets were contained in a chest in the foot of her bed. After a moment, he held the door wider, giving you room to walk inside. You thanked him and walked over to the side of Katie's bed. A bit unsure of what to do, Andrew stood behind you as you talked to Katie.

“Hey, you tricked me!”

“Yeah, I did. But now that you're all ready for bed and tucked in, aren't you tired?”

“I guess,” she started, a yawn interrupting her thought, “I am.”

“Then it's time for you to go to bed. Good night Katie Cat.”

You leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead before Katie let out a yelp.

“Wait! I can’t go to bed yet. I need a story.” She whined. “Mum and dad tell me a story every night before bed. I can't sleep without it.”

“What do you want it to be about?”

“Can it be about a princess? Like the movie?”

“Sure. Well, there was-”

“It needs to start with ‘once upon a time’.”

“Does it really have to?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then,” you conceded, knowing as much as you wanted to protest, she wouldn't let it go.“Once upon a time, there was a princess… that was trapped in a tower… guarded by a dragon.”

“Wow, that’s never been done before,” you heard him whisper behind you. You looked over your shoulder and shot him a small look of disapproval.

“Well, to her it's original. Just go with it,” you chided before continuing.

“As I was saying, there was a princess trapped in a tower. And there was a prince,” you turned behind you again, mouthing ‘that's you’ to the man behind you, “that was trying to rescue her.”

“Can I be the dragon?” Katie asked eagerly.

“Whatever you want, dear.” You replied, giving her approval. Katie let out a roar and, shockingly, Andrew got into character, already miming holding a sword and shield.

“Hello, Ms. Dragon. Listen, I have to slay you. I’m not happy about it either. It's the only way to save the princess.”

He gave you a quick glance, one you would've missed if you had blinked in the wrong moment. He returned his focus to ‘the dragon’.

“I usually am a pacifist, so I truly hate to do this, but I must…”

He faked a lunge towards her and began to tickle her, making both of them double over in laughter. You attempted to engrave the memory into your mind in fear that you would never experience a moment as heartwarming as this one again. He gave up after thirty seconds, standing up again.

“And just like that, the dragon was defeated!” You announced.

“Now the princess needs to marry the prince!” Katie yelled, almost commanded.

“What?” Andrew asked, more confused than opposed. Katie only gave him a disapproving look, which was enough to make him comply.

He knelt down on one knee and scoured the ground for something that had caught his eye before: a toy ring. He snatched it off her messy floor and held it towards you in an extended hand.

“Princess, I have rescued you from the dragon. Now, should you say yes, I would like to have you as my wife.”

This wasn't necessarily the most romantic moment of your life, but for some reason, it definitely made the list. A fact that was a bit pitiful, sure, but still very true. Which was exactly why you- technically, the princess- needed to take the story in an alternate direction. It was a personal way to protect your ego.

“And the princess said… no thanks.” Surely that would save your self-esteem from his imaginary judgment. To your surprise, it did the opposite. His brows furrowed in confusion, and his smile dropped.

“What? Why wouldn't the princess want to marry the prince?” He asked, trying to give you a look as if to tell you to just go with it. You, of course, got the message, but decided to lean more into your own narrative.

“She didn’t like the look of him.” Lie. But one that kept the girl entertained, her laughs growing louder.

“Why not?” Andrew couldn’t help but feel just a little offended, even though he knew everything you were saying was intended lightheartedly, the real purpose being to entertain the girl.

“Well, he was a bit lanky, for starts.”

“That’s not exactly something the prince can control. You have to cut him some slack there.”

“And his hair was better than hers! It was beautiful. All long and curly and fluffy. The princess simply wasn’t having it.”

“Wait, you think my hair is-.”

“And to top it all off, he was tall! Very tall. She’d have to go on her tiptoes just to kiss him, which, honestly Katie, gets very inconvenient.”

Andrew was about to counter, the words on the tip of his tongue, but stopped himself upon hearing the fits of giggles escaping Katie. He decided to let the moment be, taking in both your and Katie’s smiles from this new perspective.

You turned, your face showing your feigned contemplation. For a brief moment, you enjoyed the fact this might be the only time you'll be taller than him. A sigh escaped your lips and your eyes rolled, but you couldn't hide the smile on your face.

“I guess the princess could try and give the prince a chance.”

He looked back up at you, giving you a sheepish grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He took your hand and carefully placed the ring on your finger, as gentle as he would be if it was made of diamond and not plastic. His calloused fingers wrapped around your hand, undoubtedly hardened by all the guitar he’d played over the years. The feeling of his hands on yours, him looking up at you, the way his eyes were staring into yours with such admiration, it all almost felt like a real proposal. Not one that came after slaying a dragon, but after years of knowing and loving each other. One that came before celebratory kisses and preparing for a wedding. One that made your heart stir and your mind wander, only stopped when you heard him mutter something.

“You kinda have to finish the story.”

Right. The story. His words snapped you out of your deep thought, and you blinked a few times as you focused back on reality and not what you’d made up in your head about the man you'd only known for about two hours. The gorgeous, tall, kind, funny man you had only known for two hours. You cleared your throat.

“So, the princess finally said yes to him. And then they got married and they all lived happily ever after!”

You took a bow, as if you had just finished up a broadway worthy performance. Andrew, however, stayed in his spot on the floor still kneeling, something you only noticed when you looked up to smile at him to find empty space where you expected his head to be. You looked down at him and whispered.

“You can get up now, you know.”

“Oh. Right.”

He got up and did his own small bow before making an announcement.

“Alright, story’s over. Time to go to sleep.”

Though she had enjoyed it, by the end of your story (performance?) Katie's eyes were already drooping, so she had no more hostility towards going to bed. You walked over and stood on the left side of her bed, Andrew on the right.

“Goodnight, Katie-Cat. Sweet dreams.” You said softly before placing a small kiss on her forehead. He quickly did the same, placing a kiss on her forehead as well.

“Goodnight, Katie. Sleep well.”

He paused for a moment before adding on something you hadn't expected.

“I love you.”

As if your heart couldn't melt any more.

“Love you too, Uncle Andy.” She mumbled before making herself comfortable, snuggling up under her blanket; it was almost a signal for you to leave the room. You both obeyed, walking towards her door frame. You flipped the light switch, leaving the room in darkness, and closed her door behind you both.

You hated to admit it, but a smile grew on both of your faces.

Unsure of how to celebrate (a handshake was too formal, a high-five was too loud), after an awkward rotation of gestures, you settled on a fist bump.

Does fist-bumping a man ten minutes after calling his hair beautiful count as mixed signals?

“We did it!” You whisper-shouted after your small celebration. Andrew's tone mirrored yours as he spoke.

“Jesus, is this what being a parent feels like?”

“I hope not. No offense to you, but I’m miserable.”

“Oh no, the pounding headache’s got to you too?”

“That and the back pain from all the crouching over.”

“At times I could feel my hair turning gray.”

“What I’m hearing is that you could also go for a cup of tea right about now.”

“That's exactly correct. However, this isn't our house, which means it's not our place to make tea.”

“It can be if you give me two minutes.”

You shot Quinn a quick text to ask.

hey. is it alright if me and andrew make some tea? I know you said we could do whatever but i feel bad if you're not home.

It took a minute, but Quinn replied.

i trust you both so much i’d let you cook a three-course meal without me home. go ahead and brew your tea.

“Well, we’ve got Quinn’s approval.”

You showed him the text, and he let out a soft chuckle, nodding. You both headed down the stairs as quickly (and quietly) as possible.

You returned to the kitchen and began to look for teabags while Andrew looked for a kettle. You didn’t dare to make a mess, so you both just closed and opened drawers until you found exactly what you needed. He filled the kettle and placed it on the stove while you made the hard decision between chamomile and earl grey; you immediately made your decision when he made a comment about chamomile being his favorite.

You leaned on opposite sides of the counter, the stove between the two of you. After a minute you fell into a silence that was comfortable, but unwanted. It was the first time that night you had the freedom of being alone now that Katie was fast asleep, yet you had no idea what to do with yourselves. Biting at your lower lip, you thought of something to say.

“Hey, we did a pretty good job being her court jesters for the night.” You finally commented. Andrew nodded his head before jokingly correcting your statement.

“More accurately, we did a good job being her prince and princess.”

“Almost made me think I should’ve pursued a career in acting.”

“You have to give some credit to your co-star here, as well.”

“Oh, absolutely. Oscar-winning performance. I appreciate you incorporating props, as well.”

“One of the greatest improv moments of my career.”

“I had no idea I was in the presence of such a legend. ” You said barely, being able to hold back your laughter. Your conversation fell back into a now-familiar rhythm. The topics started anywhere from how you knew Quinn to how much you both loved Katie, but as you went on you diverted to your favorite movies snd Andrew’s interest in classical literature. The only interruption was the whistle of the kettle, which you had almost forgotten about. Andrew took it upon himself to prepare the tea, even after you insisted that you would take over. Instead, you actually took in the kitchen, finding something unexpected on the counter.

You were both surprised that Liam and Quinn actually owned a radio.

“Do you mind if I put on some music?” He asked.

“Not at all.” You stepped to the side, giving him permission to turn the radio on.

He twisted the knob of the radio, searching for a station for a moment before stopping. He landed on a station playing jazz, turning up the volume as he recognized the tune: A Kiss To Build A Dream On by Louis Armstrong. Instinctively, he tapped his foot to the beat.

You both stood in silence, one that almost drowned out the song playing. This silence was just strong enough for you to formulate an idea. You liked this song, you were bored, and most importantly, you wanted to be close to him. So you decided to take a risk. You extended a hand in his direction.

“Care for a dance?”

It took him a moment to process your question out of shock. After a few seconds, he stuttered out his answer, his gaze shifting to your hand.

“I- No, I couldn't. I have two left feet. I’d probably be… stepping on your toes the entire time.”

You shrugged.

“Who cares? It's just us, and I’m not gonna judge you.” You reassured him, motioning for him to join you.

Andrew was quickly learning he couldn't say no to you.

He gave in, taking one of your hands in his and placing the other one on your waist. At first, you awkwardly kept your distance between each other, like two teens during a slow song at their school dance. However, you got more into a rhythm as time went on, eventually getting comfortable enough with him to rest your head on his chest, as close as you could get to his shoulder with his height. Andrew was hoping you were more focused on dancing so you couldn’t feel his heart beat out of his chest. He kept his promise of stepping on your toes, mumbling a “Sorry!” every time he did so. He wasn't as bad as he made himself out to be. He even tried to spin you by the second chorus, almost crashing you into him, but helping you regain your balance. Laughter was your only response to any of this.

Much to the dismay of you both, the song ended, and you pulled away from each other. You missed his touch, your hand buzzing from the sudden change. Another song began to play from the radio: I’m In The Mood For Love by Julie London. Christ, it was like the universe was sending you a sign. Everything else throughout the night had all led up to this.

You could barely process what was happening when Andrew placed his lips on yours.

The kiss was small and chaste, cautious in case you didn't reciprocate. It was so sudden that you forgot to kiss him back, just absorbing the moment that you had slowly been longing for more and more throughout the night. When he pulled away, all he saw was the astonishment and shock on your face. He didn't notice how your gaze was fixated on his lips, and instead frantically began to apologize.

“Shit, I misread you, didn't I? I’m so sorry, I apologize. You have every reason to be upset with me.”

His suggestion made you laugh.

“Are you kidding me? That's all I've wanted all night.”

You saw something change in his demeanor, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“It's alright if I kiss you again, then?”

“Yes! Yes. Please do.”

As soon as you gave him permission, he placed his hands on the sides of your face and pulled you close to him.

Another thing about the universe is that not only does it send signs, it tends to have impeccable timing; just as Andrew leaned in to kiss you again, you heard the front door unlock. Quinn’s voice rang through the hallway.

“Hey, I don't know if you got my text, but there wasn't that much traffic so we got home… Oh. I see we're interrupting something."

You both let go of each other, a look of guilt like you’d been caught doing something illegal. Thankfully, Quinn was no cop.

“I’m not mad or anything. Just happy you waited until Katie was asleep to start swapping spit.”

You both thanked her, ignoring a passing comment she made about how she “always did think you’d be good for each other”. You said your goodbyes, hugging Liam and Quinn with smiles and faces that were still flushed from earlier. You waved them a final goodbye and walked out onto the patio together, Andrew holding the door for you again. You were alone together again.

“So, do you think we could pick up from where we left off before?” You asked a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

He finally leaned down to kiss you again, holding your face gently. This time, you reciprocated, placing your hand on the nape of his neck to keep him as close as possible. It was slow, as if both of you decided to take your time; a gentle precursor for all the kisses to come in the future. Your hands made their way into his hair, his making their way to your waist. You stay like that for what could have been forever for all that you care, but's only a minute.You both pulled away to get some air, small pants escaping your mouths. Andrew looked down at you with wonder, a smile growing on his face.

“You really are magic.” He mumbled.

“Still not magic. Just… me.” You deflected again.

“Is there a difference?” He asked rhetorically. He let out a sigh before speaking again.

“ Y/N… God, I feel like a teenager saying this, but… would you want to go on a date sometime? A proper one, with no babysitting or playing pretend. Just me and you and staring at a painting or a sunset or each other's faces.” He rambled, taking a deep breath. “Whatever you want.”

Letting out a laugh, you replied.

“I would love to.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Andrew."

“Good night, Y/N.”

Andrew gave you one last peck on the lips before you, unfortunately, went your separate ways for the night. Walking back to your car, you also couldn’t help but feel like a teenager, but because he made you so… giddy, so willing to start something new with him. You could barely keep down the butterflies in your stomach. All of this caused by coincidence, a bit of fate, and a babysitting gig. Not how you thought the night was going to go, but perhaps the most pleasant surprise you’d ever had.

You got into your car, and tuned the radio to the same station as before. All the songs remind you of him.

You had the stupidest smile on your face the entire drive home.

[barcapix]

hey, can u do a reader x pau cubarsí where the. reader is talking to a guy and pau gets jealous? thank youuu

✮ Questionable - Pau Cubarsí

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

SY: Pau questions your love to him as he always fears that your with somebody else.

A/N: conflicted feelings about this hhh

Warnings: jealousy

Pau was a seriously jealous guy, if not, the most jealous guy you ever met.

It was a regular sunday morning, the crisp autumn mornings finally creeping back in and the golden hue highlighting the cloudy fog.

It was your monthly run to your favourite bookshop, Llibreria Altaïr, as they usually restocked the contemporary romance section this time of year.

You swiftly left your shared apartment, loaded up the car and swung into the drivers seat when your phone blew up with a dozen notifs all pinging at the same time.

Not even 10 minutes within stepping from your front door, your boyfriend had swamped you with a ton of messages asking for your whereabouts.

You groaned in frustration, immediately hoisting your phone into your hands and clicking away at the buttons.

After responding, you sighed and shoved your phone back into your pocket. Why couldn’t you just be alone for some time?

Nonetheless, you tried to brush it off by making your way to the store, your mind flooded with slight panic.

When you finally reach inside, the familiar scent of freshly printed books brings you to a calm and washes your vexation away.

Like your normal routine, you make your way over to the contemporary romance corner with a smile gracing your lips.

Your suddenly met with a huddle of people, swaddled together in a hurd over the latest edition of Pickleballers, ultimately fighting for a copy each.

You squirm your way past them, with a struggle, finally reaching a more secluded area of the book section and scanning for any new fictions.

A pink book catches your eye and so you directly cram it into your hold.

“Is that the new Nora Roberts novel?” a blonde guy pointed to the book in your hands.

He was a fairly tall man, with blonde locks falling a little over his forehead and square rimmed glasses over his emerald green pearls.

A friendly type you assumed.

“Yeah,” you grinned, “You like Nora Robert’s?”

“Obviously! She has like the most poetic stories ever.” he returned a friendly smile. “I’m Liam by the way.” he greeted, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “I’m y/n.”

“It’s crazy over there isn’t it?” he snickered over to the group of people a couple centimetres away. “Tell me about it, I haven’t seen it this crazy for months.”

For the most part, your conversation flowed about Robert’s lastest theories, writing techniques and all sorts; with occasional personal aspects coming into line.

It was a relief to talk to somebody who enjoyed romance novels as much as you did, something you would only dream of doing. Of course, Pau would always talk to you about novels regardless, but nobody, could relate the way you did.

But, god forbid, Pau caught you speaking about love with another man. Then again, luck was always very finite for you.

You happen to nervously glance around the room for a pause of breath, catching familiar hazel eyes a couple steps away from you.

Your luck had definitely run out.

“Pau..” you muttered to yourself, seeing your boyfriend nonchalantly skimming the bookshelf. As if he was actually interested in what he was looking at. He was the furthest from liking books.

“I’m sorry?” Liam questioned, eyeing up your disheveled features. “Oh, nothing.. I just remembered I have to go.”

You gulped, quickly excusing yourself from the guy infront of you. “It was so nice to meet you.”

He was startled at your sudden request, blurting out a small “Oh right” as he watched you hastily gather a few books into your embrace and sweeping your hair behind your ears.

“I have to catch the bus in like 10 minutes,” you faintly laughed, “I better go.”

“Yeah of course, I understand.” he replied gently and delivered you a warm smile. “Be safe.”

The blonde reached his hand out for you, offering a handshake and you hesitantly shook it back, awkwardly nodding your way out of his way.

Scoffing, you spun on your heel and marched your way over to your clueless boyfriend, who was clearly bored out of his mind.

“Pau?” you whispered behind him. “Pau!”

“Christ!” he jumped, “You scared me.”

“Ohh, don’t act silly.” your eyes narrowing. “Now what? Did you want to pull me out of this shop too?”

“No, I came to see what you were doing..” he breathed, his cheeks flushing a pinky coral.

“So,” you let out an annoyed huff, “Keeping watch? Like you always do?”

Cubarsí groaned, switching his attention to the pile of red books stacked out along the rack; leaving you with no answer.

“Nada, that guy looked nice.” he turned to you finally. Nice? Tugging at the sleeves of your jumper, you furrowed your eyebrows to look at him… unusually.

“¿Que? Nice? I mean yeah he was but-“

He interrupted you by saying, “So did you give him your number or..”

“Pau!” you exclaimed, “You’re being so unreasonable right now!”

“How? You seemed interested enough!” he murmured back, and both of you earned a few glares from the other people in the store.

He gently pulled you aside into a more isolated corner. You were so so angry, your boyfriend’s blank stare making you even more tense.

“Pau,” you grumbled, “You have to understand that I can talk to other people too.”

He responded with a quiet ‘mm’ and instinctively placed his hands on your hips. You sighed deeply and drew your hands into his hair.

“I love you baby, but I need the space sometimes.” you admitted which made Cubarsí’s face drop into a further sad grimace.

He nodded in agreement anyway, opening his mouth to speak although his words seemed stuck. You smiled lightly at him and brought your hands up to cup his cheeks.

Your touch made the muscles in his face relax, as they rippled beneath your palms calmly and the concern seemed to fade away.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous alright?” Pau confided.

“Nervous about what? Amoricito, Im yours.”

You took your thumb across his jaw, slowly tracing lines over it as silent reassurance, but your words seemed to have little effect on him as he still stuck his head down to his shoes. “Look at me darling.”

He exhaled dismally, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “What if you end up loving another guy that’s not me?”

“Like that blonde guy earlier. You looked so-“

“Sh,” you placed a finger to his lips. “That guy meant nothing to me, I was just surprised he liked the same genre I did.”

Cubarsí frowned, rubbing his eyes and frowning again before his cheeks began to rise. “So all it takes is for me to read your favourite book?” he hummed, suddenly giddy.

You laughed with your hands still cupping the sides of his face, his on your hips and planting a soothing kiss to his nose. “Mhm.”

“Okay, well show me the books you like and I’ll read them.” he said, taking hold of your hand and guiding you out onto the main floor.

No matter what he did, you could never stay mad at him. He loved you, and he showed it.

“Any?” you gleamed up at him, the familiar spark in your eyes reappearing. “Any.”

[darling-im-wonderstruck]

i’ll keep your brittle heart warm.

synopsis : peter was always on your mind, you were always on his, perhaps that would make him a little bit of a distraction.

pairing : frat!peter parker x reader

wc : 1k

warnings : FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFF, uhmmm soft making out !!! other than that… i guess peter being an absolute idiot (a down bad idiot), but even if this is cliché as hell, it’s super cute and fluffy :)

‎‎ masterlist | request | navigation

a/n : hi ! sorry the fic is a little late this week, but frat!peter has been on my mind constantly shehhsjsns <3 he’s leaning more towards the peter more than the frat butttt i wanted him to be a little softer for this one :) big big thank you to @strawberrystarcake for the help on the editing, and @toms-gf for giving me the idea (this one is for u hehe)

“parker, you joining us?” the familiar voice echoes from the other side of the room. peter winces, not at all because he was opposed to the idea, but he’d made plans with you.

“uh- i’ll catch up later? i have somewhere to be.” the boys, all spread out in various positions on the couch, smirked and ‘ooo’ed at the implications of that.

liam speaks first. “right, got plans with your girl?” peter nods.

“ooh, you’re so down bad, parker, it’s not even a joke anymore.” james, another one of his friends, gives him a soft shove.

maybe he was right.

peter had never planned for your arrangement to escalate into anything further than a fling, and though he had never been an expert when it came to matters of the heart, he knew that he was too far gone.

it wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself smiling at the thought of you. he was constantly lost in thought, and sometimes, it became difficult to snap him out of his dream-like state.

even when his mind wasn’t completely occupied by the thought of you, he found that you had been living rent free in a certain corner of his mind. he’d catch himself wondering about you or associating little things around him with you. 

he wasn’t all too familiar with this feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant, just confusing to navigate.

he’s never felt this way before. his heart never fluttered at a subtle touch, he never felt like he was melting whenever someone walked into the room, he never felt his heartbeat race at mere eye contact.

but with you? you had him feeling everything all at once.

but, of course, he hasn’t told you this, any of this. but he had a gut feeling that you might feel the same way, and that was enough for him to allow himself to fall deeper, as irrational as it may be.

it was no longer ‘maybe he was right’, and peter knew. to put it simply, he was right.

“better get going, you don’t want your girl waiting on you,” trent blurts, interrupting peter’s train of thought.

“right. i’ll see you guys later?” peter says, the boys nod and wave him goodbye as he walks out the door.

“oh, love.” liam sighs dreamily as the rest of the boys snicker.

as soon as peter enters the library, he’s met with a sense of comforting familiarity. before anything had begun happening between the both of you, you two had spent a lot of your time in the halls of this library. whether it were nights filled with endless work, or simply wandering around in attempt to find books you could read together.

he knew exactly where to find you: a certain corner of the library that you claimed to be ‘warmer and cozier’ than anywhere else.

he spots you browsing the history section, your face scrunched up, clearly focused. he sees all your things, messily laid on top of a wooden table, the one you always use.

he smiles to himself before sneaking behind the bookshelf you were browsing, and just as you pull a book from the shelf, you catch a glint of brown eyes from the other side. you stay silent for a moment, before smiling at one another.

then you shove the book between you two, and the next thing peter hears are quick footsteps.

peter’s utterly confused, he didn’t notice the look of mischief written all over his face.

“baby?” he whisper shouts, scrambling around the area before catching a glimpse of your figure, running from one shelf to another.

then it hits him, you were messing with him.

his look of mischief matches yours once he realizes, he follows quickly behind you, and before you know it, you’re up against a bookshelf, inches away from peter.

“hi.” you send him a cheeky grin, one that he sends right back to you.

“you’re going to drive me crazy.” his eyes gaze softly at yours, before trailing down to your lips.

“i know.” you quip, before moving as fast as you can to try and run away once more.

“ab-up-up.” he tuts, catching you once more. his lips brush softly over yours, lingering for a moment, before he presses his lips against yours. one hand finds its way to your waist, he uses it to pull you closer towards him.

but you find yourself shoving him aside, “peter! this is why i came early!” you slowly make your way back to the table, peter trailing after you like a puppy.

“what do you mean?” it was as if you could hear the pout in his voice, so you don’t allow yourself to look back.

“you’re… very distracting.” you make sure your tone is soft, you didn’t mean it in a negative way and you wanted peter to know that.

“am not!” he takes your hand, turns you around, and suddenly, you’re inches away from him again.

“seriously!? look at what you’re doing!” this time, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“there it is.” he smiles softly, appearing pleased.

“there’s what?”

“that laugh i’ve been waiting to hear all day.” you’re pressed against one another, his warmth surrounded you. “permission to lean in, m’lady?” dork.

“permission granted.”

he leans in, your chest feels warm as your lips make contact. 

he cups your cheeks to pull you even closer, if possible, as if letting you go would be the end of him. your hands curl into his hair, you begin to feel goosebumps wherever his hands traveled; down your waist, approaching your thighs as he drew lazy patterns with his fingers.

you could never truly get over the way your lips pieced together perfectly, how it felt like his were caressing yours ever so softly.

whenever your lips part, he whispers soft words you can barely understand, like he’s taking it all in. he finds himself grinning into the kiss, which was apparently infectious, because so were you.

“told you! distraction.” 

“oh, shut up.” he says, before pulling you in once more.

taglist : (send me an ask to be added hehe !) @live-laugh-lovejoy @tomsholland2412 @parkerpeter24 @herpeanutzombie

a/n : tysm for reading :) pls reblog to support your writers !!! requests are open !

[arcadian-litterateur]

i believed love would be black and white (but it's golden)

liam mairi x mini goldendoodle!reader

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: liam visits your father's grave with you and honors him in a way that makes you fall in love with the man all over again.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: my submission for @empyreanevents Liam Week Day One: Honor. not beta'd, so feel free to lmk in the comments if u see any typos

“Baby,” came the gentle, low voice of your boyfriend, Liam, as he stroked your head. The dappled light from your window highlighted the golden sheen of his hair, soft and well-groomed just like Liam liked it. He was already dressed, his tunic freshly ironed and his face still damp from his morning shave. He'd obviously taken the time before you woke to get himself ready for the day’s journey, knowing you’d inevitably sleep in. 

You slowly sat up in bed at his gentle coaxing, squinting in the sunlight as he handed you the neatly folded stack of clothes you’d set out last night, knowing you wouldn't be awake enough to choose something nice so early in the morning. You smiled gratefully, holding the clothes to your chest as you pressed a kiss to his lips, breathing in his soothing scent of pine and citrus. 

“I'm going to put these on in the bath chamber and do my hair,” you told him as you slipped out of bed. Ten minutes later, you were done, your hair styled and your night clothes placed in the hamper. Liam was lounging in his armchair, skimming through the novel that had been sitting on your bedside table. When you walked over, he looked up sheepishly, as if getting caught reading was a crime. You just laughed, plucking the book from his hands.

“If you want to get into romance, the seventh book in a series is not the place to start.” He chuckled and followed you over to your nightstand, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull you into him. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he said,

“Just wanted to see who had my princess giggling and kicking her feet last night.” 

“And?” you grinned.

“I don't think there's much competition,” he chuckled. “He's just a mafia boss. I'm a dragon rider. Much more impressive.” You turned yourself around in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and guiding his lips to yours.

“I agree, love,” you murmured before kissing him deeply, lost in the ocean of love you had for this man. Before you could get too wrapped up in it, Liam pulled away, returning your pout with a smirk.

“I want to kiss you, baby, but we need to get going.” You sighed, knowing he was right. 

“Fine, but can I have a piggyback ride to breakfast?” 

“Of course you can,” Liam chuckled, letting you clamber onto his back before wrapping his arms securely around your thighs. “Feel secure?” he asked. You smiled gratefully at his instinctual thoughtfulness. 

“Yeah, I do. Do you feel good?” He nodded and then, with just one moment of warning, began racing to the dining room. You laughed at his antics, bouncing around a bit uncomfortably, but it was worth it to see the look of pure joy on his face as you passed a laughing Xaden and an eye-rolling Imogen. 

You slid off Liam's back once you reached the resplendent dining room, Liam catching his breath from exertion while you stood there losing breath in awe yet again of the beauty of Riorson House. Being in Aretia, though completely new to you, was a blessing in itself because here, you were fighting for a good cause. 

You still couldn't get over the fact that Xaden had been so readily open-armed when it came to letting your mother move into Riorson House, too, especially while her health deteriorated from an unknown chronic ailment. He'd accepted her without question when you'd told him that you wanted to fight the good fight, but couldn't leave your sick mother behind in Navarre. Now, she was here in Aretia with you, where she'd been able to gain some mobility back after days in the sun. Liam appreciated the opportunity to get to know her, too, since she was the only immediate blood relative you had left (and could tell him all sorts of embarrassing tales about your childhood antics).

Most of your life was in Aretia now; your mother, the friends who had become like family to you, and your dragon. But there were two pieces of your heart that were still in Navarre, unable to be moved to Aretia with you. One was your aunt and uncle, who had helped your mother raise you after your father died when you were ten, because their farm was their livelihood and they couldn't bear to leave it, even if they believed the truth about the venin and the wards. And the other was your father, buried on your aunt and uncle's farm amidst the aspen trees he used to help you climb. 

Liam hadn't gotten to visit the farm, and by extension, your father's grave. That's what today's trip was—a low-profile trip into Navarre so that Liam could meet your aunt and uncle, help you seal their farm with protection runes, and meet your father, if only in spirit. The two of you had wanted to take the trip ever since leaving Navarre, but it hadn't been safe until Garrick had figured out a new combination of runes that acted like a cloaking device. You'd be able to go in undetected, do your business, and come right back to Aretia with minimal risk.

Still, as you ate a hearty helping of delicious breakfast food, you felt nerves dance down your spine. It wasn't one hundred percent guaranteed that the trip would be risk-free—nothing ever was. And part of you wondered if the reward was worth the risk. But every time you asked Liam if he was sure meeting your aunt and uncle and sort of meeting your father was worth it, he said yes vehemently. So you would go, and it would be okay. You would pray to every god you knew that it would be okay.

Once you finished eating, Xaden found a few first years to carry your bags out to the flight field for you, even though you protested that you could carry your own. Liam, who would most definitely carry anyone's bag on a normal day, was so distracted hugging and well-wishing everyone that he didn't even notice Xaden using his scary dog privileges with questionable ethics. You let it go with an eye roll directed Xaden's way, receiving a satisfied smirk back. 

Did Xaden scare you when you first met him? Hell, yes. But now you saw him for what he truly was: a golden retriever puppy who was really good at pretending to be a big, grown-up german shepherd.

You thought you saw his eyes get wide and then pouty for a second after you thought that, but you shook your head. Surely you were just imagining it.

A Healer had rolled your mom out of the infirmary in a wheelchair to say goodbye, and you hugged her tight, kissing her cheek before promising to be safe at her firm insistence. She gave you one of her big, winning smiles before turning to the Healer and matter-of-factly stating that she wished to go nap now. You giggled at her antics, so like your own, just different enough to make her her.

“Be safe,” Violet told you, squeezing you tight. You hugged her back, promising to do your best. 

“Ready to go?” Liam asked you once the goodbyes were done. You nodded happily, taking his hand as the two of you walked to the flight field, your nerves turning to excitement as you saw your dragons waiting for you. Breaking away from your boyfriend, you ran to your dragon, Móinéar, her pecan-colored scales shimmering in the daylight as sun rays glinted off her daggertail. Next to her loomed Deigh, who wasn’t so sure about you before, but had slowly warmed to your presence in Liam’s life. He greeted you with a bow of his head, and you bobbed your own to accept his greeting before turning to Móinéar with a smile.

“You ready?” you asked her. 

I’ve been ready, she responded, and you could almost see the smirk so evident in her words. You and your boy are the ones holding us up. You rolled your eyes, causing her to huff and blow hot air in your face, which you waved away with a playful scowl. 

“Liam, I think we better get going, because Móinéar is getting antsy,” you sing-songed, receiving a light nip on the elbow for your remark. He laughed and patted Deigh’s shoulder, mounting his dragon with ease as you climbed onto Móinéar’s back. 

“Careful, love, or Móinéar might just lose her temper,” he said wryly. You grinned, rubbing Móinéar’s favorite spot where the scales of her neck met her back. She snuffled appreciatively.

“No, she loves me too much,” you shot back. Before Liam could respond, the amused voice of Garrick drifted up.

“If you two are done bantering, should I activate the runes now?” he chuckled, that insufferable smirk on his face. You stuck your tongue out at him, which he reciprocated easily, both of you too stubborn to back down even if you were acting childish. After a few back and forth jabs, Garrick got back to business, shaping the runes in a beautiful pattern before setting them on Deigh and Móinéar. “There, you should be all set,” he grinned. “Just say my name and then ‘activate’ and you should be good.” Before Garrick and I could start up another insult war, Liam had thanked him and sent him on his way, turning to me with a grin.

“You know I love watching you and Garrick in your roast battles, but we really don’t have time for it right now.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “It’s just so hard to resist.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Liam laughed. You giggled with him before Móinéar shifted impatiently under you again. Liam noticed, “Ah, we should get going, shouldn’t we?” 

“Probably,” you chuckled. “Alright, Móinéar, let’s go!” With a few impressive beats of her wings, Móinéar took flight, Deigh close behind as you activated the cloaking runes. You could see Liam, and Liam could see you, but no one else would be able to see the two of you until you deactivated them.

A few hours into the flight, you got hungry, twisting around and reaching into your saddlebags to pull out a snack. Be careful! Móinéar warned as you shifted slightly in your seat. At this point, I’m not sure I’d catch you if you fell. 

Low blow, Móinéar! you laughed through the bond. She huffed.

You kept singing that blasted song earlier. I feel like you deserve it. You rolled your eyes affectionately, securing yourself in your seat once again after opening a granola bar and beginning to eat it.

It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate good music.

I appreciate good music, Móinéar retorted, and your idea of good music is not accurate. 

You laughed at that, pressing a kiss to the back of Móinéar’s neck. I love you, Móinéar, you know. 

Yes, I know, your dragon answered grouchily. I have yet to decide if that is a good thing or a nuisance. 

This banter went on for the rest of the flight, keeping you occupied throughout the trip. It was too hard to talk with Liam during flights like this—yelling over the wind was a good way to get caught in enemy territory—and so the two of you kept yourselves occupied by talking with your dragons. You didn’t know how Deigh liked it, but Móinéar definitely had a love-hate relationship with your yapping tendencies.

Finally, Móinéar grumbled through the bond as your aunt and uncle’s farm became visible below. I think I would go insane from your chattering if it lasted much longer. You sent the mental equivalent of an offended huff back to her as Liam deactivated the cloaking runes, but your playful annoyance with your dragon was forgotten as you got closer to land, seeing your aunt and uncle waiting for the two of you with big smiles. Deigh and Móinéar touched down in one of the fields that had already been harvested. You leaped down from your seat with a grin, stumbling a bit as you landed but quickly recovering so you could run into your aunt’s open arms.

“Oh, dearie!” she exclaimed. “I’ve missed you so much! Look how you’ve grown.” 

“I don’t think I’ve grown at all since entering the Riders Quadrant, Auntie,” you laughed, but she just waved your comment away, tugging your uncle closer so he could hug you, too. You gave him a quick squeeze, knowing that physical affection was definitely not his love language, and that he’d rather show his love for you by spending time with you. “Hi, Uncle,” you grinned. He nodded in response, quiet as ever but still so smiley.

“You must be Liam,” your aunt exclaimed as your boyfriend strode up carrying the saddlebags. In your excitement to see your aunt and uncle, you’d forgotten to help get the luggage. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, but Liam just smiled,

“No worries, baby. It wasn’t hard for me to get it all.” Then he turned to your aunt and uncle, “Yes, I’m Liam Mairi. Pleased to meet you, I’ve heard so many great things about you both.” Your aunt cooed over his manners as your uncle gathered some of the luggage, insisting that Liam let him carry some of it. You grinned as they ushered the two of you into the house, your aunt already talking about the scones and tea she’d prepared for your arrival. Liam didn’t look a bit phased at your aunt’s chattering. After all, you’d gotten it from your dad’s side, and she was your dad’s sister. He already knew how to keep up with your chattering, and your aunt was much the same as you in that regard.

“Do you want a scone, darling?” your aunt asked as your uncle placed your bags in the spare bedroom. “I made your favorite!” 

“The gingerbread ones?” you grinned. 

“Yes! And that earl grey tea you always ask for.” With a satisfied smile, your aunt ushered you and Liam into the dining room where, sure enough, she’d set up a plate of scones and a pot of your favorite tea. The flight to the farm had been long enough that you were starving, and you polished off a scone and two cups of tea in no time, Liam doing the same next to you. As if your aunt was watching you two like hawks (which she probably was, if you were honest), she swept in to clear the dirty dishes the second you both were done. You looked at Liam out of the corner of your eye once she was gone, barely holding in a fit of laughter. You could see the expression mirrored on his face. 

“They’re a bit much, I know,” you told him later, sitting on the bed in the guestroom while he whittled in the corner. 

“I like them,” he shrugged. “They’re sweet, and they obviously love you very much. That makes them good in my book.” You smiled softly at your boyfriend’s sweet nature.

“Thank you, Liam.” He shrugged as if this wasn’t a big deal, but you knew deep down that you were very lucky to have found someone like him. 

This became all the more clear the next day as you walked out to your father’s grave, just the two of you. Your shoulders were stiff, like they always were when you visited your dad. You loved visiting his grave, but your whole body felt tight whenever you had to confront your grief headfirst.

“You okay, love?” Liam asked, rubbing your shoulders as you neared the little clearing where your father was buried. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

“No,” you said, grabbing his hand for comfort. “I want you here. It's just always a bit hard to come here. I know it's silly; it's been so long since he passed, but—”

“Your grief is not silly,” Liam interrupted, his fingers under your chin turning your head towards his. Looking you in the eyes, he softly added, “You are allowed to grieve however you need, whether he died yesterday or fifty years ago.” You smiled gratefully, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Thank you, babe.” 

Once you reached the grave, you knelt on the ground next to the headstone, pressing a kiss to the cold stone. The rough carving bore his name and epitaph, Loving son, husband, and father. A day in your embrace is a blessing more bountiful than an eternity without you. You felt Liam at your shoulder, a respectful distance away, but close enough that you could pull him to you if you needed.

“Hey, Dad,” you whispered. “This is my boyfriend, Liam. He's here to meet you.” Liam knelt beside you at your signal, a genuine smile on his face as you shared such a special moment. 

“Hello, Sir. I wish I could have met you. I've heard great things about you.” You grinned at his words, touched by his sweet nature (which occurred often, considering how much of a golden retriever he was). But what he did next brought you to tears—the good kind, the kind that occur when something magical is happening and you just can't hold the feelings in. 

“Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and though you aren't here, I know how much you meant to her. How you are part of the reason she is the woman I love today. And so though you are not here with us, I still wish to honor you and your place in her life by observing tradition and asking you for your blessing to marry her.” 

You gasped, turning to Liam with surprise, teardrops budding in the corners of your eyes. Had he been planning this the whole time? From the reverential look on his face, yes, he had. 

The sun broke through the clouds and shone down on the two of you, beautiful as it dappled the headstone and the aspens. Liam jumped up and spun around with a laugh, pulling you up with him. You giggled in excited confusion, still trying to process what he'd said before. He wanted to…marry you?

“Thank you!” Liam called up at the sky as he basked in the sunshine. “If you say yes, then all that's left to do is ask her!” With that, he turned to you, grasping your hands and bending down on one knee, pulling a gorgeous ring out of his pocket. It was made of your favorite metal, accented with your favorite gemstones, and you marveled again at how well this man knew you. You couldn't contain your smile, tears of joy dripping your face as he said, 

“My darling, my love, my life. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I never want to be without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It would be my honor to be your husband. Will you marry me?” 

If you were honest, you'd imagined this moment hundreds of times, even before you’d said “I love you” to Liam. And yet, nothing could be better than how it truly was. No scene in your imagination could capture the sheer love you felt for the man kneeling before you. And all you could do amidst the tears leaking from your eyes was gasp out,

“Yes!” His face lit up at your response, sliding the ring on your finger before jumping to his feet and twirling you around. When he set you on your own two feet again, you barely had a moment to breathe as he crushed his lips to yours, hands tangling in your hair. A laugh of pure joy bubbled up from your lips as you basked in his love and affection. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbled into your neck after you finally pulled away for air. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. 

Yes, there was a war coming, and your mother's health was declining, and nothing felt certain, but you knew that no matter what, Liam's love for you would not change, and that love was the best thing that had ever been yours. 

So no matter what, it would all be okay. Because you had Liam. Your boyfriend—now your fiance, your love, your life.

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

ummmm excuse me the last vid you reblogged who what was he staring at? 😭😭😭 that looks intense

hello sweet anon,

i was clowning a little, i obviously can’t say for sure who or what Louis was staring at. i’ve also never been to that particular venue before, so i don’t know the layout, nor do i know where the personal guests/guestlist section was or how shielded from general attendees view it was (usually it’s all pretty open in such small venues)

i put that tag there, because while watching the livestream i just noticed (like many others) that he kept looking/staring up into that left balcony direction during a few significant parts of songs during The Greatest, Walls, Saturdays, and then slapped his heart and pointed there during Night Changes, etc. (video below)

i personally do believe Harry was there. but i cannot say for sure, of course. (H&L could've also felt like it was too risky with that small of a venue size.) I’m just not sure whether H would’ve really been up there on the balcony, you know? it seems to me that he’d have been pretty close to the crowd that way. and from pictures we did see that public admission guests were also up there (sometimes that’s not the case and the entire balcony is for guestlist/friends/family only, esp. if a show is not sold out), as the sweet people with the rainbow flag were on the balcony, too. Plus we all know that when an artist points somewhere in the crowd a couple of times, it always directs at least some people to check where/who he’s pointing at and increases the risk of someone being spotted..

so common sense tells me Louis would never point at Harry multiple times in such a small venue. someone else could’ve stood there, though.. other family or friends. (If it’d have been Zayn or Niall, I’m very sure he’d have announced them being there.)

and he could also have pointed upwards to Liam. 💔

so yeah, without having been there and knowing the layout and also knowing their schedule, i can only guess… i do hope that if Harry was there, that he was able to catch a few songs from a nicer spot than usual. EDIT: a day after i posted this, photos of the show inside the venue were released and showed there's a separation wall at the balcony entry, kind of like a U-turn, which shields the small doorway to the balcony completely from view of the people on the balcony and you can only see into the entryway to the balcony from straight on (i.e. down on the stage). so there's definitely a chance Harry could've stood there for a few songs.

anyway here’s wonderwall night changes

thank you for your kind question 💖 x

[daddy-issues-galore]

Noel Gallagher x f!reader x Liam Gallagher SMUT Part 3

Warnings: 18+ readers only, threesome sex, MFM, Noel x f!reader x Liam smut, protected sex, oral m/f receiving, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, kinda G-cest but not really DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE, established FWB relationship between Liam and reader

We need each other...

A couple of months later…

Over the last couple of months, Liam and Noel had been messaging each other, it was nice to see Liam smile as much as he was doing and to talk about Noel. Noel had also messaged you a couple of times, they had just been your usual catching up questions. Then one morning in the early hours you got what must have been a drunk message because he talked bollocks and you knew from experience when Noel was drunk, he ran his mouth and was soppy… or a slut.

Noel: I FUKED EVerthinh u

I was a cnt. he ..WAS A CUNT! ‘;ways you. I bloy lve u Y/n..,.

Alwys,,... plzzz talk me,./

Y/n: We’ll talk soon darlin’ x

Today was the day – the boys were finally going to see each other again and if you were being honest, you were a little nervous. You had mixed feelings about the whole thing.

You sat in Peggy’s living room with a cuppa as Liam paced back and forth, chewing on his thumb nail, clearly, he was nervous too. You were sat beside Peggy, the two of you sharing a knowing look. You looked up to Liam and let out a soft sigh, “Li, why don’t you sit down?”

He shook his head, “Nah, can’t…” He said as he continued moving back and forth. “I feel like… am ‘bout to explode or somet.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Yer nervous, babe. Am sure you’ll be fine once he’s here.”

Then it happened, the door opened making Liam pause misstep and stare at the living room doorway.

The front door shut as a familiar voice called out. “Mam?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s here. It’s happening.

“In ‘ere, sweetheart.” Peggy called out as she stood up and made her way over to the living room door.

Liam looked at you with a bit of panic in his eyes, it would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so important.

You watched with batted breath as Peggy came back into the living room closely followed by Noel. It almost felt like a dream; everything began moving slowly. He looked completely different but exactly the same. You watched as there was a brief stand off between the two brothers as they looked each other over before Liam broke the silence that had settled in the room.

“Alrigh’.” That was it? *eyeroll*

Noel nodded, his hands shoved in his pockets, “Alrigh’.” Silence settled between them again as they just stood there. Fuck me. You dropped your head into your hands; fifteen years of shit for this moment.

“I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?” Peggy sniffled, smiling proudly as she walked by Noel and into the hallway.

Noel’s eyes finally landed on you, and he quickly stiffened, “Should have guessed you’d be ‘ere.” He gave you a soft crooked smile.

You rolled your eyes with a soft smile, “Bugger off.” You stood up and began walking towards the door. “I’ll go help yer mam.” You said but before you could leave Noel grabbed your hand.

“Don’t I get a hug?” Noel asked softly.

You drew in a deep breath and shook your head, “I can’t, Noel, not yet.” You sniffled feeling a lump in your throat. You quickly walked off to the kitchen. “Sorry, Peg, just need a minute.” You said as you opened the door and went outside, running through the back gate and into the alley. You fell against the wall and began crying, your emotions flying all over the place.

God, you hated Noel for how he made you feel but seeing him again after all this time brought back all those feelings you had, that you still had for him.

You heard the door open and then footsteps making their way towards you. You half expected it to be Liam, coming to tell you that things had kicked off and you were off home, or Peggy to ask what had happened but to your surprise it was Noel.

“Please don’t cry, love.” He pleaded.

You shook your head and wiped your tears away angrily, “I’m allowed to cry, dickhead.” You sniffled.

Noel sighed and handed you some tissue, “I know you are, doesn’t mean I like to see you though.” He said as he rested against the wall. “You were right, ya know.”

“About what?”

“Me bein’ a cunt… I was, so was she…” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I was a shit friend, Y/n. I fucked everythin’ up between us and I understand if ya never want to see me again, but… I fuckin’ miss ya, love. Have since the moment ya shut the door in me face.” He sniffled and quickly wiped his own tears away. “I’ve been fuckin’ lost without you.”

“God,” You huffed angrily, “You fuckin’ made me feel like shit, ya’ know that? You made me feel like I was ruinin’ your marriage or-” You shook your head, “You hurt me, Noel. We’ve known each other since we were kids and you just, let her treat me like that, and I know she’s your wife and yer meant to stand by her and all that bollocks but-” You wiped your tears away again. “God, I hated how much it hurt.”

“Am sorry love. I really am.” Noel reached out and wiped your tears away with his thumb. “I thought, if I made you leave, then things would be easier, but I was wrong. Can ya’ forgive me?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, “I don’t understand, what things?”

Noel drew in a deep breath and shook his head, “Stupid, things… please, Y/n, can you forgive me? I’ve missed you so fuckin much.”  Noel sniffled and wiped his own tears that had formed away.

You offered him a soft smile, “I miss you too, Noelie.” You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. You closed your eyes and felt yourself relax as Noel hugged you back tightly. “Am sorry things have gone to shit.”

Noel chuckled as he pulled back, “Always did have a way with yer words, dint ya.” He cleared his throat, “Right, we best get back inside so me and this dickhead can sort things.”

You gasped and gave his arm a smack. “Don’t be so mean.” You smiled at him. “Thanks for that drunken message by the way.” You teased before walking back to the house, giggling to yourself as you heard Noel groan out in the alley.

Summer 2025

It didn’t matter how many times you did this, it always felt like a dream. But there you were with Lennon on one side, his arm around your shoulders as Anais stood on your other side, her arm around your waist as the three of you, and Gene and Molly stood by the side of the stage watching the lads do what they do best. Tour had been a success so far. Every sell gig had been insane. Watching everyone as they have the time of their life was a beautiful thing and you were proud to call these lot your family.

“Right, you lot,” Noel said into the microphone. “We need yer help. Today is a very special day.” He said as he took his guitar off and handed it to a roadie. “It’s the birthday of someone very special to us.” Noel smiled and looked round to where you were stood. You were stood frozen to the spot as Noel pointed at you. You had no idea what was going. “Come out ‘ere, love.” He waved you out. The crowd cheered, chanting your name along with the band.

You had not expected that. If you were being honest, you thought they’d forgot it was your birthday and it wasn’t like you were in any rush to celebrate it. You felt old this year. You certainly didn’t want to get up in front of thousands of people so they could celebrate you getting old.

“C’mon, Auntie Mam.” Gene said as he grabbed one of your hands and Anais grabbed the other, and they began pulling you out onto the stage.

Your legs felt numb as you walked (wobbled) out onto the stage into the bright lights with the kids following by your side, cheering along with the crowd as you made your way to where Noel and Laim stood at the front of the stage. You were going to kill them, they knew you hated being the centre of attention like this. You shot daggers at Liam as he grinned wildly, bastard. He was loving this.

Noel slipped his arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Relax, love.”

“Fuck off,” You hissed making him chuckle.

The rest of the show was a happy blur and before you knew it, the end had come, and you were making your way back to the hotel with everyone. You were ready to call it a night, but the boys had other ideas and dragged you to the bar that was still open, or that had been paid to stay open; it was Oasis, who knew what they could get to happen.

You were sat in between Noel and Liam inside a booth, laughing along with everyone as Liam and Bonehead told a story from their younger days. Noel’s arm laid around your shoulders, his fingers brushing your shoulder as he got lost in thought. This was what you missed, just being together, laughing and talking, living life together.

“W’ve got you something, Auntie Mam.” Anais grinned at you as she handed you a gift bag.

You began grinning at them, “You dint need to.”

You began beaming as you opened the photo album she’d put together. On the cover it said, ‘Happy Birthday, Auntie Mam!’ and all the pages were filled with photos from over the years. The first ones were of you as a baby, and then of you, Liam, Noel and Paul when you were all little to when you were teenagers and from the very start of Oasis. Other pages had your forgotten photos from over the years of Oasis, parties, photoshoots – everything. The others were of you and peggy or you and the kids. “Oh, you guys, I love it… God, we were so young.” You giggled as Noel muttered something about being even older than you were.

A couple of drinks later, the younger ones decided they were going out to a club or two, finally giving you older lot some peace and quiet. Or as much as you can have with Liam around. As Bonehead went to get another round, and Gem and Andy went to the loo, you were left alone with the brothers.

“Did you really think we’d forgot yer birthday?” Liam asked as he leaned his arm that rested on the table.

You shrugged with a smile, “You’ve had a lot on.”

Noel smiled softly, “We’d never forget you, love.”

You paused for a brief moment before saying, “Yer mam reminded ya’, dint she.”

Liam huffed, “How’d ya fuckin know?”

Your head fell back with laughter, “I spoke to her this morning.” You nudged him. “Besides, yer shite at planning anything.”

Noel looked at Liam over the top of your head, the pair of them having a silent conversation whilst you were oblivious to it.

“What if we said we have planned somethin’ for yer birthday?” Liam said looking at his empty glass.

You looked at him in shock, “Really? You two?”

Liam nodded with a smug smile. “Yeah, man. Somet proper special.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Like a party?”

Liam’s smile turned into a grin as he looked a Noel, “Not sure three people count as a party.”

“Eh?” You looked to Noel. “What’s he on ‘bout? What can you have with three people?”

Noel began laughing, “We’ve done it before, love.”

“What have we done before-” Your eyes widened as it dawned on you what the pair of them were getting at. “Fuck off.” You laughed nervously as you looked at Noel then Liam. “You can’t be serious?”

Liam smirked at you, “Why not?” He asked as he wiggled his eyebrows making you shake your head.

You looked between the pair of them, your mind racing, memories of the first time flooding your head. Fuck. “We’re not in our twenties anymore.” You looked back to Noel, “Are you serious ‘bout this? With him?”

Noel frowned, “I was thinkin’ it would be more you than, us two.” He chuckled nervously making you roll your eyes with a smile.

“Ya’ know what I mean.” You giggled.

Noel grinned, “Remember what it was like last time?”

You nodded biting your bottom lip feeling yourself flush as memories of last time clouded your mind. It was fucking amazing.

Eventually, one by one, everyone began making their way upstairs to their rooms until you were left with just Noel. Liam had disappeared to God knows where, giving you some peace. Noel wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you made your way towards your room.

“Can I ask a question?” He spoke as you walked up to the door.

You hummed, “Just don’t make it a shit one.” You giggled making him smile as you opened your hotel room door and let him in.

Noel shut the door behind him and watched you sit on the edge of your bed. He couldn’t help thinking about the last time he was in a hotel room with you. Noel hated himself for what he did. "If yous don’t love each other like that, then why sleep with r’kid as much as you have?”

“Oh, I-” You cleared your throat, “We’re just friends that, have sex.” You shrugged.

Noel shook his head with a sigh and moved over to sit on the bed beside you, “Nah, it’s more than that.”

You shook your head, “We just get each other, ya’know.” You shrugged.

“So why not be together?”

You laughed softly, “I’ve thought about it, it’d make things easier but… The thought of bein’ in a proper relationship with him is,” You shrugged, “Weird.” You shivered making Noel smile. You shook your head as you thought about it. “If me and Liam were ever to be together like that, our friendship would end, and things would be ruined. I love him but am not in love with him… Get me?”

Noel shook his head, “I guess I just find it hard to think ‘bout just bein’ friends with anyone I’ve shagged before… I’ve always had a relationship with them or a one-night stand.”

You shook your head with a smile, “We’re friends.” You pointed out.

Noel hummed, “… Right.” He frowned slightly, “Still can’t believe yer happy to let r’kid fuck ya’.” He chuckled.

“What can I say? The boy knows orgasms and it’s no drama.” You grinned. “It’s nice to have someone share an intimate moment with that knows you better than anyone else but, you also know there’s no hassle of married life.” You shrugged.

“What happened to gettin’ married and all that?” Noel laid back onto the bed with a groan.

“Am waitin’ for the right person to ask...” You admitted looking at him. As you watched him run his hands through his hair and how his short raised up just enough to flash his smattering of hair under his belly button that disappeared into his pants, you felt a sudden wave of braveness overcome you. “Can I ask you a question?”

 “Make it a good one.” He smiled up at you.

“Liam said the reason he suggested we have the threesome last time was because you were too scared to make a move on me. That true?” You kept your eyes fixed on his as he looked up to meet your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did.

Noel sat up slowly, “Look, I wasn’t scared-”

“Noel, just answer me.”

Noel drew in a deep breath as he leaned forwards and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, it was.” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“Why would ya’ be scared to make a move on me? Surely, ya’ could tell I was mad for ya’?” The words left your mouth without a second thought.

Noel sighed, “I was nearly thirty and you’d been shaggin’ r’Liam so I thought you wouldn’t be interested... and I just assumed any interest was ya’ windin’ him up.” He looked back at you over his shoulder. “Are you sayin’ it was serious? All that flirting and touching, it was proper?” His brow furrowed. “She was right.”

You looked at him confused, “Who was?”

“Sara.” He said and sat up, “That night I told you to leave, we got into a fight over you. She kept accusing us of having an affair and I told her she was being ridiculous because you and Liam were seeing each other and she said she wouldn’t be surprised if I was trying to shag you to get at him.” He shook his head as he paused. “She then said you clearly fancied me and that was why you hated her... she couldn’t trust me to not fall into bed with you since it happened once before.”

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t hate her because I was jealous.” You frowned, “I hated her because she treat you like shit, Noel. I hated her because she was a twat with Anais. I hated her because she made the boys stop calling me Auntie Mam.” You huffed making Noel smile. You were proud to say they’d started calling you it again pretty much as soon as they heard the others doing so. “I hate her because she fuckin’ cheated on you and broke your heart.”

Silence settled between the two of you. Noel smiled to himself as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you wanna know the truth, why me and Liam sleep together so much?”

“Thought you said already?”

You sat up and looked at him, “I was lonely. Always have been. I’ve proper fancied you, like properly, head over heels fancied you since I was a teenager, before we had the threesome and Liam knew. And Liam was lonely too... When we were younger and single, it was just sex and fun but then, you left and went and married her, and Liam had gotten divorced for a second time and-” You shrugged, “It was comfortable for us. We felt wanted... loved.”

Noel reached up and gently brushed hair back from your forehead. “I can’t believe am about to say this, but we should have listened to Liam all those years ago.” He joked with a smile making you laugh.

“Don’t tell him.”

The two of you began laughing, looking at each other as everything that had been said settled between you.

“What now?” Noel asked.

“Kiss me,” You smiled, “Then we’ll see what happens.”

Noel didn’t waste his time, he closed the gap between you and held the back if your head as he pressed his lips against yours. You moaned into his mouth, your tongue tangling with his as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you.

A loud knock on the door followed by, “Let me in fuckers,” Broke the moment making the two of you groan in frustration. Of course it was that little shit.

You pulled back from Noel with a huff, “I best tell him that’s not happening now.” You stood up only for Noel to grab your hand and stop you.

“I mean, it is still your birthday, love.” He smiled coyly, “It’d be rude to not accept a birthday gift.”

Liam banged in the door again, “Fuck ya’ playin’ at?”

You felt your face flush, excitement bubble in your belly as you looked at him. “Seriously? I thought you’d want-”

“Just a bit of fun, yeah? Tomorrow can be serious.” Noel smiled softly and nodded towards the door. “Go on, let him in,”

You gulped and nodded, not trusting your own voice. You quickly moved over to the door and opened it.

Liam walked in holding a bottle of champagne and glasses, stopping once his eyes landed on Noel. He looked him over briefly then looked at you. “What’s going on?” He asked looking back at Noel with a knowing smirk.

“Nowt, why?” You said as you closed the door.

“Alrigh then... why’s he wearing your lipstick?” Liam looked at you.

You looked away with embarrassment as Noel quickly rubbed his lips and Liam laughed at the pair of you. “Shut up.” You looked over to Noel and began grinning. “So, you two really want to go through with this again?” You asked folding your arms over your chest.

Liam nodded, opening the bottle of champagne before pouring it. “Yeah, man. He just ain’t touching me pee pee.” Liam pointed at Noel as he screwed his face up in mock disgust making you laugh.

Noel rolled his eyes at him, “Like I want to.” He smiled at you.

Liam handed you a glass as you stood beside him, Noel already having taken his, and held his own up. “Here’s to the best bird I know.”

“I’ll second that.” Noel winked at you.

You grinned at them, “You can be quite sweet together sometimes, can’t you.”

“Only for you.” Liam winked making you laugh. “Right, drink up. Time to fuck.”

You burst out laughing almost choking on your champagne as Noel huffed, muttering about how much of a ‘fucking idiot’ Liam was.

“How the fuck have you ever managed to shag anyone, let alone Y/n?” Noel laughed.

Liam looked at you with a knowing grin making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, “Watch and learn, mate.”

Liam didn't give you a second to think. He reached out and grab you by your waist making you squeak as he pulled you against his chest and crashed his mouth against yours. You glass falling to the floor with a soft thud as you wrapped your arms around his neck, slipping your fingers into his hair with a moan.

Noel leaned back on the bed as he watched the pair of you, excitement swelling in his lower belly as he ran his eyes over your body. He watched as Liam’s hands made their way down over backside, giving it a form squeeze making you squeal. You did always love that move. Noel cleared his throat, “You gonna come up for air?”

Liam pulled back from you panting, “Piss off.”

You giggle as you took Laim’s face in your hands and wiped his lower lip free if your lipstick. “That colour suits the pair of you.” You teased.

“It’ll look much better stainin’ me cock.” Liam said cockily and looked at Noel. “What ya reckon?”

Noel hummed, “I was thinkin’ the same.” Noel smirked up at you. “How’d you wanna start, love?”

Liam grinned from ear to ear as he leaned in and whispered into your ear, “Wanna sit on me face?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded excitedly. "I wanna suck Noel’s cock too." You grinned at him.

Noel nodded, “Okay… it’s yer birthday love.” He stood up and placed his hands on your waist, pulling you away from Liam and closer to him. “But I wanna taste too.” He said before kissing you.

You moaned softly as you felt him slowly tug at your shirt until he got it over your head. You dropped your head back as Noel began pressing kisses against your neck just the way you like. “Fuck, that feels good.” You moaned, closing your eyes.

He smiled against your skin as he moved across your shoulder. He carefully tugged your bra straps over your shoulders. Noel pulled back from you with a smile, “I forgot how soft your skin is.”

Liam chuckled as he came up behind you and placed his hands on your hips. “Just wait until you get lower, mate.” He kissed your other shoulder making you shiver.

Liam moved his hands over the waist band of your jeans until they reached the front and snapped the button open, then pushed zipper down. As he carefully slid his hands inside your jeans, he pressed his lips against your skin making your eyes roll back. Noel’s fingers moved round to the clasp of your bra and unhooked it, letting it drop to the floor.

You let out a soft gasp as Noel cupped your breast and began to soft knead them, “Fuck,” You groaned, your head falling back.

Liam pushed your jeans down your legs, giving your backside a playful tap as he did, making you yelp in surprise.

Noel was quick to claim your mouth. He let his rough fingertips, from years of playing the guitar, softly scratch down your body. Once he reached the waistline of your panties, he hooked his left index finger under the hem and snapped it against your hip bone.  His hands curled over your backside making you moan.

You pulled back taking a deep breath, “You’re both wearing too many bloody clothes.” You huffed making them laugh.

Thankfully Liam stepped back from you and began to remove his clothes. You began unbuttoning Noel’s shirt, quickly getting frustrated with it.

“I’ve got it,” Noel pecked your lips and took over.

You stepped back and glanced between the pair of them, not quite able to believe this was happening… again.

“Love,” Liam called out to you from the other side of the bed in just his boxers. “Ready?” He nodded to the bed.

You nodded and quickly moved over to the bed as Liam laid down, his head towards the foot of the bed. You slipped your panties off before climbing onto the bed and settling over Liam’s face. He quickly wrapped his hands around your thighs and pulled you down onto him. Your eyes fell shut as immediately began going at you like a man starved. Liam's tongue felt amazing lapping at your soaked cunt. "Fuck! Liam!" You moaned loudly.

Noel stood for a moment as he watched you lose yourself in the pleasure. Your naked body on show for him, moving slowly over Liam’s face. The moans leaving your lips making Noel’s cock twitch.

“Noel,” You gasped reaching out to him.

Noel began grinning as he moved to stand in front of you. Your hands held on his biceps as you pressed your forehead onto his shoulder. "That feel good, love?" Noel whispered against your ear. You nodded moaning. "You like Liam licking your cunt, don't you?"

Liam smirked against you before sucking harshly on your clit.

"Fuck- yes!" You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut as he flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud.

"Fuck’ell..." Liam groaned into your heat as you rolled your hips against his face.

Noel grabbed a hold of your face and raised your head back before crashing his lips against yours. “Thought you wanted my cock too?”

You nodded breathlessly, “Please, Noel.”

Noel smirked at you, “Good girl.” He kissed you again before stepping back from you. He pushed his boxers down letting his hard cock spring free. His breath caught in his throat as you bent over and took a hold of his cock in your hand before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. You began to slowly suckle making Noel let out a breathy moan, “Fuck.” Noel gathered your hair into a pony tell and helped you bob your head.

Muffled moans from you and Liam mixed with the breath moans from Noel. Noel bit his bottom lip as he watched you look up at him from under your eyelashes as you sucked his cock. His hips began bucking forwards, deeper into your mouth briefly before he stopped.

You pulled off his cock and took him into your hand as you pressed a kiss to his hip and gently stroked his cock, “Don’t hold back, Noelie.” You whispered seductively.

Noel’s brow furrowed, “I don’t want to hurt you, love.” He placed his free hand over your cheek.

“You won’t… Fuck my throat… please.” You begged before taking him back into your mouth.

Noel’s breath caught in his throat as you began sucking his cock again, slurping around him and driving him insane. Noel gripped your hair tighter and began to fuck into your mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, over and over, making you moan around his cock. “Fuck… that’s it… good girl…” Noel moaned softly as you kept sucking.

You felt yourself losing control as Noel fucked into your mouth and Liam fucked you with his tongue. Liam dug his fingers in supple thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth and soon he was pushing you over the edge of your first orgasm.

You pulled off Noel with cry, “Oh fuck!” You gasped for air as your orgasm ran through your body.

Noel held you up as your body shook. “Fuck,” He wrapped his arms around you and helped you raise up of Liam’s face, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

"Fuck love, that was hot." Liam panted as he wiped his hand down his face. He sat up and grinned at you. "I'm fuckin’ soaked." He chuckled lightly. You felt your face blush as you watched your juices covering his face and neck.

You giggled. “Lay down on the pillows and stop moaning.”

“I ain’t moanin’, love.” Liam winked at you then laid down where you told him to.

You looked up at Noel and bit your bottom lip seductively as you wrapped your arms around his neck before pressing your lips to his. The two of you shared a quiet moment just getting lost in the kiss, Noel’s hands slowly moving down your body until he gripped your backside softly. Fuck, he could kiss. You pulled back taking a small breath, “What do you want, Noelie?” You whispered.

He shook his head, “This is your night, love.”

You pouted, “But I want to know what you want, baby.” You asked as you trailed your fingertips over where his heart was beating.

“He wants to fuck your cunt, love.” Liam called out from where he sat against the headboard with his hand wrapped around his cock.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him and looked back up to Noel. “Is that what you want Noelie? Want to fuck my pussy?”

Noel gulped and nodded, “I missed out last time.” He chuckled nervously.

“You fucked her arsehole though.” Liam reminded him making Noel huff.

“Stop bein’ so vulgar dickhead.”

You giggled and covered Noel’s mouth with your hand, “Ignore him. If he keeps bein’ naughty, then he won’t get to fuck me.” You looked back over to Liam and glared at him playfully. “Behave.”

“Just stating facts, love.” He grinned at you, “Come ‘ere.” He called you over.

You crawled over to Liam and laid down beside him she he was on your left side and looked back to Noel.

Liam leaned over you began kissing you, his tongue slipping into your mouth easily as he slowly trailed his fingers down your cheek to your stomach. Your sensitive skin tingled under his teasing touch. A deep moan left your lips as you pulled back from Liam, two of his fingers easily slipping inside your cunt. Liam began moving his lips and tongue down your neck and across your chest, pulling soft moans from you until he reached your left nipple and took the stiffened peaked into between his lips making you cry out in pleasure.

Noel licked his lips as he watched Liam’s fingers fuck into your cunt, the soft squelching making his cock twitch. He wrapped his hand around his cock and began to slowly stroke himself as he watched the sinful act, but he couldn’t care less as your eyes met his. You were a beautiful sight as you slowly fell apart before him.

“Will you join us?” You asked looking up at him.

He moved over to the other side of the bed and laid down beside you, he reached out with his right hand and pinched your right nipple in between his thumb in index finger making you moan loudly. “You like that?”

You whimpered, “Harder, please.”

Noel chuckled softly and tugged a little harder before he replaced his fingers with his mouth and lightly bit your nipple making your eyes rolled backwards.

The two of them worked in unison to make your body sing; Noel pressed his fingers against your sensitive clit as Liam’s curled just right inside your pussy, the two of them sucking and kissing your tits or your neck, anywhere they could reach until they sent you over the edge.

“Fuck!” You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath. “Bloody hell.” You giggled, “That was-” You pressed your lips against Noel’s harshly.

"Fuck love,” Noel groaned against your shoulder as you lightly wrapped your hand around his cock, “Can’t wait… to be, inside you.”

Liam pulled back too, releasing your nipple with a pop. "Me too... Fuck," He suddenly stood up from the bed and dropped his boxers revealing his hard cock.

Noel rolled his eyes at him, “Oy, knobhead,” He sat up and rested against the headboard, “Bring the condoms and that like you were meant to?” He asked giving you a knowing look making you giggle as you sat up beside him.

Liam looked around and huffed with his hands on his hips. “Fuck. No. We don’t need-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Liam.” You warned making him huff.

“Fine! There in me room.” He quickly moved over to the door grabbing a hotel bathrobe from the back of it as he did. “As you were.” He nodded to the pair of you as he snatched the door key from the table and bolted out the door making you laugh.

“He’s still a horny teenager.” Noel shook his head with a chuckle. He looked at you and smiled softly, “Want some more champagne?”

You nodded, “Yeah, okay.” You said as you pulled the covers up over your chest.

“You don’t need to cover up, love. Yer fuckin gorgeous.” Noel said to you.

“For me age.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

Noel shook his head as he reached up and cupped your cheek, “You’ve always have been, Y/n… You’ve got better with age, unlike me.” He chuckled before he leaned down and kissed you softly.

As he pulled back before getting up and walking over to where the bottle of champagne was, pouring some more into one of the glasses and handed you it. As you were about to raised it to your lips, Noel pulled you down the bed by your ankles making you squeal.

“What are you doin’?” You giggled.

“Having a drink.” He winked at you before he leaned over and licked up your cunt making you moan loudly. “Carry on.” He nodded to your glass with a smirk.

Your eyes rolled backwards as Noel licked and sucked at your wet cunt. Fuck, he’s good. Your champagne almost forgotten if it weren’t for you spilling it on yourself, bastard, you thought as Noel kept going. “Fuck,” You gasped as Noel shoved two fingers inside your cunt, twisting and curling, hitting that spot deep inside you as he sucked on your clit. “Oh, god,”

Suddenly the door opened, and Liam rushed in, closing the door behind him. Neither of you noticed, too lost in the moment. Liam stood where he was, watching as your fingers tangled in Noel’s hair, holding his face closer to your cunt as you moved your hips against his face. Your breasts jiggled and glistened, and your mouth hung open as moans slipped past your lips. “Fuck me,” Liam licked his lips as he reached into the bag of stuff and pulled out a bottle of lube before dropping it then untied the bathrobe and let that join everything on the floor. He squeezed some lube into his before taking a hold of his cock, his head falling backwards momentarily as the cold lube coated his cock. “Fuck, me.” He whispered to himself as he opened his eyes and watched the pair of you.

“Yes… baby. Oh… Noel!” You cried out as he pushed a third finger inside of you whilst reaching up with his free hand and grabbed your left breast firmly. You looked up at Liam moaning at the sight of him wanking. “Fuck, Liam,”

Noel growled into your cunt and doubled down, moving his head up and down, his nose nudging at your clit making you cry out in pure ecstasy, soon coming around his fingers. Noel sat back and smirked down your panting form, “You ‘kay love?”

You nodded with a breathy pant, “Wow.” You giggled making Noel grin.

“That was fuckin’ hot.” Liam bit his bottom lip as he kept stroking himself.

You grinned up at him and slowly got to your knees and faced him, placing one of your hands on his broad shoulders pulling him towards you into a hungry kiss as the other wrapped around his cock. Liam’s breath caught in his throat as you gave him a gentle squeeze, just the way he liked.

“Fuck,” Liam panted against your lips as he reached up and slipped two of his fingers inside your mouth. His eyes rolled shut as you sucked his fingers clean of the lube, your favourite flavour. His other hand ran down your body much like Noel’s had done earlier, only he was more confident in his movements having down this countless times. Liam pulled back from you with a cocky smile, “Bend over, love. Let r’Noel get a look at ya’.” He said and pressed another kiss to your lips before he lightly pushed you down by the back of your head.

You didn’t waste any time and took Liam in your mouth making him groan.

Noel licked his lips as he ran his eyes over your dripping cunt. It looked even more beautiful and sinful in the position. Noel grabbed condom from the box and quickly rolled one on his cock before he settled on the bed behind you with the lube. He squeezed some onto him before rubbing the head of his cock between your wet folds, moaning at the feeling. "Fuck, baby doll."

You pulled off Liam’s cock with a pop and cried out, "God YES!" Your eyes squeezed shut and your head fell forwards with a deep moan as Noel pushed his cock inside you.

Liam wrapped his hand under your chin and lifted your head, “C’mon love, open up.” He said as he gave your cheek a soft tap with his other hand.

You opened your mouth and let Liam shove his cock back into your mouth. Liam began moving his hips forwards, letting his cock slide across your tongue.

Noel’s hands slowly ran up your thighs and over your ass cheeks before settling on your hips. He leaned over to kiss your shoulder. “Ready, love?”

“Yes!" You moaned around Liam’s cock as you gave a small squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

Noel moaned and moved his hands to your hips before he began moving in and out of you, his cock filling you up, over and over.

"OH FUCK!" Liam moaned as he thrusted into your mouth a little harshly making you choke and your eyes water. You loved it!

All you could do was let Noel and Liam use your body as you knelt on all fours between them. As one pulled back the other filled you; Noel fucking hard and fast into your pussy, his calloused fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit as Liam’s hands screwed your hair up tightly as he fucked your mouth until saliva dribbled out the corners of your mouth.

“Fuck, love… am close.” Liam moaned as you sucked his cock the best you could, becoming cock drunk. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, over and over until his orgasm hit. Liam stilled at the back of your throat cutting your air off momentarily as he came deep inside your mouth as your own orgasm hit you out of nowhere. Liam pulled out of your mouth with a deep moan, letting you finally take in a deep breath and fell onto the bed beside you and Noel.

“Oh, YES!” You fell forwards, clutching the bedsheets as Noel kept fucking into you. “Yesyesyesyes,” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came again around Noel’s cock.

Noel gave a couple more thrusts of his hips before he stilled deep inside your cunt and came, moaning loudly as your cunt squeezed around him. “FUCK!” Noel stayed inside you as he softened before he pulled out of carefully and dropped onto the bed on the other side of you. “Well, fuck, me.” Noel chuckled tiredly as he threw his arm over his eyes.

You hummed happily into the bedsheets, feeling like your body was numb all over.

There was a moment silence between the three of you as you caught your breath and let your muscles relax, before Liam cleared his throat.

“Are you two a thing then or what?”

You groaned into the bed as Noel chuckled, “What if we are?”

“Well, obviously me and this ‘un won’t be doin’ nowt like this again if you are.” Liam said as he gave your backside a pat making you yelp. “Right, am off back to mine. Am knackered after that.” Liam said as he sat up with a groan, then got up from the bed and went about getting dressed.

You sat up and pulled the covers over your body to hold the chill in the room off as you looked at Noel. “Are you leaving?” You asked him.

“Want me to?” Noel asked looking at you and began smiling as you shook your head.

“Of course I don’t want you to.” You smiled up at him.

“Good, I don’t want to.” He slipped his arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple making you smile. The two of you looked over to where Liam had been, but he’d sneaked out. “Shall we have a shower before we go to bed, love?”

You nodded and smiled to yourself, making a mental note to thank Liam later for always being right. God, you were never going to hear the end of it.

[revelauver]

⌕ race review!   ֢֢֢ ◝﹝japan [ 04/06/25 ]

🏎️_⠀ mv1, ln4, op81, cl16, gr63, ka12, ih7, lh44, aa23, & ob87 are the quali top 10!

in the words of 4 time wdc and suzuka gp 2025 racewinner max verstappen: "fuck me this is boring, should have brought my pillow"

suzuka was a snoozefest, all of the excitement happened in quali

nevertheless, lets recap the little we have to work with:

alex was having a whole nervous breakdown the entire race over the gear shift and apparently he brought it up before this weekend and it went unaddressed? alex rip but thank u for the 20 seconds of team radio tea

ollie bearman in the points in the sexy sakura tractor, but i need him to be back on a track easier for overtaking. i missed the ciaos 😭 the piastri "cheeky" radio was the closest thing we got to that level of cunt

isack is endearing himself to me too quickly i fear 😔 after seatbelt-gate and his seat literally getting DETACHED in the race he pulled off a p8 finish and scored his first points!

the f1 commentators are about 2 saucy giggles away from getting sued by lawrence stroll for defamation ehsejs lance was catching strays the entire race

yuki passed liam (yesss), stayed under the radar, and finished higher than he started w dotd. i'm just glad bro was able to stay in the race 😭🙏

lewis and charles not happy with their engineers what else is new

charles was leading a whole separate race 💀 that ferrari is so far off the pace. i wonder what would happen if the mercs were ahead of him. do ygs think they would be any closer to the top 3?

speaking of the top 3...

max verstappen SWEEP he was flawless this weekend. so flawless i have nothing to say about him 🧍‍♂️ except championship back on???

now we need to talk abt MCLAREN because istg do any mclaren fans possess an IOTA 🤏 of critical thinking???

i say this as a piastri girlie ✋ a position swap was not the right move imo, and i'm glad mclaren didn't invoke the team orders to do so. my hatred of papaya rules goes both ways!

oscar and lando kept flip-flopping between who was faster, but neither of them had the pace to catch max. it's unlikely oscar passing would have made a difference in the race results. plus at the time of the team radio (at least, the time f1tv played it bc the radio broadcasts are always delayed), lando was saving his tires so oscar was under the impression that lando was slower than he actually was

godd mclaren pitwall pls communicate for once in ur lives!

i wonder what would happen if they pitted lando first? maybe it rly was best to pit lando second bc if the stop had been just a little faster he could have passed max for the lead leaving the pits?

speaking of the pitlane i can't believe the closest thing to a "battle" happened in there lmao. i know max and lando are going to be laughing abt that later but max would have exceeded pit lane limits if he moved lol? he was in the right there

okayy now lets talk about my race highlight: KIMI ANTONELLI! youngest-ever race leader 🥹 youngest-ever driver to score a fastest lap 🥹🥹 and finished 1s behind his experienced teammate 🥹🥹🥹

i know he must have been stressed asf when he was leading the race w lewis freaking hamilton right behind him 💀✋ considering how nervous he'd been feeling around suzuka BUT GUYSS HE DID SUCH A GREAT JOB I'M SO PROUD

only person who's prouder than me rn is bono 🙏💕 they are such a cute duo

sry guys yapping was not kept to a minimum due to the average iq of mclaren fans being lower than the number of carlos sainz track investigations this race 🙄

like you guys have two incredible drivers so enjoy their talent and the fact that they can race one another!!

anyways kimi antonelli wdc i've seen enough 🙌

contact me @ ⠀꒱⠀ . ⠀ 1-800-hot-n-fun ⠀ —— ⠀ ✧ !

[nglgfics]

Late night texts

(18+)

Masterlist

Your phone vibrates against your palm. It’s late—too late for just a casual message. The screen lights up, and you already know who it is before you even look.

LG: U up darlin

You smirk, already feeling the heat rise in your stomach. He doesn’t text often, but when he does, it’s never innocent. He likes to play it cool, act like it’s casual—but you both know better.

You: Maybe. Why?

A voice note drops instantly. You press play, and his voice slides into your ear, thick, lazy and raspy

“What you doing? Laying there all sexy like that? Bet you are. Bet you’ve got that look in your eye.. Fuckin’ dangerous. Bet you’re already touching yourself, thinking about me, all worked up.”

Your pulse quickens, heat prickling down your spine.

You: Maybe. What if I am?

Another voice note, longer this time.

“Then I’m fucked, aren’t I? If I was there, darling, you wouldn’t be doing it yourself. I’d have my fingers in you, stretching you nice and slow, getting you ready for me, making you beg. I’d take my time, mouth all over you, teasing you ‘til you can’t fucking stand it. Bet you’d be whimpering, wouldn’t you? Grabbing at me, begging for more. But I’d make you wait, darling. Wouldn’t let you have it ‘til I’ve had my fill of you.”

Your stomach tightens, a shiver rolling through you. A picture comes through next. His mouth, slightly parted, lips soft but cocky, a hint of stubble catching the dim light. He’s lounging—shirtless, probably stretched out in bed, one hand already driftin’ lower.

LG: Go on then show us darlin

You hesitate, just for a second, teasing him the way you know he likes. Then, finally, you send a picture—just the smooth curve of your shoulder, the strap of your top slippin’ down, the suggestion of bare skin.

His response is immediate.

A deep, low groan in a voice note.

“Fucking hell. Look at you. Proper tease, you are. Got me all worked up now. You fucking love it, don’t you? Winding me up, making me desperate for you. Sitting there all smug, knowing I’d have my hands all over you if I was there—pulling that little top down, getting my mouth on you, making you squirm. That what you want, darling? Me making a mess of you?”

Another picture drops. His hand this time, resting low on his stomach, fingers hooked just beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

LG: Say me name, darlin

You smirk, draggin’ this out for him. You press record, whisperin’, drawin’ it out just enough to make him feel it.

“Liam.”

His next voice note is rough, like it’s been dragged from the pit of his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell. That’s it. Say it again, darling —louder this time. Bet you’re breathing all heavy now, aren’t you? Touching yourself while you say it, wishing it were me. Bet you want me pressing you down, spreading you wide, pushing into you nice and deep—making you take all of me ‘til you’re fucking ruined for anyone else”

Your skin burns. Your fingers trail down your stomach, skimming the waistband of your underwear.

You: Why don’t you send me something first?

Another picture. This time lower. The sharp lines of his hips, the trail of hair disappearin’ beneath the waistband. He’s hard—barely hidden—and he knows exactly what he’s doin’ to you.

LG: Your turn, darlin don’t be shy

You exhale slowly, slidin’ your fingers lower, teasin’ yourself the way you know he would. You snap a picture—just enough skin to make his breath hitch when he opens it.

His response is nearly a growl.

“Knew it. Fuckin’ knew it. Bet you’re already dripping for me, aren’t you? Fingers working yourself open, pretending it’s me. I’d be watching you, darling—just sittin’ back, making you do it for me. Hearing you moan my name like you fucking need me… like you can’t even come unless I tell you to.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressin’ against the heat between your thighs.

You: I am.

Another voice note drops, rough and impatient.

“Jesus… fuck, alright. That’s it. Keep going. Tell me exactly what you’re doing. I wanna hear every little fucking sound. Bet you’re taking your time, aren’t you? Dragging it out, making yourself ache for it. Wish I were there—getting my fingers inside you, feeling just how fucking wet you are for me. Say it, darling. Tell me how bad you need it.”

Your heart pounds. You slide your fingers lower, press record, and let him hear the soft, breathy sounds spilling from your lips as you move against yourself.

Then—nothing. No voice note, no text, no picture. Just silence.

Then your phone starts ringing.

You hesitate for only a second before answering.

“Fucking ‘ell, darlin’,” he groans the second the call connects, his voice even filthier, thicker, wrecked. “Needed to hear ya. Needed to fucking hear you fall apart for me.”

Your breath catches, body burning. “Liam—”

“That’s it,” he mutters. You can hear it—his ragged breathing, the slick sound of his hand working himself, the urgency in the way he needs you. “Keep going, darling.. Tell me what you’re doing to yourself.”

Your fingers move faster, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m so wet for you… wish it was your fingers… your cock.”

A deep groan from his end. “Bet you do. Bet you’d be pulling me closer, trying to take me even deeper, moaning all filthy in me fucking ear.”

“Yes,” you gasp, thighs tightening, body winding up impossibly tight. “Liam—”

His breath hitches. “That’s it, love. Say me name again. Come for me. Come with me, darling..”

And when it happens—when the pleasure crashes over you—his name does slip from your lips, helpless and wrecked. And on the other end of the line, he lets out the filthiest, deepest groan, his own pleasure snapping, breaking, spilling over with you.

Then silence. Just the sound of both of you breathing completely spent, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

Then, low and slow, his voice slides through the speaker.

“Fucking ‘ell, darling… You just done me in.”

You smirk, biting your lip.

“Guess I’ll have to do it again sometime.”

[dark-frosted-heart]

The Fairytale Keeper’s Final Assessment (Epilogue) - Roger Barel

This is the epilogue to his first anniversary story that I keep forgetting to put out 😅 I did a short summary when the event was going but imo this epilogue is so important!!!

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

“Kate, I have heard of your hard work. As always, thank you. 

Therefore, I’m placing trust in you to assess one thing.

Whether Roger, a cursed one, is worthy of being in Crown.”

(That means she wants me to assess Roger, right?)

As I followed Her Majesty’s elegant script, I understood what she was asking of me.

Perhaps because I recently had my own assessment, she was giving me the same chance to do the same. 

(Both Her Majesty and Victor are fairly impartial)

(Alright! I’ll just have to write a lot of good things about Roger)

(When it comes to Roger, his skills as a doctor are what comes to mind)

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: Jude…that injury!

Jude: Quit your yappin’. Blood ain’t stoppin’ with all that racket.

Ellis: He’s alright, Kate. Getting stabbed’s a daily occurrence for Jude so he’s used to it. We’ll just have Roger sew him up like usual.

--

Kate: Liam…that injury!

Liam: Ah, this? Al and I were jumping across roofs while drunk and I slipped off.

Alfons: Don’t worry about it. This sort of thing is an everyday occurrence with the cat’s curse. Roger, can you hear me? Please treat him immediately!

~~ Flashback end ~~

(...Thinking back, it’s pretty absurd)

(If it weren’t for Roger, we’d have one or two dead by now)

They can only carry out their missions if they're alive, so having Roger around is really important.

It’s obvious that Roger’s a necessity to Crown.

I sat down in front of my typewriter and tried to write about Roger’s importance.

(Huh, what the…I’m feeling a little annoyed)

I ended up thinking about Roger’s wicked smile, how he’s always pushing me around, teasing me, and treating me like a dog.

And so, within my heart…a little evil sprouted in my mind.

(Maybe I’ll write something about Roger’s bullying for a bit)

I knew I was being petty, but I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance to get back at Roger.

I first typed out “about Roger’s bullying”. 

(Oh yeah, the other day…)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Kate, got something for you. Here.

Kate: What’s this? A fluffy ball?

Roger: It’s a toy my corgi likes. Thought you’d like it too since you’re like him.

Kate: Wha…

Roger: He’ll happily wag his tail like an idiot when I throw it. If you want me to throw it for you, just let me know.

~~ Flashback end ~~

(Com-plete-ly messing with me)

(Ah, that’s right. That day too)

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: Roger…Roger? Are you asleep?

(It’s rare to see Roger napping)

(Ah, his glasses are crooked…Removing them should be fine, right?)

Roger: …Caught you.

Kate: Please let me go. You were pretending to be asleep, weren’t you?

Roger: yeah. Wanted to catch and give you a little hug. Ahhh, you’re so warm…You’re running hot.

~~ Flashback end ~~

(U-um…that was weird)

(I was going to write about Roger’s bullying, but then—)

Roger: Oh, what’s this about “Roger’s bullying”?

Kate: ……Roger. W-when did you…

Roger: I called out to you, but you were too focused to notice. So, this is a letter from Her Majesty? …She wants you to do a reverse assessment. And you were in the middle of ranting and raving on me being a bully.

Kate: Well…that…

I can’t give an excuse when he’s seen everything.

Afraid that I angered him, I nervously looked up at Roger. I didn’t expect to see a wicked smile on his face.

Roger: Just like experiments are needed for research, real-life experiences are needed for reports, right?

Roger pinned both my hands down on the desk with one hand.

It was like putting me in handcuffs.

Roger: I’ll bully you some more so you can tell Her Majesty. Come on, remember this. “He grabbed my arms and I couldn’t move.”

Kate: Roger…

Roger: “Then he raised my chin with his other hand—”

Our lips were so close that they almost touched. Amber eyes pierced into mine.

Roger: And after that, you can write “he kissed me roughly”.

(Roger’s angry…)

(No, I can’t write off as something as simple as that)

When I stared closer into those amber eyes, there was a hint of sadness.

(Ah)

I realized that I had misled Roger into thinking he wasn’t needed in Crown.

(That’s not true)

Kate: I-it’s true that I wanted to write about you being a bully, but… The only reason I could do that was because everyone knows that you’re someone Crown needs. Besides…um…I need you too.

Roger: Even though I bully you so much that you want to tell on me?

Kate: …Originally it was just some petty mischief. But halfway in, I couldn’t bring myself to write it. I didn’t want Her Majesty to find out about how I…don’t hate the bullying…

Roger: …O_O

Kate: I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Roger…

Roger’s lips cut off the rest of my words.

He stole a kiss.

Kate: Wha…?!

Roger: You like it when I bully you and your body ends up acting on its own.

Kate: I-I didn’t say that. I said that I “don’t hate” it.

Roger: Sure, sure. Just misheard you with my bad hearing.

(......Geez)

(But I’m glad I cleared up the misunderstanding. I’m glad he’s smiling)

Pulling myself together, I returned to my typewriter and heard Roger’s gravelly voice.

Roger: …I’m glad you think I’m needed.

Kate: …

That voice vibrated against my eardrums and wouldn’t leave my mind.

I couldn’t even look at Roger.

I think my report conveyed how special Roger’s become to me.

Roger poked my cheek while I looked down, feeling confused.