#so sorry if I’m overstepping here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 7 days ago

Note

can you write a story on a sainz sister dating charles leclerc after divorcing max verstappen with whom she has a kid which leads to drama at the paddock.

karma wears prada — cl16

smau + written blurbs

charles leclerc x !sainz reader

max verstappen x !ex sainz reader

you were pop royalty — platinum records, sold-out stadiums, your voice on every chart and every stage. he was formula 1’s golden boy — fast, ruthless, worshipped by millions. you married in secret. you had a daughter. you built a quiet world of your own, away from headlines and cameras. and for a while, it was perfect. until it wasn’t.

when the truth came out — first as a rumor, then a photo, then undeniable — you packed your bags, held your baby close, and walked away from the man who promised you forever. you thought you’d have to face the fallout alone. you didn’t expect charles leclerc.

your brother’s teammate. his best friend. the one who never looked at you like you were broken. the one who made your daughter laugh before you could smile again. now, the paddock is on fire — caught between loyalty and betrayal, rage and whispers, broken hearts and new beginnings. and as the world watches, one question remains:

can you start over when the whole world is still watching the wreckage?

fc : kali uchis (i have vip tickets to see kali in less than a month in a half!!! my motherrrrr) (also used some pics of alexandra teehee)

before you read + (a/n): hiiii pookie!! took me forever to perfect this so i hope you enjoy!! max is lowkey an asshole in this so im soz and carlos is still w ferrari because in my mind i never had to go through that divorce too :) alsooo no hate to kelly, anything said is just for the purpose of my fictional nonsense.

—

deuxmoi

5,702,005 likes.

deuxmoi : yep. this one is reallllll messy. and we still have yet to get to the bottom of it. stay tuned.

—

view 789,000 other comments.

username000 : max CHEATED on THE yn sainz??? oh he’s never finishing a race again i fear 😭

username00 : kelly piquet must have a punch card at this point. one more and she gets a free f1 car

liked by deuxmoi and yn_sainz

↳ username00 : oop our queen is here. confirmation?

username0 : carlos is going to body slam him in the paddock.

username1 : she gave birth like a YEAR AGO. men are actual demons. protect yn at all costs.

username5 : i just KNOW her breakup album is gonna end careers. drop the tracklist queen xx

username7 : carlos unfollowing max and then reposting an old pic of yn with her daughter?? family comes FIRST 😤

username10 : she gave him a marriage, a child, and silence. and he gave her kelly piquet.

username11 : i just KNOW the group chat with carmen, alexandra, and lily is on fire right now.

username15 : can’t wait for the ‘you fumbled the woman everyone wanted’ edits. they’re loading as we speak.

—

flashback

monaco, 2:12am

You shouldn’t be awake. You’re rocking your daughter gently in the crook of your arm, whispering half remembered lullabies against her soft hair. She’s teething again. Clingier than usual. You don’t mind. It gives you something to do. Something to hold onto.

Your phone buzzes on the counter — a quiet vibration you almost ignore. But something in you, some sliver of unease that’s been growing for months now, makes you look. It’s a DM. From a name you don’t recognize. You open it.

I’m sorry if this is overstepping but… I didn’t know you and Max were still together. He told me you were separated. I wouldn’t have— You don’t deserve this.

There’s a screenshot. A message thread. A photo. Your husband. Smiling. Someone else’s hand on his jaw. Time slows. Your daughter fusses in your arms. You stare at the screen and feel nothing. Not right away. Just a long, slow ache in your chest, like something is pressing down and refusing to let go.

You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You press a kiss to your daughter’s temple and whisper, “Okay, baby. Okay. We’re leaving.”

—

Four hours later, the sun is barely up when the car arrives. You move quietly, deliberately, packing only what you need. You don’t leave a note. You don’t send a message. You take your daughter, her favorite stuffed animal, your passport, and disappear.

By the time Max wakes up to an empty apartment, you’re already on a flight to Ibiza.

No PR statement. No explanations. Just silence.

And the beginning of something new. For you. For your child.

—

the next morning

ibiza – 8:06 AM

The villa is too quiet. It sits tucked away in the hills, ocean just visible beyond the terrace, sun pouring into the white-washed kitchen. There’s a stillness here that makes your heart ache.

Your daughter sits in her high chair, fingers messy with banana, babbling to herself. She’s safe. She’s happy. She doesn’t know. You sip your coffee with trembling hands.

You haven’t turned your phone back on. Not yet. You can’t. You know the second you do, the world will rush in — agents, lawyers, team PR, headlines, Max. You want to stay in this moment just a little longer. Just you and her. The soft morning light. The sound of birds. The smell of the sea. You want silence. And for the first time in months, you have it.

—

monaco – 8:11 AM

Max wakes up to your absence like it’s a punch to the gut. At first, he thinks maybe you’ve taken the baby out for a walk. But the bed is cold. The closet is half-empty. The pacifier on the nightstand is gone.

Then he sees the open drawer. The missing passports. The baby monitor left behind. He calls you. Straight to voicemail. He calls again. Then again. He checks your location. Disabled.

Panic sets in. Not loud, but deep. Spreading. Heavy. He opens Instagram and sees it.

“Pop Star YN Sainz Allegedly Left Monaco With Daughter After Cheating Scandal – Sources Say Max Verstappen Seen With Kelly Piquet in St. Tropez”

And for the first time, it hits him: You’re not coming back.

—

madrid – 8:23 AM

Carlos nearly drops his phone when he sees the post. He reads it twice. Then again. And again. He doesn’t text you. He calls. You answer on the third ring.

“Hola?” your voice is quiet. Steady. But he knows you. He hears it. The exhaustion. The heartbreak.

“Tell me where you are.”

“Safe,” you say.

There’s a pause. You hear him breathing. Hear him trying to hold himself back.

“I’m going to kill him,” Carlos says flatly.

You almost laugh. “Get in line.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softer:

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want anyone trying to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

You believe him.

He exhales. “I’m coming to see you after the race.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Love you, hermanita.”

“Love you more.”

—

present day (race day)

The baby’s asleep. You’re lying on the couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin, phone resting on your stomach, TV muted. The pre race coverage flickers silently on the screen — cars in garages, skycams over the grandstands, an interviewer smiling too widely. You haven’t watched anything F1 related since you left Monaco. You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy. You’re a mother. You’re tired. But really… it’s because you can’t stomach seeing him in red and blue. Can’t stomach the way the world still treats him like nothing happened. Like you didn’t. Your phone buzzes quietly.

Charles Leclerc

You stare at the screen for a moment, startled. Then swipe to answer.

“Bonjour,” you say softly.

He chuckles under his breath. “That’s a terrible accent.”

You smile for the first time in hours. “Well, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

There’s noise in the background — voices, radios, something metallic being dropped. The paddock, alive and buzzing. You picture him sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, race suit halfway on, hair messy from the helmet fitting.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “Before everything gets loud.”

Your chest tightens. He sounds calm. Gentle. Not like the rest of them — who all called asking for statements, reactions, damage control.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. ��But I wanted to.”

Silence settles for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

“How’s the little one?” he asks.

“Asleep,” you say. “Teething still. I haven’t slept properly in four days.”

Charles hums. “You need a break.”

“I need a time machine.”

He laughs quietly. “Well, I can’t offer that. But if you ever need someone to sit with her while you nap... I’m quite good with babies, you know.”

You can’t help the warmth that spreads in your chest. “Are you?”

“I have proof. I held Pierre’s niece once and she didn’t cry.”

“That’s a low bar, Charles.”

Another soft laugh. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You glance at the screen again. They’re showing Carlos now — focused, arms crossed, deep in discussion with his engineer. Your brother. Your anchor.

“You should go,” you say gently. “It’s race day.”

There’s a pause. Then: “You’ll be watching?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask why.

“Either way,” he says, voice quiet now, “I’m racing for you today.”

Your throat tightens.

“Good luck, Charles.”

“Merci, ma belle.”

The line goes quiet. The paddock fades from your ear. You sit in the stillness of the Ibiza villa, blinking at the television, heart beating a little differently than before.

—

3rd person pov

The confetti hasn’t even settled yet. Carlos is out of the car before his engineer can reach him, helmet off, jaw clenched. He doesn’t even look toward the cameras. Doesn’t acknowledge the cheers. There’s only one person in his line of sight — standing ten feet away in Red Bull gear, smug smile plastered on his face. Max. Third place. Another podium. Another reason to pretend like nothing happened. Carlos moves before anyone can stop him.

“Don’t,” Charles mutters under his breath as he tosses his own gloves down and jogs after him. “Carlos.”

But Carlos doesn’t stop. He’s already standing in front of Max, every muscle in his body pulled taut. Max turns slowly, lazily. Like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Like he thinks he’s still untouchable.

“You think I don’t know what you did?” Carlos spits, voice low but venomous.

Max shrugs. “If this is about your sister, that’s not really—”

Charles steps in fast, hand to Carlos’s chest, firm and calm. “Stop.”

“Move, Charles.”

“No.”

Carlos’s eyes flash. “He cheated on her. Lied to her. Let her disappear with his daughter and then ran off to play boyfriend with Kelly like it was nothing. And now he’s standing here like—like he deserves to celebrate anything.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “I know. But don’t give him what he wants.”

Max scoffs. “What I want?”

Charles doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay locked on Carlos. “You won. You raced for her today. Don’t let him take that from you.”

Carlos is shaking. But his hands curl into fists, not around Max’s collar, just at his sides.

“I need to see her,” he mutters.

Charles nods. “I was going to ask if I could come with you.”

Carlos blinks. For the first time all day, his face softens—just barely.

“You sure?”

“I promised I’d check on her,” Charles says. “I meant it.”

Carlos exhales through his nose, chest still rising and falling too fast. Behind them, Max walks away like nothing happened. Ahead of them, the exit looms — press waiting, questions brewing, cameras ready. But Carlos claps a hand to Charles’s shoulder and mutters, “Let’s get out of here.”

—

back to 2nd pov!

You weren’t expecting visitors. You’re in an old t-shirt, hair twisted into a messy bun, pacing the kitchen with your daughter on your hip, humming softly to keep her calm. The day’s been long — teething again, of course — and you’d barely kept your eyes open through the first half of the race. You didn’t even check the results. You just… didn’t have it in you today. Then your phone rings. Carlos. You answer immediately.

“I’m ten minutes away,” he says. No hello. Just that. “Don’t freak out.”

“What do you mean—? Ten minutes away from what?”

“From you.”

You blink, shifting your daughter higher on your hip. “Wait, you’re here? In Ibiza?”

“Yup.”

“Carlos—”

“And I brought someone,” he says quickly, before you can ask. “Just—open the door when we knock, okay?”

He hangs up before you can respond. Your heart stutters. You glance down at your daughter, who’s now wide-eyed and babbling softly like she knows something’s about to change. Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. You open it slowly—and freeze.

Carlos stands there in a hoodie and sunglasses, like someone wouldn’t immediately recognize the British Grand Prix winner anywhere in Europe. But you’re not looking at him. Not at first. Because behind him, standing quietly, holding a small white stuffed bunny in one hand and a bag slung over his shoulder, is Charles.

Your breath catches. “Charles?”

He offers the smallest smile. “I brought her a gift. I hope that’s okay.”

You blink down at the stuffed animal. It’s the exact one she lost at the airport three weeks ago. The one she cried about for two days. You never told anyone that.

Carlos clears his throat. “I figured she could use some normal faces. And, well. I told Charles everything.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Your daughter wriggles in your arms when she sees Charles, reaching slightly, recognizing him even after weeks. Your eyes sting.

“Yeah,” you whisper, stepping aside, voice caught in your throat. “Come in.”

They do. Charles’s hand brushes lightly against your back as he walks past you — not a touch that demands anything. Just… reassurance. You glance at him, and he offers nothing but warmth.

“I made coffee,” you murmur to Carlos. “And there’s wine.”

Carlos sighs, dropping his bag and hugging you tight. “Wine. Definitely wine.”

And Charles? He stands quietly in front of you and your daughter, holding the stuffed bunny out to her like an offering.

“Hi,” he says softly. “Missed you.”

She takes the bunny with both hands and smiles. So do you.

—

The villa is quieter now. Carlos disappeared into the guest room twenty minutes ago, your daughter tucked against his chest, already half-asleep. You could hear him humming her lullabies in Spanish, the way your father used to for the both of you. You step out onto the terrace, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, glass of wine in hand. The ocean’s just a dark line in the distance, moonlight skipping over it like silver threads. The cicadas sing. The air smells like salt and jasmine.

Charles is already out there. Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, hair still damp from the quick shower he took, hoodie unzipped, legs stretched out. He looks over when you slide the door shut behind you.

“She’s out?” he asks.

You nod, sinking into the chair beside him. “Carlos has magic uncle powers.”

Charles smiles at that. “I believe it.”

Silence stretches for a few seconds — but it’s not uncomfortable. Just peaceful. Like the two of you are breathing in the same kind of relief.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you say quietly.

“I didn’t plan to,” he replies. “But when I saw how angry Carlos was… and how badly he wanted to check on you… I just knew I couldn’t stay behind.”

You glance at him. “You raced today.”

He shrugs. “I’ve raced tired before.”

“But not like this.”

Charles looks at you now. Fully. Gently. “You matter more.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t flinch or look away. Doesn’t pretend he didn’t mean it. He just says it plainly, like it’s always been true.

You swallow. “It’s been a lot. Everything... It doesn’t stop, Charles. The internet. The rumors. Max’s lawyers. The press trying to bait a reaction out of me—”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” he says. “Least of all him.”

You rest your head back, closing your eyes. “I know. But I still feel like I’m holding my breath.”

He��s quiet for a moment. You hear the soft clink of his wine glass being set down.

Then, gently: “Can I tell you something?”

You open your eyes.

“I was scared to come,” Charles admits. “Not because I didn’t want to. But because I didn’t know if I’d be crossing a line.”

You look at him.

“Charles…”

“I know you’re not ready for anything. And I’m not asking you to be. But I meant what I said — I care about you. I care about her. I didn’t come here because I want something. I came because I wanted to make sure you knew you’re not alone.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them. You don’t say anything. Just reach out and place your hand over his on the armrest. It’s small. Barely anything. But his thumb brushes your knuckles, and that says everything. You sit there in silence, wrapped in the warmth of the night, the waves humming in the distance, the feeling of something steady blooming slowly between you.

—

yn_sainz

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, franciscagomes and 7,777,000 others.

yn_sainz : thankful for all these angels and blessings i have in my life. more from me soon<3 promise you.

tagged : charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and iamrebeccad

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : YN SAINZ POSTS FIRST PHOTO DUMP SINCE SPLIT — CHARLES SPOTTED WITH HER DAUGHTER 👀 popstar yn sainz just broke her silence with a photo dump from ibiza, including a very cozy shot of charles leclerc holding her baby (!!). caption? "thankful for all these angels and blessings i have in my life. more from me soon<3 promise you."

yeah. the internet is NOT okay rn.

—

view replies.

username00 : the fact that she said “angels” and included carlos, the baby, rebecca and CHARLES???? that’s a family post. that’s a FAMILY.

username88 : i just know max opened instagram, saw that pic, and walked straight into a wall

username000 : she really said “i'm healing, i’m glowing, and he’s helping raise the baby you forgot existed.” iconic behavior.

username15 : her dropping this after weeks of silence like she didn’t just emotionally flatten everyone??? girl i’m on the FLOOR.

username17 : charles is not the rebound. charles is the healing arc. charles is the redemption story. charles is the HOME.

—

The smell of coffee and fresh bread pulls you out of sleep. You pad into the kitchen barefoot, wearing one of Carlos’s oversized Ferrari tees and your daughter balanced lazily on your hip. Her hair’s a mess of curls and dreams, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes already scanning the room.

Charles is standing at the stove. In sweatpants. No shirt. Just barefoot, sleepy, and completely at home — flipping pancakes with one hand while balancing a bottle of milk against his side.

Carlos is at the table, cutting strawberries. He glances up and grins. “Good morning, madre superiora.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me throw something at you.”

Before he can fire back, another voice chimes in from behind the island.

“Don’t encourage her, Carlos.”

You blink as Rebecca, your brother’s longtime girlfriend, emerges holding two mugs of coffee — somehow already fully dressed and glowing like she’s just stepped off a Vogue shoot. “Hey, mama.”

You laugh, caught off guard. “You’re here?”

“She landed late last night,” Carlos says, stealing a strawberry. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Rebecca says, walking over to kiss your cheek. “And meet the little one. Finally.”

Your daughter reaches toward her without hesitation. Rebecca melts immediately.

“I made extra pancakes,” Charles says, glancing back at you. “Hope that’s okay.”

You smile sleepily, heart so full it aches. “More than okay.”

The five of you gather around the table — your daughter on Charles’s lap, sticky fingers reaching for fruit while he gently wipes her chin. Carlos buttering too much toast. Rebecca laughing at something dumb he says and stealing bites off his plate. There’s sunlight pouring through the windows, music playing softly in the background, plates passed around without question. It feels… right. Like this moment shouldn’t be rare. You sip your coffee and glance across the table. Charles is already looking at you. He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, soft and quiet, like he’s exactly where he wants to be. And for the first time in weeks, you believe it.

—

It is quiet again. Rebecca and Carlos are in town picking up groceries. Your daughter’s asleep, finally settled after fighting her nap like a tiny warrior. The sky outside is streaked with pink and lavender, the last bits of sunlight trailing off over the sea. You’re on the floor of the living room, legs crossed, notebook open in your lap. Your guitar rests beside you, fingers tapping against the worn wood as you hum under your breath.

Charles sits on the couch behind you, legs stretched out, a book in his lap he hasn’t touched in half an hour. He’s been watching you. Not saying anything. Just listening. You scribble down another line, cross it out. Try again.

One thing about karma…

You pause. Sing it under your breath.

That bitch will find you.

You glance over your shoulder. “Too much?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not enough.”

You laugh — dry, soft, tired. “She’s… angry.”

“She should be.”

You look down at your lyrics again. The page is slowly filling. Not polished, not final, but raw. Real. Like something crawling out of your chest and finally, finally getting air.

Yeah, everyone's replaceable But not me, though You'll feel it deep down whenever you're alone You're livin' a lie if you're sayin' I'm wrong

You stop, throat catching. Charles speaks before you can spiral.

“I think that line’s going to wreck people.”

“Good.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you ask, quieter, “Do you think he’ll hear it?”

Charles nods. “He’ll feel it.”

You blink quickly, swallowing the tightness building behind your ribs. “It’s not about revenge.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I just…” Your fingers curl around your pen. “I want him to feel it. To sit with what he did. To know that he broke something that didn’t deserve to be broken.”

Charles sets the book aside and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, voice low and steady.

“He’s going to hear this song one night when he’s alone. Maybe in the back of a car. Maybe in his apartment. And it’s going to cut deeper than anything you could ever say out loud.”

You look at him. Really look.

“And what if I’m never over it?” you whisper.

Charles doesn’t flinch. “Then I’ll sit with you through every moment of it. For as long as it takes.”

Your chest aches at how easily he says it. How much he means it. You glance back at your notebook. Your handwriting’s getting sloppier — more urgent, more alive.

Hope you’re at least real with yourself...Karma comes ‘round knockin’ at your doorShe’s comin’ to collect, ‘cause karma won’t forget…

The pen taps against the page, the rhythm of your rage and heartbreak and healing all stitched into one. And when you start humming again — soft, deliberate, full of power — Charles doesn’t say a word. He just stays with you. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

—

several weeks later...

yn_sainz

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511 and 11,000,000 others.

yn_sainz : that karma...she's a bitch you won't see coming. moral conscience is all yours my angels<3 love you all and remember to stay karmically intact. kisses xx

—

user has limited comments on this post.

yukitsunoda0511 : you've got that post divorce glow. i promise to stay karmically intact after this song (does shoving him off the track still count?) love you pooks

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : i feel like karma would forgive you, yukipie. love you my boyyyyy

liked by yukitsunoda0511

franciscagomes : you bodied this. physically. emotionally. spiritually.

liked by yn_sainz

alex_albon : lily has not stopped playing this since midnight...sigh...you ate mama

liked by yn_sainz and lilymhe

georgerussell63 : girl lets hold a "surviving max verstappen" seminar

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : we would both be there all damn day 💀

liked by georgerussell63

iamrebeccad : the most beautiful woman in the world. they will all regret crossing you, mi amor

liked by yn_sainz

charles_leclerc : 🌹🤍

liked by yn_sainz

carlossainz55 : so proud of you, mi vida<3

liked by yn_sainz

—

several weeks later...

f1gossipgirls (took me way too long to find a pic of max and charles where they look at least mildy tense...they are always so happy together and gay.)

10,00,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : If you were wondering why the paddock felt ten degrees hotter this weekend, allow us to recap the absolute chaos that unfolded: Pop sensation YN Sainz made her official return to the paddock for the first time since her Moral Conscience drop — and she did not come quietly. She was photographed arriving in head to toe black, sharp sunglasses, and holding hands with none other than Charles Leclerc. She spent most of the afternoon laughing and walking with Lily Muni He, while Carlos played the world’s most protective big brother in the background. Meanwhile…Rumors swirled post-race of a heated exchange between Charles and Max Verstappen, who reportedly crossed paths in the Red Bull hospitality with zero smiles and maximum tension. And if that wasn’t enough...Later that night, YN and Charles were caught sharing a kiss behind the Ferrari motorhome, completely oblivious to the cameras — or maybe not caring at all. YN Sainz is back. With a vengeance. And in couture.

—

The paddock is buzzing long before you arrive. People know. They don’t say it — not out loud — but the tension is in the air like static. A few paddock photographers shift on their feet, ready. Social media managers hover by the entrance like lions with camera rolls open. And then the gates part. First, it's Charles. Red Ferrari polo, sunglasses, hair pushed back like he didn’t try but definitely did. Calm. Poised. Steady. Then you. All black. Silk blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Designer sunglasses. Statement earrings. A subtle red lip. Your heels click against the pavement like punctuation — not hurried, not performative. Just confident. Controlled.

Your fingers are laced with his. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You walk beside him like you’ve always belonged there. And maybe you have. Carlos is the first to greet you — waiting near the Ferrari hospitality, arms crossed, brow raised, he hugs you. Hard.

“Please tell me you didn’t wear black because you planned to kill someone,” he mutters in Spanish.

You smirk. “No promises.”

Charles chuckles beside you, but there’s tension in his shoulders. He can feel the eyes. The whispers. He doesn’t care about the noise — but he does care about you.

“I’m okay,” you murmur to him, as if reading his mind. “Let them look.”

And look they do. You pass Lily and Alex first — both of them giving you knowing smiles and whispered greetings. Then the photographers flash again. Then a Red Bull mechanic walks straight into a stack of tires because he’s too busy staring. But it isn’t until you cross into Red Bull territory that you feel it. The silence. Max is standing a few feet away — suit half-zipped, water bottle in hand. And for a second, everything slows. His gaze flicks to your hand in Charles’s. Then your outfit. Then your face.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin slightly. The same way he used to when he wanted control. Power. But today, you don’t flinch. You don’t even stop walking. Charles squeezes your hand. You squeeze back. And just like that, you disappear into the Ferrari garage — the door sliding shut behind you like a final, satisfying period at the end of a chapter long overdue.

—

You’re seated on the pit wall steps, reviewing Ferrari timing sheets and sipping a smoothie, when you hear his voice.

“Can we talk?”

You look up — and there he is. Max.

You don’t stand. You don’t invite him to sit. “I’m busy.”

He ignores it, stepping closer.

“I just want to understand what’s going on. With Charles. With her.”

Your chest tightens.

“You had months to understand what was going on,” you reply coolly. “Now it’s not your business anymore.”

“She’s my daughter,” he says sharply. “It’s always going to be my business.”

Your voice stays even. “You haven’t asked about her once since February. You haven’t seen her in person in almost five months.”

“I’ve been racing. Travelling.”

“So have I. And Charles. And Carlos. But we show up.”

He flinches. His jaw ticks. “You’re parading her around with Leclerc like he’s—”

“Like he’s what?” you snap, standing now. “Like he’s present? Like he’s kind? Like he knows her favorite bedtime song and how she takes her bottle when she’s teething?”

He goes quiet.

“I’m filing for full custody,” he says suddenly.

You blink.

“I’m not going to let you turn her against me.”

“Max,” you say, voice steel under silk, “no one has to turn her against you. She’ll grow up and see what she needs to. I won’t say a word. I don’t have to.”

He opens his mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to speak again. Because Charles is walking over from the Ferrari garage — already tense, already reading your face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, stepping between you and Max.

“She’s fine,” Max mutters. “For now.”

Charles doesn’t blink. “You should leave.”

Max scoffs. “You’re not her lawyer, Charles.”

“No,” he says quietly, “I’m the one she trusts.”

Max stares at him. But he backs off. For now.

—

The race is over. Max P2. Charles P3. But neither of them are thinking about champagne. Charles finds him in the post-race cool-down room — alone, toweling sweat off his face.

“You really want to go to court?” Charles says, calm but sharp.

Max doesn’t even look surprised. “It’s not about you.”

“No,” Charles agrees. “It’s about her. And the baby you haven’t bothered to see. You don’t want custody. You want control.”

Max’s mouth hardens. “You think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Charles says, stepping closer. “I know I am. Because I’d never walk away from someone I love and then try to drag her back just because she found better.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know she cried herself to sleep for months. I know she had to play popstar and mother and survivor all at once. And I know that every single day you chose to ignore that.”

Max swallows.

Charles leans in just enough. “If you try to hurt her again — legally or otherwise — I will fight. Not on the track. Not for a title. For her. And I never lose when I’m fighting for something real.”

And with that, he turns and walks away.

—

The house is still. Your daughter is asleep down the hall. Carlos and Rebecca are staying the night again, curled up in the guest room with old movies playing low. The windows are open, letting the sea breeze drift in, warm and weightless.

You’re in the kitchen, standing barefoot at the sink, rinsing out her bottle, letting the silence settle around you. Charles steps in quietly, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing one of your brother’s hoodies. His eyes find you instantly.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, but don’t look up. “I heard what you said to Max.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away.

“I wasn’t trying to cause more drama,” he murmurs. “I just… couldn’t let him talk to you like that. Not after everything.”

You turn slowly, finally facing him. “You didn’t cause anything.”

He leans back against the counter, watching you. Carefully. Gently.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

Charles’s brow furrows. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you whisper.

“No, it’s not.” He steps forward. “I don’t owe you anything. But I love you. And that means I’ll protect you — not because I have to, but because I want to.”

The words hit you like soft thunder. Familiar, terrifying, safe.

“You love me?” you ask, voice barely there.

He nods. No hesitation.

You blink fast, heart racing. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say it back.”

“You don’t have to,” he says gently. “I’m not in a rush. I just need you to know where I stand.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes burning.

“I felt… held today,” you say after a pause. “Not just protected. Seen. Heard. It’s been a long time since I felt that way.”

Charles steps even closer, hands finding your waist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Whether you’re sad or strong or angry or radiant or terrified. I’ll be there for all of it.”

Your hands move to his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie like you need something to hold onto.

And then, softly — so quietly you’re not sure he hears it:

“I think I’m starting to love you too.”

He smiles. Not smug. Not surprised. Just warm. Infinite.

He leans down, forehead resting against yours. “We’ll take our time.”

And under the hush of night and the whisper of waves outside, you finally kiss him — slow, deep, full of everything you don’t yet have the words for. But he understands. He always does.

—

2 months later...

f1gossipgirls

8,100,009 others.

f1gossipgirls : Pop star YN Sainz and Max Verstappen faced off in court today over custody of their 1½-year-old daughter — and let’s just say the entrances alone told a story: YN arrived hand in hand with Charles Leclerc, who has not only been consistently present in the baby’s life for months (see: weekly IG story cameos and those now-iconic zoo day photos), but looked like he belonged beside her in every way. Calm. Solid. Unshakable. YN was also backed by her brother Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend Rebecca Donaldson, both of whom walked in arm-in-arm with her, radiating “try us” energy. Max Verstappen, meanwhile, arrived with Kelly Piquet — which... bold move? Sources say the courtroom tension was palpable, especially when Leclerc reportedly refused to acknowledge either of them inside. And the verdict? YN was granted full legal custody. Sources say Max is “furious,” but insiders insist there was never much of a case on his side. All we’re saying is… karma might wear Prada. And a Ferrari polo.

—

The courtroom is cold — painfully bright and unforgiving. You sit straight-backed in your chair, hands folded in your lap. Not shaking. Not hiding. You wore black again. Not for mourning — for armor. Your daughter is at home with your Mama and Papa, safe and smiling. She doesn’t know what today is. She just knows her mama kissed her four times before leaving and promised pancakes when she came back.

Charles is beside you. He hasn’t let go of your hand since you walked in. Carlos and Rebecca sit directly behind you, arms crossed, jaw tight. Carlos hasn’t blinked in fifteen minutes. He doesn’t need to testify. His presence says enough.

On the opposite side of the courtroom, Max sits with his lawyer. Kelly’s behind him, sunglasses still on indoors. He doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

The judge glances over the papers in front of her.

“Miss Sainz, you’re requesting full legal custody. Sole decision-making rights.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” you answer, voice steady.

The opposing lawyer stands.

“Your Honor, Mr. Verstappen simply wants to be involved. He is willing to discuss joint custody arrangements, but he feels he’s being pushed out of his daughter’s life.”

You speak before your attorney can respond.

“With respect, Your Honor,” you say clearly, “he hasn’t seen his daughter in person since February. He missed her first steps. Her first full sentence. Her first fever. He didn’t ask about any of it.”

Max shifts but doesn’t look at you.

You go on. “I never once denied him access. Not through the breakup. Not through the media storm. I kept the door open. I waited. And he chose not to walk through it.”

Your voice wavers — just once — but Charles squeezes your hand, and you steady again.

“I’ve been her sole caregiver. I’ve built her routine. I know her allergies. I know her laugh. I know the exact song that calms her down when she’s scared. And none of that is because I locked anyone out. It’s because no one showed up.”

The room is silent. Even the judge stops writing.

“Why now?” she asks gently. “Why fight for her now?”

Max speaks, finally. “Because I’m her father.”

You turn to face him. “Then where were you when she cried for one?”

The judge takes a breath. Her decision is swift.

"Full legal custody awarded to Ms. Sainz. Supervised visitation may be discussed upon demonstration of consistency and parental responsibility."

Max doesn’t react. He just blinks. You thank the judge quietly. And when you turn to Charles, he pulls your hand to his lips — kisses your knuckles, reverent and proud. Carlos exhales behind you, finally. Like he hasn’t breathed all morning. And as you walk out — head high, shoulders strong, the woman the world tried to break — you don’t look back. You never have to again.

—

The house is quiet when you get home. The baby is asleep on the couch in her favorite position — arms splayed like a starfish, one sock missing, soft cartoon lullabies humming from the TV. Mama left a note on the kitchen counter: She’s been an angel. We’ll give you some space. You’ve got this. Love you.

You stand there for a moment, just staring at her. She looks so peaceful. So untouched by the weight of the day. She doesn’t know what happened in that courtroom — how close things came to unraveling. How hard you fought. How close you were to breaking. And maybe that’s the point. You fought so she’d never have to know.

Behind you, Charles sets your bag down quietly, then comes to stand beside you. He doesn’t say anything. He just brushes his hand against your back, warm and grounding. You finally exhale. And suddenly — your knees buckle. He catches you instantly.

You don’t sob. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s the kind of cry that lives in your chest for weeks. Quiet, exhausted, relieved. You curl into his hoodie, your hands gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing tethering you to the floor.

“I didn’t realize how scared I was,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Until she said it. Until the judge actually said I could keep her safe.”

Charles wraps his arms around you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head. “You were never going to lose her.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But I kept thinking… what if he lies better than I tell the truth?”

“You didn’t have to lie,” he says softly. “You just had to show up. And you did. Every day. She’s yours. Always was.”

You look up at him, eyes red but full of something softer now. Something steadier.

“And you,” you say, voice low. “Thank you for—”

He stops you with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to thank me. Loving you both? That’s not something I do for you. That’s just… who I am now.”

The baby stirs softly on the couch, letting out a tiny squeak before rolling onto her side and settling again. You and Charles both turn to look at her.

“She looks like you when she sleeps,” he says with a crooked smile.

You sniff, laughing through it. “Terrifying.”

“Beautiful,” he corrects.

You lean into his chest again, heartbeat slowly settling. The sun is streaming through the windows. Outside, the world might still be loud. Messy. Cruel. But here — in this quiet corner of your life — it’s just you, your daughter, and the man who never once let go of your hand. And for the first time in forever, you feel completely safe.

—

The villa is quiet, bathed in golden lamplight. Your daughter is asleep in her room, dreaming in soft babbles, the monitor humming gently on the kitchen counter. Charles is sitting on the floor of the living room, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows as he sips tea and scrolls through his phone. He doesn’t notice you right away when you come in — carrying your laptop, a pair of headphones, and a nervous sort of calm in your chest.

You sit beside him and tuck your knees under you.

“I have something,” you say softly, “I want you to hear.”

He puts his phone down immediately, giving you his full attention. You hand him the headphones, then open the laptop and press play. He slides them on. You don’t watch the screen. You watch him. The intro is soft — strings, and then your voice, humming lightly. Not polished. Not perfect. But real. And the lyrics are the kind that make your throat close up even now.

When you smiled at me, something changed in my brain chemistry…A love felt infinitely, was my heart’s remedy…

Charles’s lashes lower as he listens, mouth parting slightly, hands clasped around the mug. You can see it in his face when the chorus hits.

Heaven on earth may fade away, but you and I are forever to stay in love…I don’t care about much anymore, it’s just us…

His lips curve — not into a smile, exactly. Something softer. Something felt. The kind of expression he only makes when he's looking at your daughter. Or you. The second verse plays and you look down, fingers knotting in your lap.

You wrote this album with no filter. You didn’t think about radio play or critics or charts. You just thought about them. The way your daughter clings to Charles when she’s sleepy. The way he runs his fingers through her hair while she babbles about nothing.

The way he looked at you that night in court when everything was falling and he stood steady anyway. When the track ends, Charles pulls the headphones off slowly, eyes glassy.

“You wrote that?” he says quietly.

You nod, biting your lip.

“For us?”

You smile. “It’s the first track. The whole album’s about you two.”

He sets the headphones down and cups your jaw gently, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this,” he whispers.

“You showed up,” you say. “When no one else did. You didn’t try to save me — you just loved me until I remembered how to save myself.”

He kisses you then — slow and reverent. Like he knows you’re giving him your heart in more than just melody. And when he pulls back, his voice is rough and full.

“I want the world to hear that.”

“They will,” you say softly. “But I wanted you to be the first.”

The baby monitor crackles — a soft whimper, then silence. Charles leans forward, eyes still locked on yours.

“I can get her,” he offers.

But you shake your head and climb to your feet.

“She wants both of us.”

And as you both walk down the hallway — bare feet, tangled fingers, new music humming quietly from the laptop — you know now, more than ever: It’s just you. It’s just him. It’s just love. And it’s forever.

—

yn_sainz

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 14,008,003 others.

yn_sainz : had to learn to rearrange my mind and be in peace <333 my new album for : you will be released on 10/16. the birthday of both my soulmates. charles, thank you for loving me when i felt unlovable and loving my angel like she is your own. you have been too good to us. i love you both more than anything in this world. my perfect little fam :)

tagged : charles_leclerc

—

user has limited the amount of comments on this post.

charles_leclerc : you both saved me right back. je t’aime, always.

liked by yn_sainz

alex_albon : crying, throwing up, screaming… and also requesting track 3 early

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : you and lily need to come over for early access listening party!!

liked by lilymhe and alex_albon

↳ lilymhe : ON MY WAYYYYYY

liked by yn_sainz

lando : both born on 10/16?? okay the universe shipped this.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

lewishamilton : love like this is what makes the world feel soft again. congratulations, angel.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 : this post made me cry. happy now?

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : you’re telling me i grew up with this man and he ends up the muse?? wild.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

—

1K notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

Note

His teammates call you because he isn't handling the break up well.

I'm gonna be honest, Anon. I went a more humorous route with this (but some angst in there too because why not!) I'm just imagining all of them being completely pathetic and the one calling is on the phone like "come get your man please." So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, some angst, established relationship, breakups. brief humor

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You have two minutes,” you say immediately after answering your phone.

“You need to call him,” comes Simon’s gruff voice on the other end.

You’ve only met Simon a handful of times, but he’s always been your favorite of John’s team. He has consistently treated you with kindness and respect, and he never oversteps boundaries.

“Why?” you ask, glancing at your nails, pretending you don’t care.

“He fucking misses you.”

“That’s not enough of a reason,” you reply.

It isn’t. Not really. Even if your heart aches and your stomach flips from hearing it.

“Captain isn’t taking the breakup well.”

You want to say that you aren’t either, even though you’re the one who ended things. In reality, you miss John. It’s agonizing.

“And?” you ask, trying to hide the slight crack in your voice.

“He has us running laps around the fucking track, love. Haven’t done that since I was a grunt who couldn’t properly tie his boot laces.”

You sigh. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Yes.” Simon’s response is immediate.

Rubbing your temple, you decide to take a leap. It wouldn’t hurt to talk. Not really. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“This is absurd,” you mutter, rubbing the middle of your brow, irritation building in the back of your head.

“Just give us a few minutes,” comes Captain Price’s voice. It’s Kyle’s boss, but he’s not the only one on the phone.

“Oh, aye. Hear us out.” Soap is there, too.

For all you know, Ghost is lingering on the call, a silent entity listening in but not saying anything.

“Why? Give me a reason?”

“Kyle misses you,” says Price.

“He loves you, lass.”

This isn’t new information. You’re aware of how Kyle feels but that doesn’t change things. The two of you are not together anymore. He needs to move on.

“He’s not handling the breakup well.” This time it’s Ghost. The silent man speaks.

“What do you want me to do,” you sigh.

“Talk to him,” says Price.

“No.”

Your phone buzzes and you hold it away from your ear. It’s a text from Price. You click on it, revealing a photo.

It’s Kyle. He’s curled up in his bed in the barracks, clutching a teddy bear he won you at a carnival on your first date.

“We can come get you,” says Price.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m sorry, John. But you shouldn’t have called. I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. You respect Captain John Price. The few times you’ve met him, he’d been pleasant, and he was always the first one to greet you whenever you visited Johnny on base.

“I understand that you broke it off with him.”

“John—”

“Listen. Please.”

He genuinely sounds concerned, and that gives you pause.

It’s not like you and Johnny ended things on bad terms. His life is busy. It’s dangerous. You just don’t fit in it, and the stress of never knowing when or if he’s going to come home is something far to difficult a thing to carry with you.

“He’s been struggling. Had to corner him in my office to get him to talk. He’s really hurting.”

You swallow. Lick your lips. “Why are you calling me, John?”

“I want you to talk to him.”

“John—”

“Soap is currently facedown in his bed in the barracks. Sulking.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“In person,” says John. It sounds like a command. Not an ask.

“Fine, John,” you reply, grabbing your car keys.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You need to talk to him. Simon is a bloody mess.”

“He’s fine, Johnny. He’ll get over. There was no reason for you to call me.”

Johnny snorts on the other end. “You don’t think so? I thought he was going to crush a new recruit’s skull in this morning.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not interested in talking with Simon right now.”

Is it really a breakup? No. Not really. More like a separation. Simon has your whole heart, but he’s stubborn and cold. His shell is difficult to crack.

“That’s too bad. Because I’m here.”

“You’re—what?”

“Aye. Walking up to your front door right now.”

You blink. Aghast. “John MacTavish you better not—”

There is a sharp series of knocks at your front door. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter.

Growling, you storm to the front door, phone still pressed to your ear. You unlatch the deadbolt and yank the door open. Johnny is standing on the other side, his phone also held to his ear. He gives you his biggest grin.

You want to smack it right off his face.

“What are you doing?”

Johnny ends the call. “I’m taking you to Simon.”

3K notes · View notes

jamminvroomvroom · 8 months ago

Text

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first. 2

LN x fem!leclerc reader

PART 2 OF 2 -> read part 1 linked HERE!

here we go again guys, you know the drill! follows directly on from part 1 because of the silly word count :(

warnings: warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!)

part 2: 6.1k words

8. i have you.

“you never told me why.” lando blurts.

the sun is setting outside, the pair of you sprawled out over your hotel bed. he’d been in your room for a few hours, tangled with you between the linen sheets. it’s thursday in brazil, and he’d made a beeline for your hotel room after media day wrapped up. he couldn’t explain the anxiety he felt, pooling thickly in the pit of his belly, but it subsided as soon as he saw your pretty face, peeking through the crack in your door.

he’d stayed after, a habit that had been developing of late, when you were both at home in monaco, but it was unusual on a race weekend. you’d pulled out your laptop to do some work, and chucked the remote at him, telling him to put something on netflix. he’d just smiled and obliged, more than willing to stay with you.

“told you ‘why’ what?” you look up from your laptop, confused.

“why you haven’t really been with anyone else.” his voice is small, scared he’s overstepping but he figures he’s seen you naked one too many times to get shy.

“oh.”

you stare off into the dim light of the room for a second, collecting your thoughts, reliving it all.

“you don’t need to tell me, sorry if that was weird-“

“no, uh, it’s fine. it’s a bit tragic really, embarrassing.” you start. “there was a guy, a couple of years ago. he was on my course at uni. he was perfect, flowers on my doorstep once a week, romantic dinners overlooking the harbour.” you reminisce, smiling sadly. “we went on a few dates and he was selling it all perfectly, it was like he was telling me everything i wanted to hear. i trusted him, so i slept with him. it was my first time.” your breath hitches. “next thing i know, he’s telling everyone that will listen that he’s best friends with charles leclerc and that he’s fucked an f1 drivers sister. and, you know, monaco is small. charles and arthur beat the shit out of him.” you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are now glossed over with fresh, stinging tears.

lando slides closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm over your shoulder.

“it’s always been hard, you know? people trying to get close to me so that they could get close to charles. all my life, it’s been the same shit. i just wanted someone to want me for me, just once.”

you’re crying now, and lando wants to die for causing it.

“hey, ‘m so sorry, honey. i shouldn’t have asked.” he shushes you, pulling you close. he kisses the top of your head gently, and you snuggle further into him.

“no, it’s okay. wanted you to know. that’s why i like this. us.” it comes out just above a whisper.

“that’s why i like us too.” he murmurs. you look up at him, scanning his face.

“what’s your story? charles said something to me once about a bad breakup.” you ask softly. lando sighs.

“she wanted the lifestyle more than she wanted me.” he shrugs.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. i’m better off.” i have you, he wants to add.

“i like the fact that we can’t hurt eachother that way.” you breathe, voicing the sentiment that you’ve both shared since the very first time you were together.

“i like it too, honey. more than you know.”

9. ache.

a weight lifts off of him in vegas.

brazil had been a shit show, one that he wanted to forget. one that left him awake for two days avoiding your calls, until you snapped him out of it by showing up at his place anyway, and giving him the best head of his fucking life. he’d slept like a damn baby after that.

he had a week off, after, which he spent in your bed more than his own, and then he was promptly off to nevada, awaiting your arrival a few days later and fixated on clawing something back after brazil, even if it was just pride.

well, that fixation didn’t amount to much, but at least you were there, somewhere, watching and waiting. charles is a wreck, though, storming away from parc ferme, which means you’ll be with him, instead of with lando. he feels selfish at the way it stings.

he’s exhausted when he leaves the track, dead on his feet in the elevator up to his room. he can’t bring himself to join max or george and celebrate. he’ll make it up to both of them another time. his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, recognising your contact. he doesn’t even fight the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

packed something special for you. you gonna come find out what?

he’s in love with you. has been for a while.

the attention you pay to him for himl, the way you tease him and laugh with him and let him lose himself in unravelling you. your quick wit, mesmerising eyes, the way you switch languages when he scrambles your brain and you can’t think hard enough to keep speaking english. he’s a goner, and he knows it.

he doesn’t bother replying, just makes a beeline for your room. he’s spent enough time in it already this weekend to make it there without much thought. you’d even left him a keycard, which he retrieves with nimble fingers from his wallet, letting himself into your suite.

he calls your name, rounding the corner and he could die right there, just at the sight of you.

you’re lamplit, knelt on the middle of your bed, wrapped in nothing but intricate, baby pink lace.

“my god.” he pants, jaw dropped. you’re ethereal, gorgeous, a delicate gift wrapped up just for him to open.

“do you like it?” your eyes are wide, daunted.

“what the fuck did i do to deserve you?” he stalks to the end of the bed, shrugging off his jacket, his hoodie, until he’s left in a white vest and team joggers. he kneels down at the foot of the bed, ready to crawl over you. “i love it.”

you flush, grinning sweetly as he crawls over you, pushing you back into the mattress.

“you did this all for me?” lando asks, stroking over a lacy bra strap.

“thought you deserved it.” you purr, but your facade slips for just a minute. “is this okay? never done this before.” you glance up at him with round, doe eyes that make him swallow hard, melting further into you.

“‘s perfect.” he promises. “you’re so perfect.”

lando kisses you softly, his warm skin pressing into yours. you moan quietly into his mouth, holding him close. he thumbs over the lace adorning your bust, stroking it. you squirm every time he brushes your skin.

“wanna be on top. wanna try it.” you pant into his mouth, watching closely as he groans, eyes fluttering as he imagines the sight.

“only if you keep this on.” he bargains, flipping the pair of you over.

you sit up on his lap, smoothing your hands over his chest as his find your hips. he steadies you, playing with the band of your panties, tracing over the pattern.

“can’t believe you did this all for me.” lando coos, taking the opportunity to take it all in, you, flustered and breathtaking, straddling him. dressed up all for him, all his.

“you deserve it.”

“do you think you’re ready for me? lemme see.” his hand skates between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against the crotch of your underwear. he applies pressure against the wet patch that he feels, licking his lips. “were you thinking about me when you were getting all dressed up? thinking about how i’d touch you?”

“yeah,” you nod frantically, grinding down on his fingers. “wanted you all day but i wanted to be good for you.” you pout. you’re gonna kill him, he thinks.

“always good for me.” he applies more pressure, toying with your clit through the lace, the sensation making you quiver, bucking your hips.

“just want you inside of me, lando. i’m ready.” you plead, palming over his sweats. your hand travels further, finding his between your legs. you tug your underwear to the side, and he feels just how wet you are for him.

“you sure, baby?”

there he goes again. baby. your tummy twists.

“yeah, lan, i want it to hurt a little.” you sound so sweet for him and it shreds the rest of his self restraint.

lando sits up just enough to rip off his vest, taps your thigh so that you lift up for a second, long enough for him to shrug off his sweats. when he’s bare, he paws at your hips, helping you to adjust. your fingers wrap around his length and he jolts, mouth falling open as you swipe the head of him through your slit. you sink down, taking just the tip, but it feels like the first time all over again, the angle creating delicious pressure that burns through your pelvis. your eyes squeeze shut and he swirls his fingers over your sides.

“take it easy for me, love.” lando urges, looking up at you with concern.

“i like it. promise.” you choke out, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, the burn.

you continue to slide down on him, sinking further and further until you’re flush against his pelvis. you roll your hips experimentally, your clit brushing against the thatch of hair at his base and you squirm, sensitive.

“want me to help?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“wanna do this for you.” you pant, rocking your hips against his.

the angle is brutal, so intoxicatingly good, and you can already feel yourself leaking all over him. you build up a rhythm, slow and steady, watching the ripple of his abs everytime you sink back down on him, the way his curls fan over his forehead, the veins in his arms bulging as he grips at your waist tighter and tighter.

“you look so pretty, baby, taking me like this.” lando sighs, helping you pick up the pace. you cry out, leaning backwards, fingers gripping his firm thighs.

“it’s so good, you feel so good.” you whine, arching your back.

he’s entranced by the way your breasts bounce, fighting against the skimpy bra and he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily. one hand leaves your waist and travels to the cups of your bra, tugging so harshly that you hear the threads break. he frees your tits, watching in delight as they fall out of the lace confines.

“you’re so sexy, honey, look so beautiful. you’re all mine, aren’t you? this is all for me, right?” lando’s eyes roll back in his head when he feels the way you clamp down around him at his words. he’s gonna fill you up, he thinks, mark you as his from the inside out.

“yeah, lan, all yours.” you slur, fighting the urge to cum. “‘m all yours.”

he can see that you’re tiring, the ache setting in, so he pulls you forward, until you’re chest to chest, wrapped up his his thick arms.

“i’ve got you, baby.” he swears, holding you close as he rolls his hips, fucking up into you.

it’s all too much like this, the constant pressure on your clit, the head of his cock tapping against your cervix, the thrumming of his heart, the cold sweat of his chest peaking your nipples. you let out a strangled cry of his name, and you see white, your nerve endings overstimulated and fried. all you can hear is his voice, pulling your through it and out the other side.

“did so good for me, baby, such a good girl. took it all so well, love.”

you’re limp on top of him, a dead weight curled around him like a life force. there’s nothing that could make him move you, and wouldn’t let you go unless you asked. you lay there in silence, your mixed release leaking out of you. your heart rate steadies, about as much as it can with him around, and you feel yourself blinking away sleep, exhausted. lando notices, of course he does.

“let’s clean up.” he suggests, sitting up carefully with you on his lap.

“carry me?” you request sleepily, a lazy smile painting your face.

“as you wish.” he jokes, bowing his head.

your legs wrap around his waist as he shuffles off of the bed, and he walks to the bathroom, setting you down on the marble sink top. he leans into the shower, adjusting the temperature and turning the water on. he lets it heat up and turns back to you. no words are exchanged as he peels your ruined panties off, as he unhooks your bra and drops its all onto the counter. he tugs you off of the side, guiding your under the stream of water, the warmth making you relax into him. he’s more than happy to prop you up.

“my legs ache.” you giggle, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“was it worth it?”

“definitely.”

“good.”

he cleans you, massaging soap into your skin, and washing it off. you stay close while he does the same for himself, passing him different products as you clean up together. it’s quiet, nothing needs to be said, and you wonder if this is what life with him would be like. domestic and easy.

“stay.” you let yourself ask, croaking the request out into the silence. you’re both drying off, and he’s gathering he’s clothes.

“i thought you’d want me to go.” he looks like a deer in headlights. cute.*

“stay.” your repeat, and this time it sounds like a plea. he slides his boxers on.

“okay.”

he’s like a furnace under the covers and you can’t help but curl into his side, legs wrapping around eachothers. there’s no going back from this, you fear. he’s thinking the same thing. you kiss his chest as you fall asleep, just a quick press of your lips to his pec, but it makes him hot all over. if the lights were still on, you’d see him blushing. he returns the favour with careful peck to your hairline. you both nuzzle impossibly closer.

“has it ever been like that for you?” you whisper into the darkness. you hear the change in his breathing.

the question is loaded; have you ever felt like this before? was that just sex to you? what are we? what is this? do you want me how i want you?

“never.” it’s barely a whisper

you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

when you wake up, he stirs, bronzed arms tightening around you.

“go back to sleep.” he grumbles, pulling your back to his chest.

“i need to catch my flight.” you reply, turning around to face him.

you’re stunned when you see him smushed into the pillow, lips pouty, eye lashes fluttering to clear away sleep. he looks so pretty in the morning light, and you wish you’d asked him to stay the night sooner.

“just fly with me.” lando mutters. you freeze.

“lan, you know i can’t do that. what would that look like?”

“who cares?” he half shrugs behind you, and you wriggle away, sit up in bed.

“uh, me? i care, lando. i can’t be seen flying around with some other driver, do you know how much that would complicate things?”

“some other driver.” he huffs. that gets his attention, and he sits up. “what so we can sneak around, and you’ll let me fuck you, but being on an airplane together is crossing the line?” he grunts sarcastically. you narrow your eyes at him.

“don’t say it like that.” you scold.

“how should i say it, then? i thought maybe this meant something more to you.” he’s standing from the bed now, hurt thick in his voice, and you panic, reaching out for him, but he’s finding his clothes.

“it does! it does mean something to me but… lando, i can’t put charles in that position. i can’t put myself in that position.” you reason weakly, standing and rapidly moving towards him. you pull him to face you, holding onto his shoulders. “don’t go, please.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

he stares down at you, dejected, a wounded animal, and pushes your hands off of him.

“i, uh. i care about you. a lot. too much, i think. i can’t go through this again, and you can’t hurt your brother. so…” he breathes shakily.

“so?” you plead, shaking your head. “don’t do this, we can…”

“i’m not gonna be ‘some other driver’, honey. ‘m sorry.”

“lando-“

“its okay. this was good while it lasted, and i know you’re gonna find what you’re looking for, without all of the, uh,” he gestures around blindly. “the complications.”

“don’t go.” you whisper, catching his hand. tears pool in the corners of your eyes, distorting him.

“go catch your flight.” he smiles sadly, finally dressed, and then he’s gone.

you stand frozen, taking stock of whatever the fuck just happened.

i care about you.

good while it lasted.

you’re gonna find what you’re looking for.

complications.

you choke out a sob, stumble backwards onto the foot of your bed when it hits you.

you’d already found what you were looking for, and now, he was gone.

you’re supposed to go straight to qatar with charles, but you beg him to get you a flight home instead.

he can hear that you’ve been crying, and tells you that he’ll kill anyone that you need him to. you promise it’s fine, through even more tears, tell him that you’ll fill him in when he’s got a minute to breathe.

the ticket lands in your inbox and you flee. you spend the twelve hour flight watching love actually, crying into a glass of wine, and wondering if you should get gracie abrams’ lyrics tattooed on your forehead.

i love you, i’m sorry would be quite fitting right about now.

when you land, you don’t even go home, making a beeline for alex and charles’ apartment instead. when alex lets you in, confused to see your face, leo does laps around your feet. you drop your bags and fall into her arms, sob until your throat is raw and your eyes are bloodshot.

“i fucked up.” you wail, breathing hard.

“lando?” she asks, tentative. she has a knowing look, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

“what? how did you-“

“well let’s just say that we saw the DM he sent you, and arthur was actually sat opposite me when you said you were with him.” she admits. you gasp.

“does charles… does he…?”

“oh, sweetie, charles knows nothing. although he did ask me what shoe size you wear after coming to your place a few weeks back. he said something about a pair of birkenstocks that looked huge compared to your other shoes, and i told him that was just the style.” she snorts, and you slap your hand over your forehead.

“oh, jesus.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“wanna tell me what happened?”

“i don’t even know, he asked me to fly with him and then i said it would complicate things, that i couldn’t been seen with, quote on quote, ‘some other driver.’” you sigh.

“some other driver? oh, girl.”

“yep.”

“were you guys dating…? or?”

“no! lately things had been a bit more,” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “intimate? i don’t know. i definitely have feelings for him.”

alex looks at you sympathetically, strokes your knee soothingly.

“have you told him that?”

“no, i didn’t know how and now he’s done with me.” you wince, a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes.

“maybe not, sweetie, maybe you if you told him how you felt, he’d understand. is charles what you’re worried about?”

“charles, the fans, all of it.” you whimper.

“the fans can be, well, intense, but take it from me, if lando’s worth it, none of that matters. is he worth it?”

you pause, weighing it all up. the way he’d been with you, so gentle and caring, considerate and interested in you. he’d made you feel safe and satisfied, and everytime you caught him looking at you, you felt that first initial spark all over again. you could laugh with him, push and tease and not just be charles leclerc’s little sister. you look forward to seeing him, feeling him, speaking to him. all of this together feels heavy, but you want to bear it.

“he is.” you whisper, looking at alex nervously. “oh, god, what do i do?”

“i think there’s a paddock pass with your name on it that you should make use of.” she tells you, wrapping you in a tight hug. “and if charles has a problem, tell him he has to go through me.”

10. pizza and pasta.

max fewtrell sips his coffee in the hotel lobby, waiting for keegan to join him. it’s hot in qatar, dry and bright, ornate.

his phone buzzes.

message request from: yourusername

HI SORRY ARE YOU IN QATAR????

he probably looks like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his skull.

another message comes through.

this sounds insane and i’m sorry that this is like, the first time we’ve ever spoken, but i need a huge favour. like a really really huge favour.

max scratches the back of his head, pulling a face at his phone. baffled wouldn’t even begin to cover how he feels.

he picks up his phone, and opens the messages.

lando over exerts himself keeping away from you. the sprint race had been a breeze compared to staying away, out of your reach. it hurts like hell, but it’s a necessary evil for both your sakes.

he wants to sleep, do nothing else but collapse onto his mattress, phone silenced and curtains drawn as tightly shut as they can go. he unlocks the door to his hotel room. the light flashes green, and he relaxes, finally. until, he doesn’t.

there’s a faint sound coming from down the short corridor that separates his front door from his sleeping area. it’s not max, he’s just left him outside his own hotel room, and it’s not keegan, either, for the same reason. he wonders if he has another stalker, braces himself and picks up the first thing he can find. a shoe. useless, he thinks.

lando creeps down the corridor, poised and ready, jumps out of his skin when you round the corner before he can get there. you yelp, bracing yourself against the wall.

“what the fuck, i thought you were a murderer!” lando huffs, throwing his head back.

somehow, the sight of you is worse than any murderer could ever be.

“putain! god, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you squeak.

“how did you get in here?”

“funny story,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look harmless. “max let me in.”

“verstappen?” lando asks, face twisting with confusion.

“no, idiot. fewtrell.” you reply, duh-like. “i can go, i know this is crazy and weird and a total violation, but i had to talk to you.” your voice softens and lando seems to finally relax. he’ll kill max later.

“this is batshit, actually, but i respect the grind.” lando shrugs. “what do you want?” he sounds harsher than intended, closed off, but you suppose you deserve it.

“i’m sorry about what happened last weekend.” you inhale shakily. “i… i care about you a lot, too, and i have done for a while but i was too scared to say it. i realised as soon as you left that i never ever wanna hurt you like that. never want you to feel like i don’t lo- care about you… like that.” you catch yourself, not ready to say certain words. he gets the gist.

“i don’t wanna be some hookup anymore. it was fine at first, when i thought that’s all i could have from you, but i know that it’s not. i want you.” lando states, his words poignant. “whatever pace you need, whatever you want from me, i wanna give it to you.”

the space between you dissipates.

“i saw you, you know, watching me from your garage all those months ago, like you were trying place me.” your voice is barely above a whisper. “admittedly, i kinda wanted to punch you for ruining that dress, but i also, really really secretly thought you were cute.”

“well, if we’re being honest, i really wanted to fuck you the first time i saw you.” he jokes crudely, and you slap his chest. “in my defence, i was blackout drunk.”

“asshole.” you mutter. you’re so close now that his nose bumps yours.

“i think you like it.” he whispers.

“yeah, i really do.”

your lips meet his urgently, homecoming. it’s been too long since you’ve had him in your hands, touched him and felt him breathe against you. the kiss is passionate, frantic, and you know you’re in love with him. you’re certain.

an hour later, you’re tucked into bed with him, a movie that you’re not paying attention to playing idly on the tv. pizza crusts lay on a plate, the leftovers of your impromptu dinner date.

you’ve covered your degree, how he got into racing, what you do for work, who you’re friends are, family dynamics.

you learn that his favourite colour actually is yellow, and he learns that you’re favourite drink is red wine. he prefers pizza, you prefer pasta. you like flat whites, and he doesn’t like coffee at all.

“after abu dhabi, i’ll take you on a real date. i promise.” he sounds excited as he says it, and you melt into his side.

“oh yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, your cheeks smushed against his shoulder. he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. he just hums in response, gazing down at you.

“gonna talk to your brothers as well.” he murmurs, dipping down to peck your lips.

“not just yet.” you whisper. he furrows his eyebrows.

“why?” he doesn’t sound upset, maybe a little deflated.

“i wanna enjoy this a bit longer, at least go on a real date before, you know, they kill you.” you keep your tone serious, holding it together well. he bursts out laughing, squeezing you closer.

“and here i was worried that you were ashamed of me.” he’s grinning toothily, boyish and pure, and you kiss him again, deeper.

“never.” you coo.

11. daylight.

abu dhabi is a distant memory by the time you get back to monaco. you were happy for your brother and your boyfriend.

yeah, that’s what you get to call him now.

your first date had been effortless and yet so intricately perfect, lando planning it down to the last detail. flowers delivered to you the morning of, picking you up at the door, telling you just how beautiful you looked. your table had been waiting for you, candlelit, dressed immaculately. a bottle of red wine served as the centrepiece, your favourite kind. swoon.

he orders pizza, you order pasta. halfway through, you switch plates.

you wake up the next morning in his arms, content and satiated, still bare from the night before. your phone is buzzing, stirring your both out of your deep sleep. you ignore it.

“c’mere.” he begs, breath fanning out across your neck and you wriggle backwards, further into his arms. your naked skin moulds with his, and you can feel him, ready and waiting against the curve of your ass. he’s still half asleep, and so are you, but you spread your legs just enough for him to swipe himself through your folds and slip right in.

you groan at the stretch, he shushes you soothingly, clinging to your frame. everything is so warm and heightened.

“so ready for me.” he whispers, kissing over your shoulder, hips making the most minimal, languid thrusts that make you dizzy.

“want you like this every morning.” you purr, hiking your top leg up even further. he’s basically on top of you now, his body half covering yours.

lando drags your hips back to meet his, breathing heavily against the back of your neck.

“anytime you want me ‘m here. ‘m yours.” lando mutters, eyes rolling back in his head when you clench around him. lewd sounds are exchanged between your lazy bodies, so worked up, two powder kegs desperate to explode.

it happens in waves, powerful orgasms washing over your bodies like the sunlight through the curtains. it’s bright and warm and leaves you buzzing underneath him, electrified.

“good morning.” you smirk, rolling over to face him.

he’s already sunk back down into the mattress, a satisfied grin on his face, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks where his eyes have fallen shut. he looks angelic, and if it wasn’t for his devious ways, you’d hail him a saint.

“very good morning, baby.” lando pants, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“you look so pretty.” you breathe, raking your nails through his hair. he groans, shivers of pleasure radiating through his scalp and down his back.

“not as pretty as you.” he surges forward, pinning you to the bed, the pair of you a hazy mess of limbs and laughter, so wrapped up in eachother. he’s peppering you with kisses, all over you face and your chest, further and further down your body.

round two is about to commence, and you’re more than excited, ready to welcome him back between your thighs, when you both here a loud, repetitive thud coming from faraway. lando pulls back, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“is that the door?” he says to himself. “sorry, baby. need to get that.” he frowns apologetically. you sigh, waving your hand in understanding, watching as he grabs a robe.

charles nearly chokes on air and fury when he gets the all caps message from arthur, followed by one from lorenzo, then his publicist.

arthur: HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER? i don’t know if i should laugh or cry

enzo: be nice to her, don’t be a little bitch

publicist: Charles, we will need to address this news immediately and conclude whether the photos are out of context or not. Meeting scheduled on the shared calendar.

first question: what fucking photos? did someone catch him picking his nose in public?

second question: who does he need to be nice too?

third question: can he not go five fucking minutes without some impending media crisis?

he opens twitter and doesn’t need to look hard, because there on his screen is a picture taken the night before of his precious baby sister, and there is lando fucking norris with his tongue down her throat.

alex asks him where he’s going, watching him storm out keys in hand. he doesn’t respond with anything but a growl and a mutter of your name. alex’s eyes go wide, reached for her phone.

to: your number

girl he knows! idk how but he KNOWS!

for once in your life PICK UP THE PHONE

JESUS OKAY i just saw twitter…

OKAY im tracking charles location rn and looks like he’s near lando’s?

MISS LECLERC PLEASE! HELLO?????

it was nice knowing you babe.

you pick up your phone as lando leaves the room, scrolling absentmindedly through your notifications. your interest peaks, however, when you see about a million texts from alex, and even more missed call. in fact, you have literally thousands of notifications, and your blood runs cold.

you’d been so careful last night, surely it hadn’t leaked. your blood runs cold when you open your text chain with alex. the aggressive knocking on the door suddenly makes harrowing sense and you spring from the mattress just in time to hear the front door click.

“is she here?” you hear charles bellow, voice laced thickly with anger.

“uh… who?” lando tries, he really does, but he’s not a good liar. you wince, grabbing anything to cover your dignity: lando’s sweats and a t-shirt. you scramble out of the bedroom, sliding down the corridor from the sheer speed you’re moving at.

“fucking hell.” charles sighs, wincing at the sight of you. “of all the people on the planet, you pick my rival? you pick him?” charles barks at you. you close your eyes, focusing on your breathing as your chest constricts. “i told you. i specifically told you not to mess around with him, and c’mon, i don’t ask you for much.” charles throws his hands out in frustration.

“charles, listen to me,” you keep your voice calm and steady. “we’re not messing around, we… we’re together.” you confirm, watching his jaw tick.

“together? with him? do you know how many girls probably think they’re in a relationship with him? half of the portuguese modelling industry is linked to him.” charles laughs incredulously, disgusted. your eyes narrow, watching lando crumble into a million pieces in your peripheral.

“don’t you dare ruin this for me! and how can you come into his house and speak to him that way? my god, charles, you don’t get it, do you? i can never be happy with anyone because of you! everyone, everyone, uses me to get to you and, god, i finally found someone who cares about me and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are and you don’t approve? shall i stay single and lonely and in your shadow forever? should i go for some greasy hedge fund legacy who wants to fuck any leclerc he can get his hands on? huh? i’m sorry if you don’t approve, truly, i am, but you will not have a say in this.”

charles stays silent, as does lando, the only sound in the hallway being your heavy breathing, a symptom of your monologue. you feel the ghost of lando’s touch on your waist, soothing you from your outburst, and you lean into his touch, looking up at him. his eyes are reassuring, the only source of comfort.

charles watches intently, the silent communication between you both, and it knocks him for six. ultimately, he wants you to be happy, but it begs the question: can lando make you happy? the way you truly deserve? he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a muttered string of expletives.

“will you look after her?” he stares daggers at lando, watches the way the brit straightens up.

“i will.” lando nods firmly, eyes sincere.

“and you won’t hurt her? you won’t fuck her around?” charles looks like he’s desperately pleading, but his voice is commanding, no margin for error.

“i promise.”

“and you’ll make her happy?”

“i’d do anything for her.”

your head snaps towards lando, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking the dam. charles watches closely, steps backwards towards the door. there isn’t space for him here right now.

“okay. i- okay.” you watch the way charles backs down, and he finally meets your eyes again. “ma chére, je suis désolé.” he tells you solemnly. you nod, lips in a thin, hard line. you can feel lando nudge you forward.

“come here, loser.” you groan, opening your arms for your brother. charles meets you half way, squeezes you tight. he gently kisses your forehead and turns to leave, not before shooting lando a look that says ‘i’m watching you.’

you turn back to your newfound boyfriend, tears still falling, but you pay them no mind.

“well done, baby.” he affirms, thumbing away your tears.

“i love you, lando.” you whisper, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you.” his eyes glaze over, total adoration swirling in the pools of green.

“so glad you said that because i absolutely love you too.” he laughs, hauling you in for a kiss. it’s a mess of tears and laughter and a weird sense of serenity.

“you might wanna call your publicist. pictures of last night leaked.” you mumble against his lips.

“at least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he shrugs. “i’ll call later. got things to do.” he picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder. you squeal, and he teasingly slaps your ass.

you catch sight of the apartment as he walks you through it, and you think about the first time you saw it, under the cover of darkness, covert and clandestine.

you much prefer it in the light of day.

you prefer lando in the light of day, too.

yourusername and landonorris just posted on instagram:

liked by: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and others.

yourusername: oops!

comments on this post have been disabled.

thank god that’s over lmfao - thank you for reading!!

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722

2K notes · View notes

poisonofthepaint · 4 months ago

Text

Day After Tomorrow - Part Two

read part one here! part three here!

a/n: here is part two, i hope u enjoy!! the next part will be the last part. i'm having a lot of fun writing these, thanks for all the likes and reblogs on the first part!!!

content warnings: age gap between jack and reader, reader spills hot coffee on herself but it's nothing serious, lots of me repeating phrases i think lol, that's all!

Today, you woke up with a mission. You would not go to work tired. You would be prepared this time. Prepared for Jack Abbot. You wake up at 2:30 A.M. this time, and you get ready like it’s a regular hour of the day. You still don’t know if he’ll even come in. Yesterday, you spiraled when you allowed your brain to think. If he doesn’t come in, you also thought of a million excuses for him. It doesn’t have to be because of you! It could be that he is piled up with emergencies, he’s stuck in surgery, maybe the time got away from him.

You get to work and try to slow yourself down. You’re anxious, pacing around. You know if you finish all your tasks early, you’ll just be waiting around for him. You count the money in the drawer three times. You clean every spot on the espresso machine twice. You brew the coffee with exact precision. You fix your hair more times than you can count.

You look at the clock on the wall. 4:00 A.M. You glance at the door and remind yourself to look away. You are trying so hard to not be disappointed. You don’t want to put your hopes and dreams into this man. You didn’t know him. But God, you wanted to. You had replayed the conversation in your head until you could mark it down to the minute it happened. You thought the way he looked at you before he left. How he seemed like he didn’t want to drag his eyes away.

You sigh and shake your head, opting to make yourself another London fog, hoping the drink will summon him. You try to distract yourself, but there really is nothing else to do. You don’t get any customers this early, Jack was the only one. Since your coworkers were in the back, you had no one to talk to. You check the clock again, 4:10. You sigh, trying not to feel disappointed.

But then, it comes. The bell on the door rings. It feels like Gabriel’s horn just blew. He walks in. You smile, and think maybe you shouldn’t. You wanted to be cool today, but you couldn’t help it. He actually came.

“It’s nice to know you’re a man of your word.” you say as he walks over to the counter.

“Course I am,” he says. Jack smiles too, a small one, but it’s a smile.

“Do you just want another coffee?”

“Yeah, I do. And your number, if that’s not overstepping.”

You blank. The lack of sleep catches up to you in three seconds, tops. Your brain falters, you try to remember how to form a sentence, “Yes.”

He deadpans, “Yes, it’s overstepping?”

“No!” you basically yell. You clear your throat, try again, “No, not overstepping. Yes, I’d like to give you my number.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles, shaking his head, laughing a bit, “Had me scared there.”

“Sorry, it’s early.”

“Right, yeah,” you can tell he doesn’t believe you for a second. You can tell he knows you're nervous.

You decide you don’t want to be perceived anymore, and turn around to pour his coffee. But your hands are shaking. The pot slips a little, meaning you pour some of the freshly brewed, very hot coffee, on the hand that was stabilizing the cup.

“God, ouch!” you say.

Jack looks like he wants to jump over the counter. “Let me see.”

You turn around slowly, holding your hand. You decide to trust the doctor and let him take a look.

When he touches your hand, it’s like the burn amplifies, and your face feels as hot as the dark brown liquid that you just spilt everywhere. “I’m used to it, I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a sigh and shoots you a look that says, let me check it over thoroughly. You wonder how long he’ll spend touching you, you don’t know if you want it to end.

He has your injured hand flat in one of his, while the other is slowly flipping your hand over, softly touching everywhere the coffee spilt. He gives your hand two, small pats, and lets go slowly.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Cool water if the burning feeling doesn’t go away.”

You nod, bewildered, awestruck. You stand there like an idiot before remembering that he still needs his coffee. You pour the old cup out into the sink beside you, and throw it in the trash. You get him a new one since the coffee had spilled on the outside of the cup too. You pour the new one extra carefully, making sure to not spill it again. Although, you kind of wish you could, if it meant that Jack would touch you again.

“Will you let me pay today?” he says, a bit exasperated.

“You just gave me a free examination, obviously this is a fair trade.”

He scoffs. Throws a five in the tip jar, just like he did last time.

You hold out the cup to him, he takes it, letting his fingers brush yours as he does.

“And the other part?” he asks. “I don’t see your number on here.”

“You know, we do have cellphones now. You could take yours out and I’ll give you it. Or do you want me to write it on a napkin for you?”

He laughs again. Just like the ones you’ve been thinking about from two days ago. “Old fashioned, remember?”

He sets the coffee on the counter and grabs his phone out of his back pocket. It’s an iPhone with a matte black case. He taps around on it for a second and then hands it to you. You put your number in, and your name in the first name spot. He watches you with intensity. You don’t even see him, but you can feel it. Can feel his dark eyes watching you. You glance up and meet them. You don’t break eye contact as you hand the phone back.

He looks down at the information and then shuts his phone off, putting it back into his pocket.

You decide that you’re done being nonchalant. “I’m glad you came back.”

Jack nods, “I am too.”

You figure that you’ll need to get to know him a little bit better for him to give you a little bit more than that. He remains his mysterious self, but you’re glad you got a little bit of verbal reassurance.

You smile, laugh, shake your head and look down. “You know, for a second I thought I had just imagined you, because you came and went so fast.”

“That’s one way to tell me I’m the man of your dreams.” he smiles smugly.

Your face gets hot again. This time, you can’t make eye contact.

“Very smooth,” you try to joke, but your voice sounds rough. Your throat is getting a bit dry from the flirting.

Jack laughs, you keep count in your head of how many times this makes. You wonder if you’ll ever stop doing that. “Listen, I do have to get back today. But I'll text you with plans, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” you say, looking up at him now. You didn’t want to miss any more chances to see him.

“Okay, see you. And be careful with that coffee!” he points at you, eyes quickly looking down at your hand.

“Will do, Doc.”

He looks crushed. His brows furrow, and he swipes his palm down his face. you want to understand why this name always seems to get to him, but you can't come up with any reasons in your head. He leaves the same way he did before. Backwards, slowly inching towards the door. Once he leaves. You look at the door for at least a minute, wishing he’d come back. When you finally tear your aways away from the metal entrance, you realize he left his cup of coffee on the counter, and didn’t even take a sip out of it. You almost can’t believe it. He really did just come here for you this time, not because he needed any extra caffeine.

You spend the rest of your shift about the way you spent the one before: out of it. You checked your phone more times than you care to admit, and googled what time night shift doctors got off. You were done trying to convince yourself to not spiral about it, because it was real, and it was happening. A doctor was going to text you and make plans for a date, and that was all that mattered in your mind at this moment.

Your shift was long, and busy, but this time, the crowds of people couldn’t drag Jack away from your mind. Every customer you served, you thought about him. You imagined his face there instead, thinking about him being at the end of the long line. You got an order for a small black coffee and you peered around the cafe, trying to see if he came back.

When your shift ends, you check your phone again, and this time, there’s a text from an unknown number.

Does Friday at 6pm sound good?

#the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #jack ⋆⁺₊❅. ㅤ

708 notes · View notes

farfromharry · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: Lando’s girlfriend broke her leg and obviously he had to be the first to sign it

lando norris x reader

w/c 963

A broken leg, that was Y/N’s diagnosis. That and being incredibly clumsy. And she had been sulking about it for the better part of a day.

Lando had been scared to overstep. He knew she was upset, her movements for the next 2-3 months were limited, of course she would be upset. But he missed her. Being a boyfriend had taught him a lot about himself and one of those things was that he was extremely clingy when the right person was involved. He just wanted to spend time with her.

He gave it till 2pm the day after they left the hospital before he broke. He needed bribes and a smile and hopefully everything would go to plan.

The man knocked on the bedroom door, getting no response just as expected. “Are you still moping or can I come in?” It was a dangerous game he was playing. Poking the bear. Luckily for him, this bear had a soft spot. That soft spot was named Lando Norris. She was just as gone for him as he was for her. A match made in heaven.

A huff came from beneath the blankets. It made him smile. “Depends. Did you bring ice cream… or chocolate?” Her voice was quiet, like she was being shy about it. He knew her too well though.

“Chocolate ice cream okay?”

She lifted her head like she was checking he was being honest. The man waved the tub where she could see with a spoon in his other hand. For the first time in a full day, she smiled. “You beautiful man, get over here.”

That was his green light. He basically jogged over to the bed, throwing himself in beside her. He offered the ice cream and a kiss, both doing wonders to lighten her mood.

“How you feeling?” He brushed her hair from her face.

She frowned, curling into his side. “Like I can’t go anywhere without burdening someone.” Considering she had never used crutches, everyone agreed it was best to accompany her places in case she stumbled or fell. It was out of love. No one wanted her to hurt herself more than she already had.

Now it was his turn to frown. He couldn’t even begin to tell her how much of a burden she wasn’t. “I will literally carry you everywhere until it’s healed. You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

Unfortunately she knew he was being serious. “Lan, you can’t just—“

“Yes, actually, I can.” He raised an arm, pulled up his sleeve and flexed. “I have incredible biceps. It’d be a breeze.” He winked for good measure and she hated how it made her a little flustered.

It all started with his finger tracing shapes on her leg. That was probably where he got the idea from. Then it graduated to him shuffling down the bed, deciding he had to make his mark on her cast.

She didn’t know where he got the pen, probably in one of his many pockets for some random reason. It did take her by surprise though that he was just blindly helping himself. She might not have minded if he had written her a nice message or something. “Did you just sign my cast?” She blinked, blankly.

“Obviously, that’s what you do with casts.”

Her eyes flickered down to the ink now soaking into the plaster. It was there clear as day. The squiggly lines that somehow made up ‘Lando’ with a little 4 beside it. “No, Lando, you literally autographed it.”

He looked down with a furrowed brow, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. It was sort of a reflex. When a pen was put in his hand and he was supposed to sign something, that’s exactly what he did. His signature was scrawled mindlessly across the cast because that’s what he was so used to doing. Over the years he’d signed everything from skin to wrappers. Apparently now he even signed his girlfriend.

“Shit.” Any normal person would have felt guilty or even feigned it, but not him. Lando laughed, like, full belly laughed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Admittedly she couldn’t help but feel slightly amused herself.

“I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

There was that evil grin on his face again. “You just eat your ice cream. Let me work my magic.”

She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. When it came to Lando sometimes it was better to turn a blind eye and let him do his thing. She sighed, doing as he said. As long as he didn’t draw something phallic like the child he was, she supposed she could get over it.

The man was concentrating hard. Every now and then she would glance at him, find him with his head practically buried in her thigh and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It was adorable.

10 minutes must have gone by before he finally announced he was done with his masterpiece. “All done.” He sat back with a proud smile on his face.

When she finally took a look, it was like something a crushing teen might draw in the margin of their high school notebook. Hearts, everywhere, followed by a ‘Lando <3 Y/N.’ It was silly, but it made her smile and that was all he wanted to do. Plus now that he’d dedicated his love to her, at least everyone would know she was his.

“I love it, you’re a real artist.”

He beamed. It would be with her for the next 3 months so he was glad she liked it. He stole a quick kiss and then a bit of ice cream when she wasn’t looking. “Good, ‘cause I love you.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula one #formula 1 x reader #mclaren #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #mclaren x reader

535 notes · View notes

brokenmenswhore · 1 year ago

Note

I need more stuff with poly!maraudersxreader spicy stuff🤭

i am but your humble servant 🙇‍♀️

mean | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, & sirius)

summary: the boys get jealous seeing you with a study partner, and you reap the consequences when you tell sirius he was being ‘mean’

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, use of the word daddy twice

a/n: is my sirius favoritism showing too much or no

────── ☾ ──────

“I don’t think I’ll ever actually understand this class,” you said, the library study session beginning to take its toll.

“You’re getting it!” Evan encouraged, “we just need to work on it a little bit more.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I think after four hours, I either get it or I don’t,” you replied.

“I don’t mind the time,” Evan said, “especially when I get to spend it with you.”

Your three boyfriends could hear every single word exchanged between the two of you, being that they were seated only two tables away, and the second they heard Evan’s statement, Sirius jolted upwards from his chair.

“Sit down,” Remus instructed, “what are you gonna do? Kill him in the middle of our entire year?”

“Yeah, Remus, I just might,” Sirius responded, but still sat back down, eyes never leaving the two of you.

“You have to trust her, Sirius,” James scolded.

“It’s not her I don’t trust,” Sirius said, nostrils flaring in a rage.

Evan was sitting much closer to you than the boys were comfortable with, but they had to trust that you would shut him down if he overstepped.

“Yeah, this has at least been fun!” you told Evan, “but I think I’m a lost cause. This library is beginning to feel like an asylum.”

Evan shrugged, “I mean, we could change the scenery if that’s the problem. There’s usually not anyone in the fifth year potions classroom after the midday class. It would be quiet, and we could be alone and really focus.”

Evan shifted his chair even closer to you, placing an arm around the back of your chair, and leaning closer to you.

“That’s it, I’m gonna kill him,” Sirius said, standing up and reaching your table before Remus or James could keep him at bay.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sirius spat, hands on the table as he leaned in, standing across from you.

“Studying?” you replied as Evan backed off.

“Studying,” he mocked in a high tone, “tell him he better get the fuck away from you if he wants to continue breathing.”

“I’m right here, Black, if you have a problem, say it straight to me,” Evan retorted, standing up to meet Sirius’s eye level.

“Ok, Rosier,” Sirius cleared his throat, “I have a problem with you attempting to feel up my girlfriend and then get her alone. I also have a problem with the lack of bruising on your face.”

“Sirius!” you and Remus scolded in unison, the other two boys now next to Sirius, ready to pull him back if he decided to lunge.

“I didn’t do a single thing,” Evan protested, “but if you’re so insecure that you think studying means she’ll cheat on you, maybe she never really liked you in the first place. She could do better anyway.”

Sirius went to jump over the table, but Remus and James held onto one arm each, holding him back as Evan laughed.

“This is not worth it,” Evan told you, “I’ll see you around.”

“Evan, I’m sorry-“ you tried to say as he walked away, your attention turning to Sirius. You were angry with him for the way he was acting, but his fury far outweighed yours.

Remus and James dropped their grip on Sirius when he calmed down. Sirius glared daggers into you. “Just studying, eh?”

“We were just studying until you tried to attack him,” you retorted.

“Go to the dorm room now before I decide to make you feel sorry right here. We’ll meet you up there.”

“But I still-“

“Now.”

The rage in Sirius’ voice was not something to take lightly. When he was mad, making him angrier often ended badly. You retreated to the dorms, seated cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open as you waited for your boyfriends to arrive.

The door to the dorms swung open so hard that the door slammed open against the wall. All three of your partners entered the room, Sirius stomping straight over to you and wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Had a fun day toying with other boys, huh?” he asked.

“Sirius, please, I really was just trying to study,” you pleaded, eyes finding Remus and James and searching for help, “you guys should know that I would never do that to you.”

“I know, baby,” Sirius’ voice weakened, his anger breaking at your pleas, “I’m just mad someone else tried to take what’s mine.”

“I think he was trying to make us jealous, too,” Remus added, “and it worked.”

“Is that what the big issue is?” you asked for clarification, “you’re all jealous?”

“He got really close to you,” James responded, the candor in his voice hurting your heart.

“I’m yours,” you said, grabbing the wrist around your throat, “I’m all of yours, and yours only, you know that.”

“We know,” Sirius said, “I’m just so mad. I can’t calm down.”

“You need to release the energy, Sirius,” James said, “you’re never gonna get past this if you don’t.”

Sirius looked into your eyes, and you gave him a slight nod, signaling to him that he could use you to release the energy. He had a lot of pent up rage from the earlier incident that he needed to let out. He needed to remind you, and himself, that you were his.

Sirius crashed his lips onto yours, a hand still on your throat as he pushed you back against the headboard.

Remus threw the textbook in front of you onto the floor, pulling your legs from their position until they were out in front of you. He kissed up your thighs until he was under your skirt, kissing on top your underwear as you let out a small moan into Sirius’s mouth.

Remus moved your underwear to the side, immediately diving in between your folds with his tongue, causing you to gasp. Sirius pulled away from your mouth, allowing him to hear the noises you made. You whined as Remus shoved his tongue into your soaking wet hole, the intrusion catching you off guard.

“Shit, Remmy,” you whimpered.

“Gotta remind you who you belong to, dove,” James spoke, taking a seat on the bed next to you, “you remember?”

“I’m y-yours, shit, James, all yours,” you whined as Remus continued to fuck you with his tongue, your hand taking its place on his head, fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place.

“No fair,” Sirius pouted, “why do you get to hear her moan your name when I’m the one who got mad in the first place?”

“Y-ou were mean,” you explained, breathing heavy, making talking difficult as ever, trying to give Sirius the reason you weren’t focusing your attention to him, despite your better judgement.

Remus heard you and immediately stopped his assault on your core. You tried to push his head back down in desperation, but he took your hands off of his head, pinning them to your sides.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Sirius questioned, tone low and dark.

“Nothing,” you answered, hoping they would let it go but knowing better.

“I was mean, huh? I don’t deserve to hear you moan my name then, is that it? You think you’re so big and powerful, punishing me because I was mean?” Sirius was growing angrier and angrier, his rage overtaking him again.

“I- I’m sorry,” you tried to backtrack.

“No, no, it’s too late for that now. If you think I don’t deserve to hear you, then I won’t do anything that constitutes a noise. You don’t want me, then so be it.”

“No, please, I do, I want you, please-“

“Tell it to James,” Sirius cut you off. He was mad at you for talking back to him, and mad about earlier, but he was strictly doing this to punish you. He knew you loved how he fucked you when he was mad, and he was threatening to deny you what you wanted.

“Jamesie, please, tell him that I w-“

“Uh uh,” James tutted, “you’re with me now, not Sirius. You don’t get to have him now.”

You pouted, tears threatening to spill as you looked up at James. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead before your lips, distracting you with his mouth before a hand lifted up your skirt and traveled beneath the waistband of your underwear, finding its home on your pearl.

James began to rub in circles, eliciting a moan in the kiss.

“Remus, I think you can go back now,” James spoke.

Remus kept your hands pinned at your sides but shifted downward, tongue reentering you as James rubbed you off, the feeling of two different men on your core driving you insane.

Sirius slumped down on a chair a few feet away, lighting a cigarette as he watched Remus and James overstimulate you as they held you down.

“Jamie, please,” you moaned.

“Please what, dove?” James asked, beginning to touch any part of your core he could, the pleasure becoming too much to handle.

“Please let me come,” you begged.

James looked at Remus, who made eye contact with him, but never left you alone. He shoved his tongue in and out of you, curling it upwards once inside, eyes focused on James as he waited for any signal to stop.

James, however, was always the nicest to you in the bedroom. Though he knew Sirius and Remus would usually stop now, he was making the call, and he hated denying you your pleasure, even if you were being punished.

He leaned in and kissed you, his touch quickening and hardening as Remus continued to taste as much of you as he could, causing your climax to hit you without warning. You squealed and moaned into James’s mouth, legs shaking as Remus licked up any remnants of your high before pulling away from you and standing up.

You attempted to catch your breath as Sirius took one last drag of his cigarette, extinguishing the flame and walking over to you, your cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm down.

“See, you didn’t need me, did you?” Sirius taunted.

“I-“

“Still don’t want me?”

You furiously shook your head no. “No, nonono, I want you, please, I need you,” you begged.

“Even though I’m so fucking mean?” he spat, intentionally working himself up to an angry place again.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you replied, using the name for him that you knew he couldn’t resist.

Sirius growled, tugging on his jeans and crawling over you, lightly kissing your neck before meeting your gaze.

“Beg for me,” he demanded.

Your heart was beating so hard it made your chest sore. “Please, daddy, I want you.”

“I think he’s earned hearing his name, sweetheart,” Remus spoke from beside you.

“Please, I need you so bad, Siri, I-“

The second you spoke his name, Sirius pushed your skirt up to your waist and your underwear to the side, inserting his entire length into you in one quick motion, a move he loved to use when he was punishing you for something. Though he had been inside of you plenty of times, he was too large to simply just start fucking you without a warm up, unless, that is, he was purposefully being mean.

You let out a high pitched moan at the intrusion, always forgetting just how deep his cock hits within you.

He then pulled almost his entire length out of you before slamming it back in, your body jolting upwards at the feeling of his hips snapping against yours. He started to fuck you, fast and hard, leaving no time for you to adjust to him or his size.

“Siri, fuck,” you moaned.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “you’re all mine. You fucking belong to me.”

All three boys were possessive of you, but knew you ‘belonged’ to all three of them, not just one. However, when Sirius was mad, the other boys didn’t matter. They knew he needed to feel like you were his and only his. All the boys needed that one-on-one intimacy at times, but Sirius craved it all the time, and sometimes Remus suspected that he really did wish you were all his.

“It’s too much, can’t- I c-“ you started to plead, but Sirius didn’t care, continuing his ruthless pace that nearly had your head slamming upwards into the headboard with each thrust.

“You can, and you will,” Sirius spoke, “you’re all fucking mine. I don’t even want anyone else near you. You’re gonna take it like a good girl so that everyone can hear who you belong to, understood?”

You nodded, taking a moment to process that you had to speak. “Yes, Siri.”

“Good girl,” he said, one of his hands grabbing your throat as he snapped his hips at an almost violent pace.

“Siri, please, I’m gonna c-“

“You know you’re supposed to wait until he comes,” Remus reminded you, “or else it just isn’t fair.”

“B- but- I-“

“No buts,” Remus said, running a thumb over your cheek to collect the tears that were now falling, “you wait until Siri is ready, and then you come with him. He deserves at least that much.”

Your walls were clenching around his cock, and you fought desperately not to come. You knew you were supposed to wait and come in unison with whoever was fucking you, but you were overstimulated, and Sirius’s possessiveness was hot.

“That’s right, baby, you gotta wait,” Sirius cooed, “my girl only comes when I say she can. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Siri, I’m yours,” you responded, your hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders to steady yourself, “all yours.”

Sirius ran a hand over your body, scanning every inch of you as he fucked you. “All mine,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to you.

Sirius’s thrusts began to become erratic and sloppy, his high approaching as his clock twitched inside of you.

“You gonna come with me, love?” Sirius asked, and you whined in response, signaling that you were ready.

Sirius tightened his grip around your throat. “Come for me,” he commanded, “for me and only me.”

Your walls clenched around Sirius one last time as you came around him, one final “Sirius!” leaving your lips as you did.

The feeling of you coming around him caused Sirius to reach his high, his final few thrusts sharp and deep inside of you.

He took a moment to collect himself and catch his breath before pulling out of you.

“You remember who you belong to now?” James asked, sweetly repositioning your skirt over you to allow you modesty as you calmed down.

“Mhm,” you began to feel tired, “I’m all of yours.”

2K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Crash Course Correction

Lando Norris x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: the Austrian Grand Prix left your boyfriends less than pleased with each other, so you decide to do something about it

The tension in the air is palpable as you stride into the living room, your eyes darting between Max and Lando. They’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze.

The aftermath of their crash at the Austrian Grand Prix still lingers, a cloud of unresolved anger and frustration hanging over them.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “Alright, boys,” you announce, your voice firm but tinged with exasperation. “This ends now.”

Max’s head snaps up, his blue eyes narrowing. “What are you on about?”

Lando, unable to resist, chimes in with a snort. “Probably about how you can’t drive for shit.”

“Me?” Max’s voice rises an octave. “You’re the one who-”

“Enough!” You cut them off, hands on your hips. “I’ve had it with this childish bickering. You two are going to sit here and work this out, or so help me, you’ll both be sleeping on this couch until you do.”

The threat hangs in the air for a moment before Lando breaks the silence. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I love you both, but I’m not dealing with this anymore. Sort it out.”

Max leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Y/N, come on. It’s not that simple. He-”

“No excuses,” you interrupt. “Talk to each other, not to me. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving the two drivers to face each other.

For a long moment, neither speaks. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, Lando breaks. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Max grunts in agreement. “Yeah, well, welcome to life with Y/N. Stubborn as hell.”

“You’re one to talk,” Lando retorts, but there’s less heat in his words now.

Max sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Look, about the race ...”

Lando tenses. “What about it?”

“I ... I might have been a bit aggressive in that turn,” Max admits grudgingly.

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit?”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly backing off either,” Max counters, but his tone is more defensive than accusatory.

Lando opens his mouth to argue, then closes it, considering. “Fair point,” he concedes after a moment. “I guess we were both pushing pretty hard.”

The admission seems to ease some of the tension in the room. Max nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s what we do, isn’t it? Push to the limit.”

“Yeah,” Lando agrees, a matching smile forming. “Sometimes we just ... overstep that limit.”

There’s another pause, but this one feels less strained. Max breaks it, his voice softer now. “I am sorry, you know. For how it ended up. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

Lando’s expression softens. “I know. Me too. It’s just ... frustrating, you know? We both lost out on a podium.”

Max nods emphatically. “Tell me about it. The team was not happy.”

“Christian give you an earful?” Lando asks, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Max groans. “Like you wouldn’t believe. You?”

“Zak was ... not thrilled,” Lando admits with a grimace. “But I think Andrea was even worse.”

They share a look of mutual understanding, the shared experience of team disappointment bridging the gap between them.

“You know,” Max says slowly, “maybe we should ... I don’t know, talk more? In the paddock, I mean. Try to avoid these situations.”

Lando tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that could help. Better communication, less ... assuming the other will back off.”

“Exactly,” Max agrees, warming to the idea. “We’re both competitive as hell, but maybe we can find a way to race hard without ... well, this.”

Lando nods, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’d like that. It’s more fun when we’re both actually finishing the race.”

Max chuckles. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

The atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically, the earlier tension replaced by a tentative camaraderie. They’re both quiet for a moment, processing the change.

“So,” Lando ventures, “think this counts as making up? Because I really don’t fancy sleeping on this couch. It’s not exactly built for comfort.”

Max laughs outright at that. “God, no. My back would never forgive me.” He pauses, then calls out, “Schatje? You can come back now. We’ve sorted it.”

You poke your head around the corner, eyeing them suspiciously. “Have you really? Or are you just saying that to get out of couch duty?”

Lando holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Cross my heart. We’ve had a proper talk and everything.”

You step fully into the room, your gaze moving between them. “And? What did you decide?”

Max and Lando exchange a glance before Max speaks. “We’re going to work on communicating better about what happens on the track. Try to avoid these ... incidents.”

“And off track?” You prompt, not quite satisfied.

Lando jumps in. “We’re good, love. Really. Water under the bridge and all that.”

You study them for a moment longer before your posture relaxes. “Alright, I believe you. But if I hear one more word about that crash ...”

“You won’t,” Max assures you quickly. “Promise.”

You nod, finally allowing yourself to smile. “Good. Now, who wants dinner? I’m starving.”

As you turn to head back to the kitchen, Lando calls out, “Hey, Y/N?”

You pause, looking back. “Yeah?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just for the record, if we had to sleep on the couch ... would it have been together, or ...”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “In your dreams, Norris.”

Max snorts. “As if I’d share a couch with you anyway. You kick in your sleep.”

“Oi!” Lando protests. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect sleeping companion.”

“Sure you are,” Max teases. “That’s why Y/N always complains about your snoring.”

You decide to intervene before they can start bickering again, albeit more playfully this time. “Alright, children. Less arguing, more helping with dinner.”

They both groan dramatically but get up to follow you into the kitchen. As you start pulling out ingredients, you can’t help but smile at the easy banter now flowing between them.

“So,” Max says, leaning against the counter, “what’s for dinner?”

You shrug. “I was thinking pasta. Simple and quick.”

Lando perks up. “Ooh, can we have garlic bread too?”

“Only if you make it,” you counter, tossing him a loaf of Italian bread.

He catches it with a grin. “Challenge accepted.”

As Lando busies himself with the garlic bread and you start on the pasta sauce, Max hovers nearby, looking slightly lost.

“Don’t just stand there,” you chide gently. “Make yourself useful. Chop some vegetables or something.”

Max grimaces. “You know I’m useless in the kitchen.”

Lando laughs. “Come on, Max. Even you can’t mess up chopping vegetables. Here, I’ll show you.”

To your surprise, Max allows Lando to guide him through the process, their earlier animosity completely forgotten. You watch them with a warm feeling in your chest, grateful that your plan worked out better than you could have hoped.

As the kitchen fills with the aroma of garlic and herbs, the conversation flows easily between the three of you. Racing stories blend with personal anecdotes, punctuated by laughter and the occasional playful jab.

“Remember that time in Monaco,” Lando says between giggles, “when Daniel thought it’d be a good idea to-”

“Oh God,” Max groans, but he’s smiling. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look at inflatable flamingos the same way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

They exchange a look before answering in unison, “Probably not.”

The pasta is almost done when Max suddenly says, “You know, I’m glad we sorted this out.”

Lando nods, his expression sincere. “Me too. It’s ... nice, this. Being able to just be together without the pressure.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees softly. “Sometimes I forget we’re not just rivals, you know? We’re ... partners.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighted with meaning. You hold your breath, waiting to see how Lando will respond.

A slow smile spreads across Lando’s face. “Yeah, we are. Even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

Max laughs, the sound full and genuine. “Right back at you, mate.”

You can’t help but join in their laughter, relief and happiness bubbling up inside you. This is what you’d hoped for — not just a truce, but a real reconnection.

As you all sit down to eat, the conversation continues to flow. You find yourself content to just listen, watching the way Max and Lando interact. There’s a new ease between them, a understanding that goes beyond their shared profession.

“You know,” you say during a lull in the conversation, “I’m proud of you both. For working this out.”

They both look slightly embarrassed at the praise, but pleased nonetheless.

“Well,” Lando says, a teasing lilt to his voice, “we couldn’t very well let you win, could we? Threatening us with the couch, honestly.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Max chuckles. “She’s got us there.”

As the evening winds down, you find yourself curled up on the couch between them, a movie playing on the TV. It’s some action flick that none of you are really paying attention to, too content in each other’s company.

“Hey,” Max says softly, his arm draped around your shoulders. “Thanks for this. For ... pushing us to talk.”

Lando hums in agreement from your other side. “Yeah, we can be right idiots sometimes. It’s good to have someone to knock some sense into us.”

You smile, warmth spreading through you. “That’s what I’m here for. Someone has to keep you two in line.”

They both laugh at that, the sound harmonizing in a way that makes your heart swell.

As the credits roll on the forgotten movie, you realize that this — this moment of peace and companionship — is exactly what you’d been hoping for.

It’s not always easy loving two Formula 1 drivers. The competition, the pressure, the constant travel ... it can all take its toll.

But moments like this? They make it all worthwhile.

You snuggle deeper into the couch, surrounded by the warmth of the two men you love. “So,” you say, unable to resist one last tease, “I guess you’ve both earned your bed privileges back, huh?”

Max and Lando exchange a look over your head before Max speaks. “Actually ... I was thinking maybe we could all just stay here for a bit longer. This is ... nice.”

Lando nods in agreement. “Yeah, no rush to move. Unless you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.

You smile, touched by their reluctance to end the moment. “Here is perfect,” you assure them.

As you settle in for another movie, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, that crash was a blessing in disguise. It forced a confrontation that needed to happen, cleared the air in a way that casual interaction never could.

And now, curled up between Max and Lando, their earlier rivalry forgotten in favor of shared laughter and warm companionship, you know that whatever challenges come next, you’ll face them together.

As a team.

As a family.

2K notes · View notes

hongcherry · 11 months ago

Text

on my mind (pt. 1) || l.c (m)

The handsome stranger at the pool gives you an experience you won't forget.

💦 Pairing: idol!Chan (Dino) x stranger!Reader (f) 💦 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); smut (!!!), fluff, some angst; idol au, strangers to lovers au 💦 Warnings: Pet names (baby, pretty girl, beautiful), public/pool sex (bc of those pictures), unprotected sex (be safe!), no prep (be safe again!), bigDick!Chan, breast play, lowkey sad ending 💦 Word Count: 3.4k 💦 Author’s Note: Oh Lee Chan... How dare you do this to me 😩 (and ty @okiedokrie for beta'ing!!! 🥰)

PART TWO

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty!

“You know you’ve been staring for the past thirty minutes, right?”

Your gaze snaps up from your book. The handsome stranger stares down at you, water droplets dripping from his hair and down his sculpted body. You force your eyes to stay on his, but all you want to do is follow the water south.

You had hoped to be more discreet earlier, but supposedly you failed.

“S-Sorry, I thought you were someone I knew,” you lie.

The man’s lips tilt in a knowing smirk. His expression fans the heat in your belly.

“Am I?” he questions.

“No,” you reply and avert your focus on your book again. “Sorry.”

You expect him to leave, but he still blocks the sun from your view. When you realize he’s not moving, you look up again.

He beams a charming smile.

“What brings you here?” he asks.

You rest your book on your lap, keeping a finger between the pages as a bookmark.

“Paid for the pool, might as well use it,” you chuckle.

He laughs and glances back at the water. “You’re not really using it, though.”

You bite your lip. You were going to, but seeing the stranger and his friends play in it, made you want to watch rather than join. However, his friends had just left and now it was only you two.

“I used it earlier,” you lie again.

He cocks his head to the side. “Do you always lie to strangers?”

“What?” Your eyes widen; your heart races.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, abruptly switching topics. His pretty smile falters as if realizing his friendliness has taken a turn.

You sit up and shake your head. “No! You’re not. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says and looks away for the first time. He glides a hand over his hair. The muscles in his arms bulge at the motion, and you force your thoughts to stay PG.

“I should head inside. It was nice meeting you,” he says, barely making eye contact.

You place your book down and rise to your feet. You tentatively reach out and brush your fingertips against his forearm to stop him from leaving.

He turns to you fully again.

“I’m Yn,” you introduce, hoping that will make him stay.

He gives you a tiny smile, answering sheepishly. “Chan.”

Is he shy now? You almost giggle at his change in attitude.

“What brings you here?” you reuse his question.

“Work,” he replies.

You glance around at the upscale hotel. “Must be a nice job.”

“It is,” he says.

Sensing he still feels nervous, you glance at the pool. “Join me for a swim?”

His brown eyes grow. For a second you think he’ll decline, but he nods and walks to the stairs. He takes the steps carefully and when he’s at the bottom, he holds out a hand.

You don’t need his guidance, but you accept his offer—if only to feel his strong hand around yours.

You let out a small gasp at the cold water. He chuckles as he watches you tense up.

He steps toward you and runs his hands over your arms carefully, not wanting to overstep a boundary. However, he must feel how you feel. There’s something between you two that makes you want to skip a few imaginary steps from strangers to friendship to maybe something more.

Your lips pull in a smile as he warms you.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He nods then slowly steps away. He looks around; his sight snags on a volleyball floating at the other end.

“Want to play?” he asks, gesturing to the ball.

“Okay,” you reply. Hopefully doing so will alleviate some of the timidness.

Chan swims to retrieve it. As he does so, you sink into the water to get used to the temperature. You take the moment to admire Chan’s back muscles. They ripple with every movement he makes, and you wonder how they’d feel under your hands.

When he turns and catches you staring, he smiles. You glance away, embarrassed at having been caught.

“I kinda liked having your eyes on me,” he says playfully when he nears.

You tuck your chin down and fidget under the water.

He chuckles and taps a finger under your chin to get your attention.

“Ready to play?” he questions.

Eager to change the topic, you nod and stand.

Chan’s gaze follows the water rolling down your body. You’re glad to see he feels the same way for you.

You reach out to grab the ball and Chan snaps his eyes up, only now realizing he was staring. It’s his turn to look embarrassed.

Granting him the same courtesy, you let the moment go.

“First to ten wins?” you ask.

Chan swallows the lump in his throat and nods.

You take a few steps back before you toss the ball in the air. With your hands clasped, you hit it with your forearms, sending it in his direction.

Chan mimics your pose and bumps it back to you; however, it falls short and you miss it.

“First point goes to me,” Chan smiles. He pushes the water to make the ball float to you.

“Isn’t it your turn?” you wonder and grab the ball.

He shrugs as if to say it doesn’t matter. You nod and toss it in the air before you hit it.

You and Chan play until it’s four to two.

Chan eyes the ball in the air and then hits it with his hand.

You move to the side and hit the ball, though, it goes more up than out.

Chan rushes to it. He reaches out to volley it back but slips on the pool’s tiles. You don’t have enough time to react as his body collides with yours and slams you both under the water.

He scrambles to stand and lifts you by your sides to surface you.

You inhale a breath as soon as you can.

“I’m so sorry!” he exclaims, holding you tight in case you might fall back under.

A mixture of laughter and gasping comes from you. It’s probably not a pretty sound, but Chan smiles anyway. The worry etched on his face slowly fades.

“Does this mean I won?” you ask between giggles.

Chan laughs and nods. His wet hair sticks to his forehead and his torso shines under the sunlight. He’s beaming that handsome smile, the one that reads happiness and confidence. You really like his smile.

“Only because I’m disqualified for body slamming you,” he replies.

You shrug as if it doesn't matter. “It was fun.”

Chan raises his brows. “Being body-slammed?”

Another shrug. “It didn’t hurt.”

“I’m glad,” Chan says.

“So, what do I win?” you ask playfully.

It’s not until Chan squeezes your waist that you remember he’s still holding onto you. However, you don’t pull away. His touch feels nice.

“What do you want?” he questions in return.

You take the tiniest step forward.

“Something unforgettable.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can do that,” he whispers confidently. Then not even a second later, his lips are on yours.

Your mouths move in a heated kiss, tongues already sliding against each other. You’re quick to meet the other halfway to connect your bodies. Your soft breasts push against his hard chest.

Chan’s hands glide up and down your sides, thumbs brushing the side of your breasts. Meanwhile, your arms wrap around his neck, a hand caressing the back of his head to keep him close to you.

Needing to feel him more, you grab one of his hands and place it on one of your breasts.

Chan moans into the kiss and automatically squeezes them. He slips his hand beneath your swim top to feel you directly.

You pull from the kiss with a gasp and a moan.

Chan takes the opportunity to slide your top up, gathering it under your arms. He marvels at your exposed chest and cups your breasts in his strong hands. He pushes them up, rolling the flesh in his palms before pinching your nipples.

You mewl at the pleasurable pain, which causes Chan to smirk. He alternates between massaging your breasts and twisting your nipples between his fingers. You can feel how much he wants you against your body. It makes you eager to feel him inside you.

You grab his hands and gently pull them off. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. After giving him a reassuring smile, you lean forward to peck his lips.

Your kisses trail south, along his jawline, down the column of his neck, and in between the valley of his pecks. You take a detour to flick your tongue against one of his nipples, eliciting a small moan from Chan.

Your tongue plays with it before moving to the other and repeating your actions before continuing downward.

Chan watches attentively as you trace his defined muscles with your tongue. You ignore the slight chlorine taste as you lick his abs, tongue dipping in the divots of his body. You’d be ashamed of yourself if you weren’t so aroused.

Though, Chan doesn’t seem bothered at all as he stares down with darkened eyes and an open mouth. You kiss just above his swim trunks, a grin taking over your mouth.

“Shit, come here, pretty girl,” he mutters and pulls you up.

The disappointment of almost sucking his cock evaporates as soon as he kisses you roughly. He leads you both to the shallower part of the pool.

When he comes up for air, he takes a quick glance around. The area is empty.

He reaches out to grab a flat inflatable lounger that floats by.

“Get on,” he instructs softly and holds it in place.

You carefully ascend the floatie. Thankfully, the trees in the area block the sun from your eyes when you lay.

“Move down more,” he says, still holding it tight so it doesn’t flip from under you. “Wrap your legs around me.”

You scoot lower until your ass is toward the bottom of the lounger, legs around Chan’s waist to keep steady. You suck in a breath when his hard cock brushes your clothed center.

“You ever done this before?” you wonder, taking in your position. The height of the water makes the floatie align perfectly with his pelvis.

He chuckles. “Nope, so if this goes horribly wrong, I apologize in advance.”

You laugh. “I forgive you in advance.”

Chan grins and moves one hand to circle your clit while the other gropes your breasts. Your body jerks at his touch. The fast motions against your clit combined with the rough squeezes of your breasts heighten your arousal.

“I need to feel you, Chan,” you whimper.

“You are feeling me,” he teases, hands moving a little rougher to indicate what he’s referring to.

You whine pathetically as you buck your hips. “Inside me.”

Chan’s movements slow down.

“Okay, let me,” he begins to say as he trails a hand lower to your core.

You shake your head, grabbing his hand. You know he means to prep you, but you’re too eager.

“Just want your cock,” you beg. “Please.”

A smirk forms on his lips. He slowly takes his hands off your body, and you pull him closer with your legs, thinking he’s about to leave you.

“Easy there, beautiful,” he says and rubs your thighs comfortingly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once his words register, you nod sheepishly and ease your grip around him. Smiling, he tugs his swim trunks down enough to free his cock. Your pussy gets wetter at the sight of him.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?” he asks and pulls your swim bottoms to the side. His focus flickers between your eyes and your dripping core.

“Okay,” you answer, eager for him to fill you.

Chan carefully inches closer and then gathers some of your arousal with his tip. You hold your breath in anticipation.

When Chan’s tip finally slips inside, your mouth falls open with a gasp.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sliding in gradually. You’re so tight around him.

“Open up for me, baby,” he coos and starts to rub your clit again. “Let me fill this pussy all the way.”

Your hands clutch the sides of the inflatable lounger. His girth stretches you in a way you haven’t experienced before. You focus on the circular motions against your clit, easing your body and letting Chan enter you easier.

“There you go, pretty girl,” he praises, pushing in the last of his cock.

“So big,” you mumble. You shift slightly and moan at the sensation. Chan’s circles on your bud falter.

“And you’re taking me so well,” he says with a smile.

He stays sheathed inside you for a minute. Your hips buck every so often from him stimulating your clit. Each movement makes you whine or moan from feeling Chan’s cock rub against your walls.

“Can I move?” he questions; there’s no pressure in his voice.

You nod.

Chan rearranges his hands to hook under your thighs. His palms the top of your thighs to ease any nerves you may have. Though, you’re not nervous at all. You may have just met Chan, but you know he’ll never hurt you. He’s been attentive to your needs and your comfort since he first spoke to you.

Slowly, Chan glides out halfway. The drag of his cock feels heavenly.

Then, he pushes back in.

He does this motion slowly, making sure you get used to the feeling of his thick cock stretching your walls.

“Faster, C-Chan,” you say. Every glide feds the fire in your belly. Whatever pain or discomfort you were feeling has disappeared. In its place is a lust that needs to be quenched.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod. “Fuck me.”

Chan curses under his breath. His grip on your thighs tightens and his pace gradually picks up.

Before you know it, he’s pounding inside. He uses your legs as leverage, eyes hooded with hunger. Occasionally, his gaze moves up to watch your tits bounce with each slam of his body. The water laps around you both; some of it sloshes over the sides of the pool. The sounds of the water splashing and his skin hitting yours make everything feel sexier. You’re sure this looks like a scene from a porno, but that fact just turns you on more.

“Try to be quieter,” Chan says after a string of loud moans comes from you.

His suggestion barely registers in your mind. “I’ll tr—oh fuck.”

Chan chuckles and slows down. He trails a hand up your body to caress your face. His thumb glides along your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting it snap back in place.

When he goes to do it again, you open your mouth wider and suck his thumb into your mouth.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, sight locked on your puckered lips.

Chan moves his other hand to grip your hip. He begins to transition from powerful thrusts to sensual glides. He rolls his hips expertly against yours. Although they’re not fast motions, the slow slides in and out have your eyes rolling back. You hadn’t expected him to know how to move like this, but it’s obvious he’s skilled. You briefly wonder where the skill stems from. Has he had lots of practice having sex, or did he move his body in other ways a lot? His smooth motions remind you of a talented dancer.

“You feel so good,” he rasps and pulls his thumb from your mouth. He wipes your salvia along your lips, making them shine.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks, increasing his speed.

You nod, a choked cry escaping you when Chan connects his thumb to your clit again. He rubs it harshly while rocking into your cunt.

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, but it’s difficult when Chan’s fucking you so well.

Your legs tighten around Chan as the fire grows. It builds and builds until it’s too much to bear. Your walls flutter around his cock and before you can warn Chan, you’re cumming hard.

Chan continues to circle your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm. He only removes his hand when you squirm from his bruising touch.

“Think you can hold out a little longer, pretty girl?” he asks.

In a haze, you nod.

Chan unwraps your legs, hooking his arms under your knees and lifting you ever so slightly. The new angle lets him go a little deeper.

You clutch the floatie and hope you don’t pop the damn thing.

Chan’s hips snap into you fast and hard, driving you absolutely wild. More moans spill from his mouth as he nears his climax. You think he sounds so pretty, but you don’t stay on the thought for long. It’s hard to focus.

“Oh fuck,” he groans and pulls out quickly. He pumps his cock, abs clenching with furrowed brows.

Soon, your tummy is covered in white. Chan’s head rolls back as he releases his load over your body. You and Chan stay still, panting and coming down from your highs together.

Chan takes in a long inhale and finally looks down. His eyes scan the mess he made on you and your fucked-out expression.

He laughs softly. He tucks himself back in his swim trunks then reaches out to fix both pieces of your swimsuit. Afterwards, his hands swipe at the cum, gently cleaning off your body.

Chan leans down to wrap his arms around you. He carefully lifts you off the floatie and onto the pool floor. He keeps his arms in place as he stares with a big smile.

“How’s that for unforgettable?” he asks.

You lean into him, hands massaging his shoulders and neck. You feel dazed and overjoyed.

“I fear you may haunt my dreams,” you reply teasingly.

“Haunt?” He chuckles. “Wouldn’t I be blessing them instead?”

You laugh, shrugging. “Depends on if I can see you again.”

Chan’s smile suddenly turns into a sad one.

“I don’t know,” he replies.

“I can’t get your number?” you ask, heart filling with lead and weighing it down. You just met the man but the thought of never seeing him again cracks your heart.

He rubs his lips together in thought. Though before he replies, the sound of an opening door interrupts the conversation.

Two men peek their heads out. From your position, Chan’s back faces them.

“There you are,” one of them says. His smile is as bright as the sun.

Chan twists in your arms to see who it is. He must recognize the men. The aforementioned people drift their gaze to you. You can tell they want to tease Chan, but they don’t. They’re probably saving it for later.

“Do we have a schedule?” Chan asks.

“No,” the other with glasses says. “We just thought you were coming back with us, but no one’s seen you.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” Chan replies.

“Don’t stay out too long,” the first says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “We have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chan says.

The men give you both a knowing smile, then leave the area.

Chan exhales a deep breath and slips from your hold. He takes your hand, leading you out of the water.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” you ask, trying to hide your disappointment. You do a poor job.

Chan sighs and grabs the towel you had. He wraps it around your body and rubs your hands that hold onto the material.

“Maybe I’ll see you before I go?” he says, but you’re unsure if it’s a wish or a question.

“Maybe,” you say.

Chan cycles through his thoughts before speaking.

“I had a nice time, Yn. I won’t forget you.”

Your heart churns as if you’re going through a breakup. Your eyes quickly dance across his face, attempting to memorize every detail. You get the sense he’s doing the same.

“Me too” is all you say. You also had a nice time, and you definitely won’t forget this man. Not only because of the mind-blowing sex but also because he seems like a person you’d want in your life.

Chan leans in and kisses you. Unlike before, this one is slower. He takes his time moving his lips and gliding his tongue. There’s passion behind his movements that makes you crave to be more than strangers. This man oozes love, and you wish you could receive it wholeheartedly.

Maybe things wouldn’t have worked out, but something in your gut says even if you were to be loved by him for only a little while, it would’ve been worth it.

Chan would’ve shown you how it would feel to be truly adored.

A/N: rip the contaminated pool 🥲

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

Taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

1K notes · View notes

ilovemarvel97 · 3 months ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 4

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 6,930

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

The morning sun filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft light across the room. I wake slowly, my body heavy, my mind still foggy with sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then, reality comes rushing back.

I turn my head, and there she is. Wanda. Her face is peaceful, her eyes closed, her breath soft and steady. She's still in my arms, her body curled into mine, her head resting on my chest.

My heart skips a beat as I take in the sight of her. This is the closest I've ever been to her, and it feels like my soul is singing. I want to stay like this forever, just holding her, feeling her breath against my skin.

When I realize, my hand is caressing her cheek and I can’t help but smile when she snuggles more into my body. And at that moment, I wish I could wake up beside her for the rest of my life.

I can’t contain myself and when I realize, I had buried my nose into her hair.

Floral

Her scent is a mix of roses, orchid, and a hint of bergamot. It’s not too sweet but addicting.

I see her hand is grabbing my shirt while she sleeps and I find it adorable. I caress her hand and I remove it delicately from my shirt, and that’s when I see it.

Y/N

It’s my name. She has my name on her wrist. The proof I’ve been trying to find that we are actually soulmates.

I subconsciously rub my name on her wrist with my thumb and I hear her gasp.

She stirs alert, but as soon as she sees me she smiles softly and caress my cheek.

“Good morning” I whisper and that seems to have snap her out of something because the next second she pulls away and cover herself with the blanket.

“Why are you in my bed?” She asks blushing.

“You had a nightmare last night…I just wanted to make sure you were okay” I tell her calmly.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped” I add.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Did your wrist tingle when I touched it?” I ask her because of how she woke up when I rubbed the name on her wrist.

“How did you-?!” She starts to ask me but soon realize

“It’s my name” I give her a weak smile. Completely far from the smile I gave her when we first met. When I was happy to finally find her.

“Th-that doesn’t mean anything” her tone is cold. And just like that the pain was back.

“Because you are engaged” I look down at my hands trying not to cry.

Wanda doesn’t reply. The silence stretches, but this time it feels hostile—sharp, dangerous. Her eyes are fixed on the blanket pulled up to her chin, like it might shield her from this moment. From me.

I wait. Maybe part of me still hopes she’ll say something soft. Something honest.

Instead, she lifts her gaze slowly, and it’s like the warmth is gone.

“So what?” she says flatly. “Yes, it’s your name. But just because we are soulmates I was supposed to wait for you? I was supposed to leave everything to be with you?”

Her words hit like a slap. I blink, stunned. “I… I… No, I… I mean-.”

She laughs—but it’s sad and pained? “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through”

“Then, let me know you. Let me be here.” I ask

Wanda shakes her head. “No. It’s a mistake.”

The breath leaves my lungs all at once. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snaps. “I have to mean it. Because if I don’t, then everything I’ve built, everything I’ve told myself, falls apart.”

I nod, even though I feel like I might collapse. “Right. Got it.”

I turn toward the door, heart in pieces, but stop just before leaving.

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to, Wanda,” I say quietly. “You can pretend this is all some mistake. But your soul knows mine. And one day, that truth will be louder than your fear.”

“I’ll shower first” I lock myself in the bathroom before she can say something.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda watches as Y/N walks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. The sound is deafening in the silence that follows.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, but it’s not from the rush of adrenaline she’s used to on missions. No, this is a different kind of fear. The kind that makes her feel small, weak, and lost.

She’s left alone in the room, staring at the space where Y/N had just been. The bed feels cold now. Empty. The warmth from before is gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest.

She shouldn't have said those things. She knows she shouldn’t have. But the words came out anyway, like poison slipping from her tongue without warning.

Wanda wraps her arms around herself, hugging tightly, as if trying to hold herself together.

What did she expect? To just give in? To surrender herself to this bond, to Y/N, just because it’s written in the stars? In their souls? She can’t. Not when so much of her life has been out of her control. Not when she’s spent so long fighting for stability, for purpose—only for it all to be thrown into chaos by the presence of someone who are too late. Not when she’s already promised herself to someone else.

But even as she thinks this, the words echo in her head: Your soul knows mine.

Her throat tightens. She hates how true that feels. How undeniable it is.

“No,” she mutters to herself, shaking her head. “This is… this is just a mistake. I’m not… I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

She pushes herself off the bed and stands in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes are red-rimmed from the tears she didn’t allow herself to shed. She barely recognizes the woman in front of her—lost, confused, hurt.

She hadn’t meant to lash out. But the more Y/N pressed, the more she wanted to scream. To push away the person who could take everything from her, even if they didn't mean to.

---

NO ONE’s POV

The mission was a success. But the silence between Wanda and Y/N was deafening. They hadn’t exchanged a word since what happened in the morning. The air between them was thick with tension, so heavy that even the the others noticed when they arrived.

Natasha and Clint were waiting for them when they got back, but it wasn’t hard to tell that something was off. Clint, ever the observant one, gave them a glance, but it was Natasha who immediately picked up on the shift.

She watched as Y/N stormed toward her room, her movements sharp, her face a mask of frustration. Without saying a word, Natasha excused herself from Clint’s watchful eye and followed Y/N down the hallway.

When Y/N entered her room, she slammed the door behind her, her frustration too much to contain. She pressed her palm to her chest as the pain hit again, sharp and familiar.

“Not again,” she muttered, trying to breathe through it. But the tightness in her chest only intensified.

Unable to hold it in, Y/N lashed out in anger. She kicked her bed, and with her enhanced strength, the heavy frame went flying, crashing against the wall with a loud bang.

“What the hell, Y/N!” Natasha’s voice rang out from the door.

Y/N froze, chest still tight, the frustration growing. She turned slowly, guilt already creeping up. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a sigh. “What happened? Did you and Wanda fight or something during the mission?”

“Nothing,” Y/N murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“It’s not nothing when you kick your own bed to the wall, Tony is gonna kill you!” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “And if you think I didn’t realize something was going on between the two of you, you’re very stupid.”

Y/N stayed silent, biting her lip, the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Natasha stepped forward, a more serious expression on her face. “You two know each other before the Avengers, right? And don’t deny it this time.”

Y/N hesitated, heart pounding. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone this, but Nat’s eyes were unrelenting. After a long beat, she sighed, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted her shirt to reveal the name on her wrist. Wanda’s name.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Omg. You two are soulmates?! But… but she’s engaged!”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, clutching her chest harder, feeling the pressure build up.

Nat’s gaze softened as she took a step closer, her sharp eyes noticing how Y/N pressed her hand to her chest. “Is that why you always seem to be in pain? Is this… about the bond?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her breath shaky. “I don’t know. I never heard of anything like this. The bond doesn’t… it’s not what I expected.”

She sank down onto the broken bed, feeling the weight of her words settle over her like a blanket she couldn’t shake off. The pain in her chest was unbearable, like her heart was being squeezed by invisible hands.

Nat leaned against the door frame, her arms still crossed, but her expression softening. “So, you’re telling me, you’re soulmates with Wanda… and you’re both completely avoiding it?”

Y/N shot her a tired look. “What else is there to do, Nat? She’s engaged. She can’t just… leave everything for me.”

“She’s not just going to forget about you, Y/N. You two were meant for each other.” Natasha’s voice softened. “But I’m guessing Wanda isn’t as ready for that reality as you are.”

Y/N’s chest ached even more, the pressure building until it felt like it might tear her apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold it together.

“I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if I can live like this.”

Y/N flops back onto the broken bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, the ache in her chest still unrelenting. She covers her eyes with the palm of her hand, trying to stop the tears. But it’s useless. They come anyway, falling in silent streams down the sides of her face.

“I always imagine how she would be. How she would look like…how her smile would look like…how her voice would sound when calling my name…” Y/N whisper as her tears just flow.

“All I want is just for her to be happy,” she whispers through shaky breaths, the words breaking as they leave her lips.

The tears fall faster, each one like a tiny shard of glass piercing her heart. She can’t stop them. She can’t stop feeling like she’s drowning in a sea of things she can never have.

Wanda—her soulmate—was never meant to be hers. Not like this. Not when she’s already given her heart to someone else.

Y/N wants to be selfish. Wants to scream and demand that Wanda see her. That she choose her. But she won’t do that. She can’t do that to Wanda.

The guilt is suffocating. She wants to scream at the universe, at the cruel twist of fate that bound them together when there was no room for her in Wanda’s life. Not now. Not when Wanda was already engaged to Vision.

The pain in her chest intensifies with every thought. It’s not physical anymore—it’s emotional, an all-consuming ache that leaves her raw, exposed, and hopeless.

“I just want her to be happy,” she says again, her voice thick with tears. “Even if it’s not with me.”

Natasha stands still, watching Y/N, her arms uncrossed now. She walks over to the bed, sitting down next to her, though she doesn’t touch her. The silence stretches for a moment, as Nat considers her next words carefully.

“You deserve happiness too, Y/N,” Nat says softly. “But you can’t keep sacrificing your own for someone else’s. That’s not love.”

Y/N lets out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Love? Is it love if she doesn’t even want me?”

“Wanda doesn’t get to choose this,” Natasha says. “Neither do you. But it’s clear as day—you both feel it. And if you keep running from it, it’s only going to hurt more.”

Y/N nods weakly, wiping her tears away, but the pain won’t go away. It’s still there, sitting heavily in her chest.

---

Wanda's POV

Wanda walks into her room, the weight of everything still pressing on her chest. Her mind is a blur of emotions, none of them making sense. She’s barely aware of Vision standing by the door, his presence a gentle reminder of the life she’s supposed to be living.

“Wanda?” Vision’s voice is warm, concerned. He takes a step toward her, his brow furrowing as he watches her carefully. “How was the mission?”

She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It was fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Vision steps closer, the soft hum of his voice attempting to fill the space between them. “You don’t look fine. Something’s wrong.”

She shakes her head quickly, not wanting to explain, not wanting to face the truth herself. “It’s nothing, really. Just... tired.”

Vision doesn’t seem convinced. He reaches out, his hand landing gently on her shoulder, the touch warm and reassuring. His hands have always comforted her—always made her feel safe. But today, everything feels off.

She stiffens, the strange sensation crawling up her spine. His touch, once a source of peace, now feels foreign. There’s no comfort in it, no connection. It’s like a cold weight settling over her chest. She forces herself to stand still, to keep her expression neutral, to pretend it doesn’t bother her.

But it does. It bothers her more than she can explain.

Vision notices the shift in her. His hand lingers on her shoulder, and she fights the urge to pull away. He tilts his head, his glowing eyes filled with concern. “Wanda? What is it? You’re not yourself.”

She wants to scream. She wants to tell him everything—about Y/N, about the bond, about the way her soul aches when she’s not near her soulmate. But she can’t. Not when everything she’s worked so hard for is slipping away.

“I’m fine, Vision,” she says, the words slipping out cold and flat. “Really. Just… tired.”

She avoids his gaze, her chest tightening, as if a heavy weight is pressing down on her. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she can’t pretend anymore. She can’t pretend that her world isn’t shifting beneath her feet, that her heart isn’t tugging in a direction she doesn’t want it to go.

When Vision steps closer, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to pull her into an embrace, she freezes. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move. His arms feel… strange. His touch is too much, too familiar in a way that feels wrong.

Wanda’s heart races as she stands there, trapped in his embrace. It’s not the same. It’s not the same as last night, when she had fallen asleep in Y/N’s arms, feeling her heartbeat, hearing her breath. That had felt natural. Right. But this… this is nothing but a reminder of what she’s losing, what she’s sacrificing.

She can’t bring herself to pull away. She can’t be cruel, not when Vision is trying so hard. But everything inside her is screaming to get away, to go back to what felt real, to what is real.

“I… I’m just going to rest,” she says quickly, pulling out of his arms. “I need some time alone.”

Vision looks hurt, his brow furrowed as he takes a step back. “Wanda, if something’s wrong—”

“I just need to be alone,” she repeats, her voice strained. She doesn’t wait for a reply before she turns and walks away, leaving Vision standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.

She shuts the door behind her, pressing her back to it, her breath coming out in shaky gasps. She feels guilty. She feels confused. And worst of all, she feels lost.

---

NO ONE’s POV

In the days following the mission, Y/N became a ghost.

She still trained. Still attended briefings. Still wore the same calm expression she always did. But the light in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by something quieter. Hollow. Her usual laughter was gone, her presence no longer grounding—it was like she was just… floating. Drifting through the compound like she didn’t belong.

No more banter during meals. No more showing up at training early to try to spar with Wanda. She avoided the common areas when the team gathered. If Wanda walked into a room, Y/N would find an excuse to leave.

Steve noticed first. He said nothing, but he started showing up to the gym at the same odd hours Y/N did, watching her push herself like she was trying to outrun something.

Then Sam brought it up during a late-night debrief.

“Anyone else feel like the air’s been sucked out of the room lately?”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Clint.

“You mean Y/N,” Clint said flatly.

“She’s pulling back,” Sam added. “From all of us.”

Natasha didn’t respond. She just stared at the table, her jaw tight.

Bruce looked up, confused. “Is she okay? Did something happen on the last mission?”

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t think they’ve even made eye contact.”

That made heads turn.

Wanda, sitting at the far end of the table, pretended not to hear. Her face was unreadable, but her grip on her coffee mug tightened just enough for Natasha to catch it.

Something had happened.

And no one was saying it out loud.

---

Y/N’s POV

I train until my muscles scream and my lungs feel like fire. It's the only time I don't feel the ache in my chest.

I dodge every strike the simulation throws at me, sweat dripping down my temple, my knuckles raw. It's like if I can just keep moving, keep hitting something, I won't think about the look in her eyes when she said it was a mistake.

I throw another punch, harder than I need to, and the simulation sparks out. I broke it. Again.

"Shit," I mutter, stepping back.

I can feel eyes on me before I even turn around.

“You’re going to run yourself into the ground,” Steve says from the doorway.

I grab a towel and wipe my face. “Better than standing still.”

He walks in slowly, hands in his pockets. “You don’t talk to anyone anymore.”

“I talk.”

“Not really.”

I shrug. “Didn’t realize I owed anyone a conversation.”

He watches me for a beat, then says, “Y/N… I know something happened. I want you to know that you can tell me things. You are part of the team now. You are family.”

That almost breaks me. I look away.

He doesn’t push further, “just think about it. We here if you need us” then, he leaves me to the silence.

I sigh and start to punch the punching bag.

---

Wanda’s POV

She feels it. The silence. The shift in the air that follows her like a shadow.

Y/N doesn’t speak to her anymore. Doesn’t look at her. If they happen to cross paths in the hallway, Y/N’s footsteps speed up like she’s running from something. From her.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t—after all, this is what Wanda wanted, right?

But every time Y/N walks out of the room, it feels like a thread snapping inside her chest.

And today, at the debriefing, when Clint mentioned her name—“You mean Y/N”—Wanda felt the heat rush to her face. Not from embarrassment. From guilt.

Because she knows why Y/N is pulling back. She knows it’s her fault.

She stares into her coffee, pretending it tastes like anything but regret. Pretending she doesn’t feel Natasha’s eyes on her from across the room. Pretending her hands aren’t trembling just slightly.

She hears Steve say it:

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since.”

And her stomach sinks.

But still, she says nothing. Because if she speaks, it would mean admitting too much.

Later, in her room, Wanda sits cross-legged on the floor, staring at her wrist.

Y/N. The name is still there. Of course it is.

She presses her fingers against it, hard enough to leave a mark, hoping for something. A spark. A sign. Anything to make this easier.

But all she feels is the echo of what could’ve been.

---

That evening, when she walks past the gym and hears the heavy thud of fists against a bag, she knows exactly who it is.

She peeks through the glass just for a second. Y/N is drenched in sweat, pounding the punching bag like it did something personal. Despite the circumstances, the scene makes a shiver run through her spine straight to her lower belly. She sees Steve leans in the doorway snapping out of the trance she just had. He is watching Y/N with something close to worry on his face. They talk. Wanda can’t hear the words—but she sees the way Y/N deflates, the slump of her shoulders.

She looks… broken.

Wanda tears her gaze away before Y/N can see her watching.

She turns down the hall, faster than necessary, trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

Because this is what she asked for. This is the distance she put between them. And now?

Now she’s drowning in it.

---

Y/N POV

The door to Y/N's room flew open with the grace and force of a tactical breach. Natasha Romanoff didn’t knock. She never knocked.

Y/N barely looked up from where she sat on the edge of her new bed, shoelaces half-tied, wearing the same hoodie she’d been living in for the past three days. Her eyes were hollow, dull. Sleep-deprived. There were dark circles that hadn’t been earned from missions — just a war in her own head.

“I’m not in the mood, Nat.”

“That’s cute,” Natasha deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “It’s almost like you think I’m giving you a choice.”

Y/N sighed and dropped her gaze. “I’m serious. I just… I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“Well I want to see you somewhere other than this self-pity crypt you’ve locked yourself in. So you’re coming to the party.”

Y/N scoffed bitterly. “Why? So I can fake a smile while my soulmate who rejected me walks around in the arms of the microwave she’s supposed to marry?”

Natasha pushed off the frame and walked in, unapologetic, tossing something soft at Y/N — a black, sleek button-up. “No. You’re coming so you remember that you’re alive. That you’re you. And that no one — not even Wanda Maximoff — gets to take that from you.”

Y/N stared at the shirt in her lap, unmoving.

Nat crouched in front of her, voice softer now. “I know it hurts. I know what it feels like to have your whole world shift under your feet. But you’re not going to fix it by hiding in here, training till you collapse, and skipping meals. Plus, you stink!”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You’ve been spying on me.”

“You make it easy when your shower schedule is nonexistent.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from Y/N. The first in days. Natasha saw it and pounced, smug.

“There she is,” Nat said, standing and tossing Y/N a pair of dress pants and a tie from her closet. “C’mon. Go shower and put these on, we’ll sneak vodka into the punch and make bets on which intern pukes first.”

“I really don’t—”

“Not a request,” Nat cut in. “You get ten minutes. Be downstairs or I’m dragging your sulky ass out in whatever you’re wearing now. Hoodie and all.”

Y/N blinked at her, then looked down at her hoodie — the one with soup stains and threads unraveling at the cuff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Nat grinned. “And I’ll make sure FRIDAY plays your playlist on loop in the common room while I do it. The sad one.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back onto the bed, but this time, there was no protest. Just a whisper of a sigh and a tug at the hem of the hoodie, fingers curling with decision.

“…Five minutes,” Y/N mumbled.

Nat was already heading to the door. “That’s the spirit. You’ll thank me when you’re dancing.”

“I hate dancing.”

“Good. Means you’ll drink faster.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Tony’s parties were always the same — loud music, dazzling lights, and enough champagne to fund a small country. The tower's main floor buzzed with energy, laughter echoing off marble and glass. Everyone who was anyone was there. But none of it mattered to Wanda.

She stood near the bar, nursing a drink she hadn’t really touched, pretending to listen as Vision spoke beside her about some new energy signature he'd discovered during their last mission. Her eyes, though — they wandered. Always wandering.

Then the air shifted. She knew Y/N was there. Her wrist told her.

Natasha strolled in first, looking effortlessly lethal in red, smirking like she’d just pulled off a small heist. And trailing behind her—

Wanda froze.

Y/N stepped into the room, shoulders square beneath a fitted black jacket. The black button-up underneath was open at the collar, hinting at skin and strength and everything Wanda hadn’t stopped thinking about, no matter how hard she’d tried.

Their hair was tousled in that careless way that only looked effortless on them. And when they scanned the room, there was something new in their expression — quieter, colder. Like a part of them had shut off.

Wanda’s heart did something strange. Twisted. Ache and heat, all tangled up in one breath.

“You look pale,” Vision noted beside her, gently. “Are you alright?”

Wanda blinked, tore her gaze away. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

Across the room, Natasha nudged Y/N toward the crowd with a smug little smile, then disappeared into the sea of people — her mission, apparently, accomplished.

Y/N moved through the space like a shadow, offering half-smiles, polite nods, but not really being there. They refused every drink handed to them and brushed off small talk with ease. Wanda couldn't stop watching.

And then Y/N looked up — eyes locking with hers across the room.

It was barely a second. A heartbeat. But it was enough.

The last time Wanda had seen Y/N, they were breaking in front of her — quiet devastation hidden behind forced composure. But this? This Y/N was unreadable. Polished and distant and hurting in a way Wanda could feel but couldn’t touch.

She looked away first.

Because the guilt in her chest burned hotter than the wine on her tongue.

---

Y/N's POV

Y/N leaned against the balcony railing, half-hidden from the crowd inside Tony’s latest party. The city lights sprawled beneath the tower, and the music thumped faintly behind her, but nothing could shake the heaviness pressed into her chest.

Coming here had been a mistake. She knew it the second she saw her across the room. She was already looking. But after few seconds she looked away.

Typical.

“You gonna keep sulking out here like a ghost, or can we pretend you’re still alive?” Natasha’s voice cut through the air, dry and sharp, but warm in that big-sister way she always carried when Y/N needed it most.

Y/N sighed. “Took you longer to find me than I expected.”

“Had to give you five minutes of brooding. Anything past that and I start charging.”

She stepped up beside her, flicking her wrist to reveal two shot glasses already filled. “Come on, speedster. Drink.”

Y/N raised an unimpressed brow. “You know it doesn’t work. I burn through this stuff before it hits.”

“That’s why I brought the good stuff.” Nat handed over the glass anyway. “Just humor me.”

Y/N sniffed it. “This isn’t the thing that made Clint cry, right?”

“No, this is the stuff that made Tony cry.”

“…oh.”

They clinked glasses, and Y/N downed the shot in a blink. It tingled for a second — warm, pleasant — but nothing. Her body processed it faster than a regular heartbeat.

“Told you,” Y/N muttered.

Nat rolled her eyes and pulled out a silver flask like it was Excalibur. “That’s why I asked Thor for backup.”

Y/N stared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Nope. Just trying to get you to stop being a sad puppy for five minutes. Now drink.”

Y/N hesitated — but Nat raised a brow, that silent challenge written all over her face.

“Fine,” she muttered, taking the smallest sip.

Holy. Hell.

Fire bloomed in her chest — not painful, but bright. Sharp. Electric. Like lightning had kissed her insides. For a moment, everything slowed down — she slowed down — and her vision steadied, her thoughts quieted.

“…okay,” she said, blinking. “That’s new.”

Nat grinned. “There she is.”

Y/N takes a proper gulp this time, before they wandered back into the party, Nat’s arm slung lazily around Y/N’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before they joined Sam by the bar, and Thor showed up again with a fresh keg and a booming voice.

Fifteen minutes and a few sips later, Y/N was planted on a couch, shaking with laughter. Sam had just done the worst Steve Rogers impression she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t stop giggling.

“He said what?” Y/N gasped, clinging to the pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to the planet.

Sam put a hand on his heart. “‘This fit is low-key fire, fam.’”

“No, shut up,” Y/N wheezed. “You’re lying. He didn’t.”

Nat was laughing too, perched on the arm of the couch and sipping from her flask. “We have the security footage. It’s going in the vault.”

Y/N leaned her head back, finally exhaling. The tension in her chest had loosened — not gone, not really, but dulled. For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence in her head wasn’t so loud. She felt… okay. Just for a moment.

From across the room, something prickled. A shift in the air. Y/N glanced up — and caught Wanda staring.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the warmth cracked.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda is still looking at Y/N with a glass of wine in her hand that she’s barely touched.

Y/N is tucked into the couch with Sam and Natasha. There’s laughter, bright and easy, rolling out of her like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Sam’s just said something stupid — probably one of his Steve impressions — and Y/N is giggling, of all things. Cheeks slightly flushed, head tipped back, that smile that makes Wanda warm spread across her face.

Something inside Wanda twists. Not in anger. Not quite.

She takes a sip of wine to hide the way her hand trembles.

But then Sharon Carter steps into the frame, like a glitch in Wanda’s vision — cutting across the crowd, making a direct line for Y/N.

Of course.

Of course Steve brought her. And of course Sharon zeroed in on Y/N like she’s the most interesting thing in the room. Because she is.

Wanda watches with growing unease as Sharon leans in, laughing too loudly at something — and then rests her hand on Y/N’s arm like they’re suddenly old friends. Y/N, sweet as ever, smiles back. A little shy. A little awkward. But she doesn’t step away.

Sharon’s hand trails down Y/N’s arm. Lingers on her bicep. Fingertips pressing in. Playful. Familiar.

Mine.

The word crashes through Wanda’s head before she even realizes it.

And then—pain.

She gasps, nearly dropping her wine glass as a burn flares beneath her sleeve. It’s not heat. Not really. It’s the bond — the soulmate bond — screaming.

Y/N’s name pulses under the cuff of her sleeve, glowing faintly against her skin.

She’s mine.

Vision who has been babbling beside her notice something’s wrong. “Wanda, are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“Wanda?”

Still, she doesn’t take her eyes off Sharon — who is now brushing imaginary lint off Y/N’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for years.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

But her voice is too tight. Vision knows it. “You’re clearly not. Perhaps we should—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her voice cuts sharper this time. And even Vision looks surprised at her.

But Wanda doesn’t hear him anymore.

Her magic buzzes beneath her skin. Her pulse roars in her ears. She sees it — the way Y/N tries to subtly step back, like she’s trying to be polite without encouraging anything. But Sharon just leans in more.

And then…

She touches her again.

That’s it.

Wanda’s grip tightens. The wine glass shatters in her hand with a crack, red liquid dripping with the blood down her fingers. Startled gasps echo nearby, but she barely notices. Red mist coils at her fingertips, magic flaring out like smoke without her realizing.

She’s already walking.

The crowd parts for her without question, sensing the storm brewing in her wake. Sharon turns just in time — her expression faltering the second she sees Wanda’s face.

Y/N rises slightly from the couch, surprised. “Wanda?”

But Wanda doesn’t look at her.

Her gaze is locked on Sharon, her voice low and ice cold. “Hands. Off.”

Sharon blinks, startled. “I—what?”

“I said—don’t touch her.” Magic crackles in her palm like fire licking at her skin.

“Wanda, what are you doing?” Y/N asks, stepping forward. She reaches for Wanda’s arm gently — just to calm her, to ground her.

The second their skin connects, the storm stills.

Not completely — but enough. Enough that Wanda can breathe. She looks at Y/N’s eyes, and she feels calmer. But when Sharon speaks again it flips.

Sharon’s eyes flick between them. Her lips curl. “Seriously?”

Wanda’s eyes are sharp, dangerous. “Walk. Away.”

Vision finally reaches them, voice hushed but urgent. “Wanda, please. What are you doing?”

Wanda just ignores him.

Sharon scoffs but does walk away, eventually — with an eye roll and one last look over her shoulder.

The tension in the room slowly begins to melt. Music stirs back to life. Conversations resume.

But Wanda stays still, hand trembling, magic curling faintly from her fingers. Y/N stands closer now, visibly shaken, watching her with something soft and confused in her eyes.

Wanda turns her head away, chest rising and falling too fast.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Y/N’s voice is gentle. “Wanda”

But Wanda just walks away.

Her hand still burns — not from the glass, not from the magic — but from the name carved into her skin, glowing brighter than it has in weeks.

Y/N.

---

Wanda’s heels click softly against the corridor floor as she moves away from the party, trying to keep her breaths even, her expression composed. Her fingers are still damp with wine, red streaks trailing like veins down her skin, but she doesn’t stop. Not until she’s back in the quiet of her room, the door clicking shut behind her.

She exhales sharply. Leans against the door. Closes her eyes.

Her hand is still burning.

It’s pulsing again — like it knows she’s close, knows she’s unraveling. Wanda presses her palm over it, like she can smother the ache. She can’t.

There’s a knock.

She freezes.

“Wanda?”

Vision.

Of course.

She waits. Maybe he’ll go away.

Another knock, followed by his voice, soft and careful. “May I come in?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before moving to open the door.

Vision steps inside, concern etched into every line of his synthetic features. His gaze immediately drops to her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he says gently, stepping closer. “You shattered a glass in front of everyone. Your magic was—Wanda, you lost control.”

She flinches at the word. “It was nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

Wanda turns away, walking toward the small sink in her bathroom. She runs cool water over her hand. Watches the wine and blood swirl together and disappear down the drain.

Vision lingers in the doorway. “Was it… Sharon?” he asks after a beat. “You seemed… upset when she was speaking to Y/N.”

The faucet squeaks as Wanda shuts it off harder than necessary. “It’s not important.”

“Wanda—”

She spins to face him. “I said it’s not important.”

Vision blinks. His voice drops. “You’re clearly in pain.”

That makes her pause. Just a second. Her eyes flicker toward him, and she almost—almost—tells him the truth.

But she can’t.

So she breathes in slowly, composes herself, and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I just overreacted,” she says. “I’m tired. I need sleep.”

Vision watches her. She can tell he doesn’t buy it. But he nods anyway. “I can stay with you.”

“I need to be alone. You can go back to the party.” Wanda says without looking at him.

He hesitates… and then leaves without another word.

The door shuts behind him.

Wanda exhales again. Alone.

She peels back her sleeve slowly and looks down at the name on her wrist. It’s still glowing. Still burning.

Y/N.

Even now, after all this time, after all her trying — it’s never stopped. Never dulled.

She brushes her thumb over the letters. Closes her eyes.

And for just a moment, she lets herself whisper the truth

“She’s mine.”

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N barely hears the music.

Not when her eyes are still locked on the spot where Wanda disappeared.

Not after seeing the red curling around her fingers, the wine and blood mixing like something out of a bad dream.

She should’ve gone after her sooner.

But Vision did.

And Y/N… she waited. Waited long enough to breathe. To think.

To feel that sharp, low tug inside her chest — not magic, but something deeper. Older. Bone-deep.

She doesn’t remember walking upstairs. Only that the hallway is too quiet when she gets there, and Vision is just stepping out of the room. He pulls the door closed gently behind him, his expression unreadable.

Before he sees her she hides, and once he’s gone, she approaches the door.

Then she knocks.

Softly, twice.

Nothing.

“Wanda?” she calls gently.

Silence.

She presses her palm to the door like that might somehow bridge the distance. “It’s me.”

Another pause. Then: “I just want to check your hand.”

Still nothing.

Y/N waits… until the lock clicks.

And the door opens.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda hesitates before unlocking the door.

She should’ve ignored the knock. Let it pass like all the other things she’s tried to bury.

But then she heard the voice.

Y/N.

And something inside her cracked — something fragile she’d been holding together by sheer will.

Now, the door creaks open, and there she is — eyes soft, worry carved into every line of her face.

Wanda can’t look at her for long.

She turns away, wordless, walking back inside and leaving the door open behind her. Y/N steps in quietly, closing it with a gentle click.

The silence settles thick between them. Still. Heavy.

Y/N speaks first. “You didn’t let anyone help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Wanda murmurs, but the words are brittle. Fragile. A lie she no longer believes herself.

Y/N moves closer. Her hand reaches out, gently taking Wanda’s injured fingers in hers.

Wanda flinches—not from pain, not really—but from the tenderness. The way Y/N touches her like she matters.

Y/N’s thumb brushes lightly over her wrist, just above the soulmate mark still hidden beneath Wanda’s sleeve. The glow softens under her touch. The burn eases. Recognizing her.

Wanda swallows, throat dry.

Y/N gently opens her palm, revealing the cut—still bleeding.

“It’s fine,” Wanda says stubbornly, her voice low.

“You’re bleeding,” Y/N says softly. “It’s not fine.”

She starts cleaning the wound with delicate precision, her touch light but steady. Wanda watches her work in silence, torn between the instinct to pull away and the aching need to stay right there.

A pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, Y/N speaks again. “Why did you do that?”

Wanda doesn’t have to ask what she means.

Her jaw tightens. “She touched you.”

Y/N looks up, startled by the sharpness in her tone.

“She touched you like she had the right,” Wanda breathes, trembling. “She doesn’t.”

Silence.

Y/N studies her, eyes searching.

Then, quiet and careful: “And you do?”

Wanda meets her gaze, raw and open. The storm is still there—but it’s not rage. It’s fear. Hunger. Longing.

“Yes,” she whispers, before she could process what she said. “I do.”

She doesn’t look away.

And Y/N doesn’t speak.

She just finishes wrapping Wanda’s hand, movements slower now, softer somehow.

Wanda watches her—every motion, every breath. The calm in her presence. The way she makes everything stop spinning.

As Y/N ties the last bit of gauze, her fingers brush once more over Wanda’s wrist, where the soulmate mark pulses happily beneath the skin.

Then she whispers, barely audible:

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

She gives a weak smile, and turns.

Before Wanda can stop her, she’s gone.

And the room, somehow, feels colder than it did before.

Wanda stares at the door. The ache in her chest is new. Sharp. And suddenly she can’t breathe.

Is this what Y/N felt?

And for the first time, she feels it:

The hollow space where Y/N should be.

---

Part 5

---

hehe🤭

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #soulmates #elizabeth olsen oneshots #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x reader

504 notes · View notes

vunblr · 6 months ago

Text

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“…Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin- aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes x curvy!reader

603 notes · View notes

thedilfydoctorshow · 12 days ago

Text

My Type

A/N: So I used to write fics back in the day and I haven't written anything in years but noah wyle and his stupid brown eyes have pulled me into the depths of the pitt and I cannot leave

Summary: I kind of got stuck on the idea of Robby and younger reader who is a kindergarden teacher and how their relationship would unfold

Warnings: smut (cunnilingus, felatio, etc.), age gap relationship (Robby = 50s, reader = 25 (20s in general works but there is one specfic date of birth joke)), medical inaccuries because author does not work in the healthcare field

Are there more important things the chief attending physician to be doing than some simple stitches. He’s sure there is something that needs his attention but he needs to take a break and do something basic before he ends up back on that roof he told Abott he’d try to stay away from.

And so here he is, looking at his patient’s arm before he starts. Mid 20s, kindergarten school teacher sliced her arm with an exacto blade while prepping her classroom.

“Oh that’s a nasty gash,” he whistles when he unwraps the towel she has around it, “You did this to yourself?”

“Not on purpose,” you say quickly, “Like you don’t need to call a psychiatrist for me or anything. It’s the end of the month and I have this big calendar that I do with holidays and the kids birthdays and stuff so I was getting that set up and I was cutting a piece of cardboard for it and it just kind of got stuck and yeah. I’m kind of embarrassed because I tell my kids about scissor safety all the time and here I am.” She gestures at her arm

Robby laughs, “Accidents happen all the time, trust me, this isn’t remotely the most embarrassing injury I’ve seen.”

You pause like you’re debating on asking what you want, “I’m sorry, I have to ask, but please feel free to tell me to shut up if I’m overstepping. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever had to…remove from a patient.”

Ah yes, everyone’s favourite question to ask an ER doc. So common Robby immediately knows his answer. He debates not answering.

“Way back in my med school days someone came in with a flashlight stuck in them.”

Your jaw falls open, “A full flashflight? Not partial and it got stuck?”

“A full one. Still worked when the surgeons got it out of him too.”

You laugh, “of course it was a dude.”

Robby shakes his head in amusement, “it’s always a dude. Women live longer for a reason.”

He finishes up relatively quickly, it was a pretty standard irrigate and suture - probably would have been good to have the med students lean, but Robby is grateful for the small pause in his day.

“Alright keep those dry for the next 48 hours. After that they’re okay to get wet in the shower just make sure you dry them off properly afterwards. You can get them removed in 2 weeks.”

“Not to sound totally vapid but how badly is this gonna scar,” he sees the way you bite your in anxiety.

He chuckles, “Not to worry, it’s a completely normal question. But, lucky for you, I have been doing this for a very long time and I am very good at my job so scarring should be minimal. If you’re very concerned then you can speak to a dermatologist and they’ll have some options for you as well.”

You smile at him, “Dr. Robinavitch I hope you don’t mind my asking but sometimes I ask people to come in and talk to my kids about their work. Obviously they’re young and not actually thinking about careers but it’s a fun exercise for both the kids and the adults that have participated so far.”

Michael Robinavitch is many things. He is a good physician, a decent father figure for Jake, an above average tennis player. But at the end of the day he is still a man, and a weak one at that. He noticed your sweet face as soon as he walked in, the way your brightly coloured dress complemented your deep skin tone and highlighted your curves-

“What exactly would I have to do?”

You light up at the realization he might say yes, “Oh its simple really. You just talk about your job as a doctor, maybe some interesting cases - but they are kindergartners so not too interesting. I doubt parents would like it if their children came home talking about foreign objects in rectal areas.”

“I’ll keep that in mind”

~~~

So that’s how Robby ended up in a kindergarten classroom on one of his precious days off. He did some prep, it reminded him of his med school days a bit. Even his actual presentation felt like he was being interrogated by his peers in an auditorium again - except this time his peers were 5 year olds.

“Dr. Robby, I went to the doctor and they took my blood away. Why?”

And honestly, Robby is having a great time talking with the kids. Usually the ones he deals with in the ED come in distress so he rarely gets to interact with them when they’re having fun, “Oh it’s very common. Your doctor was just making that your body is healthy, and blood has lots of stuff in it that can tell us that.”

“Dr. Bobby,” a few of the kids keep messing up his name, he can’t bring himself to correct them, “My brother broke his arm at hockey and the doctor took a picture of bones.”

“Yes, that is called an X-ray.”

“And then they put his arm in a cast and our cat scratches it like her tree in my room.”

“Well you probably shouldn’t let your cat do that.”

By the end of his time Robby feels lighter. The kids are heading out for their recess and sticks around to help clean up after the activity you set up for them.

“Oh, Dr. Robinavitch, you don’t need to help me clean up.”

“Just Robby, please,” he says as he collects the discarded items, “I don’t mind, really. Do you think the kids had fun?”

“I’ve never seen them ask so many questions before. And you answered them well even when Ava asked how her baby sister got in her moms belly.”

Robby feels like he didn’t handle that one super well, he kinda just clammed up and sputtered until you had guided the conversation along, “Oh I never know what to say to kids about that.”

“Yeah I know that I’m their teacher but I teach little kids, not reproductive health so I feel like that conversation is above my pay grade.”

By now the classroom is clean and it’s time for Robby to take his leave. But he lingers for a moment debating his options. You’re obviously very pretty, but you’re also nearly three whole decades younger then him. He doesn’t think he’s making up the way you look at him, but the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable.

“Dr. Robby,” you say as he starts to pull on his coat, “I know that you’re a little bit older than me but if you wanted to ask me out, I wouldn’t say no.”

~~~

“Mikey”

Your voice rolls around in his head as he kisses down your throat. He tried to be the gentleman his mother raised - took you out to a nice a dinner, paid the bill, and was about to drop you off home and call you in the morning. But the second he got into the drivers side of his truck you climbed over the centre console, planted yourself on yourself on his lap and pressed your lips to his. Conversation over dinner had been pleasant, the two of you taking the time to get to know each other, but now Robby is learning that there is a completely different side of the sweet kindergarten teacher.

“Baby,” he tries when he feels you messing with the buttons on his shirt, “baby, slow down.”

“You look so sexy in this suit. I’ve been wanting to rip it off of you as soon as we sat down.”

It takes every ounce of willpower for Robby to physically pull away from you, “No. Not here.”

“Afraid your old man knees can’t handle some good old fashioned car sex?”

And honestly Robby does consider dragging you into the backseat to show you exactly what these “old man knees” can handle, but he has plans for you.

“The car does not have enough space for me to bend you over the way I’ve been planning since you walked through the doors of my ED.”

~~~

Robby has died and gone to heaven. He’s sure of it. You, between his knees on his bed, looking up at him with your big doe eyes, nuzzling his cock through his boxers. You tease him, your hand coming up to comb through the wiry hairs on his stomach before they dip below the waistband and pull his cock free. Robby’s head falls back against the headboard.

“Oh you’ve been holding out on me,” you let out a moan as you lick a stripe from base to tip, “might not fit.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit.”

Your lips stretch around the tip of his cock and he’s certain his heart stops for a moment. His head falls back. You reach up and thread your fingers between his before guiding his hand to your hair.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You’re going to kill me.”

That spurs you on, bobbing your head lower and lower each time. He can’t control the way his hips juts up as you swallow him down, but you don’t seem to mind. You use your hands to help with what you can’t swallow. You let out an occasional cock-drunk moan and the vibrations go straight up his spine. He loses track of time, doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed by how quickly he feels that coil in his belly. Needs you to pull off so he can savour the moment.

“Baby, “ he tugs on your hair, guiding your head up, “baby, need a minute.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Your voice is hoarse, and the knowledge that he’s the reason why makes his cock twitch. You look up at him, lashes wet with your tears. Robby wonders if you’re wearing mascara, and if it’s waterproof, and what he needs to do to get you to throw it out and wear something that runs.

“No, god no. You’re perfect but if you keep going I’m not gonna last long enough to fuck you.”

You smile at him, “I don’t mind.”

“I mind. In case you haven’t noticed, I am much older than you.”

You roll your eyes, “yes and-”

“And that means once I finish, I’m out for a while.”

“Oh,” you look like you’re processing the information, “well unless you were planning on kicking me out, we’ve got all night.”

And really what else is he supposed to do except flip you over and bury his face in between your legs until it feels like your thighs are going to cut off his oxygen supply.

~~~

Robby is not an idiot. He knows 30 some years between the two of you is a lot. In fact he was worried that after the initial lust faded that the two of you would be left in awkward silence. But that time never came.

You might not see the worst that humanity has to offer while working with 5 year olds, but you understand the struggle of being overworked and underfunded - though you and Robby have a fundamental misunderstanding of what underfunded means (Robby nearly has a heart attack when you ask him for budgeting help and he sees your biweekly paystub - he decides then that he’s paying for your gas every week, would also take care of your groceries if you’d let him). You listen when Robby complains about his inability to move borders because of the hospital’s refusal to hire more nurses and he returns the favour when you have a breakdown over the district’s decision to increase class sizes again.

On his days off he looks forward to picking you up from work and either taking you somewhere nice to eat. You both are aware of the optics of your relationship; pretty young woman, getting wined and dined by an older man who probably bought the expensive dress she’s wearing and the sparkling rocks in her ears (because he did). Sometimes you like to play that part of the relationship up, thanking him for dinner by getting down on your knees in his living room and sucking his soul out through his cock. But Robby isn’t actually a skeevy old man, the night always ends with you tired and spent, curled up against Robby’s body.

~~~

Dana’s the first one to realize he’s seeing someone. He’s not surprised, no one can ever hide anything from her.

“Let me see a picture of the new girl,” she all but attacks him as they walk into PTMC together.

“What new girl?” he knows playing dumb isn’t gonna work, but he has to try anyways.

“You think I don’t know you? This is the happiest you’ve been in years, and I know it’s not because of Jack’s therapist…unless the new girl is Jack’s therapist.”

“Jack’s therapist is a man,” he corrects, because he is a feminist after all, “I don’t know if I want to tell you about her yet.”

“What are you hiding from me?” Dana punches him lightly in the shoulder, “I gotta know what she looks like. I’m your emergency contact, I need to know who else to call if you end up dropping dead on me.”

“Won’t be much longer if you keep making jokes about me dying. You’re not that much younger than me, you know.”

“Tell me about her.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s…” he’s trying to figure out some way of getting out of this, “young. A lot younger than me.”

“Collins was younger than you.”

“Younger.”

Dana stops in her tracks, “Robinavitch, she is legal, right?”

“Jesus, fuck, Dana yes. She’s 25. She’s a teacher. I’m not some pervert.”

She hold her hands up in surrender, “You were scaring me there a bit. 25 is…fine.”

“You’re judging.”

“I’m not judging, I'm just surprised. I thought you would end up with someone who had the same number at the beginning of your birth year.”

Oh.

It had never really occurred to Robby that you were born this century. Or that he was born last century.

~~~

When he finally gets home after his shift that ended up going overtime again all of his qualms about your relationship melt away once the smell of whatever delicious meal you’ve conjured up hits him.

“Hey baby,” you smile at him, wine glass in hand. You’ve changed from your school clothes to one of his old shirts that hangs off you like a dress, nipples poking through the fabric like something out of a wet dream, “hope work wasn’t too awful.”

He just wraps his arm around your waist and pull you close to him. He’s still in scrubs, you don’t care.

“Dana figured out I was seeing someone.”

You gasp in jest, “finally telling the world about us?”

“She gave me shit about you being half my age.”

“What, she doesn’t think it’s sexy?”

“I don’t care what she thinks.”

He lifts you on top of his counter, stepping inbeween your legs before he slides your body so he can feel your pussy against his clothed crotch. He peppers kisses down your neck, scratching with his beard the way he knows you like. He continues down loweer, a trail between your breasts, still covered in his shirt. He continues lower until he sinks down to his knees. He already knows you’ve forgone the panties - still shudders when he hooks your legs over his shoulders and presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

He squeezes your thighs, roaming then presses a kiss to your clit. You let out a soft hum, hand coming down to card through his hair. He can never get enough of you, his hands tighten around your hips, holding your legs open as he dives in. He can feel his nose bumping against your clit, gulping you down and moans. Every bad thing that’s happened that day melts away as you writhe underneath him, chanting his name.

Robby, Robby, Robby

It plays through his mind on a loop as he adds two fingers. He can feel the heels of your feet digging into his shoulders trying to pull you impossibly closer to you, can feel the way the cabinet handle is digging into his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise and yet he doesn’t care. Nothing matters except for the sound of you coming undone for him in ontop of his kitchen counted.

#the pitt smut #dr robby #michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #smut #dr robby smut #michael robinavitch smut #r writes

395 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

Note

On the subject of the period tracker meme in TWST…how do you think the guys would react, Miss Raven? Like what do you think their login lines would be or how would they react to you being on your period? Sorry if this is overstepping, in that case then please ignore. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable if this isn’t something you want to talk about.

[Referencing this post!]

I’m going to include Grim, the Ramshackle Ghosts, NRC staff, RSA boys, and Halloweenies here too because why not 😂 And these are going to be my general thoughts, since I think login lines are too short to capture the nuances of what I’m trying to explain! This is unironically some of my best work yet—

***Note: This is going off the assumption that Yuu has a platonic relationship with the characters (ie no romantic implications), similar to what is established in the actual login lines. I will also be assuming gender neutral pronouns for the reader, but there may be references to other menstruators that are women (such as characters' family members).***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

NRC Students

Riddle has the technical knowledge, but struggles to apply that knowledge when the situation demands it. H-He has never had to do this before! Riddle has his anatomy and physiology textbook out and reads directly from it as he tries to figure out how to best help you, double and triple checking the directions before handing you any medication or even a heating pad. Stiffly offers you tea and pours it for you himself. Offers to bring you any classwork you miss, plus homework. Being on your period is no excuse to not keep up with your lessons!

Trey goes into big brother/dad mode. Dotes on you. Bakes you cookies, pies, tarts, cakes, etc. to feed the munchies while you’re bleeding out. His food is also warm and comforting, like a hug. What are your favorites? Tell him, he’ll prepare them. Asks every other hour how you’re feeling or if you need anything. Gives an awkward laugh if you get into the particulars of periods. He’d rather not, he’s just here to make sure you’re okay.

Cater has tons of experience dealing with this kind of thing. When his older sisters were on their periods, they’d whine for him to go out and buy stuff for them—pads, snacks, OTC pain relief meds, you name it, Cay-kun bought it! He knows exactly what you need, so just leave it to him, okay~? Besides, he can’t just leave you hanging like this… even if you do look kinda cute and pathetic writhing like that!

Ace, UGH 💀 Quintessential teenage boy. No clue what a period is, doesn’t understand why you’re in pain—but claims that he, in fact, does know because (ah-HEM!) he actually has mad game and plenty of experience with women!! (He doesn’t.) Calls you while he’s at the Mystery Shop to ask for what pussy size you wear.

Deuce is in a similar boat as Ace. He kind of sort of knows what a period is but didn’t ever think about the particulars. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, can you blame him? Deuce hits the books to learn more about the subject (it’s what an honors student would do, right?) but is horrified to learn you’re “ovulating”. “D-Does that mean you’re going to lay an egg?! Are you secretly a chicken, Prefect?!” Tries to be polite and understanding about it, but comes off as awkward instead.

Leona has the tact to not openly remark on a woman’s time of month. He just kind of makes an unreadable expression and quickly looks away before you get any strange ideas. When he catches you alone, he makes some haughty remark that insinuates that he knows—and as you’re blanching with embarrassment, he (to your shock) casually tosses a bag of period supplies at your feet. There’s everything you could possible need in there!! You glance up, about to thank him, but Leona’s already sauntering away and waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t say I never do anything for ya, herbivore.” Now he’s off to nap peacefully—and, hopefully, you can too.

Ruggie just shrugs. It’s not really any of his business, now is it? The more time he spends loitering around here and lookin’ after you, the less time he’s spending making money at his part/time jobs! “Sheesh, looks like you’ve got it rough~ Glad I’m not you. I’d still have to work my tail off, bleedin’ or not!” Maybe if he’s feeling generous, he’ll save you some free food from whatever he can salvage from work. Want him to grab you something on the way over? Pay him for his time and effort!

Jack smells the blood at first and worries that you’re injured (n-not that he cares or anything). Once he realizes what that smell is, he’ll apologize and will make things right by dedicating himself to supporting you! Dutifully trails after you like a duckling that imprinted on the first thing he saw when he hatched. Quick to rush in and do things even when not asked to. Is okay with even carrying you around if need be—it’s a good workout for him, so it’s a win-win!

Azul shows up “randomly” with a care package he “just so happens” to have on him. Dramatically offers you the care package and thanks you for “taking it off of his hands”. Not-so-subtly also implies he can whip up elixirs that are effective at numbing period pain, or perhaps you'd prefer a massage from his strong octopus arms?—for a price, of course. He studied up on human physiology and had Jade snoop around for details on your cycle; this was all orchestrated well in advance and Azul intends on collecting on this favor at a later point in time. Does a smug little evil chuckle to himself as he walks away.

Oh, Jade knows. (See Azul’s section above.) He acts as though he doesn’t though. For example, he’ll hold something you need out of reach just to watch you squirm and struggle in discomfort to obtain it. Once you cast aside your pride and confess what’s going on, Jade will feign surprise and apologize. Brews you a relaxing mushroom tea to help with the cramps. Kindly offers his services, acts like the perfect, sweetest, most attentive butler you could ever ask for. (… Though you have unfortunately made the mistake of letting Jade into your quarters. He’s just waiting for you to doze off so he can rifle through your things and collect dirt.)

Floyd thinks it’s hilarious. Human bodies are so weird! You bleed every month? Hah, sure must suck. He’s so glad he doesn’t have to deal with that. Pesters you with a bunch of questions about how periods work. Asks if a band-aid is enough to deal with it. Laughs when you double over and coos about the poor Shrimpy. If he’s in the mood, he’ll give ya a lift—but it’s a bumpy ride, and he’ll attempt to parkour with you on him. Might cook you up some good grub too. It’s a gamble—are you willing to try your luck?

Kalim hears you’re bleeding and has a mild freakout about it. Hires the best medical team money can buy to examine you and to make sure you’re okay. Relieved to learn it’s just a period. “Hey, so… I’m glad you’re alright and all, but what’s a period?” he asks. Listens to you talk about it, but concludes he still doesn’t understand the intricacies. Gets the gist that you’re in pain once a month and resolves to totally pamper you for that week or so. Provides Oasis Maker water too--it's so refreshing! Whatever you want, just say the word and it’s yours! You’ll have nothing to worry about :)) Kalim’s sure Jamil won’t say no to lending you a helping hand too he’s being voluntold to.

Jamil is used to this drama/j from Najma. Very calm about the whole ordeal. Hovers and tuts like a mother hen, but more quietly judgy. Prepares delicious home cooked meals and pain relief remedies, fetches items + runs errands for you. Makes sure you’re comfortable. Even offers to plump your pillows. Basically feels obligated to do this on behalf of Kalim; wishes he were doing something else, but hey… this is preferable to having to deal with frantic last minute party preparations.

Vil is very mature and no-nonsense about it. Please, only a child would behave crudely over a natural bodily process like this. He recommends vitamins and yoga stretches for alleviating cramps and to reduce bloating. Blends you nutritious smoothies and plans balanced meals to keep your energy up. Vil also prepares essential oils to help you relax. Here’s a diffuser for your room, and he has these bottles of fragrance you can dab on your temples and wrists.

You don’t even need to say anything. Rook gives you That Look (TM) that tells you immediately that he knows what’s up. Probably knows your period is coming like a week in advance of it actually arriving. Unexplained period supplies show up on your doorstep. There’s a note and a rose with them. Someone has written you a lengthy poem about how the “crimson petals” are “peeling away from thine flower”, so please accept these items and take care of yourself! The supplies replenish themselves whenever you’re just about to run out, too. Rook knows you’d probably prefer your privacy for these matters—he wouldn’t want to make you feel self-conscious! … So he makes sure to make himself discreet when he hides in your walls to watch over you and ensures you’re comfortable.

Whoa, you bleed every month? That’s METAL!! Epel has heard about periods from the elderly ladies in Harveston. The way they talk about it, it’s like they survived a war!! That must make your gut super tough…! It earns you his respect. He looks at you like you’re some kind of VIP. Epel gifts you a bright red apple every day, saying that it will keep the doctor away. Offers to rush by on a (borrowed from Ignihyde) magiwheel/blastcycle to drop off anything you may need.

Idia blue screens and keyboard smashes in a panic. It’s already hard enough for him to interact with people face-to-face but now you have to go and drop this bombshell on him?! How’s an otaku to cope?! Sends you memes and funny videos via a messaging app. Can’t be bothered with going in-person. Might send candies or ramen cups via a drone. You can’t see how alarmed he is whenever he sends you a new text. Not because he’s worried, but because the idea of a period grosses him out. Why are organic beings so unhygienic?? Machines are so much cleaner and more efficient!!

Ortho rattles off facts about your cycle based on the data he has collected. Basically a living period tracker. (It’s scary how much he knows about your health.) Has a list of light exercises, relaxation techniques, and OTC medications loaded to fire off at you. Also advises you eat each iron, fiber, and protein-rich foods to restock on the nutrients you lost from shedding your uterine lining. Remember to hydrate too! Ortho’s just trying to be helpful!

Malleus is familiar with Briar Valley politics, not bodily functions. Ever curious, he listens to your explanation of periods, staring and nodding slightly all the while. Comes to the conclusion that the child of man is suffering immensely and that it is his noble duty as a Draconia to look after the less fortunate. Proceeds to breathe a line of fire to “gently warm you up”. Then attempts electrical stimulation, which brings about a massive lightning storm that has you dodging, rolling, and sprinting to avoid being hit. Malleus dials it back when he realizes his attempts aren’t that helpful. Sulks about it until you tell him you really appreciate the attempt, but just good food and good company is enough for you. He’s able to provide, using magic to make the cutlery dance and to float over some delicious-looking dishes. Sits across from you and says he will keep you company for as long as you may need.

Lilia is oddly very knowledgeable about periods (you figure 700 years of living and a few hundred years of travel must count for something). Unfortunately, he refers to periods as “the peak of one’s fertility” just to mess with you. Keeps you company while you’re in pain and grabs whatever you need, no questions asked. Tells you about how women "back then" managed their periods with cloth rags, cotton, and even animal fur or dried toads. Peasant women had to go without, as they couldn't afford cloth. Endless stories and songs, sometimes exposited to you while Lilia hangs upside down from the ceiling. Do not, however, eat anything he tries to feed you, even if he claims they are "time-tested herbal remedies"! One time he suggested acupuncture or acupressure--techniques he learned of from the east--for period pain cramps. You turned down that idea, which he said was "a shame", as he had been meaning to try it out.

Silver notices you’ve been looking tired and a little out of it lately. Asks if he can touch you, then proceeds to pat you down in various spots…?! He nods and announces you he feels you have a lot of tension in your body, so you should exercise to relieve yourself of it. (You think about letting him know what’s up, but you’d feel bad for “tarnishing” his pure mind.) Invites you to join him for his daily training. Is kind enough to stop and wait for you to catch up or to adjust the exercise to make it more doable for you. Plenty of breaks to drink water and to catch your breath. His animal buddies sometimes bring nuts and berries as snacks or flowers, which you press to your nose to recharge. You and Silver rest in the shade of a tree and end up napping the day away.

Despite coming from a household with two women and even reading some books on growing up, Sebek is still quite bashful and skittish on the subject of periods. He thinks of it as something weirdly intimate but will never confess that to you. Sebek instead shouts very loudly that “mere menstruation” is “no excuse” to not get up and work hard!! Why, he’s had to endure much more hellish training under Lilia-sama’s tutelage!! … You have him to thank for everyone in the school knowing when it’s that time of month for you. (He gets bonked on the head by Lilia and Silver and is told to apologize, which he does so very quietly.) Hands you a book about menstruation and tells you to study up.

Grim has no concept for what a period is. Acts all cool about it though and promises he’ll take the best care of his minion!! He proceeds to struggle using a can opener to crack open a tuna can (it’s your lunch). Spends the rest of the day acting as a heating pad and weighted blanket over your stomach region. Surprisingly very effective.

NRC Staff + Ramshackle

Crowley smiles and wishes you well—but he keeps taking progressive steps back as he talks, almost like he’s hoping to wander off without you noticing. The man is on a tangent about the weather and changes the subject every time you try to bring it back to your period. What? You say he’s dodging his responsibility to look after his students? N-Nonsense! This is a matter for the school nurse, not the headmaster! You want a magic lift to the infirmary? Oh, would you look at the time! Crowley has a very important meeting to go to. You’d better be on your way to the infirmary then, hmm? Toodles, and best of luck!

Crewel is similar to Vil, aware and mature about how to deal with it periods in his own way. Has a spare pair of pants and a sweater on standby for you change into or to wear over stained bottoms. Gives tips on how to wash period blood out of various fabrics so they don't stain. Cold water, hand wash, air dry! Commands Grim to be a good boy and take responsibility for his partner. "Tend to their every need until they are at full health again. Am I understood?!" Tells you to take it easy, you won't perform at your best in your current condition--but he still expects your homework to be in tomorrow! Willing to grant an extension if needed.

Trein thankfully already went through this crisis when his daughters had theirs for the first time, so he knows just what to do now. Refrains from assigning detention for lateness and lack of attentiveness; lets you off with a very sternly worded warning. (Lucius makes himself comfortable in your lap during the lecture.) Trein discreetly passes along some pads after the other students have filtered out of class. Offers tea and light sandwiches in the teacher’s lounge. Lets you know you can come to him if the boys are being mean to you. He’ll give them a good scolding! After all, upstanding gentlemen shouldn’t engage in such behaviors.

Vargas recommends that you join him for exercising. Physical activity can help reduce period cramps, so up and at’m, champ!! Have you tried having a few dozen eggs? Protein can do wonders for the body! Here, he’ll prepare them for you in a raw egg smoothie!

With big ol’ grin, Sam cheerily advertises his wares. He’s got all the feminine hygiene products you could ask for, any snack you could want, OTC medications of choice, IN STOCK NOW!! The Mystery Shock also offers delivery for an extra little fee if you’d like to save yourself some time (and your body some effort).

The Ramshackle Ghosts are old and dead, so they're... let's just say not that well acquainted with bodily functions. They understand that you're in a tough spot though, so they'll step up unlike Crowley to ensure you're okay! They'll do your shopping, float over to the main building to fetch any work you miss, and grab grub for you from the ghost chefs in the cafeteria. Anything Crowley asks you to do, the Ramshackle Ghosts will do in your place. They even sew together some old curtains and couch stuffing to make a pillow for you to rest on. Randomly poke their heads through the walls to check on you.

RSA Students

Chenya’s eyes keep wandering, and he’s humming some tune or saying something cryptic about the color red. It doesn’t sound like he’s really listening to you, but no—he’s actually been listening well this entire time. Here, chew on this unidentified plant he picked up! It’ll help mellow you out and reduce the pain. Trust him, he learned this from his grandpa! And once you’re nice ‘n cozy…! Nyah! You won’t mind if he settles in for a little catnap beside ya, would you?

Neige frets for your health (it’s no good to lose blood) and, with a kind smile, tells you to please relax! He’ll take care of all your chores for the time being. Neige gracefully tackles the cleaning, cooking, and other housework. He somehow manages to get it done despite also balancing school and his celeb gigs, and never seems to be bothered by it. Sings lullabies to help soothe you.

The Seven Dwarves do a a group huddle (Dominic leading) and debate about what they should do to help you. They try making music, preparing porridge, and offering you shiny rocks they found on the ground. Once they also picked flowers and swarmed your bed with them, as if they’re mourners at a funeral procession. They’re small gestures, but you figure it’s the thought that counts… right? 💦

Halloweenies (Halloween Event Characters)

Rollo frowns. Deeply. He does not understand why you’re telling him about this. “You ought to be keeping such sensitive health information to yourself”, he chastises you. Keeps his handkerchief pressed over his nose and looks the most disgusted and repulsed you've ever seen this man (save for when he's doomposting about Malleus Draconia). Might give you a croissant or some meds out of pity, but hands it over with his full arm extended to maximize the distance he has to stand away from you, or just leaves the items on a table and tells you to come fetch them. Says he will "pray for you."

Fellow never got a formal education, so what he knows about periods is limited to what he hears through the grapevine (ie various women he has conned). He’s aware it involves bleeding from… down there—he can smell it—but has no clue how to handle it. Has too much pride to confess to the truth. Acts like he knows what he’s talking about by playing up being a doctor. Has Gidel scribble in a notepad as if it is your patient chart while Fellow reads off your symptoms and gives you a random diagnosis he made up on the spot. Hands you an apple he finished eating (there’s only the core left) and pats you on the head, telling you you’ll be juuust fine~!

Gidel is too young to know what a period is. All he understands is that you seem to be in great pain, and he feels bad seeing you like this 💦 He sees you clutching your stomach or lying in bed; is it maybe a tummyache? Gidel offers you half of his loaf of bread. He gets tummy grumblies on an empty stomach too, so he knows what that’s like! Tries to do silly things like making funny faces and dancing to cheer you up.

Skully does not know what a period is. (I’M SORRY, bro lived like hundreds of years ago; am I supposed to believe they had pads back then, let alone menstrual cycle education for people???) He’ll listen to you explain, but his face gets paler and paler as you continue. Makes a shocked, wide-eyed expression, hands on his cheeks. A “why would God do this to women” look. Looks slightly faint after the fact, but offers to assist you with whatever you need; simply call for him, and this gentleman will come running!

532 notes · View notes

gawkgokgok · 5 months ago

Text

Silence of the lambs

Aemond Targaryen x Daemons daughter!reader

summary: You and Aemond married for the peace of the realm even though you disliked each other. Peace is the last thing you would find in your chambers...

warnings: MDNI, subtle violence, reluctant kissing, choking, attempted rape, a bit of a praise, tiddies!, all this but its suppose to be hurt/comfort😭😭 almost 2.3k

a/n: this is the first and probably the last thing I'll ever write. just had some fun and decided to share it here.🩵 English ain't my shit, sorry for the mistakes. hope this won't be a waste of your time divider credit @cafekitsune (hope that's okay) :P

Cold.

Cold and distant.

Two moons passed since your wedding day. Even though you shared chambers, you limped to get used to each other. Stiff. Not present. If you talked, it would be the smallest, briefest conversations only about necessary. Usually it was silence. That’s all you knew. And perhaps it was for the best...

Silence in the morns. Silence in the day. Silence in the nights. Most familiar whisper of your rooms was crunchy fire. The only thing that kept this place from turning into a dungeon.

Dungeon with chains lost on the eyes.

You returned tired to your shared coffins. Spending your evening with pregnant Helaena and her twins. Playing until little offsprings got tired and ready for their cribs. You seeked change. Anything, just to get the obese hours pass quicker.

Hands of wind grabbed your ankles and planted shivers across your skin. Balcony door was wide open. He stood there. Face in his palms. Or so you thought. His back was covering any chance of view. You pursed your lips. Should you worry? Should you talk to him? Would it make things worse?

The slouching of his shoulders made you sigh and slowly approach. You ideated running your palm across his broad form to soothe him. But you feared of overstepping.

"Did something happen?" It was quiet. Not particularly soft, but quiet.

Your eye caught his arms tensing up. You hated that your presence and voice made him like this. You didn’t care at first, but it was becoming frustrating.

He didn't look at you. He was quiet for a long moment before he put you back in your place. "...nothing happened."

You stared at his nape, covered by waves of moonshine. He was being difficult, and you just wanted to go to sleep and close the damn doors. Curling your tongue in your mouth, you gathered strength to stay calm.

"Are you alright?"

You felt his anger grow. The last thing he wanted was your concern and your worry. "I’m fine." He cut the air with his teeth.

Your heart stilled at his harsh tone. Overstepping. You nodded even though he couldn’t see it and warily stepped back into your chambers. You didn’t wish to argue. Deep down you preferred silence over arguments. If he doesn’t wish to speak of what’s troubling him, who are you to press matters?

You left him to his thoughts. Retreating with tail between your legs as you started getting yourself ready for the bed.

You were used to him hiding his feelings away, but whenever you would show concern (as rare as it was) or try to ask about anything, the storm would just take over his mind. He had no interest to trust you and you respected that. Not like you shared many of your thoughts to him either. To anyone, really. Being the daughter of the man he hated, you understood... to certain extents.

You heard the balcony door close just as you moved the covers under which you planned to hide and let your body and mind rest. He strode over to you, his hand grasping around your upper arm as he turned you around to face him. You gasped in shock and before you could wince from his iron grip, your mouth was muffled by his. Pushing your lips apart with his restless tongue, forcing cold shivers down your spine as he tried to drown you in his control.

You didn’t know what scared you more, his assault or his sudden behavior. You couldn’t tear your arm away. You couldn’t arch your head away. You couldn’t even welcome air in your system. Liquid in your veins was gaining adrenalin. You were almost trembling from fear. You started expecting the worst...

He scoffed at your whines of protest and pushed you on your back, slamming you on the soft mattress. You winced slightly when you hit the bed. Short-term pain quickly overshadowed by terror. His body savaged over yours in an instant.

"Ae- Aemond, what are you- what’s gotten into you!?"

He was deaf as he started pulling your night shift up. And you looked up at him with wide and terrified eyes, unable to fight back his strength. Whatever was dancing in his sharp violet one... it smelled rotten.

"What's gotten into me?" His voice was strained as he fought to keep your limbs in place. A low, mocking laugh rang as he focused his gaze on your heaving chest. "Lets find out."

Your eyelids strained even more. Throat drying up. Breath hitching out of control along with your shaking body.

The only time you consummated was on your wedding night. It wasn’t pleasant. It didn’t hurt, but you weren’t enjoying it. And you knew he didn’t either. This was completely out of the blue and his rage was blood-freezing.

You were scared, yes, but you were more scared of the idea what would happen if you started actually resisting... He never hit you, but the tales of his temper rolled around the corridors like plague.

Dark pleasure filled his stare. He could see the hesitation in you, the tremble and fear. But he didn't care. He knew he had you right where he wanted. His bruising touch on your skin felt ten times heightened now that you fell completely out of control. Getting hunted down...

"Good. That's good..."

Aemond praised with a twisted smile. His hand moved from your wrists to your neck, his large hand wrapping around you and holding you down. You shivered when his palm had more control over your breathing than you. His other hand passed along your body, feeling every curve and angle of your frame. Your breath couldn’t even hitch every time his fingers grazed over your plush stomach and waist. Your fists bagged the sheets firmly and you shut your eyes as you let him do what he wanted.

He was lost in his own desire, in his own lust. Ignoring your discomfort. He just needed to satisfy his needs. He needed to let out his frustration somehow. Or on someone... He continued roaming his hands across your body, touching you like you were a toy.

"You're so beautiful..."

Your eyes shot opened as you heard his mumbles. Seeing how he was fixated on your body, you took the chance before the damage could be done. Marital rape was not on your list tonight. You bit your tongue and dared to touch him, cupping his cheek. "...Can-... can you at least tell me what's wrong?...Please."

His jaw clenched. Your touch was so soft, so gentle and so different from the grip he had on you. It took him by surprise. His eyes locked with yours. He was quiet for a moment, the darkness in his gaze fading for a quickly-lost moment.

"It's nothing. There's nothing wrong." He muttered through gritted teeth, moving his head to the side to avoid your warm hand. His brows twitched into a frown and his hands hooked in your smallclothes.

Your fingers curled into a fist before you let your hand drop. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know how to calm him. How to reason him. How to talk to him.... You were his wife and you had no clue how to handle him. Bitterness stashed your mouth. You sighed heavily. He already had your mound bare.

"..this won’t solve whatever’s bothering you." You tried to sound calm. Tried to appear like you weren’t fighting for the right over your body right now.

He huffed, becoming more and more irritated with you. Pushing your nightgown over your chest. His voice was low and ragged as he saw how cool air affected your nipples.

"It would. It can. At least for a moment.."

"Please, let me help you.." ..somehow, you hoped. Carding your hand through his silver locks, pulling the strands back so they weren’t falling over your faces as he loomed over you.

"....I’ll listen. I promise." And you meant it. You’d do anything to avoid this situation. If it meant behaving like a proper loving wife who listens and cares, you would do it. Despite the resentment you hold for each other.

Your gazes locked as he listened to your pointless rambles. There was a flicker of hesitation, but he flashed it away with a mutter as he cupped your breasts. "It's nothing. I just had a bad day."

"Then let me hear about your day."

You covered his big hands with yours and you felt him twitch. Surprise washed over his face as he looked back up your eyes once again. You noticed his observing eye roam over your features and you softened your whole demeanor. You meant it. You were fucking tired of this. The silence. The distance. The feeling of constant unwelcomeness. You just wanted to enter your chambers ONCE and be relaxed in his presence...

Looking at you, seeking sincerity and curiosity in your eyes, he closed his own and sighed. "It was tiresome, lots of meeting, training, planning for the future... everything that’s expected of me."

You nodded slowly, listening to every word that rolled off his tongue. And you noticed it. A silver of honesty, perhaps even trust. Your nails skied up his arm, gently scratching his nape. You wanted to make him as calm as possible. "...you’re tired..?"

Aemond let out a low purr, his eye fluttering shut. "Hm."

You pulled his shoulders so he would lay down on you, wrapping arms around his neck. You felt tension all over his body, but you didn’t care. If he thinks he can do whatever he wanted with you, so could you with him. You tucked his head under your chin.

You were trying to value his emotions. As hard as it was... you understood what he meant. You didn’t know every detail of his training nor his council meetings, but you knew what it meant to be drained. Exhausted. And that was enough to make you empathic.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy. You held him tighter, your arms getting a rush of protectiveness. Letting him find shelter in your embrace. Solace in your arms. Peace in your scent and warmth. You wanted to make him feel heard and seen. He held onto you, his arms wrapping around your waist as if he was holding onto for dear life. You felt it. You sensed the shift. He was allowing you to see him. To see his vulnerability. To dive below the surface of his thick skin.

"It's just too much sometimes. I don't know if I can do it anymore." You felt his lips brush along your skin as he mumbled quietly.

"I know. I know it is, but draining yourself to the last drop isn’t doing you any good. And satisfying everyone’s expectations is impossible."

You tried to comfort him. And seeing this softer side of him. This... lost, broken boy. It made you desire gentleness towards him.

"...I know you don’t like being told what to do, but I’m advising you... let that dumb old cunt go. Otto is not worth your time or energy. He never was. Ungrateful people don’t deserve the effort you’re putting up, Aemond."

From your FAR point of view you knew enough. You knew why Aemond was the way he was. Even though you struggled to understand his dark motives most of the time, you understood where he was coming from. And being a child loved only under conditions does that to a person. You secretly admired that he’s still standing and isn’t reaching for cups like Aegon.

"I know. It’s hard to see it and let go, especially when that someone is your family..."

You sighed, plucking the right words...

"...but I’m your family now."

Even though your marriage has been distant and cold, you still had time to change that... right?

His silence made you chew your lips nervously. You really had no idea what you were doing nor saying... He shifted slightly to look at you, his eye overflowing with emotions. He didn't say anything, just looked at you, searching your face for something.

"I know you didn’t choose me. I know I didn’t choose you. I know we agreed only for the greater good, but... I’m tired sometimes as well. I wish we didn’t resent each other."

You whispered honestly while taking in his pained expression. It broke your heart knowing even you, his wife, struggled to give him the care and affection.

He took a deep breath and gently touched your cheek, his fingertips lightly caressing your skin. "I'm sorry for the way I've been... towards you." He whispered and pulled the nightgown down, covering your body.

You leaned into his touch. Wanting him to know that he’s welcome to you from now on. Your smiled even though you were terrified when he jumped you. "...it’s our first time being married, right?"

Aemonds eye wrinkled, a small, barely-there smile tugged the corners of his lips.

It was nice to see him smile, even if the situation was far from funny, but he was calm. And that’s all that mattered to you.

Warm.

Warm and close.

Silence. That’s all you knew. And yet... it felt good. It felt right.

You helped him with the buttons of his leather doublet. Changing him in his night clothes as you both exchanged soft looks and amused smiles. You hid under the sheets and cuddled until you let lambs bounce your minds away. You let him sleep in your chest.. cling to you.. seek your comfort. And you didn’t even wish to think about denying him. For the first time, you felt truly at peace in his presence. You will be the wife he needs.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #hotd fanfic

531 notes · View notes

dismalflo · 6 months ago

Text

Back of the Bar

remus lupin x reader who has a persistent customer at the bar ✩ 1.1k words

cw: creepy guy, nothing too heavy just general creepy drunk men, not remus, remus is very sweet

You've been on your feet for entirely too long, navigating your way around the small space behind the bar. A shift from hell. You’ve tripped over your own feet more times than you can count, dropped three glasses - two of them smashed - and the persistent drunk man at the bar was doing his best to make your shift even worse. His eyes lingered a little too long on you, his smile was a bit too wide, and his jokes were laced with a discomforting familiarity.

You wonder what you must've done in a past life for this place, this horrible job, to be the only one to respond out of everywhere you applied. It's probably that people quit working here so often they can’t afford to turn anyone down.

Your only reprieve from the stressful customers tonight comes in the form of a man with tawny brown hair who orders three pints, presumably a round for the booth he sat in with two other boys, and stands there waiting patiently for you to pour them just like every other time he's been in this bar.

Just as that moment of peace you get while preparing drinks settles in the air, a slurred voice interrupts,

“When do you get off? I- I could show you a real nice time, ‘elp you relax or somethin’.”

And though you've turned him down a hundred times over already tonight, this man doesn't seem to let the word no seep into his thick skull. So you try just ignoring him, cringing away and angling your body towards the man waiting for his drinks.

“Hey! Who the fuck told you, you could talk to her that way?” you’re startled looking up to find the source of the voice defending you, shocked again when it's the polite man with tawny hair.

His demeanor shifts so quickly. Suddenly, he stood tall, towering, chest puffed out and looking down his nose at the man. His features have crumpled in anger. You think if you weren't so shocked you’d find it rather attractive.

“I– I was just…” the man stammers.

And all of a sudden you feel as angry as the tawny haired man looks. Why the fuck does it take another man telling him off to make him back off.

The man defending steps closer to the drunk at the bar “I think you'd better leave. Now.”, he sneers venomously.

Your eye is drawn to a commotion behind the man, where his two friends have obviously caught wind of the confrontation, moving to back up the man in front of you.

The drunk sees this too and intimidated, he scurries out of the bar avoiding any further anger directed at him. You’re staring at the door he’s just ran out of when three concerned faces step into view looking at you.

The tawny haired man's eyes soften as he looks at you “Are you alright?” His voice is significantly quieter than before, as if afraid of startling you. You suppose he's right to do that, you feel like you could bolt at any moment.

“He seemed like a piece of shit. Dick. Takes a lot to rile up moony” A man with curly brown hair and glasses says, earning him an affirmative hum from the man with long black hair.

“I’m alright, thank you for that,” you say, dipping your head and turning to rush out of the side door to the alley at the back of the bar. Leaving behind the three boys who all look very sorry for you.

You hunch over, hands on your knees, breathing in the fresh air through laboured breaths, an attempt to stave off the wave of panic that settled over you. It feels irrational now, he's gone and you’re fine but you can’t stop your mind from straying to all the things that could've gone wrong.

God that was embarrassing, pull yourself together!

Your pep talk is interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps walking towards you, you look up to see the man that defended you speed walking towards you looking awfully worried. He stops a few steps away, hands out in front of him as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, you– you just didn't look comfortable and I thought that job looks terrible enough already and… well I guess I’m just sorry that I’ve upset you.” His voice is trembling, as if having upset you is the worst thing in the world.

“It's not you, you don’t need to be sorry, I’m just… shaken, I think.” As you speak, you see the tension drain from his shoulders, but the crease between his eyebrows remained.

“That's understandable, he was fucking horrible”

You let out a shaky laugh, a puff of air escaping your lips. “Well hopefully he won't try anything again now that you’ve warned him off”

“I’d offer you something to help calm down but all I have on me is a pack of cigarettes” he states, looking very forlorn that he can’t think of anything useful to help you.

Instead of telling him he's done more than enough tonight to ease his worries, you look up at him with a small, soft smile on your lips.

“I’ll take a cigarette, if you're offering” you finish with a wet chuckle.

He beames at you, as if you'd just given him the greatest gift. He pulls out the pack, stepping closer to offer you a cigarette. When you’ve taken one, he offers up his red lighter.

“I’m Remus, by the way” he says softly, smiling at you while taking out a cigarette for himself. You offer him your name in exchange, making his smile grow.

“It's nice to meet you, Remus, and really, thank you for in there. Tell your friends I say the same to them too.”

“Are you sure you're alright?” His voice is filled with the last remnants of worry clinging to him.

“Yeah, I'll be fine, just need a minute before I go back in.”

“You should really go home after all that, I caught you on the verge of a panic attack out here I reckon.”

You're taken back by the kindness of this stranger, a handsome man just defended you when he had no obligation to and now he's worried about you going back to work. You might start to cry properly now.

Instead you let out a humourless laugh at his statement. “Try telling that to my manager” you say while stubbing out the end of your cigarette.

As you start making your way back into the bar, you realise you feel a little light thanks to this stranger, Remus.

And Remus thinks he might just try telling your manager to let you go home.

#flo'sfics #marauders fics #marauders au #marauders era #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin angst

418 notes · View notes

moonstonejpg · 8 months ago

Text

support (k.bakugou x reader)

cw: pure fluff, kiri and denki being the best wingmen in the world, oh also ua is a college not a high school bc i said so

bakugo is my comfort character i love him sm and want to protect him at all costs ♡

If he didn’t know any better, he would think the sudden pounding of his heart meant it was acting up again like it did occasionally after Edgeshot revived him, because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t have crushes. And despite it being a natural part of life, it freaks him out a lot more than he’d care to admit. Because Bakugo has always had the same plan, get into UA College and become a top ranked hero; nowhere in his plan did he account for the girl with a heart of gold in the support course.

“Katsuki!” You call, arms full of some unknown material as you jogged towards him. You had a bright smile on your face, and your eyes were lit up with excitement. He couldn’t help the fond smile spreading across his lips as he gazed down at where you skidded to a stop in front of him.

“I did it! Here—hold this please.” You shove the item in your arms towards him, hands animatedly waving towards the different places on as you explain. It took a few moments for Bakugo’s mind to catch up to what was happening in front of him, but once it did his gaze snapped up to meet your eyes in shock.

“—and so, basically, you put this on under your hero suit and it absorbs the shockwaves from your blasts, turning it back into itself to heat your muscles.”

He blinks, his thoughts spinning to the conversation from last week when you had caught him sitting on the rooftop of the college. Instead of leaving, you plopped down next to him, starting a conversation after a few hesitant moments.

“I know you love your quirk, and honestly I do too!” you giggle, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “But if there was something you could change—or well, something to help, what would it be?”

He cocks his head to the side, mulling over your question; he wants to give you a good answer, an honest answer. So, he dips into the vat of his insecurities, unearthing a small secret he’s never shared with anyone.

“I—when I use it too much my arms and shoulders start to ache, and even if I pause to conserve my energy it seems to just leak out and then…eventually both body parts end up going numb. It’s been happening more frequently now that we are training longer, and it—it sucks to be quite honest.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on a distance point on the horizon. He glances sideways at you, noticing the indent between your eyebrows. Your tongue pokes out, and he realizes this is your thinking face. He’s amazed that he can see the wheels turning, and wonders what’s going on in your brain.

It’s silent for a few moments, before you jump up, an excited gleam in your eye. You start to leave, pausing to turn back to him, your face now serious. “I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with me.”

He nods once, and the seriousness evaporates as you smile at him, then disappear down the stairs.

“Was…is this okay?” You ask suddenly, the excitement in your eyes dimming slightly as he stared dumbly at you, not a single word leaving his lips since you handed over the gadget. “I—I just thought that—I can take it back!”

“No, I—"

“It’s okay! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I had just thought…well, either way it doesn’t matter.” You reach your hands out to take the thin fabric back, but he holds it above your head, forcing you to stop and look at him in surprise.

“I love it, you just—you surprised me is all.” He mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I wish I could do something to thank you, something other than just standing here looking like a fool.”

“I don’t need anything from you, really! It’s, well, it’s a gift.” You reply quietly, twisting your hands together then shoving them back behind your back. There’s a light pink stain on the apples of your cheeks, and Bakugo gets the alarming urge to kiss you. Instead, he fists the cloth in his hands and lowers his arms, cradling the material to his chest.

“Thank you.” He whispers, still in shock that someone would do something like this for him.

You nod once, a soft smile on your face as you turn and leave the hallway, his eyes not leaving your back until you’re just a speck at the end of the corridor.

Hours later he’s still thinking of the exchange; feeling incredibly stupid for not asking for your number at the very least. He’s supposed to be helping Kirishima and Kaminari study for their exam in the library, but how could he possibly do that when all he wants to do is replay your smile over again on a never-ending loop.

“Bakugo? Hey, Katsuki!”

Fingers are suddenly snapping in front of his face, effectively ripping him from his thoughts. “What?” He grumbles out, smacking Kirishima’s hand away from his face.

“What’s up with you lately, dude?” Kaminari asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bakugo doesn’t respond, distracted by the familiar girl at the far end of the rows of books.

Kirishima throws his elbow into Kaminari’s side, rolling his eyes at the huff of indignation the blonde lets out. He tilts his chin up to the other end of the room, and that’s when they notice Bakugo’s eyes locked on to where you’re seated, book in hand.

They watch, transfixed as a slow smile stretches across the blonde’s face, his chin nearly dropping in his upturned hand to watch you.

“Oh. Oh my god.” And suddenly everything makes sense to the pair. Kirishima and Denki lock eyes, secretive smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“She’s really pretty.” Kaminari muses, shutting his textbook and leaning back in his chair.

“Mm.” Katsuki grunts, only half paying attention.

“And way smarter than you.” Kirishima says, eyes locked on his friend.

“Wait, what?” Bakugo asks, attention snapping back to his friends.

“So the day has finally come…our blasty boy has officially grown up.” Kirishima pretends to wipe non-existent tears, sniffing a little.

“What are you two idiots talking about?” Bakugo asks gruffly, flipping a page in his textbook.

“Oh nothing, just—"

“When’s the wedding?” Kaminari asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Again, what are you even talking about?”

“You have a crush!” Kaminari coos.

“I mean, I would like to crush your heads together.” Bakugo mumbles, but they can’t miss the way his cheeks turn pink. He avoids all eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to read the page in front of him. “She ah.” He clears his throat, “She made me this material to go under my hero suit, something about the shockwaves from my explosions being fed back into the material to…well, anyway, she brought it for me today. And I should have asked for her number, but…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

I’m scared.

Kirishima puts a steady hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, knowing the fear his friend feels is more than warranted. Bakugo is silent for a few moments. And then, “I have all of these hard edges, and I don’t know how to be soft.”

“You don’t need to be soft; you need to be yourself.” Kaminari whispers, smiling at him. “And something tells me she probably feels the same way about you.”

Kirishima and Kaminari lock eyes again before standing and calling your name. Bakugo watches in abject horror as they approach you, his knee bouncing faster as they speak, the distance too great to listen to what exactly was being said. His eyes flit across the trio, panicking slightly.

He knew deep down that his friends just wanted him to be happy, but at this moment he wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and strangle them both. Bakugo briefly considers blowing the entire room up but decided against it at the thought of another bill being sent to his parents.

He watches as you put your book face down, eyes moving between his friends. They say something, then you frown before responding. The exchange feels like hours but is only a few minutes before you stand. You look over, locking eyes with Bakugo, then begin to make your way over to him.

He catches both Kaminari and Kirishima shooting him a thumbs up, before scuttling out of the library, leaving their books and backpacks behind where Bakugo sits. He scrambles out of his chair, choosing instead to lean a hip against the edge of the table as you approach.

“Hi.” He whispers, reaching a hand back to scratch his neck.

“Hi.” You reply, pressing your hands together before twisting them together again. He recognizes the movement from hours before, cataloguing the nervous habit in the file in his brain under your name. “They said you had something to tell me?”

“I—you make my chest feel weird.”

“Um, what?” You squeak out.

“No! No, I mean—god, I’m fucking this all up.” He heaves out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you. “I appreciate your gift, more than you know. And I like how smart you are, and that I can see the wheels turning in your head when you’re thinking really hard. I like how you aren’t afraid to talk to me, and I haven’t…I’ve never felt like this about another person before. You haven’t left my mind since the day I met you, and I-I like you, a lot.”

Your jaw drops slightly, eyes flickering back and forth across his face. He swallows, taking a step towards you before hesitantly reaching to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Can I take you on a date?” He asks quietly, swallowing nervously.

You blink before a smile splits your face, and you nod. He smiles back, and before you lose courage, you push up on the tips of your toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek, giggling when you pull away and see the now bright red color flooding his cheeks.

“I like you too, Blasty.”

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki imagine #bakugo x you #katsuki x you #mha x reader #mha x you #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo

486 notes · View notes