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dakusan · 2 months ago

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N O S A I N T I N K

Tattoo Artist!Han Jisung x Reader | He tattoos like an artist and eats like a god. You're ruined. Congratulations.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You just wanted a tattoo. What you got was a cocky artist with a praise kink, a filthy mouth, and the ability to make you cum so hard you forget your name. What starts as innocent skin-on-skin becomes texts at 3AM, breathless calls, panties on the floor, and getting ruined over a tattoo chair by a man who calls his dick “emotionally supportive.”

💌a/n: HELLO DEMONS. welcome back to my sin bin. and YES. i spun the wheel of filth™ again because i have too many prompts, too many requests, too many ideas and i am ONE feral braincell away from combusting. this week’s winner of the roulette: jisung x reader, tattoo shop edition. hence why this was posted late — i had no idea what to write and then accidentally birthed a full plotline, two orgasms, a man with separation anxiety, and the best dick of your fictional life. oops 😇 p.s. reblog this or i will haunt your mirrors at 3AM whispering “dumb little slut” in han’s voice. p.p.s. if you message me your fave skz member, i might drop you a mini filthy tattoo artist!AU ficlet just for them. no promises. only threats. p.p.p.s. light a candle. hydrate. send this to a friend

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » MOVE — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:32 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Late afternoon, Seoul.

The sky is bruising purple with evening haze. You’re standing outside a tattoo parlour in a tucked-away alley—NO SAINT INK—recommended by a friend who said, “Go there. Ask for Han.”

You’re nervous. Not just because it’s your first tattoo—but because your stomach won’t stop twisting with that type of anticipation. The kind you feel when you know something irreversible is about to happen.

The parlour looks nothing like the industrial, hyper-masculine shops you've passed before. It’s dark, yes—but with soft underlighting. Neon signs buzz low in the windows, one glowing "SINNER'S HANDS" in deep red. Another in cursive:

“we only leave beautiful scars.”

You push the door open, bell jingling. It smells like antiseptic and incense. Lo-fi hip hop pulses from hidden speakers. The walls are matte black, scattered with flash art—some delicate, some obscene. A few erotic, one absolutely feral. You step toward the desk—

And then you see him.

Han Jisung.

Slouched in a leather chair behind the counter, legs spread wide, one hand holding a sketchpad, the other spinning a tattoo gun idly between his fingers like a toy.

Dark, slightly wavy hair. A few strands falling into his eyes. Rings on nearly every finger. One silver bar in his eyebrow. Another glinting on his lip.

He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie, arms covered in ink—some intricate, some scrawled like afterthoughts. His forearms flex as he shifts, glancing up at you lazily, and then—

Freeze.

He smirks. Not the kind of smirk you’re used to. This one slides slow across his face like silk on skin—cocky, amused, interested. He sets the sketchbook down and stands, sauntering over.

“You lost, angel?”

His voice is warm gravel. A little teasing. He’s already clocked you as a first-timer.

You swallow. “No. Um… I think I have an appointment? For 5PM?”

He leans against the counter, gloved hand flipping through the schedule.

“Name?”

You give it. He taps the page. “First ink?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

You nod.

His eyes drag down your form and back up again—like he’s marking you before the needle ever touches you. “Cute.”

A pause.

“Alright. You’re with me.”

The moment he leads you past the curtain, everything quiets. Not literally—there’s still the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing through overhead speakers, and you can hear the soft buzz of a machine in the next booth—but something in the air shifts. You’ve stepped into his space now.

The room is dim, intentionally so. Not cold or sterile, but intimate. The walls are painted a charcoal grey, with scattered framed sketches and flash art displayed like gallery pieces. A small desk against the back wall is cluttered with ink bottles, gloves, stencils, and scribbled notes on napkins. There’s a chair in the center—sleek black leather, mechanical levers gleaming faintly under the spotlight aimed above it. It's positioned deliberately beneath a halo of warm light, like a stage for sin.

Han gestures for you to sit.

You do, heart already hammering harder than you'd like to admit. Your hands grip the armrests automatically, more out of nerves than necessity.

He sanitizes his hands in silence, then slips on a pair of black nitrile gloves with practiced ease. The snap of the first one makes you flinch. He notices.

A flick of his mouth—half amusement, half something darker.

“So. You still sure about it?” he asks, voice calm but low, like smoke over velvet.

You nod, holding out the reference image you brought—a small, simple design. Meaningful. Something you’ve thought about for months. A delicate poppy, petals slightly unfurled…But at the base of the flower, instead of a regular stem, it grows from the open mouth of a tiny anatomical heart.

Han doesn’t look at the paper right away. His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer than they should. Then he takes it gently, fingers brushing yours through the gloves.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from the paper to your face. “Subtle. Clean lines… this’ll look good on you.”

You try to smile, but your throat feels tight. “Thanks.”

“Where do you want it?”

You hesitate. Then, softly: “Ribcage.”

That earns you an arched brow and the barest flicker of a smirk.

“Shy spot. I like that,” he says, turning to prep his materials. You watch the muscles shift as he reaches for a stencil pad. “Okay, shirt off. Just what you need, nothing more. I won’t bite.”

You freeze.

He pauses for a beat. Then tilts his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Unless you beg,” he adds with a wink.

Your cheeks go hot. You laugh—nervously. It feels like your skin is already burning.

You carefully lift your shirt just high enough to expose the side of your torso, tugging the fabric over your bra, folding it under your arm to keep it out of the way. You're acutely aware of how much skin you're showing—even more so under that bright, direct light.

He kneels beside you with the stencil, gaze focused. You expect him to avoid eye contact, to be clinical—but Han is anything but.

His fingers brush your waist, and they stay there, warm through the gloves. His hand spreads slightly, holding your skin steady as he gently presses the cool stencil to your ribs.

“Breathe for me, yeah?” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile. “I’m gonna press it right here…”

You suck in a breath, chest rising.

He places the stencil deliberately. Slowly. His face is close—close enough that you can see the curve of his lashes, the faint sheen of gloss on his lip ring. You smell cedar and musk on his hoodie. His fingers flex slightly against your side.

He looks up.

“You’re already twitchy,” he says softly, voice dropping just enough to make you forget how to breathe. “Gonna be a fun ride.”

You don’t know if he means the tattoo. And neither does he.

He stands and moves to the table beside him, switching out tools like it’s second nature. The machine buzzes to life with a sharp mechanical hum.

You tense.

He catches it immediately.

“First pinch might sting,” he says, voice suddenly gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re good.”

You nod again, trying not to clench your fists.

Then his hand is back on your body.

He anchors you with one palm spread wide over your side, right above your hip. It’s not forceful, but there’s weight to it. A possessive steadiness. The leather chair creaks faintly under the shift of your body.

And then the needle touches. A sharp, sudden sting. You wince.

“Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so well, pretty,” he says, voice a constant hum in your ear. “Your skin takes ink like a dream. Fuck, this is gonna look good.”

You exhale through your nose, trying to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the burn.

It helps. But not in the way it should. Because Han doesn’t shut up. Not once.

“Don’t squirm too much… unless you want me to slip.” “You’re soft here. So fucking soft.” “Bet you’re the type who likes being teased, huh?”

You let out a choked laugh, more from panic than humor. He grins, eyes glinting.

The buzz of the machine, the heat of his palm on your skin, the constant commentary—it all blends into a haze. You’re dripping adrenaline and something else entirely. You feel like you’ve been stripped down far deeper than your shirt allows.

After what feels like both a lifetime and a blink, the needle slows. He lifts it. “Almost done. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

The words land like a slap and a stroke at once.

He sets the machine aside, reaching for a fresh cloth. He wipes your skin slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Every pass of his hand is careful, gentle.

You’re trembling now. Just a little.

He leans back finally and exhales. The air feels different. Like it’s shifted again—thicker.

“There,” he says. “Wanna see?”

You nod, throat dry.

He helps you up—guides you to a mirror near the corner. His hand stays on your back.

You look. And for a second, you forget how to breathe again. The tattoo is perfect. Clean, delicate, exactly how you pictured it. But it’s not just the ink that makes your chest ache—it’s the fact that it’s his. His hands made this. His touch. His art. On your skin.

“My work’s on you now,” he murmurs behind you, voice low and close. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

You shake your head. You couldn’t if you tried.

The moment you slide your shirt back down, your skin feels… different. Not just because it's slightly tender from the ink, but because his touch still lingers. Like heat soaked into your bones. Like a fingerprint on your soul. You shouldn’t be this affected—he’s just your tattoo artist. Right?

You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, blinking as he finishes cleaning his station. His gloves come off with a snap, and he tosses them into the bin. You glance up, and—yep—he’s watching you.

Leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, hair a little mussed, rings catching the light. Smug as hell.

“You survived,” he says, voice bright with that chaos-riddled lilt again. “Didn’t cry. Didn’t puke. I’m impressed.”

You roll your eyes. “High praise.”

“I’ve had grown men pass out from rib pieces,” he shrugs. “One guy farted. Loud. Mid-linework. I almost dropped the machine.”

You snort despite yourself. “Well, thanks for not comparing me to the Fart Guy until the end.”

He grins, wide and gleaming. “No, no, you’re top-tier,” he says, stepping closer to grab your care sheet. “Didn’t even whimper. Except for that one part where your breath hitched and I thought—y’know, for a second—you might come on the chair.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?!”

“Kidding,” he sing-songs. “Unless…?”

Your glare is ruined by the flush racing up your neck. You stand and grab your bag in a hurry, trying to save face. “You’re awful.”

“I’m delightful.”

He leads you back toward the front desk, swaying just slightly with each step, like he’s got too much energy stored in those shoulders. You swear he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s giving feral golden retriever with a tattoo gun and a praise kink.

You hand over your card while avoiding eye contact.

He hums dramatically as he takes it, flipping it over like he’s studying an ancient rune.

“You sure you don’t wanna tip in other ways?” he says, deadpan.

Your jaw drops.

He grins, swipes your card, and taps it dramatically against the reader before handing it back. “Joking, obviously. Unless that wasn't a ‘no,’ in which case, I’m free next week—Tuesday, after 7?”

You grab the receipt from the printer and scowl at him. “You flirt with all your clients like this?”

“Only the pretty ones who shake when I touch their ribs.”

You stare.

He smiles wider.

“Okay, okay—last line, I swear,” he chuckles. Then, softer: “Hey. Can I get your number?”

The way he asks it—it’s not sleazy. It’s bold, sure. But there’s this undercurrent of actual interest, like he’s asking for something more than just your digits.

You blink. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it?” he says, grinning. “Also, in case your tattoo needs a touch-up. Or emotional support. Or if you just feel like sending me hot selfies. It’s a multi-purpose thing.”

You hesitate. Your pulse says yes before your mouth does. He notices. He always notices. You hand him your phone, and he immediately types his own number in, labelling it:

HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” JISUNG 🖤

He sends himself a text from your phone, winks, then gives it back. “Now we’re connected,” he says “Digitally. Spiritually. Carnally—well, not yet.”

You open your mouth to sass him. “You were so close to being cool,” you say.

“Close is my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head as you step toward the door. “Bye, Han.”

“See you soon, angel.”

You’re out the door.

The texting started immediately. Like, within minutes of you leaving the shop.

What began as tattoo care check-ins (“don’t scratch it or I’ll spank you—unless?”) turned into daily chaos. Then nightly chaos. Then a full-blown flirtationship spiralling out of control.

Han texts like he lives inside your brain—firing off filthy one-liners between jokes that make you wheeze-laugh at 1AM, switching between “you’re my filthy little secret” and “pls tell me I’m cute or I’ll cry.”

You finally cave after he begs you to get ramen at 9PM “as friends who have sexual tension.”

You show up. He’s already sitting cross-legged in the booth, hoodie sleeves rolled up, lip ring glinting, chopsticks twirling in one hand like he’s about to duel someone.

He greets you with: “You look edible. I meant that in a respectful way. Mostly.”

You try to play it cool. He doesn’t let you.

The whole night is full of dumb jokes, spicy noodles, and under-the-table foot nudging that turns into ankle grazing that turns into—

“You keep that up, baby,” he murmurs across the table, “and I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and remind you what these fingers can do.”

You nearly choke on your drink. He laughs, head tilted back, so proud of himself.

You leave flustered. He kisses your cheek in the parking lot. Just your cheek. But his hand lingers at your waist. His mouth is right next to your ear.

“Call me when you can’t sleep,” he says, low. “I’ll make sure you get tired again.”

You almost trip on the curb.

The calls eventually started and slowly became routine. Especially those 1AM phone calls, they were like clockwork. You, in bed, breath heavy as his voice would melt through the speaker.

“You touching yourself yet?” “You want me to talk you through it?” “Want me to tell you what I’d do if I had you on my lap right now?”

He moans in your ear when you do what he says.

Filthy. Unfiltered. And when it’s over—when you’re breathless and ruined—he says the softest things:

“Wish I was there to hold you.” “You’re so fucking hot, but you’re also cute and funny and it’s unfair.” “You still like me, right?”

It’s not just lust anymore. It's want. Sticky, addictive, confusing want.

It started with a text.

Just one. Sent on a whim while lying in bed late at night, staring at the first tattoo he gave you—delicate black lines peeking from beneath your shirt, still soft to the touch even weeks later.

[You, 11:23PM] thinking about getting another one

You didn’t expect a fast reply. But Jisung’s name lit up your phone in under two minutes.

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤, 11:24PM] oh?? 👀 where when how much skin we talking is it just an excuse to see me again (pls say yes)

You rolled your eyes. Typed back:

[You] hipbone small script and maybe what if it was both

His reply came in a blink:

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤] come by the shop this friday after hours no distractions just me. you. ink. doors locked. lights low. …for professionalism, obviously 🙃

You stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

And then:

[You] see you friday.

Friday. 9:04PM.

Seoul’s city pulse is just starting to dim when you push open the door to NO SAINT INK for the second time.

The bell doesn’t ring. He told you it wouldn’t.

The neon signs are still lit—SINNER’S HANDS flickering a slow blood-red glow in the window—but the rest of the shop feels different. Empty. Still. Like something waiting to be touched.

The lights are dimmed. Only one small lamp buzzes near the back, casting long shadows across the matte-black walls.

Your steps echo a little as you walk inside. Then—

“Back here, pretty.”

His voice, low and smooth, floats from behind a curtain in the far booth.

You follow it. Pull the curtain aside. And there he is.

He’s already set up.

Tattoo machine prepped, gloves laid out neatly beside his sketch pad. He’s wearing an oversized black tee tucked loosely into ripped jeans, sleeves rolled just enough to show off the ink that curls around his biceps like living things.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

He’s focused on the script you’d sent him earlier—your design. A small phrase, handwritten in your own messy scrawl: “still hungry.”

When he finally glances up, it hits you like the first time all over again.

The way his lip curls. The way his eyes bite first and ask questions later. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Back for more.”

You lean against the booth’s edge, heartbeat already in your throat. “You said professionalism, remember?”

He stands slowly. Walks toward you. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

“I lied.”

A beat. Then—

“Where’s it going again?”

You lift the hem of your hoodie just a little. Hook your thumb beneath your waistband and tug it down, just far enough to expose the sharp curve of your hipbone.

His gaze drops.

Stays.

He doesn’t speak for a moment too long. Just stares—like he’s trying to memorize you before he ruins you. “That’s dangerous, you know,” he says softly. “Letting me touch you there.”

You try to swallow. Fail. “You’re the one who said no distractions.”

He smiles. “You’re the fucking distraction.”

He gloves up without another word.

You lie back on the chair, heart slamming in your chest, every inch of skin suddenly too hot.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something casual? Familiar? But the moment his gloved hand touches your bare hip—steadying you, fingers spread firm and warm—the entire world narrows to him.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, positioning the stencil. “Just like last time. You remember how good you were for me?”

You exhale shakily.

“You gonna behave again tonight, pretty thing?”

You whisper: “Maybe.”

He leans in. His mouth is close to your skin. His voice—barely a breath. “God, I hope not.” He’s still positioning the stencil.

And you? You're laid back on the chair, hoodie bunched beneath your ribs, waistband tugged low, every nerve ending on alert. The soft lamplight paints shadows across his jaw as he kneels between your legs, eyes focused.

And then—

“You know,” he says lightly, pressing the stencil into place, “I’ve seen a lot of hipbones. But this one might be my favourite.”

You snort. “Wow. So original.”

He grins without looking up. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I’m sure you say that to all your clients.”

“Only the ones who sext me about popsicles and then block me for ten minutes.”

You go still. He finally glances up. Smirks. “Yeah. Thought I forgot about that?”

You mutter, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact. “You want me to ruin your life. Slowly. Lovingly. With tattoos and aftercare.”

You cover your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs—a low, breathy sound. Then, softly: “I’m starting the line now. Hold still, baby.”

The machine whirs to life.

It’s quieter than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more aware—of everything. The way his gloved hand steadies your hip, thumb dragging along the edge of your waistband. The needle’s sharp kiss. The buzz settling into your bones.

And Han’s voice. God, he never stops talking.

“This spot’s sensitive,” he says, totally casual. “Most people squirm. But I like that.”

You tense. He notices. Of course he does.

“Relax,” he murmurs, dragging the line smooth. “You’re doing perfect.”

Another pause. Then—

“Don’t suppose you’re into pain, are you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He chuckles under his breath. “God, you so are.”

But then, just like that—his tone shifts. He quiets. Focuses. And the teasing melts into something heavier. “Almost done,” he says, more softly this time. “You’ve been so good for me again. Always are.”

You blink. Your heart skips.

He wipes your skin again, slow and reverent, then leans back to look. He’s still crouched between your thighs, eyes focused, lips parted slightly as he takes it in.

“Fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks up at you. No grin now. Just quiet, open admiration. “It’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like… stupid good.” He presses a kiss to his gloved fingertips and taps them against your skin.

“Still hungry,” he reads aloud. “God, I could write essays on that.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Too late. MLA format. Double spaced. Thesis: you’re gonna kill me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re flushed. Breath shallow. Because now that the needle’s done…

He’s not moving. His hand stays on your waist. His eyes flick to your lips. Then back down. Then—

“You want me to touch you?”

The question lands like a live wire in the room. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t smirk. He just waits. Like he’s offering something sacred. Like he’d back off the second you said no. But you don’t. You can’t.

You nod. Barely.

His fingers tighten on your skin. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Say it. I want to hear it.”

You swallow.

“…Yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“Jisung—”

“Use your words, pretty thing. Or I’ll stop before I start.”

You suck in a breath, eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”

He moves instantly.

The gloves are still on when he presses his palm flat against your hipbone, fingers spreading possessively. His hand feels huge there—like it was made for this exact spot.

“Fuck. Been thinking about this since the first time you came in,” he mutters, voice dropping into something rough, reverent. “You looked so fucking good in that chair. All nervous and squirmy.”

He bends down.

Kisses the edge of your new tattoo, so soft it almost hurts. “My name’s not even on you,” he whispers, “and I’m still acting like you’re mine.”

Your stomach flips. You whimper.

And he grins, but it’s different now—hungry, not cocky. “Take your pants off.”

You blink.

He meets your eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

You obey—slow, breathless, trembling under his gaze. You slide them down and toss them aside. He leans in again, eyes tracing over the new ink and everything below it, slow and starving.

You’re not wearing much underneath, lacy pink panties, with a very obvious wet spot on your center.

He groans softly. “You’re already wet.”

You gasp when his fingers brush over you, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “All this from a little needle?” he teases. “Or is it the artist?”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

He laughs. One low, wicked exhale. “Oh, you will. But not yet.”

He leans back, peels his gloves off slowly—dragging each finger loose one by one, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tosses them into the bin without taking his eyes off you once.

Then he lowers himself between your legs.

Spreads your thighs just a little further apart with both hands. You hear him exhale.

“Fuck. This is gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just leans in.

And presses a kiss right above your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Then a little higher. And a little higher.

Your breath hitches when his lips ghost just beside the fabric.

“Soaked through lace,” he murmurs. “That’s so fucking pretty, baby.”

You’re shaking now.

He mouths over the wet spot—not even pulling them down yet. Just letting the heat of his breath and the drag of his lips torture you. You feel the scrape of his lip ring as he kisses you again, open-mouthed, right there.

“Bet you’d cum just from this,” he whispers. “My mouth through your panties. Barely even trying.”

You whimper. One hand fisting the edge of the chair.

His fingers slide over the wet spot next, slow and teasing. Two fingers rub a lazy circle, barely pressing—just enough to make your hips twitch. “I should leave these on,” he says, almost to himself. “Just push them to the side. Make you beg for it.”

You breathe, “Jisung—please—”

That does it.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down—slow, deliberate, watching every inch of you get exposed.

He groans loudly the second you’re bare. “Holy fuck.”

Then he’s leaning in again, this time nothing between you. He kisses your inner thigh first. Then lower.

Then—

His tongue drags one long, obscene stripe up your center. You cry out, hips bucking—he presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with an effortless command:

“Stay fucking still.”

Then he goes back in. He licks you like he means it—messy, slow, then fast and deep. His tongue circles your clit with practiced chaos. He moans against you, loud, like you taste like something sacred.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled.

His hands spread you wider, his tongue dipping into your heat, nose pressed right up against your skin.

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your head falls back—gone.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “My perfect little slut. Look at you.”

Your hands tangle in his hair. You tug. He groans again and ruts into the fucking air, desperate for friction while he eats you out like he’s starving.

“You gonna cum on my mouth?” he growls, voice wrecked. “You want me to keep going or make you beg for it?”

You try to answer—can’t.

He pulls back for just a moment, lips and chin shining. “Use your words, baby. You know the rules.”

“Please—fuck—don’t stop, please—Jisung—”

“God,” he groans. “Keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna cum in my fucking jeans.”

Then he dives back in, faster now, tongue fucking into you, hand moving to circle your clit with soaked fingers while he sucks and moans like you’re his last goddamn meal. He’s everywhere—his mouth, his hand, the filthy hum of his moans vibrating straight through your core. He doesn’t pause to tease, doesn’t stop to talk this time. He’s all action now. Starved. Feral.

“Fuck,” he growls between licks, the words hot and wet against your folds. “You taste so fucking good. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

His tongue pushes in again. He flicks it fast, then slow, then sucks at your clit with a deep, wet moan that makes you cry out, back arching clean off the chair.

“There you go,” he pants, not even breaking rhythm. “Just like that. Give it to me, baby. Come on.” His voice is breathless, desperate—like he’s the one about to cum.

You’re shaking. Legs trembling. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your hands are clutching his hair, holding him right where you need him, and he just groans louder, grinding his face deeper like he wants to live between your legs. His lip ring catches against your clit—again, and again—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.

He just moans into you, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you down as your whole body starts to unravel. You feel it in your spine. In your toes. In the fucking air.

“You close, pretty thing?” he slurs against your clit. “Yeah, you are. You’re fucking dripping—making a mess for me. So fucking perfect. All mine.”

That breaks you.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—with a sob, a gasp, a full-body spasm that crashes over you like a goddamn tsunami.

You hear yourself. You scream his name.

Jisung. Jisung. Jisung.

And he takes it.

He drinks it down like a man possessed, moaning into you like you’re water in the desert, like he’s been waiting his whole life to taste you fall apart. He doesn’t even stop when you cum—he licks you through it, tongue softening only slightly as your body twitches and bucks and pleads for mercy.

It’s too much. It’s so good it hurts.

“J-Jisung—fuck—wait—too much—”

Only then does he pull back, chest heaving, face absolutely wrecked. His mouth, his chin, even the tip of his nose glistens with you. He looks dazed.

Blessed.

He runs a hand down his face and just stares at you—spread out, soaked, shaking, glowing.

Then: “Holy fuck.”

You blink up at him, still gasping, brain static.

He grins—wide, flushed, proud as hell. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Best pussy of my life.” You try to sass him. You really do. But all that comes out is a whimper.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Dumbed you out already?”

He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely.

“You want more?”

You nod. Desperately.

He chuckles, voice thick with affection and wrecked restraint. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” Then he stands up, undoing his belt with shaking hands, and murmurs: “Get comfy. ’Cause I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget your own name.”

You’re still gasping. Still trembling. But your eyes follow the movement of his hands—shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, then the button, then the zipper.

He pushes his jeans down—

And your breath catches. You knew he’d be pretty. But not like this. Not this.

Thick. Flushed. Slight curve to the left.

And not just the look of it—the feel of it, even before he’s inside. You know instinctively it’s going to destroy you. That kind of snug fit that presses into all the right places and leaves no room for secrets.

He strokes himself once, slow and slick, precum already leaking from the tip. “Gonna be good for me, baby?” he asks, voice shaking as he fists his cock. “Let me feel that perfect pussy now?”

You nod. Dumb. Ready. So wet you feel it drip onto the chair beneath you.

He lines up—rubs the head of his cock over your folds, up and down, teasing your clit before circling your entrance. You’re still sensitive. Still twitching. And he feels it. “Still throbbing for me,” he murmurs. “God, you’re unreal.”

He pushes in. Slow. Deep. Too much. Too good.

You cry out—your body arching, your hands gripping the armrest and his forearm and anything you can reach.

Because he fits. Perfectly. Thick enough to make you stretch wide, gasp, feel it in your lungs. But not enough to hurt. No—just enough to ruin you.

“F-fuck,” he groans, head falling forward. “You’re squeezing me so tight—Jesus—don’t move yet, I’ll cum too fast—” He bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He stays there for a second. Still trembling. His cock twitches inside you.

“I’m gonna die,” he whispers. “I’m gonna die in this pussy.”

You laugh—a breathless, broken thing—and he grins like he’s proud.

Then? He pulls out halfway. And slams back in. Hard. And again. And again. Fast. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby—keep takin’ it—so fucking perfect—”

He’s rambling now. Whimpering.

Each thrust hits so deep you swear you see stars. It’s a rhythm that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be real. Every stroke dragging against your g-spot, every snap of his hips making your thighs quake.

And he’s talking. So much.

“You feel that? Huh? You feel how good you make me?” “You’re all mine. This pussy? Fucking mine. Say it.” “Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me who it belongs to—”

You choke out, “You—it’s yours, Jisung—fuck, you’re so deep—”

He moans—wrecked. “God, I’m not gonna last—fuck—you’re too good—you’re too fucking good—” Then he bends down—mouth at your ear, hips still pounding into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.

“One more,” he whispers. “Just one more, yeah? Be my good girl and cum for me again—come on—cum on my cock—let me feel you—”

You barely get the chance to nod. Because then—he changes rhythm.

Not slower. Not gentler. Worse. He fucks you harder. Deeper. Like his body knows exactly how to hit every nerve inside you. Like he’s memorized your walls. And maybe he has. Maybe from the moment he first touched you in that chair, his entire brain rewired for this—for you.

“So fucking tight,” he pants, voice cracked open, almost panicked. “Shit—look at how you take me—look at that, fuck—”

He’s holding your waist again, but carefully—just above the fresh tattoo. His fingers dig into your ribs, grip locked in, not letting you squirm away as he slams into you, pace frantic, unrelenting.

“Can’t touch your hips,” he growls, “so I’m gonna hold you right here—just like this—until you fall apart again.”

Then his hand slides down. Finds your clit. And rubs. Fast. Tight.

You moan loud.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, wild. “Come on, baby—talk to me. You know the rules.”

You try. You try so hard.

“It’s—fuck—Jisung—it’s too much—I-I can’t—”

His hand doesn’t stop. His cock drives up into you like it’s chasing your orgasm, like he can feel it coming and he wants to drag it out of you with his bare hands. “Yes, you can. You’re my good girl, right? My perfect fucking baby—tell me what you feel.”

You sob. “It’s everywhere—it’s so deep—I feel you in my stomach, Jisung—”

That makes him moan—full, wrecked, helpless. “Yeah? That’s it, baby. You feel me stretching you out? You feel how hard you’re clenching around me?”

He’s unhinged. Fucking you like he needs to feel you cum on his cock. Like it’s his only goddamn mission in life.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it. Show me how good I make you feel.” His fingers tighten, rub faster. His cock keeps slamming up into that perfect, perfect spot.

And you break.

You fall apart on him with a cry that splits the air—your orgasm ripping through you like a detonation, a white-hot snap that makes your whole body lock up and tremble.

You cum hard. Harder than before. Harder than ever.

And he feels it. Feels you clench around him like a vice, walls pulsing, soaked, squeezing every last bit of him until he’s gasping into your throat. “Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—baby—I’m—”

He slams in once, twice more—then stills. Buried deep. Groaning so loud it echoes. And cums. Hot. Fast. Deep. He fills you up with a desperate, whimpering exhale—head falling into the crook of your neck, fingers flexing tight on your waist as he rides it out, hips twitching helplessly inside you.

“Jesus—holy fuck—how are you real—”

You don’t know what you say. You don’t know if you’re breathing. All you know is he doesn’t let go. Not even after. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up to your ribs, the other cupping your jaw gently as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

Sweet. Messy. Possessive.

“I’m so fucking in love with your pussy.” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh—wrecked and breathless. “You just came in me.”

“I did. I’ll take responsibility.”

“You didn’t even mean to.”

“That’s what makes it romantic.”

But then he goes quiet. Both of you do. Still joined. Still pulsing. The only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, shallow, shared.

Han’s body is draped over yours, his skin hot and sticky, his face buried in your neck like he might actually die if he moves. He’s not even thrusting anymore—just lying there, full-on koala mode, arms around your waist, cock still twitching inside you like it doesn’t know it's over.

“I think I saw God,” he whispers.

You blink, still boneless and floating.

“Pretty sure she winked at me and said ‘Good job, Jisung.’”

You snort into the crumpled pillow beneath you. “Was she hot?”

He lifts his head just enough to deadpan: “She looked like you.”

A pause.

“Except taller. And clothed. And not full of cum.”

You let out a noise that’s half wheeze, half scream, face flushing as you try to twist away—but he tightens his grip, groaning as his still half-hard cock shifts inside you.

“Nooo, don’t move,” he whines. “You’ll make me hard again and I’ll die. You’re too powerful.”

You roll your eyes. “You just came in me, and now you’re being dramatic?”

He lifts his face, eyes wide. “I’m always dramatic. But now I’m dramatic and post-nut mushy.”

You smack his arm—lightly. He grins and kisses your shoulder like he’s never been happier in his life.

Then, suddenly gentle: “You okay? Need anything?”

You hum. “Water. A towel. A new pelvis.”

“I can offer you one of those things.”

He pulls out slowly, careful. You both wince a little, and he immediately fumbles for the nearest clean towel, muttering, “Shit, sorry, sorry—damn, we really did that, huh?”

He cleans you up softly, thoroughly. Tongue poking out in concentration, hands warm and reverent. You watch him in the dim light—his flushed cheeks, mussed-up curls, that stupid satisfied look on his face like he just won the lottery and the trophy was you.

He helps you sit up, eyes wide looking you over as if wanting to make sure you are okay and not just saying you're okay.

You smile at him, dazed. “That was insane.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, quieter: “I really like you, by the way.”

You glance at him. He’s suddenly shy—voice small, fingers playing with the hem of the towel. “I mean—I know this was hot and wild and unholy, but like. You’re not just hot and wild and unholy. You’re…” He scratches the back of his head. “Cool. Funny. Gorgeous. Smart. And you have great pain tolerance and taste in art and—I dunno—your moans live in my soul now.”

You blink at him. He shrugs. “I just think you’re neat.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in, kiss him soft. He melts instantly.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both curled on the couch in the back lounge. Your legs are over his lap. You’re sipping water. He’s holding your hand and doodling hearts on your thigh with a sharpie.

“So,” he says, yawning. “When do you want your third tattoo?”

You give him a look. “Planning ahead?”

He smirks, smug. “Just making sure I get to fuck you again.”

You flick his forehead.

“Ow—okay, okay. For art. Not for horny.”

But you both know the truth. You’re absolutely getting another tattoo. And this man is going to absolutely ruin you again. With love. And dick. And filthy words. And then cuddle you like a little spoon with separation anxiety.

So the answer? Yeah. Yeah you will be seeing more of him. More dates. More dick. More tattoos. Guess it's fate.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #han jisung #한지성 #han x reader #han jisung smut #filthy friday

2K notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 1 month ago

Note

Hi lovely!! If you open to the idea, would you be able to do something where leclerc sister (maybe like 16/18) is adopted, but they were waiting to tell her. Then somehow a gossip page leaks it, which makes everyone go crazy. Reader is basically paddock princess so she has multiple people backing her up and protecting her?

paddock princess — ob87

smau + blurbs

charles leclerc x !adopted sister reader

ollie bearman x !leclerc sister

yn leclerc is loved by all— especially her family. however, they have been keeping a secret from her. what happens when a gossip page gets their hands on this and yn learns that she is adopted? will she run? will she stay?

fc : julia knezevic

(a/n) : love love love this idea. i made the reader 19 for just story purposes and i’ve had quite a few requests to write about ollie so i just added him as a comfort to the reader and love interest. thank you. hope you loveeeee

extra long my bad

—

yn_leclerc

monaco 📍

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 & 3,090,002 others.

yn_leclerc : nasty 19 ft alex (the loml) and the cake she made me 🥺

tagged : alexandrasaintmleux

—

view 175,394 other comments.

alexandrasaintmleux : always my baby. im so glad you loved the cake — i love you!! happy birthday mon ange 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : i love you to the moon and back.

arthur_leclerc : all the love for alex but no love for your brothers?? 🙄 (i love you sm)

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : did you make me a jellycat cake???

↳ arthur_leclerc : no but i have given you unconditional love your whole life.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : letting it slide because you promised a shopping spree tomorrow.

liked by arthur_leclerc

↳ arthur_leclerc : i am going to be POOR.

lewishamilton : Happy Birthday, little one. Keep shining the way you do. Proud of you always. 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you lew🥺

↳ arthur_leclerc : what is it like having THE lewis hamilton in the comments on your bday post? i never got this kind of treatment.

↳ yn_leclerc : he does not love you as much as he loves me

liked by lewishamilton

lando : happy birthday little leclerc! love you 🧡

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you sm lan. thank you for my gift !!

liked by lando

carlossainz55 : Mi dulce pequeño— there are not enough words to tell you how proud I am of you. Happy Birthday. Love you always.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : mi carlitos!!!! love you forever n ever

liked by carlossainz55

lorenzotl : le plus joyeux des anniversaires à ma petite sœur! je t’aime!

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : je vous aime tellement!

lilymhe : alexandra deserves an award for the cake, you deserve one for being so cute! happy birthday lovely

liked by yn_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yn_leclerc : love you sm 🥺 thank you for all the jelly’s sent to my door this morning. (tell alex i said thank you as well)

liked by lilymhe and alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : anything for the princess

maxverstappen1 : i blinked and you grew up. i absolutely hate that. but i love you. happy birthday, kleintje. (little one)

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you always maxie 🤍

liked by maxverstappen1

scuderiaferrari : Happy Birthday YN!! We love you!💛❤️🎂

liked by yn_leclerc

username0 : oh to have the grid in my comment section

username10 : happy bday queen!

olliebearman : happy birthday, yn! ❤️

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : thank u bearrr🤍

liked by olliebearman

isackhadjar : joyeux anniversarie à toi!! 🎈

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : merci beaucoup, isack :)

liked by isackhadjar

—

If I ate one more bite of anything, I was going to spontaneously combust in front of my entire family. The small chocolate cake that was just placed in front of me was a lot, to say the least—complete with a sparkler that looked like it was about to set fire to the wine list. Maman clapped her hands together like it was the most magical thing she’d ever seen, Arthur was making explosion noises like a child, and Lorenzo was scolding him through laughter. I couldn’t even be mad. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt still and soft.

“I’m literally full,” I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “Like really full. I might explode.”

“You say that now,” Charles smirked, “but just wait until we bring out the gifts.”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Charles, if you bought me another scooter like last year—”

“I said I was sorry about the scooter!” he interrupted. “You looked like you wanted to try one.”

“I wanted to try one, not watch you crash it into a bush,” I said giving him a playful glare.

That made everyone laugh—Alexandra almost choked on her wine and Charlotte covered her mouth mid-giggle. It was peaceful and perfect and mine. And then it wasn’t just us anymore. Because the double doors to the private dining room burst open without warning.

“IS THIS THE AFTERPARTY?!” Lando’s voice rang out first, carrying over the sound of chairs scraping and shocked gasps. I blinked in complete disbelief as Pierre, George, Carlos, Lewis, Alex, and Esteban followed behind him in various states of gift-carrying, tux-wearing madness.

“What—what the hell—” I started, but I was already being pulled into a hug by Pierre, who lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESSE,” he shouted in my ear before promptly spinning me in a circle.

“Oh my god,” I laughed, tears already threatening. “You guys didn’t.”

“We did,” Lewis said with a warm grin, walking up and handing me a white Chanel shopping bag. “And this is just the beginning.”

I opened it with shaking hands—and my jaw dropped. It was the bag. The vintage, pearl-handle, mini Chanel bag I had drooled over in Paris two months ago. The one that had been sold out within hours. The one I thought I’d never even touch.

“I mentioned it once,” I whispered. “Once.”

“Lando tracked it down,” Lewis said casually, gesturing toward the Brit, who was smugly leaning against a wall and pretending to scroll through his phone.

“You’re kidding.”

“He begged a stylist in New York for it,” George added, not hiding the grin on his face.

Lando just shrugged. “Had to beat Verstappen to it somehow.”

I ran into his arms, bag clutched to my chest like a treasure. “You’re insane. I love you. You’re insane.”

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered into my hair.

And then came Carlos, cool and collected as always, dressed in black with a velvet box in hand.

“Oh, no,” I said, already emotional.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, opening it to reveal a dainty but breathtaking diamond necklace. The kind of necklace you’d see in Vogue editorials.

“Carlos,” I whispered. “That’s too much.”

“You’re worth more,” he said softly, and I suddenly understood what it meant to be speechless.

He stepped behind me and gently fastened it around my neck while I stood frozen, tears brimming in my eyes, trying not to break down in front of everyone.

“This is insane,” I finally croaked. “You guys didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Charles interrupted, suddenly next to me with Arthur and Lorenzo behind him. “You make all of our lives better just by being in them, petite sœur. Of course we showed up.”

I couldn’t even argue. And as I looked down at the necklace on my collarbone, the bag clutched to my chest, and the grins surrounding me, I knew this was one birthday I’d never, ever forget.

—

By the time I made it back to my apartment, my feet were screaming, my necklace was slightly askew, and I was fairly certain I was still full from four courses and three desserts. All I wanted was to throw on sweatpants, wash the remaining makeup off my face, and sleep for fifteen years. But instead, I walked into yet another surprise. There, smack in the middle of my living room coffee table, was a massive bouquet—no, a floral fortress—of white hydrangeas, soft yellow peonies, and pale pink roses. It looked like something out of a royal wedding Pinterest board. Elegant. Expensive. Intentional. There was a tiny cream envelope nestled in the middle. I dropped my bag on the floor and blinked at it like it might explode. Before I could even touch the card, Charles’ voice rang from the hallway behind me.

“What is that?”

Oh no. I turned slowly. There they were—Charles, Arthur, and Lando—squished in the hallway, clearly having followed me home like nosy little puppies.

“It’s… flowers,” I offered weakly.

“From who?” Arthur asked immediately, stepping forward like an over-invested bodyguard.

“Why are there roses?” Lando added, already reaching for the card. I swatted his hand away.

“Back off, Norris.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is it from someone we know? Someone we like?”

I sighed dramatically, plucked the card out of the arrangement, and read aloud.

“Happy Birthday, Princess. Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight—hope this makes up for it. x – Ollie”

Silence. Then— “Bearman?!” Arthur practically screeched, spinning around like he’d been personally betrayed.

“You let Ollie Bearman call you Princess?!” Charles demanded, face already morphing into Big Brother Mode.

“I didn’t let him—he just—it’s a nickname! Everyone calls me that!”

Lando was already flopped onto my couch, cackling. “Oh, you’re dead. You are so dead. Ollie’s never escaping this.”

“He sent roses,” Arthur said, pacing now. “He’s trying to flirt. That’s flirting. Is he trying to date you? Is this a date thing?!”

“He’s Twenty!” I protested.

“You’re nineteen!” Charles snapped.

“Exactly! It’s barely an age gap—”

“Oh my god,” Lando groaned from the couch. “You like him.”

“I never said that!”

“Which means you do,” Arthur concluded.

I buried my face in my hands. “I literally just wanted to go to sleep. That’s all I wanted.”

Charles grabbed his phone. “I’m calling Ollie.”

“You will do no such thing!”

Too late—Arthur was already speed-texting someone. Meanwhile, Lando was now examining the bouquet and the card up close.

“Okay, but… this is a really good arrangement. Like, props to him. He’s got taste.”

“Lando, you’re not helping.”

—

f1gossipgirls

1,283,009 likes.

f1gossipgirls : In a shocking turn of events, sources close to the Leclerc family have revealed that YN Leclerc—known as F1’s beloved “paddock princess” and younger sister to Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc—is not biologically related to the Monégasque driver. According to documents obtained, YN was adopted by the Leclerc family as a baby. While the Leclerc's have always presented a united and loving front, fans are now questioning why this detail was never made public—especially as YN’s popularity continues to skyrocket. Why was this kept a secret? Was YN ever told? Is there more to the story than meets the eye? Neither YN nor the Leclerc family has commented yet, but we expect the grid to go into protection mode fast. With half the paddock practically treating YN like royalty, this story is far from over. More updates soon.

—

view 350,384 other comments.

username0 : her and charles are literally identical— i never would’ve guessed this.

username15 : you’re telling me someone dug through adoption records to post this?? she’s literally 19. what is wrong with you people.

username30 : “not biologically related” and??? they are still her family. y’all are weird for this one.

username22 : the fact that this was leaked on her birthday week is so disgusting. someone really said “let me ruin a teenager’s day for clicks.” i’m sick.

username17 : i hope charles sues y’all into oblivion

username00 : so… she’s adopted. AND?? she’s still the paddock princess. still the sister of Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo. still our girl. NEXT.

username10 : y’all forgot she’s the grid’s little sister. max is about to say his first emotional thing ever.

username11 : it’s the way she literally brings joy to the paddock. she’s always hugging people, always cheering, always there. you really tried to knock her down? pathetic.

—

third person pov

Arthur was in the kitchen with Pascale and Alexandra, laughing as he scrolled through photos from YN’s birthday dinner the night before. The second Lorenzo’s voice broke—sharp, panicked—Arthur dropped his phone.

“They posted it.”

Pascale froze. “Posted what?”

Lorenzo’s voice was trembling. “The adoption. They leaked her adoption. It’s everywhere.”

Time stood still. Alexandra’s hand flew to her mouth. Arthur’s face drained of color. Pascale slowly took the phone from Lorenzo, her fingers shaking as she read the headline aloud in a whisper. The air left the room.

Pascale sank into a chair. “She doesn’t even know yet…”

Arthur was already pacing, muttering curses in French, furious in a way he hadn’t been in years. “How—how did they even find out? Who would do this to her?”

“She’s going to be devastated,” Alexandra whispered, blinking back tears.

Lorenzo was already dialing Charles. Charles didn’t even say hello when he answered—just, “I saw it.”

His voice was tight. Controlled. Scary calm.

“I’m going to her now.”

“Don’t let her see it yet,” Pascale said, standing up, voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “Don’t let her read that article before she hears it from us.”

Charles’ voice cracked just slightly. “She trusted us.”

—

your pov

It’s crazy how much your life can change in twelve hours. Last night, I was blowing out candles. Laughing so hard I nearly choked on the cake Alexandra baked me. Lando handed me the bag I’d been dreaming about, Carlos gave me jewelry like I was royalty, and my brothers were annoyingly soft all evening. I felt so… loved. Safe. And now?

Now I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, phone in my lap, staring at an article that managed to make everything feel different. Like someone cracked open my world and spilled secrets I didn’t even know were mine. Adopted. The word is loud in my head. Foreign. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else. No one told me. Not Charles. Not Maman. Not Arthur. They all knew. And I didn’t. The silence in the house is deafening. I keep waiting to hear footsteps—his voice. Something. But it’s just me. Me, and a truth I never asked for.

—

I didn’t want to stay in my apartment anymore. The silence was suffocating, and every corner seemed to remind me of the secret I never wanted to know — that I was adopted, and somehow, that fact was now public. The leak felt like a knife twisting in my chest, and I just needed to get away. Without thinking much, I grabbed a bag — some clothes, my favorite hoodie, a journal I never leave behind — and headed straight to Max’s place. It was the one place that felt like home, no matter how chaotic the world got.

When I got there, Max opened the door before I even knocked. His face softened the moment he saw me, like he already knew something was wrong. Kelly was there, too, and she immediately wrapped me in a warm hug that felt like safety.

“Come in,” Max said quietly, guiding me inside. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

I just shook my head, sitting on the couch, my fingers trembling as I clutched my bag. Kelly sat nearby, giving me that quiet, calm support only she could. Max came over and wrapped me into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Just letting me cry, just letting me exist.

After some time, Max’s phone buzzed. He looked at me with a small smile. “Lando and Carlos are coming over. They insist on seeing you.”

When they arrived, Lando was first — his usual grin was softer, eyes full of concern. Carlos came in behind him, nodding at Max and Kelly.

Max left me in the guest bedroom to rest, but Lando and Carlos came in, settling next to me on the bed. Lando gently took my hand, fingers warm and steady, while Carlos wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then started to speak, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand why they did this. Why they thought it was okay to tear open my life like this.”

Lando squeezed my hand. “Because they don’t understand what family means.”

Carlos nodded. “We do. You’re ours. Nothing changes that.”

I let the tears come, finally allowing myself to be vulnerable. They didn’t say much — just held me, letting me pour out my pain and confusion. For hours, we stayed like that. I talked, cried, and they listened. Their presence was something I didn’t know I needed, a reminder that no matter what the world said, I wasn’t alone.

—

third person pov

Charles arrived at YN’s apartment, his heart pounding with worry. He needed to see her — to explain, to fix whatever had been broken. But when he pushed the door open, it was slightly ajar, creaking softly as it swung inward.

“YN?” he called, his voice tight with concern. The apartment was eerily quiet.

He glanced around the living room and kitchen, then made his way to her bedroom. His eyes immediately landed on the nightstand, her journal was missing. A knot tightened in his stomach. She had packed up. She had left.

His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone and called Arthur. “Arthur, YN’s gone. She left her apartment — her journal’s missing too. I don’t know where she is.”

“Stay calm, Charles,” Arthur replied evenly. “Where do you think she went?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. “I don’t know. But I have to find her. I have to.”

He looked around once more, the weight of guilt pressing down. How had it come to this? And how could he make it right before it was too late?

—

your pov

After a while, Lando spoke softly, his voice almost a whisper. “YN, can I ask you something?”

I nodded, eyes still closed. “Anything.”

“Did you ever want to know?” His words caught me off guard.

“Want to know what?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“About being adopted. About your past.”

I took a deep breath. “I always felt like something was missing, like there was this part of me I wasn’t supposed to see. But honestly? I was scared. Scared that if I found out, everything I knew — my family, my life — would change.”

Carlos squeezed my shoulder. “But nothing about who you are changes because of that. You’re still YN, still the person we care about. Family isn’t just blood.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But it feels like my whole identity was a lie. Like I wasn’t real enough.”

Lando shook his head gently. “You’re more real than anyone I know. Being adopted doesn’t make you less than. It means you were chosen. And that’s powerful.”

Carlos smiled softly. “You belong with us. With all of us. And no gossip or secret can ever take that away.”

I blinked back tears, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little. For the first time in hours, I felt seen truly seen and accepted. The fear was still there, but maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone in this.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching their hands tighter. “For staying. For reminding me who I am.”

—

The next morning came too fast. I hadn’t slept much — just drifted in and out of shallow dreams that always ended with the same knot in my stomach. The ache in my chest hadn’t eased either, even with Carlos’s steady breathing beside me and Lando still curled up at the foot of the bed like an overgrown golden retriever. I was staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

(your bff) 💌 calling…

I sat up, quietly untangling myself from the warmth of my boys, and slipped into the hallway before answering.

“(your bff)?” My voice cracked a little.

“Oh, thank God. I was about to fly to Monaco myself,” she said immediately, her voice filled with the kind of love only someone who’s seen you through every awkward phase of your life could manage. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Like I’m floating above myself? It doesn’t feel real. I haven’t really stopped moving since it happened.”

She sighed. “I hate this. I hate that it got taken from you like that. You deserved better than a headline.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, well. Headlines don’t wait for permission.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it,” she said firmly. “Come with me to the lake house. Just us. No noise. No social media. No press. Just trees, a fireplace, and the world leaving you alone for a minute. I’ll cook. You’ll cry. I’ll feed you again. We’ll yell into the void. It’ll be healing.”

I laughed softly, the sound surprising even me. “I don’t know…”

“You need air, baby. And space. And maybe wine and marshmallows and bad horror movies from 2005. Come hide with me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

“Nothing. Just bring your hoodie and that one fuzzy blanket you refuse to wash because it ‘smells like childhood,’” she teased. “I’ll handle the rest.”

I blinked away tears. “Okay. I’ll come.”

“I’ll be there by the afternoon. No backing out. I’m kidnapping you.”

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I know,” she replied gently. “Let’s get you out of the storm.”

—

By late afternoon, I’d finally worked up the courage to get out of bed. My head was pounding from the constant swirl of thoughts, and the emotional whiplash of the last 24 hours had left my body aching like I’d run a marathon. I padded into the kitchen, where Max was chopping fruit like a domestic god, and Kelly was sitting at the counter scrolling through her phone with her glasses low on her nose. Carlos was half-asleep on the couch, and Lando was rummaging through the pantry like he hadn’t eaten in days. I cleared my throat, instantly grabbing everyone’s attention. Max turned first, eyes softening the second he saw me.

“Hey,” he said quietly, setting the knife down.

“Hey.” I paused, twisting my fingers together. “I, um… I just wanted to let you guys know (your bff) is on her way. She’s picking me up.”

Lando frowned, abandoning the bag of chips in his hand. “Picking you up?”

I nodded. “We’re going to her lake house. It’s out in the middle of nowhere — no press, no people, no internet unless we climb a tree. Just… quiet.”

Carlos sat up straighter. “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a while,” I said quickly. “I need space. A second to figure out what I’m even feeling. I’ve been kind of… drowning.”

Max walked over and pulled me into a hug without a word, holding me tight against his chest.

“Are you sure this is what you need?” Kelly asked gently from the stool.

“Yeah. I think so,” I whispered. “I love you guys so much, but right now, even being around people who love me hurts. It makes it real.”

Lando crossed the kitchen and stood in front of me, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just say the word and we’ll be there. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I smiled weakly. “I feel safer because of you. I just need to remember how to feel like me again.”

Carlos came over, cupping my cheek briefly. “Call us. Even if you just need to hear someone breathe.”

I let out a watery laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Still true though,” Max muttered, and we all laughed, just for a second. It felt good.

A knock on the door broke the moment. I moved to open it, and there she was — oversized hoodie, sunglasses, and a messy bun. “Are you ready for your dramatic escape from reality?”

“You have no idea,” I said, hugging her tightly.

Behind me, the boys stood at the doorway like I was heading off to war.

“I’ll be back,” I promised. “I just need some time.”

“You better come back,” Lando muttered. “Or we’re burning the lake house down.”

“Good luck finding it,” She called over her shoulder as we walked to her car. “GPS gives up halfway in.”

I looked back one last time. Max gave me a thumbs up. Carlos blew a kiss. Lando mouthed call me with way too much drama.

—

f1gossipgirls

325,037 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN Leclerc was seen leaving Max Verstappen’s apartment complex with her best friend, @/yourbff. The two were later seen boarding a private jet at a local airport. Seems as if she maybe did not know about the adoption news.

—

view 52,974 other comments.

username0 : she went to max’s apartment… that’s her safe place. oh she really didn’t know 😭

username5 : if charles wasn’t the one who told her and she found out from the internet i’m gonna SCREAM

username8 : this whole situation is SICK. media needs to back OFF. she’s not a storyline, she’s a human.

username15 : the second max got involved i knew it was serious. he’s not the “let me comfort you” type unless it’s life-shattering.

username20 : i hope whoever leaked this steps on legos for eternity. she deserved to hear it from her family

—

third person pov

“Max, she’s with you?” Charles’s voice was sharp, disbelief mixed with panic. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There was a brief pause before Max spoke calmly, carefully. “She was, yeah. But she left a little while ago. Said she needed to clear her head.”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking. “Clear her head? Max, she’s my sister. She’s been hit hard by all this. I should be the one helping her.”

Max took a steady breath. “I get that. But right now, she needs space from everyone—even us. She’s processing all of this in her own way. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Charles’s voice softened, desperation seeping in. “I just want to be there for her. She can’t go through this alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Max said firmly. “We’re all here, waiting. Trust me—when she’s ready, she’ll reach out.”

Charles exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside. “Okay. I just hope she knows that.”

“She knows.”

—

yn_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lando & 4,009,001 others.

yn_leclerc : mind over matter.

tagged : yourbff & olliebearman

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

I was curled up on the oversized couch in a hoodie that swallowed me whole, sipping lukewarm tea, when I heard the front door open.

Her voice rang out, sing-song and suspiciously cheerful. “I brought someone who’s guaranteed to cheer you up!”

I groaned into my cup. “Unless it’s a French bulldog or a bottle of wine, I do not care.”

“Nope,” she grinned, walking into the living room. “Better.”

Footsteps. A second pair. A familiar pair.

“Hey, sunshine.”

I looked up—and nearly dropped my mug.

“Ollie?!”

He was standing in the doorway with that crooked grin and warm eyes, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he belonged here more than I did.

Before I could say anything else, I was on my feet and running straight into his arms. He caught me easily, arms wrapping tightly around my waist as he lifted me off the ground and spun me once, laughing. “There she is,” he murmured into my hair.

I squeezed him tighter, trying to blink away the sudden sting in my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“She bribed me with baked goods,” he said teasingly, setting me down but not letting go. “Also, you didn’t answer any of my texts, which was very rude.”

I laughed into his chest. “Sorry. Been a little busy having an identity crisis.”

“Well,” he said, gently pulling back to look at me, “you still look like my favorite person.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully. “You’re so annoying.”

“Still made you smile.”

(your bff) appeared in the doorway with two mugs and a proud little smirk. “I know my girl.”

And she really did.

—

The sun warmed my skin and the fresh lake breeze tangled through my hair as the boat cut smoothly through the calm water. I sat close to Ollie, his hand resting gently over mine, fingers lacing naturally like they’d known each other forever. Somehow, everything felt easy here — no pressure, no noise, just quiet moments that spoke louder than words.

Ollie’s smile was soft and a little shy, the kind that made my heart flutter without me even realizing. Every so often, his eyes would catch mine, and that quiet look between us said everything I needed to hear.

At one point, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was feather-light but sent warmth straight to my chest. I leaned into it without hesitation, resting my head against his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek was the most comforting thing I’d felt in a long time.

“Perfect day, huh?” he whispered, voice low and steady.

I smiled against his skin. “The best.”

We spent the afternoon drifting in and out of conversation — silly jokes, quiet dreams, shared secrets. I loved how he listened like every word mattered, and how he made me laugh even when my chest still felt heavy.

As the sun started to dip lower, painting the sky with soft oranges and pinks, Ollie pulled me close, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I curled in, feeling safe, warm, and more hopeful than I had in weeks.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled, heart swelling. “So are you.”

And in that golden light, with the water shimmering around us, it felt like maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to

—

Ollie and I stood at the edge of the boat, the water shimmering invitingly below us. I couldn’t resist — a sly grin spread across my face.

With a quick push, I tried to catch him off guard and send him splashing into the water. But instead of falling alone, Ollie grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down with him. We both tumbled beneath the surface, laughing as we surfaced together, water dripping from our hair.

He looked at me with that familiar, warm smile, eyes twinkling in the fading light. “Guess we’re both swimming now,” he said, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face.

Before I could answer, he leaned in, and our lips met — soft, warm, and perfect. The world around us disappeared, the only thing I could feel was him.

From the shore, I saw her watching us from the porch, a smile tugging at her lips. Knowing she was there, sharing this moment quietly, made it feel even more special.

—

After our swim and showers, I slipped into one of Ollie’s oversized sweatshirts. It was soft and warm, and still smelled faintly of him—like a little bubble of comfort I could hold onto. The sleeves swallowed my hands completely, making me feel small and safe, like a kid again.

I made my way back to the living room where Ollie was already waiting for me. His eyes softened when he saw me, and without saying a word, he reached out and pulled me gently into his arms. I leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was the kind of calm I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We settled onto the couch, me resting my head on his shoulder while his fingers traced lazy, soothing circles on my arm. The silence between us was warm, like a quiet sanctuary from all the noise and chaos I’d been swimming through.

After a while, Ollie’s voice broke the stillness, quiet and gentle. “Hey… if you want to talk, I’m here. About everything. Whenever you’re ready.”

I hesitated for a moment, scared of what might come out, but looking up at him—so patient, so steady—I felt a crack in my walls. Maybe it was okay to open up.

“It’s just… everything’s different now,” I started, voice barely above a whisper. “I always thought I knew who I was—where I belonged. But now… this news, it feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me. Like the family I thought I had was just a story. I’m scared, Ollie. Scared of losing them, scared of losing myself.”

He tightened his arms around me as if to keep me from drifting away. “You’re not losing yourself. You’re just figuring out who you really are. And that’s okay.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing. “I don’t even know how to be ‘me’ anymore. How do you keep going when everything you thought was true suddenly feels like a lie?”

Ollie brushed a damp strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my temple softly. “One step at a time. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and so are all the people who care about you. You’ll find your way, I promise.”

I closed my eyes and let his words sink in. For the first time in days, the panic in my chest eased, replaced by something like hope. Wrapped in his arms, with his steady warmth holding me together, I felt like maybe I could breathe again.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He smiled against my hair. “Always.”

—

It had been a week and a half since we escaped to the quiet calm of my best friend’s lakeside house. The kind of place where the wind whispered instead of screamed, and the days bled into one another with the softness of a watercolor painting. It had been healing—slowly, painfully, but healing all the same.

Ollie and I were lying on the porch swing that overlooked the still, glittering water. My head was on his chest, and his fingers absentmindedly combed through my hair, lulling me into that rare space between peace and thought. The sun was starting to dip low behind the trees, casting everything in this golden, aching kind of light.

My phone buzzed on the table beside me. I thought about ignoring it. But something in my chest tugged at me.

When I saw her name—Alexandra—my heart twisted.

I sat up a little straighter and looked at Ollie. “It’s Alex.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just brushed his thumb across my knee and gave a gentle nod. “Answer it, love.”

With a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, bébé.” Her voice was soft, tentative, but unmistakably her. “I didn’t want to push or intrude… but I just—God, I needed to hear your voice.”

The moment I heard her, really heard her, something in me cracked open. My eyes welled up before I even said a word.

“Hi,” I whispered back, my voice breaking slightly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” She exhaled like she’d been waiting days just for this. “Are you okay? No pressure to answer that honestly.”

I laughed, watery and sad. “I don’t know. Some days I feel okay. Some days I feel like I’m just floating above myself.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

“I was wondering,” she said softly, “if maybe… you’d think about coming back. Just to talk. Not to fix everything, not unless you want to. But… I think your brothers would sleep again if they could just hug you. And I—” her voice cracked, “I want to hug you too. I hate not having you near.”

Tears spilled freely now, and I didn’t bother wiping them. “Did you know?” I asked, almost in a whisper. “About the adoption?”

The pause that followed felt like a century.

“…Yes,” she said quietly. “But not until after I’d already fallen in love with you as my little sister. And I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t mine to tell. God, YN, I wanted to so many times. But your family wanted to wait until the moment was right. They never wanted it to be like this. Never.”

I closed my eyes. I believed her. Somehow, it didn’t make it hurt less, but it made the ache a little less lonely.

“I don’t know if I can look them in the eyes,” I admitted. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

“You don’t have to decide that today,” she said. “But just know that you are still their sister. You are still loved beyond reason. And I love you. Always.”

I felt Ollie’s hand find mine, our fingers lacing together tightly. I glanced at him, and he gave me the softest look—patient, steady.

“I’ll come back,” I said finally. “Not today. But soon. I think I owe myself that much.”

“I’ll be there,” Alexandra said, her voice thick with emotion. “Whatever you need.”

After we hung up, I just sat there, the ache still swirling under my skin—but now there was warmth with it.

Ollie squeezed my hand. “When you go… if you want me there, I’ll be there. Right next to you.”

I turned to him, eyes glassy. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He smiled, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Just being your perfect self.”

—

yn_leclerc added two posts to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux & 5,020,330 others.

{caption 1 : last day on the lake 😰} {caption 2 : when he knows your smoothie order by heart, he’s a keeper}

alexandrasaintmleux : i am so excited to see you. i will be there for whatever you need.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : thank you love. see you soon.

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

lando : literally bouncing off the walls because you are coming home. i love you i love you i love you.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you more

liked by lando

carlossainz55 : been practicing my big brother speech for a week now.

liked by yn_leclerc

olliebearman : don’t forget that i know your coffee order, sushi order, and breakfast order from that cafe in monaco

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : you are the best 😻

—

I don’t know how long I stood there in front of the door—my door, technically. My childhood home. The place where I took my first steps, where I spent holidays and birthdays and Sunday mornings in pajamas too big for me, dancing around to whatever song Maman had playing. And now it just… looked different. But Alexandra opened it before I had a chance to knock.

“Mon bébé,” she whispered, eyes already misting as she pulled me into the tightest hug. Her arms wrapped around me like a life jacket, like if she just held tight enough, everything would rewind and be okay again. I melted into her, head buried in her shoulder, her soft scent grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I missed.

“You came back,” she murmured, brushing a hand through my hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

I swallowed. “I didn’t come alone.”

Behind me, Ollie stood close, his hand finding mine without hesitation. “She’s not doing this by herself,” he said gently, his thumb tracing soft circles over my knuckles.

And then came the footsteps. Lando, Carlos, and Max flanked us with a kind of quiet strength, each of them unreadable but exuding this palpable energy like: If anyone says the wrong thing, they’ll deal with us first. The house felt heavier with every step I took inside.

Charles stood in the living room, pacing. Arthur by the window, looking tense. Lorenzo and Maman were already seated on the couch, stiff and silent. I felt like a stranger in a house full of people who used to know me better than I knew myself. No one said anything for a moment. And then I spoke.

“You all knew,” I said, my voice somehow steady despite the tornado inside me. “All of you. And none of you told me.”

Charles took a step forward, but I held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

I looked around, taking in their faces.

“I don’t care about the fact that I’m adopted. That’s not what hurts. What hurts is that I had to find out from strangers. From a tabloid. I had to read about it, with the whole world watching me fall apart. And not one of you thought I deserved to know before that.”

“YN—” Arthur tried, but his voice cracked.

“I deserved the truth,” I said quietly. “I deserved that much.”

My voice broke on the last word, and Ollie’s grip on my hand tightened as he pulled me closer to him.

“I wanted to be angry,” I whispered. “I am angry. But I also love you. And that makes everything worse.”

Lorenzo’s voice came next. “We didn’t want to hurt you. We were waiting for… the right time.”

“There’s never a right time for something like this,” I replied. “You were just scared. And maybe I would’ve been, too. But I needed you to trust me with this part of my story. And now I don’t even know who I am when I look in the mirror.”

Max shifted behind me, clearing his throat. “She came to us because she didn’t feel safe. That’s not on her. That’s on you.”

Silence. Alexandra crossed the room and placed a hand on Charles’ arm. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, eyes rimmed red. “I tried,” he said hoarsely. “So many times. But every time I looked at you, I saw the little girl who used to sneak cookies into my room and make up dances with Maman in the kitchen. I didn’t want to be the reason you stopped smiling like that.”

“You weren’t,” I told him softly. “Lying was.”

He winced like I’d hit him.

Carlos spoke gently from the side, “You can be mad. You should be. But you’re still loved, and you’re still you. Nothing changes that.”

Lando stepped forward, hand briefly on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back. No matter what.”

Arthur finally moved from the window, coming to kneel in front of me. “I know I’ve joked with you, teased you, been the dumb older brother… but I’ve always, always loved you like my own blood. That part was real. It still is.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears came like a storm—hot, aching, full of everything I’d bottled up. I sank into Ollie’s arms as he held me, steady and quiet. No judgment. Just warmth. Familiar. Safe. And slowly, one by one, the others joined. Alexandra wrapped her arms around both of us. Then Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Maman. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But for the first time since everything fell apart, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we could start putting the pieces back together.

—

I didn’t say anything when Maman gently reached for my hand and led me toward the garden. The sun was low, casting golden light across the patio where I used to sit with a juice box and coloring books. Everything looked the same. Except me. We sat down in the chairs across from each other. She didn’t let go of my hand.

“I used to sit here with you,” she said softly, “when you were so small I could still carry you up to bed after you fell asleep.”

I smiled faintly. “I remember.”

She sighed, eyes misty. “You were so full of light, ma chérie. Still are. And when you came into our lives, I thought I was prepared to love you. But what I didn’t know is that you’d teach me how to love differently. Fiercely. Selflessly. You didn’t come from me, but I chose you. Every day.”

Tears blurred my vision. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked at me, eyes wide with sadness and guilt. “Because I was scared that if you knew, even a small part of you might believe that you didn’t belong. That you weren’t a Leclerc. That you weren’t mine.”

I let out a shaky breath. “But I felt it anyway. I felt the distance growing for years. After Papa died… I didn’t feel like I had a place anymore.”

She squeezed my hand tightly, her voice cracking. “That was never my intention. I lost your father and I clung to your brothers, because I knew I had to keep the family together. And in doing so… I failed you. I let you feel alone in a house full of people who loved you.”

I stared down at our linked hands. “I think a part of me always knew. But I wanted someone to say it out loud.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

And when she leaned over and pulled me into her arms, I let myself collapse into her. For a moment, I wasn’t angry or confused or lost. I was just her daughter. That was enough.

—

Later, after Maman went inside, I found Charles and Arthur sitting quietly in the living room. They looked up like I was the only person in the world who could either break them or put them back together. And I felt it — that ache of being their little sister again. Of wanting to crawl onto the couch and be safe between them.

I sat down. Silence fell again.

“I always looked up to you two,” I said, my voice small. “I wanted to be like you. Brave like Arthur. Thoughtful like Charles. And when things got hard, I watched how the two of you carried each other through it. But I didn’t feel like I was allowed to be carried. Like I had to be strong on my own.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to cry. Charles already was.

“I thought if I worked hard enough, if I was quiet and impressive and good enough… I could belong, even if something about me always felt different.”

Charles reached for my hand first. “You never had to earn your place. You had it. Always.”

Arthur nodded, voice low. “And we should’ve told you. Fought harder. We were just—”

“Scared,” I whispered. “I know.”

A beat passed. Then Charles moved closer, pulling me gently into his side like he would when I’d fall asleep on the plane rides.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re my sister. Blood or not. You’re mine.”

Arthur wrapped an arm around my legs and rested his chin on my knee. “And you’re stuck with me, forever. Even if I annoy you. Especially then.”

I laughed through my tears. “You both annoy me.”

Charles kissed the side of my head. “Good. That means you’re feeling something again.”

And for the first time in weeks, I did.

—

yn_leclerc

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 7,007,001 others.

yn_leclerc : happier than ever <3 (fuck everyone that had part in the leak) (you all will be hearing from my lawyers very soon)

tagged : arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, charlotte2304, olliebearman, lando and carlosssainz55

–

view 425,023 other comments.

maxverstappen1 : my girl. so proud of you. also— ollie, care to come over for a chat? 😁

liked by yn_leclerc and olliebearman

↳ username0 : big brother max always gets me.

pierregasly : proud of you, ma belle. love you

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you pearrrr

carlossainz55 : can’t believe charles stole my thunder and gave the big brother speech on his own 🙄

liked by yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

↳ charles_leclerc : you do realize she is my actual sister, right?

↳ yn_leclerc : charles he was so excited to act all big and mean and you stole it right out from under him.

liked by carlossainz55

↳ charles_leclerc : she is my sister????

↳ alexalbon : she is all of ours charles

↳ lando : what he said ^^

↳ pierregasly : mhm mhm

↳ arthur_leclerc : she is also my little sister

↳ lando : no shit sherlock

↳ olliebearman : so im going to have to endure a talk from each of you?

↳ lando : yes pretty much

olliebearman : strongest most beautiful girl ever. love you pretty 🤍

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↳ yn_leclerc : mymanmymanmyman i LOVE YOU MOREEEE

liked by olliebearman

↳ arthur_leclerc : gross

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alexandrasaintmleux : so happy you’re happy mon ange. love you forever and always

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↳ yn_leclerc : my girl for life

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lando : ollie is over at yn’s rn lets go crash

↳ charles_leclerc : on my way

↳ maxverstappen1 : coming

↳ carlossainz55 : running

↳ arthur_leclerc : 🏃🏻

↳ yn_leclerc : changing the locks.

—

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rewaafamily · 2 months ago

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I am a mother from Gaza writing to you under the sound of airstrikes I have two small children who have done nothing wrong except being born in a place with no safety there is not enough food no clean water no medicine and not even a moment of rest from the sound of war every day I wake up praying we won’t be the next ones buried under the rubble 💔 we are in urgent need of any help no matter how small every dollar could mean milk for my child medicine or even a chance to survive and if you cannot donate please share this post your share might be the reason help reaches us thank you from the heart to everyone who reads supports or reblogs 💔

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#FreePalestine #HelpPalestine #IsraeliPalestinianConflict #LongLongPalestine #DonationsForPalestine #SolidarityWithPalestine #JusticeForPalestine #OccupiedPalestine #WeAreWithPalestine #AidForPalestine #Palestinian #PalestineNews #DonationsCampaignForPalestine #AllEyesOnPalestine #LiberatePalestine #GazaGenocide #GazaStrip #SendAid #Donations

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adiluv-moved · 2 years ago

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✦ : ❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 !

i've always wanted to try making one of these types of posts, and since i didn't have anything easily ready to post this weekend, i figured i'd might as well give it a shot! ꒰ironically, getting the colors to work for all of the character's names was harder than writing everything.꒱ hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀི১

612 words. character order is bold > normal > italic; raiden shogun as the puppet, not ei; written before clorinde, navia, and wriothesley release; barely edited.

Gently. A soft touch that flutters over your knuckles, to the point where you’re left to question whether or not you’d even felt it, their lips pressing against your skin, lingering for a second or two before relocating to another part of your face. There’s no rush, in their mind, only this moment of intimacy between the both of you—only this shared moment where they’re allowed to bathe in your presence the same way you bathe in the sunlight’s warmth.

The rest of Teyvat is left forgotten as they reach for two teacups, arms loosely wrapped around your waist as they guide you to sit beside them, planting a kiss or two on your cheek as they pour a cup for the both of you. You’ll hold each other like this, sipping at your beverages as they inquire about your day—the stresses and responsibilities of theirs fading away in your closeness.

Lisa, Zhongli, Ayato, Dehya, Kazuha, Wriothesley, Kaveh, Navia, Ningguang.

Hesitantly. Unversed in the concept of affection, they’ve yet to entirely adjust to the idea of being in a romantic partnership, the thought of being within one seemingly wholly outlandish before they’d met you. While you’re more than content to take the lead within your relationship, initiating physical affection and all the like, they can’t help but wish to do the same for you—keep you safe within their arms and show you just how grateful they are for your love.

This desire culminates in them walking up behind you, timidly wrapping their arms around you as they ask whether or not you’re comfortable within their hold. This initial experimentation begins with them holding you as though you’re made of glass, though they’ll slowly begin to warm up and become more confident over time. Although their fingers still nervously twitch as they hover over your skin, please don’t tease them too much. They’re trying their best.

Kabukimono, Neuvillette, Xiao, Al-Haitham, Eula, Albedo, Clorinde, Raiden Shogun.

Tenderly. They love you—they’re whipped for you, really—love teasing you for interrupting their work, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was ꒰truthfully꒱ beginning to drive them mad. They silently thank Celestia whenever you visit during the afternoon, squeezing yourself into their chair as the both of you share a meal, allowing their mind a much needed break from their duties—though you’d never know with the flirtatious taunts falling past their lips.

During the evening, your attempts to have them accompany you back to your shared home often result in you sitting atop their lap, leaning into their touch, and listening to their heartbeat as you wait for them to finish up just a few more papers and pack up for the night. Neither of you really even realize just how much time has passed before they’re finally ready to leave, too immersed within your conversation ꒰gossip, of which they hear a lot꒱ to pay attention to the ticking of the clock.

Beidou, Kaeya, Ayato, Childe, Heizou, Wriothesley, Yae Miko.

Possessively. There’s absolutely no contesting their grip once they pull you towards them, arms tightly wrapping around your form and leaving zero chance of escape. They’ll lean down towards you, burying their head in the crook of your neck as you’re held still, whispering against your skin that you’re left unable to decipher—though you suspect it's intentional.

Any semblance of space that existed between the both of you is wholly destroyed, bodies flush against each other and their arms pushing you even further into them—almost as if they’re attempting to fuse the both of you together. Their head turns towards you at some point, stars dancing about in their eyes as you catch sight of the small blush dusting their cheeks. Point it out, however, and they’ll be quick to break the embrace, pushing you away with remarkable speed and insisting that you were mistaken.

Scaramouche, Wanderer, La Signora.

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darkclouds-rainsounds · 2 years ago

Text

Pokemon Ocs

- Gen 5 "Banette collector" Quincent Illemni -

•He/Him pronouns

•Cis; after having done introspection on his gender, he ultimately decides he identifies with his assigned gender. Cis+, if you will

•Fat

•Dresses fancily but doesn't overdo it; he likes frills, lace, and ribbons

•Very skilled at sewing (by hand). He also knows how to cross stitch

•5'11", just barely 6'0" with his shoes (the heels on them are very short. They're like the heels of dress shoes) [180/183 cm]

•His braid is 7 feet and 11 inches long [241 cm]

•39 years old

•Unovan

•His vision in his right eye is utterly abysmal and without his monocle, he gets really bad headaches

Lives in a mansion in Lostlorn Forest. The mansion is actually rather sizeable (think the size of the mansion in Luigi's Mansion) yet even when looking down upon the forest from a bird's eye view you can't see it. The trees in the area around where his home resides are very tall and could be reasoned as to why his mansion can't be seen from above, even though one knows that doesn't actually make sense.

On foot, it's nigh impossible to find his mansion if you don't know exactly where you're going. Even if you know it exists, if you don't know the way, you'll just keep getting turned around and stuck wandering the forest for hours until you give up.

The mansion's secrecy is something Quincent himself is unaware of and is very confused to outright exasperated that people can't find his home.

This has unfortunately led to him having to actively go out and pick up things like his mail rather than it be delivered because absolutely no one has been able to find it. Knowing the address of his home does not equal knowing the way to it.

There are no illusions cast. The mansion just can't be found. It's not a property of the mansion itself... or maybe it is? It's not a property of the forest itself either. There is no smoke nor any mirrors, yet the "magic" is still on display.

An enigma with no answer.

The forest itself could be regarded as a liminal space, but as I said, there is no trickery at play.

The forest just simply is a forest.

[The interior of his mansion is also a lot like that of the mansion in Luigi's Mansion, except the layout makes more sense for someone alive to live in. I also want to quote this QnA from two of the developers of Luigi's Mansion back in 2005.

Q: Please tell us how Luigi's Mansion came to be?

Hideki Konno: There was an original plan which encompassed the stages revolving around a big house or apartment complex. Then some how we started thinking along the lines of something like a dollhouse. Then we started doing experiments with Mario and other characters being on a television set using a dollhouse. We kept trying to do something different. When we decided to put it on the GameCube, we wanted to do something fresh and we decided to use Luigi as the main character. The game ideas started following soon after.

Note the mention of a dollhouse. In Luigi's Mansion there is also a dollhouse in the mansion that functions like an "infinity mirror" effect. It's meta in its recognition that the very mansion Luigi is searching through is like a life-sized dollhouse.]

This is what the interior of Quincent's mansion is evocative of to the point of being very uncanny. It's made even worse with there being rows and rows of different kinds of dolls, some unmistakably Banettes (which makes you wonder about the nature of the other dolls and if they actually aren't what they seem...) lined up on shelves, on tables, sitting in little chairs, etc. It really is like someone playing dollhouse but everything is life-size.

And at least half of those dolls are animate.

Quincent doesn't see anything unsettling about this and sees it as completely normal. Not because he's so... disconnected... weird, like a lot of ghost-type trainers (hex maniacs come to mind) are that they view things like this as normal while to literally everyone else it's very obviously not.

For Quincent, it can best be described as him having "unusual" taste in aesthetic. He's not the kind of person who draws a summoning circle and sees it as "normal" because his sense of normality is completely skewed, it's more like he likes something that the wider populace just so happens to find unsettling.

If one were to enter his house and take note of the baffling amount of Banettes, they'd be surprised by the lack of a tense or oppressive air of death. A feeling of suffocating foreboding. Such a feeling does not pervade the area, but one might fool themselves into thinking it does just based on knowing they're in what would be considered to literally anyone else, a death trap. A spider's web.

To be so scared and paranoid you feel and imagine what isn't actually there.

The Banettes bear no ill will to others unless they actively try to hurt them or Quincent. They are completely docile, but they are not harmless. Do not confuse the two. Do not think the former inherently means the latter. You will regret it if you do.

Quincent cares for the Banettes as if they were his own children, but of course he doesn't treat them as if they are human children. It's like a step above how people in real life view their pets as "their children". Except to Quincent, they are more than just pets— rather, he does not view them as pets. But he also doesn't treat them like one would a human.

He loves them and cares for them so deeply that he himself is proof that with compassion, Banettes do in fact return to the plush dolls they once were prior to becoming Banettes.

❝Resentment at being cast off made it spring into being. Some say that treating it well will satisfy it, and it will once more become a stuffed toy.❞ - Ultra Moon dex entry

He treats all of them with great care and tends to their needs meticulously. They are very spoiled.

One would wonder how Quincent isn't constantly exhausted just from taking care of the sheer amount of Banettes in his abode— not to mention how much effort it takes to keep all of them happy and comfortable.

I mentioned that despite the copious amounts of Banettes in his house that there is a distinct lack of an oppressive air of death, and it's rather noteworthy due to the fact that Banettes are extremely dangerous. Almost every dex entry of theirs makes some mention of them being dolls animated and transformed into Banettes from having been abandoned and that they seek out those that disowned them for revenge.

❝Banette generates energy for laying strong curses by sticking pins into its own body. This Pokémon was originally a pitiful plush doll that was thrown away.❞ - Ruby dex entry

❝Strong feelings of hatred turned a puppet into a Pokémon. If it opens its mouth, its cursed energy escapes.❞ - FireRed/LeafGreen dex entries

❝A doll that became a Pokémon over its grudge from being junked. It seeks the child that disowned it.❞ - Diamond/Pearl/Platinum dex entries

❝It's a stuffed toy that was thrown away and became possessed, ever searching for the one who threw it away so it can exact its revenge.❞ - Ultra Sun dex entry

Yes, the Banettes within Quincent's home care about him to varying degrees (based on personality and how recent they were taken in by him) and (most) don't mean or (deliberately) cause him any harm, and they come across moreso as mischievous at best, but that doesn't erase the reality of how inherently dangerous they are considering WHY they even exist to begin with. Quincent can be more closely conceived as a "Banette whisperer"; he is the exception, not the norm.

Not all of the Banettes he cares for are particularly mischievous; much like all pokemon, they also have different personalities unique to the individual. It takes a lot of care and effort to tend to the wants and needs of so many different personalities and keep them happy.

There is something I want to make perfectly clear before continuing and that's that Quincent is NOT a trainer. There are many trainer classes, but Quincent is not any of them. He does not battle at all. Not with the Banettes or any pokemon. He is like the equivalent of NPC characters whose homes you enter and see they have a pet pokemon that they don't battle you with or are implied/stated to not battle at all.

Except the Banettes, of course, are not pets. Quincent is not their master. Quincent is not their owner— though when it comes to legal technicalities, he would be considered one; he just doesn't view himself that way. Thinking Quincent is their owner is more akin to thinking a parent is their child's owner.

Repulsive, isn't it? And that is how Quincent feels regarding the perception of being seen as his Banettes' owner.

Ah!, but just because I say they're "his" doesn't mean he owns them. Again, they are like his children, how else would you refer to children that are yours?

This nuance is important in understanding the kind of person Quincent is.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

I want to elaborate further on how Banettes are as a species and how trainers can even use a pokemon whose 'anchor' to the world is vengeance.

With Quincent being someone who loves and tends to Banettes under his care so earnestly that they turn back into ordinary dolls, this isn't to say that Banettes who are partnered to trainers hate them or don't actually like them, but usually a trainer has anywhere from 1–6 pokemon max depending on their capabilities to caring for particular pokemon.

Pokemon are animate beings with their own specific needs and not everyone is equipped to handle that, which is why those with a full team of six, let alone a diverse team of six, is extremely rare.

I think a way to explain the difference between Quincent and trainers who have Banettes is that even if a trainer has a genuine close bond with a Banette, if it doesn't revert back into an ordinary plush doll, said Banette probably still harbors a grudge or some kind of hatred towards the person who originally disowned it. The Banette does still love its trainer, but the grudge functions akin to something keeping a flame kindled; the flame being Banettes continued animation. It's something hidden deeply in the back but still there.

Quincent is someone who gives out so much love and compassion towards the Banettes in his care that he's able to get them to let go of their grudges. Considering the wording of Ultra Moon's dex entry, it comes across more like a rumor or something heard through the grapevine, "some say that treating it well will satisfy it, and it will once more become a stuffed toy."

But that dex entry actually isn't just a rumor or hypothesis because Quincent proves it to be true.

Now, there is something important to know about how Quincent views trainers who have Banettes, and there really isn't a clear cut answer for every single person, but to generalize a bit, he doesn't inherently feel negativity towards trainers with Banettes.

After all, they aren't the ones who abandoned a plush toy and said toy came to life, they're completely unrelated persons who met and caught a Banette and have it as a partner.

The only trainers he inherently despises are those who IV breed pokemon— especially Shuppets— for the express purpose of using them competitively.

Considering people who battle competitively more often than not IV breed their pokemon, it just serves as another nail in the heart. It's practically unheard of that those that IV train for certain pokemon keep all the "failures". Using Shuppet as an example, people IV training for a "perfect" Banette throw out Mew knows how many Shuppets and Banettes all because they don't meet their selfish standards.

Trainers who have way too many of a certain pokemon and have zero clue how to take care of that many of that kind of pokemon, and have no interest in caring for that many, are far more likely to just release them into the wild or, depending on where they live and the kind of excess pokemon it is, will have them put down so as to not completely screw over the ecosystem or have all those pokemon suffer in the wild where they don't have any survival skills.

To Quincent, they don't have that right. It's sick that people would just do something like this.

You could otherwise be the kindest, most altruistic, amiable, and compassionate person on the planet, but if he finds out you IV breed pokemon he will completely and without fault or compromise hate you. Though it's not like you'd notice unless you're very good at reading people's expressions and noted the sudden tensity in his body language and how much more reserved he becomes.

Although... his distaste is a bit more obvious if you can tell the subtle passive-aggressiveness laced in the respectful tone of his words.

"With all due respect," he could say, and most people would be none the wiser to the existence of the veneer of politeness in his words, concealing what he says but does not say.

(I personally headcanon that in-universe, IV breeders are significantly less than the amount of people in real life who do so as a hobby. They're more like Extreme Pokemon Fanatics™ that want to breed the absolute best a respective species can make and then put it to the test. It's like a gatcha with the lives of other living— or otherwise— beings which when imagined in a real world setting, is kinda fucked up)

EV training on the other hand, depending on the specifics, doesn't garner such a visceral hate towards trainers— including those who do it with Banettes— since it comes at the low low cost of not discarding the lives of pokemon over some arbitrary standards just for the purpose of making them fight.

EV training can start with a pokemon of any nature or level with the existence of mints and the ability to completely reset or remove some points to their stats and mold it as desired from there. So for EV training, Quincent doesn't hate it, but still feels a suspicion on whether the pokemon are truly loved by their trainers or if it's treated as "taking a route easier than IV breeding".

Quincent is not someone who'd blow up and make a scene over this, and he actually makes a strong effort to keep the disdain from his voice when he interacts with those kinds of people ('They're so prideful; they flaunt their hobby as if it's a status to be proud of...').

He acts polite and gives respect regardless of the person even if he really does not like them. Though, depending on just who they are, his emotions can— deliberately or not— leech into his words in the form of passive-aggression. He was born into wealth and thusly was raised in learning the ways of etiquette, and he will put it to use as he sees fit.

Beyond that, generally speaking, Quincent is actually a very pleasant person to interact with save for those of the prior mentioned kinds of people.

On a lighter note, Quincent adores children but his interactions with them are rather awkward. The closest thing he has to interacting with sapient beings who are not adults or humans but act childish and mischievous are his Banettes whom are very much not human children.

He is well aware that human children are not equivocal to Banettes, but he figures the way he interacts with his Banettes is at least.... hopefully? close enough to make for a positive interaction with them.

Suffice to say, he has had several children give him weird looks or call him weird to his face (He doesn't know which stings more: the toddlers calling him weird or the middle schoolers...). That, or they call him creepy and avoid him. I would be lying if I said one time an infant didn't instantly start crying the moment they saw him.

That was very distressing and he apologized profusely while internally he was heartbroken.

His lack of ability to interact with kids in a way that doesn't feel very reminiscent of "how do you do, fellow kids?"despite the tender age of being in his 30s, becomes all the much more glaring in how he interacts with his 15 year old sister.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

He's only met hymn once before, when he was 8 and Quincent was 31. He hadn't even known of hys existence until his mother contacted him and told him of Azzie's existence.

He didn't know how to respond to that.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

His mother told him she and her husband needed someplace for Azzie to stay because they had important legal business to attend to and he couldn't stay with them while they got it sorted.

"Because it's not safe for hymn to stay." She doesn't say and Quincent doesn't pick up on.

He agrees because what else was he to do? It's not just simply out of familial obligation, but the fact his mother contacted him for the first time in years and this is what she's dropping on him out of nowhere, he knows that it's because she has no other options.

So of course he agrees to letting Azzie stay with him for awhile until things get settled— though the fact this clusterbomb of information was dropped on him just mere days in advance of things needing to be done leaves him flustered and overall overwhelmed.

The more he dwells on the revelation that he had a sibling for eight whole years that he was completely unaware of until just a short while ago only leads to him becoming progressively frazzled and agitated.

It's at the interjection of a particularly worried Banette that he snaps back to reality and as convincingly as he can, reassures the Banette that everything's alright and that he's sorry for worrying it and the others who he now notes had been watching him with concerned gazes.

The way he stumbles in his words and the slight waver in his voice. The way his smile meant to assuage the Banettes' worries doesn't meet his eyes. He's not convincing anyone and he knows it.

He drops the subject that was causing him such considerable stress and returns back to his daily activities as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

The vast majority of his Banettes know him well enough to notice the minute tensity of his actions and that whatever was causing him such stress earlier was still bothering him.

Even as Quincent made the conscious effort to not dwell on the matter that troubled him so, it still pushed at the back of his mind, imbuing a sense of disquiet.

He knows that ruminating on the revelation of such information in the moment won't change anything, but he still can't help but wonder, "Why?"

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

Days later, he goes and meets his sister whose existence was kept from him until there was no other choice than for him to learn of hys existence.

The greeting is kept short and not much else is said between him and his sister, for there would be more time when they get back to his place to sit down and get to know each other.

It doesn't take long between his arrival, a quick introduction to Azzie, his mother telling him what Azzie's needs are and that she'll keep him updated on what she can about... whatever's going on (perhaps it was foolish of him to have thought she would've changed in all this time), and her departing with a man he doesn't recognize but who he assumes is her current husband.

[I can't say much else regarding them, not out of secrecy, but because I don't have the rest of their first meeting figured out and I don't want to half-ass it. Though I will say,]

Quincent was surprised to learn, later when he and Azzie had returned to his home and got decently settled in, that he had the same last name him.

Illemni is not his mother's maiden name, it is his father's surname that his mother took when she married him so long ago.

His mother in the phone call a few days ago mentioned "my husband", so he knows for certain she remarried...

He wonders why his mother kept her ex-husband's surname.

He wonders why her current husband allowed that.

There are many things he doesn't understand about his mother, and many things he never will. No matter how much he learns.

An infinite mirror; where it starts, no one knows. A broken cycle.

And then a little later than that, he learns the context of Azzie's needs.

A lot of what's going on with hymn can and should have received medical attention for. He is surprised Azzie hasn't complained of the pain— or at the utmost least, extreme discomfort— he must be in at all.

What his mother told him pales to the true scope of what Azzie actually needs and he can't provide it.

There are many things about his mother he doesn't know, but he thought he at least knew her enough to have a good grasp on the kind of person she is. He knows her as someone who wouldn't let something like this slide, especially to her own child.

...Or maybe she did change.

He doesn't know if he should just drop everything and bring Azzie to the hospital to get hys eyes looked at— having to leave his Banettes here unattended for what he hopes would be a short amount of time, but he has a sneaking suspicion it would actually turn out to be far longer than that— or if he should just stay here and try to do the best he can for hymn.

In the end, after weighing the pros and cons of either decision, he reluctantly chooses to not take Azzie to the hospital.

Guilt eats at him regardless. That he knows of the problem but is choosing to do nothing about it.

He doesn't know how much medical work he'd have to deal with if he were to go with the former option. That if he did, figuring out what's up with Azzie's eyes could actually be the tip of the metaphorical iceberg of issues he may have that Quincent can't physically see.

He isn't prepared for that possibility.

He doesn't know how conservative of information regarding his familial ties with Azzie his mother is in terms of medical work.

He doesn't know how many hurdles he'd possibly have to cross just to be able to get Azzie seen and him noted in hys records as a contactable family member.

He doesn't know how much time it would take, but he has a feeling it would far exceed the little more than a week he has with hymn.

He feels that this is just an excuse to justify why, with all his money even in a world with universal free healthcare, he doesn't do anything.

He does not hoard that wealth, but he still has so much of it that can readily be put to use and he does nothing.

And guilt eats at him.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

An accident occurs a couple days into Azzie's stay.

A child who doesn't have a pokemon and hasn't had any experience interacting with one before was too enraptured and curious.

Sometimes little kids don't seem to fully comprehend animals as living beings equal to them, but as something like toys.

How ironic then, for a Banette to swipe at a child for being treated like a non-sentient object.

Azzie didn't understand its body language and clear tell for hymn to stop. Quincent was standing watch nearby, and gently but urgently (as well as with spades of panic) tried to persuade Azzie to be more gentle and to leave the Banette alone for a bit, but he didn't listen.

Blood was shed that day. In all honesty, it didn't even hurt that much, but the shock of it sent hymn into full-on sobbing. The sight of blood also didn't help matters.

The slash was thankfully worse than it looked and wasn't deep enough to require stitches, but whether it scars or not, Quincent doesn't know.

Quincent calmed Azzie down enough to clean and patch up the cut on hys face. A cut upward of the right side of his jaw line up into his cheek.

Azzie was in hys room when Quincent gave a light talking to to the Banette in particular that hurt Azzie. Not a scolding, for it made it very clear that it wanted Azzie to stop and Quincent wasn't going to reprimand it for asserting its boundaries, but still explained to it that Azzie is a young child and doesn't know better and that that has to be kept in mind for hymn.

Later, when Azzie sees that Banette again roaming around as if nothing happened, as if it experienced no consequences for hurting hymn, a seed of resentment becomes planted in the heart.

When you're that young, it's easy to generalize in your emotions. When you're that young, you aren't very receptive to logic.

You don't have quite a good grasp of cause and effect yet and that not everything is black and white.

A resentment for the Banette that extends to the Banettes which illogically extends to ghost-types.

A resentment for Quincent.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

The rest of Azzie's stay tediously passes without further event (for better and for worse) and Quincent meets back up with his mother and her husband.

They don't look happy.

His mother is concise in her words; tells him "it's nothing that concerns you".

He thinks she's being maliciously secretive.

And then Azzie leaves with hys parents.

They don't meet again until 8 years later, where the generational gap between them is so much more stark now that Azzie is no longer elementary school-aged.

He knows not of the grudge that was formed all those years ago and that it stubbornly persisted despite Azzie being more than old enough to understand the illogicality of it.

He doesn't know how to interact with hymn.

He doesn't know what to do.

His ignorance that Azzie thinks deliberate only further makes the bramble grow.

And the divide deepens.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

Additional information

•Quincent actually feels a deep-seeded confusion as to why it's practically unheard of of Banettes reverting back into normal dolls. At first, he thought maybe the Banettes didn't like their trainers as much as he thought, but after seeing trainer bonds with their Banettes over the years, he discarded that theory.

He still doesn't understand why almost no Banettes— excluding his own— have been reported to have turned back into ordinary dolls, but he for several years hasn't inherently thought negatively or faulted trainers who have Banettes for a long time.

What he doesn't realize is that he's rather 'special'; 'gifted'; or some other in causing this to happen, and therefore doesn't comprehend that not just anyone can achieve what he has (No, it's not magic, I already explained the reason why they turn back into dolls).

This confusion is only exacerbated since from his understanding, he isn't doing anything particularly different from what trainers who love their Banettes do? [My guy, you basically devote your entire everything to their well-beings and care and have the privilege to accommodate that, something few trainers are able to do.]

•The prescription on his monocle is so strong it would make a person with at least decent vision's eyes cross and give them a horrible headache.

The only other person it would be beneficial to (if only hardly), is Azzie.

•He has a tooth gap in-between his top incisors. He also naturally has a toothy smile rather than keep his mouth closed. Additionally, his smile looks a bit crooked, not in terms of teeth, but how his lips curl when he smiles. It's more obvious the wider and more genuine it is (think Marie from Splatoon).

•He doesn't do this when not in public or with his Banettes, but whenever he's directly interacting with someone and he smiles genuinely and wide, he after a moment moves to cover his mouth behind a hand since he's aware most people tend to find open-mouthed smiles— especially crooked ones— unsavory, to say the least.

Not only that, but they tend to also be considered impolite or childish, and what with his upbringing, would only further serve to make him feel shamed and self-conscious. So, he acts to prevent the possible scenario from happening by ~graciously~ covering his mouth.

It takes him a moment to remember to do so since he's not used to interacting with others for long enough periods of time that they could get such a wide grin or a hearty laugh out of him. He's not in the habit of hiding that trait of his since he got himself to unlearn the act of concealing it— whether by covering it or outright making himself not smile in the way that's natural to him— and reclaim that aspect of himself a few years after he moved out and got his own place. But when in the presence of others, that old formerly instilled self-consciousness slowly seeps back in.

The manner in which he conceals his mouth is like how some people tend to cover their smiles with a loose hand so as to be polite; a social convention that most others do. You'd never know that seeing Quincent conceal his smile is actually rather sad if you don't know him.

•Not all of his Banettes look the exact same because realistically speaking, not every single abandoned doll who becomes a Banette is the exact same kind, so it'd only make sense for Banettes to vary in appearance.

•When out of his house, he wears his braid like a scarf so it doesn't drag on the ground. Without the pins, obviously. He takes care in gently uncoiling it from around his neck because if he just drops it, the sheer weight of it succumbing to gravity again with it not being supported anymore really fucking hurts.

A rough estimate of just how much hair he has in terms of weight is ~20 pounds. And that's without the pins.

He also occasionally gets headaches due to the sheer weight of his hair, though this is alleviated when he wears it like a scarf since it's being supported.

•His hair is so thick and fluffy that it's near impossible to braid if it were cut shorter than shoulder length. That said, due to it being so dense, it takes a LOT of strength to braid all of that hair into a single braid.

The process of doing his hair from beginning to end, in the event he decides to bite the bullet and do it himself, takes him four days minimum. As one can imagine, it leaves him utterly exhausted by the end and his arms in sore agony for the next several days.

Because of such, he otherwise always has his hair done at a salon and tips generously since he knows just how much of a strenuous task it is to wash, comb, and braid that much hair.

•Quincent has had to mend quite a few rips and tears in the bodies of his Banettes over the years, with stitches varying from either slip stitches for a near seamless repair to straight stitches to apply appliqués.

The Banettes are the ones who choose how they want to be mended, so long as their selection is possible depending on where the tear is and how big it is, Quincent will happily oblige and select whichever color thread a particular Banette desires from his visible color spectrum of an assortment.

•His hair pins may look like giant sewing pins, but they aren't capable of functioning like them. The ends of the pins are not sharp but instead dull. The whole thing is made of a lightweight metal with the colored ball parts being mostly hollow (the metal making up the balls is pretty thick but not actually solid all the way through).

•He wouldn't do this unless he had absolutely no choice but to do so in self-defense but... the pins can be taken out and used as blunt force weapons.

(He may or may not have done this to a Plasma grunt back during Team Plasma's first attempt in the name of "pokemon liberation", where not only were the Banettes in his home being threatened of being taken away and despite his best efforts at politely asking them to leave, tensions escalated and the grunt resorted to assault to force him to comply and this forced him to defend himself and he knocked the grunt unconscious.)

○An addendum in that the end of his hair that is unbraided (as well as the lower end of the braid itself) is bigger than the reference image would have you think. The leftover hair is... well... as long and as wide as its appearance would suggest. So it's quite a bit bigger than you'd think, and given that hair comes from the tail end of the braid, that part of the braid is also a bit larger than you'd think, but not too much.

As I've stated, his hair is very fluffy, so the ends that just hang out are super poofy, whereas the braid is pulled as taught as possible and appears thinner than the ends.

○The bits of hair that stick out of his braid is different than ??????????'s. His braid isn't falling apart from leaving it in for far too long, it's that way due to his hair texture and that not all of his hair is the exact same length, so some of it is bound to stick out. I think those who have thick hair— curly, kinky, or whatever— can attest, as I personally can. My hair just does that due to its texture, the same applies to Quincent. Though his hair texture is different from mine, the result is the same.

The hair that sticks out is NEVER in the inner zig-zag of the braid; they are everywhere else but there.

○The lines of the pins in the ref of his braid were left deliberately so as to better show where exactly they go through his hair at.

#【𝙿 𝚁 𝙸 𝚂 𝙼】#📍quincent #✝️azzie #this version of his intro post is almost completely overhauled from the original one bc that one was an utter fucking embarrassment #my writing has since gotten /at least/ a bit better‚ so i made it more up to date #as anyone who reads my writing knows‚ symbolism and abstraction are my favorite ways of conveying things. i love purple prose

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jaanii · 2 years ago

Text

Zuko and Sokka break up in July.

And everything that follows, through the eyes of everyone else.

a birthday gift written for the lovely and talented @lesmiserablol happy birthday :))

#divorce 👍🏽#zukka #min.txt #my writing #zukka fic #zuko #sokka #atla fic #atla #jo tag #my fics #📍

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harrysfolklore · 1 year ago

Text

the honorary WAG - cl16

summary: yn has always been known as 'the honorary wag', since she's kika's best friend and adored by all the other wags, but what happens when the girls want her to become an official wag? a bet to get her and charles together before kika and pierre's wedding sounds like a plan.

word count: 6.9k + social media posts

folkie radio: i saw that video of alex and charles dancing at a wedding and i felt like i NEEDED to write something that involved charles and weddings, this was the result ! i really hope you like it (if you do please leave a reblog)

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by charles_leclerc, yourinstagram and 2,037,465 others

pierregasly Last night I proposed to the love of my life and she said yes. @/francisca.cgomes I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, I love you ❤️

view all 54,268 comments

username1 OMFG

username2 NO WAAAAYYYYYYY

lilymhe CRYING RIGHT NOW 😭😭🥺💗

↳ username1 AHHH THE WAGS NEED TO BE BRIDESMAIDS

alex_albon Amazing news ❤️ ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc Wow I can’t believe my childhood best friend is getting married, you both deserve all the happiness in the world and I’m so happy for you ❤️ ♥︎ by author

↳ username2 CRYING AGAIN

↳ username3 he needs to be the best man idc

username3 this wedding is going to be out of this world

francisca.cgomes IM STILL OVER THE MOON. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ♥︎ by author

↳ username5 KIKA IS GOING TO BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRIDE EVER

landonorris YOO I CANT WAIT FOR THIS PARTY ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes, yourinstagram, lewishamilton, iamrebeccad, oscarpiastri

↳ username1 LANDOOOO PLEASE

↳ username2 and i can’t wait to see him absolutely wasted

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED 🥹🥹🥹🥹 IM CRYING AGAIN ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes

↳ username3 yn and kika are the it girls

↳ username4 she’s probably going to be the maid of honor im crying over people who don’t know me

liked by francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer and 65,826 others

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD IS GETTING MARRIED 🥺 im so happy for you both @/francisca.cgomes @/pierregasly (even if that means that you finally stole her from me) let the wedding planning begin 🕺

view all 3,237 comments

username1 congrats kika and pierre !!

username2 it girls ❤️‍🔥

carmenmmundt This wedding will be the best thing ever ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, iamrebeccad

↳ lilymhe I KNOW

↳ username3 i love that yn is not a wag but she’s loved among the wags anyway

username4 oh to be a guest at this wedding

landonorris Can I be a bridesmaid too?

↳ pierregasly No

↳ francisca.cgomes No

↳ username1 HEEEELP poor little lando norris 😭

francisca.cgomes I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SISSY 🥺 you’ll always be my wifey even if i’m married to someone else ♥︎ by author

↳ pierregasly That hurt

↳ yourinstagram OOPS

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

gasly - gomes wedding 💍💍 groupchat

the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by username1, username2 and 54,837 others

womenofthepaddock Kika Gomes (soon to be Mrs. Gasly), Carmen Montero (Spain’s national treasure) and YN (the honorary WAG) have arrived to the Paddock #SpainGP

view all 5,048 comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 they’re all so stunning omg

username3 oh to be one of them

username4 i love how yn is really the honorary wag

↳ username1 she should just date someone from the grid atp ♥︎ by lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt, francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, iamrebeccad

↳ username2 ALL THE WAGS LIKING THIS COMMENT 😭

username5 i NEED yn’s outfit

username6 get yourself a bestfriend like kika gomes who takes you to formula one races

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍BARCELONA, SPAIN.

Every time you agreed to join Kika for her boyfriend's (and now, fiancé) races, the same question came to your mind: "Why is the paddock so confusing?"

You were currently trying to make your way back to Alpine hospitality, where you're supposed to watch the race from, but you kept getting lost. The maze of motorhomes, garages, and bustling activity was overwhelming. The constant hum of mechanics working, team members rushing around, and fans hoping for a glimpse of their favorite driver made it all more chaotic.

"YN, hey!" you heard a voice call out for you, turning around, you saw Rebecca and Carlos walking your way.

"Hey guys," you greeted them with a small hug once they approached you.

"Got lost again?" Carlos asked, and you remembered the time he found you in the same situation a couple of years ago.

"Yeah, this place is like a labyrinth. I have no idea how you guys navigate it so easily."

"Years of practice," Carlos chuckled, "Come on, We'll walk you to Alpine. It's not too far from here."

"Wait," Rebecca said before you could even start walking, "Why don't you come to Ferrari with us a bit, I'm sure Kika and Pierre won't mind."

Your eyebrows immediately raised at Rebecca's suggestion, noticing the teasing smirk on her face. She wanted to carry on with her (and the girl's) plan of making you like Charles.

Charles Leclerc, loved by millions, but you weren't quite one of them.

It's not that you actively disliked him, but there was something about him that didn't sit right with you.

Maybe it was the fact that every single time you've interacted with him ever since you started joining Kika for F1 stuff, he was somehow rude to you.

The last thing you wanted was to have an awkward interaction with him at the Ferrari garage, but you knew Rebecca wouldn't let you go that easily.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, "I'll come with you guys.

"Great! Let's go then." Rebecca's face lit up with a smile.

The three of you walked towards the Ferrari garage, the race wasn't starting for another few hours so you knew you were inevitably running into Charles once you got there.

"This is the perfect opportunity to clear the air between you and Charles," Rebecca elbowed you, almost making you roll your eyes, "Who knows? Maybe you have more in common that you realize."

"You and Charles don't like each other?" Carlos asked you, reaching out to hold his girlfriend's hand.

"Stop, It's not like that," you said, almost throwing your head back in frustration, "Every time we've interacted, he's been... dismissive. Rude, even. I don't know if it's just me or if he's like that with everyone."

"Charles can be a bit intense sometimes, especially on race weekends," Carlos pointed out, "But he's a good guy. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot."

"Maybe," you muttered, not entirely convinced.

You eventually reached the Ferrari garage, Rebecca and Carlos led the way, weaving through the throngs of people with ease. You tried to keep up, feeling a bit like a fish out of water in the sea of red uniforms.

You spotted Charles almost immediately, deep in conversation with one of his engineers and not even noticing that the three of you entered the room.

"Charles, hey!" Rebecca called out for him, you really admired her determination on the matter.

"Hey guys," Charles approached you, and you couldn't help but get a good look at him.

He might not be your favorite on the grid, but you couldn't deny that he was really handsome.

"You remember YN, right?" Rebecca asked with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Of course," Charles replied, a small smirk playing on his lips, "You're going to be Kika's maid of honor, right?"

"That's right," you nodded, a bit surprised he remembered.

Rebecca and Carlos exchanged a knowing glance before Carlos spoke up, "We need to go check on something. You two, catch up."

You shot them a look of disbelief, but they were already walking away, leaving you and Charles alone.

"So, what have you been up to?" Charles asked, leaning casually against the wall. "It's been a while since I've seen you around."

"Yeah, I haven't really been able to come to any races, I'm moving to Monaco, so that has been keeping me busy," you said, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Really? Which area?" he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

You told him the name of the neighborhood, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No way. I live there too. Are you the one who's been making all those moving noises two houses away from mine?"

"I fear that would be me," you laughed, feeling some of the awkwardness melt away, "I didn't know you lived there."

"Small world, huh?" he chuckled, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of the Charles that everyone else seemed to adore.

"Yeah, it is," you agreed, still a bit cautious but warming up to him. "Guess we'll be seeing more of each other."

"Looks like it," he said with a smile, "I mean, at least you'll have someone you can ask for a cup of milk when you run out."

As you continued to chat with Charles, you found yourself genuinely enjoying the conversation. It was a stark contrast to your previous encounters with him, and it made you question your initial judgment. His smile was warm, his laugh infectious, and the more you talked, the more you realized how much you had in common.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Rebecca and Carlos across the garage, watching the two of you with satisfied smiles and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at them. You were already expecting the girls groupchat to explode with messages about you and Charles.

"Looks like your plan is working," Carlos said to Rebecca, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Told you it would," Rebecca grinned, "The rest of the girls and I even made a bet."

"A bet?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yep," Rebecca confirmed, a playful glint in her eyes. "We bet on getting them together before Pierre and Kika's wedding. We all agree they'd make a great match."

"You and your schemes, amor," Carlos chuckled, shaking his head, "But I have to admit, you might be onto something."

Rebecca leaned her head on Carlos's shoulder, watching you and Charles laugh together. "Trust me, Carlos. Sometimes people just need a little nudge in the right direction."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGTAM

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 70,002 others

yourinstagram back on the f1 gig and reunited with my girls 🤍 the last slide shows how much the soon to be married couple loves each other

tagged: francisca.cgomes, pierregasly, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and iamrebeccad

view all 3,987 comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 the honorary WAG for real

carmenmmundt I missed you so much 🫶 ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram same here 🥲

f1gossip We love the WAGS (and yn) being besties

↳ username1 they need a masterplan to make yn a wag ♥︎ by iamrebeccad, lilyzneimer, francisca.cgomes

pierregasly My fiancée loves me 🥰

↳ francisca.cgomes more like tolerates

↳ yourinstagram she’ll always love me more

lilymhe bridesmaids gang 👯‍♀️ ♥︎ by author

↳ landonorris Am I still not allowed in the gc?

↳ francisca.cgomes exactly

↳ username2 HEEEEEELP

charles_leclerc Lovely to catch up. See you around in Monaco 😉 ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram likewise 😊

↳ username1 HELLOOOO???

↳ username2 SOMEONE DECODE THIS

↳ username3 i think this is the first time i see charles and yn interact 😭😭

iamrebeccad My job here is done

↳ carlossainz55 😂😂😂

↳ yourinstagram never trust the sainz-donaldson couple…

↳ username1 WHATS GOING ON HERE

↳ username2 lord i’m so nosy i need to be part of their friendgroup

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍MONTE CARLO, MONACO

Living alone it's all fun and games until you get locked out of your house after a quick run to the store for some late night snacks.

You stood there, staring at your sophisticated security system installed in all the houses in your upscale Monaco neighborhood —one that was definitely too expensive for you, but you were grateful the company you worked for paid for your rent — feeling utterly defeated.

The high-tech lock had its advantages, but it also meant that once you were locked out, getting back in without a key was next to impossible.

Sighing, you pulled out your phone and texted Kika, hoping she might be able to help.

You frowned at the suggestion. Asking Charles for help wasn’t your first choice, especially given your rocky interactions in the past. And yes, maybe you had a great conversation in Barcelona but that didn't mean that he suddenly liked you and would be willing to help you.

What if he's busy? Or thinks you're stupid for locking yourself out of your own house? What if this is all part of the girl's plan of setting you up with a driver?

Were some thoughts that ran through your head as you stood in your porch. But with no other options, you pushed them away and sent him a message.

You sighed, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. Asking Charles, someone who you disliked from time to time and thought he hated you just a few weeks ago for help wasn't on your bingo card, but there you were waiting for him to show up.

True to his word, Charles arrived shortly, wearing a casual outfit that made him look really comfy, and you prayed that you didn't disturb him too much with your antics.

"Locked out, huh?" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, stupid me forgot the keys inside," you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"No worries, happens to the best of us," he said, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket. "I actually learned a trick for these locks. All the houses here have the same system, and I’ve had my fair share of lockouts."

You watched as he worked with the keys and the lock, not sure of what he was doing but trusting his word that he knew how to unlock it. After what it seemed like a minute, your door unlocked with ease.

"Thank you so much, Charles. You saved me," you said, letting out a sigh of relief, "And I'm really sorry that I bothered you, you must've been busy or just resting and I made you get out of the house."

"Hey, It's okay," he said, flashing you a warm smile, "Told you could shout if you needed a spare cup of milk, or in this case, a way into your house."

"Thank you a lot, really."

You smiled softly as you both stood on your porch, and he mirrored your gesture. You looked at his features for a moment, his eyes were soft and a beautiful shade of green and blue, he looked extremely cozy clad in his hoodie and joggers.

Ugh why are you even thinking about Charles Leclerc like that? The voice inside your head came out again. And you didn't have an answer for it, but you pushed the thought away and focused on the present moment.

"So, how's the unpacking going?" Charles said after a minute of silence.

"It's getting there. Still a lot to do," you shrugged.

"Well, if you need any help, just let me know," he offered. "I'm pretty handy with setting up furniture and stuff."

"I might take you up on that," you said, and you fell into silence again.

And that's when you realized that for some reason, you didn't want the interaction to end, and something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he didn't want it either.

"How about you come in for a cup of tea?" you suggested without even taking a spare second to think about it, "As a thank you for helping me out, I mean."

He looked pleasantly surprised. "I'd really like that. Thanks."

You led him inside, quickly tidying up a few stray boxes before boiling water for tea. Once it was ready, you both sat down with steaming cups of tea, and you started talking about the topic that was inevitable among the grid and friends: Pierre and Kika's upcoming wedding.

"Can you believe they're getting married?" you asked, stirring your tea.

"I know, right?" Charles replied with a chuckle. "Pierre's been so excited. He talks about it all the time."

"They're such a great couple," you said, smiling. "Kika has been my best friend for years. I couldn't be happier for her."

"Yeah, Pierre is like a brother to me," Charles added, his expression softening. "He deserves all the happiness in the world."

You took a sip of your tea, feeling the warmth spread through you, "They deserve each other."

"By the way," Charles said, setting down his cup, "have you thought about what you’re going to wear?"

"I’ve been stressing over it," you laughed, "I want to find something perfect, and I feel like I'm running out of time."

"I’m sure whatever you choose will be great," he said reassuringly. "You have good taste."

"Thanks," you said, feeling a bit flustered by the compliment. "What about you? Got your outfit ready?"

"Not at all," he replied with a grin. "You know, since you're the maid of honor and I'm the best man, we should coordinate our outfits," he suggested with a playful smile. "Imagine how great we'll look standing next to Pierre and Kika if we match."

You laughed at the idea. "Maybe we should. It would make for some great photos."

"I can already see it now," Charles chuckled, "The perfect duo."

The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying Charles's company. He was funny, engaging, and far from the dismissive person you initially thought he was. You talked about everything from the wedding to your favorite places in Monaco, your work, his feelings about the F1 season so far and you couldn't help but think about how much the girls would freak out if they saw you talking and engaging the way you were.

Maybe they were right about you and Charles getting along well, but they're wrong about you possibly dating him, because you weren't looking for that, you thought to yourself again.

As the night drew to a close, Charles stood up to leave. "Thanks for the tea and the company, YN. I’m surprised we never got to talk like this before."

"Me too," you admitted, feeling a pang of guilt for your previous judgments about him. "I'm glad we did, though. And thank you again for helping me tonight, you were kind of my savior."

"Stop thanking me, you already did it like ten times," he said as you both walked to the door. "Are you going to the race in Austria this weekend?"

"I wasn’t planning on it," you said, "Kika's not going, and I usually go with her."

"Well, you could be my guest this time," he offered, a hopeful look in his eyes. "It could be fun."

You blinked, taken aback by his offer. "Are you serious?" you asked, needing to be sure you heard him right.

"Absolutely," Charles said, his tone sincere, "I know you're good friends with the girls and you love hanging out with them. It would be fun, and I'd love to have you there."

Your mind raced. When you left your house a few hours ago you never expected to get locked out which would lead to end your night with an invitation from Charles Leclerc to the Austrian Grand Prix, offering you a chance to spend time together at a race.

The wheels in your brain turned, making you unsure of your answer, when deep down you knew you wanted to take on his offer and go to Austria. You loved attending races and being around everyone in the F1 world, at first it was just something you did with Kika because of her boyfriend, but now it was something you enjoyed a lot.

Plus, you had to admit, the idea of spending more time with Charles was becoming increasingly appealing.

On the other hand, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt in the back of your mind. Was this just Charles being nice? Or what if the girls had put him up to this in another attempt to set you two up? You didn't want to complicate things somehow, especially with Pierre and Kika's wedding on the horizon.

Realizing you had been silent for a moment too long, you looked at Charles, your expression a mix of surprise and hesitation, and maybe you were crazy, but something in his face told you that he wanted you to say yes.

"That sounds amazing, Charles," you said, a small smile playing on your lips, "But… can I think about it? It sounds fun but I want to make sure I can make it work with my schedule."

"Of course," he replied with a nod, not pushing you for an immediate answer, "Just let me know soon so I can make the arrangements if you decide to come. I'd really like to have you there."

"Thanks, Charles," you said, feeling a warmth in your chest at his genuine interest. "I'll let you know soon."

"Great," he said, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter a little. "Goodnight, YN."

"Goodnight, Charles," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As you closed the door, you had one thought running through your head: the bridesmaids groupchat is about to go crazy

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

charles and yn texts

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍SPIELBERG, AUSTRIA

The Austrian GP weekend had been eventful so far to say the least. When you arrived on friday, you expected to catch an Uber to your hotel, or for someone sent by Charles to pick you up.

But turns out, Charles himself was standing there as you walked through the gates, waiting for you with a warm smile.

None of the girls ended up attending the GP, so you spent most of your time with Charles. It felt strange at first, since you had never spent much time interacting with him before, but you'd be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy it.

Despite the friendly atmosphere off the track, it was a tough weekend for Charles competitively. His car had plenty of complications, from engine issues to problematic tires, which led him to a bad result on Sunday.

With that excuse, you suggested buying him dinner. You thought it would be a good way to cheer him up and to thank him for the weekend. It was friendly and casual.

You decided to have room service in his hotel room, neither of you in the mood to go outside, so you ordered a couple of pizzas, a bottle of wine and desert.

As the room service cart rolled in, you both laughed at how much food you had ordered. "I think our eyes were bigger than our stomachs," Charles said, eyeing the spread.

"Well, we have all night to work through it," you replied with a grin.

You both settled on the couch, the boxes of pizza open in front of you and glasses of wine in hand. If someone had told you a few months ago that you would be in this context with Charles Leclerc you'd laughed at them.

You knew the girls would have a field day when they found out.

"I'm really glad you came this weekend," Charles said after chewing on his slice of pizza, "It's been nice having you around."

"I'm glad I came too," you said, smiling back. "I didn't realize how much fun it would be. I always come to the races with Kika so this was different. Thank you again for asking me."

"I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about asking you," Charles took a sip of his wine, "I wasn't sure if you'd want to spend time with me."

You almost tensed at his words. All this time, you had assumed he disliked you because he had been rude or dismissive in your past interactions. But maybe it had all been a misunderstanding, like Kika had told you multiple times.

Damn you hated when she was right.

"Why wouldn't I?" you partially knew the answer, but you still wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I don't know. I guess I always thought you didn't like me much," he shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I thought the same thing about you," you laughed softly, "I figured you were being rude because you didn't like me."

"I never meant to be rude to you, at least not intentionally," Charles shook his head, "I'm really sorry if I ever was."

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "It's okay, Charles. I guess we both just misunderstood each other."

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Charles gave a relieved smile, "It feels good to finally talk about it. Honestly, with the wedding coming up and the roles we're playing in it, I was nervous about the entire thing being awkward."

"We're good now," you said, feeling a genuine warmth spread through you. "And now I can join you in suit shopping without it being awkward."

Charles laughed, a sound that was starting to become one of your favorites. "Oh yeah, we still have to do that. We're definitely matching."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGTAM

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.gomes and 102,268 others

yourinstagram lots of red and lots of room service ❤️

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 4,026 comments

username1 SLAYYYY

username2 CHARLES AND YN???

lilymhe The one time we all decide to skip the GP… ♥︎ by francisca.cgomes, carmenmmundt

↳ lilyzneimer literally

↳ iamrebeccad 😭

↳ username1 WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT LET ME INNNNNNNNNN

pierregasly I guess you don’t need me for paddock passes anymore ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram i’ve never needed you that was always kika

username3 wait are her and charles together ??

↳ username4 they could be friends chill

username5 yn finally becoming a wag??? the masterplan worked ♥︎ by iamrebeccad, lilyzneimer, francisca.cgomes, lilymhe

↳ username1 ALL OF THE WAGS HERE AGAIN 😭

charles_leclerc Always a pleasure 🤍 ♥︎ by author

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

gasly - gomes wedding 💍💍 groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍MONTE CARLO, MONACO

"Charles you literally just passed me."

"Did I? Oh, I see you now," Charles said as he spotted you walking towards his car, hanging up the phone and parking so you could get in.

You got into the passenger seat, clicking your seat belt and dropping your hands to your lap, "Hello there."

"Hi love," Charles leaned in to peck your cheek, "How was work?"

This was routine by now. After your time alone in Austria, you and Charles couldn't stop hanging out. He picked you up from work, you cooked dinner for both of you, you had sitcom marathons together and so on.

It felt nice.

"It was meh," you shrugged, "My day is about to get interesting, though, isn't it?"

"If you find looking at ties and shirts for hours any amusing, then yes it is."

Today was the day you and Charles had been talking about for so long, you'd get his outfit for the Gasly-Gomes wedding.

You got your dress already, it was a beautiful satin green dress you absolutely loved. Since Charles was away racing when you bought it, you showed it to him through FaceTime and he insisted he needed to get the perfect suit to match it.

"It's going to be fun," you poked his side as he drove, "But we do need to find the perfect fit, Kika is going to kill us if we ruin her pictures."

"I mean you're going to look stunning so I just need to stand next to you and hope it rubs on me," he shrugged, and you felt your cheeks burn.

Charles made a habit out of complimenting you at this point, and even though you didn't want to think too much about it, you found yourself melting every single time.

"Feeding my ego again, Leclerc?" you teased.

"Just stating the obvious."

You engaged in small conversation as he drove to the boutique you've previously picked as your first option. One of the things about your unexpected friendship with Charles that you loved the most was how easy it is to talk to him about anything. It was easy, comfortable, and it made you realize just how much you enjoyed his company.

When you arrived at the boutique, Charles opened the door for you, a small gesture that always made you smile.

Inside, the boutique was filled with racks of elegant suits and dresses. A sales assistant approached you, and you explained what you were looking for. She guided you to a section with suits that could match what you needed.

Charles began browsing through the racks, holding up different jackets and shirts for you to see. After some deliberation, Charles found a suit that caught his eye.

"Try it on," you urged him, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Charles disappeared into the fitting room, and you waited eagerly. When he emerged, your breath caught in your throat. The suit fit him perfectly, making him look even more handsome than usual.

Since when were you this down for this man?

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to look at himself in the mirror.

"It's perfect," you said, "You look amazing, Charles."

He grinned, clearly pleased with your approval, "You think I look amazing, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head, Leclerc," you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

With the suit sorted, you moved on to finding the perfect tie. After a bit of searching, you found one that matched your dress perfectly. You held it up for Charles to see, and he nodded in approval.

"Looks great. Now, help me put it on?" he asked, a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

"Sure," you said, stepping closer to him.

As you worked on his tie, you realized just how close you were standing. Your hands moved deftly, but your heart raced with the proximity. You could feel Charles's breath on your face, and you couldn't help but glance at his lips every now and then. His eyes were fixed on you, a soft intensity in them that made your knees feel weak.

"There," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "all done."

But neither of you moved. Your faces were inches apart, and the air between you seemed to crackle with electricity. You noticed Charles glancing at your lips, and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

"Shame on Kika and Pierre," Charles said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We'll definitely be the best-looking pair at the wedding."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing just a bit. "Absolutely. They'll have to step up their game."

Charles's hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so tender it made your heart flutter even more. "Thanks for helping me with this," he said, his voice sincere.

"Anytime," you replied, your voice equally soft.

You lingered a moment longer. It was just you and Charles, standing so close, sharing a moment that felt incredibly intimate. Eventually, you both stepped back, a silent understanding passing between you.

You really wanted him to kiss you

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INSTAGRAM

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yourinstagram two weeks away from the gasly-gomes wedding: the happy couple, suit picking, speech writing and last girls trip as single ladies 🥲

tagged: fracisca.cgomes, pierregasly, charles_leclerc, lilymhe, lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt

view all 4,103 comments

username1 THE WEDDING IS SO SOOOOON

username2 BOYFRIEND CHARLES CONTENT JUST DROPPED

↳ username1 omfg are they together ???

iamrebeccad 🤍🤍🤍🤍

lilymhe “last girls trip as single ladies” and you’re the only one who’s actually single (not for long tho) ♥︎ by francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt, iamrebeccad

↳ username1 LILY😭

↳ yourinstagram 🙄🙄🙄🙄

username3 we love the honorary wag

username4 charles in a suit i’m going insane

landonorris Can’t wait for the most alcoholic weekend of the year ♥︎ by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, lancestroll

↳ pierregasly I’m terrified already

charles_leclerc Best man and maid of honor, match made in heaven ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 CHARLESSSSS

↳ francisca.cgomes you’re welcome

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the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

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📍PORTOFINO, ITALY

The most awaited weekend of the year was finally here, the Gasly-Gomes wedding bound was in full swing. Guests arrived to Portofino from all over, their excitement palpable as they gathered to celebrate the love between Pierre and Kika.

Despite Charles' attempts to convince you to fly with him, you were firm on your decision of flying with Kika, you knew how nervous she felt and you wanted to be by your best friend's side for the most important moment of her life.

However, you were attending the rehearsal dinner together. Which had caused a commotion with the girls earlier in the week.

Their so called plan of getting me a boyfriend from the grid won't work, you thought to yourself, I'm not even looking for a boyfriend, Charles is my friend.

The rehearsal dinner was set in a beautiful, intimate restaurant overlooking the sea, and you were waiting for Charles at the hotel's reception to leave together. You smoothed out your dress, glancing at the grand clock on the wall, you felt a bit nervous, which only made you think about Kika and the fact that she was probably a million times more anxious.

"Hey there," Charles's voice broke through your thoughts. You turned to see him approaching, looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit, "Mon Dieu, you look insanely gorgeous."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. "Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself."

He grinned, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

You linked your arm with his, and together you made your way to the car waiting outside. The drive to the restaurant was filled with light conversation and laughter. Charles had a way of making you feel at ease, and tonight was no different.

As you arrived at the venue, the soft glow of candles and string lights illuminated the setup. Tables were adorned with flowers, and the sound of the waves provided a soothing backdrop. You could see Pierre and Kika at the entrance, greeting guests with radiant smiles.

You were really happy for them.

"Let's go say hi," Charles suggested, leading you towards the happy couple.

"You both look amazing!" Kika exclaimed once you approached them, hugging you tightly. "Thank you for being here."

Pierre soon joined, greeting both you and Charles with a warm smile. "Thanks for keeping her sane on the flight here," he joked, giving Kika a playful nudge.

"It's the least I can do, you already stole her from me ," you said with a grin.

"I promise to share her from time to time." Pierre joked, making all of you laugh.

The four of you exchanged a few more words before making your way into the venue. The atmosphere inside was magical, the soft hum of conversation and laughter filled the air.

You really could feel the love and excitement radiating from everyone present.

You made your way towards the table, noticing Lando by the bar already. You couldn't help but giggle, he was dead serious about going all out with the alcohol this weekend.

You settled into your seats, Charles opening your chair for you before sitting down. You were at a big table where most drivers and their partners were already settled, Carmen and George next to you and Max and Kelly on Charles' side.

Damn, you were really the honorary WAG

"What?" you said, noticing Carmen's teasing smile as she glanced at you and Charles.

"Oh nothing," she shrugged, "You guys look really cute together."

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "Thanks, Carmen," you replied, trying to brush off her comment. "We're here as friends."

"Sure, sure," Carmen said with a wink, and you couldn't help but chuckle at her persistence.

The evening flowed smoothly, the conversations lively and the laughter contagious. As you sipped on your champagne, you couldn't help but steal glances at Charles. He seemed so at ease, laughing and joking with the others, his eyes occasionally meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

Dinner was served, a spread of Italian cuisine that had everyone praising the chefs. You and Charles shared bites of each other's dishes, a habit that had become second nature.

After dinner, it was time for the speeches. Since you were best man and maid of honor, you came up with the idea of surprising Kika and Pierre with heartfelt messages, which lead you to nights of takeout at his place to help each other write your speeches.

Charles was the first to stand, his presence commanding attention as he held up his glass.

"Bonsoir, everyone," he began, his voice clear and confident, "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Charles,"

"No one knows you! You're not world champion," Max yelled from his place, making everyone laugh.

"Somebody's jealous because he's not best man, I see," Charles teased, causing laughter again, "Anyway, I have known Pierre for many years now, and I can honestly say he is one of the best friends I could ever ask for. And Kika, you have brought out the best in him. Your love story is truly inspiring, and I am so honored to stand here today as your best man."

His words were heartfelt and genuine, and you could see Pierre and Kika's eyes shining with emotion. Charles continued with anecdotes about him and Pierre's karting days and well-wishes, his speech met with applause and cheers by the end.

It was your turn now, you were nervous but Charles sent a wink your way as he passed you the microphone that made you relax.

"Kika and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember," you began, your voice steady. "We have shared so many incredible moments together, and seeing her find someone who makes her so happy is truly a blessing. Pierre, you have brought so much joy into her life, and I am beyond thrilled to see you both start this new chapter together."

Your speech was filled with love and appreciation, and by the time you finished, there were a few more teary eyes around the room. Kika hugged you tightly, whispering her thanks in your ear.

After the speeches, the lights dimmed, and music began to play. Everyone gathered around the dance floor, and Charles turned to you with a mischievous smile. "Care to dance?"

"Sure," you replied, taking his hand as he led you to the center of the dance floor. The music was slow, and Charles pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You danced together, your bodies moving in sync. You felt his breath on your cheek, and the warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. You looked up at him, your faces inches apart, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared.

From across the room, Lily and Rebecca watched with satisfied smiles. Alex joined them, raising an eyebrow. "So, you think your plan worked?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

"Definitely," Lily said, her eyes twinkling. "Look at them. They're practically made for each other."

Rebecca nodded in agreement. "We've been planning this for months, and it looks like it's finally happening."

"Well, I have to admit, you girls make a pretty good matchmaking team," Alex chuckled, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend.

"We just knew they needed a little push," Lily grinned, "And now, look at them. They can't take their eyes off each other."

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TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

liked by iamrebeccad, charles_leclerc and 254,378 others

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND JUST GOT MARRIED 🥲🥲🥲 brb i’ll be dancing and weeping all night

tagged: pierregasly, francisca.cgomes

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username1 OMFG KIKA LOOKS STUNNING

username2 AHHHH THIS CONTENT

lilymhe same over here 😩😩 ♥︎ by author

username3 god i’d give up my first born yo be at that wedding right now

yukitsunoda0511 yukierre is for life ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram so is kikayn

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM 😭😭

↳ username2 ooohhh yuki and yn should get together so she’s finally an official wag

↳ username3 NOOO WE NEED CHARLESYN

francisca.cgomes I LOVE YOU JUST GRABBED MY PHONE TO COMMENT ON THIS ❤️❤️ now back to my wedding lol ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 she’s too iconic

liked by username1, username2 and 25,926 others

f1gossip Charles Leclerc getting cozy with one of the bridesmaids at the Gasly-Gomes wedding 😳

view all 2,004 comments

username1 OMFG

username2 LOOORD

username3 ISNT THAT YN 😭😭

↳ username1 YEAH

username4 oh god lando really exposed them, someone take his phone from him

username5 WHAT DOES THIS MEANNNN

username6 oh to be at that wedding right now

username7 YN HONORARY WAG IS NO MORE ITS TIME FOR YN REAL WAG ERA

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📍PORTOFINO, ITALY

Kika Gomes and Pierre Gasly were finally married.

The ceremony was held at a charming seaside chapel, adorned with white flowers and delicate ribbons. Guests filled the pews, their faces reflecting the joy and love of the occasion.

You stood beside Kika as her maid of honor, heart swelling with pride and happiness as she exchanged vows with Pierre. Charles, standing beside Pierre as the best man, caught your eye several times, his gaze warm and reassuring. The ceremony was beautiful, filled with heartfelt words, laughter, and a few tears of joy.

Charles made sure to compliment you from the moment he first saw you, and everyone was gushing over the two of you being color coordinated, just like you thought they would be.

After the vows were exchanged and the couple was pronounced husband and wife, it was time for the reception, or as Lando Norris would like to call it, the time to get absolutely wasted.

The party was held at a stunning villa overlooking the sea. The evening was filled with delicious food, heartfelt toasts, and lively dancing.

Just like the rehearsal dinner two days earlier, you and Charles were together all the time. Sitting beside each other at the table, Charles grabbing the train of your dress for you when you needed it, keeping at least a hand on each other all the time. You knew that wasn't "we're just friends" behavior, but you were too happy to mind.

As the night progressed, the drinks kept flowing, and everyone was in high spirits. Lando, true to his word, was leading the charge in getting everyone to the dance floor. You and Charles danced together, his hands on your shoulders as you swayed to the music, his breath on your neck as he whispered to your ear.

You knew some prying eyes were on both of you — and by that, you mean Rebecca, Lily and their respective boyfriends—, but once again, you were too happy and tipsy to mind.

After hours of dancing and celebrating, you finally took a break and sat down with your friends at one of the tables near the dance floor.

“You two were adorable on the dance floor,” Lily teased, giving you a playful nudge.

“Oh, stop,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “We’re just having fun.”

“Yeah, right. Just friends, huh?” Rebecca smirked.

Before you could respond, Charles appeared at the edge of the table, looking as handsome as ever, his suit jacket long forgotten and a few buttons of his shirt undone.

You were really down bad for him.

“Mind if I steal YN for a bit?” he asked, his eyes twinkling from the alcohol.

"Let the girl breathe mate! She's probably tired of you," Carlos teased, earning a round of laughter from the table.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I think I can manage a bit more of Charles," you said, standing up and taking his offered hand.

"Of course you can," Rebecca said with a smirk. "Go meet your boyfriend."

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across your face. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you protested weakly, standing up from the table.

“Not yet, anyway.” Lily laughed.

You ignored her comment, though your heart did skip a beat. You don't know if Charles had heard any of it, but you let him lead you out to the terrace, your hand wrapped around his. From the corner of you eye, you saw Kika looking at you, nudging her husband and pointing at you both, teasing smiles on their faces.

They just got married so you'll let it slide.

“Nice to get a break from all the noise,” you said once you reached the terrace, leaning against the railing and looking out at the sea.

“Definitely,” Charles agreed, standing close beside you. “It’s been a perfect night, though.”

"I know," you smiled softly, "I'm so happy for Kika and Pierre, they deserve this so much."

"They really do. It's been a beautiful day," Charles nodded, his eyes fixed on you, "Just as beautiful as you."

He stepped closer, wrapping a hand around your waist, pulling you gently against him. Your heart raced at his touch, and you couldn't help but glance at his lips, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. You'd thought about it more times than you'd like to admit, and the way he glanced at yours told you he did too.

“Charles,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “what are you trying to do?”

He smiled, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m trying to charm the pretty bridesmaid,” he replied softly, his thumb tracing small circles on your waist.

You laughed, feeling a flutter in your stomach. “And how’s that working out for you?”

“Let’s find out,” he said, leaning in slowly.

He closed the distance between you, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more, slow and sweet, filled with a longing that had been building for months. His hands slid up to cup your face, deepening the kiss, and you melted into him, losing yourself in the moment.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Definitely working,” you whispered, making him chuckle.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes full of affection. “Good to know,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth.

You spent a few more moments on the terrace, talking and laughing, sharing more kisses and wrapped around each other.

You were not sure what this meant for your friendship, but you were too happy to care. The night felt magical, like a dream you never wanted to end. It was a night of new beginnings, not just for Kika and Pierre, but maybe for you as well.

As you both made your way back inside, hand in hand, you noticed a few knowing smiles and exchanged glances among your friends. Kika and Pierre were still on the dance floor, looking blissfully happy, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of joy for them.

“Look who’s back!” Lando called out, a wide grin on his face.

“What’s going on?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at their suspicious behavior.

Kika abruptly approached the group, dragging Pierre by the hand a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Everybody pay up,” she said, holding out her hand.

Charles and you exchanged confused looks. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“We had a bet going,” Kika explained, clearly enjoying this. “We bet that we could get you two together before the wedding. And technically, we did.”

“Damn, I didn't think you girls would actually make it happen,” George handed over some money with a laugh.

“Wait, you all really bet on us? The infamous masterplan was actually a real thing?” you asked, still processing the revelation.

“Of course it was,” Rebecca said with a grin. “It was obvious to everyone except you two.”

"I can't believe you guys," you said, shaking your head but unable to suppress a smile, covering your face with your hands, Charles pecked your temple gently.

"To be fair, the girls started it, we just joined in later," Oscar said, trying to deflect the blame.

“I can’t believe it took a wedding and a bet to get us here," Charles chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "I guess we owe you all a thank you,"

"No need to thank us. Just be happy," Carmen sent a wink your way, making you smile.

"Alrighty, a toast now," Lando said, climbing on top of a chair. Everyone knew he was too drunk to be stopped so you just let him, "To Kika and Pierre the happiest and most beautiful couple in the world!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed through the crowd as glasses clinked together, laughter and cheers filling the air.

"And to YN finally becoming an official WAG!" Kika chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief, making the girls cheer.

"Official, huh?" Charles murmured, leaning in closer.

"We'll talk about that later, Leclerc," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the night was a whirlwind of dancing, laughter, champagne and celebration. Charles never left your side as you enjoyed with your friends.

As the party continued, you found yourselves on the dance floor once more, swaying to a slow song. Charles held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you. "So, how does it feel to be an official WAG?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear.

"As far as I'm concerned, you haven't asked anything, mister," you teased raising your eyebrows.

"Well then, consider this me asking," he murmured, his voice playful yet sincere.

"In that case," you began, teasing him further, "I suppose it feels pretty good."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Good to hear," he replied softly, brushing his lips against your temple.

Being an official wag was amazing

read some extra scenes here !

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