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suliigwp · 1 month ago

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GAME OF HEARTS

Charles Leclerc x player!reader

SULI: I worked so hard and??? It's so long and so rushed¿???? It's so long Tumblr keeps glitching and I cannot write in peace in just gonna post it. Sorry I'm not a professional. I'm sorry I love writing horrible person! Readers - sorry if your name is sally - also this is part one cus appearently Tumblr has limits?

Warnings:bet relationship, suggestive content, swearing, hurt no comfort (more in part 2?), Usage of Y/n, reader is a translator, mentioned to have big dark eyes and brunette hair (sorry Blondies, it was only one time though!), bad writing lol

Y/n isn’t heartless. But she is reckless.

Everything started as a joke—one of those drunk, late-night dares during a getaway with friends. One of them, Sally was her name, bored, smirked when people started talking about y/n's player tendencies.

And tossed out the idea like it meant nothing:

“100k. Bet you can’t make Charles Leclerc fall for you. You can't resist him."

There was laughter, a round of drinks. Y/n raised a brow. "As in, formula 1 Charles Leclerc?" And smirked when Sally nodded. She tilted her head. She hates it when someone tells her she cannot do something.

“I don't need your money. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

Y/N didn’t know Charles personally. Only as a name in a sport she loved, Only knew his face from the covers of magazines, his calm confidence, the precision in the way he carried himself. He was magnetic in a way most people couldn’t touch. He seemed untouchable.

That was the appeal.

...

Charles always loved sunny days and warm weathers, basking in the sun and swimming around was one of his favorite things to do, but this week, Silverstone Grand Prix was upon him. And the UK was always rainy, or the weather was doing this in spite of him.

As he waited for his hotel keys, he looked around in the large hotel he was staying at. Beautiful ceilings, paintings decorating the walls and the lights dimmed, creating a comforting atmosphere as the rain outside hit the windows.

He thanked the receptionist and took the keys, grabbing the bags that he had put on the floor, trying to gather everything in his arms, denying with a smile when he was offered help.

Stopping in front of the elevator, huffing as he put the bags down again, he heard footsteps coming and whipped around when the person talked.

"You dropped this."

She's holding out his room keys, hair and skin damp from the rain, nails painted dark red, big black coat over her shoulders. He noticed a bit of black smudged under her eyes, likely the rain washing down her makeup.

His hand slowly comes up and gently takes the keys. "Thank you."

She just nods. "You should be more careful. You look like the type who loses things often." And turns around.

His eyes followed her as she walked up to a door with a sign.

"INT. TRANSLATION CONFERENCE. PLEASE KEEP QUIET."

She opens the door, and walks in. The elevator behind him dings as the doors slide open. Picking up his bags as he clutches the keys a little tighter, he presses the last floor.

...

Charles steps into the quiet lobby, hands in his pockets, head slightly down. It's been a long day, press, debriefs, social things he didn’t feel like attending. He’s waiting for the elevator when he notices her.

She’s standing in front of a small conference room door, squinting at the sign taped crookedly to the glass.

“INT. TRANSLATION CONFERENCE – CLOSED SESSION”

She exhales sharply, mutters something in French, perfect French. It surprises him. And he says, without thinking:

“Your accent’s better than mine.”

She glances over her shoulder, dark eyes landing on him like she’s sizing him up in under a second. Something shifts in her eyes, he doesn't know what. “That’s not hard.”

Her tone is dry, not unfriendly but not interested, either. Charles lets out a small, surprised laugh. “You work in translation?”

She raises a brow, turns fully to face him now. “I am a translator.”

“Really?” His interest sharpens. “So how many languages?”

She tilts her head, considering him for a moment like she’s trying to decide if he deserves the truth. He's already interested, eh?

“Seven.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“That’s what my examiner says.” She turns back to the door, about to leave him with that.

But then, something in her pauses. She looks at him again.

“And you?” she asks. “What do you do?”

Charles hesitates. Then smiles. “Something with engines.”

She smirks, just barely, and nods. “Sounds noisy.”

“It is.”

They stand there in a comfortable kind of silence, the moment oddly private in the middle of a public space. She reaches for the door.

“Good luck with your engines.”

“Good luck with your... seven languages.” He grins. “You never told me your name.”

She doesn’t answer. Just pushes the door open with a soft chuckle and disappears inside.

He watches the door close behind her, then finally heads to the elevator, already wondering when he’ll see her again.

...

She steps out of her room quietly, barefoot, wearing a hoodie that clearly isn’t hers, sleeves too long, hood bunched up around her neck. In her hand, a book. She was just going to sit somewhere quiet and read, clear her head.

But when she turns the corner near the little lounge at the end of the hallway, she finds someone already there, curled up in the armchair by the window, staring at the streetlights below.

He hears her footsteps and looks over.

“Oh, hello. Can’t sleep either?”

She pauses. Nods, one hand still on the corner wall. “No. Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

He shifts, making room. “It’s all yours if you want the seat.”

She crosses the floor slowly, eyes flicking to the view, then to him.

“We can share.”

She sits, not too close, but enough that their shoulders are angled toward each other.

A few seconds pass in silence.

“You read before bed?”

She glances at the book. “It helps. When my mind won’t shut up.”

He smiles faintly, eyes back on the window. “I drive when that happens. Not ideal at midnight, though.”

She hums. “No. Probably not.”

They sit like that for a while. It’s quiet, but not awkward. The city lights paint soft shapes on their faces. Eventually, he glances at her again.

“You’re quieter than I expected.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you expect?”

He shrugs, barely grinning. “I’m not sure. But not this.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You didn’t.”

He says it gently, without teasing. She blinks at him, almost caught off guard.

“Well,” she murmurs, “you’re not what I expected either.”

“No?”

She tilts her head. “You talk less than I thought. That’s a good thing.”

A small laugh escapes him, quiet, tired, sincere.

“Maybe that’s why we’re both here.”

She leans her head against the back of the couch, gazing at him sideways. He falls into the black hole that is her eyes.

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“Or maybe we’re both just bad at being alone.”

Something shifts, just slightly. A softness.

Charles quietly murmurs. “Maybe.”

She tucks her legs up into the chair, the book still resting in her lap, forgotten. Charles leans back as well, their bodies now mirroring one another without meaning to. A quiet comfort settles over them. The kind that only happens when the world is asleep and no one is watching.

The city is blurred below them. Their reflections hover faintly in the glass.

"Do you ever wonder how many people are out there, also avoiding something?"

She considers that.

“All the time. I think people are always trying to run from something.”

He nods. “What about you?”

“I’m not running.” She says it quickly, maybe too quickly. “Just... delaying.”

He turns to face her slightly, intrigued. “Delaying what?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “That’s a bit personal for someone I just met.”

Her tone is light, teasing but the edge is there. Charles raises a hand in surrender.

“Fair enough.”

A beat.

Then she adds, quieter. “What about you? What are you delaying?”

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drops to the floor, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

"Letting someone get close again."

That surprises her. Her head tilts, just a little.

She doesn’t tease this time. Doesn’t fill the space with commentary. Just.

“Fair enough.”

A long silence follows one of those silences that says more than speaking ever could. And eventually, when she stretches out her legs and her knee brushes his, neither of them moves away.

She glances over at him, then back to the view.

“If I fall asleep here, you’ll wake me, right?”

"sure, yeah."

She doesn’t answer. She just leans her head against the back cushion again, eyes fluttering shut.

A few minutes pass. Maybe more. The city below sparkles like a quiet secret. Her breathing evens out just slightly, not asleep, but teetering on the edge of it.

Charles watches her in the reflection of the glass before daring to glance at her directly.

She's still hugging her knees, but looser now. The book has slid halfway off her lap.

He speaks, barely above a whisper. “Don't fall asleep.”

It hangs there.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but something shifts in her posture.

Still, she keeps her face turned away from his. And maybe that’s why he dares to go on.

“You never told me your name.”

A smile ghosts across her lips. Not the amused kind. The tired kind. Like something inside her is so excited. But he doesn't see it so.

“You’d want to know it?”

Charles leans in slightly, voice steady.

“Yeah. I’d want to know everything.”

Silence again. She bites her lower lip, opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, just a bit, enough to meet his gaze.

Then softly, almost like she’s handing him a weapon, whispers out her name.

He doesn’t react right away. Just studies her face, like he’s committing it to memory now that he knows. Then, simply.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. Charles. Charles Leclerc."

And she says nothing.

...

It was practice day and Charles runs down to the first floor early in the morning, he liked arriving at the paddock when only a few people were there, but the weather had other plans.

It was pouring and his driver was late, texting him that there was a holdup on the road thanks to the horrible weather, he pocketed his phone again and leaned on the big pillars outside, looking out at the rain.

A sigh next to him broke him out of the trance, glancing at his right - it's her again.

She's looking down at her phone, writing something angrily, fingers quickly swiping over the screen, and equally angrily drops the device in her bag, crossing her arms.

He tries looking away, to not make this awkward, but he was intrigued.

"y/n"

Her head turned towards him, straightening up when she saw him.

"Hi."

She blinked. "You're the guy who looses things." She smirked slightly. "Did you sleep well last night?"

He chuckled lightly, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, um, thank you for-"

"-Oh finally."

He shifts his weight, runs a hand through his hair as she runs to the car

“Hey,” he calls out. She turns around to face him again.

“I don’t want that to be the last time I see you. I mean, I hope it isn’t.”

She raises an eyebrow, watching him now.

He pushes on, a little nervous but determined. “Could I... maybe get your number?”

She studies him for a moment. Not coy, careful.

Then she holds out her hand, palm up. “Phone.”

He blinks, then fumbles for it, unlocking the screen and handing it over.

She types something in, then hands it back.

“I don’t answer unknown numbers,” she warns.

He looks down. There it is. Y/n.

“I won’t be unknown for long,” he says, maybe a little smug.

She gives him one last glance.

“We’ll see.”

And then she’s gone.

But he looks down at the name in his phone again and smiles.

...

They run into each other again.

Not by chance, he asked the hotel concierge if she was still checked in, then lingered downstairs under the pretense of waiting for someone. He didn’t expect it to work.

But there she is, emerging from the elevator, files in hand, other hand wrapped around a coffee cup.

She pauses when she sees him. Her gaze flicks down, then up again.

“Twice in two days,” she says. “Starting to think you’re following me.”

He smiles, soft and sheepish. “If I say yes, will you call security?”

She takes a sip of her drink, pretending to think. “Depends. What’s your angle?”

Charles hesitates, then gestures toward the lobby café. “A question and a croissant?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What kind of question?”

“The kind you ask before a first date.”

She exhales a quiet laugh. It surprises her more than it should. “That was... smooth.”

“It really wasn’t,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

A pause.

He adds, gentler this time.

“I don’t know what it was last night. But I liked it. You. And if you let me, I’d like to keep finding out.”

She looks at him for a long moment. No teasing now. Just quiet appraisal.

She nods slowly.

“Alright then,” she murmurs. “Croissant first.”

He smiles, and it’s the kind that reaches his eyes.

And she walks past him toward the café, fully aware he’s following now. This time, on purpose.

They take the corner table by the window, quiet, a little tucked away. She sits across from him, pulling her coffee closer as he orders them two croissants, one plain and one chocolate. He doesn’t even ask which she’d prefer. She notices that.

The silence is comfortable at first. A kind of echo from the night before.

Then she speaks.

“So. The question.”

Charles looks up, eyes warm. “Right. You remember.”

“Hard to forget when a croissant was promised.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Okay.” He leans forward slightly. “Will you go out with me?”

She blinks. “That’s it?”

“That’s the question.”

She watches him. Eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out if he’s joking - or if he’s actually serious.

“Do you always ask girls you don’t know out over breakfast?”

“Only the ones I spend the night talking to and still want to see in daylight.”

That gets her. She shifts in her seat, caught off guard. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“And you are exactly what I hoped you wouldn’t be.”

She arches a brow.

“Unnerving,” he clarifies. “In a good way.”

The croissants arrive. He breaks a piece of his and passes her the chocolate one, like he knew.

She stares at him for a long second. Like she’s giving him one last chance to change his mind.

Then, finally, she nods.

“Alright.”

He blinks. “Alright?”

“I’ll go out with you.”

And there it is. A slow smile that spreads across his face, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

Neither of them says anything after that.

They just eat their croissants in silence, sharing one morning like it could be the first of many.

Victory bells.

...

Charles shifts on his feet outside her door, rubbing his palms together once before sliding them into the pockets of his coat. He tells himself to relax, that it’s just dinner. Just conversation. He doesn't know why he's nervous, it's not like it's his first date. He rubs his palms on his trousers and knocked twice - gently.

The door opens.

And all the air leaves his lungs.

She stands there in a long black coat, fitted at the waist, the collar turned up slightly. Her hair is tucked behind one ear, a glint of silver at her lobe. The lipstick is deep, dramatic. The look is effortless, and devastating.

His mouth opens, then closes.

She lifts an eyebrow. “You forget how to speak, Leclerc?"

“No,” he says finally, recovering with a smile. “I just wasn’t ready.”

“For?”

“That.”

He gestures vaguely, like the word gorgeous might be too much, too soon.

She glances down at herself, then back up with a smirk. “You’ve seen me in a hoodie.”

“And I thought about that hoodie all week.”

She laughs, a low sound, half-genuine, half-disbelieving.

“Well,” she says, locking her door behind her, “try to keep it together.”

“No promises,” he murmurs, falling into step beside her.

And she knows, without looking, that he’s still watching her from the corner of his eye the whole way to the elevator.

...

She’s halfway through telling him about a conference in Geneva, something about a panel that went sideways when someone tried to improvise in Russian, when Charles leans in, elbows resting on the table, chin propped in his palm.

"Wait," he interrupts gently, grinning. "You travel that much for work?"

She nods, sipping her wine. "When they need me, yeah. Depends where the crisis is."

He arches a brow. “So where’s home base? Or do you just live on planes?”

“Monaco,” she says casually, setting her glass down.

His smile lingers, but there’s a beat of surprise behind it. “Monaco?”

“Mhm.”

He sits back slightly, lets out a low laugh. “This just keeps getting better.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Does it?”

“You’re fluent in seven languages, calm under pressure, and apparently my neighbor,” he says, shaking his head like he’s only just processing it all.

Her lips curl, but she hides it behind her glass. “You make it sound like a résumé.”

Charles tips his head, eyes still on her. “It’s impressive. I mean it.”

She shrugs, a little bashful despite herself. “I just do my job.”

“Most people don’t do it in seven languages,” he counters, smiling softer now. “That’s not nothing.”

She meets his gaze for a moment, the air between them going quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just… aware.

Then she leans forward slightly, elbow on the table, mirroring him. “So what, you’re suddenly into translators now?”

Charles grins. “I think I might be.”

She laughs.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to be charmed by grammar rules and diplomatic syntax,” she teases.

“Maybe I’m discovering new things about myself,” he replies easily. “You’re a good influence.”

She lifts her brow. “Too soon to say that.”

“Maybe,” he says. Then, after a pause, gentler. “But I like where this is going.”

And this time, she doesn’t tease. Just looks at him for a beat too long, and nods.

“Me too.”

Bingo indeed.

She twirls the stem of her glass thoughtfully, then lifts her gaze again. “And what about you?” she asks. “You’ve been politely dodging questions about your job all evening.”

Charles smiles, but there’s a flicker of something sheepish in his expression. “I haven’t been dodging.”

“You have,” she says, amused. “Artfully. With compliments and curiosity deflection tactics.”

He chuckles. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

He exhales, then sits up straighter. “Well, I drive.”

“For work?"

He nods. “Professionally.”

She tilts her head, not quite connecting the dots. “Like… logistics? Or—”

“Formula One.”

There’s a beat. Then she blinks.

“Oh,” she says, slowly. “Like actual Formula One.”

He tries not to laugh. “Yeah. That one.”

“You’re a Formula One driver.”

“I am.”

She stares for a second, eyebrows rising. “And here I thought I was the cool one at the table.”

“You are,” he says quickly, leaning in again. “But I get to look smug now, right?”

She leans back, still processing. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Like?”

“The neck tan. The posture. The slight air of someone who’s crashed something expensive before.”

Charles laughs, warm and unfiltered. “Only a few times.”

She smirks. “Do I need to be worried about the ride home?”

“I’m an excellent driver,” he says, mock offended.

“You’re a fast driver.”

“There’s a difference?”

She hums. “You tell me.”

He grins, hands folding on the table. “Let’s just say—next time, I’ll drive you around Monaco's best places and you be the judge."

She lifts her glass again, eyes sparkling. “Deal.”

And somehow, dinner feels even easier after that.

...

The car ride back is quieter.

Not in a tense way, more like neither of them want to break whatever’s been building all evening. The kind of silence that hums, charged and contemplative, as the city lights drift past outside the window.

Charles glances over at her once. She’s looking out, her reflection clear in the glass. Her lipstick’s faded a little. She hasn’t noticed.

He thinks she’s even more beautiful like that—undone just slightly, real in the soft blur of the night.

When they pull up to the hotel, he steps out first, moving quickly to her side. Their hands brush as he opens the door, and something lingers in that small touch.

She doesn’t say anything as they enter the lobby, but her pace slows beside him.

The elevator ride is a quiet thing too. Close. Comfortable.

When it dings at her floor, she turns to him, half a step outside already, and he thinks maybe this is the moment to say goodnight.

Instead, she looks at him and murmurs, “You coming up?”

He meets her gaze. Reads the stillness in her face, the slight tremble of something unspoken behind her eyes. She’s not asking him to start anything. Just... not to leave yet.

He nods once. “Yeah. I’ll walk you up.”

Her room isn’t far. They stop outside her door, and she pulls the keycard from her coat pocket, but doesn’t swipe it yet. Her hand rests lightly on the keycard.

Charles offers a small smile. “You really undersold how good you are at conversation.”

She gives a quiet laugh, dipping her head. “That’s because you didn’t hear me at the conference panel last month. I made a joke in Japaneese no one laughed at.”

“That’s because you haven’t had me in the crowd,” he says gently, stepping just a little closer. “I would’ve laughed.”

She looks up at him, something soft in her eyes now, less guarded than before, still sharp, still her, but warmer.

“I had a good time tonight,” she says, her voice a touch quieter than usual.

“I know,” he replies. “I could tell.”

He’s teasing, but not in a smug way. Just… charmed.

There’s a pause then, right before she steps toward him. Just a small step.

And without warning, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, light, but lingering for half a second too long to be casual.

Her voice is low when she pulls back, almost amused at her own boldness.

“Thank you, Charles.”

He blinks, caught off guard for once and maybe a little speechless.

She doesn’t wait for him to find the words. Just gives a small smile, turns, and slips into her room, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

He stands there a moment longer, his fingers brushing where her lips just were, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble.

...

Her phone rings before she even opens her eyes.

At first, she groans and buries herself deeper into the covers. But it doesn’t stop.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

With a sigh that says she already knows what’s coming, she reaches for it blindly. One look at the caller ID and she huffs a quiet laugh.

“Already?” she croaks, voice sleep-rough.

“You absolute witch,” the voice on the other end hisses, half-gasping, half-laughing. “I wake up, check Instagram, and BAM. You. Charles Leclerc. That smile. Walking you back to your hotel like a scene from a Netflix show.”

Y/n stretches, blinking at the ceiling, the edges of her lips curling. “He is very photogenic.”

“No. No. Don’t downplay this. There are at least six paparazzi angles and two fan videos. You were smiling.”

“I do that sometimes,” she says dryly, already scrolling through the headlines.

Mystery Brunette Accompanies Charles Leclerc in London

Charles Leclerc Seen With Translator Girlfriend?

Fluent in Love? F1 Star and Monaco-Based Linguist Spark Romance Rumors

She snorts. “Fluent in love? That’s a bit dramatic. He was fun though.”

“Okay, but you said he was boring,” her friend reminds her between cackles.

“I say a lot of things,” she replies, flipping to the next headline. “Also, I’m the one who walked away last night. I kissed his cheek, that’s all.”

“Oh please, he looked like he was ready to grab you. You cracked him. He’s done for.”

There’s a pause, and then Sally adds with mock seriousness: “So are you admitting I was right?”

Y/n grins. “About what?”

“That you couldn’t resist.”

She laughs now, fully awake. “No. I’m admitting I played it better.”

They both burst out laughing, sharp, chaotic, victorious.

Outside, the sun hits the glass of her hotel window, and down below, London doesn’t know what it’s in for.

Neither does Charles.

...

It’s late afternoon when the knock comes.

Soft. Hesitant. The kind of knock that isn’t sure if it should even be happening.

Anastasia’s still in her robe, hair pulled back lazily, a mug of coffee in one hand, the TV murmuring something she’s not paying attention to. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Another knock, two gentle taps.

She sets the mug down and pads barefoot across the carpet. Pauses. Peeks through the peephole.

And there he is.

Charles, standing just off to the side, like he’s trying not to be obvious. Hoodie pulled low over his hair. Hands in his pockets. Looking, for once, not like an international sports star, but just a boy who maybe thinks he messed something up.

She opens the door.

He straightens a little when he sees her, one hand lifting in a sheepish wave.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I know I should’ve texted.”

Y/n leans against the doorframe, brows raised, waiting.

He scratches the back of his neck. “I just... wanted to say sorry. For the photos. For the attention. I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t think-”

She tilts her head, watching him flounder with a small, unreadable smile.

“Charles,” she interrupts gently. “You didn’t hire the paparazzi.”

He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly. “Still. You didn’t sign up for that.”

She shrugs. “It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

There’s a pause. His eyes search hers. Quiet.

“I just didn’t want you to feel like... you were being dragged into something.”

She watches him for another moment, then smiles, shaking her head a bit.

"You worry too much."

...

The garage is humming, the usual pre-qualifying buzz vibrating through the floor. Charles is leaning over a monitor, reviewing data, when Lando saunters up behind him, helmet under one arm, smirk already locked and loaded.

“So,” Lando says casually, “how was dinner?”

Charles doesn’t even turn around. “Dinner was fine.”

“Oh yeah?” Lando steps up beside him, pretending to study the screen. “Just fine? Because, see… Twitter thinks otherwise.”

Charles sighs through his nose. “Twitter needs a new hobby.”

Lando grins. “Don’t dodge me, man. You asked me for a list of restaurants that were ‘quiet, not flashy, good food, somewhere she won’t hate.’ That was suspicious from the start.”

“I was being polite,” Charles says, dry.

“You were being a man with a plan.” Lando laughs. “So? She liked it?”

Charles finally looks at him, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She did.”

“And you?” Lando nudges him. “You like her?”

Charles exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know yet.”

Lando watches him for a beat. “You’re lying.”

Charles shrugs.

Lando grins again. “This is fun. I hope you fall in love or crash and burn - either way, I get a front row seat.”

“Remind me not to ask you for dating advice again.”

“Too late,” Lando tosses over his shoulder as he walks off. “You're already in too deep.”

...

The suite is dim, curtains drawn against the grey London sky. On the screen, the pre-race coverage buzzes softly, commentators chattering, camera shots sweeping across the grid. Charles’s name flashes in the lower third. He’s smiling at a fan in the paddock, oblivious.

Y/n lounges in an armchair, legs crossed, a glass of champagne poised delicately in one hand. Her friend sprawls on the bed behind her, flicking through photos on her phone. “These are gold,” she says. “Look at this one, he’s looking at you like you put a spell on him.”

Y/n doesn’t look. She already knows. “I did,” she replies calmly.

The camera cuts to Charles climbing into the car, the prancing horse logo gleaming under the lights. Y/n watches him, unreadable.

“You’re scary,” her friend says, but it sounds like admiration.

“No,” Y/n murmurs, eyes sharp. “I’m good at what I do.”

Her friend laughs, breathless. “Do you think he knows yet?”

Y/n finally glances over her shoulder, a slow, amused smile blooming. “Doesn't suspect a thing."

The lights on the screen go red, one by one. Anastasia leans forward just slightly, eyes locked on Charles’s car.

“Let’s see how well he performs when he thinks someone’s watching just for him.”

Her friend whistles. “You’re ice cold.”

But Y/n only lifts her glass again and takes a sip.

...

Her friend is still giddy beside her, replaying a slow-motion clip of Charles overtaking someone on Lap 38 like it’s cinematic brilliance.

Y/n, still calm and composed, scrolls through her phone until she finds his name.

She doesn’t overthink it. She never does.

The message is simple. Just warm enough to make his heart jolt. Just vague enough to keep him guessing.

Before she hits send, her friend glances over. “You’re texting him now?”

Y/n smirks, thumb hovering. “Of course. Timing is everything.”

She hits send.

A few thousand miles away, Charles is just stepping out of the car, helmet still in hand, surrounded by noise and celebration. He laughs and his dimples most noticeable in the sun.

“Didn't think you'd take this so seriously” her friend murmurs, impressed.

Y/n only smiles, the phone still glowing in her hand. She watches him on the podium as he closes his eyes for the national anthem, face shining.

...

The champagne’s still fresh on his suit. Charles runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps off the podium, smile lingering, but there’s that dazed post-race haze in his eyes—like part of him hasn’t caught up yet.

Flashes go off. Team members pat him on the back. Reporters shout. But for a second, he lets the chaos blur into background noise.

One new message.

He stares at it for a moment, mouth twitching into something realer than the smile he wore for the cameras.

A hand claps his shoulder, it’s Carlos, grinning, breathless. “You checking splits or fan mail?”

Charles locks the screen, slipping the phone back in, heartbeat just a little faster. “Neither.”

But the thought stays with him.

Because somewhere, far away from the screaming fans and the glare of the spotlight, she watched.

And she texted.

And now, she’s in his head again. exactly where she planned to be.

...

The walk back from their first date in Monaco is slow. Monaco is glittering around them like it always does, lantern lights swaying gently above the stone streets, the hush of the sea close enough to taste in the air.

They’ve been talking the entire time. But somewhere between the restaurant and her street, the conversation softened. Less words, more space between them.

He says something that makes her laugh, a low, surprised laugh, and she turns to look at him just as he’s already watching her.

The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his lips. It stays in his eyes, soft, like it’s only meant for her.

“You always laugh like that?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.”

She lifts a brow, a little amused. "Hm?"

He shrugs, stepping a little closer without even thinking. “Like you didn’t expect to. Like someone caught you off guard.”

She doesn’t answer.

Because he’s right. And because he’s standing too close now. Not quite touching her, but near enough that she can feel the edges of him, his warmth, his gaze, the way he shifts slightly like he’s holding back.

There’s a long beat of silence.

He glances down at her lips — just for a second.

And then he murmurs, “Can I?”

She should say something clever. She always does.

But tonight, her words stay tucked behind her teeth.

So she nods. Once. Barely.

And it’s all he needs.

He steps closer, leaning down, his eyes softly on her lips. He kisses her like it’s been building, slow at first, his hand rising gently to the side of her jaw, thumb brushing just below her ear. She leans into it before she can stop herself, kissing him back with something softer than either of them expected.

It’s not rushed. Not messy. It’s steady. Warm.

The kind of kiss that pauses in the middle because they both smile. His heart is racing.

When they finally pull away, he doesn’t move far his hand still resting against her skin, forehead barely brushing hers.

“Well,” he says, breath light. “That felt… overdue.”

She huffs out a quiet laugh, her eyes still half-closed. “Yeah.”

“You don’t regret it?”

She shakes her head. “Not even a little.”

And then she steps back, fingers brushing his hand once before they fall apart. She doesn’t invite him in. Doesn’t need to.

Because the door closes softly behind her and the kiss stays lingering like the warm Monaco night.

And Charles just stands there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, smiling like a man who knows something’s begun.

...

Two weeks later, It’s late when they walk down to the water.

Monaco is quiet in that silver way cities get when the night is deep and everything else is sleeping. They don’t say much. He’d offered to walk her back after dinner, but she’d tugged him toward the marina instead. Something about the air — it felt like it needed to carry something.

They sit on the edge of the dock. Their feet dangle, and the waves below are soft, lazy. The water reflects the city lights in scattered pieces.

She speaks first. “You ever get tired of being seen all the time?”

Charles glances over. “You mean by people?”

She nods. “Yeah. Fans. Cameras. Strangers who think they know you.”

He’s quiet for a second, then shrugs. “Sometimes. But I chose it. Doesn’t mean I don’t want space, though.”

“Right.” She twists a loose ring around her finger. “It’s just strange. This... thing between us. It’s not private. Not really.”

He looks at her. Carefully.

“You want it to be?” he asks gently.

She hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

Then she adds, “It’s not just about people knowing. It’s about what they expect. Like I’m supposed to be a certain type of girl if I’m with someone like you. And I’m not. I’m—” She stops, frustrated. “I’m complicated. And selfish sometimes. And I get quiet when I shouldn’t.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. Just watches her speak, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of her honesty.

“And I know what you are to the world,” she says. “But I’m still figuring out what you are to me.”

That makes him breathe in, slow. But he doesn’t look away.

“And what are you to me?” he asks, voice low. “Do you ever think about that?”

She finally turns to him.

“Do you?” she counters.

He holds her gaze.

“All the time.”

It knocks the air out of her a little.

“You’re not hard to like,” he continues, gently now. “You think you are, but you’re not. You make it hard on purpose. And I get it. But I like you anyway.”

She blinks. Once. Then twice.

“I don’t want to be someone you have to figure out,” she whispers.

“You already are,” he says, “but I don’t mind.”

Silence settles between them again. But it’s not sharp. It’s soft. Comfortable.

And when he reaches out, not to kiss her, but to take her hand, she lets him. No fight this time. Just fingers threading together.

She leans her head on his shoulder after a while, and neither of them says another word.

But for the first time, something feels a little less guarded. A little more real.

She doesn’t move for a long time. His shoulder is warm beneath her cheek, steady in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. The silence isn’t heavy—it breathes between them like the sea, rhythmic and alive. Her fingers curl more tightly around his, and he squeezes back without needing to look.

“You always this quiet?” she finally asks, her voice softer now. A little amused.

“Only with people who make me think too much.”

She smiles at that. “Is that a compliment?”

He shifts, lets out a quiet laugh. “Depends how you take it.”

She hums. “Then I’ll take it as one.”

It’s quiet again, but now it’s layered. Warmer. Like something invisible has loosened.

Charles tilts his head down toward her. “Do you think too much about me?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. But she doesn’t pretend either.

“Yes.”

He breathes a laugh. “Good. I was hoping I wasn’t the only one.”

She lifts her head, just enough to look at him. His eyes are darker in the low light—still, searching.

“You’re not,” she murmurs.

He nods, but there’s something a little raw beneath his smile. “I don’t know what we’re doing,” he admits. “But I like it. I like you. And I’m not rushing anything. I just want to be wherever you are.”

She doesn’t flinch this time.

Instead, she watches him for a long moment. “I think I keep waiting for you to see the worst in me.”

“I think,” he replies, quietly, “you’re scared I’ll still stay if I do.”

That catches her off guard.

But before she can respond, he adds—“And I might. Stay, I mean.”

There’s a long, still moment between them. Then, carefully, she leans in. Not rushed. Not dramatic.

Her lips press to his cheek first. The same way they had the night of their first date. But this time, she lingers.

And then, just before pulling away, she lets her lips find his—slow and deliberate. It’s a kiss that doesn’t ask for answers. It just wants to exist.

He just touches her jaw gently and smiles.

Her fingers rest lightly on his collar as he pulls her back into another kiss, slower this time, deeper. The kind that makes everything outside the moment fade. The kind that makes her forget how careful she usually is.

He kisses her like he’s learning her, like he’s been waiting to, like maybe he’d keep going until morning if she let him.

When they part, barely inches between them, she whispers, “You always kiss like that?”

His grin is crooked. “when I mean it.”

She shakes her head, laughing under her breath, her forehead tipping forward to rest against his. “Careful, Leclerc.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to make it hard to leave.”

His hand slides to the side of her face, thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone. “Then don’t.”

She meets his eyes, and for the first time, she doesn’t mask the softness in hers.

“I have to fly out Monday.”

His lips are still warm against hers when he whispers it—soft, careful, like he’s offering a piece of himself.

“Come to the next race with me.”

She freezes for just a second, her fingers still curled against his chest.

He watches her eyes shift—something flickering behind them. Her breath hitches, and she pulls back just enough to really look at him.

“Charles…” she says it gently, almost like it hurts. “No.”

His smile fades a fraction. Not completely, just…enough.

“No?”

She bites her lower lip, eyes flicking down before coming back up. “Not yet.”

He doesn’t move. Just waits.

“I like this,” she admits quietly. “I like you. But I’m not ready to be in that world. Not like that. Not yet.”

He studies her face, searching, but not pushing. “You’re not saying never.”

She shakes her head. “I’m saying not now.”

Silence stretches between them.

Then he nods. Once. Slow. Sure.

“Okay."

She exhales, something in her chest easing. But he reaches for her hand before she can slip too far away again, fingers lacing through hers.

“I still want to kiss you,” he says softly.

A smile breaks, small and sad and fond, as she leans in again.

“Then kiss me, but don’t ask me to follow you yet.”

And he does. No questions. No pressure.

Just a kiss that says, I’ll wait.

...

She wasn’t sure how he’d talked her into this. Pasta from scratch in her kitchen. But there he was, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on his jaw, looking too at ease in her home for someone who wasn’t supposed to stay long.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said, pointing at the dough he was kneading like it had personally wronged him.

He glanced up, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m following your instructions exactly.”

“No, you’re manhandling it. You’re supposed to be gentle.”

“I am being gentle. This is my gentle.”

She tried to suppress a laugh and failed. “Your ‘gentle’ looks like a wrestling match.”

He grinned, clearly delighted by her unraveling composure. “Maybe I need a better teacher.”

She narrowed her eyes, stepping in close enough to nudge him aside. “Move. Let me fix it.”

Their hands brushed when she reached for the dough, and for a second, neither of them moved. She didn’t look up, but she felt the way his eyes lingered on her — quiet, steady. “You do this often?” he asked, softer now.

“What?”

“Let someone into your kitchen.”

She paused, then glanced up at him. “No.”

That earned her a small smile, something knowing and warm. “Me neither.”

They went quiet again. The water began to boil behind them. He moved to stir the sauce, giving her space — but not much.

She threw a dish towel at him.

“What was that for?” he asked, laughing.

“For judging my cooking.”

“You judged mine first!”

“Because you were mauling the dough!”

He gave her a mock-scandalized look and stepped closer. “So violent.”

“So dramatic.”

“Fine. Truce?”

She looked up at him, realizing how close he was now, how her kitchen suddenly felt smaller, warmer. “Truce.” He held out his pinky.

She blinked. “What are you, twelve?”

“Maybe. But I want a pinky promise.”

She rolled her eyes, but hooked her pinky with his anyway. His hand lingered a second too long.

Dinner turned out slightly uneven, wildly underseasoned on one side, and somehow perfect on the other, but they laughed through all of it, music low in the background, both trying not to notice how comfortable it all felt. And when the plates were cleared and she handed him her clothes for the night, the storm outside made it easier not to say the things they were both thinking. But the warmth stayed between them.

And so did he.

The pasta was forgotten on the stove. The wine, half-drunk, left to warm on the counter. What started as harmless teasing while she chopped basil — a flick of sauce on his white shirt, a smirk thrown over her shoulder — had built into something neither of them were really controlling anymore.

She was laughing, again. Breathless, flushed from the wine or maybe from the way he had been watching her all night. “You’re staring,” she said, voice lilting as she reached to wipe something off her cheek.

“Can you blame me?” Charles replied, leaning on the counter across from her, watching her with that gaze, the kind that never wavered, not even when she tried to meet it head-on. “You look like hell and heaven mixed together.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile slipped. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he said, crossing the small space. “Because you’ll believe me? Or because you already do?”

Her breath caught, and she hated that it did.

“You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. “Neither do you.”

His hand ghosted over her waist — not quite touching yet, but close enough that her skin tingled. Her back hit the counter behind her, a soft exhale escaping as she looked up at him.

“You’re going to ruin everything,” she murmured.

He smiled, but it was slow, unreadable. “Maybe.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It was slow-burning and hungry — the kind of kiss that tugged something deep and buried loose from the chest. His hands found her hips as she leaned into him, her fingers curling into his shirt like a lifeline. He walked her back without breaking away, guiding her gently until the counter met her back, he lifted her on the counter, hands on her thighs, controlling himself to not squeeze too hard.

His mouth moved down to her jaw, then her throat, open-mouthed, like he couldn’t get enough. “You drive me insane,” he whispered against her skin.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her hands were in his hair now, pulling, and he growled, low, deep in his chest, and kissed her harder. Her shirt had ridden up slightly, his fingertips skimmed along bare skin like it was sacred, and she felt herself unraveling.

He pulled back finally, forehead resting against hers, both of them panting. Her eyes searched his, a question forming.

“What are we doing?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, thumb tracing her cheek. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did she.

She kissed him again.

This time, slower. More certain.

By the time she handed him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, the rain outside had softened to a drizzle, tapping gently against the balcony doors. He disappeared into the bathroom to change, and she stood quietly in the kitchen, sipping the last of her wine and trying not to overthink things.

When he reappeared, barefoot and loose-limbed in her clothes, it took her a second to breathe again. He looked so at home it was disarming.

“You sure I’m not intruding?” he asked, voice soft as he leaned against the doorframe. The gray shirt hung just a little off his collarbone, her oversized shirt.

“If you were,” she said lightly, “you’d still be standing in the hallway.”

He smiled, stepping into the room, and for a second, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was full, humming with something quiet and undeniable.

Then he glanced at the couch and then back at her. “I can’t tell if this is the most domestic thing we’ve done or if I’ve just dreamt about this already.”

She raised a brow, amused. “You dreamt about borrowing my clothes and crashing on my couch?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “about being here. With you.”

That made her falter. She blinked, suddenly less guarded. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” he said gently. “And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here dripping water in your hallway.”

She crossed her arms, lips twitching like she was holding back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said without missing a beat. “And terrifying. And impossible to figure out.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yet here I am.”

The tension shifted—tender now, careful. He took another step closer, and she didn’t move away. He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment, he just looked at her.

“You’re really letting me stay?”

“You’re already here.”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, almost in a whisper.

And then, like gravity had pulled them together, she leaned in, not quite a kiss, but the barest brush of her lips against his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed, just for a second.

“Sleep well, Charles.”

He looked at her like she’d just undone something inside him. Then nodded.

“You too.”

And later, when she turned out the lights and slipped into her room, heart thudding, she had no idea how she was going to survive this man.

She couldn't sleep that night.

He was in the other room, asleep in the soft glow of her living room— or maybe pretending to be, because he always knew when her mind started spinning like this.

She stared at the ceiling from her own bed, blanket pulled up to her chin, her phone resting on her chest. A photo still open. One she had taken earlier that night.

He had been standing in her kitchen, barefoot, hair messy, wearing one of her hoodies because his suitcase hadn’t made it to Monaco. He’d looked impossibly domestic. Like he belonged there. Like he belonged to her.

She had caught the moment in secret — him laughing at something he said, hands mid-gesture, so full of life and light.

And now she couldn’t stop looking at it.

Because something had shifted.

It wasn’t just the late-night texts or the way he always knew when she was lying about being okay. It wasn’t the kisses, slow and sweet. It wasn’t the way he always watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was how he made everything quieter — even her own chaos.

And that scared her more than she could admit.

Because she had planned this. The bet. The charm. The script.

she hadn’t planned him.

She hadn’t planned the way her stomach would flip when he said her name in that hushed voice. Or how her chest would ache when he touched her without asking, like he already knew she needed it.

She was falling. And fast.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, jaw tightening.

She was supposed to be in control.

She was supposed to win.

But now — now, she was so fucked.

...

They were curled up on the couch in her Monaco apartment, the sea humming low outside the balcony doors, the golden spill of warm lamplight flickering against the walls. She was reading — one leg folded under her, oversized hoodie drowning her frame — and Charles had barely looked away from her for the past twenty minutes.

She noticed, of course.

She peeked over her book, amused. “You’re staring.”

He smiled, caught. “I know.”

She closed the book slowly, eyebrows raised. “Something on your mind?”

Charles hesitated, like he was carefully picking the words from the air. Then, he shifted closer, his fingers brushing gently over hers where they rested on her lap.

“I keep thinking about how… peace feels like this,” he said softly. “You. Here.”

She blinked. Her heart knocked once, loudly.

He looked down, then back up. “You make everything quieter.”

There was a beat of silence. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He chuckled, nervous. “I don’t know how to say this like a normal person, but—can I be yours? Like… properly? Officially?”

Her lips curved, the breath she’d been holding finally exhaled.

“You want to be mine?” she asked, voice low.

“I already am,” he said, just like that.

She leaned in, and kissed him — slow, sweet, a silent yes pressed to his lips.

When they pulled back, she whispered, “You’re insane.”

“But yours,” he murmured, eyes twinkling. “Please say you’re mine, too.”

She touched his face, thumb running over the corner of his mouth. “I already was.”

They didn’t move for a while after that. Just sat there, limbs tangled and quiet, the world still blissfully unaware of what had just changed between them.

...

A blurry shot of her laughing across a café table in Monte Carlo, Charles leaning in with that unmistakable look in his eyes—the one that never made it to race day interviews. Then came another: them walking by the marina, her hand briefly brushing his wrist as he smiled at something she said.Dinner in Italy. A stroll through old streets in Lisbon. Her leaning over to whisper something in his ear while he grinned down at his shoes like a teenager.

By the time the Monaco tabloids got hold of it, the headlines were relentless. Her phone buzzed like a broken fire alarm. Messages from people she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at her apartment door.

She opened it to find Charles standing there, hoodie pulled up, baseball cap low, a sheepish grin barely hiding behind his usual calm.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, crossing her arms.

There was a pause. Then she stepped out onto the small terrace with him, closing the glass door behind them. The ocean stretched out below, quiet and infinite.

“They’re just pictures,” she finally said, leaning against the railing.

He nodded beside her. “But now it’s not just ours anymore.”

She looked at him carefully. “You scared?”

He turned to her fully then, brushing a bit of wind-blown hair from her cheek. “Only if you are.”

She smiled small, honest. “I’m not.”

That night, she dreamt of red flags waving and thousands of people shouting his name.

And when she woke, her mind was already made up.

...

Her birthday. It’s nearly midnight when they step out of the car, the glow from the Monte Carlo streetlamps kissing her bare shoulders. She’s still holding the red rose he handed her after dessert, the one the restaurant staff brought out with the champagne. Charles follows just behind her, one hand resting on the small of her back as they reach her door.

She turns the key, steps inside, her heels clicking gently against the hardwood. The air is quiet, thick with whatever has been simmering between them all night. She hasn’t said much since dinner — not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s floating. Charles hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she stepped out in that backless black dress earlier, his hand lingering longer each time he helped her in or out of a car, each time he brushed the hair off her neck to whisper something soft near her ear.

She toes off her heels, letting them fall by the door. He watches, lips parted, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, like he’s still reeling from her — the way her skin shimmered under the restaurant lights, the way she laughed during dessert, the way she’d leaned in across the table, eyes full of something he didn’t dare name.

She turns to face him now, standing there barefoot, the hem of her dress brushing the floor.

“Did you like the place?” he asks, voice low.

She nods. “It was perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” he says, without hesitation.

She exhales slowly, lips curling. “You’ve said that three times tonight.”

“And I meant it every time.”

Her fingers reach for his collar, toying with the fabric, her touch feather-light. “You going to kiss me, or just keep standing there looking like that?”

He doesn’t answer — he just steps in and kisses her. It starts sweet, like always. But it doesn’t stay that way.

His hands find her waist, pull her flush against him. Her fingers slide into his hair as his lips trail down her neck, along the slope of her shoulder. The straps of her dress shift, loosen. She exhales into his mouth when his hands smooth along her bare back, reverent, hungry.

They don’t make it to the bedroom right away. She kisses him hard in the hallway, against the wall, her hands already tugging at his shirt. He lifts her — effortlessly — and she wraps her legs around his waist, laughing into his mouth before it turns breathless. Her dress falls lower, and he groans against her skin when he sees just how little she wore underneath.

He carries her to the bed with care and urgency, setting her down like she’s made of something rare. She pulls him down with her, their bodies slotting together with ease, heat sparking where their skin meets. They undress each other slowly, kissing between every layer they peel away, like they’ve waited long enough — they want to feel everything.

And when he finally sinks into her, there’s a beat — a sharp gasp, her hand tightening on his shoulder, his name tumbling from her lips like a confession. He stills, forehead pressed to hers, brushing her hair back gently, letting her adjust.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers against her lips, soft and breathless.

Her eyes flutter open, lips parted. She kisses him — slowly, deeply — and rocks her hips against his in response.

After that, everything becomes a blur of warmth and want. He moves with aching tenderness, like he’s memorizing every gasp she gives him. She runs her hands down his back, pulling him closer with each thrust. The rhythm builds — slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, like they’ve both been holding back for far too long. He kisses every inch of her, her shoulder, the space behind her ear, the curve of her breast, and whispers her name like it’s sacred.

When her legs tighten around his waist and she cries out softly, it undoes him completely. He kisses her through it, lips trembling against her cheekbone, groaning her name like a prayer.

They don’t say much after, just lie there tangled, the air thick with shared breath, heartbeat against heartbeat.

She turns to him, eyes sleepy but alert, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“For tonight. For all of it.”

He smiles and pulls her into his chest, kissing the crown of her head.

She falls asleep like that — heart pounding, skin warm, fully aware that she’s ruined now. That this night, this boy, has her in ways she can’t even name yet.

100.000 TRANSFERED TO YOUR ACCOUNT.

"hey, happy birthday, we need to talk"

...

It had been a few months since that night. Since her quiet no to following him to a race.

And true to his word, Charles didn’t ask again.

But he showed up.

Texts before flights. Dinners in quiet corners of Monaco when their schedules aligned. The occasional coffee slipped into her hand on a morning walk, as if he knew she’d forgotten breakfast again.

Tonight, they’re back on his terrace, the sea humming low beneath them. The air smells like salt and citrus. She’s curled into one of his sweaters, legs tucked beneath her on the lounge chair, and he sits nearby, close, but not quite touching.

He watches her profile in the warm evening light, the way the breeze plays with strands of her hair.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says eventually, voice soft.

She glances over, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitates. Then... “I saw the calendar,” she says. “Next race is lmola”

He nods, cautious. “Yeah.”

She looks at him fully now, eyes steady. “I want to come.”

There’s a pause—just long enough to feel it. Then he blinks, and something like hope slowly rises to the surface.

“You do?”

“I still hate the idea of cameras in my face,” she murmurs, “but I hate the idea of not being there more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out, gently taking her hand, like he’s afraid she might change her mind.

Instead, she leans into him, letting her head fall lightly against his shoulder.

After a beat, he says quietly, “So…do I finally get to say you’re mine?”

She smiles, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve always known the answer to that.”

And then he smiles that smile that she doesn't want to care for and kisses her.

...

It was chaotic, loud, and sun-drenched — the paddock before a race weekend always was. Mechanics weaving through reporters, engineers barking into radios, fans screaming through barricades. But Charles had one hand on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd like she was the only one there.

She’d come after much convincing. And only because he’d promised it would be “low-key,” which, given the number of cameras clicking when they walked in, was clearly a lie.

He leaned closer. “Ignore them,” he murmured. “They’ll get bored soon.”

She just hummed. “You say that like I haven’t been in this kind of mess before.”

He grinned. “Right. You’re tougher than me.”

“Considerably.”

Still, he noticed the subtle way she curled a little closer to his side. And he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

They ducked into the hospitality area, where the noise was more contained, the air cooler. And immediately, he spotted Lando waving him over from a corner table — a few familiar faces already sitting there.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me do something terrifying and introduce you to everyone.”

“Oh, good. A nightmare,” she replied dryly, but followed.

Lando stood the second they approached, grinning as his gaze flicked between them. “So this is her.”

“Be nice,” Charles warned, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She bites.”

“I like her already,” Lando said, extending a hand. “Hi. I’m the funny one.”

She shook it, unimpressed. “I thought that was Daniel.”

Gasps from the Englishman. Charles snorted. “What have you been telling her?!"

From there, it snowballed — George, Alex, Carlos, even Lewis stopped by briefly. Some recognized her immediately, some didn't. All of them noticed the way Charles looked at her.

And she held her own — tossing a sarcastic jab back at Lando, discussing Monaco with Carlos, and pointing out an error in a multilingual press release that had George blinking in awe.

Later, as they walked away from the group, Charles nudged her with his shoulder. “So? Was it terrible?”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Could’ve been worse.”

“You like them?”

She paused, glanced at him. “I like you.”

He grinned, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

...

She hears the knock before she sees the message — “Are you home?” — and by the time she opens the door, he’s already there, hoodie pulled up, eyes red-rimmed and tired.

“Hey,” she says softly, instantly stepping aside. “Come in.”

Charles doesn’t say much. He just walks in, head low, shoulders weighed down like the day has taken every ounce of fight out of him. She closes the door behind him gently, watching him sink into the couch like he needs the world to stop spinning for a minute.

She doesn’t ask right away. She just moves to sit beside him, close but not pressing, her hand resting lightly on his knee.

“Bad day?” she murmurs.

He nods once, lips pressed together. His eyes are glassy, and when he blinks too hard, a single tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t try to hide it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. “Want to talk?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

She nods. She doesn’t need words. Instead, she opens her arms, and it takes him only a second to shift, to fold into her like he’s been waiting all day to fall apart somewhere safe. His head finds her chest, arms wrapped around her waist, his breath unsteady.

She runs her fingers through his hair, gentle and soothing, the way you do when you’re grounding someone. His breathing starts to settle. The silence stretches, full but not uncomfortable. She presses a kiss to the top of his head, her hand still stroking his hair, heart breaking quietly at how small he feels in her arms.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. He doesn’t move, just lets himself exist there, held, needed, safe.

And then, barely audible — a whisper against her collarbone, like it slips out without his permission:

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Her hand pauses. Her breath catches.

He doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t try to explain. He just stays there, pressed against her, vulnerable and raw and utterly worn down.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just holds him tighter, fingertips tracing circles on his back. That silence, Charles remembers, planted the first seed of doubt. Her heart is hammering now, but her voice stays soft, steady.

“I’m here,” she says quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales shakily, like maybe that was all he needed to hear.

...

Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains, warm and golden, casting slow-moving shadows across the sheets. She stirs first, stretching gently beneath the covers, her hair a tousled halo against the pillow.

He’s already awake — has been, for a while — lying on his side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other resting lightly on her hip under the blanket. He watches her, quiet, peaceful, like the world’s slowed down just for this moment.

She blinks sleepily, eyes fluttering open, and finds him already looking.

"Hi," she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

Charles smiles. “Salut.”

She shifts onto her side to face him, tucking her arm beneath her head. “How long have you been staring at me?”

He pretends to consider. “Long enough to know you make waking up look unfairly beautiful.”

She groans, burying her face into the pillow. “Too early for compliments.”

“No such thing.” His voice is low and warm, fingers brushing up to trace the line of her jaw. “You’re gorgeous.”

She peeks at him through one eye, lips curving. “You said that last night.”

“And it was true then, too.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “But now it’s morning and your voice is raspy and your hair’s a mess and I still think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide it, but his grin only grows.

“You’re unbearable,” she mumbles, but she’s smiling.

“Still gorgeous though,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Monaco’s never looked better.”

She rolls her eyes, but leans forward and kisses him anyway, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that says stay a little longer. And he does.

...

Charles had just stepped out of the gym in Monaco, towel slung around his neck, head ducked slightly, earbuds still in. He wasn’t in the mood to stop, especially not for her.

Her friend. The one Y/N never had anything kind to say about. Always brushing off mentions of her with a muttered, “We used to be close,” followed by a hard silence. The one who always seemed just a little too curious about Charles.

He sees her before she sees him, considers taking a sharp turn toward the marina path—but she spots him.

“Charles!”

He curses under his breath and pulls out an earbud. “Hey.”

She smiles a little too wide, crossing her arms. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“Yeah… I was just heading out.”

He starts walking, but she walks beside him, undeterred. “So, how are things with Y/N?” she asks, eyes narrowed in interest.

Charles doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t owe her anything—and Y/N clearly didn’t want her close.

“Fine,” he says shortly. “Is there something you need?”

She shrugs. “Just checking in. I mean, you’re kind of the prize of the year. I’m impressed she’s kept you hooked this long. It's been a year right?"

He stops walking.

“What?”

She tilts her head innocently. “Oh. She didn’t tell you?” A pause, then a smirk. “Right. She never liked being second best at anything. Not even bets.”

His blood runs cold.

“What are you talking about?”

Her smile is razor-sharp now. “It was a joke at first. Just a stupid dare. A 100k euros if she could get you to fall for her. But I guess things got... out of hand.”

Charles just stares at her, blinking like he’s been slapped.

“You should ask her about it,” she says sweetly, backing away. “I mean—if it’s all real now, she’ll have nothing to hide… right?”

She walks off, leaving him frozen there—sweat drying cold on his skin, chest tight, and heart pounding in a completely different way.

He doesn't move for a long time. When he does, he doesn't even realize where he's going.

...

“Don’t worry, I’ll win this bet and get a Leclerc-shaped trophy to prove it.”

...

She's at work when she gets the message.

Her heart drops to her stomach.

...

It’s storming when Y/n arrives.

Rain lashes the pavement, her hands trembling as she knocks on Charles' door. He opens it fast—like he’s been pacing, waiting, burning. His eyes are red. Not from the wind. From crying.

He doesn’t say anything. Just turns and walks back inside, leaving the door wide open behind him.

She follows him in, soaking wet, heart racing. “Charles, I swear—please, listen to me.”

He whirls on her. Eyes wide, voice cracking with disbelief and fury. “Is she telling the truth?”

“I—yes, but not like that, it wasn’t what you think—”

“No. No. Don’t you dare start with that.” He lets out a sharp laugh, filled with venom. His hands fly up, gripping his hair like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking something.

“How the fuck does your friend have more courage than you? She told me everything.She had the decency to tell me!”

“I was going to tell you, Charles, I swear on my life—”

“WHAT? That I was just a fucking bet to you? That none of this meant anything? You were just keeping me around to win?”

He’s full-on crying now. His voice shaking, broken.

“I told you things I’ve never told anyone, Y/N. I let you in. I fucking loved you.”

She takes a small step forward, reaching for his arm. “Charles, listen to me, please. It started as a joke but it changed—I love you, I—”

He flinches. Steps back so fast she freezes mid-reach.

“Don’t touch me.”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it hits like a scream.

Y/n is panicked, hands shaking.

“Please don’t do this…”

He takes a shaky breath.

“You used me. You fucking used me and then you stood there, in my house, acting like it was real. How many did you make after we fucked? And every time after that?"

“It wasn't just fucking and you know it. It was real. Everything after—I never got money, I never even cared about the bet after I met you—”

“Bullshit! Then explain the hundred thousand that showed up right after our first night together!”

“That wasn’t from the bet. That was… it was a personal payment, not related to you. I can show you—”

Charles cut her off, eyes wide

“You still think I care about receipts? I checked your bank account because I was going insane trying to prove you didn’t do this to me. I was trying to convince myself you were better than that. I was desperate to believe you. But every single thing just proves what I was to you: a game. You never even had the guts to come clean. You're just... a horrible person. I threw up when I saw the cheque."

His voice breaks again. And then comes the worst part—he laughs. A humorless, hollow sound.

“I even told my mom about you.”

Y/n feels something rupture in her chest.

Y/n's tears spilling. “Charles…”

Charles is barely holding himself together. “The least you could’ve done was tell me. Not kiss me with the same mouth that told people I was a fucking game. That's why you never told me you loved me back. It was all fake. A whole year..." He's backing off hand over his mouth. He feels like throwing up again.

She’s sobbing now, and steps forward again, desperate.

“I didn’t lie! Not once! I know what I did was horrible, I know, but I never—never—meant for it to go this far. It stopped being a game the moment I saw you smile. I swear to God, it was real.”

He looks at her, face blank. The anger is gone—but not because he’s calmed. He’s just empty.

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“You lost me anyway.”

She just stands there in the silence, the rain still dripping off her coat, mascara bleeding down her cheeks.Because the worst part isn't that he screamed. It’s that when he looked at her, there was nothing left.

"Leave."

"Charles, Please-"

"Leave! Before I press charges." He blurts out. His legs gave out, dropping down on a chair.

She stands in silence. This is the consequence to your own actions. She turns around and leaves.

After the screaming, after she left in tears, after his chest burned with too many unsaid things—he just sits in the dark. Numb.

By the time the sun rises, he's already packed her things into boxes.

Clothes. Books. That stupid mug she always used that said “Too Tired To Care” in chipped red letters. The one she insisted was lucky. The one he kissed her cheek over, sleepily, the first morning she stayed over.

He loads it all into the trunk of his car.

Then he texts Carlos.

“Can I crash at yours a few days?”

“Of course. You okay?”

Charles doesn’t reply.

He drives, blinking hard. The road is blurry. But not from rain.

His grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, knuckles stinging from where he punched the wall last night after she left. It hadn't helped.

His phone is face-down in the passenger seat. He hasn't opened any messages. Not hers. Not his mum’s. Not the ones from Lando or Arthur, asking if he’s okay.

The radio plays low in the background, some soft indie song they used to dance to while brushing their teeth.

His vision clouds again.

He wipes his cheek fast, angry at himself for crying—again—but the tears won’t stop. They just won’t stop.

Because all he sees is her.

Her laughing in his hoodie, barefoot in his kitchen. Her falling asleep in the passenger seat with her hand on his thigh. Her whispering "I feel safe with you" in his arms after a bad dream. Her teasing him in front of his friends. Her kissing his forehead when he had a fever and couldn't move from the couch.

Her.

His mum’s voice echoes in his head.

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

He remembers smiling like a fool.

“Yeah. I think she is.”

He wipes his eyes again. It’s no use.

By the time he pulls into Carlos’ driveway, his face is blotchy and wet.

Carlos opens the door immediately, like he’s been waiting, sees Charles—and says nothing. Just pulls him into a hug.

And Charles, who’s been trying so hard to stay composed, finally breaks again.

Muffled, into Carlos’ shoulder. “She used me, man. And I loved her so fucking much.”

Later, in a colder tone—while trying to hold his breath steady:

He calls her.

She picks up.

Her voice is small.

She sounds like she’s been crying too.

“I need you to take your things by Sunday.”

Silence on the line.

“I packed them. I left them there. You can figure out the rest.”

“Charles, listen-"

“No.”

Pause.

His voice is shaking.

“Please just… be gone by Sunday.”

He hangs up.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

Doesn’t scream again.

Just sits there in Carlos’ guest room, staring at nothing.

Because he’s realizing now—

He can’t hate her the way he wants to.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything else.

part two - FLUENT IN LOVE

258 notes · View notes

doomedmoth · 7 months ago

Text

Better kind of best friend (part 3)

Pairing : Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux x Charles Leclerc | Poly & bisexual fem!reader

Warnings : obsessive/possessive/manipulative behavior, suggestive content/smut, fluff then angst then dark fluff, inaccurate racing calendar and school programs, polyamory, use of y/n

Synopsis : When you left the UK for a year long art restoration program in Monaco, you mainly wanted to make some friends. What you didn't expect was to find your best friend on the first day. And then fall in love with her. And then get tangled in the web of Monaco high society as her boyfriend came back to town, unaware of your little affairs. What the fuck happened to you, you just wanted to make some friends...

Moth's prophecy 💡 : Your favorite omen of doom & cringe is baaaack ! I wanted to give a special thanks to all the precious cryptids who have asked for the part three for literal weeks, always staying patient, nice, and sending messages so sweet I rot my teeth on them and made a collection of screenshots in my notes to motivate me. I never thought anyone would like my writing, let alone wait for it, so thank you. Y’all are my lights. On the subject of Better kind of best friend, a fourth part was not planned at first, but will make the ending smoother, so I’m sorry, this is not the end yet ! For those just discovering the series, you can find part one here and part two here, or in in the masterlist ! Enjoy !

“Ah per favore… Tell me you’re not dressing up like that for her.”

“Ah please, tell me you’re not giving your opinion when no one asked for it.” Chiara popped her tongue at your cold answer, and stayed in the opening of your door, clearly judging you.

You had been going through your closet for about an hour now, and the floor seemed to only disappear more and more under the layers of clothes thrown onto it carelessly. Nothing seemed good enough, partly because you had no idea what to expect for the evening, and mostly because no matter how much you refused to admit it, Chiara was right. You wanted to look pretty for someone else than yourself. For two people exactly. The thought of how quick you had thrown away all of your big principles when faced with fluttering eyelashes and pink cheeks almost made you sick.

Yet when they both got up from the table, Alex running to your arms with a smile and Charles blushing, eyeing you up and down, you thought that Chiara should just shut up once in a while. This was too good to not enjoy.

And you had promised yourself this would not be the same this time. They were your friends, they were dating, and you would keep a healthy relationship with both of them. But then Alexandra softly kissed your cheeks, and took your hand in hers. You would limit any type of confusing physical touch, and make sure to not give in to sweet pet names. But then she led you to Charles, who put his hand, much bigger and more calloused than his girlfriend’s, on your waist, and brought you closer to greet you. You would not let your fantasies take over facts, and you would keep all communication clear and honest to ensure your best friend stayed exactly that. A best friend. But then he told you you were gorgeous, and she giggled while still holding your hand, and they had your favorite drink already on the table, and suddenly you forgot everything you had told yourself in the mirror while getting ready. Surely it would come back to you if it was that important. Right ?

Back to you it came, in the form of Alex’s gorgeous friend and one of your workshop colleague, Luca. Almost falling on you as you exited the bathroom, he seemed like he had had one too many drinks already, and didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

“Oh mais regarde toi, quelle beauté !” He grabbed at your waist and kissed your cheeks, blabbering on and on in French about your makeup and outfit. “Who are you trying to impress by looking so gorgeous, babe ?”

You chuckled and pretended he was wrong, but could not help and steal a glance. Of course you wanted to impress them, what a joke to pretend you did not care. Why for, even you had no idea, but you knew you would be satisfied as long as they kept their eyes on you. Which they had stopped doing for a while now, seeing as they were cuddled up on one of the couches, Alexandra sitting on Charles’ lap, hands in his hair, while he peppered her neck and shoulder with soft kisses. You could hear her giggles from afar, smell his shampoo, or maybe you just knew them too well for your own good.

You knew you were staring, knew Luca would be quick to catch on to what was happening if you did not get a hold of yourself, but it seemed that even the music and lights had faded in favor of the scene in front of you. It was hypnotizing, seeing her give in, seeing him take charge, knowing in your heart you should be there but never would be. Cheeks heating up, you turned back to Luca.

“I actually wouldn’t mind some company, if anyone here shares your opinion tonight.” Beaming, he hooked his arm with yours and took you straight to the bar to get a refill, which would inevitably end up spilled on the floor when he made you dance until you saw stars.

You don’t know how long you had danced for when he came to you. Hands sliding down your waist to your hips, his hot breath making the hairs on your neck dress up, you did not look up. You knew it wasn’t him. Because you knew how his hands felt from that one time he caught you from falling, because no man in their right mind would dance that way with their girlfriend’s friend in a crowded club, because it would never be your neck he buries his face in. But just for a few seconds, maybe minutes, you caught yourself hoping it was true, dreaming you would turn around and get a glimpse of green eyes before his lips crashed into yours. But the eyes were dark, the hair too blonde, the hands too soft. And yet you still let him kiss you, and when his slim fingers brought your dress higher on your buttcheeks, you even moaned in his mouth. Desperate was an understatement at this point.

“I’m going to put my fist so far up his ass he’ll be lucky if…” Alex’s sentence was cut short by Charles’ hand slamming against her face, flashing an apologetic smile to the friends they were chatting with and dragging her away. “Who even is that ? I’m going to get a bouncer to kick him out.” Charles had to tighten the grip on his arm to finally get her to look at him.

“Calm. Down.” This seemed to only piss her off more, but before she could start another rant, this time aimed at her boyfriend, he grabbed her by the neck and kissed her, giving him the advantage of surprise to then speak in her ear. “I know. But love, just look around you. At least half of this party knows us. I’m not sure punching a guy flirting with…” Unsure of how to call you to appease Alex, he opted for simplicity. “Y/N, and making a scene like a jealous wife is the best way to get her back.”

She sighed, head rubbing against the palm of his hand, before raising her doe eyes at him. “Then do it, Charles.” Getting closer to him, Alexandra brought her lips to his, her breath intoxicating like syrupy almonds. “Everyone knows you. Everyone loves you. Who would even dare to say something to Mr. Golden Boy.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she knew exactly how to get him. Sweet as honey, sharp as glass. “Why don’t you be a good boy and go fetch her for me, hm Charlie ?” He only managed to nod pathetically, his whole body aching to get on his knees and have her sit on his face.

The tension in his muscles was still present by the time he got to the bar stool where you were sitting, and he thought he might actually end up smashing the guy’s face against the counter. You were laughing like he had never heard before, the kind of sultry giggles that belonged to cab rides and hotel hallways, only an invitation for the hand already sat on your thigh to go up further. He barely had time to think of consequences, and you to realize he was standing behind you, before his hand fell to the guy’s shoulder, and he started speaking in his ear. The music was too loud, you were getting really drunk, so when the man’s eyes got wide, and he apologized before leaving in a hurry, you were unable to guess what Charles could have told him.

“I’m sorry, doll…” It wasn’t the first time he called you that, yet everytime it left your heart pulsing, and your core aching for more. You felt your legs wobble as he slid between them. “Seems he wasn’t interested in much more than a quick fling.” His fingers ran up your thigh and you almost fell the dig of a nail, before he took the hem of your dress and brought it back down to its usual length. The exhale that came out of your mouth felt like the first one in hours. “And you’re worth more than quick, aren’t you ?” At this moment, no, you weren’t worth more than that, you were yearning for someone to take your mind off the shitshow that was your heart, even if it meant bending over a bathroom sink for any nameless guy. But you smiled through the shivers and thanked him, even daring to put your hand on his. Everything was spinning, your ears were ringing, but he was smiling back at you, so maybe this evening wasn’t so bad. “Party’s over, let’s go home, doll.”

On the way back, Alex sat in the front of the car, but kept her hand on your knee the whole way, tracing small circles on your exposed skin. It almost seemed to you that with every sharp breath you took, you saw her smile in the car’s mirrors, but you fell asleep without being sure.

Even Charles was annoyed now. Maybe he could buy you a leash, make sure you were never straying too far. A tag too, so that you wouldn’t get lost. One with his name etched into the metal, just so there’d be no doubt. Just so that everyone knew who you belonged to. Would you be good ? Obedient ? He barely managed to get back to reality before his face got as red as his suit. Knee bouncing restlessly, his eyes were unable to leave you, bent over his car as a mechanic showed you his seat. If he could see you, it meant everyone could. And that was starting to get on his nerves.

“Sorry I found a pretty one” Alex whispered, sliding up behind him, her voice a low hum of amusement against his ear. “Sometimes I wish I could lock her up too…”

“I mean you could.” Charles knew he was fucking up. The words had tumbled out before he could stop himself, the implication behind heavy with something he would not dare to name. He knew his girlfriend had been teetering on the edge lately, and that any idea fueling her possessiveness would be considered, no matter how immoral. He knew he was supposed to be the voice of reason. Your soft way back to her, to them. Like the web to the spider. But this new mechanic he was definitely going to get fired was now making you try a headset, and he was playing with your hair, and the image of you getting yanked back to his feet was taking too much place in his brain. So when Alexandra stared at him, he simply shrugged, surrendering. “I don’t want her to stray too far when I’m on track. Who knows what could happen to her.”

When the free practice started, and Alexandra sent you to get her painkillers from the “infirmary”, you didn’t know what you were getting into. As the door locked behind you in the small storage room, you became painfully aware that you had no idea how this world worked. You had followed her instructions blindly, not really knowing anyone, and not wanting to cause trouble. And now you were banging on the door, feeling the air slowly get out of your lungs as the panic took over your body. There wasn’t any light in the room, and you could faintly hear the rumbles of the cars in the distance. Everyone was probably busy either watching or working on the track. No one would hear you scream, yet you begged for help with every bit of energy left in you.

Claustrophobia had been the fear you never got over. Taking stairs rather than elevators and walking over crowded buses, you had mostly managed on your own. But there you were, stuck in what seemed smaller than your bathroom at the residency, wondering if you were about to suffocate to death between tyre blankets and wires in Abu Dhabi. Charles had told you the practices lasted about an hour. But would you ? And even if your lungs hadn’t burnt from the thick air then, would someone find you right away ? Who could even come to look for you, in such a foreign place, with no friends other than two of the busiest people there could be this weekend ? Tears streaming down your face, you found yourself wishing you had never left their side. Maybe that would have been childish, but you would have been safe.

“Y/N ? Y/N are you in there ?” Anywhere in the world you would have recognized this voice. The only one that would understand your pain because she knew your fears. You screamed her name and heard rustling in the hallway. For a second when the door opened, she stood bathed in the clinical white lights, and you thought you had died. No angel would ever come close to such a vision. “Y/N ! Mon chou come here oh my god” She fell to her knees, opening her arms, and it felt like coming home. To hell with the physical distance, to hell with the principles. She had found you. She had saved you. Your head in her neck and her hands in your hair, you tightened your arms against her even when she gasped, but pulled you even closer. The tears falling down on your cheeks weren’t yours only, and you could barely make out what she was saying.

When the buzzing in your ears finally calmed down, she had cupped your face, whispering inches away from it. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you you’re safe. Please don’t leave me anymore. Please please please Y/N I beg you I got so scared, you weren’t coming back and I thought something had happened to you, it’s not safe here.” Rubbing your cheek with her thumb, she even kissed repeatedly your forehead as you could only nod, still crying. “Stay by my side, please never do that again. I thought I had lost you, I thought…”

You said yes, over and over again, apologizing as if it had been your fault, promising to be good like a prayer to a benevolent deity.

When Charles got out of the car and saw you holding Alex’s hand, your whole body twitching while she was beaming, he could not help but smirk. On a counter next to his phone, the keys to one of the storage rooms sat innocently, gleaming under the lights.

The weeks following the incident felt like a blur, as if your mind was slowly sinking into the mist of December mornings, and the last of your independence with it. Wherever you turned, Alexandra’s warmth and Charles’s steady hands were there, lingering at the edge of your vision, too close to be a coincidence.

But it was too comforting to not bathe in it. Your mind kept on replaying the moment your friend had found you in the storage room so many times it became a mantra, a balm to soothe the fear that still clawed at your thoughts at night. She found you. She saved you. She would never leave you. Charles too, after making a scene at the race and demanding the lack of safety in the infrastructure to be investigated, had made a point of shielding you from anything he deemed not safe. Which now that you were back in Monaco, seemed to be everything and everyone. You caught him glaring more than once at strangers, his body always carefully sliding between you and anyone who got too close.

Yet you had also been witness to the ugly side of fame since, the shadows it casted and the vultures it attracted, and trusted them to keep you away from it. All celebrities seemed to like their private life to stay, well… Private, and so when he brushed a stray hair from your face and told you he wouldn’t let any creep bother his dear friend, you believed him.

And truth be told, you loved the attention. That’s what you wished for, all you ever wanted, you told yourself as Alex braided your hair on the couch of the residency, Charles scrolling on his phone, his knee brushing absent-mindedly against yours. It was sweet, how they cared so much. Your roommates had given up on understanding, as long as the mood was not as icy as it had been the past month, they were fine with pretending nothing had ever happened. Life itself seemed to be so much easier with just them anyway. Why bother looking elsewhere, for what even ?

“I thought you were really cute, and I just wanted to give you my number, if you ever wanna go on a date.” The French accent snapped you out of your thoughts, and you nodded, blushing, as the barista winked at you. Your gaze immediately darted to the side, as if they’d be standing there, watching. But you had come alone, like stepping outside without a coat, not sure how you were now feeling about the decision. No matter what, it seemed their presence clung to you like a second skin.

They weren’t stopping you from dating, or making friends out of the internship. But it had been a while since you had thought about anyone else in that manner, and stepping out of the comfortable bubble you had built around the three of you now seemed like such an effort, on top of being scary. A voice in your head, your voice probably, even though it sounded too much like Alexandra’s, always ended up whispering : What else do you need that you don’t already have ?

The barista’s number scribbled on a napkin stayed untouched in your bag. Charles’ eyes had lingered too long on your phone screen one night, and when you mentioned in passing the way the uber driver had complimented your makeup, Alex had tilted her head just slightly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, her tongue brushing faintly against her canine. But they laughed it off, and you laughed with them, sinking into a soft net that felt more silk than cloud.

Had you been more careful, maybe you would have seen the signs. The way stuff in your bedroom seemed to change places, or even disappear. The deleted messages sent from your own phone, asking to be left alone, confirming you weren’t interested. The delicate touch of a hand on your arm, the oh-so-French kiss on the cheeks you always seemed to receive whenever a flirtatious wink was sent your way. But you had missed her, and you liked him so much, and for nothing in the world you would go back to a world where those weren’t your best friends. No matter how hard it was to fall asleep picturing them running their hands further than morality authorized.

As you lingered by Marco’s door, his bed still a wreck even though he had left a week ago, you couldn’t help but sigh. The house was so quiet, barely troubled by the faint swirl of wind in the garden. You thought you would like it this way. Even though it had been fun, living with seven other art students had been… Messy. Now everyone had gone home, and there was no need for fighting over the thermostat or Sunday mornings rush to get groceries anymore. Only the handmade decorations were left behind, like ghosts of their absence.

You couldn’t explain to yourself why you had resisted going home. On the phone with your mother, you had brushed it off with excuses about the time-consuming art pieces, the flights, and how it would be easier to stay. But when the clock struck midnight on the 22, and the thought of waking up alone for the next few days clawed at your chest, you booked the next available flight. You’d surprise your family. Sitting at the table and laughing at their jokes and going for a walk after lunch. You’d come home.

The morning of the 24th greeted you with hope, and then a storm. Nice’s airport’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows on the crowd’s disappointed faces as flight after flight turned red on the departure boards. You tried to stay calm, fiddling with a trinket tied to your bag, but when the announcement came that no flights would leave until the storm cleared, something inside you cracked. You were stuck. Not home. Not Monaco.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Alexandra’s contact. You hadn’t told them you were leaving, hadn’t wanted to explain why the urge to run away, and why you were now desperately crawling back. The empty airport felt like punishment, and your fingers moved before you could second-guess yourself. Faced with her warm voice, the words tumbled out on their own. The storm. The canceled flights. The panic of the crowd slowly but surely spreading to you.

“You stay there, we’re coming to get you”. You barely had time to protest before the call ended.

When their car pulled up outside the terminal, the storm still raged, rain lashing against the windshield as Charles parked. Alex hopped out, an umbrella barely covering her as she ran to you, her sparkly short dress illuminating the pavement. “Oh, mon chou, you must be freezing,” she cooed, wrapping her coat around your shoulders and guiding you to the car.

Charles was waiting, heater blasting, his smile soft as he looked back at you from the driver’s seat. “You should’ve told us you were leaving,” he said, a hint of reproach softened by his tone.

You shrugged, sinking into the warmth of the car. “It was a last-minute thing.”

Alexandra clicked her tongue, clearly disapproving, as she slid in beside you. “At least you have your bag ready.” You barely had time to register what was happening as you saw Charles type in an address that was definitely not the residency. Before you could ask, his eyes met yours in the mirror.

“You’re not spending Christmas alone, doll. I called my mom on the way, so I hope you like oysters.” He broke eye contact as you opened your mouth to protest, his voice much lower, daring you to defy him. “Don’t argue with me, it’s already settled.”

Their idea of Christmas was something out of a dream. Charles’ family home in Monaco was decked out in soft lights and greenery, the smell of mulled wine and myriads of meals filling every corner. His family welcomed you with open arms, and Alexandra’s parents, who had joined as well, treated you with the delicate attention of pretending like your presence had always been planned.

The day went on as if you were stuck in the flow of a warm river, feeling the deep call you but unable to move a muscle to swim against it. You hadn’t been allowed to lift a finger, Charles steering you away from the kitchen when you offered to help, pressing a glass of wine in your hand instead. “Absolutely not. You’re a guest, Y/N. Relax.”

Everytime someone asked how you were enjoying the day, one of them was always quick to describe how “special” it was to have you here, and how glad they were to finally be able to introduce you. Their attention was always on you, always ready for any request you might have. What had become a natural habit, developing over the last few weeks, was now exacerbated under the glimmering lights, and the Christmas tree seemed to wink at you, knowingly, as if it was in on whatever elaborate spectacle Charles and Alexandra had orchestrated. Their care was overbearing but left no room for complaint. By the time dessert was served, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. An intricate figurine in a glass case, too precious to touch but constantly on display. Anytime Charles called for his doll, you got dizzier.

When everyone gathered around the fireplace to open their gifts, the cook gave you a knowing look and gestured at another glass of wine left on the kitchen counter, before swiftly exiting the room. You gladly took it and observed from afar the parade of extravagance. Designer clothes, limited-edition art pieces, concerts tickets in another country. If you thought your own Christmases back home were lavish, it was no comparison to the Leclerc’s.

“Here, mon chou.” Alexandra purred, pressing a carefully wrapped small box in your hand. “We planned on giving it to you next week but now’s even better.”

You hesitated, feeling your cheeks heat up as everyone turned to you. This was not planned. You did not have time to get either of them anything, even less their families. It all felt like a show you had never agreed on being a part of. “You really didn’t have to-”

“Open it.” Charles interrupted, his grin infuriating, dimples bigger than ever. He lounged back on the sofa, one ankle resting casually on his knee, his gaze fixed on you. With a brush of his hands, he pretended to swish away your worries. “We’ll go and change it if you don’t like it”.

The box revealed a delicate bracelet, platinum with tiny diamonds winking along its length. Sucking in a breath, you felt their eyes on you, expectant, hungry for your reaction. “It’s pretty, no ?” Alexandra’s voice was eager, her fingers brushing yours as she took the bracelet to clasp it around your wrist. It was too much. The alcohol made your head pound and you felt like throwing up. Raising your eyes, the guilt hit you like a wave. They had done so much for you, gone out of their way to include you, and you couldn’t even summon the gratitude they deserved ? The metal was biting into your skin as if in reprimand, your whole body feeling like fire since you had finished your glass. Taking a deep breath, you excused yourself to “freshen up”.

The low hum of voices faded as you found a quiet room in the labyrinth that was the house. This is what you’d always wanted, wasn’t it ? To be cared for, adored, treated like the most important person in the room ? Then why did it feel too much ? Why did it feel like drowning ? You thought back to October, and quickly recognized the signs of your love barging through the door, demanding the best place at the table. You couldn’t let either of them know you were back on your stupid feelings, or they would leave you again. And then ? You had seen the pain, for everyone involved. Good friends. Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. You exhaled, praying for your thoughts to shut up, concentrating on the wind outside.

It was Charles that came for you, sitting carefully next to you on the bed, as though you might shatter if he moved an inch wrong. Turning away from the frosted window, you murmured. “Just needed a breather.”

“I’m sorry.” Before you even had time to ask what for, he sighed, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “For all of this. We just wanted to make you feel welcome but… It’s obviously not working.” Running a hand through his hair, betraying his frustration, his other one went tentatively to yours, and your fingers laced together. “I can see you’re not enjoying this, and I know it will never be the same as being with your family.”

“Charles, I don’t-”

“I can arrange a plane.” He was rambling on, a habit they seemed to share, and in the soft light of the moon, you could swear his eyes were red. “First thing in the morning, have you be home before lunch. We love having you here, doll, but… I think it might have been selfish of us.” There. You had made him sad. He had made you feel like family and you had fled like a spoiled child. If anyone was selfish here, it was you.

“No !” You blurted, the word too loud, startling even yourself. Moving towards him on instinct, you threw yourself in his arms, hands gripping to his back, fingers curling against the smooth fabric of his sweater. He tilted his head, questioning, but you only buried your face against his chest. “I… I don’t want to leave. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed ungrateful. I didn’t mean to. It’s not too much, you’re not too much. You could never be. I’ll try harder, I’ll appreciate it more, I’m sorry I-” It seemed the habit had also infected you, and your monologue was stopped by Charles’ thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“Shhh” The hand that was in your back went up to your head, softly rubbing your hair, as you lost yourself in his eyes. Were those freckles or just beauty spots ? Had those always been here ? You felt tempted to touch them but froze up when your lips opened up on instinct. Seriously, how many drinks did you have ? “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to feel welcomed and… Appreciated.” The moment stretched, world narrowing to the warmth of his arms and the pulse of your heart as he opened your mouth even more and slid his thumb past your lips, your teeth, and to rest against your tongue. “And loved.” His gaze was fixated on your lips, and for a brief moment, until footsteps were heard in the hallway, you thought he was going to kiss you, or maybe slap you. You wouldn’t have protested either.

His lips went to brush softly against your forehead, and it took every last ounce of self-control in you to not bite down on his thumb as he took it out of your mouth. His fingers traced down your cheek, your jaw, down to your neck, where he softly closed his fingers around your throat as the moan that had been stuck in there was finally let free. You wanted this moment to last forever, almost wished he would choke you out so you would never have to go back to reality. But something snapped suddenly in his eyes, and he ruffled at your hair before standing up with a confidence that made you question if the moment had truly happened, or if the cook had spiked your drink. In the white light of the night, his finger shined briefly with saliva, and you followed him back to the living room like a dog who had gotten the sweetest treat.

The floor length mirror stared back at you, unkind in its honesty. You leaned in as Alexandra gently titled your chin up with her fingertips, her voice humming as she added the finishing touches to your makeup. The sharpness of your features seemed amplified under their bedroom golden light, and your reflection felt foreign. Maybe it was the week, and its endless swirl of champagne, parties, and faces you couldn’t remember. Or maybe it was the memory of Christmas Eve, and its almost-kiss which kept replaying in your mind like a broken record you didn’t have the strength to discard.

Charles hadn’t mentioned it. Not a word. The morning after, his smile came on as easy as ever, his voice smooth and jokes easy, as if nothing had happened. Alex had thrown herself onto him, bathing him in affection, as though your world hadn’t turned upside down in that hidden room. Even now, as his hands brushed against your shoulders, slipping the straps of your too-short dress into place, you were wondering if you hadn’t dreamed it all.

“Stop squirming” He teased, smoothing out the fabric and pulling up the zipper.

Alexandra laughed and stepped back to inspect her work, two fingers still holding your chin. “She’s not squirming, she’s just nervous.”

“Il y a pas de quoi être stressé, c’est le Nouvel An, pas une gardav’ non plus…” Not understanding the slang, you copied your friend’s reaction, and as she clicked her tongue, you rolled your eyes.

You felt like an imposter. How could you have let it get this far ? You were supposed to go back to being friends, that was the deal. Not over complicating things, not pushing boundaries of what they were giving you. But then every time one of their friends got curious about you, Alexandra would say you were “Just someone special”, her casual voice contrasting with her nails scratching on your thigh. Her eyes would flicker, the kind that warned you not to correct her, and you let yourself get locked up in this almost-relationship that you had so desperately tried to escape a few weeks before.

Reaching for the curling iron, she murmured, more observation than question. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“Just tired, I guess… We’ve gone out a lot this week.” You forced a laugh, aiming for nonchalance, but Charles simply raised a brow, not impressed.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We can just stay there, order some food, …”

You cut him off by twirling on yourself, the dress flaring so high it couldn’t have been conceived to cover anything. Alexandra groaned and caught you by the shoulders to steady you, apparently not satisfied with your curls. “When I look like that ? It would be such a waste !” The green-eyed boy chuckled and nodded in agreement. Dressed to perfection, your hair soft and shining, you looked exactly like what they wanted you to be : a doll. And truth be told, you enjoyed it. When he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and they both looked at you with something that could be pride, you knew you owed it to them to have fun, at least tonight, at least the following months. At least until England called you back and you answered, leaving your summer love to rest on the green hills. You owed it to them to pretend you weren’t haunted by the ghost of “almost”, and maybe you could even pretend long enough to end up believing it yourself.

“Close it, you’re going to swallow a fly.” Charles pushed softly on your chin to close your mouth you had left wide in awe, before rubbing the nape of his neck. “Much funnier in French…” He mumbled before leaving his keys to a valet, and opening the way for you and Alexandra. The mansion was huge, its garden spilling to the edge of the woods behind it, and the music pulsing through the air carried promises of a night you might not remember in the morning.

It seemed everyone who knew a Formula 1 driver, directly or indirectly, had been invited. Some faces you recognized, but most not, and the shower of compliments you found yourself in as soon as you stepped foot in the main living room quickly felt suffocating. The polite flirting made you feel uneasy, their admiration like scrutiny, and before you even had time to cling to your anchors, they drifted away. “I’ll be right back, chou.” Charles’ hand brushed briefly against yours before he followed his girlfriend to go greet some friends, and you stayed right where they left you.

No matter how much you repeated your internal calming mantra, the vulnerability was creeping in. There were too many people you didn't know, and so you made it a mission to not lose again the only two that mattered. When they asked if you were having fun, you nodded, the lie automatic. For the following hours, it turned to truth, as you stuck close to them like a guard dog unwilling to stray too far from its leash. If Charles moved to refill a drink, you downed yours too quickly to follow. If Alexandra drifted to another conversation, your hand clung to her elbow, begging to tag along. You weren’t proud of it, but the dread clawed at your chest every time you stood alone for more than a heartbeat. You were enjoying yourself as long as you weren’t left to your own devices. Long gone was the resolution of making new friends, it seemed.

The air in the house had been filled with tension as midnight approached, and you felt like you had suddenly woken up. A glass of something golden in your hand, its fizz long forgotten, you were nodding along to Pierre’s story about an incident on a recent trip, while his girlfriend Kika hung onto his arm, punctuating his tale with playful jabs. You tried to listen, you really did, but something was missing, and you couldn’t help but give in to the voices bothering your every thought as he wrapped up his story.

“Have you seen Charles ? Or Alex…?”

Kika’s lips curled, mischief in her eyes, and she exchanged a look with Pierre who chuckled. “They’ve probably gone to enjoy the view, as usual.”

“Top floor,” Kika added, still giggling as she sipped her cocktail. “There’s a balcony up there that’s quite… Private.”

Mumbling a quick excuse, you set your glass down and slipped away, through the maze of guests and corridors of the sprawling mansion. The thud in your ears was soon more heartbeat than music, the knot in your stomach tightening between unease and anticipation. When you reached the top floor, the door to the bedroom was ajar, dim light coming from within and spilling onto the hallway. You closed it behind you, breath stuck in your throat.

There they were. Alexandra’s back was pressed against the railing, her sequined dress shimmering in the moonlight as Charles leaned into her. His hands rested on either side of her waist, fingers curling possessively over the iron, as he brought one knee up between her legs, silencing her laugh. He was working down her throat when she opened her mouth, eyes fixed on you, but did not stop kissing and biting, seemingly not caring.

“Oh darling, caught us” She purred, her voice thick with amusement. Her manicured finger pointed at you before curling, inviting you to come closer. You should not. You should flee. This was not your moment, it would never be. Also, you should keep a closer eye on your drinks because someone was definitely having fun drugging you lately, no way any of this was true. But your feet moved before your brain was done having a panic attack, and you found yourself gently pushed in the woman’s arms by Charles.

She probably saw your eyes jumping from one to the other, thoughts racing behind them at light speed, and with each hand on your cheeks, centered you back to her face. This felt like deja-vu, your lips so close, your perfume swirling together, like the wish you had screamed to the moon that night was finally becoming true, only a few months too late.

“I’m sorry.” Oh no. Oh not again. You were about to jump out of her embrace when you felt his body behind yours, closing back on both of you as his hands caught on the guardrail once more. “Stay. Please.” Not like you had much of a choice anyway. Charles was looking down at the garden over her shoulder, badly pretending as if he wasn’t inches away from the most private conversation happening tonight. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what was going on between us. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process. You deserve the world, not any of the mess I put you through. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.” She was already forgiven, how could she not when her apologies were whispered between your lips. “But I know where I stand now. And if you allow me, I’ll never give you less than the world. Because that’s what you deserve. Because you love me and I love you.”

“Ten !” Charles took a step to the side as the screams from downstairs echoed through the whole house. He leaned on the balcony, and you almost fell to the floor from the shaking in your legs. “Nine !” She caught you by the waist and pulled you back to her with a laugh, one so hesitant it could only be filled with honesty.

“Eight !” You were dreaming. You wanted to punch yourself to wake up, but without even knowing how, your hands had gone up to her arms, shoulders, neck, cheek. “Seven !” You had promised yourself, you had promised her, and Chiara, and the world itself, that you would be fine being just friends. “Six !” Why was she the one ruining all of your efforts ? Why was she still the one you would wait for, when everyone else was long gone ?

“Five !” Was Charles just going to stand there, and pretend like his girlfriend didn’t confess to someone else ? “Four !” Maybe they had talked ? Maybe they had been open this whole time and you hadn’t seen the signs ? Would he kiss you too ? “Three !”

You cupped her cheeks and it felt like the world exploded when your lips met. Or maybe it was just the fireworks. Maybe it was the culmination of months of pining, love and pain, that was giving her kiss a taste of blood, a taste of more. She switched your places, pinning you against the barrier and deepened the kiss as your hands tugged at her hair, undoing the curls she had so carefully crafted. Everyone was screaming for the New Year, but you felt like they were doing it for you. Is that how it felt, to love and be loved ? Like you would rather run out of oxygen than end the moment. Like teeths and tongues, being fourteen and messy all over again. Like a movie-worthy compilation of every smile she had flashed you for the last four months was playing behind your closed eyes.

When you opened them, her mouth now running wild on your jaw, it’s a green spark of amusement that was looking back at you, a slow whistle coming out of his dry lips. Shit. You had kissed his girlfriend. Or his girlfriend had kissed you. And he wasn’t moving to join in. Were you about to be thrown from the highest balcony in some sick kind of real-life Cluedo ? But he simply brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and the small caress he gave to Alexandra’s back made her moan against your collarbones. “Les clés sont sur la porte mon amour.” She mumbled what you understood to be thank you, not sure why for, as he moved towards the door.

“Wait Charlie I’m…” It was difficult to talk with Alex, determined to kiss every inch of visible skin on your body, and there was a lot. “I’m sorry I… What’s happening ?” You could only hope they had not broken up, not because of you, yet you saw no world in which this situation would be acceptable for him. With his usual playful grin you had grown so fond of, he winked at you before exiting the room swiftly.

“There’s a time for actions, and a time for explanations. Happy New Year, doll.”

With every step that she took you followed, painfully aware of how much she knew you, much better than you would have thought. Kissing in all the right places, her grin was getting wider every time you winced under the dig of her sharp nails, and she hushed you as if the drunken screams downstairs weren’t covering your moans. But you were determined to be good, as you had been from day one, and so you bit the pillow and pulled at her hair, let her know it hurts and let her keep going, because you loved her and she loved you. And she would never leave you.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Taglist : @sam-is-lost // @mangotaitai // @ilovechickenwings // @eroselless // @zreads111 // @crimson-spine // @inejismywife // @champomiel // @eternoange1 // @charizznorizz // @exactlycoralfox // @waitwhendidwegethere // @cluelessred3 // @spookystitchery // @erikasurfer // @catswag22 // @appl3-0rchard // @janeh22 // @boohoneyy // @sheslikeacurse // @customsbyjcg-blog // @urmotheris // @lewisvinga // @formulaal // @novocainenoon // @taytaylala12 // @esterdnebe // @jack0357 // @mortallyblueninja // @jexxy04 // @itsprashimusic // @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp // @annabellelee // @natsmywife // @daisyfreecs // @scorpiomindfuck // @themessietbihalive // @ananyasr1bughead

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yallthemwitches · 2 months ago

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Like a lot of other authors/content creators in the HP fandom, I am feeling a sense of heaviness over the rulings that happened in the UK and feel the need to speak on my (albeit very complicated) feelings.

What JKR is doing is terrible. It will ruin lives. It will end lives.

If you feel like that is being hyperbolic, please go look up the suicide rates for the trans community. It's a staggering number and it only grows as people seeking information, comfort, and support are locked out of proper resources due to heinous legislations like the one passed yesterday.

It saddens me too because I know that so many in the LGBTIQA+ have found characters/stories in the HP universe that have spoken to them and helped to understand their personal journeys---only to have that comfort ripped away by the very person who created them.

If you can permit me to be personal for a second: My brother is trans and before/during his transition (this was early 2010s) he always cited Remus Lupin as one of the foundations for coming to terms with his trans identity because he saw some of his own internal struggle in Lupin's character. He even went so far as to write a letter to JKR (which, thank GOD he never sent...) thanking her for creating a character that aided him with the complicated feelings he had when there were no other resources for him.

My brother is now a psychologist specializing in the young trans community and speaking to him recently, he has said that he comes across this same story constantly and each one ends in tragedy because that little piece of solace and comfort was not just taken from them, but told them that no, actually. You thought wrong to see yourself in this character. You don't matter.

Watching what happened yesterday and knowing the long history of bigotry JKR has spouted for years now weighs heavy on my heart every time I step into this fandom and often I question if I should still contribute to it. I know it's not much, but I would like to share some of the things that keep me going--even when it all looks really fucking bleak:

Fanfiction and fanart are, at their foundation, anticapitalist works--and can be used to fight JKR's agenda. By consuming fanfic/fanart zero money goes towards JKR. None. And further, JKR has no say in how you use her characters in these spaces. So, if you want to use these creative outlets to uplift trans voices, please do! Support trans writers/artists and urge them to PERSIST--because I promise you nothing is going to tick off the ole' bitch more than trans bodies/ trans supporters writing her characters.

Just because the writer is the devil, doesn't mean the art has to be. I won't go into the concept of "death of the author" because I think it can be pockmarked to hell with various examples, but what I DO subscribe to is that once the art is out in the world, it is now owned by the person who consumes it. To put it simply: when I read HP I am POSITIVE I imagine characters/settings differently than the person next to me. It's the beauty of the imagination: the creator can give us the blocks but how it is built is contingent on how WE perceive it.

Did I mention money? DON'T GIVE IT TO HER. Buy the books/movies second hand. Pirate the media you wish to consume around the fandom. Don't give her any reason to give any more hate funding and instead send that money to trans communities and groups who need it (they REALLY need it.)

Maybe I'm naive to say this, but I don't think interacting with the story as an art form is bad. She invented it, sure, but she isn't in charge of what goes on in my brain. If anything, this fandom NEEDS the trans community and supporters within it because not only can they push back, but they can educate those who otherwise are listening to the author. Don't let her win the space even though she's the author. It's no longer hers to have.

If you are someone who wants to leave the fandom because you can't bear to watch her continue to destroy it--I completely understand. But, as someone who has been in this fandom for over 20 years, the one thing I've learned is: besides monetarily she doesn't own shit. Don't let her take what you love from you and don't let her get away with scaring people out of their community spaces. Support and love our trans brothers and sisters and enjoy your HP despite it all. The things you love are worth fighting for.

#hp meta #tay speaks #thoughts ok JKR #trans rights #trans awareness #hp #hp fandom

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ellipsus-writes · 3 months ago

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Ellipsus Digest: April 2

Each week (or so), we'll highlight the relevant (and sometimes rage-inducing) news adjacent to writing and freedom of expression. This week:

Meta trained on pirated books—and writers are not having it

ICYMI: Meta has forever earned a spot as the archetype for Shadowy Corporate Baddie in speculative fiction by training its LLMs on pirated books from LibGen. You're pissed, we're pissed—here's what you can do:

The Author’s Guild of America—longtime champions of authors’ rights and probably very tired of cleaning up this kind of mess (see its high-profile ongoing lawsuits, and January’s campaign to credit human authors over “AI-authored” work)—has released a new summary of what’s going on. They’ve also provided a plug-and-play template for contacting AI companies directly, because right now, “sincerely, a furious novelist” just doesn’t feel like enough.

No strangers to spilling the tea, the UK’s Society of Authors is also stepping up with its roundup of actions to raise awareness and fight back against the unlicensed scraping of creative work. (If you’re across the pond, we also recommend checking out the Creative Rights in AI Coalition campaign—it’s doing solid work to stop the extraction economy from feeding on artists’ work.)

Museums and libraries: fodder for the new culture war

Not to be outdone by Florida school boards and That Aunt's Facebook feed, MAGA’s nascent cultural revolution has turned its attention to museums and libraries. A new executive order (in that big boi font) is targeting funding for any program daring to tell a “divisive narrative” or acknowledge “improper ideology” (translation: anything involving actual history).

The first target is D.C.’s own Smithsonian. The newly restructured federal board has set its sights on “cleansing” the Institution’s 21 museums of “divisive, race-centered ideology.” (couch-enthusiast J.D. Vance snagged himself a board seat.) (Oh, and they’ve appointed a Trump-aligned lawyer to vet museum content.) The second seems to be the Institute of Museum and Library Services, a 70-person department (now placed on administrative leave) in charge of institutional funding. As we wrote last week, this isn’t isolated—far-right influence overmuseums and libraries means this kind of ideological takeover will seep into every corner of the country’s cultural life.

Meanwhile, the GOP is (once again) trying to defund PBS for its “Communist agenda.” It’s part of a larger crusade that’s banned picture books with LGBTQ+ characters, erased anti-racist history, and treated educators like enemies—all in the name of “protecting the children,” of course.

NaNoWriMo is no more; long live NaNo

When we initially signed on as sponsors in 2024, we really, really hoped NaNoWriMo could pull it together—but its support for generative AI and dismissiveness toward its own audience prompted us to withdraw our sponsorship, and many Wrimos to leave an institution that helped cultivate creativity and community for a near-quarter century. Now it seems NaNo has shuttered permanently, leaving the community confused, if not betrayed. But when an organization treats its community poorly and fumbles its ethics, people notice. (You can watch the official explainer here.)

Still, writers are resilient, and the rise of many independent writing groups and community-led challenges proves that creatives will always find spaces to connect and write—and the desire to write 50k words in the month of November isn’t going anywhere. Just maybe... somewhere better.

The continued attack on campus speech

The Trump administration continues its campaign against universities for perceived anti-conservative bias, gutting federal research budgets, and pressuring schools to abandon any trace of DEI (or, as we wrote on the blog, extremely common and important words). In short: If a school won’t conform to MAGA ideology, it doesn’t deserve federal money—or academic freedom.

Higher education is being pressured to excise entire frameworks and language in an effort to avoid becoming the next target of partisan outrage. Across the U.S., universities are bracing for politically motivated budget cuts, especially in departments tied to research, diversity, or anything remotely inclusive. Conservative watchdogs have made it their mission to root out “woke depravity”—one school confirmed it received emails offering payment in exchange for students to act as informants, or ghostwrite articles to “expose the liberal bias that occurs on college campuses across the nation.”

In a country where op-eds in student newspapers are grounds for deportation, what part of “free speech” is actually free?

We now live in knockoff Miyazaki hellscape

If you’ve been online lately (sorry), you’ve probably seen a flood of vaguely whimsical, oddly sterile, faux-hand-drawn illustrations popping up everywhere. That’s because OpenAI just launched a new image generator—and CEO Sam Altman couldn’t wait to brag that it was so popular their servers started “melting.” (Apparently, melting the climate is fine too, despite Miyazaki’s lifelong environmental themes.) (Nausicaa is our favorite at Ellipsus.)

This might be OpenAI’s attempt to “honor” Hayao Miyazaki, who once declared that AI-generated animation was “an insult to life itself.” Meanwhile, the meme lifecycle went into warp speed, since AI doesn't require actual human creativity—speed-running from personal exploration, to corporate slop, to 9/11 memes, to a supremely cruel take from The White House.

“People are going to create some really amazing stuff and some stuff that may offend people,” Altman said in a post on X. “What we'd like to aim for is that the tool doesn't create offensive stuff unless you want it to, in which case within reason it does.”

Still, the people must meme. And while cottagecore fox girls are fine, we suggest skipping straight to the truly cursed (and far more creative) J.D. Vance memes instead.

Let us know if you find something other writers should know about, (or join our Discord and share it there!)

- The Ellipsus Team xo

#ellipsus #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #us politics #freedom of expression #anti ai #nanowrimo #writing community

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sovksluv · 1 year ago

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Here me out, luke being like greedily obsessed with the reader who's like all cute and more soft aesthetic, he just can't help himself but to corrupt her sweetness and fuck her stupid :(

dove

𖤐 . pairing - Luke Castellan x bimbo!fem!reader

𖤐 . summary - Luke finally got to show his pretty dove just how much he loves her

𖤐 . content includes - smut MDNI!

𖤐 . word count - 993

𖤐 . taglist - @perseus-jackass @niktwazny303 @st4rzl7

𖤐 . a/n- first time writing tumblr smut pls be nice 😓 (and be honest !! tell me if it’s bad or not)

from the moment he saw you, Luke knew he had to have you. with your short, pretty little skirts, plump, glossed lips, and pretty bows in your hair.

you were just so perfect and soso innocent that he absolutely needed to have every part of you. he would watch you from afar, inching to touch you – to feel you.

you’d be laughing, sitting at the wooden table with your siblings, pure and unaware, lashes batting and plush thighs sitting so pretty on the bench.

you poor, sweet thing. Luke wondered if you even noticed all the prying eyes on you – his prying eyes.

he wished he could be as close to you as they were, smelling your fruity perfume, feeling your perfect body pressed right up to his.

he wanted to ruin you. he wanted to have your mascara running down your sweaty face, your eyes puffy from crying, the pounding of his fat cock just being too much for you.

a pathetic little cry left your lips, your arm desperately searching behind your back for anything to grab onto.

Luke chuckled from behind you, grabbing your frenzied arm and reaching for your other one as well.

he held both your arms behind your back, pulling your body up slightly, using the new advantage to shove his leaky cock deeper into your sopping cunt.

his dream had come true. you were bent over on his bed, eyes and pussy soaked, hands held tightly behind your back as he mercilessly pounded into you like there was no tomorrow.

your whine drew his attention back to you, a chuckle leaving his raw and bitten lips. “mhm, dove – fuck. y’feel me?” he groans, eyes rolling back from the feeling of your sloppy pussy.

you yelped after a particularly hard thrust to a certain spot, walls tightening around his stuttering cock. “Lu-uke-” you stuttered, drooling and breathless.

“such a pretty little pussy, dove- mine.” he groaned, your tight cunt making his unrelentless motions falter. “all for me right? s’all f’me?”

you whimpered and cried, frantically nodding your head at his words. “y-yours, Luke.”

“mhm, mine.” he muttered, grinning and speeding up his movements, pride surging through his body at the visibly loud change in your sounds at his actions.

you felt one of his hands leave your arms, it disappeared from your body before it made harsh contact with the soft plush of your ass. it stung and left your skin red, a loud scream leaving your chapped lips when he did it again.

“a little freak aren’t you, dove? n’ i thought you were all innocent.”

Luke’s hand moved away again, and you were excited, craving to feel the sting of the slap once again.

but his hand didn’t come back down on your skin – instead, it grabbed at your hair, pulling your head up and your back flush against his searing chest.

you cried and moaned at the sudden angle change, suddenly feeling much more full.

your right arm moved up behind Luke, threading through his matted curls, pretty pink manicured nails sharp and scratching and pulling at his hair.

his breath got caught in his throat, his own hand trailing down your plush body, between your thighs, fingers finding your puffy, disregarded clit.

you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, almost silent noises falling from your lips at each deep thrust of his hips.

Luke turned his head towards you, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck and sucking large, noticeable bruises onto your skin.

your body was on fire – being stimulated from so many different feelings. his fat cock, the sloppy circles he left on your clit, his wet and cool lips on your warm skin.

“mhm – my pretty dove,” he whispered in your ear, voice shaking with the ferocity of his own thrusts, sending goosebumps down your body. “y’were made for me.”

he moaned in your ear, practically whimpering. your pussy gripping him like a vice – a feeling he’d dreamt of for months.

“Luke i- c-an’t.” you whimpered, voice high and whiney and fucking pathetic.

“yes you can, dove, f’me, right?” his eyes fluttered closed, hands and hips working simultaneously to please you and your pretty body.

his cock pistoned into you, on the verge of bullying your cervix. “fo-or y-ou, Lukey.”

he relished in the feeling of your tight, warm cunt, hips stuttering. he was close, desperate to feel you finish before him.

“all mine, dove. mine mine mine.”

you tried to wonder if he was saying it for you or for him, but you were too braindead to come up with a conclusion.

together, the pounding of his hips and the circling of his fingers practically threw you over the edge.

you screamed, eyes screwing shut and mouth falling open, white hot pleasure flushing throughout your veins.

“fuck, fuck fuuuuck-” he groaned, hips pistoning as he filled you up, warm heat flooded your pussy, his pace never faultering as he made sure you got every drip of pleasure you deserved.

Luke turned your head towards his, capturing your lips with his own, thrusts and fingers slowing.

you whimpered into his kiss, mind hazy and pussy fluttering. you felt his lips turn upwards, the kiss deepening.

his hips finally slowed to a stop as he let your spent body lay back down on his bed. he carefully pulled out of you, falling beside you, searching for his breath.

you whimpered beside him, heaving and eyes fluttering closed. you were half on your side, back facing him.

Luke’s arm slithered towards you, wrapping around your waist and pulling your used body against his.

he held you close, face shoved in your neck, mouth close to your ear as he whispered, “pretty, dove. all mine.” he kissed behind your ear, nipping at the skin there. you whimpered.

“you were mine from the start, weren’t you, dove?” his hand slowly trailed around your body, up your thigh and up your chest.

“mine, mine, mine.”

2K notes · View notes

defututus · 4 months ago

Text

Baggage Claim Reunion

modern!rockstar!eddie Munson x reader

masterlist

summary: Corroded Coffin is finally home after their first supporting tour in the UK and you get to pick them up.

word count: 5.3k

content warning: established relationship, fluff, more fluff, some language, references to sex and a dom/sub relationship that I'll explore at some point, overall you and Eddie are just happy to be reunited.

author's note: this came to me as I was waiting for @corroded-hellfire to pick me up from the airport when I visited her. I stewed on the idea for a little bit before deciding to write it and I'm really happy with how it turned out!

Also, I'm starting a general taglist if anyone is interested 👉👈

Indianapolis International Airport was buzzing with people in the evening. Most of the individuals walking by look like they’d rather be anywhere else right now as they slump over in the chairs waiting for their luggage or lean against the handles of their carry-on bag. It was amazing to see how some people dressed there. You saw people dressed from head to toe in new Disney merch, in their pajamas, suits, the whole nine yards. Indiana was finally blessed with a few warm days around this time of year so you drove to the airport in a sweatshirt and some pajama pants. The occasion was exciting but did not warrant dressing up since you’d be going to bed right after. You even tried to nap earlier in the day but the anticipation for today’s events kept you wide awake. Hell, you’re probably the only one at the arrivals gate full of energy as you anxiously bounce on your slippered feet waiting for the passengers of an 11-hour flight from Helsinki to return home.

Corroded Coffin had finally made it and was invited to open up for another band on the European leg of their tour. Everyone was so ecstatic when they got the call from the band's agent and began preparing. Eddie quickly got the necessary time off from work approved (one of the perks of Wayne’s new promotion to shop manager), passports were renewed, visas expedited, and before you all could even process what was happening you waved goodbye as Corroded Coffin flew off to tour for the next month. It was hard for you to adjust to your apartment being so quiet. Eddie was always coming over to stay the night to the point that you’d joke he should just move in. Maybe you’d suggest that after dropping everyone off when they arrived home. The band would have weekly hang outs every Saturday night at your place and would sometimes culminate in a sleepover with you all sprawled out across the living room. Your head more often than not would end up on Eddie’s shoulder and his arm draped across your shoulder. It was weird to go so long without him humming a tune or tapping his fingers against something. It almost didn’t feel like home without him.

Eddie would call you after every show and you’d spend as much time as possible catching up on each other's day before he had to go help with loading up the van and promise to call again the next day. There’s the usual back and forth about who should hang up first until one person gives in, or in some cases one of the band members takes the phone and hangs up for you guys. They don’t do it to be mean, but they all know that if they don’t do it then Eddie will make them late for load out almost every night.

You miss Eddie’s warmth, his contagious laughter, the way he always had a corny joke or compliment when you were in a bad mood. Hell, you even missed when he was trying to be annoying. You missed every part of him and as proud as you were to see Corroded Coffin get the attention they deserved, you also wanted your best friend and boyfriend back. The distance made you realize how hard it was to function without him. Sure, he had done other tours before, but the time difference left you two with little time to chat and it made you feel lonely. Your other half was missing.

You get to the baggage claim earlier than expected, having looked up the map of the airport the night before to avoid getting lost. The universe must have sensed your desperation because there was barely any traffic during rush hour. Once you strode through the glass doors, you find the carousel everyone’s luggage would be dropped off and park yourself on a bench facing the gate. According to the boards plastered around the airport, Corroded Coffin’s grueling nonstop flight had landed and their luggage was being delivered to the baggage area, meaning your boys would be arriving soon. There’s a small food court near the baggage claim and still had plenty of time left before the guys come out, so you take the opportunity to get some food for yourself. It’s not much, settling for a quesadilla and bag of tortilla chips with queso. You’ll eat that and let the boys fight over the bag when you drive them all home.

Your phone nearly died earlier and you needed it to get home from the airport so you resort to the age-old activity of people watching to make time pass by easily. You watch exhausted families carrying their sleeping children, pilots and flight attendants heading to and from work, and count at least four adorable dogs that make you want to abandon your post waiting for the band so you can say hello to them. There was even a man who sat near you with what was possibly the funniest, most wrinkly English Bulldog you had ever seen. His name was Hank and you were so excited to tell Eddie about him when you two were finally reunited

You were so excited to see everyone – mainly Eddie – that your heart began to pound every time you saw a group of people approach the baggage claim, but found yourself immensely disappointed every time when you learned it was not Corroded Coffin. There was a surprising amount of tall white men with long brown hair. Were you being tortured? It sure felt like it.

Twenty torturous minutes later and you finally see a familiar group of people approaching the baggage area. Leading the pack is Jeff, who is chugging the last of his water and shoving it in his backpack. Grant and Gareth are passionately arguing about something with Gareth enthusiastically jumping as if the added height would help prove his point. Behind those two is a drained looking Eddie with a can of Monster in his hand and his guitar slung over his back. Eddie insisted he take the guitar as a carry-on because he didn’t trust anyone to handle it with care. The rest of the band’s equipment was being shipped back to the States and would arrive in a few weeks.

He had changed his hair a bit before leaving for tour by getting an undercut and you never realized how much a change in hairstyle could affect his confidence levels. His self-esteem got a big boost once Corroded Coffin began to take off, but this new haircut really helped him.. The longer portion of his hair was tied back into a loose bun to show off the shaved back. You joked that he did it solely to show more of his neck to you since you had a habit of biting it. He had headphones on and wasn’t really paying attention to the argument going on in front of him, looking as exhausted as everyone else in the building, but with little more curiosity about this part of the building and the amenities that surrounded them. He wore a faded Corroded Coffin hoodie (he insisted on repping the band whenever possible) with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoo sleeves and a pair of gray sweatpants, your personal favorite. Eddie was definitely dressing for comfort in this case, although you’d make the case that he looks good no matter what. He looked tired, the long flight most likely taking whatever energy he had left before the show, but somehow he looked as perfect as ever.

Grant is the one to spot you first and waves in your direction. You throw your half-eaten meal down into the large to-go bag it came in and drop it on the floor to dart in their direction. Eddie doesn’t see you barreling over to them, instead taken by the large sculpture near the elevators. It’s not until he hears you yell, “Welcome back!” that he realizes his favorite person is finally here to take them all home that he tugs his headphones off his ears. The metalhead pushes through to the front of the group and meets you halfway to pick you up and twirl you around. He had never looked happier, all semblance of exhaustion wiped off his face the second he had you in his arms.

You’re both smiling at each other and start giggling when he spins you around. Your reunion is like something out of a movie. The world slows down around you as your attention lies solely on Eddie, his eyes, his smile, his everything. The rest of his band watches from afar to allow you both to have this moment. Eddie had a smile on their face that they didn’t see often - it was usually after a great show or whenever you two were apart and he finally saw you again. They collectively decided to keep their mouth shut about how much he’d complain about missing you. Always moaning about how he wished you were there with them, how he wished you saw what he did on stage (you have social media, you saw every second of every show), and how he missed talking to you. Eddie called you every day yet he acted like he hadn’t spoken to you in years. It was easy to just let him have his moment with you while they all waited to collect their luggage at the appropriate carousel as it began dropping out of the chute.

Eddie’s spinning slows down until he’s just standing there with you in his arms.. He loosens his grip enough to place you down on the floor but immediately pulls you in for a tight hug. If there was one thing about Eddie that you liked to share with people, it was the fact that he gave the most amazing hugs. He would hold you so tightly you felt that he might actually break something if he were any stronger. Years of working odd jobs and later at the mechanic led to him building enough muscle so he finally filled out his shirts and could lift anything with ease. Hauling gear was easy for him, and he particularly took joy in throwing you around like a ragdoll, whether during sex or just to wrestle around and get you to laugh. Right now, it felt like he was trying to squeeze the air out of your lungs. All the love he had for you was fueling the hug’s strength. You reciprocated the embrace as much as you could, still feeling a bit giggly because your boy was finally home. Your face is buried in his neck to take in his scent. It was intoxicating. You had started using some of his shirts as pillow cases to tide you over while he was gone. Your bed usually smelled like him since he slept there most nights, but without him visiting the sheets began to lose their comforting smell. Thankfully, he already had a drawer for his stuff so you didn’t even have to ask him to give you anything. You even took one of his shirts the last time you visited his place so you could have something new.

Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his head on top of yours, almost whispering against your hair, “Oh honey, my sweet girl…,” he presses his nose to your hair to breathe you in and continues with a smile, “I missed you so much.”

His hands move from your waist to cup your cheeks after pulling away from you. There’s a moment where you two don’t say anything, just taking each other in for the first time in a month. Then, he pulls you closer to press a soft kiss to your lips. It’s not the passionate kiss you were craving all month, but you were happy to finally feel his soft lips against yours. You’re leaning into the kiss as the world disappears around you, at least until you hear someone clear their throat and you remember Eddie did not arrive here alone.

“Um, sorry, do we get a hello too?” You pull away from your boyfriend and look over to Jeff who was speaking and laugh at his request. Eddie’s gaze follows yours and he cocks a brow at his bandmate, looking absolutely pissed that his bassist dared to interrupt your moment with him, but also that Jeff wanted to take you away from him. Yes, you were good friends with the rest of the band, and yes he was sure you also missed them, but you were Eddie’s girlfriend. He wanted to hold onto you for as long as humanly possible. If he could, he’d sit in the driver’s seat and use his arms as your seatbelt when you drove home. Despite his protests, you fully let go of Eddie (to which he lets out a sad whine and follows you to the others) and give each member a greeting and a hug, asking how the flight was and making general small talk. Without any warning besides the quiet thud of his footsteps on the tile floor, Eddie moves to stand behind you and wrap his arms loosely around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. One of your hands reaches up to scratch the back ofhis scalp and he lets out a content hum, happy to just stand here all night as long as you never stop touching him.

“So…” you begin, turning your attention to the group as a whole, “how was the trip? Did you guys get to sleep for a little bit?” You feel Eddie shift a little bit behind you, unaware of the look he’s giving his friends who just chuckle.

Grant looks Eddie directly in the eyes and replies, “Oh, definitely. Eddie was especially quiet so it was pretty easy.” You cock an eyebrow at Grant, a little suspicious of the claim since the Eddie you know, the Eddie who sleeps in your bed most days, is a known sleep talker and never shuts the hell up when he’s awake. There was never a quiet moment with him. This was especially the case now, given how Eddie hasn’t spoken since he held you. Usually he’d be going on and on about every thought that went through his head during the plane flight or things that happened between your last phone call and now.

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t aware that Eddie had a mute button. Where is it? Does he have a new secret freckle that I don’t know about? ” You point a finger in your boyfriend’s face while questioning the others. Eddie, taking the opportunity to get another laugh out of you, leans in and tries to playfully nip at your finger but you just move your hand away when he does so. He’s still silent and you’re becoming more suspicious of him by the second.

Jeff walks over, having gone to the nearest trash can to dispose of his empty bottle. He adjusts the backpack on his shoulder before replying, “Well, someone lost their voice last night at the end of the show.” The other two boys laugh and Gareth pulls his phone out to seemingly provide evidence for Eddie’s actions as Jeff continues on, “He was invited on stage for the last song of the night with the headliner It was fucking sick. The gutturals? Disgusting. ”

Gareth hands his phone over to you with a video from Tiktok pulled up. You kept TikTok open throughout the night to watch everything unfold live, but somehow missed this part of the night. Maybe this was when you were trying to sleep or went on a cleaning spree.

Like Jeff said, it was the last song of the night and they called Eddie on stage. The metalhead is sweaty from his previous performance but looks like he could go on all night if he had the chance. He has a smile on his face that fills your heart with pride, his joy only growing when the audience begins to cheer even more than they were before once he came on stage. Eddie is still in his stage outfit and makeup, some smoky red eyeshadow, wearing a half buttoned up button-down shirt, distressed jeans, and his favorite combat boots. The unbuttoned shirt revealed sections of his tattoos and his two necklaces - one with your first initial on it and the other was his new lucky guitar pick. His original has been hanging around your neck for around two years now. You were sure the comments were flooded with people fawning over his looks, they always are.

The two walk up to center stage as the band plays the first notes. You can almost feel the energy of the room just by watching the video. Everyone in the audience begins cheering. Everyone knows the lyrics and they all scream along with the two men on stage. The first notes of the song begin to play and the two vocalists make it to center stage before they start singing. Eddie has one foot up on the stage risers as he belts out the lyrics.

All in with a losing hand

The sun sets on a wanted man

No spine, born without a backbone

Two-faced, too late for a tombstone

His screams are most akin to a deep growl from the back of his throat. He tried his best over the years to improve his guttural screams without damaging his throat, but maybe last night he got so excited that he forgot to take all the precautionary steps he took to prevent any damage.

Eddie nods at this and speaks up as much as he’s able to and says, “I got carried away and fucked up. I could feel the damage happening maybe halfway through the song but there was no way I was gonna stop.”

Jeff nods, muttering under his breath, “And you’re the one always lecturing us about proper technique…” Eddie huffs and raises a ringed middle finger to his bassist who did the only reasonable thing and gave Eddie one back.

You take a little pity on Eddie because he’s clearly annoyed at himself for doing this and how he hurt himself. You turn to him to peck his lips while soothingly rubbing his shoulders. Your touch is already making him feel better. All he wants to do is go home and snuggle up to you in order to make up for lost time. From behind you, there’s some muffled comments being made by the boys, including a sarcastic ‘I can never get over how whipped he is for her…’ coming from Gareth. Eddie tears his eyes from you to Gareth and hoarsely remarks, “At least I have a girlfriend.” It’s barely audible to them, given the condition of his voice and the overall noise levels of the airport, but they’re able to decipher what he said by lip reading. The reactions are mixed. Grant fakes offense, Jeff scoffs, and Gareth flips him off. Then, the younger man gets an idea.

“You know…”, Gareth says, readjusting the bag hanging off one shoulder with a sly smile on his face, something you notice right away when you turn to look at him, “I’ve actually been acting as his interpreter. I’m pretty good.”

Your boyfriend scoffs and croaks out to Gareth, “No the fuck you’re not.”

Instantly, Gareth replies, “What’s that? You’re indefinitely appointing me as the new frontman? Aww, thanks man! I really appreciate that you trust me with the band!” Eddie shakes his head and is about to walk past you and try to knock some sense into his drummer, mainly because he’s tired and just wants to go home, but you’re still holding onto his shoulder so he stays put. He’s pursing his lips and is clearly ticked off by Gareth, which seems to have been his goal. Most of the time, Eddie could put up with Gareth’s shenanigans, but you swore that every time they went on tour Eddie would come back needing a break from him. He needed a break from everyone, really. That’s what was so great about this job. You’re stuck in a tiny van with them with zero time by yourself and once you get home you can just avoid them until you can bear to look at their faces again. They didn’t schedule a Hellfire session next week for this exact reason. Eddie didn’t want to hear any of their voices or look at them for a while. Hell, he wanted to forget the guys even existed. His plan was to spend time with you, spend time in you, and spend time catching up on his sleep… with you

He’s sick of standing here, he’s sick of the clothes he’s wearing, he’s sick of being awake. Eddie grabs his suitcase from the small pile of luggage that made up their belongings and said to you, “I wanna go home.” He pulls the handle up and takes your hand to begin walking towards the exit. You couldn’t understand what he was saying seconds ago and found the perfect opportunity to poke fun at him.

“Oh yeah, I’d love to watch Titanic when we get home! We can do a fun romance movie marathon!.”

Eddie stops in his tracks and spins to look at you. Did you not hear him correctly? Is his voice that messed up? It’s only when you’ve got the same shit-eating grin on your face that Gareth is wearing that Eddie realizes you’re just messing with him. He gives you the same glare he previously gave the rest of the band and lets go of you before turning to leave the building. You let Eddie take a few steps by himself before shouting out, “You’re going in the wrong direction!”

Eddie groans and turns around again. You and the boys are laughing and all decide it’s finally time to get going. Your boyfriend strode in the other direction to the other exit, one hand on his luggage and the other grabbing your hand again as he passed. You’re laughing even more now and follow him to the elevator leading to the parking garage. Everyone else follows behind and you all make your way upstairs and to your car.

All the bags are packed into the back and the boys into the seats. Eddie immediately claimed the front passenger seat to avoid being sandwiched between the other three, but it gave him the opportunity to hold onto you more. Once everyone was buckled in and ready you began the hour long drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins. There was some chatter at the beginning, but as time went on the chatter morphed into a loud conversation about god knows what. You kept your focus on the road in order to get everyone home as fast as possible. Your patience was beginning to wear thin so you couldn’t imagine how Eddie was feeling. Their loud comments were almost enough to drown out the car radio and the other vehicles whizzing past you on the highway.

The entire time, Eddie kept one hand on your thigh. Neither of you had the energy for sex right now, but you couldn’t deny that his touch wasn’t getting you a little hot and bothered. You were used to satiating each other's urges whenever you had the chance so you had a month's worth of desires and urges to let out with him. When the time came for him to leave for tour, he made you promise not to touch yourself because ‘you can’t play with something that belongs to him’. You could have easily gone against his wishes, it was all for fun, but it just made his homecoming all the more exciting. His hands were warm and the heat went right through your jeans. He would squeeze your leg sometimes when you stopped and sometimes rub the inside of your thigh with his thumb.

You drop everyone off at their respective homes and heave a sigh of relief once it’s just you and Eddie in the car. You love those guys, you really do, but sometimes when they’re all together in the same room (or in this case, car) they all start acting like lunatics. Your only saving grace was the fact that they all wore seatbelts and Eddie, the usual instigator of their chaos, was quiet and drained of all his energy.

As you begin the drive to your apartment, you lower the radio volume until it’s merely background noise. Eddie takes his hand away from your thigh and crosses his arms as he makes himself more comfortable. He even pulls his hoodie up to keep warm

You lived two towns over so the drive would be twenty minutes until you both could finally go to sleep. Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie moving to recline the passenger seat a little bit and shut his eyes.

“Get some rest, baby. We’ll be home soon.”

There was never a discussion about where he’d be staying the night, you just assumed he would be sleeping here. It was a peaceful, quiet drive. A few minutes after he got comfortable you heard his even, heavy breathing and smiled at how quickly he fell asleep. He tired himself out after that last show. Eventually, you roll into your complex’s parking lot and slow to a stop in your designated area. Once the car is off, you take one of Eddie’s hands and give it a squeeze to wake him up. His eyes flutter open and you give him a warm smile. He blearily rubs his eyes and slowly ambles out of the car. You grab his luggage and he picks up his guitar case to sling over his shoulder. Once he’s out and all his belongings are out of the car, you go over to him and hold your hand out which he happily takes. It’s a short walk from your car but takes a little longer than normal thanks to everything you two are lugging and how sluggish your boyfriend is moving. Thankfully, the temperature wasn’t dipping too low so neither of you were in a hurry. Eventually you get to the front door of your apartment. Neither of you speak on the walk over, but it’s a comfortable silence so neither of you try to fix that.

The door finally opens after you fight the lock for what feels like an eternity. Eddie sighs when he steps inside. He sets his guitar case down on the sofa and you put his luggage down next to the front door. You kick off your slippers as he leans against the couch to bend over and pull his sneakers off. Once those are off, he begins stripping down in the living room without saying a word. Eddie pulls his hoodie over his head and is followed by the Metallica shirt he wore underneath. Then, he pulls off his sweatpants to reveal… nothing else.

“Ed, honey, did you really take an 11-hour flight without underwear?”

Eddie turns to you as he takes his hair down out of the ponytail he was wearing. He runs his fingers through his hair and scratches at his scalp to relieve the tension from having his hair up for that long. Your beautiful boyfriend stands in the middle of your living room, completely drained and fully nude in front of the open living room window. Eddie looks at you and tiredly answers, “I didn’t feel like wearing them” like it’s completely normal. He’s beyond the point of holding a regular conversation. The dim lighting doesn’t help to hide the bags under his eyes. This would be a conversation to be held in the morning.

You sigh and shake your head at him. He’s bending over to pick his clothes up and you get a full view of his ass, and you won’t complain. It’s a great view. So great that you go over and give it a little tap. You don’t have the energy to give it a full-on smack, something else to tackle tomorrow. Eddie turns and has a small smile on his face. He takes the shirt in his hand and throws it at your face. You hate to admit it smells amazing - it’s a little more sweaty than the shirts he usually gives you since he was stuck in a cramped plane for eleven hours, but that was what somehow made it smell better. He picks up his laundry (minus the shirt) and carries it into your room. Your eyes are scanning his body as he walks inside. The only light source in the room is your bedside lamp, so there’s even less light in there. He’s half hard despite the exhaustion over the past 24 hours and you make a mental note to yourself to wake him up with a blowjob, he always loves that. All his dirty clothing is tossed onto the designated laundry chair, now a mix of your dirty clothes and his, before he flops down onto the bed on his stomach. He’s sprawled out like a starfish and groans when he hits the bed, burying his face in your pillows. It gives you the opportunity to ogle him more, the skeleton wings on his back and the bite mark that you gave him that he permanently tattooed onto the side of his neck. It’s the closest thing you guys had to matching couple tattoos - he had a bite from you on his neck, and you had his on your inner thigh. He was perfect.

You take the time to remove your clothing and strip down like Eddie did earlier. He turns his head a bit to watch you. His eyes trace your curves as the clothing falls off and is placed on the growing mountain in the corner. Once you’re properly undressed, he turns his head back to your pillows so he could take in your fragrance again. The mix of your shampoo, soap, and natural scent was better than any drug.

“God, I’m fucking exhausted…”

You tiptoe over to the side of the bed and sit down next to him, moving a lock of curly hair away from his face so you can look at him more. He has a sleepy smile on his face, and it’s obvious that he’s on the verge of falling asleep. You reply, “Mm, I bet. Did you have fun?”

The metalhead nods his head and takes your hand in his to kiss the back of it. Eddie missed a lot of things. He missed the smell of your bedsheets, your warmth when he woke up to your body curled up next to his, the long nights spent in bed just laughing and talking until one of you fell asleep. With his lips pressed against your hand, he mutters, “Yes, but I’m happy to be home…”

He called your apartment home. There was already a mix of his belongings in here besides his clothing so it would make sense that it felt like home to him. The question keeps flying around in your head, but again, it’s a conversation for tomorrow. Your blankets were calling your name, especially with this angel of a man under them. You reach to your bedside table and turn the light off with a soft click, the streetlights outside barely illuminating the room now. Eddie holds the sheets open for you as you tiredly climb inside. The last of your energy leaves your body the moment your head hits the pillow. A pair of strong arms encircle you again and pull you close so your chests are pressed together. You nuzzle him and give him a little kiss before whispering, “Goodnight, Eddie. Get some sleep.”

You two are both out within ten minutes.

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taglist:

@ainelantv

#I meant to just proofread it before posting but ended up adding an extra thousand words #im scheduling this before going to bed goodnight everyone ily #also in case anyone is like hey those lyrics sound cool...... tombstone by wage war #they're cool check them out #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #scripsi

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myownwholewildworld · 11 months ago

Text

masterlist

find me in ao3 | discord: arran.macleod | notifs blog

well, hello there! c:

i go by the name of arran in the world wide web, she/her, based in the uk and in my 30s era. i have been writing on and off for almost 20 years now on different platforms, but this is really the first time i venture into the fanfic realm in tumblr, so please be nice! >: my first language is not english but spanish, so if you spot any spelling mistakes, i apologise in advance lol

i've been obsessed with pedrito for quite a while now, so i thought ― i love writing, i love pedro, and, above everything else, i love love love drama, so why not give in and write some fics? i'm sure i'll find some like-minded people here!

i do appreciate any feedback you may want to share with me, as well as interactions (asks, reblogs, comments, likes, anything really!). also please feel free to drop me a message if there's something you would like me to write, i'm always open to suggestions ♡

please assume all my work is 18+, so mdni! do not repost, translate, nor use my work in any way without my explicit permission either.

i'll try to keep this masterlist as up to date as possible.

love,

arran xx

(find my work under the cut!)

🤭 ― fluff

😳 ― light smut

💘 ― explicit smut

💢 ― dark/sensitive theme

🤕 ― angst

🩸 ― graphic content (violence, gore, etc)

wherever you go

series masterlist - 🤭💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. summary: after the events of 26th september 2003, you find yourself under the wing of the miller brothers. it's the older one who catches your attention, but also the one who drives you fucking crazy. you inevitably find yourself gravitating towards him while trying to navigate this postapocalyptic word you're stuck in, with more than one unpleasant surprise...

uniformed!joel one shots

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: uniformed!joel x f!reader. summary: a series of one shots where we get to see the one and only joel miller and all his sides... as long as he's wearing a uniform, ofc. i'm open to any requests you may have, no matter how wild! check #uniformed!joel to see what's already been suggested. come along, don't be shy!

the dark series

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: Boston QZ!joel x f!reader. summary: in a post-apocalyptic world, Joel is a man with dark urges, ones that only you can satisfy.

a man called joel

series masterlist - 🤕💢 status: tbd. pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader. summary: joel has lost everyone he held dear: sarah, tess, ellie. and while his brother still remains by his side, joel can't help but drown in the solitude of his jackson home. the rooms are too empty, too silent, so his heart is vacant. he's truly had enough of this life, given up to the point where he's decided to end his own suffering. that is until you move in next door and slowly worm your way into his life....

an old man!joel miller collection

collection masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader. summary: a smutty collection of fics and drabbles for the one and only, joel miller in his peepaw era. no bad things ever happen here, you and him live your best lives together in jackson.

acta, non verba

series masterlist - 🤭😳💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: conqueror!marcus x ofc!reader. summary: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all.

per aspera ad astra

series masterlist - 💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: when your husband dies in battle, his best friend is there to console you, to help you navigate your grief as he does his own. as you become close, feelings flourish. but your father, emperor Traianus, sees Marcus' romantic advances as a way to dethrone him.

love is heartbreak

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: inspired by the age of adaline. kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise?

the road to rome

read here - 🤕💢🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all…

the mists of avalon

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: arthurian!marcus acacius x cursed!f!reader. summary: you've been regent to the netherworld for as long as you can remember. as the lady of the lake, you know providence will put king marcus acacius in your path. so when he invokes you, you go to him, ready to fulfill your destinies.

the way to a great wide somewhere

read here ; easter eggs - 🤭💘🤕🩸 status: completed. pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story.

when the moon howls

read here - 🤭 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: you meet javier in a café during your sabbatical. you see the man that no one does ― the one who is broken, defeated, crushed by his time as a DEA agent. so you make it your purpose to shine some light on his life, one pumpkin spice latte at a time. -or- the story of how you two fall head over heels for each other c:

when the grief howls

read here - 🤭💢 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. same couple as "when the moon howls". can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him.

pretty nails

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: javi pays for your manicure 😏

wicked whims

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. (same couple as "pretty nails") summary: javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.

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moody-alcoholic · 4 months ago

Text

Cross My Heart

Part 18 - Epilogue

Summary: poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: +18 MDNI explicit content. Sex, PiV sex, oral (F receiving), fivesome (MMMMF), cum play??, mention of weapons.

AN: I'm going to be re-writing this and turning into a full length fic, as well as continuing the story. Don't know when that will be, until then this version will remain.

Previous parts - masterlist

Enjoy <3

3 months later

You genuinely have no idea how John manages to do the things he does. Even when you first got into the UK and he helped you with all the paperwork, he seems to have a contact for everything. Before you knew it you had a flat and a bank account, you were staying in London, almost every day for the first month Johnny and Kyle would take you out.

After a few weeks you talked to John about wanting to join the army. You expected nothing to come of it, you would need to be a citizen first and that wasn’t happening any time soon. To your surprise John came to your flat the next day with a stack of paperwork and a week later you were being sent to basic training.

It all happened so fast you hardly got time to process it all, you still don’t know what he did or who he spoke to but you’re not one to complain, it’s a new life and that's good. You got on well with the other girls in your training troop, you didn’t talk much about what happened in Urzikstan or about 141 but they were all interested in hearing your stories.

Your head snaps up as your name is called. Emily walks out the office and smiles at you giving you a thumbs up. You smile back at her blowing out the nerves and walk into the office.

“Sit down.” Captain Wilson says. You nod sitting down across the desk from her. She’s been your troop’s CO, she’s nice, her hair is always pulled back into a slick bun, she always manages to keep it perfect. You all started to wonder if she kept a bottler of hair spray in her bag.

“You still haven’t picked a specialty.” She says looking up from the papers she’s reading.

“No, I’m still not sure what I want to do.” You reply.

“Well, we always need more medical staff and given your history you would be a good fit.” She says smiling at you. You’d thought about it, there were so many options the only one that sounded remotely interesting was being a combat medic. You’re just not sure if you want to dedicate that much time to studying though.

“I’m just not sure.” You reply.

“If you want I can schedule for you to shadow someone from the medical team, it will give you a better understanding of how they work?” She offers raising an eyebrow.

“I think I just need to sleep on it. I’ve spent the past few weeks focusing and training for pass out. I haven’t put much thought into it.” You say, you don’t know if it will be a satisfying answer for her or not.

“Well. As for your general performance I am very impressed. Only one note on file for attitude, and contraband.” She says, you remember that day, you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed and snapped at her for some reason. It was your only disciplinary.

“You’ll be joining an SAS unit.” She looks up at you and frowns then back down at the paper. “Very unusual for private’s to go straight into a unit like that but I’m sure Captain Jonathan Price will be lucky to have you.”

You smile at her and nod. You got a few days off over Christmas but that was it. You’re looking forward to seeing them again. You didn’t ask them to come to your pass out ceremony but John said he would pick you up.

“Do you have any family coming today?” She asks. You shake your head. “Well. I will wish you luck with your new unit, and the rest of your career. Do you have any questions?”

You shake your head and stand up saluting her before you leave. You’re still not too much of a fan of the rules, the properness of it all. It’s better than you thought, and at least you managed to stick it out for 3 months.

“So what unit are you going to?” Emily asks as you step into the dorm room.

“Just some medical corps.” You lie going over to your bed. She’s already half dressed in her formals. You open your cupboard pulling your top off over your head. “What about you? Still going for engineering?”

“Yeah, got another few months of training then I'll be qualified.” She says buckling her belt up. “I think you’ll be a good medic Pepper.”

“Please don’t call me that.” You plead looking over at her.

“Sorry mate but you’re never going to live that down.” She says chuckling and coming over to you. You kick your boots off.

“Check my bun?” She asks, turning her back to you. You watch as she secures her cap.

“It’s fine.” You say. She smiles and turns to you.

“Meet you down there?” She says heading to the door. You nod and look back at your uniform laid out on your bed.

…

You’re nervous as Captain Wilson hands out the dummy weapons. Drill was definitely one of those lessons you hated the most. You liked it when you were out doing something. Even if it was a 10k walk with a full kit, it was better than 4 hours of a drill instructor screaming in your face.

Everyone is getting excited, checking out the crack in the doors to the grandstand where family members and friends are all taking seats. You have to do this parade then you’ll get your badges and it will all be over. All you care about is seeing them all again. Johnny, Simon, John and Kyle, you would think of them when you were down or having a bad day.

You would remind yourself that they could do it so could you, although you imagine SAS training is a little more intense. You get into position and look round the rest of your troop, a lot of people dropped out, or at least it felt like that. Some people got rolled back for medical reasons and it doesn’t feel right moving on without them.

You’re not listening to the short speech Wilson is saying but you start looking for Emily in the lines of people. She had been your closest friend, and slept in the same bed next to you for 3 months. Her mother and sister will be here today, her father works on an oil rig.

You hear the call to attention and straighten yourself up resting the weapon over your shoulder. Things go smoothly, you don’t bother paying much attention to the crowd of happy family members clapping and cheering for their loved ones.

You wonder if your parents would have been happy for you. No, they wouldn’t have been happy unless you became a doctor. Now you’ll still probably end up fighting in the same war they died in, only this time you picked a side.

You all come to a halt in perfect lines facing the grandstand. Captain Wilson steps up to a podium and begins a speech, when she finishes everyone claps, then you’re called up one by one in alphabetical order and given your new private badges then a picture is taken with you and Wilson.

When your name is called you walk over to her. “Private.” She says handing you the badge.

“Thank you.” You say taking it and turning for the camera.

You hear loud whooping and cheering. Your eyes snap over to the person calling. You know it's Johnny before you see him. Your eyes find him standing off to the side waving. You feel yourself blushing, you told them not to come. You turn back to the camera and smile then go back into your position in line.

“Who’s that?” Emily mouths at you from across the way. You shrug, you’re still trying to get rid of the embarrassment. The rest of the names rush by and before you know it you’re all being marched back.

…

As soon as you’ve handed the weapons back you’re all allowed to relax and leave to go catch up with family, then you all get to go home. You scan around the crowds of people, you see people hugging and crying. Caps being thrown in the air like this is some college graduation.

“Good day Private.” You hear a familiar voice behind you. You smile, turning to see John standing behind you. You want to hug him, you want to throw yourself in your arms. Then you see Johnny come up behind him throwing his arms around you. It almost knocks you off your feet, your hat flies off your head.

“Look at you! Fucking sexy lass.” Johnny says, breaking from the hug. You smile at him, but you’re not sure what to say.

“I told you not to come.” You say looking past Johnny at John, you see Kyle and Simon now. Simon’s just wearing a black mask over the lower half of his face.

“Pepper!” You hear Emily behind you.

“Pepper?” Johnny asks, throwing his arm over your shoulder. You reach down and pick up your hat.

“I told you not to call me that.” You say through gritted teeth smiling at her.

“This is my mum and sister. I’m going to show them the dorms, want to bring your-” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Friend.” You say.

“I’ll come!” Johnny says excitedly, extending his arm out to shake Emily's hand. You nod then follow her, with Johnny on your heels.

…

You were glad when you finally got to leave, Johnny helped you pack the last of your things then you head out to the car. John is leaning against the hood. Johnny insisted on carrying your bag. You can see other people getting into their own cars, family members.

When you get to him he hugs you. “You look good.” John says. You smile at him and he reaches over opening the door and you get in.

“Where are Simon and Kyle?”

“Stealing muffins.” Johnny calls slaming the boot closed.

“Muffins?” You ask, looking at him as he gets into the car next to you.

“The chocolate muffins from the mess. I don’t know what they put in them but man they’re good, we’ve never been able to find them anywhere else.” He explains.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” John says.

“But enough that you want to steal some?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Before anyone can respond the boot opens again. You look back to see Kyle and Simon putting a box in the back. Kyle comes to get in the back next to Johnny and Simon gets in the front.

“You took a whole box?” Johnny asked.

“They’re not going to miss them.” Kyle says.

“Are they really that good?” You ask.

“I’m pretty sure they put crack in them.” Johnny says. John chuckles then starts to drive.

“So what’s with the nickname, Pepper?” Johnny teases. You sigh.

“Nothing, just something silly.” You say nudging. You’re lucky you’ll never have anyone calling you by that again.

“Oh c’mon love, we won’t laugh. Promise.” Johnny says. You let out a sigh, maybe if you tell them they’ll leave you alone.

“Okay, one of the first nights we were in here I accidentally sprayed pepper spray in my eyes. The name just kind of stuck.” You explain. Johnny does chuckle, you elbow him.

“Sorry, how do you do that accidentally ?” He asks.

“I thought it was deodorant!” You protest.

“Why were you spraying that in your eyes?” Kyle asks, smiling.

“I wasn't-” You tut folding your arms and looking out the window. Johnny chuckles again, his hand coming to rub your thigh. You let him touch you, you haven’t seen them in 3 months, you’ve missed their touch.

…

Before you even make it into John’s flat Johnny and Kyle are all over you.

“Missed you so much love.” Johnny says his tongue runs up your neck. Kyle’s hands are up your shirt, your bra already unbuckled.

“You two have no patience.” Simon says taking your coat as they pull it off you.

“We haven’t seen her in 3 months.” Johnny calls his hands around your waist pulling you towards the bedroom. You trip on your feet stumbling into Johnny’s arms.

“Calm down.” John says coming over to you. His hand lands on your back. “Not your turn anyway.” John pulls you out of Johnny’s arms and into his. His hands run up your arms to your shoulders, then up your neck.

His thumb brushes your lips, you look up at him. He doesn’t look as tired, maybe he got some good rest.

“You are amazing. I’m so proud of you, we all are. We’ve booked a restaurant later, to celebrate.” John says. “But first, you look uncomfortable in those clothes.”

“You didn’t warn me how much the dress uniform itches.” You smile, he reaches down and kisses you. His hands wrap around your face pulling you into the kiss. His touch is soft, you feel someone come up behind you, their arms wrapping around your waist.

You break from the kiss looking up at him. He leads you to the bedroom. There are always hands on you, pressing on your skin. John guides you over to the bed, you’re pushed down. Simon comes round your head stroking your face brushing hair out your eyes. John and Kyle’s hands run over your thighs pulling the rest of your clothes off.

John pulls your chin up to look after he’s finished pulling the rest of his clothes off. “Look at me baby.”

You blink up at him, as his hands run over your body. John leans over you, you feel other hands on your skin, other voices muttering praises into your ears.

John’s mouth works its way down your chest and your stomach. You look over at Simon slips in the bed behind you grabbing your shoulders and resting your head on your knees. You’re propped up watching as John works his way down your thighs kneeling at the end of the bed.

He looks up at you as you spread your legs for him, he smiles before leaning in and pressing his tongue through your folds. You moan arching your back, his hands grip your hips stopping you from squirming.

Johnny and Kyle climb on the bed next, one on each side of you. You flick your head between them reaching out as John circles his tongue over your clit. It’s not long before Johnny and Kyles hands land on your chest. Their fingers squeezing your nipples, they look up at each other. Johnny licks his lips before leaning forward to make out with Kyle.

“Christ,” You breathe, Simon chuckles as you squirm in John’s mouth. Johnny and Kyle’s hands don’t stop playing with your breasts though, even though their mouths are locked together. You relax against Simon, John’s fingers grip your waist tighter.

“You close love?” Simon asks, his voice is low like butter. You nod your breathing turns into pants.

“Already?” Johnny asks, you look up at him, Kyle’s face is buried in Johnny’s neck.

“You try to last 3 months without sex.” You say between pants, John tongue speeds up flicking against your clit. You squeeze your eyes close and arch your back as much as you can as you cum. John’s hands stroke your thighs as he rides you through the orgasm.

“Not even a cheeky wank?” Johnny asks. Simon tuts.

“There’s no privacy in that place,” You say relaxing down on the bed. John comes up from between your knees.

“Johnny doesn’t care about privacy.” Simon says, Johnny winks at you before both him and Kyle look down at John with puppy dog eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You reply, you watch as John comes over to Kyle his lips shine in the light. One of his hands wraps round the back of Kyle’s head pulling him in for a kiss. Johnny makes a disappointed noise as Kyle steps off the bed with John. You look up at Simon as you hear clothes being removed, Johnny pulls his shirt over his head and you run your hand across his stomach.

“Fuckin stunnin love.” Johnny says one of his hands reaching down to brush your head. You smile at him feeling heat build up in your face. “Prettier when you blush like that.” He teases.

You feel hands land on your thighs again, you look over to see Kyle naked at the end of the bed. John is stood behind him, his arms wrapped around him, his hands running up and down his chest. Kyle looks over at you, one of his hands runs up your thigh tracing the marks John left. When his fingers brush your clit you whine spreading your legs further for him.

He smiles at you pressing two fingers against your entrance, you almost want to beg him to push them into you. You keep your eyes fixed on him as he moves to line himself up with your entrance. When he eases into you moan, your hands gripping fistfuls of the bedding. You hear Kyle moan too, you look over watching John pressing kisses on his neck.

Johnny reaches over, pressing his fingers on your clit. You reach over to grip him clenching round Kyle which makes him moan again.

“Fuck Tav.” Kyle says looking blissed out.

“What? Fucked out already?” Johnny teases.

“Na, he can take it.” John’s almost growling in his ear. Simon chuckles and he reaches down to play with your breasts. Johnny attention fully on your clit as he teases Kyle. Simon’s hands are gentle, his thumbs brushing your nipples each time it sends throbs down your body.

“Seems like you’ve really missed us.” Johnny says, you nod moaning in response as his fingers rub your clit in time with Kyle’s thrusts.

“You’re one to talk.” Simon says. Yeah you missed them, everyday. Not even the sex though, just the company, just being around them. Basic was lonelier than you thought, John came and spent Christmas with you but Simon, Johnny and Kyle all went home to family. It was nice to see him, even if it was only just for a few days.

Kyle’s hands grip you tight, angling you up slightly. It feels good, has you squeezing the bedding and gritting your teeth. You squeeze round him again which makes him moan, speeding up his thrusts. Johnny chuckles pressing his fingers harder on your clit.

You're out of practice and tired, with all their hands on you pressing each of your sensitive spots in time it's almost too much. You close your eyes letting yourself enjoy each feeling, each persons hand's on you. Simon's praises in your ear, John's mumbling in Kyle, Johnny's fingers teasing you, he knows how much to give you, but not to push you over the edge.

It still happens quickly though, “Kyle-” You call as you cum. Johnny presses down on your clit as you pulse round Kyle. This time Simon doesn’t let you arch your back, his arms pressing you down. Johnny and Kyle ride you through the orgasm. Kyle didn’t cum though and after a few seconds he starts fucking you through the overstimulation. Johnny’s hand leaves your clit and you whine.

He chuckles coming over to kiss you.

“Fuck-” You almost miss Kyle moaning your name. Johnny pulls away and you both turn to watch Kyle pull out of you as he cums. Hot ropes shooting over your stomach. John reaches round to grip his cock stroking him until he starts twitching against him.

You can hear him muttering praise in his ears, it makes you smile. Johnny lets out a sigh running his tongue across your stomach collecting some of Kyles spend in his mouth. He winks at you leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t get a chance though, Simon grips his hair pulling him up to his mouth instead. You let out a breath as they tower above you, the wet sounds of their sloppy kiss fills the room.

“You broken?” John asks from the end of the bed. You open your mouth but you don’t know what to say, instead you just let out a sigh. You hear him chuckle and he goes over to grab a towel passing it to Kyle. He comes over and starts to wipe your stomach.

“Aww.” Johnny whines, breaking from the kiss as you sit yourself up off Simon’s knees.

“Down Johnny.” You hear Simon say as he pulls him away from you. “There'll be plenty more.” Kyle chuckles standing back up as John is looking round for his clothes. You yawn rubbing your forehead scooting to sit at the end of the bed.

“Nap?” Simon asks, his hand rubbing your back.

“What about the restaurant?” You ask.

“It’s not for a couple of hours, you look like you could use it.” John says handing you some fresh clothes. You nod standing up off the bed and handing the towel to Simon who walks round you.

“Might join you.” Kyle says stretching.

“We’ll wake you in an hour.” John says leaving the room with Simon.

…

When you wake you see Johnny in the bed too. Your mouth is dry, you’re thirsty, you slowly slip out of bed. Johnny murmurs but his hand finds Kyle and he pulls himself next to him. You tiptoe out the room pulling a dressing gown round you. You look out into the living room, you can see someone standing on the balcony. When you get closer you can see it's Simon.

You smile heading over to the door. He turns as you open it, taking the cigarette out his mouth.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” You reply, it’s still dark out, there’s a chill in the air, you only have a thin robe on. You walk up next to him and he wraps his free hand round your waist. “I’ve missed you all.”

“Yeah, we missed you too.” He says.

“Where’s Price?” You ask looking back into the kitchen.

“Had to go to work, he didn’t want to wake anyone.” Simon says, you let out a sigh.

“Why did you lie about the nickname?” He asks. You freeze all of a sudden.

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to play dumb. He just sighs looking down at you. You lean your head against him.

“Emily bought a bottle of pepper spray in. The CO found it, and said we’d bought an illegal weapon on the base. Told us if the person who didn’t own up we would all face consequences. It was implied we might all end up being kicked out. So I said it was mine. She made me spray it in my face as punishment.” You chuckle, it was kind of funny now you’re thinking about it. “I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be kicked out on the second day.”

“I like it, Pepper, spicy just like you.” Simon says, taking a puff of his cigarette. You tut and nudge him.

“I hate it.” You say.

“It’s better than Soap.” Simon chuckles, pulling you tighter against him.

“How did you know?”

“Price was keeping tabs on you.”

“I was getting special treatment?” You ask.

“No, just keeping an eye on you.” He says, you sigh, reaching round to hug him. He turns to face you.

“What happens now?” You ask.

“Now we catch the bad guys.” He smiles.

“Jamal and Khaled.”

“And many more.” He says. You relax against him looking out into the dark black sky, you can see the buildings light up the skyline. You’ve never been in a city this big before.

“You never choose a specialty.” Simon says as a matter of fact.

“My CO wanted me to go the medical route.” You reply.

“You don’t want to?” He asks, looking down at you.

“It’s another 8 months of training.” You say, looking back out at the city. “Longer if I want to be a CMT.”

“We could use a CMT.” He says.

“I’ll think about it.” You say. He smiles, reaching down to kiss you. He tastes of smoke but you don’t care. He breaks from the kiss first.

“C’mon Pepper, we should wake the others, John said he’ll meet us at the restaurant.” He smiles. You huff following him inside. You turn around taking one last look at the London skyline.

“I fucking hate that nickname.” You say smiling as you follow him back into the flat.

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