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mistydeyes · 9 months

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little moments and little voices

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summary: Despite the long hours and constant threat of death, the 141 always has something to return to. Even when they're away, they love the moments you share with them and your children.

pairing: 141 x fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: none :)

a/n: i redid my little headers for each section so hope you enjoy!

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price

“C’mon babies let’s call daddy,” you said as you gathered your three little children. “Mum we’re not babies anymore,” the eldest spoke up as your youngest climbed in your lap. “Alright my mature adults, let’s call your father,” you said in a fake stern voice. Your children laughed as they got settled. “You sound like daddy,” your son giggled as he sat down. "Okay is everyone ready?" you asked and they all nodded in agreement. You grabbed the laptop and pulled up Skype and they all giggled as it rang.

After two rings, John's face lit up the screen. "Well hello there," he said as he sat back and your children rushed to wave hi. "We all miss you, sweetie!" you exclaimed and blew him a kiss. "I miss you all too," he replied as he held a hand up to the screen. "Daddy guess what?" your middle said as she climbed onto your lap to see her dad better. "What, pumpkin?" he replied happily. "I lost a tooth," she exclaimed and showed her dad the empty gap in her front smile. "She's been showing everyone, sweetheart," you laughed as you placed your face back in the frame. You continued to have your other two children provide their updates, your eldest had gotten the best marks at school and your youngest recently learned how to tie their shoes. You could see your husband smile at them proudly as he praised all of their achievements. Eventually, you saw the time and knew it was time for bed. "Kiddies I think it's time we head up to bed, yeah?" you asked and you were immediately met with groans. "Don't act like that for your mother," Price scolded and the whining stopped. "Maybe if you ask nicely, Daddy can read us all a bedtime story," you smiled and they begged your laughing husband.

Eventually, he relented and your kids happily climbed down and raced upstairs. This was their favorite part of the night when John was away and were all dutifully ready to be tucked in. You followed with the laptop in hand and set it up so that all your children could see. "Alright, let's see what we have here," John chuckled, "I have a new one for you it's called '‎Goldilocks And The Three Bears'" your kids oooed in response as you sat next to your youngest bed. "I have a special guest," he continued and shifted the camera to the left, "Uncle Kyle is here and he'll be doing some of the voices." You waved as you saw the Sergeant appear on the screen. The kids screamed with happiness at the sight of their favorite uncle appearing. "Hi kids, I'm Goldilocks," he said in a high-pitched voice and you let out a small laugh. As soon as everyone settled, John prepared his best narrator voice and opened the book. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Goldilocks," he began. Before you knew it, he was reading the last few lines. By now, your children were fast asleep. The excitement from seeing their father and the laughter from Kyle's impressions had tuckered them out. You kissed them all gingerly before picking up your laptop and heading downstairs.

"Hi sweetheart," John said as you settled on the couch. "How are you doing?" you asked and his smile faltered a bit. "Tired, missing home," he replied and your heart ached slightly. "We miss you too, John," you whispered as you brought the device closer. "I'll be home soon, just have to tie up some loose ends," he noted. God you missed him. You knew what you had signed up for on your wedding day but these last few months had been hard. You sighed as he looked at your thoughtfully. "Want me to tell you a bedtime story?" he joked and that's how you fell asleep to your husband just talking.

soap

“Daddie daddie daddie!” is all the warning Johnny got before his two twins came running to him. “Slow down there, wee little ones,” he laughed as he went to pick them up in his arms. After four years, Johnny would never get tired of this. “Mammy did face paint with us,” his son said as Johnny examined his face. You had in fact painted their faces and they were excited to show their father. “Let’s get a proper look at both of you,” he said as he sat them both down on the kitchen counter. His kids smiled widely at him and he could see a collection of butterflies and bees on his son’s small face and hearts and flowers on his daughters.

“Where’s your mam now?” he asked as he lowered them off the counter. His daughter excitedly grabbed her dad’s hand and led him to the master bathroom. You stood there washing off your hands and brushes to see your tiny terrors dragging Johnny in. You smiled when you saw them tugging at your husband's arm. You put the brushes down as your twins jumped up and down in excitement. “Hi sweetheart, everything good at the brief?” you asked as you walked over and kissed his cheek. Your kids squealed in disgust and hid their eyes as he held your face gently. "All good, love," he replied, "now what's all this face paint business about?" You looked down to see your kids running around as if they were in a sugar rush. "Ah I had them lying around and they were getting antsy waiting for you," you said and gestured for the twins to settle down. As you continued to clean and chat with Johnny, your daughter had a brilliant idea.

"Mam, can you do some face paint on Daddie?" she asked sweetly and you looked over at Johnny who looked equally as excited. You sighed as you had just finished cleaning your brushes but you always folded for your children and your husband. "I guess I could," you said and the whole group cheered. You set up your station again and Johnny sat on the bathroom counter, leaning down so you could see his face. He squirmed a little under your grip and you ran your fingers over his stubble. "I could make something work," you said before pulling out the paints in your other hand and beginning your masterpiece. You made sure as you were painting to tell your kids not to ruin the surprise. Johnny held onto your waist as you painted. Your children moved around every so often to get a better angle of your work.

"And done," you said with a smile and he turned to look at himself in the mirror. "You've outdone yourself," he said as he examined the delicate brush strokes. "I wanna see!" your son called and Johnny hopped off the counter so they could get a better look. The twins gripped his cheeks and giggled at the splashes of yellow and blue and white. "It's a duck!" your daughter exclaimed. "It's a family of rubber ducks," you said as you bent down, "There's a daddie, a mammy, and two little ones following." They moved Johnny's face around to see the two parent ducks on one cheek and the two smaller ones on the other side. "That's us!" your daughter said as she touched the wet paint. She quickly rubbed it off on her dress and you sighed as you had just gotten them changed that morning. They ran to the playroom and before you could follow, Johnny held you back and kissed you. At first, you thought it was romantic but you soon realized he had brushed off the paint onto your face. "You're a bastard," you joked as you examined your face. "Ye but I'm yours," he said and you laughed as you went to follow your wild children.

gaz

"Shhh don't ruin the surprise," Kyle could hear you say as the door slowly cracked open. All morning, you and your daughter had worked on something special for him. According to your five-year-old, it was "Top Secret" and Kyle was happy to catch up on some shows while you and her worked in the living room. Your daughter jumped onto the bed as Kyle reached to pause his show and you joined soon after. "Okay it's time to close your eyes," she said and Kyle put his hands over his eyes. You smiled as you handed your daughter the masterpiece she had been working on. "You can open them now," she giggled and shoved the paper into his hands. "This is amazing Ivy," he said as you lay down next to them. "She made it all himself," you smiled as you turned to see the drawing.

Today was Kyle's last week before a long deployment and your daughter had wanted to give him something to have. All morning, she drew and colored a drawing of your family including your German Shepherd. The childish drawing had you and Kyle in front of your house and your daughter running around with your dog in a yard of green grass. Kyle kissed your head as your daughter described the scene and pointed out all the drawings. "...then we have mummy, she's wearing the green dress you got her," she said as she continued to point. "And who's that handsome guy?" Kyle said as he pointed to himself. Your son smiled up at you before replying. "That's you, Daddy," she said, "I wanted to draw your uniform but it was too hard so you're wearing a shirt and shorts." Kyle laughed as the drawing was surprisingly accurate, the clothes were things you wore daily and the house looked like the one you were sitting in.

"Well I'm sure my little artist is hungry," he said as he got up and placed your daughter on the ground. "Let's go out to eat today," he announced and your daughter jumped up and down. "I wanna pick out my outfit today," she triumphantly said before running off to her room. Kyle took this opportunity to grab you and hold you in his arms. "Thinking about another little one?" he joked and you laughed as you rolled over to face him. "Not when you're away," you exclaimed, "don't even get me started on the weird cravings Ives gave me." He kissed you gently and you knew you would revisit this as soon as he got back. "She doesn't want you to leave," you whispered after you sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm going to miss you too," he replied and held you closer into his chest. Parting was always such a bittersweet time for the family.

Before you knew it, Ivy came storming back into your bedroom. "Look at me!" she said as she twirled around. You and Kyle propped up to see her in a similar green dress. "Oh Ives, I told you that you were going to wear that when we picked up Daddy from the airport," you scolded but Kyle placed a gentle hand on your waist. "It's a special occasion though!" she exclaimed and you just smiled at her early surprise. "I love it, sweetheart," Kyle replied as he helped you up. "I only think it's fair if Mum wears her green dress," he smiled and kissed you on the forehead. Despite having the surprise ruined, you enjoyed walking around the streets of your town with your daughter in matching dresses and your husband lovingly smiling at you.

ghost

Simon woke up to hear the soft taps on the piano and your soothing voice guiding your son. “Alright sweetheart let’s try that again,” he heard your voice instruct as he played the beginning notes to Heart and Soul. Simon lay in bed for a while as he listened to the peaceful melody. He had been gone for too long and your son had gotten even better since he was last home. You were now able to play duets with him and didn't have to direct him through the sheet music. He smiled softly as he got out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He made sure to walk gently as to not disturb his two musicians. As he descended, you joined in with the duet and began to play the other notes. “Heart and soul, I fell in love with you,” you began and Simon heard your son's little voice join in. Your voice was light and it filled the home with life. When you were first pregnant and he found out it was a boy, Simon feared he would turn out like him but after seven years all of his worries were quelled.

"...and stole a kiss from the night," you both finished as Simon entered the living room. After a few years, you knew when Simon was watching so it didn't surprise you to see him in the doorway. "When did you learn that?" he asked as your son ran up to hug him. He held him to his leg as he watched you turn from the piano slowly. By now, you were about 7 months along and were clearly showing. In just a few more weeks, you would be welcoming a little girl. "I taught him a few weeks ago, he's a fast learner," you proudly announced as you closed the piano lid. "I can play two songs now," your son boasted as Simon lifted him up and tussled his dark hair. "Better than I could ever do," he replied and he lowered your son and made his way over to you. "We might just have to get you lessons, Elliott," you said as your son joined you back on the piano bench. He beamed at you as you looked at Simon's mini-me. "And soon we'll have our own little orchestra," you continued and patted your growing belly, "she loves when Elliott plays, I imagine she's dancing in there." In the morning sunlight, you looked radiant and Simon kissed your forehead gently.

As you shared a brief moment together, your son insisted on playing a new piece you had just started to teach him. "I don't know El, you heard how bad I was singing last week," you joked as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Eventually, you relented and you motioned for Simon to watch. You cleared your throat as your son stretched his fingers and found the starting notes. Simon's ears were soon filled with the melody of Edith Piaf's La Vie en Rose. He smiled softly as you soon began to sing. "Des yeux qui font baisser les miens," you began in an attempt at emulating Piaf's elegant French accent, "Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche." He watched as Elliott's hands moved around the keys as you sang the romantic song. Despite not being as musically inclined, Simon recognized you were in the key of C, something you had taught him. He closed his eyes as you both continued to perform in sync, savoring the melody and your soft vocals. As soon as he finished with a few ending notes, Simon clapped softly. You and your son laughed as you bowed to your audience.

"It's still a work in progress," you laughed as scooted off the piano and joined next to Simon's side. As you enjoyed the soft moment with your head on his chest, Elliott posed a question. "What if we name the baby Rose," Elliott spoke up and you both thought for a moment. "But out of all the songs why Rose?" Simon asked as you looked at your son. "Mum's always so happy when she sings it, I think the baby would like it," he continued and Simon listened intently. You had been flipping through baby books for weeks and no one of them truly resonated. As you thought about the idea, you suddenly felt the baby kick and smiled. "I think little Rosie agrees," you said happily before sitting down. Simon joined on the other side of the piano and you three squished on the small bench. "Rose it is then," Simon said and enveloped you all in a hug. Before you could get up, your son had a brilliant idea. "Dad let me show you how to play 'Chopsticks'" he exclaimed and Simon knew he was trapped with his musicians.

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bangchansgirlsblog · 4 months

Note

hey hope ur having a great day!

could u possibly write an angst request with skz? (any member)

something along the lines of the reader having a terrible childhood and having to go through trauma and really dark days and maybe opening up to them about it?

ONLY IF UR COMFORTABLE PLZ

ig I'm asking for it is cause I'm not doing so well recently and just need to feel something lmao

hope that you're doing well, if not then a channie hug for u <33

Ready?

Warning: Angst, toxic relationship, Chan being mean.

Paring: OT8 x reader

Summary: shutting down the boys was easy but fighting her demons aka her dad was not

AN: someone requested something similar to this and I can’t seem to find the request so I just joined the two 🥺

Enjoy! 🩷

"Y/n? You okay?" Hyunjin asked her again trying to get her out of her trance.

"Yeah-yeah," her voice is caught in a crack. The hot feeling of tears starts to build up. "I'm fine, where are the rest of the boys?" She cleared her throat and put her bag down.

"They went to get some coffee, I told them I would wait here for you. Are you sure you're okay?" He asked one last time to be certain. He could sense her vibe was off but yet again it was Y/n. She was the most mysterious yet energetic person you would come across. Oh? And she's the youngest.

"Yes I'm fine Hyun, we should head for practice. We don't want to keep the boys waiting," she gave him another comforting smile before grabbing her bag once again and making their way to the JYP building.

The walk was quiet. Her thoughts were currently running haywire as she try to peace everything together but she knew today wasn't going to be a good day. The argument she had with her father still played in her head.

"So, what do you have in your schedules today?" Hyunjin interrupted her thoughts trying to ease the tension in the air.

"I just have dance practice with you guys then I get a break and you?"

"I have a photo shoot later after practice, kinda cliché themed." Y/n giggle at this. Hyunjin gave himself a pat on the back for making her laugh.

"Well, I hope stay don't make fun of you because that'll be more memes coming out,"

"Yeah, yeah, as long as I rock the outfit no one can bring me down," he flexed his biceps earring a gag sound from the manknae.

"Hyunjin that's gross," she rolled her eyes as they both entered the studio to find the boys stretching. They all said their hello's and started their practice off.

"Y/n get your head in the game," Leeknow scolded her. She had been messing up a lot today and now that they were halfway through, she hadn't gotten anything done causing the whole group to get lost.

"I'm trying okay?" She snapped back at him. Han's neck snapped in their direction as he looked at her in disbelief.

"Don't snap at him like that, his older than you," Han joined in the scolding. Y/n was tired and frustrated now. She couldn't deal with them hopping on her back.

"Okay whatever," she walked away from the both of them and sat on the floor by her bag trying to look for her water bottle. The boys were looking at her from a far trying to figure what was bothering her today.

"Hey Y/n?" I.N finally gave in and sat besides her to check in.

"Yes I.N?" She replied in her soft tone.

"You okay? You've been messing up all day-"

That was all she needed. That little push to throw her off the edge. Her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and she stood up still facing I.N. Her anger was at a 10 and she couldn't hold it back anymore.

"I'm fine okay?! What is wrong with all of you?! Don't you see I'm trying?! Can't you leave me alone for once?! Why does it seem like whatever I do is a problem-"

"Y/n. Out. Now." Chan's loud voice shook the room quite literally. She stormed off to stand outside by the door. Trying to keep her cool but she couldn't.

"Don't you see this is a waste of time? You're a girl! You won't survive in this industry!"

"But dad I- the boys got me. We're making it-"

"Those boys will soon leave you just like your mum did. You're pathetic and a waste of space. You don't even bring anything to the table!" Her father's voice was loud through the phone.

"Why won't you let me to what I want for once?" She begged.

"Because! I spent my whole life working my butt off to provide for you and now look at you? You've basically become a stripper"

"Dad don't say that-"

"Well it's the truth."

Her father's words echoed in her ears. She felt helpless. She felt useless. She felt disgusted by herself.

"What was that?" Chan storms out the room. He was angry. It was obvious.

"Nothing-"

"What is wrong with you? What's your problem? You've been so moody all day and whenever we ask you what's wrong cause we know damn well we didn't do anything wrong, you start acting bratty,"

"Chan I was just trying to-"

"No, I don't want to hear it. You will go in there and apologize. Understood?"

"Chan! You never listen to me. Your always taking their side," she snapped at him.

"I know damn well you aren't talking to me like that. I've given you time and time again to come talk to me but you crush it off and decide to be a bitch to everyone. So don't even say I don't listen to you-"

"I'm not being a bitch, I just want to be alone,"

"Okay then be alone. Stop bringing everyone down just cause you can't deal with you problems, you better go apologize to everyone and you can head home," the tears in her eyes started to fall once he left.

Maybe she indeed was the problem. Maybe she needed to learn a way to cope with her feelings. Maybe she just needed to shut up.

She slowly took steps back into the studio and everyone turned to look at her.

"I'm sorry if I snapped at any of you, I won't do it again," her sobs were heard. They were so painful to hear that even Chan was so close to stopping her and pulling her into a hug. He felt so bad but he knew he had to stand on business.

At first Chan thought that maybe her silent treatment would last a day or two but it dragged and it continued to drag till it was the 1 week stamp.

He grew worried because he wasn't not just talking to him but she wasn't talk at all. She would only say hello and then continue with her day. Not even taking to managers or staff.

She would just nod or say small thanks you's or goodbyes. It was almost like the fight he had with her shit her up completely and this was eating him up.

The stress of the VMA's performance coming up and having to deal with his members made everything 10x harder to cope with.

"She hasn't been eating," Changbin informs Chan who lets out a frustrated sigh. "Should I just talk to her? Maybe that'll fix things,"

"She's so mad, she won't talk to anyone. Even I.N," this caused Han and Changbin to gasp.

"They're like bestfriends, it's like they were never separated at birth. What do you mean he won't talk to her?" Han asked.

"He came to me in tears yesterday because he attempted to get her to talk but she shut him down immediately,"

"Then you're going to have to fix this Chan. She needs you even though she hasn't said it. Maybe it's something deeper than your fight,"

"I know that for certain Hyunjin but how can I talk to her when she keeps avoiding me and walking away,"

"Just go to the gardens," Felix suggested.

Chan hadn't thought about it and quickly gave a hug to Felix who he praised for a bit and run to the gardens.

There she was. Sat feeding ducklings. She had a soft smile on her face. Her cheekbones were becoming visible because of the lack of food and the stress of the shows coming up.

"Y/n?" He said while making his way to her. She remained still and quiet. Continuing to feed the ducks.

"Can we talk please?" Silence. "Look I'm sorry. I'm getting worried and you not being able to talk to me means that there's something deeper going on. Can you talk to me please? I'll shut up and listen."

"My dad," she sat up and looked over to him. Chan in disbelief after hearing her voice after so long. "My dad wants me to go back home,"

"What? What? He can't do that. We're a team. We're your family,"

"I never told you about him because of how toxic he is Chan, he won't leave me alone until I'm home. Where he can control me."

"But your legal and your on a contract-"

"He doesn't care Chan," she looked up at him. The tears in her eyes started to pour like rain. Chan's eyes soften as he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

"I won't let him take you. Over my dead body." Was all he said as she continued to sob.

"I'm so scared. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you Oppa,"

"Shhhh. It's okay my love. It's fine. You did now."

He continued to comfort her until she could calm down. A constant apology left her mouth. Chan didn't want an apology he just wanted to protect her and he knew the only way he could talk to her was if she had calmed down.

"Have you eaten?" He asked her knowing the answer. He just didn't want to make it seem like he was tracking her consumption.

"I'm not hungry," her face was squashed against his chest making the words come out a little muffled.

"You are. You've lost so much weight. Let's go buy you some ramen and we can talk okay? How does that sound?"

"That's okay Chan. I'm ready to talk."

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omgrachwrites · 1 year

Text

The Night We Met (Chapter One)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: Over the summer you connected with the boy who is quite literally your twin's mortal enemy. Things start to fall apart in the darkness of the autumn.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, everyone lives au, takes place in 6th year

A/N: Soooooooo, I'm back!! I'm so sorry for being away so long guys! This is the shortest chapter ever so I'm v sorry, I also didn't really know how to write Mattheo 100% as he is complete fanfiction! I hope you guys enjoy anyway and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

Chapter One

Harry Potter was worried about his twin, she’d been so secretive recently, ever since the first week of summer. Harry knew they weren’t kids anymore but Y/N was his best friend and they used to tell each other everything. James and Sirius knew that something was up when Harry mooched into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” his godfather laughed as he drank his tea.

“Where’s, Y/N?” he directed the question at his dad, ignoring Sirius. James shrugged as he leaned back in the kitchen chair.

“She’s off playing Quidditch in the woods, you know how she gets when she wants to be alone.”

Harry nodded, he did know but he was still a bit miffed that she hadn’t asked him for a match, “she’s supposed to come with me to Ron’s for tea,” he muttered.

At that moment, Lily walked into the kitchen and kissed her son on the cheek, “well, she’ll be back by that time.”

Harry nodded, forcing a smile for his mum’s benefit, but he just knew that something was going on with her. And, he was worried about her.

You cursed beneath your breath as you all but ran home, you had nearly lost track of time, you had nearly forgotten that you were having tea at the Weasley’s tonight. As you walked through the front door Harry was coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled and you felt your guilt begin to brew in your stomach, “have fun playing Quidditch?” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You could tell he was hurt but he’d never admit it, he’d never understand either and you hated doing this to him, “well, I would have asked you to join me but I know how busy you must be pining over Ginny Weasley.”

Harry scoffed as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “you’re my sister, and my best friend, I’m never too busy for you.”

You smiled, “thanks, Harry. I’m just gonna get ready and then we can go to Ron’s,” you traipsed upstairs without waiting for a reply. On the way to your room, you passed your dad, “why did you tell Harry that I was playing Quidditch?” you sighed.

James frowned, “what in Merlin’s name was I supposed to say, Y/N?” he continued when you shrugged, “you are your brother’s best friend and I know he’s yours but you need to tell him before he finds out for himself. Now, I don’t approve but you’re not a little kid anymore.”

“See you later, dad,” you sighed as you walked into your room to get ready.

As you and Harry were leaving the cottage and were walking up the path, Harry groaned out in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” you laughed but Harry didn’t reply or look at you, he kept staring ahead with a scowl on his face.

You followed your brother’s gaze and saw that Malfoy was passing by with his friend Mattheo Riddle, as soon as Malfoy saw Harry, his face lit up with malice, “alright, Scarhead?”

You glared over at Malfoy before glancing at Riddle who was smirking at you, you scowled at him, keeping your eyes on him long enough to see him raise his eyebrow, a smug look forming on his face. “C’mon, Harry just ignore them,” you glared at the Slytherin boys as you pulled Harry away, Riddles smug face in the back of your mind.

Dinner at the Weasley’s was always something to look forward to, Mrs Weasley’s cooking was amazing and you always had a laugh with the big family. However, this year it was different, it was almost awkward, you had to watch your brother try – and fail – to flirt with Ginny. Ron and Hermione were also starting to fall for each other, though they were the only ones who couldn’t see it. You had managed to keep your embarrassment in check until it was time to sit down for dinner.

“So, Y’N, dear,” Molly started, “are you in love yet?”

Ron snorted into his food as your eyes widened and you felt a flush creep up your neck, you shook your head as you looked up at Molly, “no, I’m not.”

“I think Y/N is trying to get onto the national Quidditch team with how much she’s been playing it this summer,” you forced a smile at your brother but said nothing more, and your love life wasn’t brought up again.

After dinner, you decided to leave early and without Harry, usually you and Harry would stay for as long as you could but the guilt in your stomach hadn’t settled yet. It made it virtually impossible for you to be around your friends when you felt like that. It was when you were getting ready for bed that the knock on your patio door came and startled you.

You sighed when you saw the handsome Slytherin boy standing out on your balcony, you padded over and opened the patio door, quickly ushering him inside.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, “what are you doing here?”

He smiled and cupped your cheek with a warm hand, “I wanted to see you before I head back home, I feel like I haven’t seen you as much recently.”

You scoffed and looked away from him, crossing your arms over your chest, “you literally saw me today.”

“For like an hour,” Mattheo sighed and kissed you softly. Your fingers delved into his thick curls as you briefly kissed him back before you pushed him away, “what’s the matter?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, you couldn’t see how this relationship – if that was even what it was – would work at Hogwarts, it was too much sneaking around and you had to keep a lot more secrets at school than you did at home. Also, you didn’t have the heart to tell him your relationship had an expiry date. It really seemed like you were lying to everyone.

“Y/N,” Mattheo started, biting his lip, in that moment he looked so vulnerable as he stared at you with wide eyes, and you almost forgot who he was. Almost. “Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go back to Draco’s, you know he’ll be there.”

“Mattheo,” you sighed but he interrupted you before you could say anything further.

“Please, Y/N? I promise I’ll be gone before your parents wake up.”

You cupped his cheeks and fought back tears, “you have to go, everyone is in danger if you’re here.”

Mattheo looked like he’d been gut punched and he pulled away from you so quickly it was like you’d burned him, “right,” he hissed with a nod, “the scum can’t put the perfect Potter’s in danger.”

“I never said that!”

Mattheo sniffed as he wrenched open your patio door, “you didn’t have to. Goodnight, Y/N,” he climbed down your balcony and disappeared into the night.

“Goodbye, Mattheo,” you sighed as you watched him go.

The next morning was an early start and you almost immediately regretted promising that you would meet Ron and Hermione for an early lunch. You could barely keep your eyes open as you shuffled into the kitchen. You had been awake for most of the night half wishing that you had let Mattheo stay. You yawned as you spread butter onto your toast.

“You’re quiet this morning, Y/N,” James glanced at you from the other end of the table.

Harry snickered as he walked into the kitchen, “you say that like it’s a bad thing, dad.”

You scowled at your twin, “fuck you, Potter.”

“Language, Y/N!” Lily gasped but you couldn’t miss the laughter in her voice. Your mum narrowed her green eyes at you, “did you have a friend over last night? I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone.”

You shook your head, refusing to look at your dad, though you could feel him looking at you from where he sat, “I didn’t have anyone over last night, mum,” you mumbled. Lily nodded but continued to regard you suspiciously.

In no time at all, you were meeting Ron and Hermione outside of the ice cream parlour in the blazing sun.

“Hello again,” Hermione laughed as she pulled you into a hug, you grinned as you hugged her back and over her shoulder you waved at Ron.

“Sorry about my mum last night, that must have been embarrassing,” Ron almost winced as you laughed and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it!” you sat at the table and smiled over at Hermione, “thanks for getting my fave,” you blew her a kiss as you a sip from your iced Butterbeer.

“Ugh, incoming,” Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her own drink, you could tell by the venom in her voice that it was Malfoy and his band of Slytherins. You didn’t even turn to look until Ron spoke up.

“Bloody hell, look at Riddle’s face.”

You glanced over your shoulder and was filled with horror by what you saw, Mattheo had been badly beaten, he had a black eye and a huge gash in his lip, almost like it had been split open. He looked at you with wounded eyes as he walked past but he said nothing. Neither did Malfoy.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter imagine #everyone lives au #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #potter!reader #fluff #angst #flangst #harry potter #lily potter #james potter #sirius black #draco malfoy #ron weasley #hermione granger

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sssilverstoned · 3 months

Text

while you can still smell them ꩜ ln4

type: full length fic

word count: 3.9k

title from: i wish you roses by kali uchis

warnings: some fluff, angst, but like it's a happy ending. cursing bc i'm me, italics are memories

lily said: you know me i can never leave well enough alone. i thought this little snapshot of the break that was never really a break would be cute! for context, i'd suggest looking at the ig au linked below! this would be taking place in between part 2 and 3.

part 1

part 2

part 3

masterlist

You've only seen Lando cry on occasions that called for it. When family members died, when racing got too much for his mental, in some awful, awful moments. Maybe that's why it hurts so bad to see him cry now.

"A break feels a lot like you should add 'up' to that statement," he had said, turning away from you, looking out at the stars. You were sat on his balcony, feeling suffocated by the apartment. But the AC was on and working fine, and windows were open. Your emotions were suffocating you, that was more fitting.

"We can't keep on like this, Lan," you say in a broken voice, the lump in your throat thick and threatening. "It's not fair to either of us."

He doesn't realize he's crying until the drop hits his nose, making it quirk up in surprise. He swipes at his face, a pawlike move to get rid of the teardrops.

"Do you not love me anymore?"

His question makes you sob. Full body, head dropping to chest, your hands writing in your lap. The sound of you breaking down turns him back to you, rushing to the chair you've melted into. He lifts your face in his hands, and you take a breath when you see his face, discolored with tears.

"I'll always love you," he makes out of your words, just barely. "I, I just, it's not the same,"

"We can fix this, us. We can work on it together," Lando's brain is whirring at hyper speed, damage controlling the last 8 months of your lives together.

The cracks began to become schisms when he committed your largest pet peeve, which was ignoring things out of ease. Blissful ignorance, if you will.

It was small things, like forgetting about date nights in lieu of longer trainings or prolonging trips. Sometimes he forgot to water the plants, or didn't move laundry over, and that was manageable. That's what every couple encounters. What every couple does not encounter, was the intense pressure of racing a car for a living.

He was frustrated, with Zak, with anything papaya colored, and with his own self-doubts. He carried that frustration in his chest, and it came out in some of the words he spoke to you, and actions he took. You eventually stopped offering to come over and cook, because dinners were becoming continuously tense, and you were uncomfortable. Felt like a nuisance.

But at the same time, you were both so codependent. Without anything being said, you two began to avoid things you assumed the other wouldn't like, and asked for permission to do the smallest of things. You first noticed it when your sister pointed had asked you to come go with her out of town for the weekend, and you hesitated. "I'll have to ask Lando," you had told her. She bit her tongue.

Lando was just as bad, he had quite literally lost the ability to sleep when you weren't around. It made Grand Prix weekends an actual nightmare when you weren't there, calling you at any times in the day or night.

"Are you alright, it's 4am,"

"Sorry, can't sleep again. The melatonin does nothing,"

"Did you try the tea my mum got you?"

"Baby I just," he scrubs a hand down his exhausted face. "I just need you here."

"I can't just get up and go to Australia."

"I'll get you a flight, or maybe we can-"

"Lando," you say in a sterner voice. "I can't."

He's quiet for a moment, and you wonder what's going through his head. You hardly raised your voice or got intense, certainly never at him. But then again, recently, you seemed to never know what was going through his head.

It was silly to think that Lando was the same man that you began dating. You were 19, you would pray that he had changed somehow over the span of 5 years. But there was something missing that once was. The relationship was becoming more of a task, and that wasn't right. Which is what brought you to this moment, brought you to telling him you needed to talk.

"Lan," you whimper, bringing a hand up where his hold your face on either side. You don't even have to say anything more, he knows you better than you know yourself. And he begins to cry harder.

"I've never loved anyone but you, baby."

"I know."

"I can't, I really don't want to live without you," he shakes his head, standing back up to his full height. His hands stay busy, though, ripping through his hair.

"I'm not going to go away," you explain, agonized that you're calmer than he at this point. You stand from the wicker chair, but don't edge closer to him. "But my career is unpredictable right now, 6 months in Marbella is a long time. And you're, well, everywhere. And you need to focus on that."

"I've multitasked for 5 years," he says bitterly, making you sigh. His eyes are back on the stars, and his back to you makes your eyes blurry again.

"I'm not happy." You finally blurt, making his body stiffen. "I'm really not."

When he looks at you again, his expression reads clearly with fatigue, with anguish. "Please, baby, don't,"

It's your turn to clutch his face, bringing his forehead to touch with yours. Through your contact, you feel the heaves of his body, the breaths he's trying to control. "It's not forever," you whisper, mustering courage. "But we need to stop acting like everything's fine."

"I don't see myself without you."

"You're not," your hold tightens, he leans further into your palm, "but we've grown up together. The flower pot's too small now," you try to joke, he barely can fake amusement.

"I'll buy a thousand new pots."

"We need to clean up the broken one, first." His jaw clenches, you soothe it with your thumb. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He says back, almost silently. "Still wear that Mclaren shirt on race days, I need the luck."

You finally crack a smile. "I'll wear the hat too if my hairstyle permits."

He kisses you, almost convincing himself this if is the last fix he can get for a while, he needed it now. Not that either of you know it, but you both have the same thought. You both notice that your cheeks have each other's tears on them now, not sure which ones came from whom. You were on the same page in that regard, at least.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

"You should ask y/n out," your best friend says to Lando in the middle of a party. He chokes on his drink, not expecting her to come up to him like she did, and not expecting the words out her mouth.

You all were freshly 19, still congregating in someone's living room to try to have a good time. He knew your friends better than he knew you, the newest of the group in town, only having moved to the area with your family when you were 16.

"Should I, now?" He says, recovering from his fright.

"Yeah," she replies, ignoring the sarcasm. "She goes on about you, it's cute. She'd hurt me if she knew I told you, though. Not sure what she sees in you," his eyes narrow at the girl, which she ignores once again. "You'd be lucky to have a girl like her in your life."

That much, he knew. You were fiercely loyal to your friends and family, and treated him with a kindness that made him melt every time. You were funny, and genuine, and not to mention, the most beautiful person he's sure he knows.

When he bumps into you later at the party, he asks you what you're doing the following evening.

That was the story he'd tell people with a proud grin when they ask how you two got together. All you recount is how he nearly ruined your cute top with a shitty guinness.

He's struck with the memory when he sees the guinness logo in the ads on the walls of a restaurant. "Mate," Max all but snaps his fingers. Lando locks back in, humming for what he missed.

"Was just curious if you wanted to go out tonight. They've been texting in the chat about it, I saw you never responded."

Clubbing wasn't as fun as it used to be, not when you weren't dancing your heart out beside him, or waiting in bed with your nose in a book when he came home because you weren't feeling like going out. It felt like a waste of his time, and like he was sucking the fun out of other people's nights.

"'M alright," he says with a tight mouthed grin. "Gonna sit this one out."

Max looks at his friend, seeing through his response. "When's the last time you went out?"

If he had to take an educated guess, you last graced his apartment that night on the balcony, 4 weeks ago. So, 4 weeks ago. Perhaps longer, judging by the schisms. "A while. Not up to it."

"You're torturing yourself."

"I'm not interested in getting shitfaced, Max."

Max looks away for a second, quickly weighing the pros and cons of asking what he's been wanting to for the last, well, 4 weeks. "Do you think Y/n is wallowing too?"

The sound of your name makes his fingers twitch inadvertently, almost like a flinch. "That's not fair."

"I'm serious, Lando. You said she needed a break because she felt like you two were co-dependent and not actually working through problems, and look at you. You're not functioning without her. I mean, it's your fucking birthday next week, and you haven't brought it up once, you realize that, right?"

He knows he's right. Nothing he said was out of line, or wrong, and that's why Lando has nothing to say back. He wants to argue, to prove him wrong, but he can't. He's seen your ads and campaigns, the beautiful shots of you promoting luxury brands and names that your fans only dreamed of owning. Despite the distance, he was so proud of you still. You worked hard, were disciplined and humble through your success. He had texted you when the Dior campaign had launched, and the message of your thanks, with a smiley face, made him, for just a second, think that things were back to normal.

When they left the restaurant, and ran directly into fans, Lando tried to put on his best face for them, smiling for selfies and signing what was gestured toward him. When a sweet looking girl with glasses shyly spoke up, telling her favorite driver where she was visiting from, his tired eyes light up. "You're from there?" He confirms, and she smiles with an eager nod.

"Y/n is too," he almost mumbles, but every fan in earshot heard it. The typical squeals followed, the hushed whispers amonst themselves on if they'd push the questions they were itching to ask or not. And heard it they did, as the encounter made its way onto social media and gossip pages. But Max was right, his mourning period needed to be over, if anything was going to change for the better.

You call him on his birthday. It was nerve wracking, which made you bitterly laugh, because never did you think you'd be nervous to talk to Lando Norris of all people. One of the few people in the world you wholeheartedly trusted.

It had only been about a month since you requested time apart, and he had honored that. The texts were sparse, the calls nonexistent. Although, that was sort of what had brought you to this point anyway. But you were working on yourself, and your career at the same time, and things were looking better. Change never happened overnight, but the journal your therapist recommended, and the disappearance from social media besides professional posts were great starts.

You bite at your cuticle as the phone rings. You take your cell away from your ear, chest panging at the contact name "Lan <3" at the top of the screen. Was he really going to screen your call? Is that what you deserved, possibly?

"Y/n," he finally answers, and you quickly bring your phone back to your ear.

"Hi," you say awkwardly. "Happy birthday, Lando."

"Thank you," he says stiffly. "I'm happy to hear from you."

"Yeah I um, haven't really been on my phone here," you bite harder on your finger. "I think it's nice here, you'd love Marbella."

"I'm sure I would," he says with what you can hear is a smile. "I miss you, you know?"

"I miss you too," you concede, "how have you been?"

"Not great, I won't lie. Much rather would hear about you."

"'s not my birthday," and he smiles a bit at that.

"Well, racing's fine. But Max is sick of my shit, says I've been wallowing."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

You don't really know what to say, you've rarely been the perpetrator of his negative feelings. No relationship was perfect, but you all hadn't really hit a communication wall until now. It was uncharted, scary territory. "Well, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, that was all. Have a good day, really. 24 is a big one. Kobe year, that's what someone said to me. I hope this year is great for you."

"Y/n, wait," he halts your beginnings to hang up. "I'd like to come to see you soon, I've got some time before Abu Dhabi and maybe I could swing by Spain on the way."

"Lando," he absolutely hates that you're calling him by his whole name. Lan, that's what would you called him almost exclusively. Lando feels so formal from you.

He needs to hear it, you know he does. He needs to hear that you want to see him, that you need to see him just as much as he yearns to put eyes on you once more. But you were constantly afraid of accidental manipulation, holding him by some invisbile garotte. But this was his first birthday you hadn't celebrated together since you were 19, that meant something.

"Please focus on racing," you implore, and squeeze your eyes shut before adding, "but you if you'd like to come and it won't be an issue in your plans, you're more than welcome."

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

You saw the posts, it wasn't very hard. Fans utterly disappointed that you and Lando hadn't been seen together in ages, putting pieces together quickly after you didn't post for his birthday. It didn't make you feel worse, to be truthful, and to your surprise. You were sure there'd be a barrage of insults hurled your way, maybe a cheating rumor or two. But really, all there was to see were requiems for your relationship, nostalgia for what once was. What did cause you to delete instagram from your phone, was the response to the podcast.

You were single for the time being, that's what you and Lando had agreed on when he visited you. It wasn't an invitation to go out and find the next man to lay in your bed, but you both had agreed that it wasn't healthy to hold out in anticipation of your rekindling.

"You're the only girl I've, you know," he awkwardly trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. He sits up in bed, linens pooling around his hips. Hooking up with your now ex-boyfriend, might've not been your brightest idea, sure, but you were both human, at the end of the day.

"Fucked?" you tease, remaining comfortable against your plush pillow. "I know. First few times kinda showed that."

He looks back at you pointedly. "You cried the first time."

"It hurt!"

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in fake annoyance. You grin. "I'm sure the girlies are gonna have a field day with you being single now,"

He rolls his eyes again, laying, or rathing slumping, back into the pillow next to you. His arm instinctively comes around the top of your head, you try not to lean into it. "I think I really will finally listen to you and focus on racing."

You turn on your side, admiring his profile as he stares up at the ceiling, probably tangled in his thoughts. His nose sloped perfectly, the little freckles dotting his skin like constellations. Your boy.

"I told my mum."

He snorts. "She hates me now, I'm sure."

"Mm, no, her first ask was what I did," your mom was Lando's biggest fan, through and through. Of course, you were her daughter, but she was convinced he was cosmically made perfectly for you.

He looks at you then, realizing your eyes have been on him the whole time. He copies your position, turning to you so your bodies lay parallel, nowhere to look but each other's eyes.

"Do you regret that I'm the only boyfriend you've ever had?"

You immediately shake your head in denial of the question. "No, not at all," you were lucky, if anything. "You?"

"Well, I've had other girlfriends,"

"Ouch?"

"You knew that," he chuckles, and yeah, you did. "But I don't regret that you're the only one I've been serious about. I still am."

"I know. I am too."

"An ex-boyfriend doesn't lay in bed with you, you know."

"And an ex-girlfriend doesn't still remind your team when your doctor's appointments are,"

"Fair enough, guess we're just weird."

You share a matching grin. "So weird."

So once Alex uploaded the Call Her Daddy episode you were a guest on, and it was official to the masses that you had been single for now almost 4 months, the articles came in. The timelines of you and Lando's relationship, the rumors of him leaving clubs with random girls. You'd be lying if you said you didn't zoom in on some of their faces, relaxing when you recongized most of them as friends or even family members. He wasn't yours to be worried about, you suppose, but you also knew that any girl he decided to share his time with would be a lucky one.

Your friends had tried to get you on dates, that wasn't a lie when you said that on the podcast. But you weren't ever excited to get to know someone new, small talk was painful and you didn't feel comfortable going home with them.

But then, a few weeks later into February, you get a phone call from Lando. "Hi," You answer, pleasently surprised.

"Hey there," he says, sounding slightly out of breath. "How are you?"

"I'm good, great even. Finished up everything down here, leaving Marbella next week to head back home." Home was London to you, not Monaco. You constantly visited, had a family flat there and everything, but couldn't leave officially becuause of your career.

"Congratulations, everything looked stunning," he compliments, and your stomach flutters.

"But um, how are you? I'd ask if you were relaxing, but I'm sure training's well underway."

"Meh, more or less. I'm heading to Surrey next week, actually. Got some stuff to do at HQ."

"Oh," Surrey was only about an hour and a half from where you were in London. "Would you, well, not assuming anything, but if you'd have time to spare, it would be great to catch up?"

This isn't why Lando called you, you fully know this. Who knows what he picked up the phone for, he could be calling to let you know he's eloped with someone he's met in the 6 months you've been apart.

"I'd love to," you hear his grin in his voice. "You haven't moved, have you?"

Not only had you not moved, but you haven't changed much about your flat either. Same bedding, same color schemes, same photos decorating your tables and walls of your friends, family, and Lando. He never took the photos of you down either, and that photo from your 21st birthday was still stuffed in his wallet.

You order takeout, sitting across the kitchen island from each other acting like it didn't feel like your first date again. He acts like he doesn't want to reach out for your hands as you animatedly use them to share stories of Spain, and you act like you don't want to push the curls back that threathen to land over his eyebrows.

The food gets cold as you two catch up, a few glasses of wine becoming a whole bottle gone. You actually can't remember the last time the two of you had done this, and perhaps, absence had truly made your hearts grow fonder.

"Bahrain is on leap day," Lando says, making you gasp.

"That's got to be good luck, no?"

"It's just the first practice,"

"But still, you're starting your first weekend of the year on a special day like that," you muse, "so exciting. I'm excited for you,"

His chest warms at endearment in your voice. You truly and honestly rooted for him through everything, that was one of the things he was most grateful for about you. He knows you don't truly care about all of this, if he won or lost, but that you care about him and his development, how he sees himself and his profession. He fell in love with that about you.

"Would you come?"

You hesitate, daring to look at him from where you had begun to clean the countertop. "To the race? "

He nods, and turn back to the counter. "I don't know, Lan. Is that where we are?"

He hopes so. He's missed you something horrible, prays you missed him just as bad.

Lando takes the cloth from your hand, replacing it with his own. "I know it's only been about 6 months, and that's not enough time to say everything's well and dandy," you fight a smile. "But I want to work through things, with you. I've had nothing but time to consider what was off with us, and I want to be better. For you, more than anything. Yeah, I learned how to be just Lando. But I know I prefer being Lando and Y/n."

You bite your lip, finally meeting his eyes. "I want to take it slow."

"We can do that,"

"So, I don't know if I'm ready for the race. But, my birthday's coming up,"

"It is,"

"And we'll be in Dubai. My sister did it up, got this crazy plan going since it'll be my 25th."

"Quite the old woman you're becoming,"

"Oh get off that," you scoff, pushing his chest. He chuckles and pulls you back into him, where you go willingly. "But, if you can, I'd love for you to come to the dinner."

He raises an eyebrow with a smirk. "You want me to fly to Dubai just for your birthday dinner?"

"You'll be in Saudi Arabia then anyway,"

The smirk gets bigger. "You know my schedule already, love?"

"You're so fucking cheeky, can't stand it," you feign annoyance, but never move from his arms.

He holds you, as your arms delicately find themselves behind his neck, not daring to kiss just yet. To really be honest, you're not sure if you're ready to take that whole plunge.

"I'm happy to be back, even if things are slow. They can be molasses for all I care."

"Thank you for being patient with me," you lean your forehead against his. However, this time, neither of you are crying. Nice, for a change.

"I'd wait decades for you, my love."

After a beat of sweet silence. You speak up once more. "One thing though," he hums to prompt your continuance. "I'm pretty sure, when it's said, it's Y/n and Lando, just so you know."

#is this me projecting? yeah #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader

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formulaa-1 · 1 year

Note

could you do a insta edit of people finding out your with lewis through roscoe and your own dog? if not that’s totally fine!

Instagram au🐶 L.H

hi! Thankyou so much for your request❤️ I hope your doing well! Sorry it’s taken so long to get around to making it! Hope this is what you wanted <333 (robiny/l/n is readers dogs insta !)

fem!reader x Lewis hamilton

in which fans discover your relationship with lewis hamilton through various Instagram posts.

roscoelovescoco

roscoelovescoco: tongue’s out’s Tuesday’s😋

tagged: robiny/l/n

Liked by robiny/l/n , y/nusername and 85,357 others

view all 654 comments

robiny/l/n: 🐶🐾🫶🏼

Liked by roscoelovescoco

y/nusername: cuties🫶🏼

Liked by lewishamilton

user272: LEWIS LIKED???

fan28: their dogs have been together so much recently…kinda sus!

robiny/l/n

robiny/l/n: my weekend!🐶🐾🫶🏼

tagged: roscoelovescoco

Liked by roscoelovescoco, lewishamilton, yourfriendsuser and 40,279 others

view all 173 comments

yourfriendsuser: oh look at his little face🥹🫶🏼

Liked by y/nusername

lewishamilton: ❤️❤️❤️

Liked by y/nusername

fan15: THREE?! RED HEARTS?! SUS.

user272: I think he’s for sure dating @ y/nusername!!😆

fan15: who’s that?

lh44_bigfan: it’s robins mum x

roscoelovescoco’s story

caption: with my besties🐶🐾@robiny/l/n

y/nusername

y/nusername: too many choices🌺🌸🌼

Liked by lewishamilton, nicolashamilton, yourbestiesuser and 27,282 others

view all 326 comments

lewishamilton: cute

Liked by y/nusername

y/nusername:🫶🏼

mercgurl101: WHAT IS THIS???

fan44: y/n and Lewis are dating. 100%. No one can prove me wrong. he’s been liking her posts for the last few months, their dogs are together 24/7 and hes now calling her CUTE. they’re dating.

user262: THIS🔝🔝🔝

f1_cha16: OMFG🫡 we’ve lost him. BUT SHES PRETTY ASF!!!!!!

lewishamilton

lewishamilton: bring on Miami 🤍

Liked by mercedesamgf1, y/nusername, landonorris and 573,373 others

view all 782 comments

y/nusername: let’s gooo🏁🫶🏼

Liked by lewishamilton

user292: MORE PROOF.

mercedesamgf1: we’ve got this!🏁🏁🏁

fan44: Y/N LIKED AND COMMENTED.

lh_obsessed: they could just be friends , y’all are so quick to assume.

user2: girl be so fr rn.

lewishamilton

lewishamilton: my❤️

tagged: y/nusername

Liked by y/nusername, susie_wolff, nicolashamilton and 578,356 others

comments have been turned off.

authors note🎀 sorry for being inactive! I started doing this 3 days ago and I keep losing motivation or I get busy :/ I hope your all okay ! I’ll try get through your requests this week :) also I know the last photo looks nothing like Lewis but finding photos is so hard!

#f1 instagram au #formula 1 #instagram au #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fiction #lewis hamilton instagram au #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #formula one

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adore-laur · 5 months

Text

MILESTONES

— a series of firsts from the dadrry universe 🩵

——

The First Hunch

Intuition seemed to follow Harry around the house like a ghostly shadow.

The irregular morning sickness could have been entirely coincidental. Still, the moment you lost the hopeless battle of keeping your eyes open and eventually drifted off beside him was the indisputable sign he had been seeking. You, the person he knew like the back of his hand, were succumbing to a nap before dinner. The notably rare occurrence was a spectacle to behold, and he didn't move a single muscle except for his heart that wildly thumped in his chest at the mere thought of it being true.

You had to be pregnant. No other conclusion could be drawn.

When you awoke an hour later in an evening daze with mellow light from the sunset casting a silhouette of the open shutters on your face, Harry found it amusing how disoriented your expression was. It was almost as if you were astonished at how your body managed to do a simple human function, such as letting yourself fall asleep. He gazed down at you and raised his eyebrows with an unspoken assumption of what you had been so futilely denying to him and yourself.

"Don't say anything," you said through a yawn before he could make a witty comment.

Harry kissed your forehead and knowingly smiled against it. "Just take a test, love. There's no use in putting it off any longer."

"I'm scared,” you mumbled.

"Why?" he asked softly, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. You rubbed your tired eyes while sinking into his embrace. "We've talked about how much we want this."

"It's still scary.”

Harry swallowed thickly. Hell, he was scared too. Priorities shift tectonically once a baby is born and brought home to be raised for eighteen years. How did a person even go about preparing for that enormous of a responsibility? It was always nice to fantasize about until the harsh realities of parenthood caused him to spiral mentally.

"Well," he said with a loving pinch to your cheek, "I think it's a girl."

You grinned into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Have you been reading up on things already?"

"Maybe," he mused. Setting his feet on the ottoman, he continued, "Look at me for a second." You did, and he absentmindedly stroked his thumb across your stomach. "Tell me that you don't think you're pregnant."

A wary pause ensued. Your unintentional signals were as clear as day.

"I think I am," you whispered.

"For real?"

"Harry, you're the one who's so confident I am."

"I know, but... do you actually feel like there's a baby?" His palms turned clammy when he said it out loud. "It's your body. I'm just guessing based on mum blogs I read online."

You pursed your lips, then replied, "What else could it be? My period was supposed to start two weeks ago. And I've been nauseated recently."

"Do you want to take a test soon?" he asked, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

You nodded briskly. "Sure. I'll buy some after work tomorrow."

"Promise me," he pleaded, a slight impatience taking over him of wanting—no, needing—to confirm it once and for all.

"I promise. We'll find out this week." You were deliberately quiet for a moment before you asked, "Why do you think it's a girl?"

Harry immediately perked up and held his pointer finger in the air. "An old wives' tale claims that—"

"Stop right there," you interrupted with a hand to his chest.

"No, hear me out." He laughed contagiously and cradled your cheeks. "They say if you crave sweets, then it's a girl. Remember when you begged me to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast a couple of days ago? I had to go to the store for more milk because you were on the verge of tears."

You narrowed your eyes. "Everyone gets cravings, though. It doesn't mean they're pregnant. Or that it's a girl."

He frowned and said, "You're starting to sound like you don't want to be pregnant."

"I do," you replied frantically, kissing his precious pout. "I do, Harry. I want a baby with you more than anything."

"Then let's find out. There's nothing to be afraid of."

——

The First Heartbeat

Boundless possibilities could either leave you in a state of serenity or absolute shambles. The thin paper on the exam table crunched under you when you shifted restlessly for the umpteenth time, your jittery limbs bouncing with each second that noisily ticked by on the clock. Shirt bunched up to your ribcage, you awaited the gel that would be spread on your stomach. The skin there had become a little firmer during the previous week, yet somehow pudgier.

Harry stood next to you, his face visibly flushed with an equal amount of anxiousness. He looked around the room with observant eyes, scanning the daunting equipment and colorful pamphlets that presented themselves to eager parents-to-be.

He got off work early and rushed to the hospital to meet you, still in the grubby clothes he wore in the restaurant kitchen. You noticed his fingernails were bitten raw when he grabbed your elbow and leaned in for a kiss hello. Gentle and nervous smiles had been exchanged before the two of you walked down the hallway toward the elevators, your arms looped around his waist.

As the ultrasound gel was applied with an icy sensation that made you jolt, you held your breath and locked eyes with your husband.

"Is it cold?" he whispered, wringing his hands together.

"Yeah," you answered just as quietly.

The room was so still you could probably hear a pin drop. You inhaled deeply when the doctor moved the transducer wand around your lower stomach. Harry cleared his throat and broke eye contact with you to watch the computer screen that displayed a blurry black-and-white view of your womb. It was strange to see the inside of your body and even more strange to know a baby was growing in there.

After a painstaking moment, the device finally picked up on the most beautiful, muffled heartbeat. It wasn't your own, and it wasn't Harry's—it was your baby's. A lub-dub rhythm that was your responsibility to bring into the world.

Harry whistled in amazement and pressed two shaky fingers against his lips. He glanced between you and the screen several times before touching his heart and rubbing the spot. A reaction took over him that you had never seen before. Tears welled in his eyes, and a transfixed smile dimpled his cheeks. A sentimental ache bloomed in your chest, caused by love for him and his vulnerability.

"They've got a very strong and healthy heartbeat," said the doctor while adjusting the screen monitor.

You stared at the ultrasound showing a blob with no distinguishable features or anatomy, yet it was somehow part of you and part of the man you lived and breathed for.

"Harry, look," you said through an emotionally tightened throat.

He crouched beside you and sniffled. "I see, sweetheart."

"How far along am I?" you asked the doctor, blindly reaching for Harry's hand.

"Around eight weeks," they told you, clicking their pocket pen and writing down information. "As for your due date, you guys will be looking forward to early November!"

Harry clutched your hand, leaving a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. "An autumn baby," he murmured against your skin. He then turned his attention to the doctor and asked, "Can we please have copies of the ultrasound pictures to hang on the fridge at home?"

The timing was perfect. The color of the leaves would change the same way your lives would together. It would be a season filled with pure bliss and a turning of the tide. The end of the year would give you a love you could cherish forever.

——

The First Cry

"Is she breathing?"

It was the first string of words that tumbled from Harry's mouth after you gave birth. Babies were supposed to cry once they came into the world. Why wasn't she crying? Where were the shrieks he had prepared for months to hear?

Nurses crowded around you as she was pulled out all the way and set on your chest, her squirming body sensitive to the air. It was beautiful chaos happening in slow motion. Harry felt like he was floating outside of his body, feeling a surreal concoction of confusion, euphoria, and hysteria.

"W-what... why isn't she crying?" you choked out breathlessly. Your body was shaking due to the immediate shift in hormones.

Two nurses roughly rubbed your daughter with towels until she gurgled a high-pitched wail. Relief, relief, relief. Nothing could quite encapsulate Harry's raw emotion when he heard that sound come from a fresh pair of baby lungs. It was piercingly loud and overwhelming, yet heavenly to his ears.

Harry stepped forward with a wide smile. "There she is," he said, his voice scratchy. "She's here, love. She's breathing."

Your hands, wavering and sweaty, cautiously cupped your daughter's fragile figure. With that first maternal touch, you broke down with a cascading waterfall of tears.

"Hi, baby girl," you cried happily. "Shh, it's okay. You scared us for a second."

Eyes glossy, lips trembling, and heart growing tenfold, Harry was lost in admiration. The scene surrounding him was a mess, and it was merely an afterthought in his mind. He had never been so mesmerized by someone except for the day he married you. Even so, this was a different type of love—one that had flourished over nine months and was now a tangible fondness lasting for eternity.

Absent nods and weak affirmations were given to the nurse's questions thrown his way. The bubble he was in simply couldn't be popped. You scooted over on the hospital bed so he could sit next to you while they suctioned his daughter's tiny mouth, nose, and ears. Her cries were still going strong, and Harry soaked them in as he smoothed over the back of her small head with his hand. She had a decent amount of hair, courtesy of his genes, and something about that realization broke the dam behind his eyes.

When he blearily looked at your awestruck face, he knew he had made the right choice. The mother of his baby girl. And, if he got lucky, a couple other bundles of joy as well. It had to be you. No one else made him feel as complete as you did.

"We had a baby," you whispered in disbelief, staring at him with eyes rapt in wonder.

Through his tears, Harry laughed with astonishment. "It was all you. Do you hear me? All you." He kissed your dewy cheekbone. "I'm so grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

You exhaled heavily and murmured, "I'm starving."

"When we get home, I'm going to cook you the best damn meal you've ever had in your life."

——

The First Smile

Harry entered the sunlit nursery with dragging movements similar to those of a zombie. He had only one sock on and the staticky-sounding baby monitor tucked under his armpit.

That morning, a whopping four hours of interrupted sleep was the new record. The days and nights blended together like watercolor on wet paper, and no amount of espresso shots or afternoon naps could cure his poor, sleep-deprived soul. His circadian rhythm had now changed to a cadence of chaos, and there was nothing he could do about it. The millisecond he became a dad, a certain little someone shifted to the number one spot on his list of priorities.

After turning on the lamp in the corner of the room and setting the baby monitor down, Harry leaned against the bassinet and let his baby girl's subsiding cries wake him up just like a freshly brewed pot of coffee would. They made him feel sad, but if getting up at the same time as the sun meant they could be soothed somehow (and that you could get more shut-eye), then he would do it over and over again.

Harry eventually reached down to pull his daughter's tiny body against his bare chest. It made his heart swell how she always calmed in his arms. "Already up and at 'em, huh?" he rasped, giving her his knuckle to suckle on since the whereabouts of her pacifier were unknown. She cooed and looked at him with curious eyes that resembled yours. "Why are you so precious all the time? Got me so wrapped around your finger that I couldn't possibly be mad at you for waking me up this early."

She kicked her legs outward, apparently a happy camper now that she got some love from her dad. Harry shook his head in amusement. "Were those fake cries?" he accused lightheartedly.

Once he changed her diaper and stole a few minutes of snuggles before she started becoming fussy again, his next destination was the kitchen, where most mornings began as a new family of three. Opening the fridge decorated with baby pictures galore and a calendar scribbled full of upcoming postpartum appointments, he grabbed the first bag of breast milk he saw and then took an empty baby bottle out of the dishwasher so he could make her breakfast. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had the energy to cook himself a nourishing meal before noon.

Harry attempted to screw on the cap of the bottle using only one hand since his other was being occupied by a hungry, babbling baby. His face grew hot with frustration when the cap kept resisting being twisted, and it definitely didn't help when the bottle tipped straight over, causing valuable milk to spill onto the counter. Nice going, idiot. That wasn't good at all. He dreaded delivering the news to you, especially considering you recently told him how pumping felt like an extreme sport.

"Well, that's just wonderful," he muttered while looking down at his daughter, wholly prepared for her to literally cry over spilled milk.

But no, she didn't cry. Instead, she smiled at him for the first time. A gummy, wonky baby smile that woke him right up.

Harry gasped in surprise and completely forgot about the milk mishap, his heart pounding. "Are you smiling at me? Holy sh— I mean, shoot. We gotta show your mum. Wait, she's sleeping. Um, okay, hold on." He aimlessly scanned the kitchen for his phone. "Keep smiling, okay? I need to take a picture of this."

He abandoned the 'no phone around the baby' rule and rounded the corner of the island. In the process, he accidentally hit his side on the edged corner, causing him to stifle a groan. His clumsiness made his daughter smile even wider, along with a noise that could be interpreted as a giggle if he believed hard enough. And if he looked close enough, he could make out two miniature dimples indenting her cheeks.

He picked up his phone, and with the rays of the golden sunrise dancing over her happy face, he snapped a picture while his face beamed behind the camera. "Look at you," he cooed, pressing the capture button repeatedly. "Is my struggling funny to you? Hmm? Just wait until mommy sees this. She'll freak out."

After he put his phone away, which now had nineteen new keepsakes in its photo album, he observed her a little longer. At that moment, a sudden realization dawned upon him.

His daughter's smile looked a lot like his own.

——

The First Year

Hot wax dripped from the candle in the shape of the number one, making a black mark on the cake's blue fondant. It took the combined respiratory strength of three people to blow the puny flame out. Afterward, there was a brief pause in the festivities to settle a crying baby because it escaped Harry's adult mind that babies don't know how candles — or birthdays in general — work.

The cake was made with admirable precision that he somehow pulled off using his amateur cake-decorating skills from ages ago. Piped seashells made from buttercream frosting sat atop the circular cake, and a message of Happy Birthday was spelled out in dainty cursive icing. A graham cracker and sugar concoction caressed the bottom edges to resemble sand, and an impressive starfish cookie rested against the side. She wouldn't remember the cake, or the day for that matter, but Harry definitely would.

Once the slices were eaten, it was time to clean up for the night. The cheap chandelier hanging over the kitchen table shined upon a dirty mess of paper plates, plastic utensils, and opened presents containing toys aplenty.

"I need a shower," you told him, an exhausted sputter leaving your lips after you threw all the crumpled napkins away. "Do you mind cleaning the rest?"

"Not at all. C'mere." Harry loosely grabbed your elbow and pulled you toward him, smacking a vanilla-flavored kiss onto your mouth. "Love you. Go relax."

You thumbed away some frosting on his chin. "Don't put her to bed without me, okay?"

He smiled softly and stole another kiss, slower this time. "I won't. We're actually planning on partying all night."

You just laughed and made your way upstairs. Harry took it upon himself to clean the kitchen until it was spotless for you. He had been genuinely trying to help more around the house since motherhood is no easy feat on the body and mind. Taking an extra load off your shoulders was the least he could do as part of his lifelong repayment for giving him the most extraordinary experience imaginable.

After every surface was scoured clean, he walked over to his daughter and kneeled, observing her childlike wonder as she smeared frosting on the tray of her highchair. Curious eyes distracted, he felt a crashing wave of emotion wash over him. It just didn't seem possible that an entire year had already passed by. Wasn't it just yesterday that he unbuckled her from her car seat and showed her around her forever home? Didn't her newborn fingers curl instinctively around his thumb whenever he pressed it to her palm? Hadn't she only been something he dreamed about with you?

If he thought about it too much, he'd start weeping.

"Stop growing, please," Harry said while scrubbing her sticky fingers with a baby wipe. "I know you need to, but it's killing me inside."

She looked up at the sound of his voice. "Da da da da," she babbled, fists excitedly hitting the tray and becoming dirty again.

He sighed and decided to give her a sink bath before bedtime. "Yes, I'm your dad. And you need to listen to him when he tells you to stop growing, yeah?"

"No!" Her new favorite word was spoken shamelessly, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"All right, little lady. Keep breaking my heart, then."

She raised her arms. "Up."

After standing with a huff, Harry lifted her in the air and shook her body playfully until she let out an infectious burst of giggles. Tickles came next, an innocent attack on her belly as she squirmed over his shoulder. He held onto her kicking legs and stomped up the stairs dramatically, making a right turn into the master bedroom. A gentle toss of her on the bed had her giggling even louder.

"An entire year of loving you," he said, kissing her cheeks repeatedly. "Happy birthday, lovebug."

——

The Last Night

There used to be a time when her legs couldn't wrap all the way around Harry's waist because they were simply too short. What were once chunky baby legs that happily kicked against his rib cage turned into toddler ones that kicked because they wanted to run free.

No more holding her sideways while she fit like a puzzle piece in the crook of his elbow. No more swaddling her tightly in a blanket after a midnight meltdown. No more tummy time, carrying her in a sling, or being there to catch her whenever she tried to walk on her own. Her dependence was slipping away.

Time was slipping away even faster.

Often, he looked back on all the moments he had taken for granted with his firstborn. Those screeching cries that wouldn't stop no matter what, leaving him with a daylong migraine and maybe a side of tears. Those tantrums that left him feeling defeated and on edge, only to end with her just wanting to be held by him. Those summer evenings on the beach, only him and her lying on a blanket and watching the sun go down while he answered all her nonsensical questions about the world around her.

Tomorrow, the date circled on the calendar's December page would allow Harry to relive those moments. However, it would be with an entirely new person he's never met. It'd be undeniably different — an accustomed bond to be formed and a shift in dynamic to adjust to. A challenge of keeping two humans safe instead of one.

Was he ready for that?

"Are you ready to be a big sister?" Harry asked the tiresome, limp child in his arms. Might as well pass off the question to someone unaware of it all.

"No."

He laughed at the confidence with which she answered. "I understand. It's a huge responsibility, but you'll be a natural. That's what your mom told me before you were born."

She nodded slowly against his shoulder, most likely oblivious to what he said. "Wanna go night-night."

"I know." The weight of his soul sunk, realizing time was ticking by faster than he'd like it to. "Let me hold you for a while longer. Is that okay?" Another nod. "You can fall asleep, darling. I promise I'll carry you to bed and tuck you in."

"Where's Mama?" she asked with her sweet, soft voice.

Harry rubbed soothing circles on her back, and tears stung behind his eyes for some reason. "She needs rest just like you do," he explained vaguely, not wanting to talk about the pre-labor pain you had been so gracefully pushing through the entire day. "Grandma's taking you to the park tomorrow, so you can't be cranky."

"Okay," she mumbled, approximately thirty seconds from a dream-filled sleep.

After swiping a finger down her button nose to get her eyes to flutter shut, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and steadily hiked up the staircase toward her room. He checked on you when he passed the master bedroom, finding you hunched over the bed and swaying through a contraction. It hurt to see you in such discomfort.

Harry opened the door to his daughter's bedroom, laid her in her toddler bed, and tucked the blanket around her body like he did every night. "Sleep well, sweetheart. Don't grow up overnight."

Her eyes popped open, and she was suddenly wide awake due to not being in his arms anymore. "'I'm not tired."

"You just said you wanted to go night-night!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Go to sleep, crazy girl," he told her, ruffling her hair. Your mum needs me right now. Can you tell your angels and fairies to make her feel better?"

She hummed an affirmation and settled down. Harry's lips twitched into a smile, and he spread his arms out in his unvoiced gesture of love. She immediately spread her arms out too.

"Love you this big," she said cutely.

"Love you even bigger," he replied, gently pinching her cheek.

Doubt, incompetence, and fear swirled in his stomach when he realized that come tomorrow, he would no longer have his paternal attention solely focused on the little girl in front of him. His chest ached for her, knowing how hard it'd be to adjust to someone who required more nurture and care under the same roof. He'd just have to share his love, and his heart was more than capacious enough to manage that.

Before Harry turned off the lights, he confessed a secret that had only been shared between them. "You'll always be my biggest love."

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #milestones #adore-laur

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hologramhitgrrrl · 1 year

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my het partnered ladies, i just think that even a guy who splits the chores and is kind and loving will still put his needs before yours when it comes down to it. So if you’re in a het relationship, make sure you put your needs before his.

He will assume any life sacrifices will come from you. He will expect you to live where is best for his life/career/happiness, even if it means sacrificing your life/career/happiness.

Just know that no matter how ‘equal’ you are, in his mind, he’s the captain and he gets to have the final say.

If you are with a man, just make sure you take the time to think about what YOU want and to ensure you get those things, because otherwise you will be swept along on his journey, always being told it’ll be your turn to choose next time, but it won’t be. It will never be.

I’ve lost count of how many het relationships i’ve seen from mine, my parents, and my grandparents generations that have this same pattern. A woman with dreams unrealised, always being told- after my promotion, after the kids start school, after retirement, then it will be your turn to choose.

I’ve seen my mum and her friends drinking in the kitchen at dinner parties time and time again, talking about how their husband has refused to consider their desire yet again, and sat around the table the husbands talking about their latest promotion, their trajectory to success.

Any man you are dating will expect you, at some point, to defer to him as the authority. I’ve had it recently in my own relationship, and it was like a slap in the face.

Just know what you’re getting into. A guy might not be abusive, but that doesn’t mean he won’t drain you of your hopes and dreams to fuel his own, slowly, insidiously, and over a lifetime. He won’t even think he’s doing anything wrong, he thinks this is his right!!

But he can only do this because you are socialised to give freely, to make sacrifices for him.

Be vigilant! Do not give in! Be the impossible difficult woman. Set your own goals and be your own captain! When you are on your deathbed what life do you want to look back on? Live it now!

You are only an accessory to his life, don’t make him the focus of yours!!!

#radblr #radfems do touch #radfems interact #gone girl is a primo example of this in action!!#you should always be willing to break up with a guy over this

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fw00shy · 7 months

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Slow Days, Bad Habits

When Draco told Pansy he was moving to Los Angeles, Pansy said, "Fuck off, you're not." It was a Thursday and the afternoon sun stretched over Pansy's fire escape patio like a lazy cat. Draco fished out the olive from his glass and ate it, saying, "No, I really am," when he really wasn't — lying was a bad habit of his, and he was five martinis deep — but the next day he woke up thinking: Why not?

Doing what he wasn't supposed to do was a relatively new bad habit of his (sure he used to break rules, but he never broke Father's rules) but it was by far his favourite. Doing the unexpected. Turning heads. Like when he wore the shirt the Muggle orphanage gave him for painting walls to one of his mum's "Sorry We Lost the War" benefits and Daphne said, "You? Volunteering? No way, I bet a thousand Galleons you bought that from a thrift store."

Los Angeles was everything London wasn't and everything Draco wanted to be. Cars built to go 300kph putting bumper-to-bumper down wide, yawning freeways. Plastic surgery to cover up whatever you didn't like about yourself. Every day Draco looked in the mirror and changed something different. What if he had a different nose? A larger mouth? Would his life change for the better? Some days he wished he had more time to figure out how to turn his life around. Other days it was a lot easier to let his eyes droop until every second stretched long and he lost track of it, another day lost in the waste of his life.

When Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market he knew Harry had moved to Los Angeles to disappear. He knew this because Harry wore dark glasses and a cap pulled low over his scar. He knew this because the papers had reported Harry missing four years ago, and had never found him since. He knew this because he had moved to Los Angeles to disappear, too. Draco bought his oat milk and his strawberries and walked back home with them tucked under his arm, like his little secret. That was another bad habit of his now: secrets. Anything could be a secret if he wanted it to be. His favourite bench at the park. The line from an Ada Limon that made him cry. Waves crashing against the pier. The scent of jasmine in his mother's garden. And now, Harry, in LA. All his secrets. All just for him.

Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market again the following week, around 1pm when the stalls were packing up and the baskets of strawberries numbered in the ones and twos. Draco came to the farmer's market every week and some weeks they ran out of what he liked, but he was fine with that; this was the time best suited for him.

Draco watched Harry meander past the stalls, his hands behind his back, like he was browsing with no intent to purchase. But why? Maybe he was a ghost. Draco chuckled at the thought, and then he saw Harry walking toward him.

"I won't tell," Draco said. "So don't Obliviate me, please. I like my memories. Or the recent ones, anyway. I mean, they're nothing special. Just things like, eating a good peach. The sun sinking into the sea. Waking up and not being too hot or too cold. Normal things." (Running his mouth: maybe the original bad habit?)

Harry blinked slowly, his mouth slightly agape. He didn't look like he was going to attack Draco. He wasn't even carrying a wand.

"So," Draco said, smiling, a little more confident now. "I won't tell if you won't tell?"

"You live here too?"

"Sure do," Draco said. "Do you want to come over?"

So it was their secret now.

Which was fine. More than fine, even. Draco didn't normally like to share, but he sure did like breaking rules. Especially his own.

#drarry #fwoosh writes #drarry squad #drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #wildly #i seem to have 1k+ followers on this lil blog #thank you very much for following me!

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writeroutoftime · 11 months

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I literally love Jamie so much 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 saw your post asking for stuff for Jamie and after mom city all I can think about is Jamie bring reader to meet his mum in Manchester; she just absolutely fawns over the first girl he’s ever brought home 🥲

pairing: jamie tart x reader (no pronouns used)

words: 1k

a/n: mom city was such an amazing look into jamie's character, and I loved it so so much!! and we all know jamie's mum would love to get to know anyone that he brings home!! please enjoy, lovely!

oOoOo

Hand in hand with Jamie you made your way down the residential street, your heart pounding faster and faster the close you got. It was not lost on you how monumental it was that Jamie had asked you to come and meet his mum and her husband. You knew how much Jamie adored his mother, and it warmed your heart to know Jamie wanted these two parts of his world to collide.

Just as Jamie reached to open the door, your hand shot out and grabbed him, suddenly frozen with fear. "Hey, what's up, love?"

"It's just, what if she hates me, Jamie? I mean your mum means so much to you, and I don't want to be the person who comes between that. And then," you began to ramble until Jamie cut you off.

He gently placed his hands on your cheeks and stared directly into your eyes. "My mum's gonna love you, okay? I promise there is nothing to worry about. In fact, she's been bugging me to bring you 'round for quite a while now."

You smiled as his words washed over you and let your eyes flutter closed for a moment. The warmth of Jamie's hand and the sincerity of his words helped you to take a breath and relax. When you opened your eyes again, you nodded and allowed Jamie to ring the doorbell.

There was barely a moment delay before the door swung open to reveal a man who beamed at you and Jamie. "Oh, welcome! You must y/n, I'm Simon." he introduced, pulling the oven mitts of his hands to shake your hand.

He ushered you and Jamie inside, shutting the door behind you, giving Jamie a quick hug. Immediately, you were struck by how warm the house felt. Not necessarily in temperature, but by the greeting, and the way you can tell the house was truly one that was lived in and experienced love.

You began to stroll through the halls of the home and took everything in with a soft smile on your face. From the wallpaper, to the pictures, and the other decorations scatter about, they all offered you a glimpse into what it must have been like for Jamie growing up.

Eventually, you wandered into the living room where it was near impossible to miss the display of Jamie's photos that lined the table against the wall. Your eyes briefly caught some of his more recent photographs of his time at Richmond, but you gravitated towards the pictures that showed you Jamie as he was growing up.

You carefully picked up a particular photo where Jamie couldn't have been more than eight or nine. His smile was infectious, and you could see the stars in his eyes as he was doing what he loved. Before you could grab another photo, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Jamie's mum watching you intently.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry, I just couldn't help myself." you rushed to explain, not wanting to upset Jamie's mum before you had been properly introduced. "I just love seeing him so carefree in these photos."

Instead of responding, she moved forward and threw her arms around you, hugging you quite tightly. "I do too." she confessed, before pulling back to get a good look at you. "Oh, it's so lovely to finally meet you! Call me, Georgie." she insisted. "Jamie's been going on and on about you. It's so nice to finally meet you!" she gushed, ushering you to sit down.

"Mum." a voice whined from the entry to the living room, but Jamie had a small on his face that gave away his joy.

He walked into the room and sat next to his mum, leaning into her touch. You watched as Jamie melted against her, closing his eyes as she gently ran her fingers through his hair.

The time seemed to fly by as the four of you shared stories, laughed, and came together under your shared love for Jamie. The amount of stories Georgie shared with you of Jamie growing up were something you knew you'd never forget.

"I swear," she started, already laughing. "he told me he wanted to dress up as Roy Kent for Halloween."

You fell to the side of the couch, clutching your stomach, as you couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, that's just too good. Jamie, wait 'till Roy gets a load of that."

"Eh, he won't be hearing that from anyone. What happens in this room stays in this room." he tried to argue through the red blush that spread across his cheeks.

Before you knew it, you and Jamie had been with his family for hours and the sun had long set. With an early start for Jamie the next morning, the two of you began to collect your things and said goodbye. Simon offered you a hug goodbye, and you made sure he knew how wonderful all of his food was as you began to walk outside.

You watched from a distance with a smile on your face as Jamie said goodbye to his mother. It might have shocked many people to watch how soft and sincere he was with her, but it didn't surprise you in the least. Deep down, Jamie always was a sweetheart. He showed you that side, and now you got to see him demonstrate that with his mum.

With one last kiss to her cheek, Jamie pulled away and walked to you, quickly grabbing hold of your hand. "Ready to go, love?"

As you opened your mouth to respond, you bit your lip instead and gave Jamie a one second sign before running back to where Simon and Georgie stood near their front door. Nervously, you slowed down in front of Georgie and threw your arms around her tightly.

"Thank you." you spoke so only she could ear.

She pulled back and cocked her head to the side with a slight smile - similar to what you'd seen Jamie do so many times before. "What for, dear?"

You chanced a glance back and your boyfriend. "For raising a wonderful son."

Georgie looked at you, eyes welling up with tears. "You keep looking out for him for me, okay? I know you're doing so much good for him." she told you, sending you off with a smile when you nodded your head.

Together, you and Jamie offered one final wave to Georgie and Simon, walking off hand in hand - your relationship just a little bit stronger than when you first arrived.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tart imagine #ted lasso imagine #rita writes

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dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months

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Another Lie || CL16 {5} - Charles' Ending

Warnings: 18+ only, fluff, if you don’t want a Charles happy ending look away now and wait for the Max alternative! WC: 2.8k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five (Charles) || Five (Max) || 5.1 blurb request

It was strange to be back after so long. It was strange to see that the Principality hadn’t changed at all. Upon reflection, the only difference was that you had.

The gravel path crunched under your ballet flats as you followed the winding track to the lookout and found him sitting upon the wall looking out over his homeland.

“Is this seat taken?”

Charles nearly fell off his perch with how fast he turned and you placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as he righted himself.

“What…?” he trailed off in confusion as he stared at you in disbelief.

Thanks to Instagram you had seen how his face had sharpened with age, heard how his voice had deepened too. And, from what interviews you had watched, even his thoughts and opinions had matured in recent times.

But he hadn’t seen the difference three years had made to you. You were never one to publicise your life and your Instagram was mostly used to keep up with other peoples life rather than display your own. He knew because he still checked.

“Your mum called.” He was still staring as you climbed the wall and took a seat beside him. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.”

When Pascale had invited you to the anniversary of Hervé’s death she had assured you that Charles was aware and fine with it but given how shocked he still was at your arrival that didn’t appear to be true.

“Where’s Jules?” you asked, trying to get him to say something other than stare as you picked at the loose stones on the wall.

A smile curled his lips at the mention of his son before it lost some of its brilliance. “It’s Sapphire’s week with him. Wait, my mum has your number?”

“We’ve kept in touch over the years,” you admitted with a shrug. She had never forgotten your birthday and always wished you a Merry Christmas. “When she said you weren’t answering your phone I figured you’d be up here.”

“I just needed to clear my head for a bit,” he murmured as he peeled his eyes away from you and returned to watching the sun reflect on the picturesque Côte d’Azur. “With the custody battle, the busy race schedule and dad’s anniversary, it all got a little loud in here.” He tapped a ringed finger to his head and sighed. “I’m thinking about retiring.”

The stone in your fingers slipped and tumbled down your leg and into your shoe, irritating your foot as you tried to kick it back out. With a chuckle, Charles dropped off the wall and pulled your shoe off, flicking the stone out before slipping it back on.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you still tried to process the information he had dumped on you. “Why would you retire? You’ve been doing great!”

He didn’t return to his seat beside you, instead he tipped his head back and closed his eyes as the sun warmed his face. “There’s something more important to me than winning now. I only get to see Jules every second week, and there’s 28 race weekends this year. There’s just not enough time to race and be the father I want to be for him, the one he deserves.”

When he opened his eyes you could already see the decision had been made, whether he knew it or not.

“At least you can retire knowing you kept your promise,” you said as you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. “You always swore you’d win a championship with Ferrari, even when no one else thought it was possible.”

His lips parted with a laugh as he kicked the rocks with his sneakers. “Wasn’t easy.”

“Nothing good is. But all that hard work and you never put the #1 on your livery…why?”

He shrugged and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I chose my number for a reason.”

He could have chosen sixteen for a number of reasons but he always said it was because your anniversary was the 16th of January, you first met in 2016 and one plus six equals seven - his lucky number. He was always looking for patterns in everyday things, he couldn’t help it.

Your phone vibrated again with a reminder you hadn’t opened the message and you saw Pascale’s name, asking if you had found him. You quickly replied that you had and shoved it back in your pocket before hopping off the wall.

“Come on, your mum’s probably worrying we’ll be late as usual and you’re my ride off this mountain.”

“We?” he asked as he cocked an eyebrow up. “I was always ready on time, you were the one who made us late for everything.”

“That’s not how I see it, because as the driver, it’s your responsibility to get us to the destination on time.”

It was effortless how easy the lighthearted teasing came without any of the biting remarks or bitter sarcasm that had tainted those last months of your relationship. This was, dare you say it, nice. You only hoped it could last because you had missed his friendship most of all.

“How did you get here?” Charles asked when he looked around the carpark, only spotting a few older model cars alongside the latest Ferrari Purosangue.

“Arthur dropped me off after he picked me up from the airport.” You slipped into the luxury SUV and pouted as the engine started far quieter than the Pista. “Where’s my baby?”

“Gathering dust most of the time.” He nodded his head to the backseat and you looked over your shoulder. “She doesn’t fit a carseat.”

“Of course, that makes sense.” You shook your head with a small laugh. “I can’t believe how practical you are now.”

“Having Jules changed me. The first time I held him, it was like everything came into focus, you know? I realised if I carried on like I was then he was going to see that behaviour as being okay, and it wasn’t okay.” He glanced across the car making eye contact with you. “I’m trying to be a better man, one he can be proud to call dad.”

Hervé would have been proud to see his family, smiles on their faces as they sat around the tables that had been pushed together to accommodate everyone, celebrating the life he had.

Lorenzo’s family had grown by two and the toddlers were full of energy as they chased each other around the table; Arthur’s wife, Carla, also had one bundle of joy on the way; and Pascale looked at all of her sons with radiating pride. You almost shed a tear as you sat down for the family dinner after visiting Hervé’s memorial, the love and warmth that filled the Leclerc’s family home felt like the missing piece you hadn’t been able to find on all your travels.

“You okay?” Charles asked as he filled your glass up with the sweet lemonade Pascale had made for her grandchildren.

“For god sake, Charles, offer the woman a proper drink,” Pascale said as she passed a bottle of red wine down the table.

“It’s okay, I don’t drink anymore,” you said as you passed it on to Lorenzo before returning your attention to Charles. “Do you still do this every month?”

He faked annoyance as he nodded but you could see how happy he was surrounded by his family. “Normally it would be when I have Jules but with the race calendar this month it just didn’t work out.”

The sun was beginning to set as you finished washing the last dish and passed it over to Charles to dry. From the living room you could hear Pascale reading to the children while their parents cleaned up the mess they had made and out on the back porch you could see Arthur and Carla sharing a moment as they watched the red sunset together.

“I miss this,” you whispered before realising it had been aloud and Charles had heard.

“Me too,” he sighed and stacked the plate in the cupboard. “How long are you staying?”

“Three days.”

His brows furrowed into a deep frown. “Is that all?”

“I do have a life,” you teased as you stole the dish towel from his shoulder to dry your hands.

“Does that include a boyfriend?”

The laughter faded and you shook your head. “No, there’s no one else.”

His eyes traced your lips and when you saw his tongue roll across his own you stepped back and swatted his arm with the damp towel. “Cut it out, Charles.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he lied through his cheeky smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him and grabbed your handbag from the kitchen side. “I’m going to go now because this has been a really nice evening and I want to keep it that way.”

He swiped his car keys up just as quickly. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“My hotel is only a few blocks away.”

“Then let me walk you, please? These streets aren’t as safe as they used to be. I’ve been mugged twice.”

“Then why would I want a walking target next to me?”

“Shit,” he chewed his lip at his flawed argument and sighed. “Please? I’ll walk you to your door and that’s as far as I’ll go.”

He held his breath as you debated the offer before lifting your hand up, pinky raised. “To the door and no funny business.”

He linked your fingers and shook on it. “Pinky promise.”

It was almost midnight by the time you reached your door. The classic cinema along the way was playing a double feature of Humphrey Bogart and when Charles saw Casablanca was about to start he had hooked your arm into the crook of his elbow and led the way inside. His smile dared you to argue but you had come to enjoy the black and white film whenever he had watched it.

Hervé had loved to torture his sons by making them sit and watch the film at least five times a year as a family. You had only been there to witness it twice but it was clear despite the feeble grumbles they all had come to love it too, especially when Charles whispered the lines to you under his breath.

When the lights had gone down in the theatre you had felt the heat of Charles’ arm as it shared the rest with yours between the seats. The projector flickered to life and the speakers crackled as the film began and you were thrown back in time.

You were immersed in the story when your hand was taken, the touch taking a moment to be noticed, and you looked down at your fingers laced between his before following the line of his sleeve until you reached his face.

His eyes were focused on you, and a sad smile played on his lips as he mouthed Rick’s line, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

By the end of the second feature you were hardly seeing what was on the screen. You could have left after Casablanca finished but there was a silent agreement that neither of you wanted the night to end. So you had remained in the dark room as most of the other patrons left and To Have and Have Not started, your hands still entwined on the arm rest.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” Charles asked as you stepped inside your hotel room and he stopped at the threshold, leaning against the frame with your hand still holding his.

You bit your lip to hide the smile that appeared. “If I do?”

“Cancel them.”

“Ohh, sorry, I can’t…I have a lunch date with the prettiest Leclerc.” His smirk grew and he nodded his head in agreement. “But you can join us, I’m sure your mum wouldn’t mind.”

His jaw dropped before his head tipped back with a laugh. “I’d hate to be a third wheel. Maybe I can steal you for breakfast in the morning instead?”

You looked at the time on your phone and saw midnight tick over. “It’s morning now.” You took a step deeper into the room but your hand tugged tight against Charles where he remained firmly planted at the door, shaking his head.

“I made a promise, bella,” he said softly before pulling you back and into his arms so he could press his lips to your forehead. “I made you lots of promises, and I’m going to show you that I will keep them all…if you give me a chance.”

You tucked your head into the curve of his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Three days,” you whispered. “That’s how long you have to show me the kind of man you are now.”

“That’s easy,” he said as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. “I wasn’t a man before. I was just an asshole who let the fame go straight to my head and lost something precious because of it.”

His words caused your stomach to flip and you looked up at him in a new light as you saw the pained look of regret in his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

“Ma bella,” he groaned, stepping out of your arms and towards the elevator. “Of course I want to come in, but I won’t. We have both changed. I want us to get to know one another again. Start afresh.”

You swallowed down the plea that was on your tongue because he was right. If you fell back into the same pattern like last time it would be stupid to think there would be a different outcome.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to keep from reaching for him as you conceded a nod. “Pick me up at 8am for breakfast?”

“It’s a date.” He started to walk backwards to the elevator like he was savouring every last second of seeing you in person and blew you a kiss as he hit the down arrow. It opened immediately and he looked a little disappointed as he stepped inside before a smile started to curl at the corners of his lips. “And just so you know, I am the prettiest Leclerc…until it is you.”

Three Years Later.

A gentle euphony echoed along the halls of the otherwise silent house and you wiped the sleep from your eyes as you padded barefoot down the staircase. It was far too early to be awake and even the birds had yet to rise with their songs as you passed the large glass doors that overlooked the dark waters of the Côté d’Azur.

With quiet footsteps you crept around the corner to the living room to find the reason why all the beds were empty.

Charles looked exhausted as he sat at the piano bench, his fingers moving slowly over the keys, drawing out each note a beat longer than they should. The retired racer’s jaw trembled with a suppressed yawn but his tired eyes were blinking less and less as he started to slump.

“How long have you been playing, love?” you asked as you sat beside him and brushed his hair back from his face. “The kids are fast asleep.”

“Really?” Charles turned with a groan to see Jules snoring on the sofa with his little sister tucked into his arms. “Melody’s crying woke him up.” He rose to his feet and cracked his back that had gone stiff from playing for hours. “I can’t wait for those teeth to just come through already.”

“You should have woken me.”

He bent in half, groaning at the protest in his back but he pushed through the pain so he could kiss you. “I need this, bella. I can’t feed her when she wakes in the night but I can play her lullaby. And you must have been tired if you didn’t hear her on the monitor.”

You followed your husband to the couch and gently scooped Melody into your arms, praying she was in a deep sleep, before carrying her back up to the nursery. Charles followed with Jules asleep in his arms and took his carbon copy to his bedroom beside Melody’s.

You both breathed a sigh of relief when you met in the hallway, the doors shutting on well-oiled hinges. There wasn't a single sound to disturb the kids as you crept back to your bedroom and Charles curled himself around your body.

“Goodnight, my sweet,” he murmured as he kissed your shoulder. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“You don’t have to thank me everyday,” you said with a smile at the regular bedtime routine.

You felt his smile against your skin. “I do, I’m thankful for you everyday and I always will be. Forever, just like I promised.”

Click here for the alternative ending (Max’s).

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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justabigassnerd · 1 year

Text

Bad Decisions

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 2,325

Warnings - alcohol, drugs, feeling uncomfortable, slight bullying

Summary - when a gathering with friends goes wrong, you call one of the most trusted people in your life to help you get out

A/N - whoa not only did I finish and submit my dissertation today. I uploaded a whole ass instalment of the Hangman junior universe?? I thought this would be a nice 'I've returned' gift for y'all! this was a lovely idea sent in by @weloveds and of course, I had to write it! I won't ramble anymore but as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

Being in high school meant that sometimes you made bad choices. You had prided yourself on being someone who didn’t make those kind of choices. Your dad had raised you to know your own worth and to not make friends with people who treated you badly.

Yet somehow you found yourself surrounded by the exact people your dad warned you about.

Living near a Navy base meant there were a lot of transfer students going in and out of your school, the kids following wherever the Navy sends their parents. Some people who came were nice and you got on well with them, and others would people you steered clear of. When your friend Mary moved away because her mum got posted elsewhere you started to stick to yourself. You were outgoing enough to make friends, you just lost interest in doing so when Mary moved away. You figured that if people were going to be coming and going you didn’t want to run the risk of being attached to them. Your dad and Bradley had noticed that you had become more withdrawn and didn’t spend Friday evenings with your friends, finding yourself hanging out with the Daggers more and more, which nobody minded, they were just concerned. Bradley and Jake had double and triple-checked with you that no one was bullying you and once they had the confirmation you were just scared to make friends and then lose them, they encouraged you to try and let someone in. They told you that you didn’t need to be best friends with them, they just wanted you to have someone to lean on when you were at school.

You eventually got invited to join a group that had recently formed after a new load of Navy kids moved in. At first, they were kind and welcoming, letting you join in on their plans and never once making you feel unwanted.

But then they started to show their true colours.

Over time you noticed that they’d whisper a lot amongst themselves and when you asked what was going on they’d brush it off, saying it was an inside thing you wouldn’t understand. They also had a tendency to skip class and be disruptive when you were trying to work. You figured that’s how they were, but you didn’t know what they also did with their evenings. One day they decided to talk to you over lunch.

“Hey, y/n. Do you want to hang out in the park with us tonight? It’s Friday night so most of us have late curfews or none at all. I’m sure you’re in the same boat.” Lucy says, stabbing her fork into her meal as she glances over at you.

“I mean usually I hang out with my dad and Bradley, sometimes the other Daggers too.” You argue weakly, wanting to spend more time with your friends but also not wanting to bail on your dad.

“Oh come on. Friday nights as a group are so fun and you’ve never been there! I’m sure your dad won’t miss you for one night.” Jared scoffs as he takes a swig from his water. He wasn’t wrong. You had missed out on the Friday night meet-ups because of wanting to spend time with your dad and Bradley.

“Okay, I’ll come.” You say with a small smile as the group celebrates happily. You texted your dad just before your next class started and told him that you’d probably be out when he got home from work. He was quick to respond, telling you to stay safe and to contact him or Bradley if you needed anything.

You went home after planning a time and place to meet up with your friends and unsurprisingly the house was empty, giving you the freedom to blast your music as you showered and changed and once you were ready, you went to the park and quickly located your friends who waved you over.

“Hey, y/n! We gotta head to the corner store real quick to grab some snacks. Come on.” Jared says, leading you and the rest of the group to the small corner shop and while you went to look for snacks, the others went to the aisles containing alcohol.

“Hey y/n, distract the owner while we snag some of these will you?” Henry says, inspecting the alcohol in front of him.

“What? No. We’re not stealing.” You hiss lowly, not wanting to get everyone caught by your shocked words.

“Oh don’t be a wuss. Just buy some snacks, talk to him, and buy us time to sneak out.” Lucy whispers harshly as she picks up a six-pack of beers.

“No! If my dad found out about this, he’d-”

“Jeez, do you do everything daddy tells you to do?” Jared scoffs.

“Why’d we invite the daddy’s girl?” Henry says as he rolls his eyes. Narrowing your eyes you leave to stand outside the shop, refusing to get involved in their shoplifting endeavours. But you didn’t want to leave just yet, despite their comments you figured they could redeem themselves somehow. It took them about five minutes to emerge from the shop, bottles shoved in jackets as they tried to discreetly leave without being noticed.

“Thanks for nothing Seresin.” They hiss as they walk past you, but no one tried to stop you when you followed along behind them. When they found a secluded place in the park and got out the alcohol you started to get more uncomfortable than you already were. It got worse when other people showed up. People older than you and your group and it increased more than you already thought possible when they started pulling out bags of weed and began rolling blunts. With your uncomfortableness reaching an all-time high, you quietly slipped away while everyone was busy smoking and drinking and once you were far enough away, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. Your thumb hovered over your dad's contact for a minute as you quietly debated whether it was worth him knowing about what just happened before you moved to click on Bradley’s contact, lifting your phone up to your ear as the phone began to ring.

“y/n? Is everything okay?” Just hearing Bradley’s voice helped calm you but only slightly as you took a shuddering breath.

“Can you come and get me?” You manage to say, leaning up against a tree as a cool evening breeze makes its way past.

“Are you hurt? Should I tell Jake?” Bradley immediately asks, leaping up from where he was sitting on the sofa and rushing to grab his keys and put his shoes on.

“No. Don’t tell dad. I don’t want to ruin his night with Uncle Javy. I just want you to pick me up.” You say hurriedly, eyes darting around like anyone from the group could appear at any second.

“Okay, I won’t tell your dad. Tell me where you are, sweetheart and I’ll come and get you.” Bradley says, keeping his voice steady and calm as he could hear the obvious panic and stress in your voice. You relay your location to Bradley, and he promises to get to you as quickly as he can before getting into the Bronco and driving to where you were. He stays on the phone with you the entire time to make sure you were calm, telling you to keep talking to him and to tell him when you can see the Bronco so he can find you.

“I can see the Bronco.” You say when you catch sight of the familiar blue vehicle.

“Good, I can see you too. I’m going to hang up now, okay? I’ll pull up once I’ve hung up.” Bradley says softly, hanging up once you’ve acknowledged him and then pulling up alongside where you were. He barely turned the engine off and pulled the keys out of the ignition before he was leaping out of the car, immediately holding you by the shoulders and checking you over for any injuries.

“Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” He asks, his eyes swimming with concern as he searches you over. Instead of responding, you wrap your arms around Bradley’s middle and hug him tight, taking him aback by the force of the hug but once he recovered, he was quick to reciprocate the hug.

“Woah, what’s up kid?” Bradley questioned worriedly as you continue to cling to him.

“Can we just go home?” You ask, your voice muffled as you spoke, but Bradley heard you nonetheless.

“Okay, let’s get in the car.” Bradley says softly, guiding you to the passenger side of the car and opening the door for you, waiting for you to get settled in your seat before closing the door and rounding the car to get behind the wheel. He begins the drive back to the house in silence, with only the radio playing quietly in the background.

“I think I made a bad decision today.” Your small voice makes Bradley raise an eyebrow as he briefly glances over at you.

“Why do you think that?” He questions, focusing back on the road as you stare out the window.

“I made some new friends at school not too long ago and at first, they seemed nice. I hadn’t made any friends since Mary left so it was nice to have people to talk to at school. But then they invited me out with them for the first time tonight and they weren’t at all what I thought they were like. They wanted me to help them shoplift some alcohol and then they invited other people from outside the group and they brought weed and I got really uncomfortable and that’s when I left and called you.” You ramble, your focus on the world passing you by in the window.

“Well did you help them shoplift? Did you smoke or drink?” Bradley asks, glancing at you briefly once more as you shake your head.

“No, of course not.” You say, glancing over at Bradley who nods at your words.

“Then I don’t think you made a bad decision today. You just wanted to have an evening hanging out with your friends. They’re the ones making bad decisions. You did the right thing by calling me. I’m proud of you for not feeling obligated to stay just because they were your friends. You’re better off without them anyway.” Bradley says, and you remain silent, processing what he said.

“I made a lot of bad decisions when I was younger. When it became obvious to me that my mum wasn’t getting better, I started doing dumb things to forget about everything that was going on at home. The things I thought would help, didn’t and after a chat with Mav I realised that what I was doing was wrong and that I needed to spend time with my mum. You didn’t make a bad decision today. Even if you did, it would be a learning moment for you. Not every bad decision is the end of the world. You’ll be okay, kid.” Bradley says as he turns the Bronco onto the road your house is on and soon pulls the Bronco into the driveway of your house. Jake’s truck was still absent, a clear indicator he was still at Coyote’s. As Bradley turns the engine off you turn to face him.

“Bradley. Could we keep this between us? Dad already worries about me enough and I’d rather he not know about everything that just went on between me and the group.” You ask timidly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avert eye contact. Bradley remains quiet for a moment before exhaling softly and nodding.

“Okay, y/n/n, I won’t tell Jake.” He says, watching as you lift your gaze to meet his as you smile lightly.

“Thanks, Bradley.” You say, turning to climb out of the car with Bradley mirroring your actions. When you get in the house and head to the stairs after taking your shoes off, Bradley calls you back to where he was standing in the hall, and you approach him.

“I just want to promise you something before you disappear off upstairs. I just want you to know that so long as you feel that you can come to me whenever you need help, I won’t get mad or tell Jake if you don’t want me to. However, if I think you’re hiding something and you don’t tell us anything, I will voice any concerns to Jake but only because I care about you.” Bradley says gently, watching you carefully as you nod, taking in every word he says. When he finishes speaking, you give Bradley another hug, with him reciprocating quickly.

“Thank you, Bradley. I love you.” You whisper, squeezing him tighter as you speak, smiling when you hear a breathy chuckle escape his lips.

“I love you too, y/n. Now, how about you go and chill in your room? You’ve had a long evening so it’s probably best you get some rest.” Bradley says after pressing a kiss to the top of your head and releasing you from the hug. Once you’ve been released from the hug you grin up at Bradley before turning and heading upstairs to relax in your room. Once you had left Bradley’s line of sight, he headed into the living room and flopped across the length of the sofa and switched the tv on. He crossed his arms behind his head to act as a makeshift pillow as he mindlessly watched whatever came on the tv. His focus was hardly on the tv, all he could think about was how you trusted him to come and pick you up from the situation you had found yourself in. And he vowed to himself that he’d always be there when you needed him. You’d always be protected with him and Jake around.

taglist (comment or ask to be added):

@zbeez-outlet @kaceywithak @tsnelf7 @starkleila @cassadilasworld @shanimallina87 @madstxo @chaoticassidy

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riordanness · 7 months

Text

change - [r.heffley]

1.6K wordcount

warnings: none

requested: no

I never would have guessed that the same day I lost my only friends would be the day I met my new one.

Heather Hills and I had been best friends since second grade. In fifth, Gracie Miller had made our duo a trio, and ever since then we'd been right as anything. Doing everything together, constantly hanging out and sleeping over at each others houses, planning birthday parties together and giggling over boys together.

But this year? Something was different. Heather and Gracie were acting strange. Like, I'd walk up to them while they were talking and they'd get all quiet, real fast. I'd catch them hanging out without me, finding out via social media.

I was trying to ignore the signs, acting as if everything was as it had always been. But I couldn't anymore.

At lunch earlier today, I'd suggested a visit to the mall after school. We hadn't hung out in a while, and I was missing my girls. Sure, we hung out at school everyday, but all the desks were two seater only. I'll leave it to your imagination who was the odd one out.

Besides, I was in desperate need for clothes. My mother had died when I was just a baby, and my dad was always struggling to make ends meet. I had recently grown out of basically all my clothing, so I'd been saving up every scrap of money I could, working odd jobs for all our neighbours, and finally had enough to go on a little shopping trip.

Heather wrinkled her nose. "I have a dentist appointment, and I'm too tired for the mall today."

I nodded. "That's fair. Get a good night's sleep, tonight, yeah?"

She gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Mhm."

I looked at Gracie. "What about you, Cee?"

She hesitated, glanced at Heather, then shook her head. "I- I have a lot of homework I need to catch up on. Sorry."

I smiled. "No worries. We'll find a time to go."

School had finished twenty minutes ago. I'd said goodbye to the girls at the gate, waved as they climbed into Heather's mum's car (Gracie always got a ride home with them as they lived basically next door to each other) and started the fifteen minute walk to the local mall.

Inside, however, I was met with a nasty surprise. Standing together at the smoothie bar, Heather and Gracie were giggling about something, drinks in hand.

I suddenly felt like I had no air. A lump grew in my throat, and I had to fight to not cry. I turn, and storm back outside. I collapse on a park bench a few hundred meters away, in a little sidewalk park.

Hot, angry, betrayed tears fill my eyes, and I don't stop them this time. I feel so stupid, so angry, so hurt. I should've known. I should have seen the signs, not ignored them like I'd tried to. They didn't want me around anymore. They didn't need me.

I don't know how long I stay there, crying, and silently screaming at myself.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance up, startled, and hastily brush at my tears. My glasses have fogged up, a few tears staring the lenses. I pull a tissue from my backpack, and quickly wipe them clean.

"Are you alright?"

I glance again at the person. It's a boy, probably my age, with messy brown hair and pretty eyes. He wears a black tshirt with the words 'fuck the patriarchy' on it, with a blue and black flannel over the top. He has black converse, like me, and denim jeans, also like me.

"H-hi," I manage, my voice scratchy from crying. "Can I help you?"

The boy frowns in concern. "You were crying." He says it like a statement, not a question. Not like he's asking why I was crying, but rather just wondering if I was okay.

"I'm fine." I blink away the fresh tears threatening to rise. I won't cry in front of this cute guy again. Once is embarrassing enough. Twice would be unbearable.

"Okay," the boy says, in a voice that implies he doesn't even kind of believe me. "Want some company? You planning on going shopping?"

I frown slightly. "Uh, yeah. I need new clothes. I've been saving up."

The boy tilts his head. "What size are you?"

My eyes widen in surprise, but before I can speak he yelps a little, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I mean- No! I didn't mean it like that. It's just- I just- I have a lot of spare things I don't wear anymore and well, you look like you might fit them. No use using your savings if you don't have to."

I consider this. Usually I don't like charity much, it makes me feel like a desperately poor person, when I'm not poor, just short on cash. But this boy seems really genuine, and I like his style, so maybe the offer of old clothes is a good one to accept.

"Sure, I'd love that," I say. "I'm Y/n." I stand, holding out my hand to shake.

He smiles, and my day gets just a little brighter. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/n. Now c'mon. I'll drive you to my place."

I follow him to the carpark, and he opens the shotgun door of a white van, marked with "Löded Diper" on the side.

"Should I be worried about getting into a white van belonging to a total stranger?" I ask teasingly.

The boy laughs. "Nah, you're good. The only people I'm kidnapping with this van are my little dork brother and his friend."

I laugh, climb into the van, and let him shut the door. When he slides into the drivers seat, I look over at him.

"You know, I still don't know your name."

He looks at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Would you believe me if I told you my name was Sir Lancelot Broccoli Vladimir the First?"

I pretend to consider it. "Hmmm, no, not really."

I look at him, and for a whole second we hold the serious act. Then we explode to a fit of laughter.

"No, but really," I manage, striving for composure. "What is your name?"

"Rodrick," he says. "Rodrick Heffley."

"Well it's lovely to meet you, Rodrick Heffley."

He grins. "Okay, Y/n Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is, ready for a dangerous drive back to my place?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why not?"

In hindsight, I would've preferred walking there, but Rodrick, and his eyes and his smile and his laugh, they made the almost terrifying experience of his driving kinda worth it.

His house was simple and white, the yard pretty but plain. It looked like a totally normal home.

Rodrick opens the front door for me, holding it open as he smiles down at me. I return it as I duck under his arm, and step into the hallway.

A women steps into the hall, a small boy in her arms. She's pretty, with glasses and shiny brown hair. she sees me and smiles in pleasant surprise.

"Oh, hello there." She steps over and hold her hand out. "I'm Susan. It's lovely to meet you."

As I shake her hand, she glances at Rodrick, a thousand questions in her eyes.

"She's a friend," Rodrick says. "Don't make it weird, Mum."

She smiles. "Oh no no, I won't, honey, I promise."

"Come on, Y/n," Rodrick says, and grabs my hand, steering me away from his mother.

We climb the stairs, passing an adorable dog (who wanted pats that I'd gladly given) and a younger brother, who doesn't give us a second glance.

Upstairs, we enter Rodrick's room. It's surprisingly tidy for a teenage boy's. He has a drum kit, a lot of rock band posters and magazines, and a few piles of clothes and school supplies.

"You play?" I ask, gesturing at the drums.

Rodrick smiles shyly, his gaze sliding to meet mine. "Uh, yeah. I'm in a band."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? That's sick, man. I wish I could play the drums. But I've never had the money to get my own kit or anything."

"I could... teach you if you'd like?"

At his suggestion, I hesitate. "I couldn't pay you..."

Rodrick gives me a look. "As if I'd charge you, love."

I flush, and look away.

"Okay..." Rodrick gets all embarrassed, turns in a circle, then digs through his closet for a moment. He pulls out a small tub of neatly folded clothes (I suspect his mother folded them for him), and places it on his bed.

"Here ya are, Y/n/n."

"Y/n/n?" I ask with a small laugh. "That's a new one."

"Is it?" he asks curiously. "So I'm the only one to ever call you that?"

I nod. "Yep, pretty sure."

"Good." He smiles. It's contagious, so I smile right back at him.

"Now," he says, pushing the box towards me. "Take whatever you like."

It's filled with mostly tshirts and hoodies and sweaters, which is perfect, as I have basically no need for new jeans at the moment.

I pull one of the hoodies on, a maroon one with the words "you and i got lost in it" in small, simple writing down one sleeve. It's almost a perfect fit, just a little bit big in all the right place.

"Are all the clothes in this box the same size?" I ask, and Rodrick nods, but he can't tear his eyes away from me.

"What is it?" I laugh.

"N-nothing," he stammers, his cheeks tinting pick and his voice going higher. I bite back an amused smile, and just give him a little meaningful look.

"It's just..." he sighs. "You just look really damn pretty in my clothes."

I instantly get flustered, but can't help my smile. This afternoon might have started pretty awfully, but I could tell it was going to be an amazing night.

#rodrick heffley #fanfiction #diary of a wimpy kid #fanfic #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley fanfiction #doawk

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greycaelum · 1 year

Note

ahhh your kaleidoscope series is so heartwarming! i was wondering if its possible to write a timeskip where kikufuku is older and is basically really protective over his mum in public, i think itd be really cute but funny that hes acting like her bodyguard 😭🫶🏻🖤 thank you if you do this! (his parents taught him well)

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { SSS }

—Gojo Satoru X Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

16-year-old Kouki is just as tall as the 5'8 man. He should thank his Papa's genes later.

"You need something from my mother?"

"M-mother? I w-was just asking directions." The man replied, looking at you and Kouki back and forth.

𑁍 Genre: fluff, family theme, time skip

𑁍 CW/TW: (1.1k)— stranger trying to hit on you, protective Kouki, Kouki can be a little menace, Kouki's thoughts about relationships, didn't proofread, sorry 'bout that

𑁍 A/N: I've been rewriting this ask for several times over the months and only until this very morning did I feel I could finally do it at my own pace. Pardon the very long wait sweetheart, but I do hope you like this one! I hope you have a great weekend everyone~

Kouki is used to being fawn over. Not even bragging, but girls do swoon over him in his class that he has to escape to the rooftop to evade them.

"Eh? Cause me and your Mama are pretty, that's why you look like that." His Papa answered when he told him that girls in his class kept following him.

Papa? Well, he's not really handsome. His Papa is weird. He looks like a really long sugarcane when he stands straight in his violet uniform. Has someone even told his Papa?

Mama though. He thinks you're very beautiful. Kouki really loves his eyes because it's the same color as yours.

So it's not a surprise having a pretty mother that when you go out guys look at you, a little longer than Kouki would approve.

"We have to buy you new clothes, you're not fitting in the ones we bought last year." You sighed and walk to the department store with Kouki trailing behind you. "I know your Papa is tall, but I never thought you'd be this tall too."

Kouki pouts and shrugs.

"You use me to get the high things Ma, why are you poking my height?"

You laughed, teasing him more about girls in school breaking their necks when he passes them. His sister can't keep her mouth shut to get back at him at dinner time.

His Papa told him it was normal. Those kinds of things, getting attracted to the opposite sex because of curiosity. But he's never felt the need to entertain it. Kouki does get confessions but all of them are politely turned down.

"Why should I? It's not like I like her." He sighed at Yusuke, his friend since middle school telling him he's been a real snob with girls, this recent one is the principal's daughter.

"But don't you get curious about getting into a relationship? All that romance and stuff? C'mon, you're not planning to be a hermit or a monk are you?"

He already knows what it's like. Seeing his mother and father every day, Kouki doesn't really feel the need to seek out relationships, especially fleeting ones. It's not like he likes anyone anyway.

"Oh! I know. You're waiting for Mayumi? Right! It's been years since she changed schools. Are you still exchanging emails with her?" Yusuke grinned ear to ear.

"She's like a sister to me." Kouki stood up and pat his pants from the dirt. "I have siblings, and I'm gonna get angry if some boy or girl just dates them for fun too."

Dating... Huh?

He's rather protective of the girls in the house than fooling around. The same goes for his Mama.

"I want this hoodie Ma." Kouki came back to the aisle with a white hoodie in his hand when he saw a man talking to you.

"Do you know where this cafe is? The mall is big and I'm lost." The man—looking late 20s—rub the back of his neck while looking at you intently as you told him the directions.

Asking questions? Probably the man is lost. That's alright, he'll wait here 'til you finish helping the guy.

"Ah, thank you. If you're free can we get coffee together? I'm Hayato."

Formation SSS

"Ma, I was looking for you." Kouki swooped in. Your eyes lit up and smiled. The man was taken aback by his presence but Kouki ignored him and put on a worried face, with a soft voice. "Papa told you to walk slowly. You can't stress my baby sibling walking around tirelessly. The first trimester is really delicate, didn't you hear what the doctor said?"

"What are you talkin—" You frowned and stare at him like he's ridiculously grown three heads.

"Papa mailed me he's waiting in the store, your rings just finished getting cleaned."

You frowned at him with the sudden remarks but he just winked at you and turned around, and everything changed. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a blank look on his face, Kouki took one step forward. The man steps back and looks at him with confusion and a glare.

16-year-old Kouki is just as tall as the 5'8 man. He should thank his Papa's genes later.

"You need something from my mother?"

"M-mother? I w-was just asking directions." The man replied, looking at you and Kouki back and forth.

"Go straight in that corridor, turn right at the corner then take the elevator to the ground floor you'll get there." Kouki flatly answered. "Excuse us, my father is not really a patient man."

Kouki ushered you out of the shop. The directions he gave led to the parking lot.

"Y'know, you're really a minion of your father. The only you got from me is your eyes." You chuckled, finding your protective son funnier than scolding his rudeness. "And what baby sibling? Really Kou-chan, after your siblings you still want to babysit another one?" You teased.

Kouki huffs. He really wanted that white hoodie but forgot about it. Unknowingly you didn't realize the direction you're heading.

It was the same cafe the stranger earlier asked you about.

"What took you so long? I was really hungry." His Papa waved.

"Satoru?! I thought you were coming home tomorrow?" You shook your head and sat beside the grinning man. You were quickly enveloped with smothering and teasing.

Kouki sighed at the scene in front of him and turned to his phone, the tread of the recent message is still there.

—————

Him:

Pa.

Papa:

Yes, yes? Miss me Kikufuku? I'm on my way home~ I brought you a ddeokbokki, the spiciest one!

—————

Great, he feels the love. Note his sarcasm, please. Kouki ignored his father's words and got to the point.

—————

Him:

Pa, formation SSS

Papa:

Roger that, where?

Him:

Department store.

Papa:

Okie-dokie on my way Kikufuku.

Him:

On second thought, wait at Cafe Rio

—————

"You two are really!" You huffed but a defeated glint in your eyes.

Kouki stared at his parents getting all lovey-dovey despite the public setting. He should've chosen a more private place to eat.

"I'm gonna get that hoodie, I'll be back." Kouki stood up.

"Owkay~" His Papa chuckled, shooing him away. "Oh, Kikufuku?"

"Mnnn?" Kouki turned back and met his father's thumbs up. This time a genuine tenderness in his Papa's eyes.

"Nice one, son."

Kouki shrugged and waved, walking out of the cafe. His Papa is weird, but he's the only man worthy of his Mama.

On his way out, he saw the man in the department store. The man's eyes were wide open as he stares at his Mama and Papa inside the cafe in disbelief. He then saw Kouki, walking on the other side.

Kouki smirked tauntingly crumpling the man's face and ego more than ever.

Guess what? You're right.

The only thing he inherited from his mother is her eyes. He could be a menace like his father.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

#kaleidoscope series #c&mchapters #gojo kouki #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk gojo married fluff #jjk dad gojo fluff #gojo saika #greycaelum #gojo satoru x wife #husband gojo x wife reader #jjk gojo fluff #married gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff

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lewisyellowhelmet · 2 years

Text

til kingdom come

summary: lewis hamilton x reader

The events of the last two weeks of the 22 F1 season before the summer break with Lewis. Otherwise known as, the P2 fic. (6k+)

content: 18+!!! alcohol. public s*x. general m/f s*x acts.

// Marseilles, France //

“Maybe it’s not the year,” Lewis says, in the dawn light. His alarm has woken you, jarring you from a dream. For a moment, you’re lost in the unfamiliar hotel bed, strange pillows, a mattress that’s too hard, but when you roll over you find Lewis’ warm body, the sleep-smell of him.

“What do you mean?” You ask, muffled by his chest, a half thought to climb inside his chest, hide inside his rib cage. You can feel the tension in his spine, tracking your fingers over his vertebrae. Your mouth on the edge of his collarbone as he sighs.

“Just. With everything. What if I’m holding onto something that’s impossible, it’s stopping me from understanding the bigger picture,” Lewis says, and you know if you looked up, his eyes would be closed, not wanting to look at you. It’s habit, when he’s feeling vulnerable, words sticking in his throat. Like if he can’t see you, you won’t be able to recognise the unguarded, raw expression on his face.

“Lewis,” you murmur, lips moving over his chest, over the lion, “It’s the year. It’s always the year with you. No one else can do this, except you.”

Your voice is thick and raspy from recent sleep, you’re not even sure if he can hear you from how you’re pressed up into him, but he nuzzles his face into your hair, rubbing his cheek against your head. You listen to him breathe, the light starting to brighten the room as the sun rises over the city.

“Yeah,” he says, and you can feel his voice rumbling in his chest, “Okay, thank you.”

You crane your neck up to see him finally, his dark hair on the white pillow. His eyes are open, smiling and warm. When you kiss him, he makes a quiet sound of contentment, and his big arms are warm and secure sliding under your t-shirt.

You want to stand up so close to the television screen your Mum would tell you off, warn of square eyes. But every muscle in your body is pulled tight, breath short and harsh in your chest, as you watch the final laps of the race tick down. The hope and joy is fluttering under your heart, almost overwhelming, too soon to let it go, to jump and yell. So you just stand, hands around your headphones as if hearing Lewis’ voice right in your eardrum will encourage him more, get him to hold on just a bit longer. You can feel it in the garage, the tight knot of anticipation, waiting to unwind. A restless, swarming sea of engineers and mechanics and you in the middle of all of it, teeth dug into your tongue so you don’t start screaming at the screen for him to hold on. Fifty laps. Fifty one. Reaching to take Ang’s hand, something to anchor you, hold you steady. Then, the final lap, the wave peaks, whitewash, and the garage erupts, clapping and cheering, rushing to finish tasks so they can get to the grid. The joy makes your head swim, getting clasped into Ang’s hug, wanting to scream and cry and laugh. Letting yourself jump with her for a few, triumphant seconds.

Bono’s strong, always reassuring voice through the headphones, has once again guided Lewis safely through fifty three laps, “Yes, Lewis, great drive there, man.”

And Lewis, “Whew! Great job guys, that’s an incredible result for the team. Just shows all the hard work we’ve been doing. Let’s keep pushing.”

You can hear it, the smile in his tone, letting himself feel it, the relief, the happiness. You have a sudden, gripping, urge to cry, aching in your throat. But then you’re out in the hot sun, the heat of the track rising up through your shoes. Journalists and other teams and other girlfriends, and you pressed up against the railing. Watching him pull himself out of the car, effortlessly strong, still with his helmet on as he throws himself into the team. You’re a few people back, not wanting to disturb, to interrupt the bond, but then you feel the rough fabric of his gloves, pulling you forward, crushed into his chest. His helmet knocks your head, you can’t hear him over the yelling and cheering, but you feel it, the tight, hot press of his body, the grab of his hands, the vibration in his chest. He’s laughing.

Double podium. You want to call his Mum. Your Mum. Everyone you know. Tell them, see, see, I told you, I told you he could do it. It feels special and secret. That you knew. That this was so inevitable. Of course Lewis would be on the podium, of course. You knew it, even in the half-awake dawn light. You feel like a stranger in the crowd, almost, watching his interview, in awe of him. Hear his awful French and laugh, suddenly woozy with love, aching in your chest.

You feel delirious, in a dream, watching the cool-down room feed, Lewis on the floor, panting. Heat flickers in your belly, thinking about the shape of him between your legs, how he’d let you kiss all over his face, whining with impatience. His big hands on your hips, guiding you to roll down on him, not looking away from you. Toto claps you on the back, says, he’s back, and you blink away the image, red cheeks. Someone tells you his water was broken, that he hasn’t had anything to drink. Your heart thuds, uncomfortably, want to fight through the hundreds of people to deliver him ice cold water, hide him somewhere dark until he’s hydrated again. Have a silent, precious moment to put your hands on his chest, feel him breathe, know he’s safe, brought back to you again.

Lost in the crowd at parc fermé, head tipped back to see the podium. He looks so happy, and Ang is very good about not pointing out that you’re crying a little bit, tears leaking, waving breathlessly at him. His name, booming out over the crowd, second place. The trophy in his big hands, held safe. Messing around with George, spraying champagne at each other, laughing, playing. They look like boys, living out a childhood dream. You watched him work for this, push for this, train for this. No one can do what Lewis does. You wipe your face, grin back at him, watch him take a long pull of the champagne. You can practically taste the bubbling alcohol on his skin. 300 races. And he’s still beaming up there like it’s the first one. The pride is overwhelming.

After, blinking against the sudden dim lights of the tunnels of the garage after the bright French sunshine, slipping past groups of people until you’re bursting into the group of drivers in the holding room. Lewis’ face changes when he sees you, something open and boyish and glowing, lets you crash into his chest. He smells like champagne and sweat and petrol and you want to breathe all of him in, clutching at his race suit.

“Hey,” he says, quiet voice by your ear in the noise and hustle of other drivers and their teams and various rich socialites with VIP passes.

“Didn’t I tell you,” you say, stepping back so you can look at him, feel the warmth of his grin wash over you. Lewis is laughing, holding your hands and swinging them between your bodies, out and in like a nervous teenager.

“You did,” he agrees, kisses the corner of your mouth, quick and private.

It’s always busy, after. You used to stick to him like glue, a shadow, not knowing anyone, not wanting to get in someone’s way. But now you can relax into it, hug team members, help Angela in her various tasks. You don’t see Lewis again until he’s showered, media done, the first of many post-race meetings completed with his engineers. The sun is starting to set, orange and glowing over the horizon. He grabs you from behind, big hands around you, turning you around into his chest.

“Oh,” you manage to say, and then your face is in his shoulder, fingers curled into his shirt. Clean, fresh, his hair damp.

“I’m starving,” he tells you, gives your body a little shake, like his energy is uncontainable.

“Let’s eat, then,” you say, even though you’ve already cancelled the dinner reservation you’d made a week ago. You don’t want to share him anymore. Want the hotel door room locked and the lights low. One of his stupid sex playlists on and watching his eyes glint in the dark.

“At the hotel,” you say, hidden smile, and he swallows, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and his hands move to hold your hips for a second, lingering. Sometimes you wonder if he can read your mind, the way he can always tell what you want, what you’re leading him towards.

“Let’s go find the car,” he says, steps around you, but gathers you up into his side, warm and solid. You walk back through the paddock like that, together, linked.

In the car, you remember the bistro around the corner from the hotel, half empty and authentic. Private. The waiter sits you in a corner, so no one looks over, and you can sit with your knees touching his. Music playing in a language you don’t know, a candle flickering in the middle of the table, fresh flowers. The flame paints strange shadows on Lewis’ face, makes him unfamiliar for a moment before the angle changes and he’s back, smiling at you, offering you a taste of his food.

He lets himself have one glass of wine, it makes him looser, touchier, his hand on your thigh, talks quietly for the excuse of having to lean in when you can’t hear. When the waiter leaves the dessert menu, he doesn’t even look at it.

“I wanna,” he says, swallows, glances to see if anyone’s watching before he reaches to grab the underneath of your chair, drag you in close to him. The candlelight is making him glow, ethereal.

“Wanna take you home,” Lewis murmurs, his lips by your jaw.

“You tired?” You tease, but your eyes are closing, just from his proximity, the smell of him, the heat rolling off his body. You lean in.

“Exhausted,” Lewis says, smirking, his hand much too high up your dress for public.

“Better get you to bed then,” you say, trying to play the game, but your voice cracks and Lewis is grinning, his thumb stroking over the soft skin of your inner thigh. An anticipatory shiver runs through you when he stands up, drags you through the tables by the hand to pay, hurries you out of the restaurant and around the corner, rushing you into the hotel elevator. It’s some old building, the inside of the lift gilded gold and with mirrors that reflect endlessly. There’s another older couple in there, and you make sure to stand carefully apart from Lewis, watch in the mirror as he slips his hand around your waist, down to the swell of your ass. The couple are talking to each other in French, not looking. You roll your eyes at him in the mirror, at his need to touch, but you’re smiling, and he dips his head to kiss your shoulder, not ashamed.

Finally alone. The high ceilings of the suite, curtains open so you can see the rolling buildings of Marseille, the shadow of the racetrack in the hills. Don’t bother turning a light on, catch him in the hallway, feeling small as Lewis presses you up into the wall, brackets you with his body. He’s warm and strong and solid, big hands rucking up your dress, his mouth on your neck, over the flutter of your pulse.

“Are you happy?” You ask, without meaning too, feeling the muscles flex in his back as he lifts his head.

“What?” Lewis says, quiet, soft voice, crease in his brow.

“Are you happy? About today. P2.”

He smiles, still confused, lifts his hands to smooth the hair out of your face, bump his nose with yours.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’m happy.”

“Good,” you smile, lift your face to kiss him, gentle and slow, hear the shaky way he sighs into you.

“Are you happy?” He asks, lips moving against yours. The gap he’s made to speak aches, too far away. You drag him back in, not wanting to stop now you’ve started.

“Yeah,” you say, when words make sense again, “So happy. So proud of you.”

He laughs, his little chuckle he does when it’s real, kissing back down the length of your throat, into the cut of your dress.

“Proud, huh?” He asks.

“Yes,” suddenly urgent, pulling his head up so you can look him in the eye, “Always, Lewis.”

His grin changes into something trusting and aching, kisses you just once, your top lip between his. He doesn’t have to speak. You can feel it. Know it.

“Jump,” he mumbles, hands slipping around your ass, and you loop your arms around his neck, jumping and feeling him catch you, easily, legs around his waist, held up by him as he walks through to the bedroom, his mouth under your ear.

Lewis lies you down so carefully, easy strength, supporting your head, the bed opening up around you. You cling on, to draw him down with you, but he resists, standing over you, a shadow in the dark, just an outline.

“I love you,” he says, and it takes you by surprise, the important tone in his voice, his hand around your calf. A car goes past outside, the headlights sliding over him, so you can see his face for a moment, the dark intensity of his eyes.

“I know,” you murmur, reaching out, letting his hands tangle with yours, “I love you, too.”

He’s nodding, a crooked smile, and the moment passes, but it’s seriousness stays with you, makes the air heavy as Lewis lets you pull him down, his leg between yours, the bare skin of your legs against the denim of his jeans.

“Please,” you whisper, because it makes him jerk his hips into you, unconsciously, hands tightening, “Want you.”

Lewis groans, and you can feel the vibrations of the noise against your skin, as he nuzzles down between your breasts, pulling at your dress like he’s forgotten how clothes work, like he could just rip it off you, which he probably could, anyway. Wriggling under him to get out of it, thrown away, pulling him out of his t-shirt, finally the slide of his skin on yours. He sighs, like he feels it too, overwhelming, swears, drags the hard shape of his cock against you.

“Hurry,” you say, puling his hair carefully out of it’s bun so it falls around his face, the sudden blonde. He laughs, but it’s not mean, just happy, kneeling up to unbutton his jeans, get out of them.

“You’re so,” he says, shaking his head, like he can’t speak, licks his lips, “You’re so beautiful.”

The blush warms your face, makes your hands fumble as you take off your bra. Getting praised by him never gets old, never gets boring. The way he says it like a prayer, reverent.

“Thank you,” you say, can’t think, just want him to be naked. He laughs.

“You’re welcome,” Lewis says, standing to get out of his underwear, and then hooking his thumbs into yours, dragging it down your legs. For a moment, he’s in front of you, in the moonlight, naked and God like, all muscle and strength and beauty. It makes you want to cry.

Then, the warm weight of him, the wet nudge of his cock against where you’re aching, on edge. Forget how to breathe. Want to touch him everywhere, all at once. He kisses you, bites at your bottom lip, so you feel the throb right between your legs. He leans away, but comes back to your mouth before you can miss him, like he can’t bear to stop, his body moving of its own accord, lingering. Then down your neck, your collarbone, your nipple in his mouth. Your body arching up into him, just the flicker of his tongue making you cry out, hands in his hair. Lewis is groaning, mumbling over your skin as he kisses his way down the line of your belly, big hands between your legs, opening you up wide for him.

“So pretty,” he’s saying, kissing over your hip bone, down to where you must be slick and pink, the rush of his breath on you, “Wanna eat you.”

“Yeah,” you gasp, on a live-wire, twitching with anticipation. He uses his forefinger and index to part you, expose you to him, licks one long, wet stripe that makes you jerk up into him, gasping. You’re grateful for the cool wind that blows through the room from the open balcony doors, already warm with sweat, just from this, just from nothing. Lewis hums his appreciation, and then kisses your clit, takes it into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you say, and don’t stop saying it, hands in his hair, on his shoulders, twisting into the sheets. He’s so good at this, holds your body down into the bed, groans into you like he’s the one on the edge of orgasm. Licks and sucks and bites at you until you’re shaking, thighs tight around his head, eyes squeezed shut.

“Lewis, I’m. I’m gonna,” you get out, grinding down onto his mouth, and he slips a finger into you, curls it to where he knows is the best spot, beckons inside you. You curse, pull at his hair, and come on his mouth, writhing on the bed, sob as he keeps eating you, until it’s too much, too good. He’s panting, kissing his way back up your body, laving tongue, the shine of you on his mouth. He makes a show of licking his lips, laughing as you curl in on him in embarrassment.

“Taste so good, baby,” Lewis tells you, his voice all low and raspy, his cock hot and hard on your belly. Reaching to hold him, pulsing in your hand, wet at the head, using your thumb to rub the slick down the length of him. He fucks himself into your fist, white teeth dug into his bottom lip, eyelashes flickering. Sucks in a quick breath.

“Fuck,” he says, into your mouth, kisses you messy, spit and tongue, pushes your hand away and nudges your opening with the head of himself.

“Wanna be in you,” Lewis says, panting now, his necklace skipping over your collarbones, cool metal. Your hands scratching over his back, nodding, open mouth.

“Yeah, please,” you say, wrapping your legs around him, wanting all of him, always. He’s trembling, from the anticipation, pushes slowly into you, makes you feel it. Lewis makes this perfect, wanting sound like he always does when he gets inside you, feels you around him, like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, will ever feel. You babble meaninglessly, mouth in his shoulder, eyes shut for the first few strokes before he angles his hips to aim for the perfect spot, makes your body fall apart. He’s practiced, always wants to find that collection of nerves, the head of his cock punishing, over and over.

“You feel. Fucking perfect. Always,” Lewis says, his forearms braced into the mattress around your head, so he can press his forehead to yours. You can’t speak, can only hold onto him, breathe in his air, fingers sliding over his sweat-wet skin.

“God, your cunt,” he sighs, and you can feel it already, the jagged rhythm of him, the way he fucks right into you every time, close to the edge, “So tight, so good.”

A sob catches in your throat, clinging to him, the grind of his pubic bone, start to cry as you come again, gasping, shaking.

“Are you coming?” Lewis asks, his voice cracking with arousal, speeds up when he realises, “Fuck, that’s so hot, just from my cock, huh, baby? S’all you need.”

Everything blurry and the best as you feel him twitch, hot and wet inside you as he comes, your face hot in his big hands as he fucks his come into you until he’s soft, shaking.

He lies on you for a long time. Just breathing, your fingers running up and down his spine. Just feeling. The reassuring weight. The lazy kisses he leaves wherever he finds his mouth.

“I mean it,” you say, when you think he might be asleep, “I’m proud of you. I’m so happy for you.”

You feel Lewis smile into your skin, awake, wriggle, pull out of you, flop next to you on the bed. But his hand around your head, pulling you close so he can kiss your forehead.

“I know,” he says, grabs at your leg to bring it over his waist, pressed up next to him, dopey smile, “Thank you.”

“I told you you could do it,” you say, can’t help it, brushing your fingers through the scruff of his beard. He rolls his eyes, kisses your mouth to shut you up.

// Budapest, Hungary //

Sometimes, you feel like the first half of the season is too slow, each day longer than the last. But this year, especially, you feel almost as if you’re dragging Lewis to the finish line. Need to break the pattern. Get him somewhere warm and sunny and where no one will ask if he’s going to win another championship. The sky is grey when you land in Hungary, but the heat is thick and suffocating, no matter how much rain threatens. Your plane has been delayed, so you miss qualifying, check your phone in the terminal and find Lewis P7, something about the DRS not working. You have a text from him, telling you he’s in the room, has ordered food. It’s short, blunt. But he seems to have reconsidered, noticed its perfunctory manner, a string of emoji’s following it, heavily featuring a red heart. It makes your own red, beating, heart hurt. Tight in your throat. It shouldn’t be like this. It’s not fair. When last week looked so promising, in the sunshine, the rolling French hills.

The drive to the hotel is slow, heavy traffic in anticipation for Sunday. You thumb aimlessly through various social media apps. Try not to think about the impossible task ahead of lewis. Feel silly for the way your gut still insists it will be him, that he will, of course, achieve it. Sometimes you think your faith is blinding, it makes you stupid. But he keeps building it, repetitive in the way he astounds you. From his ability to break records, to making vegan food edible. It starts to rain as the car winds through the old town, delivering you to the hotel, the storm dark and overpowering as you rush through the doors. In front of you, across the foyer, the elevator opens, pinging to announce its arrival. Your heart turns over in your chest. Tired from travel, your bag dragging your shoulder down, damp, and Lewis is standing in front of you, crooked smile, soft in his grey sweats, no shoes, just socks. You fall into his chest, the lift pulling away from the ground floor, soaring up into the building.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask, muffled by his hoodie. He’s puling your bag off your arm, slinging it over his own shoulder, other arm loose around your body to hold you into him.

“Find my iPhone,” he explains, kissing the top of your head and then laying his cheek there. He smells like soap, fresh and clean.

“Stalker,” you tease, and feel the laugh vibrate in his chest.

“Just impatient,” he says, guides you out of the elevator and down the hall. The familiar suffocated sounds of an expensive hotel, thick carpet, wallpaper. Bunches of flowers on small tables.

“You missed me?” You say, grin at him as he swipes the door open, but his eyes are heavy as he opens the room, not matching your mocking.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet and sad, and your heart sinks. You catch his hand in yours, pulling his attention.

“I missed you, too,” you say, squeeze his fingers in yours. He looks so tired. He tastes like toothpaste when he kisses you, the bag falling from his shoulder with a thump.

Rain threatens all race, the clouds dark and looming. Lewis has found you an oversized Mercedes jacket, waterproof and thick. It swallows you up, smells like him. The race feels horribly long, the promise of bad weather, the slow demise of Ferrari, Lewis leading for a few laps. The garage around you is silent with anticipation, everyone focused on fulfilling their duty. Lewis pits for the last time, and you feel achingly connected to him, peering through bodies to see him in the car as it pauses momentarily in front of the garage, the rush of activity. His head straight, staring ahead, focused.

“You can do it,” you whisper, to yourself, to him. Hope he feels it.

When it’s like this, the anticipation, you forgot how to breathe. Have to take quick, harsh breaths, everytime your brain reminds you. Hands dug into the deep pockets of the jacket, looking from the television to the engineers to Ang, who has the same tight, hopeful expression as you have must have. The purple clock flashes up, fastest lap. He could do it. He can do it. Bono warns of rain. Lewis is good in the rain. The best in the rain. The best always. It knocks around in your chest, scary with its insistence. It’s happening. It’s happening. Another podium. From the midfield. In a car that only seems to fight him, never with him.

Each lap, he cuts a second. The fastest on track. Closer and closer to the Ferrari. The camera cuts to an on-board, the rainbow of his helmet, the sure, careful movements of his hands. Your heart in your throat, tight and nervous. He can do this. He can, he can, he can. Every lap feels like an eon, Lewis getting closer and closer. Ten laps to go. It seems like the whole garage is holding its breath. You laugh at yourself, a huff, as he overtakes Sainz, too easy, like it’s nothing, and feel it between your legs, a throb. You told him, once, not looking at him, and he’d laughed, low and wanting, crowded you up with his body.

“You like watching me drive? Turns you on, huh?” Lewis had said, his lips by your ear. Opened your mouth for him, got down on your knees.

“Podium,” Ang says, clapping her hands, and you jerk out of the memory, nodding, beaming at her.

“Five in a row,” you say.

Still fastest lap, catching George now. The roar of the cars. The pound of your heart. On days like this, it looks easy for him, like he’s not even trying, the car an extension of him. The Mercedes race each other, a lap, two laps, but Lewis pulls ahead, and it feels inevitable. Like everything is exactly how it should be. People are clapping and cheering, but you feel as if it was always going to end like this. Of course he’s got on another podium. Ten more laps, you think, and he would have been able to catch Max. In the end, though, they finish on a safety car, anti-climatic, but Lewis is back in parc fermé where he’s always belonged, where he’s always supposed to be. The way he jumps out of the car, the swarm of people, and it’s how it used to be, when he was collecting championships and everything was easy, the way he clasps your hand in both of his, and you know he’s grinning under the helmet. Sometimes it’s better doing it the hard way.

There’s a big team dinner, two double podiums in a row, the team poised on greatness as the summer break opens before them, a yawning gap of sunshine and rest. The rain pours outside the restaurant, and you sit warm and safe at Lewis’ right hand, letting him try your red wine. Everyone is happy and laughing and not talking about cars, and you want to capture this feeling, bottle it, show it to him six weeks ago when everything seemed pointless.

Under the table, his thumb rubs over the joint of your knee, and when he laughs he looks at you to make sure you think the joke is funny, too. You feel sick with love. Giddy with it, catch yourself gazing at him for too long, must be obvious.

“Happy?” Lewis asks, when everyone’s ordering coffee and tea and people are starting to head either into the depths of the Budapest nightlife or back to the hotel. You grin at him, reach to touch his thigh, lean into the side of him.

“Happy,” you confirm, his hand on yours. You can feel the warmth of his body, the way he holds you up so easily.

“You wanna go out?” Lewis asks, eyebrows raised, and you know you could say you wanted to go to Paris and he would find a way to make it happen. You shake your head.

“Wanna fuck you in the bathtub.”

He laughs, loud and from his chest, grabs your chin in his hand, gives you a little shake.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” Lewis says, kisses your jaw, the rough of his beard on your smooth cheek.

Someone asks if you want one more drink, and, honestly, you’re happy to sit here a bit longer, bask in the glow of it all, but Lewis is declining, something about jet lag, standing up, pulling you with him. No one else would notice, the dark, loose fit of his pants, but you can see the hardening shape of him against his leg. You have to bite your lip so you don’t smile too big.

Hugging everyone, goodnights, promising to call during the break, it feels like the end of a school term. People shake Lewis’ hand, thank him so earnestly he looks a bit like he might cry. Ang holds you tight, kisses you on both cheeks.

“Keep an eye on him, hey?” She asks, and you squeeze her back.

“Of course.”

It’s still raining outside, and Lewis pulls you under his coat, hidden under his armpit as you cross the cobblestones to a waiting car. Back through the winding streets to the hotel, everyone in the city for the race, spilling out of bars. When you look back to Lewis, he’s slouched in his seat, cheek pressed into the leather to smile at you, liquid eyes, brown and soul-destroying. Legs spread wide.

“You alright there?” You ask, reaching to touch his shoulder, the muscle of his arm.

“Just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel,” he says, a smirk that makes everything else around you fade out.

“Yeah?” You say, and your voice cracks, fingers skipping down to the bones of his wrist, into the warmth of his palm.

“Always,” Lewis says, and if he asked, you’d crawl over the seat to his feet, pull him out of his pants, let him fuck your face until you cried. But there’s no privacy panel between you and the driver and you have to settle for swallowing hard, crossing one leg over the other. Lewis just grins at you, knows exactly what he’s doing. How far away can the fucking hotel possibly be.

Lewis breaks away from you in the entrance to the room, laughs at your clinging hands.

“You said you wanted to do it in the bath,” he reminds you, stepping back into the bathroom. You follow him through, lust-drunk.

“I don’t care,” you say, feel clumsy with it, have to grab onto the counter to hold yourself up when he leans over to turn the bathtub on, ornate, claw footed. The graceful lines of his body. He pulls his shirt over his head, lets it drop in a pool of fabric to the floor. His necklaces against his collarbone. The hard muscle of his stomach.

“Where do you want it, then?” Lewis coaxes, over the rush of water.

“Anywhere,” you say, breathless, too busy watching the way his chest moves each time he breathes, the movement of his shoulders.

“Anywhere?” He asks, reaches to touch your hip, pulling your shirt out of your trousers so he can touch the skin of your waist. Rough fingertips on you. You nod, don’t trust yourself to speak.

“Come here, then,” Lewis says, steps around you, out into the main room. You barely have enough of your mind left to remember to turn the bath off before you go after him.

The bedroom is empty, and you’re off kilter for a second, a heartbeat, but then you notice the open doors out onto the balcony, the dark shape of Lewis leaning over the railing. The air coming through is warm, even at this time of night. The rain has passed, leaving everything with a clean, fresh smell. You take your shoes off, and follow him out.

“Really?” You ask, expecting your voice to be teasing, but it comes out too low, gives away how you’re already there in your head, can see it, want it. Lewis reaches out, brings you into the circle of his body, the city spreading out around you. You’re positioned high above a main square, but surely no one looks up, not at this time of night.

“You said anywhere,” he reminds you, dipping his head to kiss your neck, the junction of your shoulder.

“Only if you wanna,” Lewis checks, manhandling you so he can get a leg between yours, push you into the pressure.

“I want too,” you breathe, eyes closed at the feeling.

“Need to take these off,” he says, pulling at the waist of your tailored trousers, the sound of the zipper loud, cutting through the sound of your breathing. Your body feels heavy and hot, outside of yourself, so happy to let him move you around, put you where he wants. Stepping out of your pants, leaning on the strength of him, his hands skimming over you, kissing you. His mouth is warm and wet, familiar, pinpointing on the details as the night moves around you, cloaking you. The lights are off inside, so even if someone saw, they would never know it was him. Nameless figures in the dark. You feel shaky with anticipation.

His hand between your legs, into your underwear. Lewis laughs, warm and affectionate, finding you slick and already open, two fingers inside easily. He keeps them there, just bends them back and forth inside you, rubbing on the spot that makes your mouth open, so the kiss turns sloppy, needy.

“Lewis,” you say, into him, grabbing at his side, the muscle of him, fumbling to hold him through his pants, feel the way he twitches.

“Fuck,” he says, long and low, grabs your head with his free hand, kisses you deeper, lick into your mouth.

“Need it,” you say, turning your face to speak, looking out into the square, people walking past twenty stories below.

“You need it?” Lewis rasps against your cheek, the solidness of his body for you to lean into, “Don’t worry, baby, I got you. I’m gonna give it to you.”

Hands on his chest, feeling him breathe, head lolled onto his shoulder, his fingers not enough. Nose tucked into the line of his neck. He’s been everyone’s all day, but now he’s just yours, making you feel good, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“Please, I. Lewis,” you say, slurring almost, but he knows, he always knows, taking his fingers out of you, turning you around to bend over the railing, pulling your underwear down, lifting one of your legs up so it stays crumpled around your left foot, room to move. You’re cold, for a second, then the heat of his body behind you, around you, Lewis dragging the head of his cock over where you’re hot and wet and waiting.

You rock your hips back onto him, hear him groan, the tip of him slipping into you. It punches the breath out of you, blinded by it, knowing you’re outside, anyone could look up and see. Lewis slides home, stretching you out, and drops his head low beside yours, the press of his chest along your back, his big hands on your hips.

“So fucking good,” he says, presses his mouth to your jaw, starts to fuck into you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, forget what words are, as he moves his hand under your shirt to touch your breast, palm it, brush the rough pad of his finger over your nipple. It feels electric, overpowering. Your body bows deeper under him, taking him further.

“You’re perfect,” Lewis is mumbling into your neck, “Perfect, perfect, perfect,” reaching to touch above where he’s fucking into you, makes you jolt and cry out.

“Shhhh,” he laughs, pressing his smile into your skin.

“It’s,” you stumble, your hand over his just to feel the strength in his arm, “It’s your fault.”

His hand around your throat now, using it to pull you back onto his cock, over and over. You feel like you’re going to burst out of your skin, already so close.

“Whatever you say, baby,” Lewis rumbles, but he’s panting now, quiet little wanting sounds every time he’s fully inside you. It’s your turn to hush him when you start to meet him with your own body at the apex of each thrust, his moan into the night air.

“Shut up,” you manage to say, but the last word veers into a groan, makes him laugh, fuck you harder. You reach back, want to touch more of him, the sweat-slick skin of his abs, the muscle working. He catches your hand, tangles it with his.

You come like that, bent over the railing for all of Budapest to see, holding Lewis’ hand, teeth in your lip to stop yourself crying out for him. It’s no use trying to be quiet, because Lewis is moaning, too loud as he says, “Baby, I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming,” shudders through his own orgasm.

You come back to yourself slowly, suddenly aware that at some point Lewis has unbuttoned your shirt, the two halves hanging open, naked otherwise, Lewis still inside you, folded over you against the railing.

“Fucking hell,” you say, untangle from him so you can stand up. He whines as he slips out of you, wraps his big arms around you to stop you from getting away.

“Come inside then,” you coax him, giggle as he stays wrapped around you, walking clumsily back inside to collapse on the bed. He’s careful not to let the weight of him fall on you. Helping him out of his trousers, still on, your shirt, until you’re both naked, wound together on the big bed.

“Do you think anyone saw?” Lewis asks, his fingers brushing back and forth over your nipple, lazy.

“They probably heard,” you say, start to laugh, the risk of it, the joy. Lewis is smiling at you, eyes crinkled, moves his hand to your belly, warm and secure.

“Was good though, huh?” He asks, pushing himself up onto his elbow so he can look down at you, nudge your nose with his.

“So good,” you mumble, reaching to loop your arm around his head, pull him in to kiss him, sleepy and warm. He hums happily into your mouth.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, later, under the covers, your head in his chest. You’re glad you’re hidden enough so he can’t see how tears prick at your eyes. You wriggle impossibly closer, tangled up in him.

“Of course,” you tell him, kiss over his heart. He’s got you all wrapped up, held tight.

“Be nice over the break. We can just chill. Find more balconies to fuck on,” Lewis says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You dig your fingers into his side, threaten a tickle. It makes him squawk. He grabs your hand away, traps it between your chests, holds you there, secure. The thought floats in, unbidden.

“You’re gonna win the championship again, Lew,” you mumble, not sure if it’s the right thing to say, wanting him to hear it anyway. He takes a big breath.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, kisses the top of your head, “I trust you.”

The tears, again, huddled into him, “I trust you, too.”

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #f1 smut #lewis hamilton fanfic #*#lewis hamilton x you

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