#i hope your volume is turned down

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[fangirl-dot-com]

☀️Sons, Sons, and More Sons

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader Genre: Fluff/SMAU Summary: Ollie, Leo, Liam, who's next Oscar? Oh.

inspired by @pucksandpower 😊

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“CHARLES!”

The said Monegasque, who had been “innocently” snuggling his four-legged son, winced at the force and volume of your voice. 

He was currently going through everything that might have upset you in the past 20 minutes from when he got home to you just now getting out of the shower. Did he leave the toilet seat up again? Or did he forget to sort the laundry? Or maybe he didn’t clean up Leo’s toys from the bedroom? 

“Why is my Twitter blowing up?” 

Oh. That’s why. 

He whispered to Leo, “I’m in for it now.” 

And then in a louder voice he yelled, “Yes mon amour?” 

You rounded the corner of the hallway and stopped in the opening to the living room, crossing your arms. “Care to tell me why I’m getting tagged in almost every Twitter post about you adopting Oscar?” 

You wanted to break at the puppy eyes that your boyfriend was currently giving you, but you needed to stay strong. You needed to show that a man could not sway your feelings. Too bad that man was Charles Leclerc, the one that men and women alike fell to worship the ground beneath his feet. 

You couldn’t break. 

Charles brought his hand up to ruffle his hair, something he did to express some nervousness. 

“Cheri, it was just a joke. Oscar somehow finds heritage in a lot of countries. He just wanted to keep the joke going.” 

“So you decided to ‘adopt’ him so he can have another home race?” 

“Maybe?” 

“Don’t you already have enough sons anyway? I think four is too many or our house is going to overflow on family night.” 

Charles’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Four?” 

Now it was your turn to smirk. “Yes, four. Or are you too busy having fun with Leo to be a present father to your other two?” 

Charles tried to wrack his brain about who could be the other two. 

“Ollie?” 

“Bingo.” 

He leaned back into the couch, hands still gently petting Leo who had decided to fall asleep in the middle of his parent’s squabbles. The golden puppy was content on his dad’s warm chest, the rise and fall rocking him to sleep. 

The Ferrari driver sighed. “I don’t even know.” 

You waved your phone at him. “Twitter might be able to help you. I need to get dressed since I was rudely interrupted. I hope you find out before they get here for dinner.” 

Charles shot up making Leo yelp away from his nap. Now that he was really looking at you, he realized that you were just in a towel. A blush formed on his face, still having those boyish thoughts that he believed he was better than that. 

You walked over and bent down, face getting closer to his. 

Ah. You were going to forgive him and all would be right in the world once your lips met his. You wanted to laugh as you saw his eyes flutter shut, lips slightly puckering. 

Charles was wondering what was taking you so long when your finger touched his lips. His eyes shot open and he definitely did not whimper. You looked down at your fur-baby and gently picked him up, bringing Leo to your chest. 

“Twitter. Figure it out Leclerc.” 

Now a bit sullen, he watched you walk away. 

“Je t’aime!” 

He was responded to with a middle finger and the bedroom door slamming. A chuckle made its way from his chest as he brought his phone out. If there was one thing that you two did well, it was dramatics. 

Twitter was immediately opened once he got his phone out. He scrolled through all the tags before giving up and opening your profile. He winced at the sight of the white background, cursing his phone for updating and not keeping the dark profile. 

However, he couldn’t contain his laugh as he saw your new updated tweet. He leaned his head back, still giggling to himself. 

Charles knew that you two wanted kids at some point. But between his Formula 1 career and your business on the uprise, children really wouldn’t work well now. But deep down, he liked the idea of having a few grid kids. 

He took a minute to stop giggling before he continued his search. His eyes widened as he stopped on one of the family trees that some fan made. 

There was Leo, adopted by you and him. 

Then Ollie, who fans say that Charles conceived himself somehow. 

Oscar was newer, but still had the adopted dotted line. 

And then . . . 

Ooohhhhhhh, so that’s who he was missing. 

You took that moment to come out of the bedroom, hair now dry and fluffy from your Dyson. Leo was still in your arms, looking more awake than he had when he was with Charles. You sat down next to him, Charles taking the opportunity to put an arm around you, bringing you in closer. 

“You smell good amour.” 

You turned and smiled, leaning in to finally give him a kiss after a long day. 

“Thank you. It’s the lotion that you bought me.” 

He let out a low hum and just kept you in his arms. Leo was squirming a bit before he finally flopped over and settled in between your two bodies. 

“I figured out who our other son is.” 

Your head now rested in the crook of his neck. “Did you now.” 

“Yes. I am a stepfather to Liam?” 

Your shoulders shook with giggles. “Not the stepfather, but the father who stepped up.” 

“You spend way too much on Twitter.” 

You looked up at him, and Charles turned to look down at you. You leaned in closer to rub your noses together, giving him eskimo kisses. The Ferrari driver just closed his eyes and basked in the moment between you. 

There weren’t many times that he got something like this. So quiet and peaceful. His world was filled with so much noise. But here, he could melt into the quiet. 

“We should have dinner here with the boys after the Grand Prix on Sunday.” 

“That sounds nice. I can make the food.” 

You sat up slightly, elbow bent on the back of the couch and head resting on your hand. 

“You want to show off your cooking skills to your sons to prove that you can cook.”

Charles huffed. “I am the provider chéri.” 

You cocked your head at the Monegasque. “Whose name is on the lease mon bebe?” 

A huff was the answer, which made you cuddle Charles closer still being aware of the little baby between you. A small nip to your fingertip made you pick Leo up, now holding him close to your face. 

“Were you getting a bit jealous of papa ma petit amour?” you asked the blonde dachshund in a baby voice. If Charles wasn’t already fully in love with you, his love would have been solidified in this moment. 

While watching, he suddenly remembered something. “Oscar wanted to meet Leo in McLaren hospitality this weekend.” 

You turned with a raised eyebrow. “Why not Ferrari?” 

“Eh.” 

It was as if you had a lightbulb moment. “Ohhhhhhh, right. That makes sense. I can stop by and let you know when I get there.” 

What you hadn’t expected was to pick up Liam and Ollie on your way to the now green outside of the McLaren hospitality. Leo was still curled up in your arms, eyes blinking every so often. You knew that if it wasn’t so busy, the little puppy would be sound asleep. 

“He’s so cute,” Oscar said, walking forward and hands outstretched. You gently gave him over to the “older brother” of the three. 

Ollie laughed. “I know right. He’s so cuddly.” 

Liam joined in, “I don’t think I put him down the entire time I got to meet him.” 

Oscar stared at you three for a moment. “Yeah, you aren’t getting him back.” 

You shook your head. “Speak to your father first, Oscar.” 

Chuckles erupted from all around, making you laugh as well. You took your phone out and took a quick picture of Oscar holding Leo to post later. 

“Is dad on his way?” Ollie asked after sipping on his water bottle. 

You rolled your eyes. “Should be. Ah, there he is.” 

Charles stepped foot into the room and immediately found you surrounded by his “kids.” His heart may have melted seeing Leo flopped in Oscar’s arms. He gave you a kiss on your cheeks before he greeted the three. 

“This is hilarious,” he said, making everyone laugh yet again. 

You rested a hand on your forehead. “We’re just missing Liam’s dad, and then we’ll be one big happy family.” 

The Kiwi crossed his arms, but a giant smile was on his face. “So much for having a present father in my life. I’m jealous.” 

Charles gripped your waist and puffed his chest. “I’m not the stepfather, but the father that stepped up.” 

“Charles, no you aren’t. Can’t even handle three kids.” 

You and Charles turned around to see Max now stepping through the door. The Monegasque raised his eyebrow. 

“And you can?” 

You raised a hand. “That’s my que to leave. I will not be in the middle of a Lestappen-father showdown. Boys, you can follow me.” 

“Yes mum.”

“Lead the way.” 

“Can I still keep Leo?” 

Charles and Max gawked as the three older boys followed you like ducks in a row. After he got over the shock, the Ferrari driver was left with a love-sick smile on his face. 

“Yeah. I’m marrying her.” 

“Gross.” 

“Max. Shut up.” 

y/n_l/n has posted

liked by y/nismother, charles_leclerc, liamlawson, and 1,304,295 others y/n_l/n look at my sons . . . pride is not the word I'm looking for

see all comments

y/nismother the mother is mothering

charliexy/n honestly, they all take after him so much. I need to go to twitter

olliebearman then what is the word you're looking for mom 🤨

liamlawson30 I knew she wasn't proud of us

oscarpiastri this is why dad is better

y/n_l/n I'm taking away all of your sims and ps5's

olliebearman I take it back, mom is the best

oscarpiastri81 this is the best thing to happen this weekend

charles_leclerc my family 🫶

maxverstappen1 you stole my son from me.

liamlawson30 they had free ice cream 🤷

y/n_l/n 😊

maxverstappen1 I'm taking pole then

charles_leclerc ☹️

lestappenlove I love the entire family your honor

leclerc16charles does Leo need another sibling? cause I can bark

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[seasons-of-death]

older!rafe x ditzy!reader who works for him

warning: nsfw MDNI! this was based on this request!! i hope you like it <3

you had driven rafe crazy ever since you started working at the country club he owned; the way you smelled of flowers and vanilla, how your little sundresses and miniskirts clung to your curves, and the smile on your face that was so bright it would put the damn sun to shame.

when he first saw you, you looked so out of balance, your tray full of mugs and plates, so filled to the brim that he was sure you would drop it any moment. and like any gentleman, he decided to help you. you'd thanked him profusely, and when he simply smirked at you, he could see the flush creeping up to your pretty cheeks.

ever since then, he was a man possessed.

but he always had a rule to never mess with someone who works for him. he knows to keep his personal life and professional life separate. but it was so hard, when he'd see you bend over, your cleavage unknowingly almost pushing out of the little top you had worn that day. usually, people had to wear a uniform, but the first day you hadn't worn it, and rafe had told your supervisor to never make you wear one. he couldn't count all the times that he had jerked off to the mental image of you lifting up one of your pretty floral dresses and letting him fuck you in the country club bathroom. he was a grown ass man, and you had him acting like a teenager.

one day, rafe called you into his office. you were confused, and a little frightened, worrying that maybe you'd done something wrong. sure, your supervisor said he didn't mind when you broke a few (15) cups the other week, but what if rafe disagreed with him? i mean, he was your boss's boss.

even though the door to his office was open, you knocked on it gently, and the man turned around to face you with a smile on his face. "come in. close the door."

suddenly, your throat felt dry as you did as the man told you to; he had a commanding presence, a person would probably have to be crazy to not do what he asked them to. "why'd you want to see me?" you asked, your voice shaky and squeaky as he took a few steps closer to you.

"i just wanted to say," rafe smiled as he stopped right in front of you, only inches between your chests, the man biting down on his lower lip in between sentences, "that you're one of the best employees we have."

huh. that was the last thing you expected.

your eyes widened, and your words basically stumbled out of your mouth, almost as clumsy as you had been on your first day. "thank... you?"

rafe chuckled, bringing one of his hands to your chin and lifting it up so you'd look him in the eye, "what, you don't believe me?" he grinned, and even though his hand dropped away from your chin, it felt like the spot he had touched was on fire.

"well, i mean... to be fair, i think i kind of suck... i mean, i broke a few dishes, and i accidentally gave the wrong order to three different people today and apparently someone's lobster was-"

your rambling was interrupted by the blonde man's laughter, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes, while he simply looked at you with affection, "you're adorable." he said, causing your cheeks to flush slightly as he pressed his hand on your cheek, clearly enjoying your little reactions. "god, i can't believe you blush from just that. it makes me all the more curious."

"curious? about what?"

"about..." one of his hands trailed up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin there as shivers ran down your spine, his eyes looking down at you wolfishly as he leaned closer, his volume dropping to almost a whisper. "how pretty you'd look if you were riding me on my office chair. or the kind of noises you'd make when you come. do you whine? do you whimper? do you moan? you know, it drives me insane."

your face heated up even more, his thumb now at the edge of your lips, and you could feel your cotton panties starting to stick to your folds as you looked up at him, not realizing that the doe-eyed look on your face was causing his pants to feel tighter. the situation was just like out of the dreams you'd had of rafe, the ones you tried so hard to forget, the ones that were so inappropriate to have of your boss, or, boss's boss.

"oh, uh... thank– thank you." you say with a small smile, the man letting out a chuckle, while your cheeks were feeling like they would light on fire any moment now.

"keep up the good work, sweetheart." he said, his hands dropping away from you, taking step back. and as you walked out of his office with your heartbeat in your ears, you pinched the inside of your elbow just to make sure that hadn't been a dream.

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium

Simon’s phone is ringing. 

Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.  

His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen. 

You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way. 

“Hey, you-“

“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff. 

It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.

“What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train. 

“He followed you from the platform?” 

“Well, he could be walking this way too…” 

“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we. 

The baby is with you. 

His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her? 

He feels sick. 

“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.

“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“ 

“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?” 

“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.  “Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.” 

“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head. 

It all comes screeching to a stop. 

He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name. 

“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.” 

“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it. 

“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear. 

“Our hero.”

[jeonsworld]

DINNER | jjk

masterlist

summary: dinner with jungkook turns into something else…

pairings: husband!jk x fem!reader, established relationship

genre: smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, pet names (baby, sweetheart), neck kisses, fingering, spit kink, kissing, making out, tongue sucking (once), swearing, p in v, bigdick!jk, softdom!jk, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), orgasms, cream pie, lmk if i missed any!

notes: requested by anonie, hope you like it! - har

the music was turned up way too loud.

you glanced back at jungkook from the sofa. his back was turned away from you.

he was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

you'd managed to tolerate the extremely loud music for a while now, but this was it. you'd had enough.

"kook!”

you shouted and as expected, he didn't hear you.

you didn’t bother trying again because the result would be the same.

you got up from the sofa and quickly walked into the kitchen.

you turned the music on the speaker down.

he noticed and immediately turned around,

"what are you doing?"

you pointed to the speaker,

"it's too loud."

he shook his head and reached over to the speaker to turn the music back up.

"no sweetheart."

"kook no..."

“shh.”

he said and kissed quickly you.

you turn the music back down again and jungkook groaned and then smiled.

he reached over to the speaker again but you pushed his hand away.

“baby.”

he tried to reach over again but you stopped him.

“stop it.”

“you stop it. it’s too loud.”

he rolled his eyes and focused his attention back to whatever it was that he was cooking.

"why don't you dance to it?"

he suggested, looking at you and smirking before turning back to the stove.

"you might actually enjoy it then."

you shake your head,

“i’ll enjoy it when it’s at an acceptable volume.”

he wrapped his strong arms around you.

"why are you not dancing?"

he asked you sighed,

"because.”

he waited for an answer,

“because…”

“because i don't want to."

you groaned and he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"i just wanna relax."

you continued and he kissed your neck,

"dance baby, c'mon."

he released you from his grip and turned back to the stove.

you try to change the subject,

"make sure you don't burn that."

you point at the sauce that's in the pan.

"wanna try some?"

he asked, raising his eyebrow.

you folded your arms,

"only if it's good."

you said and he grinned,

"i'm making it so of course it's good."

you rolled your eyes and he opened the cutlery drawer next to him and took out a small spoon.

he dipped the teaspoon into whatever sauce he was making and held it in front of your mouth.

"open."

he said and you were about to put the spoon into your mouth but it was replaced with his spit.

you looked up at him unamused,

"wow."

he smirked,

"like it?"

you rolled your eyes and he chuckled.

"baby, go and dance."

you slowly rolled your hips against him,

“like this?”

he smiled,

"baby, stop.”

he nudged you,

“why don’t you want to dance?"

you tilt your head,

"i do... but just maybe horizontally in bed."

he snorted, feeling your hands wandering in between his thighs,

"babyyy,”

he groaned,

"if you do that then this will end up burnt."

he warned pointing at the stove but your hand continued to press against the growing bulge in his pants.

he closed his eyes and leaned his head back,

“stop.”

he whined and you narrowed your eyes,

"fine... your loss."

you smiled and walked away.

except you didn't actually walk away because he grabbed your arm and pulled you back into him.

"change of heart?"

you ask and he tried not to laugh.

"5 minutes. okay?"

he told you and you nodded.

he switched the stove off and put his hands under your thighs and picked you up, putting you onto the counter.

"what? here?"

you asked and he nodded,

"yes baby, can't wait any longer."

he kissed you slowly then pulled back,

"you tease me too much, you know that?"

he said and you laughed.

he spread your legs and dipped his right hand between your legs.

he took one finger and plunged it into your heat.

he slid it in and out of you a few times before adding a second finger, pumping them at a quicker pace.

even though the speed was still quite slow.

“kook enough,”

you looked at him and he knew what you wanted.

he smirked and removed his now wet fingers.

he tasted you, sucking them clean, which made you even more aroused and positioned himself between you.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face into him.

it didn't take long for him to slip inside you.

it was easy for him since you were literally dripping with your arousal.

he groaned when he sank his thick length into your wetness.

"fuckkk."

he whispered and started rocking his hips forwards and backwards into you, which resulted in wet sounds with each thrust.

"baby, i'm not gonna last long."

he groaned,

"yeah, me too."

you say, quite breathlessly.

that’s when you though it was a good thing that dinner wasn't going to take long since you would be finished in about 2 seconds.

you started to move your hips in time with his, lifting them slightly so he had better access.

"fucking hell."

he moaned and picked up the pace, pulling you closer into him so he could fuck himself deeper and deeper into you,

"koo..."

you managed to say,

"mhm?"

he moved his lips to your neck and he kissed you, gliding his tongue across it.

"i'm close-"

as soon as you said that, his thrusts became harder, into you with more force, pushing himself to the hilt.

you felt hot, your body went numb, your legs clamped around jungkook’s waist,

“i-“

you didn't manage to finish your sentence, it was too late.

besides, jungkook already knew. your legs tensed up and your eyes rolled back.

you moaned as you released yourself on his pulsing cock.

and that's what sent him over the edge. the feeling of you cumming around him, of how wet you were, your tight walls around him.

he came almost immediately after you did, he emptied himself into you, his warm cum filling your starved pussy.

“shit.”

he moaned, his head tilted back and his movements became sloppy and gradually stopped.

all that was heard was heavy breathing and the faint sound of music on the speakers.

jungkook rested his forehead on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

his chest was rising and falling over and over again but his breathing was become slightly less hard each time.

he then kissed up from your chest, to your neck, to your lips.

he moaned softly when you slid your tongue into his mouth.

he sucked on it before breaking the kiss.

he put his face in your neck and chuckled against you.

“we’re gonna be fucking for a lot longer than that tonight.”

and that’s exactly what happened.

THE END

feel free to send me requests!

[hotyanderedaddies]

The School Bully Loves You, Pt. 1:

Yandere Bully Forces Nerdy You to be His

[I hope you all enjoy my first semi-series on here!]

[Yandere! Bully x GN Nerd! Reader]

·��·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Everyone at your high school knew that it was best to avoid Blake.

The upperclassman was a bully, plain and simple. He had a habit of beating people down if they dared get in his way, or even if they just looked at him in a manner he didn't appreciate.

You were on the complete opposite of the spectrum: a grade-A nerd. You were a goody two-shoes to boot, always volunteering after school and helping your fellow classmates study whenever they struggled with a subject. The captain of the Mathletes team and one of the star columnists in the school newspaper, you were the epitome of nerd.

However, even with your good nature, you avoided Blake as best as you could, fearful that you'd face his wrath and have him beat your face into a pulp. You'd heard the stories, and you'd seen enough teen movies to know that bullies and nerds do not mix, at all.

Unfortunately, one Friday morning, you walked out of the front door to your house to head towards the bus stop-- but you immediately froze when Blake was in your driveway, leaning casually against his car.

"Bl-Blake?" you coughed out in surprise. "What are you doing--"

Blake just grunted and opened up the passenger side door, gesturing at it. When you didn't make a move, his frown deepened on his face.

"Get in!" he barked, the forcefulness of his deep voice making you jump.

Afraid of making the bully even angrier, you scurried over towards the car and practically leapt inside. "Um, wh-where are we going?" you trembled as soon as Blake got in and started to drive off down the street.

Blake cocked his eyebrow at you in confusion. "School," he scoffed, as if it should've been obvious.

You wanted to ask why the school bully was driving you to school, but you were too concerned with how he placed his arm over your small shoulders in the tight confines of the car.

You were stunned silent at first, but then something popped into your head that you couldn't ignore.

"How did you know where I live?" you asked Blake, your voice small and barely audible over the loud music playing over the speakers.

"Huh?" Blake asked, turning the volume down a bit before shaking his head. "Don't worry about it."

"B-but..."

Blake turned the volume back up, effectively silencing you. You kept your lips pursed for the rest of the drive to school, anxiety seeping out of your every pore. When Blake finally parked in the parking lot, you thought about bolting as fast as you could, but your legs were like jelly.

You nearly crawled out of the car and cautiously began to walk towards the entrance when a tight visegrip swallowed your hand.

Blake interlocked his fingers with yours, giving you a sneer when you attempted to pull away. He was much stronger than you, and when you kept trying, he leaned down closer to your ear.

Thanks to his proximity, a lot of the other students began to gawk at the two of you, their eyes widening and many of them murmuring to another as they saw the school bully holding hands with the nerdiest person in class.

"You're smart," Blake smirked as he whispered in your ear, "so I need you to comprehend this: You're mine."

A cold shiver traveled down your spine, and you tried to pull away once more; but Blake was much stronger than you, and he gave you a rough tug, making you topple into him.

"That's one," Blake sneered, even holding up one of his fingers to count. "When I get to three, I'll have to punish you. So make sure you behave and be my sweet little angel, got it?"

Swallowing hard, you nodded, fearful of what was in store for you.

To be continued...

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[shockercoco]

Necessary Revenge

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, sub!art, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation

Word count - 2111

a/n - yeah this is definitely on the list of the dirtiest things i've written. by popular request, here's part 2 to Cheer Up, but it can also be read by itself. Also tysm for all the love on Cheer Up. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy :)

You hated it when Art teased you, which is exactly why he does it. All you want is a loving boyfriend who listens to you and does what you say, is that too much to ask? Apparently so.

Obviously, the only reasonable solution is to seek revenge. Unfortunately for Art, after being denied an orgasm earlier after a rough day, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Well, maybe not unfortunate since this is most likely what he wants. 

You were trying to study and watch playbacks of matches on your laptop to better your skills, but since you’re no longer in the mood, you decide you might as well close it.

After cleaning up your area, you head into the bedroom to see Art leaning against the headboard on his phone, his back propped by pillows. The television is on but on low volume, he always needed some type of background noise. Art glances up from his phone once he notices you walk in and can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. As soon as he looks back down, you shoot him a glare.

“Back for more?” Art asks.

Just you wait.

“Not exactly,” you tell him as you climb next to him on the bed, using the sweetest tone possible. You get yourself situated against the headboard with him, making sure you’re comfortable – you plan on being here a while. “What are you doing?” 

“Just texting Patrick, he’s complaining about the match he just lost and how he needs to find a way to improve.”

“Well, he always was a sore loser,” you say. Art hums and nods in agreement as he continues to text his best friend. He doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation, so you decide to begin your revenge plan.

You turn your attention to the tv hanging on the wall as you place your hand on Art’s thigh. He must be too into his phone since he doesn’t notice, so you continue to raise your hand higher along the fabric of his sweatpants.

Art’s body tenses as he feels your hand move up his body, his fingers frozen above the keyboard on his phone. You notice the questioning glance he gives you from the corner of your eye, but you continue to play innocent as you keep your attention forward.

You wait for Art’s focus to go back to his phone before drifting your hand even higher and stopping right over his crotch. You don’t hide the smile that starts to grow on your face as you feel his cock slowly starting to harden over your touch. Art’s breathing begins to shallow out as he tries to maintain his focus and keep his mind straight. Well, that is until you give his crotch a firm squeeze causing him to let out a small moan and his eyes to flutter.

“What are you doing?” he asks you, his voice low.

“What do you mean? I just want to spend some time with you,” you answer in a casual tone, but Art can see right through your facade. He can feel his heartbeat getting faster. You finally turn your head towards him to notice his blue eyes not slightly widened as he stares back at you. You notice the way his chest slowly rises and falls in anticipation as his grip tightens around his phone. “Is something wrong?”

He gulps. “N-No, just a question.”

“I’m pretty sure Patrick is waiting for you to text him back,” you say, nodding towards his screen. 

Art continues to stare for a few more seconds before nodding and looking back at his phone, but you don’t take your eyes off of him. You let your hand hover above him as you wait for him to send a few more messages out before beginning to palm him through his sweatpants.

Art bites his lip as he lets a whimper. His cock is at full attention now as your hand continues to move. The grip he has on his phone is faltering, his hands starting to tremble and his face completely flushed. When his hands fall into his lap along with his phone, you stop and raise your eyebrows.

“Pick it back up and continue texting him,” you command, your tone firm. His phone is vibrating non-stop from Patrick’s pettiness.

“Baby-.”

“I said continue,” you tell him. 

A look of desperation flashes across his face before he lifts his phone back up and responds to the messages. Your hand starts back up again, and Art lets out a noise, sounding like he wants to start crying. 

He’s falling apart with just a touch of your hand.

Art is starting to get annoyed at Patrick’s texts and wishes they would just stop so he could enjoy himself. He knows you’re not too pleased right now, but he doesn’t care. It just feels too good.

You lean your head into his neck for you to kiss just below his ear, his favorite spot and his weakness. “What’s wrong? You were so cocky earlier, where’s that same energy?”

A shiver runs through Art’s body at the feeling of your breath on his neck. He lets out another whine as he closes his eyes for a second before opening them back up. He’s looking at his phone, but given the fact that his head is starting to feel empty, he can’t really make out the words on the screen.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” you taunt as you press down harder on Art’s crotch, causing him to buck up into your hand. 

You pull away from his neck to get a good look at his face, which now has a distant look on it. His mouth is ajar as he looks back at you. You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond to you, but all he does is whimper and pant. He’s a complete mess.

You bring him into a kiss by grabbing the back of his neck, which he happily gives in to. The kiss is filled with nothing but need – more on his end than yours. Art drops his phone on the bed next to him so he can grab your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He whimpers into your mouth as you give his hair a quick put firm tug.

He plunges his tongue into your mouth, needing even more from you. You allow it for a moment before pulling back just a little to wrap your lips around his tongue. Art lets his eyes roll into his head at the feeling of you sucking his tongue. He feels his climax coming quickly from the combined pleasure, and you can tell by the fact of him squirming under your touch more and more.

“You’re not going to cum without my permission are you?” you ask after pulling away from his mouth.

Art feels his eyes become heavy as his forehead pressed against yours. “No.”

“Good boy,” you smile, and that brings Art even closer to the edge. He removes his hand from your waist to grab a hold of the cover beneath him.

“Can I cum?” he pleads as he throws his head back against the headboard, your hand still on the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

“Baby please,”he pleads again, his breathing speeding up.

“No,” you tell him, wanting to torture him.

“Baby I can’t. I-I can’t,” he stutters, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him. You feel his hips stutter under your touch making it known that he’s about to cum anyways. You already knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer. 

Art lets out a cry as his orgasm floods through his body and shoots out of him. A wet patch begins to appear through his sweatpants as you keep on pressing against him. He continues to roll his hips into your hand as he rides his orgasm out, a string of gasps falling out of his mouth.

“Oh no,” you fake pout, “Looks like you didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” he pants as he opens, looking down at the stain on his pants before making eye contact with you. A look of embarrassment falls on his face.

He’s so cute.

You move your hand away from him. “What a shame,” you shake your head in fake disappointment. There’s a moment of silence before you say, “pull your pants down.”

“What?” Art asks, confused. He thought you were done, but he was so wrong.

“You heard me,” you say in a plain tone. 

Art hesitates before shimmying his pants down his legs to his knees, along with his underwear. You look down to see a mess of his cum covering his shaft, and as you take a look at his underwear, you see some sticking to the fabric. His cock is red and starting to soften, but that’s going to change.

Art gives you a look of realization as he lifts his head from the headboard once it registers in his mind what you’re about to do. “Please don’t.”

You ignore his request as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He jumps at the feeling of your cold hand around him, still sensitive from his orgasm. You stare into his eyes as you begin moving your hand up and down. Art lets out a pathetic whine as his body jerks, trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t work.

“You know, you’re just so easy,” you tease.

“Baby, please-,” Art cuts himself off with a whimper, his hips starting to writhe against the cover.

“Please what? You should be thankful that I’m doing this, unlike how you denied me my orgasm earlier,” you tell him. “I’m letting you cum as many times as you want.”

“Oh my god,” he says as he drops his head. His voice strangled as his second orgasm unexpectedly arrives. You watch as his cum lands on your hands and the bottom of his white shirt. 

A sticky and wet sound echoes through the room as your hand speeds up around him. Art’s mouth falls open as his breathing picks up once again. He looks at you, silently begging, but you ignore him once again. You remove the hand from behind his neck and place it on one of his legs to help keep his body still.

“Say you’re sorry,” you tell him as you run your thumb over his tip a few times..

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his grip on the cover tightening. He feels like his hands might be stuck in fists by the time this is over.

You pretend to think in your head before saying, “I don’t think you mean it.”

His voice is high and whiny as he throws his head back once again and says, “I am. I promise.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Make me believe it.”

Art begins to rethink his choices and starts to regret messing with you. “I’m so, so, so sorry, baby. I swear. It was wrong of me to do that to you.”

“Hmm.”

“Baby.”

You smirk at his desperation. “I forgive you.”

“Oh, no, I think I’m going to cum again,” he cries, his eyes rolling back once again as his body tenses.

“Go ahead,” you tell him.

Art’s third orgasm hits him harder than his previous two. He trembles as his back arches away from the headboard while watered down cum spurts out of him. Drool spills out the side of his mouth as you continue the motions of your hand.

He uses a hand and reaches down to pull yours away from his cock, but you slap it away. Art gasps as he continues to twitch in your hand, feeling like he can’t stop as cum flows out of him. You finally move your hand away, but his cock continues to spasm with your touch.

Wanting to torture him one last time, you lean down to wrap your mouth him, sucking and cleaning. Art’s body jerks as he curls forward and grabs your head. You laugh as you pull away.

You lean back against the headboard, pulling his head into the side of your neck to help him calm down. His breath tickles you as he tries to slow his heart down. You glance down at his spent cock with a smile as you gently rub his back.

After a long moment of silence, Art’s phone vibrates from its place on the bed beside him.

You shake your head as you ask, “Are you going to answer that?”

“Patrick can fucking wait,” he breathes out.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[atrirose]

⠀⠀( ⠀⠀치클 ⠀⠀) ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ GRWM ⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 ! ⠀⠀ enha

⠀⠀ s : GRWM to break up with my boyfriend oops ! ᆼᆽᆼ enha ! bf x f ! r .. tiktok 𝓈eries ⠀⠀⠀ㅜㅜ warning : kissing + FLUFF wc 1.2k ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ seiu : tt update after 300 yr

— HEESEUNG LEE

you sat on the bed with a phone sat up, recording you with heeseung in the background not paying attention, lost in his phone “get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned towards you, your back faced him, “what are you talking about?” he questioned “not now babe i’m trying to film a tiktok”

“no i can see that but would mind explaining yourself real quick yn” he scooted closer to you, grabbing your shoulders to make you face him “it’s a get ready with me video hee” you said rolling your eyes “yeah i know that but what do you mean ‘to break up with my boyfriend’?” he said, you try not to laugh but it’s impossible seeing how serious heeseung is “god you are so cute” you said as you cupped his face and gave him a quick peck “i was just joking”

“it better be joke, we aren’t ending ever”

— JONGSEING PARK

“what are you doing?” jay asked as you set up the camera “just a tiktok” he hummed going back to his song writing “hi guys ! get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” you peered over jay from the camera, he didn’t even move an inch, still busy with his notepad writing, “so me and my boyfriend have been dating for 3 years now and honestly he is the best you could ask but i just don’t feel like it anymore so i decided to break up with him” you did your skin care as you blabbed nonsense but jay still remained stoic.

you switched off the phone as you stomped your way towards him, he looked up with a smirk “what’s wrong darling? are you done with the tiktok?” this cheeky bastard “you…” you are pouting trying to find the correct words but instead of you getting a reaction out of him he has you all bothered “me?”

“meanie” you said walking away only to be pulled by him, you landed on his lap, he hugged you tightly “we are not breaking up ever so these pranks won’t work on me, why don’t you find another one hmm?” he said pressing you against his chest

“you and me have to grow old together”

— JAEYUN SIM

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” jake looked “what?” he questioned hoping he heard wrong “jake not now im filming a tiktok”

“i’m pregnant” you whipped your head towards him in disbelief “that’s not how it works jake” you said doing your mascara while he fiddled with your jacket trying to think of some excuse “yn stop i will cry” you giggled at him, cupping his face and pulling him for a long peck “say you are joking” his face still being squeezed by your hands “it’s a prank jake sorry baby” your his nose while he glared at you “not funny, im afraid you have no humor, the police going to get you”

“i accept cuddles and kisses to forgive you for what you did”

— SUNGHOON PARK

“you’re recording?” sunghoon said as he flopped behind you on the bed watching some video on his phone “yeah” you said setting up the stuff “okay, i will turn off the volume” he said getting up to kiss your cheeks before you hit record

“hi guys, i know it’s been so long since i posted anything but get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” sunghoon paused the video as he got up sitting next to you, his eyes scanning your face as you “babe do you need some-”

“unless you have other boyfriends you are breaking up, but you obviously don’t thus stop lying to them and start recording again” he said, he deleting the recording “you can’t do that” you said as sunghoon laid back down on the bed again “i can do anything” he said pulling you down with him, he kissed you holding your waist down while your hands travelled down his biceps “wouldn’t be able to kiss me if you break up yn” he said smirking, kissing your cheeks all the way down to your collar bone.

“you’re mine forever”

— SUNWOO KIM

“get ready with me-” sunoo enters the washroom in confusion “babe tiktok? without me?” sunoo fake pouts “sorry sun, next okay” you pecked his lips “okay but remember we have to leave soon” he said sitting down at the bed leaving the door open “okay ! so get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” a loud voice came from outside so you went out to check what it was “sunoo are you okay?” you went over to look if he got hurt “yeah i’m fine and you can take your time yn. no rush” hearing your name instead of babe or honey made you gulp.

“i should call the restaurant and let them know we can’t make it too” he said unlocking his phone and you thought its better to say it’s a prank before he starts crying “sunoo it’s a prank babe, im sorry” he turns towards you with a smile “oh good for a second i thought we need to get on” he put his phone up and records himself while you look at him confused “get ready with me to break up with my girlfriend” you hit him as he laughs “stop”

he kissing your forehead “i can never lose you, it will break me, never joke about it”

— JUNGWON YANG

“babe this one?” jungwon asked passing you a face mask “yes thank you” you hit record as he sat on a sofa opposite to you, so he can be out of the frame, admiring his pretty girl “get ready with me ! breaking up with my boyfriend edition” his eyes quickly went from admiring to shocked big boba eyes, he looked like he was frozen “what do you mean?”

“not now won, i’m filming” he didn’t care he sat beside you peering like a cat “if this is a way to engage with audience or just rage bait, i do not care, your not do such a thing please” he said turning off your phone “saying please when i know you are giving an order” he smiled “cuddles please” — “that’s another order with an unnecessary ‘please’ i have face mask on now won” you rolled your eyes, he hugged your waist and made you lay with him.

“i do not care” he said snuggling into your neck

— RIKI NISHIMURA

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend-” a loud choking noise “you have other boyfriends because you sure aren’t getting ready to break up with me”

“so you are cool with me having other boyfriends but not breaking up with you” you put on your hair band to get your hair off your face “absolutely not but-” he stumbled with his words trying to find the right thing to say while you hummed and did your skincare, watching him confused “wait how did it get to me having to give an explanation when you are the one in wrong” he huffed

you giggled at his pouty face, twisting from confusion to frustration, you kissed his cheek “i was joking riki” he glared at you trying to prove he is still angry but of course that didn’t last long when you showed up with his favorite food.

“better not pull this again or you will on time out”

[vintagebishx]

FOR THE FIRST TIME theodore nott

PAIRINGS: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

WARNINGS: fluff fluff fluff, use of she/her pronouns!, i used all lower caps.

SUMMARY: in which, the usual womaniser finds himself in love with a girl who doesn’t even know his name…

“ITS JUST LIKE SEEING HER,

FOR THE FIRST TIME,

AGAIN…”

“The first time you caught my eye

it was not love at first sight.

Instead a quiet curiosity was

planted in my chest and i knew

it was only a matter of time before

you sunk beneath my bones and

nurtured this deep seated familiarity

into a love so fierce that

i would question if i had

ever been in love before”.

THOSE WERE THE words that theo scribbled down in his journal as he sat in the middle of the courtyard amongst other students on the hot and surprisingly toasty day in Hogwarts. he finally dropped the pencil in his hand as his eyes averted back over to the sight before him, y/n.

theo wasn’t normally one for poetry but ever since the first time he had ever saw her, it was all he could think about.

he found himself in a never ending cycle of writing, constantly writing his feelings and thought down whenever she crossed his mind which was all the time.

it was like she had unknowingly helped him discover a part of himself that he was unaware of.

his gaze stuck to her face that was glowing due to the sun hitting her perfect caramel skin. she sat peaceful on the green grass with a big book opened in her hands, one that seemed to capture all of her attention.

his eyes then traveled down to her hands, her hands that were decorated with multiple rings and her wrists that wore a few bracelets.

she wore a sleeveless v-neck jumper on top of a long sleeved shirt as her yellow tie was tied perfectly. she wore two necklaces which hung and rested against his the tie.

he watched as the slight breeze in the air blew into her brown, perfectly curly, and volumed hair which also had a sunflower tucked into the side of her hair slightly matching her yellow, Hufflepuff tie. he wanted so badly to talk to her, to get to know her, to be near her, but he instead found himself gawking from afar and silently hoping that she would at least turn and look his way.

but wether he talked to her or not, even him just being able to look at her was enough to fuel his slight obsession with the girl.

she was special.

she was like the coffee he needed to energise him in the morning, or even the warmth he needed on a cold and gloomy day.

she was the sunshine that could light up any dark room.

with every minute he spent staring at her, he grew even more curious by the second. he wanted to know everything about her.

he wanted to know why she always wore that one bracelet, why she always seemed to read books published by the same author, why she always played with her hair while reading or even why she always came to the courtyard alone at the same time everyday and sat at the same spot too.

he was intrigued by her, she was different.

he didn’t want to say it in a corny way, but she wasn’t like all the other girls in Hogwarts. she kept to herself, had friends but never minded being alone, was always sweet to everyone, and didn’t care how others viewed her.

classic Hufflepuff.

if you had asked him a year ago today if he thought a hufflepuff would ever had him feeling this way, he probably would’ve laughed in your face. what made it worse was that he was presented with so many chances to go and talk to the girl but instead, he froze up and got lost in all of the words that he wanted to say which was nothing like him.

it was like she had casted an irreversible spell that only pulled him closer and closer to her.

“are you okay?” a voice suddenly spoke, causing him to break from his deep gaze.

he looked away from the girl and looked up which finally revealed mattheo, “oh- yeah, yeah!” he spoke as he cleared his throat and silently hoped that his slight infatuation with the girl wasn’t too obvious to his best friend.

mattheo furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down at his friend who was sat alone, “really? cause if you ask me, it looks like little miss Hufflepuff has you distracted…” he spoke with a small smirk.

“what? no!” theo quickly denied as he jerked his head back at his friends’ words.

matteheo took a moment to look down at the notebook that was sat on theo’s lap as he took notice to all the words written down that he struggled to read due to how far it was, “and what is this?” he asked as he suddenly knelt down to pick up the notebook, and got back up on his feet.

a sudden feeling of panic took over theo’s body as he hadn’t told anybody about his recent passion for poetry that was fuelled due to y/n.

“the first time you caught my eye it was love at first sight,” mattheo began as he read out of theo’s notebook. theodore was quick to stand up in attempts to grab the notebook from his friends’ hand but failed as mattheo continuously swerved his attempts.

“i knew it was only a matter of time before you sunk beneath my bones?” mattheo continued with a surprised tone at what he was hearing.

he had never heard theodore speak ever so passionately before.

“into a love so fierce-” “give me that!” theo interrupted his words as he finally grabbed the notebook from him.

his cheeks were tinted with a light red pigment as a small feeling of embarrassment grew inside of his system.

“your in love?” mattheo spoke with a laugh, “your in love with a hufflepuff?” he continued.

theo rolled his eyes at his words, “can you stop?” he spoke with an irritated tone.

“she’s more than that…” he began, “she’s special, s-she’s like a breath of fresh air in a world filled with copies of each other.” he spoke, his words filled with love as he brought his gaze back to y/n.

her peaceful presence finally bringing back that safe feeling in the pit of his stomach.

mattheo just stood there with his mouth slightly agape, realisation finally taking over him. his friend wasn’t just in love, he was deeply in love.

“wow… it’s worse than i thought, your infatuated nott.” mattheo said in a shocked tone.

he took a moment to look at theo, who put his head down in defeat as his friend uncovered his hidden feelings.

there was a reason as to why he had never told his friend about his liking towards the girl and it was simply because, he wasn’t used to it.

he wasn’t used to liking somebody, at all.

he wasn’t used to constantly thinking about somebody every single moment of the day, or having your heart beat faster at not only the sight of them, but the sound of their name. he wasn’t used to only being happy if he saw a certain someone, or not being able to sleep because of somebody disrupting his thoughts. he just wasn’t used to any of it.

he thought that y/n was just another girl that he would’ve liked for at least two days then gotten over her but no, the past three weeks of non-stop thoughts about her made it clear that it was more than just a crush and that he had to talk to her.

at first he was a little mad at the innocent girl as he wanted to know if she had put a spell over him, but he realised it was all him.

he craved her.

“why don’t you go talk to her, i mean you are theodore n-” “no!” theodore quickly interrupted his friend.

just the thought of her even looking at him made his nerves come to play.

mattheo took a moment to analyse his friends’ body language before letting out a loud laugh, “there’s no way,” he began, “are you… nervous?” he laughed out.

theo rolled his eyes due to it probably being mattheo’s tenth time laughing at him.

“i-i’m not, i just don’t know what i’d say to her.” he explained himself, “since when have you had trouble talking to girls nott? your clearly nervous.” mattheo laughed a little more before stopping.

“you know what?” mattheo spoke which caused theo to listen, “your gonna go over there and just speak whatever comes to mind.” he said.

theodore’s eyes widened at his words, he wasn’t prepared to even be near the girl let alone talk to her.

“what? no i’m not-” his words were interrupted by mattheo who grabbed the boys’ arm and began pulling him towards where the girl was peacefully sat, “yes you are!” mattheo spoke, simply ignoring the boy who was trying to rebel and pull away from his strong hold.

“no i’m not, now fuck off!” theo spoke harshly as he began using his strength to try and pull away but mattheo wasn’t having it.

“yes you are!” mattheo protested as he let go of theo before giving him one final strong push, pushing him right in front of the girl and causing him to drop his notebook onto the floor.

the commotion and sudden figure blocking her from the sun was enough to make y/n finally bring her head up from her book, she looked up to find the brunette boy staring right at her which slightly had her confused.

he looked a little anxious, as if he had been scared.

an awkward smile took over the girls’ face, “um, hello…” she said hesitantly as he did come from nowhere, “can i help you or?…” she continued.

but theo just stood there, like an idiot.

what am i doing, say something. he told himself mentally as he knew how stupid he looked, this was seriously unlike him.

“uhh, i-um,” he muttered out, “no!” he finally spat out as he finally moved out of his frozen state that he was once in before.

and there it was. the usually cool, and laid-back theodore nott was not tripping over his words and struggling on how to even form a sentence.

“oh…” y/n spoke, not really knowing what to tell him as she just continued to look up at him.

her eyes left his as she began to look at the grass, noticing a random, and unfamiliar notebook beside her.

“is this yours?” she asked him before she picking it up, “um yeah.” theo nervously spoke.

just then, y/n’s eyes scanned the page that was open. she quickly realising that it was a poem, her eyes lit up as she looked back at him.

“wait, did you write this?” she asked him as she stared right at him, waiting for a response.

theo’s eyes grew wide at the fact that she looked at the poem that he had made about her, his heart beats sped up due to a little embarrassment.

“y-yeah, but i’m not really a writer so-” “are you kidding me? i love poems!” she exclaimed, interrupted his words.

she took a moment to look a with a wide smile, the smile that made him want to melt.

“why don’t you sit down?” she offered which made him become shocked, “i mean unless you don’t want to then-” “no of course i do!” he suddenly spoke before walking a little closer to her, kneeling down, and sitting right next to her on the grass.

theo turned around and took a moment to look at the girl, this was the closest he had ever been to her and definitely the longest, and the first time, he had ever talked to her.

he took a good and long look at the girl, she was even prettier when closer.

her shoulder lengthened curls captured her face perfectly as they were as healthy as ever, she had a few small brown freckles on her face which is something he had never gotten to notice until now, he also didn’t notice how high her cheekbones were either. her full straight eyebrows were what made her face even more perfect as her almond shaped eyes topped her look off. his eyes then flickered to her her full, succulent lips which were as soft as ever. to top things off, her beautiful skin glowed ever so gently as the sun bounced off her face.

she was perfect… no, ethereal.

her smell too, she smelled addictive.

her sweet vanilla, tonka bean, red berries and mandarin scent was what drew the boy crazy. it made him want to be near her forever and ever.

“do you mind if i read this?” she asked him nicely before turning around and looking him looking him right into his eyes, “uh, sure.” he spoke as he quickly got out of whatever trance he was in.

it wasn’t like she would know it was about her anyways, he thought to himself.

y/n’s eyes went down the page as she read the poem, his writing style completely had her drawn as if it were written about her.

“oh my gosh, this is so beautifully written.” she complimented as she still looked at the notebook, she couldn’t believe how well he had managed to portray his feelings onto the paper.

she turned to look at him, “i-i mean, you sunk beneath my bones and nurtured this deep seated familiarity into a love so fierce? beautiful.” she recited his words as she continued to stare at him, impressed by how poetic he was.

theo’s eyes widened at her sudden compliments, he felt his cheeks heat up.

“thank you…” he muttered as a small smile came across his face, “who is this about?” she suddenly asked him.

theodore cleared his throat, “um, p-pardon?” he nervously asked even though he had heard her perfectly, he was just caught up by her question and did not know what to say.

a smile took over the girls’ face as she let out a breathy laugh, God that smile…

“i said, who is this about? i mean it’s so deep, there has to be someone because this isn’t something you can just make up…” she explained to him, and she was right. there was somebody who had inspired him to make the poem and it was her.

but he couldn’t tell her that.

how was he meant to explain to her that he wrote her a whole love poem, and many more, that a wife’s own husband could probably never make up if he tried.

how could he explain that for the past three weeks, she had been running endlessly through his mind?

how could he explain that every time he saw her, it felt like seeing her for the first time again?

how could he explain that in a world full of chaos, she was the peace in his presence?

he felt himself choke up due to nerves, he really did not know what to say to her. he was confused. he was confused on how this girl had so much power over him without even realising.

“a girl.” he managed to finally spit out, “it’s um, it’s about this girl.” he continued.

his eyes wandered her perfectly crafted face before opening his mouth to speak some more, “there’s this one girl who is beautiful. s-she’s sweet, kind and has been stuck in my mind almost everyday.” he spoke, “but the thing is… i haven’t talked to her yet”.

y/n furrowed her eyebrows, “well if you haven’t spoken to her before, then how do you know she’s all of those things?” she questioned curiously.

“because for three weeks i’ve been sat there like an idiot gawking at her, watching her interact with others instead of being a man and attempting to talk to her.” he explained, “there’s just something about her, she’s absolutely perfect.” he rambled on.

a smile that spread on her face exposed her pearly whites to him, “sounds like your in love!” she said excitedly.

“why can’t you just try and speak to her?” she asked curiously.

theo chucked as he brought his head down before bringing back up and look at her again, “because she makes me nervous, and i never get nervous around girls.” he said.

“but she’s different… she’s not like the rest of them, she’s even better.” he said as he was now getting lost in her beautiful brown eyes that seemed to have more colour due to the sun, “s-she’s special.” he muttered as he dropped his eyes to her lips.

it took everything in him to not just take her in his arms and give her the biggest hug ever, but he stopped himself.

y/n examined the boy and his body language, it was really no secret that he was in love. she had seen many of her friends fall in love so she was pretty good at detecting when somebody was undergoing symptoms of the contagious disease of love.

just as she was about to respond to his words, a voice interrupted her words.

“y/n? y/n!” a voice spoke causing them both to turn their heads, revealing a blonde girl in hufflepuff uniform that theo had recognised from one of his classes, her name was scarlett.

“oh hi scar!” y/n exclaimed happily, her eyes lighting up as she saw her dearest friend.

“i’ve been looking for you everywhere, everyone has!” she said excitedly as she got closer to the duo sitting down on the grass.

“we need to go, it’s girls night tonight and we need to start getting ready remember?” scarlett reminded her friend which caused y/n to gasp, “oh my goodness, how could i forget?” y/n questioned herself.

she grabbed her tote bag and shoved her book in there before standing up. scarlett held her hand out, which y/n took happily and began to walk with her.

however, y/n’s movements came to a halt.

theo watched as y/n mumbled a few words to her friend before turning back around and making her way back over to him, causing him to smile a little.

“i’m so sorry, i never got your name.” she spoke, “so incredibly rude of me.” she rambled on which only caused theo to look up at her and smile due to how cute she was.

his was also slightly shaken at the fact that she really didn’t know who he was, he believed that he had made quite the reputation for himself so it shocked him.

he stood up from the ground, his tall frame now meaning that she was the one looking up at him.

“theodore, theodore nott.” he informed her, holding his hand out in hopes that she didn’t deny his request.

his nerves died down as she accepted his request and shook his hand, “i’m happy i met you theo.” she smiled. her smooth hands felt like something he had been missing his whole life.

“wait can i call you that?” she asked frantically, she didn’t want to offend somebody she had just met.

theodore smiled at how cute she was being in that moment, “of course you can… you can call me whatever you want.” he said, slightly regretting what he last said as he didn’t want to embarrass himself even though it was probably too late.

but y/n just let out a laugh. not one that was degrading, but one that made him realise that she found what he said funny which honestly calmed him down.

y/n finally let his hand go before giving him a heart warming smile and walking off as he just stood their and watch her skip over to her friend with a smile planted on his face.

“you see, now that wasn’t hard was it?” mattheo asked his friend cockily as he came out from his hiding spot behind the tree.

but theo didn’t hear him.

instead, he continued to watch the girl walk further, and further away as his stomach did somersaults.

poem made by: Lyra Wren

border creds: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

AUTHOR SPEAKS! i kind of based this off of an unpublished draft so if i post something familiar to this, it’s cause i described the character in the same way as the draft

i hope you guys enjoyed this though!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141 and the best enemies to lovers line of all time...

"Who did this to you?"

Cue protective instincts and sexiness

hehe I am giggling!! Okay. Listen. I am fully aware that this is an enemies to lovers trope, but I don't think it applies to all of the 141 guys in that manner. Is there protectiveness? Yes. Is there a bit of spice? Yes, if you squint really hard. Is there also some sweetness thrown in? Absolutely there is. I had lots of fun with this one. I hope you enjoy it!

Presented in four double drabbles.

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

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief blood and injury, hurt/comfort, brief suggestive themes, protectiveness, light angst

Word Count: 800

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Who did this?” Kyle bends forward at the waist, pressing a bag of frozen peas to your face. His concern is genuine. You can see that, but it’s strange. The two of you get on, but this is something else.

Kyle looks…angry like your injury personally offends him.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Things happen during sparing. It’s fine.”

Kyle’s frown only deepens. He doesn’t believe you. And why should he? The person you were placed with took it too far. And it was all to impress him as if putting you in your place would somehow grant his favor.

It’s clearly done the opposite. He could care less about your sparring partner.

“It was your sparring partner, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer. Just press the peas to your forehead a little harder.

This time, Kyle’s frown turns slightly upward. “Jokes on them, ya?”

You glance at him sideways. “How so?”

Kyle is grinning. It’s stunning. All pearly white teeth.

“Because I have my eye on someone else,” he says simply, as if that answers everything.

Though you cannot see yourself, you feel your face growing hot under Kyle’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t say thing like that,” you reply.

“Why? It’s true.”

John Price

“Who did this?”

“Why do you care so much, John?”

You attempt to pull your face out of his grasp but he holds firm.

“Of course I care,” he replies. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. John is close. Too close. So close he could easily brush his lips against yours.

“I don’t know why,” you murmur.

“You do,” he affirms, authority in his tone.

Do you? Maybe. Perhaps. Deep within yourself you truly know the reason but can’t decide to speak it to the air. That would make this real. Whatever this is between the two of you.

‘Tell me who did this?”

“And do that what?”

“What the fuck I want to them, love.”

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about it,” you reply, again trying to escape from him.

But John isn’t having it. His other hand hooks around your upper arm, and then you’re pressed closed to him. He is so warm. All strength.

“Let go,” you say, but there is no volume behind it. It is weak. Not even a protest.

“Tell me,” he repeats, head dipping slightly.

Yes. Close enough to kiss.

“Tell me,” he says again, this time softer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s blood beats heavy. It is tinged with metal. A lace of fire that cannot abate.

His boots slap against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights are bright. Clinical. He is a shadow here. A dark specter.

No one stops him. No one glances his way.

And why should they?

He is a man made fury.

There were hands put upon you. A training exercise taken too far. Simon was not there. And he doesn’t know why. Not exactly. But he’s furious. Protective. The fact that he could not stop this only infuriates him further.

To him, this is a failure.

He doesn’t come to a stop. Doesn’t knock. He barges right on in.

The nurse yelps. Spins suddenly. Face red.

You glance up, eyes wide at first but soothing slightly as they land on Simon. You’re bruised. Stitched up.

Fucking hell.

“Out,” barks Simon.

The nurse leaves but stares him down the entire time. He approaches the table, and lightly brushes the backs of his fingers against the wound on your forehead.

“Who did this?” he asks.

“Simon—”

“Which fucker?” he growls, bending forward slightly to look into your eyes.

“Should see the other guy,” you joke, smiling.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. You’re not his. Even if he wishes it were so.

Every swing of his fist sends the building frustration outward, shooting into the massive boxing bag before him. It’s a poor substitute for the face he truly wants to smash. Several faces that is. Two specifically.

Who did this?

The words slipped from him unbidden. An instant anger. You had only scowled. Told him you could handle yourself. And you can. Johnny knows this. But he’s still fucking pissed about it. Still seething.

All the fucker got was a quick slap on the wrist. A promise to not do it again.

That sits sour in Johnny’s belly.

But you didn’t cave, no matter how much Johnny insisted that he’d take care of it on your behalf. So he is here, punching the shit out of something that isn’t flesh.

He wishes he could take away your pain. Take away the memory. Give it to himself to carry. You don’t turn on your own. There’s no honor in what happened.

But as much as he wants it to be true, Johnny can do nothing.

You are not his.

Even if he wants to be.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @heeheehoohoohahahihi @eternallyvenus @burn1ngw00d @taysarchive

[pucksandpower]

Buns in the Oven

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: six times that someone finds out you and Charles are expecting

Pascale hums to herself as she plates the final dish for lunch — a lovely risotto she spent the morning preparing. Her son will be arriving any minute with his girlfriend. Pascale hopes the meal will help settle the nerves she’s noticed in you lately during your visits.

The doorbell rings and Pascale rushes to greet Charles and you at the door. “Welcome, welcome!” She pulls you both into an embrace. “Lunch is all ready, come to the dining room.”

You follow behind Charles, the aroma of the risotto already making your stomach turn. You try to keep your queasiness hidden as you take your seat at the table. Pascale notices your complexion is pale.

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” She asks with a furrowed brow. “You’re looking a bit green around the gills.”

You force a smile. “I’m okay, just not very hungry I suppose.” Your eyes go wide as Pascale heaps a generous serving onto your plate.

Charles squeezes your hand. “Come on, mon amour, Maman’s risotto is the best. You have to try some.”

You pick up your fork with shaky hands and manage a few bites under Pascale’s watchful gaze. But your stomach is quickly revolting, the rich food making you extremely nauseous.

“If you’ll excuse me ...” You abruptly push back from the table and rush down the hall to the bathroom, hand covering your mouth.

Pascale and Charles exchange a worried look as they hear you retch violently. After a few minutes, you re-emerge looking miserable.

“Oh dear, I knew you weren’t feeling well,” Pascale tuts, rising to her feet. “You just sit tight, I’m going to run out for a little bit. I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, she hurries out of the house. Pascale strides quickly down the street toward the pharmacy on the corner, her mind racing. She grabs a basket and makes a beeline for the family planning aisle, snatching up a few different brands of pregnancy tests. She pays and rushes back home, clutching the tests behind her back as she re-enters the dining room.

You and Charles have pushed your chairs together, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lean into his chest with your eyes closed. The plates of risotto sit congealed and abandoned.

“You two look awfully cozy,” Pascale quips lightly. You startle upright and blink at her with bleary eyes. “Y/N, I left something for you in the bathroom. Go check it out, won’t you?”

You furrow your brow in confusion but rise and head for the hall bathroom. Pascale settles back at the table and takes a sip of her now-lukewarm tea, the picture of nonchalance. But out of the corner of her eye she watches Charles, who stares intently down the hall from where you disappeared.

Not ten seconds later you come barreling out, nearly bouncing off the doorframe with the pregnancy test boxes in hand.

“Ch-Charles!” You stammer, eyes wild. “Look!”

He flies out of his chair and towards you so fast it clatters to the floor. You both disappear into the bathroom, the door closing firmly behind you. Pascale smiles knowingly to herself and refills her teacup.

Several minutes pass in tense silence, the only sounds an occasional murmured exchange from the bathroom, volumes too hushed for Pascale to make out. Suddenly, a dull thump rings out and Pascale is on her feet in an instant.

“Charles? Y/N?” She calls, heart pounding as she rushes for the bathroom. “Are you both alright in there?”

When she reaches the bathroom, Pascale finds Charles crumpled unconscious on the tile floor. You kneel beside him, face stark white and completely motionless except for the shaking of the positive pregnancy test clutched in your hand.

“Oh my goodness!” Pascale drops to her knees beside you both. “Charles? Charles, wake up chérie!”

She gently taps his cheek until his eyelids flutter open. Charles blinks dazedly up at the two concerned faces hovering above him.

“Wh ... what happened?” He props himself up on his elbows, still looking dazed. His eyes go comically wide as they land on the test in your hand. “Y/N … are you ...”

You finally seem to emerge from your stupor. With trembling fingers, you turn the little plastic stick towards Pascale, revealing the two pink lines clearly indicating pregnancy.

“I … I’m pregnant,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the thundering of Pascale’s heart. A wide smile slowly spreads across her face as tears of joy spring to her eyes.

“My darling girl, come here!” Pascale pulls you both into her arms, squeezing you tightly as happy tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m going to be a grand-mère!”

***

Fred Vasseur strides briskly through the Ferrari motorhome, eyes scanning the room for Charles Leclerc. FP3 is about to begin and he wants to go over the strategy one more time before the session.

He catches sight of you sitting on a plush sofa, your son Jules playing contentedly at your feet with a handful of toy cars. A small smile tugs at Fred’s lips watching the rambunctious two-year-old animatedly providing his own race commentary.

As Fred nears, he notices the oversized bowl in your lap containing an … interesting snack choice. You dunk a dill pickle into the creamy peanut butter, taking an enormous bite and humming with apparent satisfaction. Fred’s brow furrows slightly at the peculiar combination.

“Bonjour Y/N,” he calls out warmly as he approaches. “I was just looking for Charles before FP3 begins. Have you seen him?”

You swallow thickly and look up with a start, as if just noticing Fred’s presence. There’s a brief pause before you seem to find your voice.

“Oh! Fred, hi,” you reply breathlessly. “Charles is — um, he’s down in the garage doing some final prep I believe. With the mechanics.”

“Merci.” Fred nods, eyes straying back to the snack dish with poorly disguised interest. “I don’t mean to pry, but … may I ask what it is exactly you’re eating there?”

A flush rises on your cheeks as you glance down at the pickles and peanut butter. “Just … satisfying a craving, I suppose,” you mutter, almost embarrassed.

Fred throws back his head with a rumbling laugh. “I see, I see. The way to a pregnant woman’s heart, no?”

The words are out in a jovial tease before he can think better of it. But almost as soon as they’ve left his lips, Fred notices the way your entire body tenses, pickle dropping from your slack fingers to the ground with a dull thunk. Jules looks up at the commotion, brow furrowed in childhood confusion.

Realization dawns across your features as your hand moves unconsciously to hover over your abdomen. A look of incredulity and wonder flits through your widened eyes.

Fred feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Y/N? Are you ...” He trails off, suddenly uncertain if he’s overstepped.

Your gaze snaps up to lock with his, mouth working soundlessly for a long moment. Fred waits with bated breath, muscles coiled tight with anxious anticipation.

Finally, you find your voice. “ I… I’m not sure,” you whisper hoarsely. “I didn’t think — but, the cravings ...”

Without warning, you’re on your feet, scooping up Jules and clutching him to your side with one arm. Fred instinctively reaches out to steady you, but you brush him off distractedly.

“I have to … I need to tell Charles,” you murmur, half to yourself as you lurch forward, nearly colliding with a chair in your haste.

“Y/N, wait!” Fred catches your elbow gently but firmly, halting your frantic movements. You turn wild eyes on him and he gentles his voice. “Deep breaths, ma chérie. Why don’t you sit back down for just a moment? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

You stare at him for a beat, chest heaving, before seeming to collect yourself somewhat. With visible effort, you force your shoulders to relax incrementally and draw a shuddering breath.

“No, it’s okay, I … I should go find Charles,” you decide, more composed this time though your grip remains vice-like around your son. “He needs to know. We can’t be sure, but ...”

You trail off, gnawing anxiously at your bottom lip. Fred searches your flushed face, wondering if he should say more or simply stay out of his driver’s personal affairs. But before he can decide, you’ve found your determination again.

“Thank you, Fred.” You flash him a tight smile and shift Jules higher onto your hip. “I’ll just … go track him down then.”

With that, you spin on your heel and hurry out of the hospitality tent in the direction of the team garage, leaving a bemused Fred to stare after your retreating form. He shakes his head slowly, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, it seems congratulations may be in order for the Leclercs,” he murmurs under his breath. “Again.”

Fred watches you disappear into the crowded paddock, a tiny part of him hoping you do end up being pregnant. Despite the extra challenges, there’s nothing quite like the look of joy and pride on Charles’ face whenever he speaks about his wife and child. Fred can already envision his star driver beaming like a spotlight if blessed with another baby.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Somehow, Fred gets the sense Charles might be in need of a fainting couch again this time around.

***

Max lets out a loud whoop as he slams back his fourth — or is it fifth — shot of tequila. The pounding bass and flashing lights of the club have his blood thrumming with adrenaline despite the late hour. Singapore really knows how to rage after a race.

He swivels his head, surveying his surroundings with a lazy grin. Most of the other drivers seem to be just as enthusiastically embracing the raucous celebrations. Lando has his shirt recklessly unbuttoned to an obscene degree as he grinds shamelessly with some random group of club-goers. Pierre is presiding over an intensely competitive beer pong tournament at one of the VIP booths, eyes slightly unfocused.

Only a few meters away, Max spots the familiar silhouettes of Charles and you tucked away in a dimly lit corner. He throws back the dregs of his drink, grimacing at the burn, and stumbles in your direction with a mischievous smirk.

“Well, well!” He crows loudly as he approaches. “If it isn’t the reigning world champion getting cozy with his lady!”

You startle at Max’s boisterous presence, but quickly settle back against Charles with a warm smile tugging at your lips. The Monegasque driver, however, is far too wasted to register much beyond a bemused grunt of acknowledgment.

Max can’t help but snort at the besotted expression scrawled across his former title rival’s face. Charles has his arm wrapped possessively around your waist, head lolled back against the plush booth as he gazes at you with hopelessly unfocused eyes. You rest your hand tenderly upon his cheek, murmuring something inaudible against the throbbing bassline of the club music.

A waiter appears as if on cue, offering a tray laden with fresh cocktails that look suspiciously potent. Max opens his mouth to thank the server, only to impulsively snap it shut again as Charles’ hand darts out with impressive coordination for his state. The world champion snatches the entire tray before you can react, proceeding to methodically down every single glass in quick succession without further preamble.

You roll your eyes fondly, not even bothering to attempt retrieving your confiscated drink. When Charles finally resurfaces, gasping for air and looking totally glazed, you tuck an errant curl back from his forehead.

“Feel better, my darling disaster?” You tease.

Max realizes with some confusion that you haven’t touched a drop, watching on with that same gentle amusement. Charles lets out a indelicate belch and slings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you back against his chest.

“M’gonna need anutha ...” He slurs blearily. You emit a tinkling laugh that causes Max’s brow to furrow even further.

Suddenly, it all clicks into place. His eyes go wide, sweeping over your glowing features with a mixture of surprise and delight. No wonder you’re passing on the booze tonight.

“Wait just a second ...” Max takes a stumbling step closer, throwing out an accusatory finger that has you shying away in alarm. But the wide, delighted grin quickly morphs his features from confrontational to conspiratorial. “We’re gonna have another Leclerc in the mix soon, aren’t we?”

You freeze in Charles’ arms, exchanging a loaded look with your flushed husband. The giggling from earlier falls away as you bite your lip, seeming to hesitate before finally sighing in resignation. You glance back at Max with a sly smile.

“September 1st,” you confirm simply.

Max lets out a raucous bark of laughter, nearly doubling over as he clutches his stomach. September 1st … doing the quick mental calculation informs him the little bundle of joy was likely conceived right around ...

“Oh my god, no way!” He howls, tears of mirth leaking from the corners of his eyes. “The World Championship euphoria must have really gotten to you!”

Charles looks bewildered, mouth hanging slightly ajar. You shake your head despairingly, burying your face against your husband’s shoulder in a feeble attempt to contain your own giggles. Max just wheezes harder, undoubtedly disturbing every single neighboring party-goer with his undignified cackling. He braces his hands on his knees, trying in vain to catch his breath.

“I can’t … I can’t even begin!” He gasps between hysterics. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants for like, five measly minutes after winning in Abu Dhabi!”

Max can only shake his head gleefully, finally recovering enough to straighten and wipe his streaming eyes on his sleeve. Charles tugs you closer against his chest, swaying gently from side to side with a dopey smile.

“S’true though, isn’t it?” He mumbles, resting his cheek atop your head. “Made the mos’ of m’championship … glow.”

You try in vain to suppress your grin, smoothing your palms over the sculpted lines of your husband’s abdomen. Max is genuinely touched at the tender gesture, the undeniable depth of adoration written across both your expressions.

He suddenly feels tremendously sentimental, booze and euphoria swirling together in a giddy vortex of affection for his friends.

“Alright, alright,” Max waves them off in mock dismissal, clearing his throat loudly. “As nauseatingly in love as you two are, someone simply must balance out the team affiliations in this family.”

You and Charles both quirk matching skeptical eyebrows at him.

“Oh yes,” he nods resolutely. “Just as soon as this nephew or niece arrives, I’m going to start spoiling them absolutely rotten.”

The grins bloom across both your faces, Charles tightening his arms around you in a silent display of pride. Max glances down at the tender picture you make, feeling a profound swell of joy at having front row seats to his friend’s happiness.

Somehow, despite the alcohol and chaos swirling around the two of you, the little cocoon of perfect serenity and contentment you’ve so carefully cultivated remains completely untouched. It’s a rare oasis of tranquility in the middle of an otherwise chaotic life, and Max wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well … he wouldn’t exactly mind if a few more boisterous new additions gradually joined your ranks. Good thing he plans on being the very best enabler around. He just hopes the two of you aren’t hoping for more championship babies, because Max certainly won’t make winning any easier.

***

“I still can’t believe how big the kids are getting,” Arthur remarks with a warm smile, watching as Jules and Helene race miniature car models across the living room rug. Little Lucien toddles along in their wake, shrieking with delight whenever he gets close enough to swipe at one of the toys.

“Tell me about it,” Charles groans, slouching further into the plush sofa cushions. You laugh lightly beside him, one hand absently smoothing Lucien’s tousled curls as the toddler momentarily loses interest in the activity and plops down at your feet.

“You’re getting on a bit yourself there, old man,” Arthur teases his older brother. “Half life crisis and all that?”

Charles fires him a withering glare. “I’m only thirty two, you little shi-” He cuts himself off abruptly, clearing his throat as his gaze darts towards the children. You swat his chest in remonstration.

“Language!” You admonish. “We’ve talked about this.”

Chuckling, Arthur leans back and props his feet up on the battered ottoman. “Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll be sure to teach the little ones all the good swears when they get older.”

“You most certainly will not!” You shake your head vehemently. But the mock scowl quickly melts into a warm smile. “Honestly Arthur, what are we going to do with you?”

“Keep me around for the free childcare, obviously.”

The quip draws a bark of laughter from Charles. You roll your eyes fondly, gathering Lucien up into your lap for a cuddle as the toddler makes grabby hands. Arthur observes the scene with a contented smile — it’s so wonderful having his brother’s little family over to visit now that they’re all in Europe again.

“I have to say, you and Charles make some cute kid-”

Arthur’s affectionate teasing is abruptly cut off as a furry brown missile comes barreling through the open doorway. Bruno, Arthur’s three-year-old golden retriever, zips excitedly into the room with his tongue lolling out.

“Bruno, no!” Arthur calls out, but it’s too late.

The pup lets out a joyful bark and leaps straight up onto the sofa cushions. Arthur watches in dismay as Bruno tramples over Charles’ lap, nearly kicking his brother in a very sensitive area. Charles immediately shoves the dog away with a muffled curse.

But Bruno seems singularly uninterested in his distress. He makes a beeline for your side of the sofa and immediately nuzzles his way under your arm to plop his head insistently onto your abdomen. You startle slightly at the sudden weight in your lap, Lucien giggling and patting curiously at Bruno’s silky fur. The pup simply sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, fluffy tail thumping rhythmically against the cushions.

Arthur lets out a low whistle, watching in bewilderment as the usually hyperactive Bruno settles in to nap right against your midsection. The perplexed expressions on both your and Charles’ faces don’t escape his notice either. Charles half-heartedly tries to shove Bruno away once more, but the dog whines pitifully and refuses to be dislodged from his spot curled up in your lap.

“Bruno!” Arthur calls sternly, lurching up from his seat to attempt removing his pet himself. But something gives him pause just before he reaches the sofa.

Dogs are remarkably intuitive, after all. And there’s an old adage about them possessing a sort of sixth sense when it comes to picking up on certain … conditions.

Arthur’s eyes go comically wide as the pieces click into place in his mind. He settles back on his heels, scrutinizing you with newly narrowed focus.

“You know, they say dogs can sense that kind of thing before anyone else ...” he remarks slowly, gauging for a reaction.

You and Charles both freeze, eyes snapping up to regard Arthur as if he’s grown a second head. A strange, loaded silence seems to fill the room for a long, drawn-out moment. Arthur witnesses an entire conversation pass wordlessly between you with just a single cursory glance.

Jules and Helene remain obliviously absorbed in their game, but Lucien blinks up at his parents with a quizzical frown. You gingerly disentangle your youngest from Bruno’s embrace and deposit him back on the floor before scooting to the edge of the cushion.

“You don’t think ...” You murmur under your breath to Charles, hand drifting reflexively towards your abdomen. Arthur watches as his brother simply shrugs helplessly, mouth hanging slightly ajar.

“I … well, I mean … it would explain ...” Charles looks utterly dumbfounded for once. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen his typically unflappable older brother so flustered.

Your eyes bore intensely into Charles’, searching for any hint of confirmation. As if on cue, the dog in question opens his eyes and blinks placidly around at the three adults regarding him with such rapt scrutiny. Bruno seems unbothered, merely lolling his tongue and nuzzling closer against your belly. For the second time today, Arthur witnesses that fleeting, wordless communication pass between you and Charles in a simple glance.

A slow, radiant smile spreads across both your faces near simultaneously. You look back down at Bruno with new, unbridled adoration, carding tender fingers through his thick fur. Charles releases a disbelieving huff of laughter under his breath as he reaches out to skate reverent palms over the subtle swell of your abdomen that Bruno seems so enamored with.

And just like that, all the wind goes out of Arthur’s sails.

“No way ...” he gapes, eyes darting between you both in awe. “You’re actually ... seriously?”

You and Charles share another loaded look — this time, both your expressions are absolutely lit with unmitigated joy and pride.

“We … haven’t confirmed it yet or anything,” Charles finally replies, voice barely above a rapt murmur. “But we haven’t not been trying.”

Your husband’s words seem to snap Arthur out of his stupor. He leaps up from the ottoman, unable to contain his own delirious grin as he practically bounces with exhilaration. A cheer builds up in his throat, only to be smothered at the last second when he remembers the little ones playing obliviously nearby. Arthur exhales it all on a harsh rush of air, practically vibrating with excitement.

“That’s … oh my god, you guys!” He has to resist the urge to reach out and envelop you both in a crushing embrace. “Another baby! I can’t believe it … Bruno, you clever little shi-uh, clever boy!”

Arthur drops to a crouch in front of the sofa, gently scratching behind Bruno’s ears. The dog thumps his tail happily, clearly preening under the praise for his remarkable intuition. Arthur glances back up at your mirthful expressions.

“I guess dogs really can sense that stuff, huh?” He shakes his head in wonder. “Maybe the two of us can start a betting ring and make some easy money.”

That finally breaks the spell. You both dissolve into peals of laughter, all the giddiness and disbelief seeming to finally crest over in a tidal wave of utter euphoria. Even the children pause their games to glance over curiously at the commotion.

Bruno seems to sense the occasion has reached a lull, lifting his head to give Arthur an expectant look. The dog rises and trots over to rest his chin in Arthur’s lap instead, bestowing an affectionate lick against his cheek as if to say ‘good job, Papa.’

Arthur chuckles, stroking the golden fur fondly.

“You really hit the jackpot this time around, didn’t you boy?” He murmurs just loud enough for Bruno’s keen ears to pick up. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another little nugget joining the madhouse pretty soon … wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

“How about this one, Maman?” Jules calls out, holding up a slinky crimson gown that looks several sizes too small for you.

Charles shoots his eldest son a quelling look from where he lounges on the plush velour armchair, two-year-old Celine babbling happily on his lap. Jules immediately wilts, grinning sheepishly before returning the dress to the discard pile swiftly accumulating around the dressing room.

You let out a frustrated huff from behind the closed curtain, drawing Charles’ attention back to you. He sees your feet pace restlessly across the tiled floor as more rustling fabric sounds filter through.

“Y/N? Everything alright, mon cœur?” He calls out hesitantly. When you fail to respond, Charles frowns and shifts Celine higher on his knee.

“Perhaps we should try a different-”

The dressing room curtain abruptly whips open, cutting him off mid-sentence. You stand before the full-length mirror in a skintight silver sheath, tugging irritatedly at the fabric stretched taut across your midsection.

“I don’t understand!” You snap, sounding flustered to the point of tears. Your gaze finds Charles in the mirror, eyes pleading beseechingly. “None of these dresses are fitting properly at all. And I know I have the right sizes!”

Helene pipes up from the loveseat where she sits rifling through accessories. “Maybe you got a tummy bug, Maman? My pudge always comes and goes when I’m not feeling good.”

“Gee, thanks Lena,” you mutter dryly, fidgeting with another futile tug at the clinging metallic material.

Charles watches you intently, gaze traversing over your familiar silhouette with a considering frown. It’s certainly nothing to do with weight gain or bloat — if anything, you seem slightly more slender than usual, the ridges of your abdomen clearly defined by the unforgiving silver fabric. Any extra fullness seems concentrated lower, an almost imperceptible bump that Charles is intimately familiar with after four previous pregnancies.

His sharp inhalation draws your eyes back towards the mirror. He can see the question forming on your lips before you even have a chance to voice it. Charles simply holds up a hand, rising smoothly to his feet with Celine balanced on his hip.

The little girl babbles happily, making grabby hands towards the tower of cast-off dresses as Charles weaves through the sizable debris field. You turn to face him fully, fingers unconsciously picking at the shimmering hem in a rare show of self-consciousness.

“I … it doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter as Charles comes to a halt before you. “I checked all the sizing beforehand, like always. I know my body. I’ve been this size for ages, ever since Celine was born. So why won’t anything fit properly?”

He reaches out silently, hands encircling the soft give of your waist. You go rigid under his palms as Charles slowly drags them lower, fingertips skating over the soft swell of your lower abdomen. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale as your gazes lock meaningfully, his search clearly confirming those silent suspicions.

“How long?” His voice is low, instantly holding your attention.

You furrow your brow, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Then realization seems to dawn, your eyes going comically wide.

“Oh my god ...”

Charles nods slowly, his own mind whirring as it rapidly calculates. If his keen senses are correct — if what he’s feeling under his hands is truly what he suspects ...

“When was your last period, mon cœur?” He murmurs carefully, searching your face intently.

Your expression remains frozen in shock, features slack. Ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly, you begin shaking your head in bewilderment.

“Now that you mention it … I ...”

Charles watches the pieces click together as clear as day. The habitual cycle you’ve always tracked so meticulously, your uncanny ability to pinpoint the slightest shifts in your body’s rhythm — it all leads to the inevitable conclusion that he somehow arrived at before you. A conclusion rendered all the more definitive by the stupefied look stealing over your features.

“I don’t remember,” you finally whisper, eyes locked with his. “Oh god, Charles … no, it can’t be-”

“One more surprise,” Charles cuts in, chuckling disbelievingly under his breath. “How is it even possible we missed this? Another Lec-”

“Shhh!” You hastily press a hand over his lips, silencing the exclamation. Celine squirms petulantly against his chest, tangling her chubby fingers in his collar until Charles secures her more firmly in his hold.

Your free hand drifts distractedly between your bodies to rest against the telling protrusion, eyes becoming misty. Charles kisses your palm, feels the tremor racing through you.

“Maman? Papa?” Lucien’s little voice pipes up, high and quizzical. “Why you acting so weird?”

Neither of you seem to fully register the intrusion at first. You inhale a shuddering breath, casting Charles an utterly stricken look before reluctantly tearing your attention towards the children scattered around the boutique.

Helene has her head cocked skeptically, undoubtedly having picked up on the tension crackling through the room. Even Celine senses the shift in mood, falling uncharacteristically silent in the weighty pause. Only Jules seems to remain obliviously absorbed in his mobile game, earbuds firmly in place and shoulders hunched.

You give a tiny shake of your head, tightening your grip over Charles’ hand still splayed protectively across your abdomen. He takes the cue and proceeds to open his mouth — likely to formulate some vague reassurance for the children — only to find himself abruptly interrupted.

“You’re having another baby, aren’t you Maman?”

The words hang heavy in the air as every head whips around to locate the source. It’s Lucien — sweet, quiet little Lucien, staring up at the two of you with eyes far too astute for someone of such tender years.

Your hand slips from Charles’ mouth to muffle a gasp. His own jaw drops open in naked shock, gaze rapidly pinging between you and your preternaturally observant second son.

“Luce?” Helene’s eyes are like saucers as she regards her younger brother. “How did you ...”

But the boy merely shrugs, looking almost defensive as he plants his fists on his hips in an uncanny mirror of Charles’ habitual mannerisms when feeling confrontational.

“S’obvious,” he shrugs. “I remember when Celene was in Maman’s tummy. I know what a new baby belly looks like!”

Then Helene, lovely Helene, shakes off her own shock with an earsplitting shriek of unbridled joy.

“No way! Maman, you’re really — JULES! GET OFF YOUR DUMB PHONE!”

The curtain finally seems to drop from your frozen stupor. You startle hard, blinking rapidly as if reemerging from underwater. Your hand instinctively tightens over Charles’ where it cradles the telling curve, anchoring you both in the whiplash of revelation.

Meanwhile, Helene launches herself off the loveseat like a tiny cannon ball, howling out strings of excited gibberish at maximum volume. Jules’ head jerks up just in time to catch his sister’s barrage, flinching as she swats ineffectually at his earbud.

“Wha-” he sputters, batting away her hands in clear consternation before finally ripping out the headphone. “Hey! What’s gotten into you? And why’s everyone so freaked?”

Helene rounds on him, practically vibrating with glee. “Can’t you hear, loser? Maman’s having another baby!”

Jules does an actual doubletake, head whipping back towards you and Charles in shock. Lucien is nodding emphatically beside him, a serene little smile plastered across his face as his eyes flit between you.

“Told you so,” he murmurs sagely.

It’s the picture of pandemonium. The saleslady who had been assisting you suddenly appears, looking quite put out by the noisy disturbance echoing over her pristine shop floor. Charles can only imagine the picture they all make — you frozen in front of the dressing room mirror, his hand cradling your midriff as your children lose their collective minds around you.

When the woman opens her mouth, likely with the intent to scold them for the ruckus, Jules finally seems to find his voice.

“No way! Maman?” He whirls back to you, features awash with stunned wonder.

“Yes, oui!” Helene all but hollers, bouncing in place like an overstimulated jack russell. “Papa was feeling her tummy and everything!”

The shop girl’s gaze turns even more scandalized at the outburst, color staining her cheeks. Celine giggles, apparently finding the entire scenario terribly amusing. But you remain frozen, gaze drifting between the children and Charles with a silent plea clearly written across your face.

His own stupor finally breaks as he registers your wide-eyed helplessness. He has to smother the sudden, slightly hysterical urge to laugh at the torrential slew of emotions swirling through him.

Charles clears his throat loudly, plastering on his signature press smile as he turns towards the saleslady. “Perhaps we could have a brief moment to ourselves, mademoiselle?”

The woman sniffs dismissively, clearly fighting the urge to protest further. But the flicker of recognition in her eyes saves Charles from having to assert his identity. With a sharp tug at the hem of her blazer, she gives a curt nod and swans away toward the front of the boutique.

Once she’s disappeared from view, Charles strides back toward the curtained changing room, herding the children ahead of him and arranging them all amongst the plush armchairs in the small space. A muffled scuffle ensues as Helene scrambles to sit next to her father, elbowing aside a scowling Jules. Celine just babbles incessantly from her perch atop Charles’ knee.

You follow dazedly, sinking into the armchair opposite them all and emitting a great whoosh of breath. Your hand returns immediately to the subtle swell, fingers cradling the barely-there curve reverently.

Charles feels the unrestrained smile tugging at his lips. His family — complete and whole, yet growing by yet another little life soon to make their world even more vividly bright once again.

He gazes at the stunned expression still dominating your features and laughs, deep and full and utterly delighted. You seem to startle back into the present at the sound, meeting his awestruck eyes with a quickly growing smile of your own.

Soon enough, the storm of excited chatter resumes, with you taking the lead. Jules looks utterly shocked by the turn of events. Helene fires off a barrage of questions and squeals. Little Lucien sits with unshakable poise, absorbing it all with quiet pride.

And Charles can only laugh and wrap his arms around every beaming, noisy inch of you all — his beautiful family bound only to grow larger still over the coming months.

This is exactly where he belongs.

***

Jules can’t wipe the enormous grin from his face as he strolls into the familiar Ferrari garage alongside his race engineer. The potent scents of oil and petrol fill his nostrils, instantly transporting him back to the earliest days of running around this very same hallowed space as a wide-eyed child.

Only now, it’s his turn to climb into the iconic red car. The culmination of a lifelong dream pursued with almost maniacal singularity — one he had witnessed his own father live out with such tremendous passion year after year.

His gaze roams around the bustling team members, searching out the faces of his parents among the throng of mechanics and engineers. Jules finally spots the two of you huddled together towards the far side, his mother enveloped protectively in his father’s embrace as you both wave enthusiastically.

A wide smile splits Jules’ lips once more. He can’t resist the urge to press a quick kiss to his fiancée, Romee’s, cheek where she strolls alongside him, swathed in a scarlet maternity dress and positively glowing with eight months of pregnancy. She flushes prettily, one hand unconsciously drifting down to cradle the swell of her belly.

“Go get ’em, champ,” she murmurs warmly, squeezing his arm. “Baby Leclerc and I will be right here watching.”

Jules just nods, heart swelling fit to burst as he turns to face the gaggle of media crews setting up cameras nearby. His eyes linger on Romee for another loaded moment, committing the transcendent sight of her lovingly cradling their unborn child to memory.

He hardly has time to mentally steel himself before one of the Sky News correspondents is gesturing him over. Jules takes a fortifying breath and moves to join the woman, schooling his features into professionalism even as his stomach does delirious backflips.

“Jules Leclerc, you must be simply bursting with pride today,” the reporter begins without preamble as soon as her cameraman gives the signal. “Would’ve been hard to imagine this moment when following your father’s legendary footsteps around the paddock as a child, no?”

“You can say that again,” Jules chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It definitely still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, I’ll admit. But it’s been my dream since before I could even walk, so you better believe I’m going to cherish every single second out on that track.”

He punctuates the statement with a decisive nod and flashes his signature megawatt smile — a move you always say must be hereditary. The reporter visibly softens under its full beam, casting a cursory look up and down before clearing her throat delicately.

“Well you certainly carry yourself with the same confidence as your father,” she lilts with the faintest of eyebrow waggles. “Speaking of family … I noticed your fiancée, Romee Verstappen, cheering you on from the sidelines as well. Must be another incredible source of pride to be starting your Formula 1 career with a new baby so imminently on the way?”

Jules feels the smile stretch even more impossibly wide at the mention of Romee and their child. His chest swells with unbridled joy and pride until he thinks it may crack open entirely.

“Absolutely, my girls are everything to me,” he affirms proudly, allowing his gaze to skate back towards Romee where she stands with his parents. “Having them here with me to experience such a monumental personal milestone … it’s really indescribably specia-”

The words abruptly die on his lips as Jules’ eyes snag on a sudden flurry of movement from your side of the gathered group. Your head is bent low, one hand clutched around your midriff as you make a beeline for the nearest trash can stationed ominously in the corner. His brows furrow in concern, body tensing reflexively even as his father is already darting after you with alarm clear on his features.

Jules doesn’t even realize when he starts moving, propelled by muscle memory to rush towards the commotion unfolding. All he can fixate on is the unmistakable sight of you hunched over the bin, retching violently into the receptacle as his father hovers anxiously behind you. Charles’ hand finds your hair, tenderly gathering the silky strands out of your face as his opposite palm glides questioningly down the length of your abdomen, coming to rest at your lower back.

The gesture is so painfully familiar, one Jules can vividly recall witnessing countless times in his childhood. All he can focus on is the way Charles’ fingers instinctively curve around the base of your stomach, palm gentle and reverent even now as you heave.

Something seems to click into place within Jules’ mind like tumblers in a lock. His breath leaves him in a painful wheeze, everything narrowing to the tunnel vision of you hunched so wretchedly, your distress the only palpable thing in his world.

“M-Maman?” He hears himself stammer out hoarsely.

You startle bodily at his voice, shoulders jolting rigidly. Jules can glimpse the tell-tale sheen of clammy perspiration beading across your brow and hairline as you continue to pant raggedly into the bin.

Just as soon as he arrives at your side, you’re drawing a tremulous breath and attempting to straighten, clearly aiming for nonchalance despite your haggard appearance. Charles’ palm doesn’t budge from where it rests so tellingly at the base of your belly, fingers still reverently curved.

“Jules, mon chou,” your voice wavers. You manage a wan smile even as color bleeds back into your ashen cheeks. “I’m alright, don’t worry-”

But he can’t help himself — his gaze remains riveted to Charles’ possessive palm still splayed across your abdomen. Suddenly, every innocuous little symptom Jules had decidedly overlooked the past few weeks comes slamming back into focus with disorienting clarity.

The perpetual fatigue you always hastened to dismiss over dinner visits. The periods of irritable moodiness that would overtake you without warning, followed swiftly by apologetic tears. And above all, the subtle thickening of your middle that each of his sisters gleefully attributed to too many of Pascale’s famous steak frites during your frequent family meals together.

Jules feels the world tilt dizzily around him, throat constricting with the realization as decades of old memories dredge up unbidden from the deepest recesses of his childhood.

How many times did he watch this exact scene from the outside looking in? His doting father peering down at his pregnant mother with such pride and unshakeable reverence in those early years of Jules’ life? All the subtle similarities, all the subconscious cues his brain must’ve been cataloging without his knowledge, suddenly dragged to the forefront of his mind.

“N-No ...” he sputters, voice scarcely audible even to his own ears over the pounding engulfing his skull. “She … you’re not …“

Charles’ eyes flick immediately to meet Jules’ shellshocked gaze, lips pressed into a grim line that’s nearly a grimace. Something indecipherable passes over his father’s features, though whether it’s disbelief or confirmation Jules can’t bring himself to discern.

Your attention remains mostly fixated on the bin as you try once more to control your breathing. But even from this side-profile view, Jules can make out the subtle disruption of your brow furrowing — the telltale crease of a wince flashing across your delicate mouth for just an instant before smoothing back into neutrality.

And it’s all he needs to see for the realization to cement itself.

Jules shakes his head in dazed incredulity, his equilibrium entirely shattered. All words seem to escape his grasp. He barely even registers the heavy clatter of something hitting the concrete mere inches from his feet.

When he finally wrenches his eyes away from you both, Jules makes out the fuzzy edges of several Sky News crew members hovering anxiously nearby, cameras and microphones trained on the unfolding scene with rapt attention.

One of the correspondents hovers at the outskirts of the scrum, dark eyes agape and face stricken with concern. Her lips move as if to call out to him, but Jules is already swaying dangerously, consciousness slipping rapidly through his fingers.

The muted whirlwind voices of his entire team shouting in alarm rings hollowly in his ears … his mother’s distressed cry an instant before his world pivots sideways and goes completely black.

“Mon bébé, no! Catch him, vite-”

***

Jules blinks slowly, the fluorescent garage lights swimming dizzily back into focus. His mouth feels stuffed full of cotton, pulse pounding an erratic rhythm against his temples. What on earth just happened?

“Jules? Can you hear me, darling?”

His mother’s concerned voice is the first thing to fully permeate the fog clouding his senses. He pries his eyelids open further to find your anxious face hovering inches from his own, deep creases etched around your eyes and mouth.

You lean back slightly as Jules struggles to sit upright, groaning at the persistent vertigo. His limbs feel leaden, but a steadying hand at his nape counters the dead weight bearing down on his neck.

“Easy there,” his father’s low tenor rumbles from behind. “Just take it slow.”

Jules allows Charles to guide him into a slumped sitting position against the wall, fighting against the whirling dizziness consuming his skull. A vaguely familiar face swims into his line of vision next — Romee, her beautiful features distorted with worry.

“Oh thank god,” she murmurs, palm finding his cheek and anchoring him further into the present. “You gave us all a heart attack, you moron!”

Jules blinks sluggishly, vaguely aware of the relief sweeping across Romee’s features as you and Charles crowd in as well. He swallows hard, mouth dry as a bone.

“What … happened?”

His voice comes out in a hoarse croak that doesn’t sound much like him at all. Even the minuscule effort of voicing those two words sends a prickly tremor ricocheting across his tender skull. A fresh wave of nausea assails him.

You crouch beside Romee, smoothing the damp hair back from Jules’ clammy brow without a second thought. But your hands are shaking faintly, he notices, and your cheeks seem unduly flushed.

Snatches of memory slowly begin filtering their way through the fog, sinking cold tendrils of realization into Jules’ gut. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the disorienting sight of the three of you clustered together for just a fraction of a second.

The split second of respite has everything coming rushing back in a torrent when he opens them again. You, hunched over the bin and retching pitifully. Charles fussing with evident concern, hands drifting across the unmistakable swell of your midsection with the deference of old habit.

All at once, the question slams back into Jules with the force of a physical blow, sending his head spinning anew. His eyes snap back open, mouth working in desperation as he tries to force out the words lodged in his throat.

“You ...” he rasps, gaze darting down towards your stomach before ripping back up to your faces. “She’s ...”

You and Charles exchange a loaded look, but Jules barely notices. He’s too busy following the subtle circuit of tension rippling through his parents’ expressions — a direct mirror of his own inner whiplash.

After all these years. With his father now forty-eight years old and you not far behind, and yet … here Jules sits, stunned speechless at the surreal possibility that-

“Y-You’re pregnant?” He finally chokes out in a strangled whisper. He knows he shouldn’t phrase it as a question, not really — the confirmation is basically written across every muted motion passing between you both.

And yet Jules’ brain still refuses to process the knowledge beyond a frantic sort of shock.

You let out a tiny sound at his words, almost involuntary — a helpless little exhale that seems to admit far more than any words could. Your eyes dance between Romee and Charles in a soundless plea.

Charles is the one to finally break the stifling silence, laying a tender palm on your back and meeting Jules’ owlish stare head-on.

“We, ah ...” He falters, clearing his throat gruffly as you drop your head in apparent fatigue. “Well, yes. Your mother is … with child again, it appears.”

The words seem to bypass Jules’ comprehension entirely, landing with all the force of a wispy feather brushing against his brain. He sucks in a sharp breath, cringing slightly at the sting of recycled, dry garage air searing his raw throat.

“But … how?” He sputters weakly, shaking his head as if to rattle his wits into some sort of coherent line. “I mean, when did this even … “

You make a choked sound in the back of your throat, quickly smothered against the sleeve of your jacket. Jules’ eyes flick reflexively to the subtle swell of your abdomen, so glaringly obvious now that the truth has been dragged into the light.

It’s strange, really — how he kept convincing himself it was simply the inevitable effects of middle-age slowing your metabolism over these past few months. Jules had attributed the gradual rounding of your figure to nothing but the natural passage of time.

He can’t even begin to estimate how far along you must be. Surely his keen eyes would’ve noticed the signs sooner otherwise? And yet … no one else seems to have picked up on the possibility at all until this very moment.

As always, Charles picks up on his inner turmoil without Jules needing to give it voice. His father reaches up to card gentle fingertips through Jules’ sweat-damp curls, expression perfectly placid.

“You know your mother and I have never exactly been … modest about our affections,” he murmurs with a wry twist of his lips. “So when a man and a woman love each other …”

Jules feels his cheeks heat furiously at the implication, mind grinding to a screeching halt at that level of transparency from his own father. You, too, look positively mortified — features drained of all color as you steadfastly avoid Romee’s avidly curious gaze.

“Oh god,” Jules chokes out, pitching forward to bury his face in his palms. His entire body thrums with unease, fresh waves of nausea clawing up his throat. “Please, I can’t — I don’t want to think about ...”

His father’s rich laughter cuts through the swell of discomfort rolling through Jules’ gut. He startles when Charles’ hand lands on his neck, solid and grounding.

“Breathe,” he soothes, a smile evident in his voice. “All this shock and outrage is completely unnecessary. Why shouldn’t your poor old man still experience the occasional joy of being a doting husband, hmm?”

“Oh my god, Papa!” Jules groans again, scandalized. But Charles merely chuckles harder, reaching down to haul Jules into a sitting position once more.

You remain hunched nearby, expression hopelessly torn between contrition and sheer amusement at the disastrous state of your firstborn. Even Romee is barely stifling her giggles, having clearly recovered from her earlier alarm to bask in the ridiculous diversion of his freakout.

“This is … I can’t even begin,” Jules wheezes, dropping his pounding head between his knees. “I’m going to have a sibling younger than my own baby! How is that even possible?”

Another ripple of chuckles sounds around him. Charles’ palm rubs comforting circles over his trembling shoulders — mock sympathetic, but still undeniably paternal in its anchoring warmth.

Then it’s Romee’s turn to smother a snort of indelicate laughter into her palm. “Honestly Jules, you’re acting just like a petulant little brat right now. I’d expect behavior like this from my little brothers, not a fully grown man about to become a father himself!”

That seems to finally shatter the tension engulfing the scene. You dissolve into a fit of giggles nearly as shameless as Romee’s, shoulders shaking with relief.

“Leave it to you to be the voice of reason,” the gratitude is clear in your tone. “I hope your child inherits your sensibility rather than-”

“Hey!” Jules protests weakly, raising his head just enough to cast you both an extremely feigned look of affront. “I’ll have you know I handle everything with the utmost sophistication ...”

Romee rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, drawing near enough to nudge his temple with her knee in a wordless reprimand. As she shifts, one hand trails down to cradle her own swollen abdomen — a gesture Jules swiftly mirrors without conscious thought, curving his palm around the slope of her belly.

His new sibling could very well be due soon after his own imminent parenthood. The realization nearly steals what little breath he has left. Jules’ vision blurs slightly, throat contracting as he blinks rapidly against the hot sting gathering in his eyes.

“Jules?” Romee murmurs, instantly concerned by his silence. “Schatje, whatever is the matter?”

“I … nothing, I just. ..” He huffs an incredulous breath, gaze darting reflexively back to the contrasting swells of your midsections. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

He’s helpless to do anything but drag you both into his arms, clutching tightly enough to convey the swell of emotion roaring through him.

You enfold him just as greedily, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing nothings. A second pair of arms snakes around his back, Romee asserting her own comforting presence with a gentle squeeze.

“I love you all so damn much,” Jules finally rasps when he can summon his voice once more. “More than you could ever know.”

A soft huff of delighted laughter sounds as you pull back just enough to look at him properly. Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears of your own, but it’s radiant joy that comes across your beautiful features most prominently.

“And we love you, darling,” you murmur, reaching up to swipe the lingering tracks from Jules’ cheekbones with tender pads of your thumbs.

“I really am so happy for you two,” he mumbles fervently into your hair, words nearly swallowed by the chaos of the surrounding garage. “Another little sibling to dote on … I can hardly believe how lucky I am.”

Perhaps it’s not so difficult to accept the greatest shock of all after witnessing the newest miracle taking shape within the growing roundness of your body.

He grins brilliantly, the last of his apprehension finally releasing in a giddy rush. “My baby brother or sister is going to be so spoiled, just you wait.”

[cassidyandonlycassidy]

tornadoes aren't more important than you

tyler owens (twisters) x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: pregnant!reader, married!reader, established relationship

“be careful, yeah?” you place your hands on tylers cheeks, tilting his head down to look you in the eye.

“i wish you could come with me.” tyler sighs, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours, his cowboy hat tipping upwards and off his head, clattering onto the hardwood.

“i know.” you miss it. the excitement, the fear, the anticipation of storm chasing. “but i don't think the baby would like me getting whipped around.”

tyler chuckles and presses his hands to your stomach, fully showing now that you've reached six months.

“im gonna be safe and im gonna be back home to you real soon.” tyler kisses you deeply, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you in close.

“uh, not to interrupt-” 

“you are interrupting, boone.” tyler looks up at him as he stands in the open doorway, trucks filling the driveway.

“we were just finishing saying goodbye.” you raise to your tiptoes and give tyler one more peck. 

“i love you.” you whisper against your husbands lips.

“i love you, baby.”

“ew.” boones nose scrunches up, still somehow not used to seeing you kiss despite being married for a year now.

“you stay safe too boone.” you point at him, watching as they head out the door and pile in the trucks.

you wave goodbye to everyone, tyler getting in last as he tips his hat he grabbed off the floor towards you, a silent promise to come back home.

you sigh as you watch them pull away, hand stroking over your belly as the trucks disappear in a cloud of dirt. “it's okay.” you whisper to the baby, but it's mostly for yourself. “daddy will be back.”

--

“hey.” you answer the phone with a smile on your face. “i watched the live stream.”

“pretty fucking cool huh?” 

“pretty cool that you let boone drive the rig.” you chuckle, knowing tyler did that specifically for you, to show you that he can let others take the lead, let them be the one to drive into the tornado.

“how's my baby doing?” tyler asks, ignoring your teasing.

“which one?” you giggle, laying a hand on your stomach. “im good, baby is kicking a lot though.”

“put me on speaker.” tyler requests. you roll your eyes but still turn the volume up and hold the speaker up to your belly.

“it's daddy.” tylers voice is half strict and half high baby voice. “you better stop giving your mama grief when im not there to help her. behave for just a bit longer, buddy.”

“i hope he listens to you.” you shake your head, bringing the phone back up. “how's the storms looking for tomorrow?”

“tracking a couple cells.” tyler confirms. “im coming home friday no matter what they look like over the weekend.”

“mhm, sure.” you roll your eyes, although you don't doubt it. now that you're pregnant, tyler is even more protective over you. he knows you can handle anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to force you to do it all on your own.

“i will. already miss that pretty face baby.” his country twang is music to your ears as you hum out.

“i miss you too. miss kissing your lips.���

“you're killing me, sugar.” tyler groans. you hear dani shouting something in the background.

“i-”

“you gotta go. i know. love you.”

“love you more, darling.”

--

you have tylers livestream on in the background as you clean the house, feeling the urge to nest and get everything prepared before you're too pregnant to do anything, and tyler certainly wouldn't let you lift a finger when hes home.

you always dreamt of a beautiful old farmhouse like this all your life, but before you could move in tyler insisted on building a proper storm shelter to keep you safe.

you unpack some of the boxes of things you bought for the baby's room, sticking to yellows and oranges to keep everything brightly colored and cohesive, in contrast to the darkening sky.

you're not right in the path of tornados, but they have been known to swing up and hit the closest town every couple years.

you know the cloudy sky is just a result of all the activity further to the west where your husband currently is.

you look back to your phone, watching for a moment as his handsome face turns to look out the window. you can see the reflection of the twister in his eyes, a mix of awe struck and fear that any man within his right mind would feel.

“god-” you look up to the ceiling. you're not the biggest believer, but growing up in the south has you always reverting to whispering a prayer. “keep my husband safe.”

--

you let out a yawn as you adjust, not knowing for sure the sound that woke you up until you hear it again, your cellphone vibrating on the nightstand.

“hello?” your voice is groggy as you answer. you didn't bother to look at the contact name, there's only one person who would be calling you at this hour. “tyler?”

“baby, get to the storm shelter right now.”

“what?” the words have you instantly awake, hopping to your feet and looking out the window of your second story bedroom. “it looks fine.”

“im- just trust me! are you going?” you can hear the nerves in tyler's voice as well as the roaring of his truck no doubt speeding down the road.

“yes.” you confirm, grabbing one of tylers sweatshirts and slipping it over your head before finding a pair of shoes. “im going down the stairs right now.”

the second you step outside, you can feel the shift in the air.

“im tracking it on the data. we reported it but they said it's not on their maps as if our equipment isn't ten years newer.”

you listen to tylers rant as you round the house to pull open the storm shelter doors. it's not a glamorous area, small and tight but completely concrete and filled with a couple boxes of supplies.

“im in the shelter, ty.” you reassure him as you close the latch. “im safe. the babys safe.”

“it's building.” tyler says, no doubt looking at the radar or getting reports fed to him from boone. “im coming home to you, ill be there in two hours. fuck it, make it an hour and a half.”

“it's wednesday.” you state, although its just after midnight so technically thursday. “you said you weren't coming home until friday.”

“that was before a torando was gonna hit you. baby, i don't want you to go through this alone when you're pregnant.”

“ill be fine.” you reassure tyler. “but if you want to come back and make sure, you're more than welcome. like i said, i miss your lips.”

“gonna give you lots of kisses to make up for being gone.”

“i won't argue with that.” your phone beeps and you pull it away from your ear to realize you're losing service. “i think we are going to disconnect soon.”

“stay on as long as you possibly can.”

you try, but your phone beeps again and the call drops out.

sitting alone in the darkness heightens your other senses, feeling the cold air sneaking in through every available crack as your ears pick up the sound of the wind roaring.

you close your eyes and press your hands against your stomach, softly singing a nursery rhyme that your mother sung to you when you were a baby, your eyes sliding closed as you fall back asleep.

--

you're startled awake suddenly as the door rips open, only for tyler to quickly enter.

“is it over?” you ask, standing up and wobbling slightly. tyler grabs your hips, holding you up and looking at you up and down, his eyes examining you. you watch the stress and fear and anxiety melt away to be replaced with softness and love.

“it's over.” he confirms, tugging you in close. 

“the house?”

“a busted window and a downed tree blocking the driveway. that's all.” tyler presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent.

“wasn't bad then.” you wrap your arms around his waist, enjoying the warm embrace.

“no, but i got so fucking scared knowing you were here all alone.” tyler pulls away only to help you up the stairs, hating seeing you confined to the shelter even if it is to keep you safe.

“i just… i can't do this while you're pregnant. i can't leave you here, or anywhere, alone knowing something could happen to you.”

tyler pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to his youtube channel, going live and waiting for a couple users to join.

he holds the camera up so he can see himself and you, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

“as you folks know, my lovely wife here is pregnant with our first child. as much as i love tornado wrangling, i love my girl more. for the next six months im going to be taking a step back, but don't unsubscribe, boone is taking over to keep the excitement coming.”

he doesn't even say goodbye, simply ending the livestream, knowing one of his followers surely recorded it to spread the news around.

“ty, you didn't have to do that.”

“yes, i did.” tyler bends down to lift you up, carrying you across the threshold of your house just like he did the day you got married. “im gonna be with you throughout everything. tornados aren't more important than you.”

[crazy-only]

oscar finding his reporter cute ! (fluff)

pairing: oscar x fem!reader

premis: oscar helps a shy reporter during an interview and ends up crushing on her! short and sweet, fluff!

preface: posting this in honor of him getting 2nd place in austria !! good job oscar <3

you felt a tap on your shoulder and you spun around, finding a tall guy staring at you. his eyes were bored and a bit annoyed.

“um, can i help you?” you ask politely, checking your watch.

you had already interviewed the drivers that came in third and second place, and you were currently waiting on the first-placing driver to show up.

truth be told, you weren’t really qualified for the job—your sister decided to suddenly honeymoon with her wife and begged for you to replace her. hesitantly, you agreed, dying your hair to match her natural color and hoping your features were similar enough.

the young man scoffed and ran a hand over his face. “woman, you’re joking, yeah?” he asked after rolling his eyes.

honestly, you would’ve assumed this moody guy was the winner as he wore a racing suit, certainly an f1 driver with the after effects of participating in a race apparent, sweat running down his neck leading to the contour of his—

no, y/n! focus! your sister called moments ago saying the winner of the race was extremely ugly, and, according to her words, “you can’t miss him.”

and, as much as you hated to admit it, the fiesty male was far too attractive to fit your sister’s description.

“sorry, i, um, don’t follow?” you say, nervously running your fingers through your hair, microphone in the other hand.

the man looked back to face an older man sporting a mclaren hat, the former muttering something while angrily staring at you.

is this what a red flag feels like before getting torn to shreds by a bull?

“ok, lisa, you’re on air!”

you turn around rapidly at the mention of your sister’s name, searching for the driver you needed to interview.

“um,” you start shyly, looking into the scary camera. “we are still waiting on the pole position winner for the silverstone grand prix—“

there’s laughs amongst the viewers, and you cock your head trying to find their source of amusement.

“—well we are waiting on him to arrive, so sit tight while we try to find him!”

yet, to your horror, the camera stays on, the filming crew motioning for you to continue.

“hey.”

you turn to find the same utterly attractive yet rude driver staring down at you, mouth in a line and arms crossed as if he were the one that should be stressed.

“oh, you again,” you accidentally mutter into the microphone, freezing once you realized what you’ve done. except, the crowd simply laughed.

you cursed under your breath.

they’re laughing at you, y/n. you’re such a dumbass.

“yes,” the young man said sarcastically while tugging the mic towards himself, only helping to raise the volume of the laughs from the stands. “it’s me again.”

you nodded, anxiety burning in your veins, not knowing what to say. this was not as simple as your sister had said it would be.

“while we’re waiting for the grand prix winner,” oscar said, now stealing the mic completely, “why don’t i ask you some questions, reporter?”

crap!

“uh, okay,” you murmur into the mic the driver stretches towards you. for some reason your palms started getting clammy. was it your nerves?

he puts a hand on his hip and pretends to be in a deep state of thinking. “let’s start with an easy question.” he came closer so your bodies were only a pace away.

“who’s your favorite driver?”

uh oh.

“th-that would be, erm, lan?—lando!”

phew. thank god you remembered the name of the last driver you interviewed!

but the driver interviewing you walked away, suddenly a bit angry. then he ran back into frame, looking into the camera. “do you see how i’m treated around here?”

the crowds laughed, and you hid your smile.

was this the same person you met earlier? how was he so. so—so amiable?

“ok ms. reporter, next one: do you have a sister?”

“yes,” you said into the outstretched mic, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.

then the man brushed his hand against yours just below the vision of the camera, and—was that a smile? did he just smile at you?

your breathing slowed, thankfully feeling a lot more calm.

you continued, saying, “i do. her name is y/n.”

the driver nodded, acting as if he were actually interested. “is she cute?” the man whispered into the mic.

and god, you would’ve thought this was a comedy show thanks to the immense amount of laughing if he weren’t dressed in a sweaty race suit that perfectly hugged his abdominal region and quads—

then you saw him walk slightly out of the frame, waving at you frantically. he mouthed:

ask me about the race!

good idea.

you leaned into the mic the man held, flooded by his addicting scent. “how was your race?”

“ah, thanks for asking,” he said, clearly having a talent for acting. “it was great! i’m really happy with my results. i scored a lot of points for my team, so honestly i couldn’t have asked for more.”

he went on about the technicalities and such of his car, what went wrong and right, what he should improve on; thankfully he talked until the time was out.

“well, there you have it!” you say as the camera crew gave you the cue to stop the interview.

“what’s your name, again?” you whispered to him.

at this point he just leaned into the mic. “it’s oscar piastri.” the crowd went wild, making him smile.

for some reason you got stupidly jealous.

“seems our pole position driver never showed up—“ you started saying, until the camera crew pointed towards a lit screen with words.

“but nonetheless, thank you for tuning in,” you said, and then continued reading the transcript, explaining the time and date for the next race.

once finished, the camera finally shut off, and with a big sigh, you retired your mic and made your way to your car. never again were you doing another favor for your sister.

“good job, y/n,” oscar murmured, having bent down from behind so only you could hear him. “turns out you are cute.”

fuck. how did he find out?

you swept around, hand over mouth in dread.

“oh, come on, it was obvious!” oscar said proudly. “you did not know a single thing about racing—and you look so different from your sister.”

you simply stood in shock. quietly gauging whatever despicable plan he was carrying out.

“do you still not know who i am?” he asked incredulously.

you cocked your head. “you’re a driver. what was it? osc-oscar pastry?”

he handed his heavy helmet over to you.

“there. now you’ll never forget my name again. it’s fucking piastri.” he ran his hands over his face, losing patience.

“ask me who won the race!” oscar finally said, cracking.

“um, we aren’t in the interview anymore?—“

he shook you by the arms, saying, “i won the goddamn race! i got first, y/n!”

“you’re the grand prix winner?! b-but my sister told me you were supposed to be unattractive!”

oscar raised his eyebrows, asking “is that so?” he tilted his head slightly, a cheshire cat’s smile forming.

“does that mean you find me attractive?”

uh oh.

your body was on fire, maybe more anxious than from the interview.

“since you kept staring at my body the whole interview,” oscar said as he smirked down at you, his brown eyes clearly satisfied at your shocked reaction. “take me out and i won’t tell.”

maybe you would do more of your sister’s favors.

[sv4llm4nnen]

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