#it's also not a race always take your time at your own pace

[crystallizsch]

I FORGOT TO SAY IN MY LAST ASK IM SORRY but I think your ocs are very cool 🤸‍♀️ I was scared to send that last one tho omgjskfnsnmd I haven't interected with anything on here at all yet but you were so nice???? I have now gained the courage to Start Doing Things, I thank you kindly 💃💃💃

AAAH YES YES I'M CHEERING FOR YOU JUST

✨✨Start Doing Things ✨✨

whatever you start doing I hope you find joy in it!! 😤✨ It makes me happy to hear that i gave you that little push 😭

ALSO thank you so much I'm so glad you like my little sillies as well 😭💕😭💕

[verstappen-cult]

I would LOVE a part two of the birthday drabble if ur open to that? maybe how max tries to ask for reader’s forgiveness? maybe asking Charles for help but he’s just like “no u gotta figure it out on ur own this time buddy” bc he’s mad at him too?

PART ONE. Max totally blanks on your birthday plans and it’s not pretty.

Max is pacing around the kitchen when you wake up the next morning. When his gaze snaps up to meet yours, you can see the bags under his eyes. You think about reaching for him when you remember what happened, so, you simply walk past him to make some coffee.

“Good morning, schat.” He whispers, looking down. You’re still very much hurt but seeing him like this breaks your heart. 

Maybe you’re being too mean, giving him the cold shoulder and not even meeting his eyes, but you also think about what your best friend said last night when you called her crying. He needs to sort out his priorities and give you what you deserve. And you also need to stand up for yourself, you’ve let Max get away with similar things in the past and it’s time for that to stop. 

“Good morning,” Charles says as he enters the kitchen. He looks at Max but doesn’t say anything when he sees his eyes filled with tears. You’re hurt but he’s angry. “Want me to drive to your appointment?” 

“Mmh.” You nod, taking your cup of coffee and going back to your room. 

Charles opens the fridge and tries to look busy waiting for Max to get the fuck out of the kitchen. But that doesn’t happen and he is forced to close the door and face his boyfriend. 

“Have you talked to her?” Max asks him, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Yea’,” Charles simply answers, trying to choose between an apple or banana for breakfast. You or Max are the ones always cooking because Charles just can’t do it, but you’re not in the mood to make breakfast and he’s definitely not gonna ask Max. “I’m not the one who fucked everything up.” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I just—I didn’t forget, but there were—”

“I don’t fucking care, Max. It was her birthday! It was supposed to be special but instead of enjoying the one day—the only day she really asks for our attention, she cried all the way home.”  

Max feels like crying again. He feels awful but doesn’t know what to do to make things better. 

The Dutchman opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Charles holds his palm up, shutting him up. 

“I won’t tell you what to do, you need to figure that out by yourself.” 

Charles storms out of the kitchen, leaving a sad Max behind. 

You don’t say goodbye when you leave but Charles, at least, tells him that they should be home by eight, to not wait for them because they will be having lunch together. He doesn’t ask Max if he wants to join. 

Max doesn’t know what to do. 

You’ve never been this angry before. Charles is a different story, they’ve been racing their whole lives together, so, he has seen parts of Charles you don’t even know. 

Max thinks about calling his mom to ask her for advice, God, even calling his sister, but rejects the idea because he knows what they will say. 

It’s all his fault. Stupid Max, stupid SimRacing—

Max gets up from the couch, he doesn’t know how much has passed since you left, but the sun is already sitting down. 

When Max enters his streaming room he wants to cry again. And he does. 

He cries as he disconnects everything. He cries when he smashes the camera onto the floor. He cries while throwing a chair across the room, crashing against the wall. He cries looking at the mess he made, the mess he is.

Max falls to the floor and cries, and cries, and cries, until he feels two strong arms around him and soft words spoken into his ear. 

“Max, breathe with me, please,” Charles begs, caressing his back and lifting his chin up with his free hand. Max’s gaze focuses on his face as he imitates his boyfriend, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It takes some time, but Max eventually stops shaking. “Oh, Max. What did you do?” Charles sounds so broken and disappointed, Max doesn’t want him to feel like that. He’s done so much already. 

Max starts crying again. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Charles wipes his tears and kisses his eyelids. 

Max doesn’t deserve this. 

“Hey, love.” Max turns his head around at the sound of your voice. You crouch down next to him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. “Would you drink this, please? For me?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. You guide the glass to his lips and he drinks the water — with a little bit of sugar you always add when you’re not feeling okay. 

Max wants to talk, he wants to apologize again, he wants to scream at you and Charles for being so attentive with him when he doesn’t deserve it. But he feels so tired, all he can do is lean into your touch when you cradle his face with both your hands, palms comfortable against the stubble on his cheeks. 

“We’re gonna buy new things and me and Charles will help you set everything up, okay?”

Max wants to scream. Instead, he barely has the voice to say, “I don’t want any of this. I fucked up because of this stupid shit.”

“Max,” Charles calls his name, moving around so he’s sitting next to you. “You love it.”

“I love you more.” He simply says, looking between you and Charles. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” He lets silent tears fall down his cheeks. 

“I know you’re sorry.” You lean to leave a kiss on his forehead, then, you look directly into his eyes. “I’m still hurt, Max. I won’t lie. We need to have a long conversation, the three of us, but I don’t want you to quit something that you love and enjoy so much. I just,” You notice you’re crying when Max wipes the tears with his thumb. “I want to be a priority in your life.”

“And you are!” He wants to smash his head onto the floor. “God you,” He takes your hand, lips quivering. “and you,” He takes Charles’s hand then. He guides them to his chest, just where his heart is. “are the most important people in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There’s still so much to say but, for right now, you just want to be as close as possible. You’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to go from here.

[cheriladycl01]

Double the Interviews - Oscar Piastri x GreekOlympicTennis! Reader

Plot: WAG duties consist of you literally being in more interviews than Oscar because of your outgoing and bubbly personality.

Credit to lewdo for the GIF

"Y/N can we have a minute of your time please?" an interviewer asks pulling you away from your friend who you look over at. She smiles at you and nods, making her way back to the McLaren garage.

"How are you feeling about the race tomorrow?" he asks and you put a serious face on.

"Yeah, I think the car's got good pace, looking to be in some top positions and I'm excited to see what happens!" you nod and the interviewer holds back their laugh.

"Spoken like a true driver!" he chuckles and you start to laugh as well.

"How are you feeling knowing come summer you'll be competing in the Olympics for Greece in Paris while Oscar is also competing in his own sport?" he asks and you nod, carefully listening to the question to not misunderstand him.

"Yeah of course. You know it's always hard when you have those conflicting schedules especially in athlete relationships. You know I'm still competing in ATP and I have been for a while, and then going into the Olympics on top of that is just immense. I get to travel with my best friend who I've played tennis with since 3 years old but at the same time Osc isn't there all the time. I think that's why today is just so important to me, to be here to support him at his home race!" you smile to the man in front of you who slowly pulls the mic back towards him.

"Will we be seeing Oscar at the Olympics this year?" he asks.

"I think at this stage it's hard to tell, F1 has the longest and busiest schedule to date this year and there's more stress and pressure on the drivers than ever with all the changes taking place ahead of 2025 and 2026, so you know I'd love Oscar to be able to come and see me take home another medal, but again it's one of those moments where you can't be in two places at once!" you explain, knowing he'd already planned to come for your first event of the summer, and would try and stay with you, until it ended for you. But even he didn't know when McLaren would request for him in Woking, or if he'd go home to spend a little needed time with his family.

"Well, I think it's safe to say we are all wishing for Gold for you again this year. Good luck to you and Y/BFF/N who we did see earlier, but dipped away last minute before i could invite her!" he smiles at you, and you smile back.

"You'll see us at the Olympics up at the very top. We promise!" you give the camera a cheesy grin before saying your goodbye's and leaving him to question the next driver who was eagerly waiting behind you.

"There you are!" you hear the Australian accent you knew all to well from your left.

"Hey baby!" you smile, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on Oscar's cheek.

"Saw Y/BFF/N come back without you, when she told me you were stolen for an interview i thought i'd come see if you needed saving" he softly tells you placing a light and gentle hand in your smiling softly down at you.

"Ah, you see baby that is where we are completely and utterly different. I love talking to all your work colleagues!" you say, pulling his hand along so you can both walk back together. You wave at people as you walk past saying small hello's and posing for any camera's you spot in your peripheral.

"You consider the media work colleagues of mine?" he asks with a low laugh that has you cocking your head to one side in question.

"You don't?" you offer back.

"No, my colleagues are my team and the other drivers!" he admits with a blank look on his face that just screams that no cogs are turning up there.

"I mean, you work with the media every time your here. I'd say you work with them, they might not be on your team but they are still apart of your sport!" you admit, he goes to argue but you put a soft finger on his lip.

"Would you consider my ball boy's as my colleagues?" you ask, and he thinks for a second before sighing and nodding.

"There you go then! F1 interviewers are your work colleagues and i like talking to them, they always have very insightful questions!" you smile.

"Insightful or invasive?" he queries looking across at you, brows a little furrowed.

"Damn, you really are a young Kimi Raikkonen. I see what the fans mean now!" you laugh at his expression which quickly tries to change but the frown lines remain.

"God, we need to go back to my mum's for some rest and relaxation" you sigh, starting to massage his wrist and up his arm making him sigh.

"Mmmm, we do I really miss that one dish that she makes us!"

"The Tzatziki with the roasted meat and vegetable kebabs or Moussaka?" you ask looking over at him knowing he enjoyed both.

"Oh! I was thinking of the Moussaka, but the Tzatziki is good. My trainer actually said that it was the perfect mix!" he admitted, still holding that blank expression.

"But he tells you off for the Honey Cake!" you sigh knowing that it was a delicacy you didn't get very often too, being an athlete and all meant that you had to have a very strict diet and couldn't lie to your trainer about cheat days you'd have.

"Okay but that Honey Cake is lethal! You cant stop when you start eating it!" he says before starting to quietly ramble about all his favorite foods as you enter the confides of his driver room away from the public eye.

You cant help but just watch and smile at him, people rarely get to see this funny talkative side of Oscar that could actually out ramble you sometimes which should be near impossible as you were very much a yapper. Especially when you got passionate and would slip in some of you mother tongue without realizing.

"What?, Why are you staring at me?" he asks, after realizing he'd started to rant.

"I just love watching you talk, you nose scrunches when you get passionate about a topic and it's cute" you smile, looking down knowing he'd be a blushing mess.

"Shut up! You are the yapper here, start yapping!" he says, making you burst out laughing while he goes to sit down on the small sofa.

"I'm going to miss you next week!" you sigh as you sit down on his lap where he wraps his arms tightly around you and rests his head in the crook of you neck.

"I know, but I'll come see you at your next tournament after the triple-header!" he smiles, kissing against your neck your body relaxing against his.

"It's just hard, god I'm clingy!" you attempt to laugh the tears away.

"Lando wants to know if you and Y/BFF/N are down for a rematch" he smirks changing the conversation to a more light-hearted one.

"Oh you boys are so on!" you grin.

y/user

Liked by oscarpiastri and landonorris

y/user: Photo Dump from the boyf’s homeland! Love you Australia 🇦🇺

View all 278 comments

oscarpiastri: it was fun playing doubles with you and y/bff/n. Best you next time

landonorris: these guys are kinda good at tennis yo!

-> y/user: does the gold medal mean nothing to you?

-> landonorris: not really :0

-> y/user: well … Osc?

-> oscarpiastri: don’t involve me :(

Your Instagram Story Caption:

Double Trouble in Stralia 🇦🇺

Taglist:

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[coco-loco-nut]

Wreck

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Sister Reader

Summary: Charles has a racing inchident with his sister

A/n: sorry for modifying the request, I couldn't bring myself to send baby leclerc to the hospital

requests open masterlist

——————

“Let’s go, Y/n, we are going to be late,” Charles bangs on your hotel room door. You open it, giving him a death glare as he walks in.

“I might actually murder you,” you scowl, pulling your hair up into a pony tail. Charles looks all fashionable heading into race day while you just wear a Mercedes polo.

“No you won’t, you love me,”

“Not more than Arthur and Enzo,” you say, the former stands up from the couch in your room.

“Ha, I knew she loved me,” Arthur says, shoving your team backpack into your hands.

“Alright, let’s go. Someone has an F2 race to drive in,” you take a quick glance around the room, making sure nothing was left behind. The three of you enter the paddock and cameras capture your banter. You don’t even stop in the F1 motorhomes, the three of you walk with Arthur to his garage. Lorenzo is waiting for you three.

“You two go back to the F1 paddock, you have your own races to prep for,” Enzo tutts, you roll your eyes lovingly at your older brother.

“Good luck out there, Arthur. I’ll be watching,” you hug your baby brother, who is more than happy to return the hug. Due to his association with Ferrari, you usually only see him on race days when visiting Charles unless there is a support race.

“I’ll see you later,” Arthur tells you, waving goodbye to you and Charles.

“Meet me in Ferrari to watch the race,” Charles says when your reach the Mercedes motorhome.

“There are the best siblings in the paddock,” George greets the two of you.

“We do have the best relationship in the paddock,” you laugh. “I’ll see you later, Charles,” you wave as you walk in with George.

“I think we have a real shot today,” George says, grabbing two coffees.

“Thanks, I agree. The car feels great this weekend and it’s a weaker track for Red Bull. Ferrari are also feeling good, so it will be a strategy fight,” you hum.

You and Charles cheer your little brother on during his feature race, celebrating when he makes the podium. Unfortunately you can’t watch it due to the Drivers’ Parade. Your PR team shows you that you and Charles are trending thanks to your ‘perfect sibling bond’.

“Charles, apparently we have the perfect sibling bond,” you tell him. Your garages are beside each other, which is only a little confusing for some staff.

“If only they knew the truth,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Good luck on the track today,” you hug each other like always.

“You too, may the best Leclerc win,” you smile, shaking his hand, then going back into your garage to talk with your team.

“Our strategy is sound, how are you feeling?” your race engineer asks.

“Have we looked at an overcut? The tires have been good and the car has good pace this weekend,” you suggest, looking at data from the support races.

“That is something we can look at,” Toto agrees. Having Toto in the garage is oddly comforting, he is an active member of your conversations.

“No worries if we don’t go with it, just thought I’d throw it out there,” you nod. the last bit of time before the race flies and before you know it you are in the car, waiting to release the brake and hit the gas.

A good start and good strategy has you fighting for second. As you are approaching your last pit stop later in the race, your engineer informs you that they are going with your overcut idea. You push the car as Charles pits. You were right, a beautiful overcut puts you in P2.

As you are approaching the end of the race, you are fighting with Charles. To you he is just a Ferrari and to him you are just a Mercedes. You feel your wheel get clipped and your car spins out, sending you into the wall. You confirm that you are okay and climb out of your car, frustrated beyond belief. It doesn’t take too long for someone to pick you up and take you to the medical station to get checked out.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Lorenzo and Arthur rush in.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just sore. Is Charles okay?” you ask in return.

“The race just ended, we haven’t gotten a chance to speak with him yet but he sounded upset on the radios,” Arthur tells you, making you move over on the medical bed so he can lay down.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to clip you. Are you okay?” Charles rushes in, clearly distressed.

“That depends, where did you finish?” you grin.

“P7, I took damage,” Charles says a little confused.

“Then yeah, I’m fine. If you had finished top 5 it would’ve been different. Relax, it was a racing incident, the track narrowed and we both didn’t leave a lot of room. I may not be the FIA, but I don’t blame you,” you ramble a little, trying to stop Charles before he spirals.

“But I hurt you, oh god, what if you died? I shouldn’t ever race again,” you look at your brothers to help, “Arthur do you want my seat?” Charles has tears in his eyes, not quite believing you.

“Ye-” Arthur starts before Lorenzo cuts him off.

“Charles, Y/n is fine. Look at her. She’s a little banged up but that’s nothing that painkillers and a couple days off won’t fix. Quit offering Arthur your seat any time you mess up,” Lorenzo says firmly.

“No, keep offering Arthur your seat. He deserves it more,” you tease, an evil grin on your face. Charles notices and snaps back to reality.

“Next time you say that it’s on sight, I will run you off the track,” Charles pouts.

“Alright, let’s stop before the FIA hears something and holds it against you, even if it’s just sibling banter,” Lorenzo huffs, a little tired of being the parent of the four of you.

"I really am sorry," Charles reiterates, forcing Arthur off the medical bed so he can have the spot.

"I know, it's why you are going to take us out for a really nice dinner," you grin. "Smile," you take a selfie of you and Charles to post on your socials to let the fans know that you are fine. Naturally, you captioned it "nothing, just an inchident."

[emmyrosee]

Kita shinsuke gets confused after you start dating.

It’s not like it’s been a long time, far from it, but you felt so comfortable in his everyday life that he stops thinking too hard about your interactions.

You reach for his hand, he takes it. You shiver, he gives you his jacket. You’re hungry, he shares his snacks.

He gives you a compliment, you… hate him?

You must. There it is, in capital letters under his own blue text: OFBEOD KITAAAA I HATE YOU FRRR😭😭

His heart races as he rereads the text over and over again, unsure of what he could’ve possibly said to have you say ‘I hate you.’

Whatever it is, he needs to find a way to apologize.

The idea of upsetting you in a way he barely understands is concerning, it makes him extremely saddened, and he picks up his pace to get to practice.

He’s sure there’s someone there that can help him decipher your distress.

Leave it to the two twins, tying their shoes in sync, to be the first ones to notice his stress.

“Kita-San?” Osamu asks, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” atsumu continues. “You’re late- you’re NEVER late.”

“And you look like you’re about to upchuck.”

Lovely.

“Osamu, Atsumu,” he says, breath shaky as the twins turn to look up at him. “You’re… familiar with relationships, yes?”

“Well he’s been single since birth-“

“HEY!”

“-but I’ve got a little bit of knowledge. What’s up?”

Kita gnaws on his lip before he passes the phone to the grey haired twin, showing him your sudden outburst of hatred towards him. Osamu quirks a confused brow as his eyes glaze over the text, the blonde twin quickly popping on his feet to peer over Osamu’s shoulder to read along.

Osamu flicks his eyes from his phone up to Kita, “what am I looking at?”

“She hates me,” he says, a frightened lilt in his tone. “And I don’t know what I do. I don’t know what I did,or said, or how I can fix this. And I…” he takes a breath in to calm down, “I need your help.”

Osamu stays silent for a bit, and atsumu cracks a cheesy smile, “cap… you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t do anything- this is just… how some girls act,” osamu explains, and kita feels his cheeks warm up from the sudden crowd that’s gathered.

“Are we teaching Kita-San something now?” Suna teases, peering over Osamu’s shoulder to read the message. “Teaching him about giiiiiirls.”

And shinsuke wants to say something back, about how he knows girls and he doesn’t need to be taught anything…

But maybe he does.

Osamu takes a small breath in before passing his captain’s phone back to him, “sometimes, girls are just… uhm….”

“Aggressive?” He asks, and Akagi chuckles behind him.

“No,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “I would probably say more… excited than guys, and it makes them kinda wanna… be… ferocious?”

“Feral?” Suna chimes in.

“Buck wild?”

“How about all of the above,” Aran says easily.

Kita quirks a brow, “so she doesn’t actually hate me?”

“No! She’s just excited that you complimented her, I think.”

“Yeah Kita-San,” Atsumu chuckles. “Girls only say they hate you when they love you; that’s like. A thing.”

“They also bite,” Akagi cuts in. “For… some reason.”

“They BITE?”

“I’ve been smacked so many times,” Aran playfully laments, and Shinsuke’s head whips towards him, only to make the ace shrug, “what? She’ll get excited to see you, or something good happens, and she just. Smacks your arms. It doesn’t always hurt.”

“What do you mean ALWAYS!” Shinsuke is suddenly extremely nervous about whether he received a girlfriend… or a pitbull.

“Or she’ll bite you,” Suna hums.

“Or says she hates you,” the twins circle back. At seeing their captains new nerves, they rise to their feet to clap him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, cap,” the blonde assures. “It’ll catch you by surprise, sure.”

“May be a little painful,” osamu snorts.

Atsumu snickers, “but you’ve liked her for a long time. And if it’s too much, you tell her to stop.” He nods before turning on his heel and mumbling a soft ‘hell knows you’re good at that,’ under his breath.

The conversation makes Shinsuke… convinced. He’s sure that there’s minimal that you can do to upset him, even if these methods of love lean far into the unconventional. He gnaws at his lip as the crowd disperses, golden eyes glazing over the contents once more.

He cracks a small smile, taking a soft breath in and letting his fingers take over typing and saying everything he could want to say in just a few words.

SENT I love you, too :)

You reply with an absolute jumble of words and praises, capitals and random emojis. He smiles before planting his phone in his bag and heading out to practice, feeling it buzz more than a few times in his pocket.

Maybe a few well intentioned bite marks wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.

[xiakato]

NATTY - All I Left To Give (M)

“I can’t keep doing this Natty,” You tell her, tears welling up in his eyes. The pain inside of your heart has fallen on her deaf ears long enough. The Toxicity of her ‘love’ has become too much to bear. 

“Can’t keep doing what?” She turns around, her beauty is out of this world. You almost don’t want to continue this train of thought, just drop the whole thing. 

“Natty, this whole fling? IF you can even call it that. The constant being led around with love on a stick. The constant 180’s in what you feel for me. I’m tired of it.”

“It’s more than that Y/n. You know that I love you, it’s just balancing the whole idol thing and my relationship with you gets a bit hectic,” She steps towards you, your eyes trailing up her long milky white leg ending off at her short mini skirt that she loves to wear to tease you. 

“Bullshit Natty, you know that Julie tells me everything. You say that you’re going to see me but you really end up in some ghetto ass bar.” 

“That only happened once Y/n, and I apologized profusely for that.” 

“Natty please, let’s just end it. It’s not good for me.”

“I don’t want to let you go Y/n, You’re mine.” 

“But you’re not mine, I know it all too well.” 

She stares at you, you can’t help but to look at her features taking them in one last time. Her eyes,nose,lips. Perfection in your eyes,and yet there’s always something behind those eyes of hers. She takes your hand, “One last time,” She pulls you closer, “For the both of us.”   

You let her take you to the hotel room, the mood is tense and somber. She softly caresses your hand with her thumb. She goes to turn on the lights, but you stop her, “Don’t turn on the lights,” She looks at you using the moonlight illuminating the room. 

“Why?” She asks softly, moving her hand to your cheek. The look she gives you also makes you want to see her again after time. You repeat to yourself that this is the last time.

“I’ll pretend that you’re mine,” You push her to the bed, her beauty is doubled by the moonlit room as you kiss her, devoid of the passion that was once behind it. She wraps her arms around your neck, kissing you back with the passion that you lack. 

“Kiss me like you mean it Y/n,” She whispers as her eyes dart from your eyes to your lips. Kissing her again, pouring every bit of passion that you withheld from her. She moans into the kiss as your hand roams down her body undoing the buttons of her shirt. Revealing her black lace bra, you break the kiss as you pepper kisses down her neck to her collar bone. Taking in the sight below you, her porcelain skin clad in your favorite set of hers that you have seen over the years. She blushes as she watches you stare at her, “Make love to me… baby,” She only has called you that once and she said that it was an accident, your heart races as you take off the rest of her clothes along with yours. Feeling her legs wrap around you, her hands gripping onto your forearms, nails digging into your skin as you slowly give her inch by inch. She squeezes tightly around your cock as you get deeper. 

“Fuck,” You mutter under your breath as you rest your forehead onto hers as the two of you stare into each other's eyes, you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t see the love behind her look at you.  Her arms are holding you tightly as you get into a slow rhythm feeling every bit of her. 

“You f-feel so good inside of me baby,” She moans out, making you quicken your pace slightly, “Don’t stop please I need you, I need to feel you,” Her nails dig into your back. Your hips piston into hers as you give her everything you have left to give, “Fuck yes, Just like that baby,” You leave hickeys on her neck, something she never let you do before, but you could careless now. Her arms wrap back around your neck holding you tighter than before, “I’m going to cum baby, I-” She cries out as her leg shake, yet stay locked wrapped around you. You keep going, chasing your own orgasm. 

“So good Natty,” You mutter as you piston in and out, slow then fast, deep then shallow. She mews as she rides the high of your assault and recent orgasm. She grabs a handful of your hair pulling you into a heated kiss, her tongue licks your lips asking for entrance. You let her in, her tongue fights yours for dominance as you keep up your rhythm as you start throb as your orgasm sneaks up on you. You try to pull out but she locks you down. 

“Cum in me babyboy, fill me up,” She tells you so you let go filling her up, she tightens up around you milking every last drop.  Once the high deads down, you look into her eyes as she caresses your cheek, the love behind her eyes is irreplaceable as the both of you close your eyes, falling asleep in her arms. 

You shake awake a few hours later, Natty cuddled up by your side. You replace yourself with a pillow, leaving a note on the nightstand. Quickly and quietly getting dressed, you caress her cheek softly as she snuggles into your hand. Leaving her a kiss on the cheek, you turn around and leave. 

“Baby?” You hear her voice call out, stopping you in your tracks, you look back and see her staring at your back, “Stay please.” 

“I can’t, I don’t have anything left to give,” You turn back around, gripping the doorknob.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Her arms wrap around your waist, “Let me give you what I have to give.”

[goingmerryfics]

Arguments w/ Shanks, Buggy, & Mihawk

Content: Gender Neutral reader, no NSFW. Maybe some slightly angsty stuff? Not really though.

Shanks

Arguing with him is either exhausting or it’s pointless, there’s never an in-between

Shanks doesn’t really take most arguments seriously because they’re either started by something extremely unimportant or he’s already made his decision and he’s not going to back down on his opinion

Pointless, because he’s not going to change his mind and he’s laughing at you while you’re trying to talk to him

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

Yup. Pointless. It’ll just make you more angry and him more entertained

The exhausting arguments are when he’s actually serious- and while he’s not mad at you, he’s mad that you can’t see his reasonings for doing what he’s doing

Especially when it comes to keeping you safe

Shanks won’t back down and it’s impossible to change his mind while he’s this pissed off, so it’s always best to just separate and come back later to talk it out when you’re both calm

While you do what you need to do in order to relax, Shanks festers in his anger and reflects on the things that were said between the two of you. His crewmates try to cheer him up- they offer him booze, they crack jokes, but he’s not in the mood for either and everyone is concerned

Truthfully, he’s worried. While he’s still not willing to change his mind, he doesn’t want to lose the relationship you two have worked so hard to build and maintain

He gets up out of his seat 3 times to pace around, mind racing back and forth on if he should go talk to you, and then convincing himself that it’s best to wait for you to emerge first so he knows you’re ready to talk

But he grows tired of waiting, and does actually end up coming to your shared room to resolve the issue

You’re still steaming just a bit. Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you don’t look up when he enters. You know it’s him, because a few others on his crew have already come to check on you, and you’d asked them politely to leave you be. But you don’t protest when he comes to sit beside you

He doesn’t touch you

It’s painfully silent for a while

Then he finally speaks up and breaks the tension

“I’m sorry. That got a little more heated than I wanted it to.”

You peek up at him just a bit. He notices how red your face is, and a strike of fear shoots through him at the thought of possibly having made you cry and then left you on your own for hours

He stretches out his hand, offering it to you to hold, and you shift in your position to take it

He goes into a rant on how much you mean to him and how he’s only doing what he has to do to keep you and the rest of the crew safe

“Because I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

You do

You also know that no matter how many times you two get upset with each other, you’ll always find your way back into his arms

Buggy

Arguing with him would come often, but the content of the arguments is what matters here

Only for the reason that Buggy is adamant about being correct in every situation, even when he is not and knows it

Everyone knows it’s best to just simply let him believe his delusions and let the natural consequences come through

But this guy seriously has weirdly good luck, and somehow all his delusions seem to come true for him in one way or another

Half of the time it’s just funny watching him be completely wrong about a subject, other times it’s a little infuriating

Arguments don’t last long between the two of you, though

Buggy craves attention, and attention from his favorite person is a must. It’s basically a necessity of life

Food, water, shelter, you. Not in that order, though

He realizes too late through his incessant rambling and gloating that he’s said something that hurt your feelings and immediately starts to backpedal

“Wait, wait, wait! That’s not what I meant! What I meant to say was-”

He’s red in the face, almost so much so as his nose

He hates to admit it, but you look really good glaring down at him like that as he tries to save his own skin

He clams up, sweating. Unsure of himself. Not sure what he was even saying a second ago

As much as you need time alone to chill out, he can’t seem to leave you be. It’s scary for him, seeing your usually smiling face so serious

He takes a seat outside of your room, and then breaks into pieces no, literally while he waits for you to emerge again

It takes you a few hours, but he’s there the whole time. His feet are pacing around, his head is whining, cheek on the floor. His hands are tapping and picking at the dirt in the wood, but every part of him lights up when he sees you again

“Aha! I see you finally caved. Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?”

You pause, and then move to go back inside before he yelps and his hands grab at your ankles. His parts come back together again, using the rest of his body to hold you in place

“Wait! I’m sorry! Please don’t go back!”

He shouts it all in a rush. He’s crying, and there’s snot running down his nose

He looks like a damn mess

It kind of makes you laugh at how desperate he is for you

he pouts up at you and you cave

He basically crawls up your body to hug you. You hug him back, petting his hair and waiting for him to relax, sitting right there in the doorway of your room. People pause as they pass, but a sharp look from you stops them from staying for very long

Mihawk

If Mihawk is actually worked up enough to argue with you, there’s a good reason for it

Usually he makes his point and that’s that. No other words exchanged, nothing more than a slight glance towards you

Mihawk is an introvert, and he gets exhausted from others very easily. He’s not trying to be rude or dismissive towards you when he does this, but that is how it comes off sometimes

He’ll turn his attention back to his book because after he’s said what he wanted to, he figures everything is fine. He understands his logic, why wouldn’t you?

But you, like a lot of people that aren’t Mihawk, are more emotional than he is

Your silence isn’t acceptance, it’s hurt

Only when you get up to leave the room does the thought cross his mind that maybe what he’d said didn’t come off correctly, and you might have just been insulted. But he figures you would come tell him if that were the case, so all is well and he returns to his book

This could go forever, really. Until he notices that you’re giving him the cold shoulder, and then he would stop whatever he was doing- even if he were in another room at the time of realization -and find you to clear things up right away

“Darling, we need to talk right away.”

Straight to the point. He doesn’t really ask you if you want to talk, because he knows if he doesn’t at least make an attempt at this it will haunt him like Perona’s ghosts all night

The thing about Mihawk that not many people know is that he’s got this cool, collected, silent aura about him because he simply does not have the energy to play nice with everyone

So when he’s just arrived home from a Warlord meeting, or somewhere that he was obligated to be present for, all he wants is time to himself to recharge

Having a relationship and balancing this need was something he was still learning

But he loves you so much and the thought of upsetting you over a misunderstanding gnawed at him and gave him massive amounts of anxiety and uncomfortability

He’s not this untouchable guy that everyone thinks he is. You’ve seen this; he laughs and cries like everyone else does

And you understand him. He couldn’t ask for someone better than you are

If you’re willing to, he’ll take your hands and kiss your knuckles.

“I apologize for my behavior. I should have given my words a second thought before I spoke them out loud. What can I do to make this up to you?”

It’s an easy thing to answer- it’s all you wanted since he’d returned, why you kept invading his space before he was ready to emerge and what lead up to the situation in the first place

You tell him you want him. His attention, to be wrapped in his arms. You just want to spend time with him, even if that’s in silence

He can work with that

He presses a kiss to your forehead and makes you promise that you’ll tell him if he ever says or does anything to upset you again. He wants to communicate, not lose out on precious time with you over something small

He goes above and beyond, though. He makes up a very romantic candlelit dinner that night for the both of you to share and even if it’s a very quiet dinner, (minus the music playing softly in the background) it’s perfect

[ferrstappen]

max, don't panic l Max Verstappen blurb

a/n: he'd absolutely stop his car bc 1) what's a couple of points for this man? he's going to gain them back while sleeping; 2) this man PROTECTS you cannot tell me otherwise.

also, pls if anyone knows how to turn this blog (sideblog) into the main? my main is full of Shawn Mendes fics and on a permanent hiatus so I'll take any advice pls. anyway... I tried my best bc for some reason driver!reader is not my fav trope? but anyway, hope you enjoy <3

genre: kinda dramatic? angst? idk. request is here.

warnings: car crash.

pairing: Max Verstappen x driver!reader.

max, don´t panic – max verstappen blurb

The private but not secret applied to you and your boyfriend perfectly. Even if you didn't walk around hand I hand in the paddock, you always arrived together, bright smiles, sometimes riding the same car or blinded SUV, even arriving on the same planes.

This wouldn't be exactly controversial, but giving the fact you both were Formula 1 drivers, Max for Red Bull and you for Ferrari, yeah, it was a big thing. Especially since you and another driver in Williams were the only girls, people's eyes were always on you, obviously laced with criticism, sexism and misogyny, and of course everyone was waiting and constantly asking about which driver was the most handsome, if something had happened between you or any of the male drivers.

It wasn't pretty.

So Charles Leclerc had to miss a triple header due to an injury which costed him a surgery, you were briefly promoted to the Scuderia from Haas. The only thing you or anyone in the garage heard during the last few days was why you, why not Ferrari's own reserve driver? why not a driver with more experience? of course the lacing question was, why not a male driver?

You didn't need the press and public to keep speculating as your last Sunday driving for Ferrari arrived, even if sports sites stated the only reason you were chosen was because of your "especial friendship" with Max Verstappen, because it didn't make any sense otherwise. Of course Max rolled his eyes every time he heard something about it, forcing to bit his tongue to tell someone to fuck off, the fact you had been dating for now nine months had absolutely nothing of your job and performance.

It wouldn't help your case very much, having to calm him down on your shared hotel room. Well, it wasn't exactly shared, you just left you room vacant and made it to Max's to spend the night, sleeping in his warm embrace and messy kisses, trying to not exhaust your bodies in order to not be overly tired during race day.

Now, Sunday. Oh boy.

Before pulling your helmet, you found Max's eyes across the garage, doing a small sign with your fingers which Max matched, a secret language reserved for the both of you, expressing your love and preoccupation in front of everyone who was oblivious to the love language displayed in plain sight.

Then the race started and it was ordinary; good weather, good pace. But during lap twenty something happened.

You didn't really register when an Aston Martin car made contact with your rear wing, making you lose control and also getting hit by a Mercedes on the left side, which sent you flying through the gravel.

Fuck.

Your eyes closed as you felt the car spinning, waiting to make contact with the wall, trying to relax your body and mind, knowing injuries would be even more serious after the impact if her body was limp enough. Then it happened, you stopped rolling, the sound of gravel and tires stopped; radio wasn't working, though it wouldn't really work since you couldn't find your voice.

Max was on other sector, Gianpiero telling him to expect a red flag. At the same time, his eyes fixed on the screen and noticed the unmistakable red car flying and crashing.

Max was a man prepared for anything on the race track. Seriously, you could throw anything at him and Max would remain calm and collected, his body and mind not having to even think before making a move.

But this... this he wasn't prepared for.

"Which Ferrari was that?" Max asked through the radio, voice masking a slight panic.

"I don't have that information, yet. I'll let you know, now focus on slowing down, please, red flag red flag,"

"Is the driver okay?" Max completely ignored the other instructions given to him.

"No word, Max. Please," GP was cut off.

"Please tell me who's Ferrari is it!"

"Sainz was on the pit, it's (Y/N)'s Ferrari. Max, you can't speed up,"

Max ignored him. Of course, he knew better than to get in the way of the safety car and medical cars rushing, also noticing a green figure trying to get closer to the car, also noting a Mercedes and Aston with damages.

"Max, come to the pit, please," GP had many many experiences dealing with Max, but this was new. "Max, you are not going to help, you will only obstruct and put the car and yourself in danger,"

Max was covered in chills, watching the wrecked Ferrari, trapped against the wall, no movement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is completely unheard of. This is by far the worst accident during this season, but Red bull's Max Verstappen drove his car towards the crash, ignoring the red flag and his engineer. We don't now what's going on, how is the driver, as you can see it's a mess," That's what the audience was hearing and watching.

Ignoring everything, Max prompted himself up, leaving the car and reaching the medical car, trying to get someone to connect him to the Ferrari radio, knowing her radio was probably dead.

Time stopped, and then he saw you being carried, barely conscious but giving a thumbs up, and he felt like he could collapse and cry and laugh, all at the same time.

"I'm riding with her," Max stepped inside the ambulance, knowing pictures were being captured and broadcasted of him kissing your temple and holding your hand.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Big Decision (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(Part 8 of Teen Dad!OP au [Can be read on its own])

Summary: It is time to pop the big question

The twins had finally gone down for a nap after spending so long fighting it. The kids, at age three, have started to fight them more and more, leading their parents to start discussing if it's time for naps to stop. Honey, being a stay at home mom, had needed the nap time as much as her kids had in the past, giving her time to catch up on chores or just rest for a little, so she was really trying to get as much time as she could with it. But maybe it truly was over.

She was surprised to see Oscar pacing in their living room once she went back downstairs.

“Well, aren't you home early?” She says as Oscar immediately wraps his arms around her, burying his head in her neck and kissing it.

“Missed you all, did what they needed from me extra fast so I could get home earlier. Thought we could maybe go out tonight?”

“Oscar, it's a friday night. Do you know how impossible getting a babysitter would be? The kids also take a while to warm up to babysitters, I don’t think it's a good idea.”

“Good thing I thought ahead then. Lando had a free night and has been begging to see them after the last ‘betrayal’ when they wore Sargeant hats. Even better, he said he would do it for free if it meant working towards being the favorite.”

“Oscar, you can’t get your coworkers to babysit your twin toddlers for free by dangling favoritism in their faces.”

“It was his idea! I am just capitalizing off of it. I got us a nice reservation too, we just need to let him now in the next…” Oscar checks his wrist where his watch usually rests but finds it missing, “uh now. So I need an answer quickly, are we going to stay home and eat the same leftovers we have had for the past two days, or are we going to make Lando Norris the happiest man alive by letting him watch our kids for free while we have an amazingly romantic dinner?” Oscar quickly asks as he takes his ex-fiancee, now girlfriend, in his arms.

“Fine, let's go out, we could use the night off. Let Lando know I appreciate him watching them for us.”

“Perfect, why don’t you go out, do something nice for yourself, I'll take over with the kids. We still have time before dinner tonight.” Oscar suggested in a strange tone as he kissed all surface area of her face.

“What is up with you today? I don’t mind it but you are so much more touchy.” She laughed.

“Don’t worry bout a thing.” Was all he replied as he walked away. “Tonight will be the best yet, I promise.”

That’s when it struck her, why he was being so weird. Surely, he was going to propose.

After the huge fight in Suzuka, she had called the engagement off, causing them to ignore each other’s existence unless it came to the kids, for seven weeks. Since they had gotten back together, life had been blissful. Sure, it was most likely the ‘honeymoon’ phase of their relationship, but even so, they had been so ready to marry each other before things started going downhill. Maybe days after they got back together isn’t the right time to get engaged, but they had been to hell and back together since they got pregnant at 18 years old, they were it for each other, always would be. 

Oscar taking off of racing had also been a blessing. It had been hard for him, certainly. But he had needed to learn how to put his family first again, a priority that got harder to keep up with since joining Formula 1. 

As she sat in the nail salon chair, getting what were hopefully her engagement nails done, she thought back to how far they’d come. 

Arriving home with her nails done, and after getting the most amazing massage, Honey was giddy as she greeted her, hopefully, soon to be fiancé. After an hour and a half of filling her head with wedding plans and thinking about their future when she would finally get to be Mrs. Piastri after 7 years, she was more excited then she was the first time he proposed. 

This excitement continued from the moment she stepped into the shower, till the moment she sat in her seat at the restaurant. Oscar had hired a driver for the night, saying it was a night all for them, no need to be careful of how many drinks they were going to have, he had also told her he had plans to take them to the beach after where they could finish the night with a picnic by the water and stay as late as they liked. 

There was one thing that was off about him though, while she had expected nerves, she had also expected excitement from him and soon noticed the more giggly she was, the more upset he seemed to be. Maybe he realized she had caught on?

She finally asked what was up after he spilt his drink.

“Seriously Osc, what is wrong with you? You claim this is such a nice night for just the two of us but you are a mess right now!”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m like th-”

“Bullshit. I thought I made it clear how awful of a liar you are Oscar Jack Piastri, just tell me. Please?”

Silence filled the air as he stared at her, words failing.

“I will get up if you don’t-”

“I had a meeting with higher ups at McLaren earlier today and was told if I don’t come back then I am out of the contract and I agreed to come back for the Spanish Grand Prix!” Oscar blurted out.

Again, a heavy silence landed on the couple, both of them daring the other one to speak first.

Then, without a single word, Honey got up from the table and walked to the car leaving Oscar at the table, tears starting to fall.

Part 2 out now!

[formula1blog]

hey could you write about Carlos Sainz. Y/N is a 24 year old Spanish journalist and she and Carlos flirt all the time in front of the camera and Lando and Charles make fun of Carlos because he is always looking forward to doing an interview with Y/N ​​because they flirt hard every time. two that on twitter they created a hashtag on the flirting moments between y/n and carlos

Behind The Camera

Carlos Sainz x Spanish Journalist fem!reader

A/N: I hope this is wat you meant. I never worked with these fake apps before, so don't pay too much attention to dates and times.

One of the flirting scenes is highly based on that one Sebastian Vettel interview.

The paddock was buzzing with people from all around the world. Grand stands were filled with the colors of different teams and drivers. There were big crowds of orange for the hometown heroes, Max verstappen and Lando Norris.

Cheers were heard as Carlos crossed the finish line in p2, just behind his teammate and in front of his old one. The red bull had crashed out of the race after the touch when Sergio Perez tried to overtake the Dutch man. Unfortunately both of the cars tuned into each other, moving Carlos up to third. After the pitstops he had managed to do an undercut on the Mclaren driver and finished on the second podium place.

"That is P2, mate. Good job," his race engineer congratulated him through the radio, prompting Carlos to let out an excited scream.

"Vamos!" he exclaimed, parking his car in front of the P2 sign and stepping out with a wide grin on his face. Charles stood on top of his own car, proudly displaying one finger in the air to signify his win. Carlos congratulated his fellow driver on the victory before turning to his team and embracing them in a warm hug, celebrating their shared success. It is a good day for the Ferrari fans and that didn't happen often.

.

"Congratulations Carlos on your p2. How are you feeling?" You ask with a bright smile on your face. You always loved interviewing Carlos. He is always really nice and you have nice conversations behind the cameras. Also a plus point that he drives for your favorite team.

"Great now that you are here," he answers, his eyes twinkling as he gives you a wink that sends a shiver down your spine. You have to try hard not to blush at the man's charming comment. "It's a great day for the team with a 1-2 finish. I hope we have more of these moments to come."

"You were absolutely flying out there today. Your performance was outstanding. I am sure that you have more of these moments. "

Carlos smiles at your words, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you. The car felt great and the team did a great job with the undercut." He had been looking forward to seeing you today after he heard you will do the podium post race interviews. Lets just say he had some extra motivation for this race.

"With the undercut you managed to get in front of Lando. Was it difficult to keep him behind?"

"Of course. He is a great driver and their car is very fast. He really had me concentrate those last laps. " Carlos looks back at where Lando was standing next to the race winner. Lando gave him a little smile for the comment.

"The safety car came at a good moment and you got a free pit from it. Do you think you could have had the same pace with the old ones?"

"The safety car did come at a great time. I was struggling with the tyres and really wanted to switch them. The team said I couldn't because then I had to drive out the race for the remaining laps and that was too many. So having an extra free stop really helped. "

"Any plans for after the race. How are you going to celebrate it?"

"I am sure there is a party planned already. Good thing is that it is summer holiday and we don't need to do training wasted." He jokes and you let out a laugh.

"Sounds great. Have any plans for the summer break? How are you going to spend your free time? "

"Well, What are your plans?" He smirks and you have to take a second to let your mind take in his comment. You want to play to game with him, but chose to be professional and do as if you don't get the hint.

"Nice of you to ask. I'm heading back to Spain to visit some family," you reply, trying to maintain your cool exterior even as your heart races at the thought of his attention turning towards you.

"I hope I see you around then, Hermosa" Carlos says, his smirk widening as he rakes a hand through his hair in a gesture that sends a jolt of desire through you. You say your goodbyes before Lando takes his place in front of your camera.

Out of your sight Charles laughs at his teammate and gives him a pat on the back, a playful smirk placed on his face.

"What?" Carlos looks at him with confused puppy eyes. He takes his water bottle and takes a sip.

"What are your plans." Charles imitates his teammates question before letting out a louder laugh that turns the head of other people. "Mate, just ask her out already. It is painful to watch you keep flirting with each other."

"I ask her what her plans are. That is just being polite."

"Alright. And when you found out she was doing the post race interviews, you didn't smile from ear to ear because you would be seeing her again?"

"She is a great journalist and my friend. "

When Lando came back from his interview with you he had made the same remark as Charles and Carlos just groaned in reply. He was not going to hear the end of it.

The fans on twitter were going wild after the interview. It wasn't the first time you and Carlos had shared some flirty comments and there were fan pages dedicated to the two of you. There was even a tag going around with all the fans favorite moments of you two together that you weren't aware of.

Lando laughs as he opens twitter. He was at the celebration party after the race and he had sit down next to the two ferarri drivers after a round of shots.

" Whats so funny?" Carlos asks with a confused expresion as he tries to look at the Brits phone. Lando shows the Twitter reactions.

" Looks like you are the only blind one."

[astrobolical]

To make you forget, if only for a while

How the kings (Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub) alleviate your fears and worries, at least for a little while— as best they can, and in their own unique ways.

I love the utter filth that comes from this game, but sometimes a little fluff is welcome, too. If this does okay, I may see about doing some of the other devils as well.

Also yes, I do fully believe that there’s no way Leviathan doesn’t have a larger source of water in his home— his bathtub just being his favourite— it’s not as though he’s going out to find any.

Oh, and I went with “Bell” as Beelzebub’s nickname, as it’s what Mammon calls him in Chapter 3.

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive (Mostly Beelzebub), devil behaviours, brief mentions of alcohol, brief & mild mentions of depression, (lightly described) anxiety

Reader: Gender Neutral

Your voice had fallen silent, trailing behind the trio in front of you— and Satan cursed himself as he came to realize far too slowly that you’d withdrawn. His steps slowed, turning his head to see just what had garnered your attention… but was left with a foul taste in his mouth as he discerned what exactly it was. Your eyes were gazing down a street visible from where you were, seeing the frantic devils working tirelessly to restore or save their homes and businesses. Fires were being quelled, devils saved from rubble— trying their best to survive. Satan knew, however, that you weren’t simply watching, he could see how your eyes watered, bordering on tears, as you walked helplessly along.

In your racing mind Satan knew that you were blaming yourself entirely, allowing yourself to wallow and drown in the guilt that had begun to eat away. The look in your solemn eyes told him everything— it was a darkness he was all too familiar with, one that gripped him often, one that was difficult to escape from, especially alone. He wanted to stop, to tell you that none of this was your burden to bear, that not a single citizen of Gehenna would ever blame you. You hadn’t asked for any of this, hadn’t wished for an angel and Satan himself to whisk you away into chaos.

Yet all the same he knew those doubts and worries would not be easily assuaged, that your mind would inevitably take his words and discard them as if they were worth nothing. No matter how sincere they may be.

No, Satan knew that words were simply not enough, not for this— not for the gravity of the weight you felt on your shoulders as you looked out into the destruction and havoc. Instead, he decided, quite quickly, on another course of action that always helped him when he needed it the most.

His pace halted entirely, not having to wait long before you bumped carelessly into his back, not realizing he’d come to a full stop in your stupor.

“Satan?” You questioned, breaking free from whatever thoughts had held you. “Did something happen?” You glanced towards Sitri, as if trying to see if he’d heard someone approaching, or trouble nearby, but he shook his head.

“No,” He placed his hand atop your head, smoothing your hair out gently. “Nothing’s changed… I just think we need a break.”

You pouted, studying his eyes and expression. “A break? I’m fine…” You lied through your teeth— he’d already learned your little human quirks, at least partially.

Your protests, however, went unlistened to, and you were given no more time to voice your concerns. Satan pulled you close, holding you around your waist as he had so many times before and started down an unfamiliar alleyway. Not once did he look back to ensure your companions were following, knowing that they, too, completely understood the situation— you however, felt lost.

He led you, primarily, through the alleys and side streets you hadn’t yet seen, keeping away from the carnage you’d been surrounded by. His pace was quick, determined, keeping you against him as he trekked. You couldn’t quite grasp the sudden change of plans and direction, but your trust in Satan allowed you to relax and follow him as best you could (though you were sure without his arm around you, you’d have stumbled multiple times already). You knew that Satan would never harm you, not intentionally.

And, as expected, your intuition was correct and your trust well placed. There was not a single sign of danger where you now found yourself. In fact, it appeared more like a safe haven, mostly left untouched by the chaos that the angels had wreaked upon Gehenna.

It reminded you of the bar that you’d stopped in to rest before, though even more lively. It was larger, decorated with more lavish designs and furniture. Within were dozens of devils, relaxing and laughing with one another— and each and every one rejoiced when their king came through the door. Shouts and hollers, an energetic flurry of motion as they led your ragtag group further into the depths of the building. Not once did Satan release his hold on you.

It warmed your heart to see how joyous his people were just to see him. Though, it alarmed you quite readily when their joy, energy, and questions were also turned towards you. They offered everyone drinks, began to loudly tell you all manner of stories from their lives here in Hell. It as a flurry of motion, of attention and an infectiously rambunctious attitude— a wonderful and welcome feeling, compared to the ghastly reminders just outside.

Satan and Sitri — and even Ppyong— joined in on the revelry, encouraging the energies around them and rallying the morale. Unlike the last visit to a bar that you’d had, this time it was simply for fun and leisure. Satan kept you steady on his lap throughout the whole affair, hand idly massaging your sides or your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you every now and then, though each time you glanced back you were met with a shockingly gentle smile, and encouragement to pay more attention to his people.

He kept any grabby hands at bay, and a few were sent flying with a well-placed kick upon their weaker frames— though this did little to quell them, if anything it had only added to their adoration. Though you noted that with each attempt to get just a little too close to you, his hold would grow a little tighter, he’d pull you more fully into his lap and against him with a snarl.

You hadn’t laughed as much as you did then in what felt like your entire life— hadn’t met so many new faces, or heard such crazy tales, each one more absurd than the last. You leaned back into Satan, nestling yourself close to his warmth and comfort. When he turned to glance your way you stole a kiss from his parted lips— choosing to ignore the whoops and calls of the others in the room— and caught him off guard.

His eyes were wide as you leaned towards his ear. “Thank you,” You murmured, so quiet you were sure that only he (and perhaps Sitri) could hear. “For bringing me here, Satan.” You knew how much he cared for the denizens of Gehenna, how much he treasured and valued each and every one of them. And you’d realized that’s exactly why he’d brought you to such a place, at such a dire time.

In your moment of heartbreak and darkness, he’d brought you to them. To a place you were sure he’d probably often escaped to himself when his mind spiraled and he couldn’t quell it alone. He was showing you that these devils could be your safe space as well, your light out of the darkness that plagued your heart.

His people were his respite, and now they were yours as well.

This king of Hell had done so much for you, in such a short time… saved you more times than you cared to count— so you allowed yourself to enjoy his, and his people’s, company well into the night. Until the drinks finally slowed, and he’d ushered you to a place to rest on the upper floor. It was then that he returned the kiss you’d stolen earlier, with fervour, as if imploring you to realize that you were never alone in this.

He was alarmed— his gut telling him something was amiss, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it may be. Mammon knew only that it had to do with that faraway look within your eyes, almost as if you were looking through the brilliant gold around you rather than at it— it was not admiration, not his coveted greed, it was nothing. Mammon couldn’t understand why you weren’t pleased with your surroundings, or what all you may be thinking… just that he didn’t like it.

He wanted you to look around and desire it, to want the world despite knowing that it was already yours, as he was. He loved to see your eyes alight with a fiery passion, your heart just as full… but somehow you had fallen far, right under his nose. A human folly, he was certain, and not one he had ever encountered. Yet this? This he did not want, he did not covet this new experience, this new emotion. He wanted to be rid of it.

Mammon lifted you with ease, and without warning, breaking your senseless focus immediately, drawing you towards him effortlessly. You clung to him in surprise, steadying yourself though you knew that to Mammon you weighed nothing— he’d proven that already. You wound your arms around his neck, legs finding purchase on his hips, exclaiming his name in your surprise. His strength always amazed you— then again, he was simply amazing overall.

His silence continued as he pressed a warm kiss against your forehead, holding you close with one arm, while pulling your head closer with the other before it settled on your cheek. Your face flushed pink, dumbfounded at the gentle touches he’d graced you with.

His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, and pressed against him as you were you couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of the vibrations. “What is bothering you, MC?” He questioned, eyes that looked like molten gold peering into yours with concern.

You stared back, silent, unsure how to answer— or if you even should. You worried your lower lip with your teeth as you pondered, not missing the way his eyes flicked downwards at the motion, how he held you a little more tightly. “Nothing,” you finally relented, though accompanied by a forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’m alright.”

Mammon did not know doubt, or lies— you knew that your words alone would calm him, come as a reassurance that there was nothing to worry over. And you told yourself that you would do better to keep your worries hidden. A white lie, you decided, was the better way to go.

Even if the weight of all the events thus far was pressing down around you, exerting more pressure with each new battle you found yourself surrounded by.

Yet, despite your reassurance, Mammon’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “…While I do not know—or even understand— doubt, MC, I know that there is something wrong. I just know.”

He looked pained as his eyes bore into yours, unyielding as he studied your expressions. His grip became a little tighter as he sighed. “Can you not trust me?”

The question made your breath hitch, and you shook your head rapidly. “I trust you!” You reassured, your heart wrenching at his assumption. Of course you trusted Mammon— with everything in you, you did. You just didn’t want to burden him with your worries, your fears, and your guilt. You’d buried it so deeply within you throughout your journey that you’d thought that maybe you’d somehow escaped it… but it had consumed you the moment you’d finally attempted to rest, comforted by the massive devil’s presence. “I do. It’s just… it’s nothing, really. I’m just worrying over everything that’s happening here in Hell— if Satan hadn't saved me…”

His eyes widened, and his forehead bunted against your own. “Never think that way, MC. Nothing here is your fault— and there is no devil in Hell that thinks that it is.”

“Everyone is ecstatic that you’re here— even more than when they see me!” He continued, placing slow, soft kisses on your face between each breath.

You knew he was right, deep down. That if it hadn’t been you, another descendent of Solomon could have just as easily ignited it all. It wasn’t your burden to bear, just as much as it wasn’t Mammon’s. Whatever happened to God — the event that had earned the angel’s ire— was still a mystery.

You sighed, your eyes glossy as you looked up at him once more. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He straightened again, adjusting his grip on your bottom. “Just tell me when these thoughts plague you, and I will reassure you of every worry— I am yours, after all. You have me at your side to deal with whatever you feel you can’t. You are the only being to ever have this, the only one I’ll ever give it to.”

He grinned, sharp canines glinting in the light that shone into the room from the elegant (yet gaudy) golden windows, and you couldn’t help but smile— genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Mammon. I’ll keep that in mind.” It was strange, you thought, that he could so easily clear your mind with his promises alone… but when you looked at him, it also wasn’t hard to see why. He was powerful, confident— and he so proudly declared himself yours it was difficult to not believe him, to rely on him. “Aren’t you getting tired of holding me up, though?”

Your attempt to change the subject earned you a hearty laugh, that shook you in his arms. “Never!” As if taking your words as a challenge he tossed you upwards before catching you just as effortlessly, before securing you once again against him. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll parade you around Tartaros to prove it.”

“Please, don’t!” You laughed, though you could see that he was absolutely considering his own words. “Mammon!”

“It would do you well to go out— and you can still rest as long as you’re in my arms.” You hit his chest, grumbling about how impossible he was— but there was little you could do to stop him from walking out the door, with you still held close. Though, despite your protests, you really didn’t mind— Mammon was right, seeing the devils of Tartaros going about their daily lives, seeing their smiling faces as they saw their king, and you… it really would do you good.

And, though you didn’t give him the pleasure of telling him, being held by Mammon was the safest place you felt you could be. Untouchable, secure, and comforted by his warmth.

Even if it was still a bit embarrassing.

Your mind was elsewhere, lost deep within unwanted thoughts that forced their way through despite any efforts to hinder them. Leviathan, in a way, couldn’t fault you for it— you were only human, and your entire world had been upturned and threatened. But Leviathan himself was at your side, seated just an arms length away— could you not even consider him a worthy distraction? Surely his presence alone should earn your gaze, at least? Yet your eyes were staring at the floor, your brows furrowed.

It irked him, stirring feelings in his heart that made his eyes narrow and fists clench— especially when he wondered just what it was you would finally use to alleviate whatever thoughts you were unable to escape. Whoever, or whatever, it may have been, even if imaginary, made envy seep through him.

Had he not proven he would go to great lengths for you already, without question? He’d even gone outside of the sanctity of his home for you, protected you from angels at the cost of his own wellbeing.

He sucked in a breath, steadying himself from whatever spiral he himself had nearly fallen into— now was not the time, not when he could simply take your attention for himself and eliminate the threats from the equation altogether. Motioning with lithe fingers, ropes quickly fell from the inky darkness of the ceiling above, entangling you despite your surprised protest. At least you’d called his name in your alarm.

The ropes dragged you closer to him— surprisingly gentle— and you wondered what his plan was, recalling just how pleasurable it could be to be bound before this devil king. Yet only your jaw was slowly traced by a singular long finger, no further touches gracing your skin. Instead his pale eyes met yours, contemplative. He did not seem exceptionally angry or upset, in fact he appeared oddly calm for having called on his favoured ability.

And then he stood, sighing, leaving you where you were. “Come, then.” He spoke, a chill running through your spine— from suspense or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Yet despite ordering you to follow, he hadn’t intended to give you a choice to begin with, the strong ropes moving you for him, just behind (but so, so careful not to damage your frail, human skin).

He spoke nothing of where he was taking you, barely acknowledging that you were with him at all. At times his intense gaze met yours, as if checking on your wellbeing — though you surmised it was to ensure your attention was on him, as he wanted.

Any complaints you had, though, died on your tongue the moment he opened large double doors with a wave of his hand, and you were greeted with a marvelous sight that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

Within it was not quite the same castle-like structures you’d come to know, it was somehow more cavernous while still retaining its elegance. In the center was a pool, of sorts, though if you were to describe it properly it was more akin to a man-made (devil-made?) lake within the confines of Leviathan’s estate. The water’s surface was reflecting all across the walls and every item it could reach, creating a beautiful, moving pattern that was hard to tear your eyes away from.

You wondered if you should really feel as surprised as you do, that he had such a place tucked away, being as fond of water as Leviathan was.

“Very few have been here, Child of Solomon. I don’t allow it.” He spoke bluntly, those agile fingers motioning for your freedom (and oh, you knew what else those hands could do). “But,” He continued, turning to face you. “It appears you need something to distract you. Come.”

His hand extended towards you, waiting impatiently for you to take it, and despite your surprise and tentativeness you did just that. He led you towards the waters, still fully clothed and unperturbed. “Wait— shouldn’t I get a bathing suit, or something?”

He stopped, a quizzical look upon his beautiful features. “If you must worry about your clothes, just remove them.” As if assuming you would do just that he released your hand as quickly as he’d taken it, stepping into the water without waiting any longer for you to decide.

It wasn’t hard to see he belonged there, his pale skin practically glowing in an ethereal light. Soon enough he vanished into the depths, only to resurface a ways away, floating lazily despite the weight of his clothing.

Hastily you joined him, donning only your undergarments (not quite as confident within such deep waters while being weighed down). Yet when his hands were on you you knew that even if you even began to sink towards the bottom, he’d keep you afloat with ease. “You’re only the second outside of myself I’ve allowed in here.”

“…Why?” You murmured, enjoying the feel of the small, cool waves on your skin.

“Because it’s mine.” A simple answer, blunt as always. “But … so are you. So I don’t mind you being here, as long as your attention is on me, MC.”

Your heart felt warm as you realized how much you meant to him— that he would break his own comforts for your own, in a way. Even if it was borne from wanting your attention only on him and nothing else. “Sorry, Leviathan,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which met with a strong hand pulling you closer to him. “For being so distracted before. Thank you for showing me this.”

He hummed in response, more taken with your body in his arms than with your gratitude— though you could very easily see he enjoyed it.

He’d succeeded in claiming your attention, keeping it upon himself with ease now that you were reminded that not everything in your situation was a bad thing. That you had devils like Leviathan at your side, and that they would do anything to assist you. Leviathan, who so rarely let others in but who opened himself to you without thought or hesitance.

Even if Leviathan’s needy hands barely gave you a moment’s rest, itching for your touch at every turn. You’d give him everything he wanted— how could you deny him, after all?

The room felt as though it was nearly split down the center as Beelzebub glanced around— on one side was the chatter and planning, a tense atmosphere of grumbling devils attempting to decide what to do… on the other, was you. Around you was quiet, abnormally so— the devils had let you be, he supposed it was to give you time to breathe and catch up with everything that had transpired.

Yet to Beelzebub, you simply looked pitiful, too sad for his liking. Your eyes were staring blankly out the window, sitting idly and unmoving on the sill. Yet you weren’t really looking at anything, your eyes barely moving even when there was an outburst on the other side of the room, or a bird flew by your window.

Clearly, despite what the others may think, you didn’t need time to yourself to breathe. In fact, it seemed as though leaving you to your own devices was only making things worse in that little human mind of yours. And, being who he is, Beelzebub was more than willing to bend the rules and expectations just to make you smile again.

He could sense Bael’s cautious yet curious gaze on his back— unwilling to believe that his king would simply sit idly. And he wasn’t wrong, really. Yet Beelzebub didn’t do anything immediately, instead standing and making his way over towards you rather languidly, lazily as though he just wanted to banter with you—despite being told to leave you be.

You didn’t react to his approach, or even seem to hear his intentionally loud footsteps, utterly lost in whatever thoughts were plaguing you. If this were another time, or he were any other devil, it may have been concerning how unaware you were of your surroundings in an unfamiliar environment— even if it was safe.

However, he was not another devil, and was still Beelzebub. He looked at this, instead, like an opportunity he simply couldn’t let go of and let pass by. In one swift motion you were hoisted upwards, a garbled noise of surprise escaping you as you were thrown over a strong shoulder. His hand kept you steady, lying comfortably on your lower back (if a little lower than necessary). Instinctively you reached out to grip anything you could to ground yourself, hands clinging to whatever you could reach on him. You knew that no matter how irresponsible Beelzebub may be, he would never drop you, but it was still difficult to settle when you’re quite literally thrown like a sack of potatoes.

“Let’s go out and play, MC.” His voice was a purr, adjusting you quickly before the others could react and taking off out the door with a surprising burst of speed— you hadn’t even known he could move that quickly!

There was chaos behind you near immediately, and you could see the others— particularly Bael— preparing to stop their quick-footed king from escaping, especially with you in tow. However, as much as the efforts were doubled by your presence, they were also incredibly hindered, not wanting to harm you in any way while attempting to stop the ever-troublesome man.

“Bell!” You protested, though he could hear your insincerity within your voice, a bubble of laughter escaping you at the audacity of the unanticipated situation you’d found yourself in. “Where are we even going?!”

The gloom that had surrounded you already began to crumble, and he laughed as he replied. “Somewhere fun!” He didn’t elaborate, however, as he dealt with the devils in his way, deftly outmaneuvering them.

Looking back once more, you couldn’t help but pity Bael, seeing now what it was he dealt with, but at the same time you were thankful for Beelzebub and his free spirited nature. You’d forgotten that, though the situation was incredibly serious, you were still allowed to have fun.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the chaos came to a close, Beelzebub successful in his escape, and you now safely hugged within his arms after he’d set your feet back down securely to the ground. His grin was positively infectious as you took a step back from him, and you had to stifle your laughter. “There!” He exclaimed, fixing your hair idly as he spoke. “Now, let’s find someplace fun to waste some time in. Let’s let loose, MC.”

Grasping your hand he pulled you along through the streets, searching out a familiar haunt that would be filling in with devils soon. He didn’t pay mind to the confused looks he got along the way, loudly talking with you all the while. He didn’t let you rest until you’d arrived at wherever it was that he’d thought of.

The rooms were dimly lit, but there was a well-stocked bar at the far end of the largest one, the music blaring from speakers already despite guests just beginning to filter in. It wasn’t terribly large, more quaint than you’d expected for Beelzebub, but it was clear he was a common sight there, as no one batted an eye in his direction as he led you further in.

You clung to him as the crowd steadily grew, unwilling to be parted from your guide— and it wasn’t as though you disliked touching Beelzebub, either. There were certainly no complaints from him, either, as his hands groped and prodded your body in return. It wasn’t long before he led you to the dance floor, where his hands explored more boldly, front pressed against your back as you swayed to the music.

You knew it didn’t matter if you were any good at dancing, Beelzebub simply wanted you to lose yourself to the music, and more importantly with him.

It wasn’t difficult to persuade you, letting his body guide your movements, losing yourself to his touch and the vibrations in your body from the sounds around you and the mesmerizing lights.

You could hear his praises when his hot breath ghosted by the shell of your ear, sharp teeth toying with the cartilage. His lips finding your neck, his hands dipping lower— it was so easy to lose yourself with Beelzebub, that your worries melted away. Not even the inevitable repercussions that were to come from your escape could bother you.

You were thankful for how carefree the king who held you was, that he’d decided to encourage it within you, too.

Though you weren’t sure how long you were among those on the dance floor before Beelzebub inevitably led you towards the dark bathroom, your bodies barely parted for a moment. You locked the door behind the two of you, opting to lose yourself to him in another way, even if someone heard you.

[screamforyani]

in the end, you’ll never escape

warnings: noncon, implied stalking

wc. 1.7k

a/n’s: pls stop putting drew’s photos through remini hell i can’t live like this anymore guys. also hi ik i died over here 👀

miles upon miles away from kildare, you were contentedly far from home. months ago, the distance wouldn’t have been as tempting. the outer banks and the life you’d made there were the only things you’d ever known. but when your home began to feel less and less like a safe haven, you were more keen to be anywhere else.

it wasn’t easy leaving behind your friends, god knew you missed them every fucking minute of every day, but you knew it was a good call. no danger could reach you here. to you, and to everyone involved, it was for the better.

well, except to maybe one person.

you could hear a familiar jingle rupture the air even all the way upstairs. your brows furrowed. you weren’t expecting any guests, and you knew that your parents couldn’t have been either, because they wouldn’t be back for hours.

there was a knock. not at the door, but at your heart. after so many months outside of the outer banks, it might’ve been ridiculous to still feel uneasy about being home by yourself, but the fear never quite ceased; it quietened. but those whispers could be loud if they so pleased.

calm down, you thought to yourself. would rafe bother to knock at the door?

but you knew that he would. as belligerent as you knew him to be in nature, rafe would always play nice to begin with. if needed, he would escalate things, and he was not afraid of taking things up another degree to get what he wanted. 

you knew it, because you had dealt with it firsthand. you had been underneath him while rafe stood atop, wielding his golden shovel as he tossed dirt upon your grave. metaphorically speaking, at least. rafe hadn’t literally tried to bury you alive, but you wouldn’t put it past him. 

you couldn’t put anything past him.

your heart thudded as you took your sweet time to pass the stairs, but it felt like you could only breathe after you took another step. you peaked through the windows, and blew out a breath of relief when the guy standing out there wasn’t your worst nightmare.

you unlocked the front door, pulling it open. 

“delivery for…” the man said your name.

that was odd, considering you weren’t expecting a delivery either, but you cloaked your shock and accepted the box he handed you graciously, shutting the door behind yourself and locking it.

the second you were alone again, you raced to the kitchen to grab a knife. you needed to know what was in the box or it’d kill you. curiosity getting the better of you, you cut it open, pulling the gift out of the cardboard it had come to you in.

it was a sweater you’d been eyeing, an expensive one. sure, you were a kook by kildare standards, though in spite of all that you’d been through, your parents still hadn’t forgiven your past pogue-esque shenanigans and wanted you to work to be let off.

plus it wasn’t like you had a job. you guessed all your rambling combined with your suffering made them slacken, and your heart filled with warmth, happy to clear the tension between you and your parents even if only a little.

to be fair, you’d clearly been through… something, but they couldn’t piece it together, other than the fact that someone had been intimidating you, though that was only because it was glaringly obvious.

you couldn’t tell them. you wouldn’t even know how to start. and they wouldn’t understand, so you’d rather them be upset with you. sometimes it was just easier.

the doorbell rang again maybe an hour later, the sound startling you out of your own head. you paced downstairs, less hesitant than before. it was ridiculous to think that rafe would find you or be desperate enough to go after you when it would be easier to pick another girl on the island to break.

imagine your shock when you opened the front door and there he was. the devil himself.

every inch of you was frozen over, stiff. every muscle, every bone. “rafe?”

rafe chuckled. if you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he looked happy to see you, but there was always something darker. in your shock, you spluttered, “what are you doing here?”

“i can’t come visit my favorite girl?” rafe asked, pretending to be saddened, and oblivious.

your eyes flickered and you felt moisture instinctively gather at your lashes, though at least for now, you held it back. 

he looked a little different. his blue eyes still knew how to pierce the very heart of you, but his hair was significantly shorter. though in spite of your blurring vision (the side effect of tears or the lightheadedness, you couldn’t tell the difference), your whole body knew it was rafe and it paralyzed with total fear.

still, you tried to level your breathing. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

rafe didn’t seem to care, stepping closer and leaning into your ear to mutter, “we’ve done a lot of things we weren’t supposed to. haven’t we, baby?”

you recoiled, immediately drawing back. “if you don’t leave, i’ll tell my parents…”

“your parents?” rafe repeated, that familiar sly, shit-eating grin curled onto his lips. “your parents, they love me. what will they do? invite me over for dinner? fuck, baby, you really know how to strike fear into my heart.”

“i told them what you did!”

it was a lie, and you knew it. more importantly, rafe knew it. why would you bother? your parents failing to understand you aside, it would’ve only done more damage. your parents would forever loathe the camerons and you were perfectly content not being a blip on ward cameron’s radar. 

his son was already a handful.

rafe shook his head, pressing his lips together. “nah, no you didn’t. you wanna know how i know?”

your pulse quickened when he stepped closer again, already a foot inside of your house. this time, his lips brushed your ear, heightening the uneasy sensation that got louder with every thud of your breath. 

you were trapped in his arms, with nowhere to flee. something as simple as the slightest of touches between you and rafe sent a shiver down your spine. “because you’re too afraid. you’d rather keep the peace than let them in. now isn’t that right, babe?”

your eyes stung as you glanced up at him. you were always beneath him, never on top. “please, rafe. go home,” you begged.

rafe’s true anger finally started to peek through as he said none too kindly, “no. did you really think i was gonna just let you leave me? now we can really be together. no stupid pogues to get in our way.”

you cried out in shock when rafe got a hold of you, yanking you by the arm into your own house and shutting the door before dragging you upstairs. you had no idea how he knew where your bedroom was and you were too afraid to ask.

“rafe, stop,” you shouted. “rafe, you’re hurting me!”

rafe’s grip didn’t slacken until he pushed you into your room, and hissed, “you hurt me. you think i wanted to be on that island without you? you were the only thing that made shit feel worth it...”

you swallowed, lips trembling. 

“and then you just left. vanished. no goodbye, no nothing. you wanna know how that made me feel? like shit! like killing somebody,” rafe said, approaching you.

rafe had that look in his eye, that familiar, unpredictable glint he always got when he was up to no good. you tried to get away from him, tried to do anything to keep him at arm’s length, but he was quicker and reached for you again.

at this point, your heart was thumping in your ears and the tears were pouring down your face so hard, you could barely see. all you could hear was thunder. “rafe, please. i’m begging you. don’t do this.”

“don’t do what? don’t make you pay for what you did to me?” rafe asked, shoving you onto your bed. “nah. i’m gonna hurt you just like you hurt me.”

your eyes winced close as rafe started to rip the clothes from your body, but you didn’t fight back. it would only make it worse.

it hurt to breathe, inhale after exhale. your chest was taut with pain and terror and perhaps still shock, in disbelief that your measures to protect yourself had failed. but it was rafe. and whatever rafe wanted, he got. every fucking time without fail.

the irony was killing you. right now, you would’ve been a thousand times safer on the island than you were right now in a foreign place where you knew nobody and nobody knew you. though you knew that as long as rafe was breathing, you were never truly safe.

“that’s right, baby. don’t fight it,” rafe whispered, teasing his cock between your folds. the discomfort on your face was conspicuous, but you did nothing to make it stop. “i love that about you, you know. you don’t put up a fight. to you… it’s not worth it.”

rafe’s cock slammed into you, pushing in and out. he groaned, remembering everything he loved about your pussy. you gripped him, tight and vice-like, and the sounds that came from the very back of his throat were low and deep. 

“it’s always worth it to me, though. if you want something enough, you’ve gotta just take it. and all those people that don’t want you to have it? just watch them cry,” he added, not even looking at your face anymore. 

his eyes were between your legs, mesmerized as he tirelessly watched himself disappear inside of you again and again, as if he was under some kind of trance.

“cry me a fucking river,” rafe said, his other hand groping every part of your body it could touch. “you’ll get over it.”

your eyes narrowed, and you were overcome with the urge to smack him across the face, but you resisted. the last time you’d done it, in a situation way too similar to this one, he hadn’t hesitated to slap you back even harder. he was right; you didn’t think it was worth it.

to delay the inevitable was to prolong your own suffering. and in the end, you’d never escape.

[cheriladycl01]

Paparazzi - Lando Norris x UniStudent! Reader

Plot: you are a university student in the UK, and the Paparazzi manage to find out where you go and stalk you due to rumors surfacing about.

Credit to nameis-c for the GIF

It was a pretty shit day at university for you, you were a third year law student who had just come back from an amazing placement with Mercedes as part of their legal counsel.

You'd had so much fun and had worked really closely with Lewis and George. It also was the first year that you were able to travel from the last half of one season, to the 3/4 of the next season.

He was a driver for McLaren, his job and you being a student meant that you guys didn't see each other as much as you'd like.

You had been dating for the good part of 4 years now having met in secondary school and stayed as friends even when he left the school. When you started on your A-levels and he was progressing in his driving career he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Now he was in Formula One and you were about to be graduating university. It had however been difficult, the transition of being with Lando pretty much everyday, and now not seeing him was killing you.

It had taken a tole on you, you had dark circles under your eyes, your nose was red from the cold. Your class hadn't been great either and tears were starting to brim your eyes. You just wanted to get home and cry it out in private.

Lando: Hey Babe, its Thursday so media day today and McLaren are busy! Call me later, love you lots!

The text made more tears brim in your eyes until you heard the snap of a camera. Next you saw the flash.

Your eyes dart up seeing the 5 or 6 people with cameras behind you, following you. You pick up your pace, going towards your specific building on campus where you could hide out with your personal tutor until they left you alone.

You walk into the building into a flurry of students walking around the building pulling the hood of Lando's hoodie up. You make your way to a back stairwell that was quieter than the main one and made your way up the 5 flights of stairs to where your personal tutors room was.

"Michael?" you ask entering the room, nobody was there so you sat on the small little sofa he had at the side of his office. You pull the work bench closer to you, placing your laptop and book down before getting on with some work for your Intellectual Property Module.

Minutes later Michael comes in, a shocked look on his face as he observes you.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" he asks walking past you and taking a seat at his desk, sipping from the takeaway coffee he had just brought.

"I had Paps come onto campus again. And i've had a bit of a shit day" you mumble looking at the email from Lewis asking you to do some research for him if you had any free time.

"Well, you know my door is always open for you"

"That's why i let myself in" you grin at him, already feeling better. He spoke to you for about an hour, while he was doing his own research and marking behind his computer.

"I think its safe to say they've left now" he admits engrossed in something on his computer.

"How'd you know?"

"There's articles already up, some of these headlines. Oh lord they are ridiculous" Michael admits scrolling down on his mouse wheel looking further.

"Huh?" you ask before looking online under your name.

Lando Norris Girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N, Seen Crying On University Campus After Breakup Report Y/N Y/L/N Seen On Campus Crying Is There Tension Between Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N On Her First Absent Race Of The Season Lando Norris Cheats On Girlfriend - Her Reaction Is Heartbreaking!

"I'm just going to go home. I don't have the energy to read any of these. Thank you for letting me stay" you admit, packing up your bag and nodding in a goodbye to your personal tutor.

As you exit the building and make your way to the carpark where your Mercedes-AMG SL 63 sat, courtesy of your time at Mercedes for the last year. You now still work for them, but from the Brackley and part-time around your degree.

You get in and let out a long sigh, you pull away getting onto the road driving back to yours and Lando's apartment which was about a 30 minute drive away.

Lando started to call you, the ringtone blaring through the car speakers that your phone was connected to. You hit accept on the screen, your eyes only momentarily wavering from the road.

"Y/N baby, what's up. The articles and the photos of you! You look so sad, what's going on?" he immediately starts grilling you like you'd expected him to when he would eventually see the articles.

"Sorry, I'm in the car right now! I just had a shitty say at uni and i really fucking miss you" you breathe out happy to finally admit it. It was the end of October now and you'd been back at university for a month.

"I know baby, you still planning to come out for the last race, in Abu Dhabi?" he offers, it sounds like he's busy and like he's walking around the McLaren garage. He did say it was media day...

"Erm, ill let you go. Its like midnight there and you have a big day with practice tomorrow" you say, he starts to stay something but you interrupt before he can.

"I love you, goodnight" you say to prompt him.

"Goodnight, ill see you soon" he sighs, he also sounded tired just like you.

You drove the rest of the way home, pulling up in the underground carpark and just sitting there for a few minutes taking in some breaths.

You eventually get out the car and head into yours and Lando's apartment. The apartment was always clean because either you were here or your parents were kind enough to house sit while you and Lando were away.

You did your normal routine for when Lando wasn't here, which was go to the gym, go back and shower, cook food eat food and go to sleep.

You never really had any motivation for anything when he wasn't around.

The next day was a free day from uni, you went to the Mercedes team, everyone could tell that something was up with you. They chose not to say anything and just let you get through your shift. You'd had a cute Good morning text from Lando, asking if you'd slept well and if you'd eaten.

You'd replied, saying yes to both and that you were just catching up on his free practices and that he had really good times, as you'd expected.

But part of you just longed for him to come home.

[eroselless]

PATO - ONE

series masterlist | part 2 | part 3

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

warnings: angst, fighting, mentions of pregnancy

note: I don’t listen to Billie Eilish all that much but my best friend got me hooked on her latest album and for some reason, Wildflower inspired me to write this. Might not have any correlation but ya know, when life give you lemons. Also here Charles and Carlos aren’t as close as they seem to be in real life. Hope you enjoy it!

MONACO, DECEMBER 2022 

You stand in the dim light of your living room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows across the floor. Two years' worth of memories are strewn across the carpet like scattered leaves on a chilling autumn afternoon. Your chest heaves as you face Charles, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

“I feel like I’m drowning here, all on my own,” you breathe, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “You’re never home, you’re always away! What about us?”

Charles runs a frustrated hand through his hair, his agitation palpable. “You fully know that racing isn’t a hobby for me; it’s my passion, my life. I thought you understood that,” he spits out, his words sharp with frustration.

“I do understand that!” you exclaim, hands going up to rub at your eyes. Your face is slick with tears, they seem to fall at a never-ending pace. “But passion shouldn’t come at the expense of our relationship. You could come home, but you don’t!”

He shifts uncomfortably from across the room, his eyes darting away from yours to the carpeted floor below. His nostrils are flared in anger as he speaks. "So, what are you saying? You want me to give up my dreams? To stop racing?"

"No, I want you to find a balance. I want you to make time for us, for me. I can't keep feeling like I'm always second place. When you do come home, which is hardly ever, it’s like you're not even here. You’re closed off, cold. We barely spend any time together, and when we do, it’s like you're trying to hide me away.”

Charles’s eyebrows furrow, his jaw clenching as he shoves a finger in your direction. “I keep our relationship private to protect you from the media circus, you know that!” he interjects. "I can't believe you're being so selfish, Y/N," Charles snaps, his fists clenching at his sides. "You knew what you were getting into from the very beginning."

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders sagging with exhaustion. It's an excuse you’ve heard time and time again, and there's only so much of it you can handle.

“Selfish?" you shoot back, your voice trembling with anger. "I'm the one who's been here, supporting you, waiting for you, and now I'm asking for a little bit of your time, and I'm the selfish one?" Your chest aches as you take a breath, your resolve melting away.

"And you fully know that I can handle whatever the media comes at me with,” you sigh. You turn and make your way down the hall, to your room, Charles following close behind you. All he can do is stand and watch as you start to shove things in a backpack. 

As you pull on a jacket and prepare to leave, he reaches out to stop you, his voice small with confusion. “What’s going on?” he asks, his hand reaching for yours.

You swat his hand away, your heart heavy with sorrow and frustration. “We're just two people trying to make a relationship work. But if you can't even be here for that, then what's the point?” you argue, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You don’t need to worry about keeping us a secret anymore, Charles.”

There’s a tense silence as he struggles to process your words, tears beginning to prick at his cerulean eyes. You stare into them, searching for a sign, a plea for you to stay. But you see none. And with a heavy heart, you slip out of the door, leaving him behind in the empty silence of your once-happy home.

You gaze out the window, eyes tracing over the contours of the darkening landscape. Raindrops patter slowly against the glass, each droplet a melancholic echo of the turmoil raging within you. Outside, the trees and grass blur together, mirroring the jumble of emotions swirling inside your chest. Your hand falls gently to your tummy and you can't help but glide your fingers over it tenderly. 

With trembling fingers, you reach into your bag and pull out the pregnancy test, its plastic casing cool against your skin. The two bold lines glare back at you, a stark reminder of the life beginning to grow inside you. Fear and uncertainty fill the cavities of your chest, threatening to overwhelm you. You close your eyes, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks once again. 

Leaving Charles before telling him about the baby feels like abandoning a ship in the middle of a storm. Guilt gnaws at your chest as the train hurtles further and further away from Monaco, the distance between you and Charles widening with each passing moment.  You couldn’t shake the truth that seemed to present itself in bold letters before you. Charles may have been there, he may have laid in the same bed as you but for some time, his thoughts were miles away.

Another fear blooms at the edges of your mind. At 21, you never expected to face the daunting prospect of motherhood on your own. It's not the path you imagined yourself on at all. You thought you would marry Charles and share the joys and challenges of this baby with him.  But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, you find yourself grappling with the harsh truth that you are all alone in this journey.

You loved how passionate he was about racing, and admired the fire in his eyes as he chased victory on the track. But in his relentless pursuit of glory, he seemed to have left you behind with nothing but his silhouette, a mere afterthought in his quest for greatness. 

In that moment, you realize that in many ways, you'd have to raise the child on your own regardless of Charles's presence. His absence has left you feeling isolated and alone, grasping at the fragments of your fractured relationship. If you'd stayed, who knows if he would have changed? The uncertainty weighs heavily on your heart, threatening to drag you under.

With a sigh, you feel yourself sag further into the train seat, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. The ticket inspector’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you hastily produce your ticket, handing it over to him with a shaky hand. Across the aisle, you catch the gaze of a woman's eyes full of unspoken sympathy as she watches your fingers tighten around the pregnancy test. You give her a tight-lipped smile as the ticket inspector hands back your ticket before turning back to the window, your gaze fixed on the blurring landscape outside as you hurtle toward an uncertain future.

a/n: a little short for the first chapter but they’ll be a little longer in the future, hope you guys enjoy this first one :) also if you made it this far, I just wanted to share that the word pato means duck. It's not too important for now but it will be later! As always, thank you for reading!

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Fourteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: and they were cousins, poison, brief descriptions of violence and death

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I slowly update TDE🥺❤️‍🩹 Hopefully this chapter was worth it, I apologize beforehand for the lack of smut and the abundance of plot

You stare at the document in your hands, realization trickling in slowly, then with more force — a dam eroding before the subsequent flood. The longer you look at it the more the words and symbols swim before your eyes. How could this be? Had Jessica known about this?

She had to have, you puzzle, if it was in the study. Why didn’t she tell you? Could it be that she just never got the chance?

Or was she hiding it?

“You could at least look a little bit excited to see me.”

“Oh, Asha, I —” the content of the document promptly vanishes from your mind as it works instead to compute the image of Asha standing in the doorway of the study. “Asha!”

A shriek tears from you and you race across the room to your friend, embracing her tightly. She laughs against you. “There’s the welcome that I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry, I — actually, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” You hold her at arms length, examining her to make sure that she looks healthy and unharmed. “Are they treating you well?”

“The servants went sent ahead to prepare the rooms,” Asha says. “And I’m fine. How are you? Am I an aunt yet?”

There’s nothing you can do to suppress your eye roll, but you squeeze her hand assuringly. “You’ll be the first person to know.”

“Mm. The na-Baron needs to get on it.”

“Get on what?”

“Me,” you say. At the same time, Asha blurts, “Nothing!”

Feyd has replaced Asha in the doorway. He looks unfairly handsome, his skin retaining a little more color than usual from the Arrakis suns. Well, a red color, one that you’ve assurred him would fade.

Probably.

Seeing him makes your stomach flip. You’ve left the document out on the desk, and you glance at it quickly. But if he picks up on your panic, he doesn’t mention it.

“I suspected it was you when I heard all of the shrieking,” Feyd says. Then, this time to Asha, “I’m glad that you’re here.”

“Thank you, na-Baron,” Asha says with a dip of her chin.

“Do you need something?” You ask him. As casually as you can, you return to the desk and slip the document into your pocket.

Feyd’s lips twitch. “Can a husband not just visit his wife?”

“A husband can,” you retort, “but I have the sense that you are here as the na-Baron. Not my husband.”

“Is there a difference?”

You look to Asha. “I’ll be right back,” you promise her. Not daring to say anything in front of Feyd, she nods. You trail after Feyd into the hallway, who sets a swift pace, striding away from the study and out of ear shot.

“There’s a problem,” he tells you in a hushed tone.

“Other than the fact that you just stole me away as soon as my best friend arrived?”

Feyd ignores this. “My brother has generously invited Irulan and her family to the feast tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“The Emperor has declined the invitation but Irulan has elected to attend. Even though her father won’t be there, I suspect he’ll send an army of reinforcements for her.”

You mull over this new information. Both of you fall silent as a pair of soldiers pass by, then you whisper, “Could they suspect our plan?”

“No. Impossible.” Feyd shakes his head. “I’m sure the Baron just wants to remind House Corrino of their hand in…this.” He waves his hand to encompass the palace as you walk through it.

“Dethroning my family by having them killed?”

Feyd stops and pivots to you, grabbing your wrist. “I haven’t forgotten. But neither have they. We must keep our wits about us if we hope to be successful.”

“Right. I know.” You free yourself from his grip.

“You can’t let your emotions distract you.”

“They won’t.”

Feyd inspects your face, and he’s quiet for quite some time. “You’re hiding something from me.”

“No I’m not,” you reply reflexively. Feyd raises a brow. A scowl crosses your features and, reluctantly, you ask him, “What do you know of my…lineage?”

“I told you, you must not —”

“Just answer the question,” you snap. He’s acting as if you’re a petulant child, liable to pitch a fit.

Feyd recites what he knows, what you’ve told him — how your mother’s parents were never revealed to her. His mouth forms a severe line. “Why?”

There’s a fleeting moment in which you debate whether or not you’ll share the information with him. Ultimately, you know that you will never be able to keep it a secret. With hesitance you draw the document from your pocket and give it to him. Feyd’s eyes flash curiously to yours then back to the paper before reading it.

His expression remains unchanged. He hands the paper back to you. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not surprised?”

You were cousins. Cousins.

“I didn’t know, obviously,” he says, his voice nearing a growl. Then something in him softens slightly. “I’m referencing the inexplicable…connection that I have always felt. That you must’ve felt. Our hearts knew the same blood ran in our veins before our minds did.”

“You’re okay with this?” You ask.

Feyd lifts a shoulder, diplomatic as ever. “It is not unheard of. Besides, I am too entranced with you to let this affect me. If anything it just cements the bond that we have.”

He draws you close to him, his chin resting on the top of your head. You find comfort in the pulse of his heart under your ear, the familiar scent that you’ve associated with him. “You are me,” he says finally.

You smile softly. “And I am you.”

Late into the evening you help Asha with prepping for your esteemed guests, working alongside the other servants and sneaking sips of the spice wine. They’re unsure of you, at first, but Asha quickly puts them at ease with a few unflattering anecdotes. You laugh with them. It’s been too long of a time since you’ve really laughed, spent time with people who didn’t have any expectations of you except the ones that Asha dashed — you were not quite as scary as you looked, and you did not lash out at others at the slightest provocation.

“You’re confusing me for my husband,” you told them then, to weary laughter. You might not have been a threat to them, but they were all afraid of Feyd-Rautha. Understandably.

It’s a nice reprieve until you awake the next morning with a twinge of a spice headache and a spiraling sense of doom. What if your pain failed? What if something happened to you — or Feyd?

“Quit it.”

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, draped in your finest dress. Feyd stands before the vanity and you watch him slip the Gom Jabbar into a hidden compartment in his sleeve. “Quit what?” You ask, fear tightening your chest.

“Worrying,” he says.

You meet his eyes in the mirror. A protest forms on your tongue but you know it would be futile to pretend that you aren’t worrying considering that he knows every subtle change in your expression. When you fail to reply, he turns to you, straightening out the cuffs of his smart jacket.

“Everything will be fine,” he tells you.

“You don’t know that.”

“I have never made a habit of being wrong.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. “We have no idea how this is going to play out.”

“We’re going to take back control from the hands of our oppressors,” Feyd says, his rasping voice like a lullaby. His long stride devours the space between you until he’s positioned himself practically between your legs. “We will finally take what we deserve.”

“I know. I know,” you say again with more conviction. You roll your shoulders back and try to emulate some of Feyd’s unwavering confidence, but he hardly looks convinced.

Gazing down at you, Feyd brushes his knuckles over the bannister of your cheek. “No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it.”

“And I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

His hand pauses. Feyd’s thumb and forefinger captures your chin, lifts it up. “Promise me that you will not jeopardize your safety for mine.”

Not for the first time, you admire the angles of his face — the smooth brow, the dark eyes looking down at you over his straight nose; the plush lips that you cannot look at without picturing them over your most sensitive parts. Your heart pangs. You would do anything for him.

You tell him in an equally soft tone, “I can’t promise you that.”

“You must.” His grip on your chin tightens.

“We’ve already established that you are my blood. My past, my future,” you whisper fervently to him, brave in the face of his obvious disapproval, “if the moment comes to it I would lay down my life to protect yours.”

Feyd leans down. His mouth slants over yours, a phantom of a kiss. “Then you’re a fool,” he breathes, words chilling you.

“So be it.”

Feyd releases his grasp on you, stealing the air from your lungs. Even the faintest touch of his leaves you wanting more.

“Come,” he says, holding out his arm, “my foolish wife. We have guests to receive.”

Glowglobes dance over your heads as you venture, arm in arm, to the front of the palace. No one has been permitted to enter without the na-Baron and na-Baroness and at your arrival begin to trickle in slowly, each guest stopping to greet you and praise you for your hospitality.

A few stop to ponder at the lack of wash troughs but after a series of dead-end interactions with Feyd cease to ask. It wasn’t a popular choice among the Arrakis staff, you had learned from your previous stay that they liked to sell the towels from which cleaned up the mess from the troughs. Your Harkonnen guest frown on this as well. Even Feyd was skeptical about your insistence on removing the tradition, but he supported you regardless, and you couldn’t be more pleased by your decision.

Water was sacred here and you would not flaunt your access to it, not even to those who had never had to safe keep it.

It’s difficult to maintain the smile on your face as you welcome noblemen and bankers, wealthy businessmen, and even the occasional individual that you sense dabbled in the more seedy side of entrepreneurship. The duel suns have just started to set when you notice a familiar dark shape approaching you.

“Uncle,” Feyd greets the Baron.

“Feyd-Rautha, na-Baroness.” His voice slips over you like grease and his eyes are even more beady than you remember. Your grandfather. “It is good to see you again and to celebrate your victory.”

“Indeed,” you reply, not meaning it in the least.

From behind the Baron, his suspenders whirring with the effort of lifting him, emerge Rabban, clutching the wrist of one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Her dress gives the appearance of armor but still impressively elegant, blonde hair slicked back and green eyes latching onto you immediately.

“Princess Irulan,” Rabban says. “Though she hardly needs an introduction.”

“It’s a pleasure,” you say, curtsying.

Irulan smiles wistfully at you. “There is no need for that. We are destined to be family, after all.”

“My apologies,” Feyd retorts.

“Don’t mind him,” the Baron directs at the princess. One of his massive hands clamps down on Feyd’s shoulders, a gesture that you do not mistake for anything less than threatening. “He jests as all brothers do.”

“I understand,” Irulan says with a melodious laugh. Though as the five of you take to joining the rest of the party (along with Irulan's small army of guards), you can’t help but notice the way she glances at you. You have trouble deciphering the look but it slips from your mind after another session of small talk before the first course is served.

The table has just been set with plates of all sorts of delicacies when you feel a small hand grab you. Bodies press against you as guests hurry to claim the most coveted seats at the table. A chord of surprise is struck in you when you realize that the hand is not that of someone hoping to steady themselves amongst the sea of bodies but, rather, the intentional grip of Princess Irulan.

“We must talk,” she says. “It’s not every day that you find yourself in a situation like the one we have both been put in.”

“Did you not think your father would arrange your marriage?” You ask stiffly.

Something reminds you that Irulan is studying to be a Bene Gesserit, a feat that you could never hope to accomplish. You have to admit that it’s admirable. But the less tolerant side of you resents her for it.

“I could never hope for that, much like you were unable,” Irulan says. “I meant in the nature of being engaged to Harkonnens.”

“Oh.”

Distractedly you let your eyes wander until they fall on Feyd, who is sitting in his place at the head of the table and entertaining a small audience. Rabban, on the other hand, glowers at the food heaped on his plate, fork gripped in his fist as if he wants to launch it at someone.

“Do you have any wisdom to impart?” Irulan asks.

“I’m still trying to learn myself,” you tell her. “The Harkonnens are a…unique people.”

Irulan leans closer to you. “Is Feyd-Rautha as psychotic as they say?”

“Even more,” you say in interest of feeding the rumors. They weren’t wrong, of course, but you could hardly consider him as such when it was Irulan’s own betrothed who worried you.

And they both had a hand in your family’s deaths.

Before you can say anything to this effect, however, Feyd beckons you to the table. You smile at Irulan placatingly — the expression of a wife under her husband’s control — then find your place beside him. Irulan sits down on the other side of Rabban. Is she still staring at you?

You can’t help but feel as you did when Jessica would scrutinize you, analyzing your every move and word. It unsettles you.

The dinner starts without a hitch. You do your best to move the food on your plate around convincingly and avoid Irulan’s gaze. Everyone seems content to listen to Feyd’s stories about dismantling the spice smugglers, though, which leaves you mostly adrift with your thoughts. In fact, you’re so surprised when someone speaks to you that it takes several moments for you to compose an answer.

“Pardon my niece,” the Baron interjects with a sickening smile. “She certainly has a lot on her mind. Arrakis is grueling for even the weakest of individuals, though she’s had experience with it before.”

The noblemen who spoke to you nods. “That’s right. You’re of House Atreides. My condolences about your parents. Duke Leto was a magnificent man.”

“If only other men were possessed of such magnificence,” you mutter in reply, angrily spearing a vegetable on your plate. You shoot a glare at the Baron. “My father inspired cowardice in those who could not even hope to compete with him.”

“True cowardice lies in refusing to admit when you’ve been beat,” the Baron says coolly. He licks sauce from his thumb.

You stare back evenly at him. “You would know about true cowardice.”

The nobleman stuck between you both clears his throat awkwardly and drains the rest of his glass. Conversation swells again and thankfully diverts the topic of your family, and as the dinner transpires you’re itching to enact your plan. Finally dessert is cleared and after-dinner drinks are set before all of the guests.

Feyd rises to his feet and draws the attention of the room, holding up his flute to indicate a toast.

You stand, too, and smile endearingly at him.

“Tonight we have gathered to celebrate the prosperity of the House Harkonnen,” he rasps. “In the face of adversity we have yet again come out the victors on the other side.” This is met by a small smattering of applause. Feyd continues, “Of course, where would we be without our patriarch? The Baron has…provided for us for many years. I can only hope to return the favor.”

Feyd and you both drink from your glasses, as do the rest of the party.

It takes only a few seconds for panic to arise.

While you and Feyd gaze out contentedly at your guest, they find themselves paralyzed and unable to move a muscle. It’s a temporary poison — it won’t last longer than a few minutes — but it’s one that you both have acclimated to. You are free to round the table to Rabban at the same time that Feyd strides to his uncle on the other side.

You pull the Gom Jabbar from your corset. Every Noble House is in possession of one, which is why Feyd also had to steal his own. In a movement that seems almost choreographed, you and your husband bring the needles up to the necks of your prisoners. Adrenaline soars through you.

“It was always going to end like this between us,” Feyd murmurs almost lovingly to the Baron. He brushes his finger down his uncle’s face.

You turn your attention to Rabban. Although he cannot move, the muscles in his eyes strain to glare at you. You hold the needle just centimeters from his skin. “I will give you the same mercy you gave my family,” you whisper. “None.”

“STOP!”

Time ceases to move as, from your peripheral, you watch Irulan shoot to her feet. You’re unable to refuse the call of The Voice, and you’re rendered as paralyzed as the guests who drank from their poisoned glasses.

Which, apparently, the princess had not.

“You two are both fools,” she hisses. Her fingers form claws at her sides. “Did you not think I would notice what you were doing? That I would let you unravel the hard work of my father?”

Using The Voice, she orders you to drop the needles. They clatter to the ground.

You manage a glance in Feyd’s direction. His expression is grim, jaw clenched and eyes burning with rage at having been thwarted. Out of all of the outcomes of this evening, you hadn’t expected this to be one of them. A leaden feeling fills your entire body.

Irulan holds you, frozen, until she can call her father’s guards into the room and command them to seize you for treason.

“Irulan, please,” you beg her once liberated of her hold over you.

She simply gazes at you with contempt.

Guards descend on the room without warning and, without any verbal agreement, you and Feyd do your best to fend off wave after wave of them. They drop like flies, but there’s too many of them for you both to dispatch. You step and whirl over fallen bodies as you fend off the guards with nothing but a butter knife, the Gom Jabbar having been the first thing the guards kicked out of your grasp.

“We have to get out,” Feyd snaps at you. He throws a punch over your shoulder, hitting a guard and giving you enough time to spin and kick the offender in the gut. “Now.”

You pant, “Where?”

Irulan was tending to Rabban, who had stirred and was glaring murderously at you as he waited for the rest of his body to cooperate. The Baron simply stared from his seat. You had no idea if he was fully awake or not, but you didn’t want to wait for the punishment he fettered out.

“Here.” Feyd pushes a torn up napkin into your hands and demonstrates his intention by forcing them deep into his ears.

You quickly do the same. If you can’t hear Irulan, then the Voice won’t work on you.

Right?

It seemed as good a plan as any. Like a conjoined beast, you and Feyd tear through the swarm of guards like cutting through tall wheat. Blood splattered his face and his knuckles had broken open — you were sure you looked just as deranged, hair loosened from its pins and dress ripped from where a guard had taken hold to try and stop you. You had promptly struck him in the head with your foot, knocking him out and releasing his grip on you.

A roar from behind alerts you to bigger troubles. Rabban staggers after you, face reddened.

“Y/N!” Asha cries. You’ve made it to one of the adjoining hallways, and she latches onto your arm, pulling you towards her.

“Asha, no —”

“Go! Take her!” Feyd yells.

You wrench yourself free from Asha but Feyd has already been swallowed up by a wall of guards. A keening sound escapes you. You try to push yourself back but Asha won’t let you. “No, Feyd! Feyd!”

“He made me promise that I would help you escape,” Asha tells you, panicked. “Come on.”

“I won’t leave him.”

Asha tugs your arm. “I doubt he will be able to tolerate being apart from you for very long. But he will not tolerate it if I let anything happen to you.”

A guard with a lasgun splits from the dining room towards you and Asha and, with one more prompt from her, you take off running in the opposite direction, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The lasgun fires off two rounds, narrowly missing you. You pump your legs as fast as they will go, completely disconnected from the task at hand as you remember the image of Feyd interlocking with Rabban before he was obscured from your view by the guards. Would even your husband be able to escape such force?

“Turn here,” Asha instructs, your feet thundering loudly on the polished floors. She turns and thrusts you into a segment of the wall that has fallen away, moving swiftly to replace it. Stupidly, you hover, ensuring that you’re not being followed. The sound of the guard’s heavy breathing passes by you, then disappears. Asha turns to you, her face in shadows. “Move.”

Once you’re safely away from the door, tunneling through a narrow passageway, you ask her, “Where are we?”

“Abandoned servants halls. They used to use them to travel through the palace without being detected.”

A rush of adrenaline keeps you moving. You trail after Asha as she guides you through the winding passage, relying only on touch to navigate. You can barely even lift your arms at your sides without touching the walls, and its pitch black, no glowglobes to light your way. There’s no saying how far you go until Asha is grunting and pushing her shoulder up against another segment of wall.

You blink rapidly as you encounter a burst of light and the grit of sand on your tongue. Somehow you’ve bypassed most of the palace for the hangar. It’s shaded by an awning but open on one side to the harsh elements.

“Come on, we don’t have much time. If they’re smart they’ll know where we’re going.”

Asha leads you to one of the idle thopters. “I have no idea how to pilot one of these,” you say, alarmed.

“It’s been preprogrammed to at least get you out of Arraneen,” Asha says. “The rest is up to you. It’s not hard. This is the throttle—” she points to a lever, then another, “and this is the clutch.”

“I —” the words die in your throat.

I, what? Can’t land this thing? Can’t believe this is happening? Can’t leave without Feyd?

“Come with us. They’ll kill you if they find out you helped us,” you say instead.

Asha shakes her head. “There’s no room.”

“Asha —”

Your friend, her own tears in her eyes, pushes away your reaching hand. She ducks her head to check a watch-apparatus from her pocket. “The na-Baron should be here soon. If he’s not, he instructed me to force you to leave without him.”

You growl, “Nothing you can say will keep me from him.”

As if the universe felt personally challenged by this, the sounds of lasguns going off reverberate through the hangar. Asha and you both look towards the entrance, where Feyd can be seen sprinting from a group of guards. A scream climbs in your chest, bubbling with fear, as you watch him swerve and dodge to avoid the blasts.

“Feyd!” You cry.

His eyes lock on you and, seemingly emboldened, cycles his legs faster, outrunning the guards in their clumsy uniforms.

“Y/N, start the thopter!” Asha yells. She indicates a button on the mantle of the ship and you hastily press it, the bug-like wings snapping to life and kicking up sand in the hangar.

Feyd skids to a stop beside the thopter. A blast fires off, singing the mechanical flank of the ship. He uses his body as a shield for Asha. “Come with us,” he tells her, echoing you. Sweat and blood mingle on his face and his clothes.

“No. It’s too late. Go!” Asha all but shoves him into the thopter, crying out as another blast lands at her feet. With Feyd’s broad form next to yours, there’s truly no room for Asha unless she wanted to be smashed against the windshield. Feyd takes over the controls from you.

The thopter door closes right as the guards reach it, already jerking Asha into their grip.

You howl and scream in disbelief, pounding at the doors of the thopter from the inside as it launches into the air. Feyd hovers slightly before yanking on the throttle and piloting the thopter out of the hangar. “No, no, no!” Asha’s tiny frame is dwarfed by the guards, then by distance.

“Y/N, there’s nothing we can do now. She sacrificed herself for us. Let’s not put it to waste,” Feyd snarls at you.

You swipe tears and makeup from your face. Something inside you hardens, and you push down your anguish in order to focus on your escape. Feyd is a talented flyer, but it’s nothing compared to the league of thopters and ships encroaching in the distance. Worry clamps down on you like the jaws of a sandworm.

Arrakeen blurs beneath you as Feyd soars over it, the body of the thopter casting shadows over the buildings. You’ve nearly reached the shield wall when a shot collides with the thopter and sends it staggering to one side. Feyd curses. The Emperor’s ships have caught up with you. You grip your armrests, eyes widening as you watch the ships grow larger and larger in the rearview mirror. Feyd eases your ship through a small opening in the shimmering shield wall, effectively preventing any of the large ships from following.

More shots ring out, pinging off your thopter.

“What are we going to do?” Feyd’s dark gaze flickers behind you, then back to the desert unfolding before you. It’s then that you see it — a storm. “Feyd, did you get hit in the head? We can’t go into a sandstorm.”

“It’s our only option,” he grits out.

You want to protest, to persist that there’s another way, but you have no answer. Feyd forces the throttle of the ship down as far as it will go, the wings fluttering almost imperceptibly as he urges them to go as fast as possible. Pain explodes in your head when a blast hits the side of the thopter and you’re thrown against the inner wall; much like the pain, a fiery explosion erupts outside your window.

“Fuck! They shot off one of the engines,” Feyd yells over the clamor of the thopter stalling. Teeth gritting, he swoops it out of its downward spiral and back into the air. “We just have to make it to the storm. They won’t follow us.”

Giant columns of smoke billow from the decimated engine, the right wing also engulfed in flames. The thopters chugs along awkwardly, dipping and faltering as Feyd does his best to keep it in the air, relying on the gusts of wind from the oncoming storm. Your stomach churns.

And, quite literally jumping from one problem to the next, the storm seizes upon your thopter with furious force. From all sides you’re battered by wind and currents of sand and rocks, sounding like you were being pelted with boulders on all sides. You realize too late that the screaming you hear is from you. Feyd battles against the storm but at this point he’s at its terrible mercy, both of you being tossed around with no sense of control.

There’s a split second when you catch a glimpse of fear on Feyd’s face — the first time you’ve ever seen it — before another blast rockets into the thopter. One of the ships had followed you.

Flames converge with the whipping sand and an alarm starts wailing as the thopter plummets to the ground. Well, logical leads you to believe that it’s the ground, there’s no way of telling which direction you’re going.

Feyd releases himself from his seat’s harness and crosses over the console, throwing his body over yours right as the ship collides with something solid and everything goes black.

Part Fifteen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen

[holllandtrash]

hard truths | mick schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x leclerc!reader part 2 to disapproval - read part 1 here

after charles' comment sent you spiralling, you realize that the only person you can truly rely on is the one who will never be deemed good enough in your brothers' eyes, but that doesn't mean he's giving up on you.

word count: 3.4k warnings: none again except kind of asshole brother charles and a bit of poorly translated french, so sry

There was no way you could take Charles' call, not right now, not after just waking up and seeing that comment. You didn’t want to hear his half-assed, hungover apology. It wouldn’t mean anything.

All you could do was sit up in bed, the hotels’ white duvet pooled around your waist as you waited for Mick to get out of the shower, which seemed to take an eternity. When he did finally open the door, a cloud of steam following him, not even the sight of a towel sitting painfully low around his hips was enough to distract you. Your thoughts were too preoccupied on how the media was going to undoubtedly spin this. 

“What happened?” Mick asked, knowing right away that something was wrong. He recognized the strained look on your face and when you glanced up from your phone, his heart shattered at the sound of your timid inhale. 

As you started to explain the chaos that you woke up to, Mick began to get dressed. When you started going off for what seemed like the five hundredth about why your brothers were such assholes, he gave you his undivided attention as if this was the first time you were complaining about them. 

Mick always knew what to do and say. He knew that you preferred to be heard than to be given advice. He knew that when you were angry, especially at one of your brothers, the best thing that he could do was show you that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

He let you pace back and forth in the hotel room as you started transferring your fears into spoken word, which was something that Mick had actually encouraged you to do months ago. He said that voicing your thoughts helped you realise how irrational they were, and you had to admit, he had a point.

But this time was different. You knew it. Mick knew it. Your worries were valid.

Mick suggested that the two of you head to the next race location earlier than everyone else. Not only could you take a few days to relax before needing to see Charles in the paddock, but it was also Monaco, your home. Your apartment was there, your friends were there, you’d feel more at ease in the comfort of your bed than you would in another hotel room.

So you packed up your bags and Mick called the front desk to have his car brought around front. The drive was a few hours, but maybe that was for the best. Five hours in a car with Mick seemed ideal, especially when you thought about turning your phone on airplane mode to silence out the rest of the world. 

Mick grabbed both your luggage and his, rolling them behind him as you made your way to the elevator. When you stepped inside, you briefly checked in the mirror to make sure you didn’t look like a complete disaster, but before you could reach for concealer or mascara, Mick leaned down and kissed your cheek, not needing to say anything. That simple gesture alone meant that he would always think you looked beautiful.

The ride down to the main floor was tedious itself, but when the elevator doors finally opened, time froze.

Standing there, waiting to enter to presumably go up to his own room, was Charles. The dark bags under his eyes and the energy drink clenched in his hand gave away just how much last night had affected him. But regardless of how exhausted he looked, there wasn’t a single ounce of remorse on his face.

Nothing that indicated he felt even a little sorry for that comment. 

He just stared at you, lips slightly parted as if he was going to say something but there was nothing for him to say. His eyes darted towards Mick who had tensed up the second he spotted your brother, but Mick didn’t say anything either.

There was a lot he probably wanted to say but this wasn’t Mick’s place to intervene, not yet at least.

The elevator doors tried to close because of the lack of movement in the cart but you were quick to slam the palm of your hand against it to activate the sensor, keeping the doors open. Charles flinched, as if thinking you were about to hit him. You should have. 

“Nothing?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “You have absolutely nothing to say?” 

“Oh now you want me to say something?” Charles raised his voice, not bothered by the handful of people in the lobby that were within earshot. “I tried calling you earlier and you didn’t answer!”

“I had just woken up!” You yelled back and Mick raised his hand to your back, a gentle reminder that now was not the time nor place to start a screaming match with your brother. 

You glanced up at Mick who’s glare was still firmly locked on Charles and you shook your head helplessly, looking back at the person who was supposed to be there for you, supposed to support you and be happy for you. He was family for christ sakes.

Your phone chimed again, another notification that would certainly cause your blood to boil should you choose to open it.

“Media’s going insane with this. C'est ton problème. À toi de le réparer.” This is your mess, it’s up to you to fix it. You jabbed your finger against his chest and Charles backed up, not saying another word as he stepped out of the way for you and Mick to exit the elevator.

Mick grabbed the two suitcases and led the way towards the front door. You made sure to keep your head down. Even though this hotel was rooming mostly drivers and people from various teams, the last thing you needed was to be bombarded with questionable stares. 

When you finally got into the car, Mick reached across the middle console to rest his hand on your thigh. You knew it would stay there for most, if not all of the ride. When he offered for you to pick the playlist, nothing came to mind.

Feeling defeated and helpless in this situation, Mick put on a playlist the two of you had created together and gave your leg a firm squeeze. When you glanced in his direction, Mick leaned forward to crash his mouth against yours.

You hated PDA and you knew that his windows weren’t well tinted, but at the moment you didn’t care who outside the car saw you kissing your boyfriend. If anything, this was a giant fuck you to your brother. His immature comment and lack of brain cells wasn’t going to stop you from being with the man you loved.

You just hoped this would all blow over soon.

“A fucking Instagram story apology?” You screamed at Charles through the phone about a minute after you stepped into your apartment, switching between cursing him out in French and English. Mick picked up on a few words here and there but he kept raising his eyebrows when he had no idea what it was you were saying.

“What else do you want me to do?” Charles yelled back, his voice was muffled and there was a lot of noise in the back. Wherever he was, it meant he wasn’t giving this situation the attention it deserved. 

“I want you to not lie on social media and put some fucking effort into getting along with Mick!”

You made the mistake of trying to unpack while on the phone with your brother because every few seconds, whatever you had in your hands would just get crumpled between your fist or you’d throw it out of anger. 

Mick stepped towards you, taking your hand in his to unclench your fingers to release the shirt you were currently digging your nails into. He gave you a look that basically said stop trying to multitask, you suck at it.

“Give me one good reason why you don’t approve of me dating him,” You ordered and Charles went silent on the phone. You waited about twenty seconds before you scoffed into the receiver, “Tu ne peux pas." You can’t.

Finally, Charles blurted out, “He’s older than you.”

“By two years.”

“He doesn’t have a career.”

“Maybe he’s not currently driving but that doesn't mean he’s done for good,” you retorted, standing up for your boyfriend. 

“He can’t support you.”

“I can support myself.”

You heard Charles sigh loudly, “You shouldn’t be dating a driver, Y/N, okay?”

“Just because you were a shitty boyfriend to your ex-girlfriends doesn’t mean Mick is going to treat me poorly too.” 

Mick’s eyes went wide at that comment. It wasn’t like you to bring up his past and you both knew how delicate of a topic his relationships were. No one in the family talked about what happened, Charles kept it to himself. But between you and your other brothers, you sort of put two and two together that whatever happened was his fault. 

Mick reached for your hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you to stand between his legs. He ran his fingers over the back of your legs, the light touch making you shiver, but he knew you needed this type of comfort right now. 

You draped your arm over his shoulder, lazily sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as you waited for Charles’ response, but all you could hear was quiet breaths and voices in the background. 

“Charles, I don’t know what happened in your relationships,” you started off hesitantly, “but whatever fear you have, whatever you did…Mick isn’t the same guy. He’s not you, he’s-”

“Better,” Charles said under his breath and you actually chuckled. Mick heard it too and smiled.

“I mean, yeah,” you agreed and Mick tried to hide his laughter by reaching for your hand, kissing the back of it. “And I get it, you want to protect me but this isn’t how you go about it. You’ve just been cruel and closed off and you haven’t even tried to see Mick for the guy he is. Do you even know how happy he makes me?”

Charles went silent again. That could have meant two things. Either he truly disassociated himself from your relationship and had absolutely no idea the smile Mick brought to your face, the joy he brought into your life. Or Charles saw everything and he could see how much Mick meant to you, even if he tried to ignore it. 

You looked directly at Mick, resting your palm against the side of his cheek, “I love him.”

Mick’s blue eyes quite literally sparkled. He mouthed the words back to you. ‘I love you.’ 

The next thing you heard was the dial tone.

Mick heard Charles’ hang up and he took the phone from your hands before you could throw it or break it or crush it between your fingers, which he was confident you could do. He tossed it onto the bed behind him and pulled you onto his lap.

“I don’t get it,” you whispered, eyes starting to gloss over. “I don’t want to keep having this conversation with him. I want him to be happy for me, for us.”

“I know,” Mick nodded, the worry lines in his forehead coming back as his eyes darted all over face, thinking of the ways he could try to make things better. 

“And I don’t need his approval but-”

“But you want it,” Mick could read your thoughts, he knew you so well. “He’s your brother, it makes sense.”

“I don’t even want to go to the race this weekend if he’s going to be acting like this.”

“You don’t need to,” he backed up that idea without any hesitation. “Why support him when he can’t do the same for you?”

But that felt wrong. You had a huge heart, you loved Charles and you wanted to see him succeed and especially in Monaco of all places. Not being there for this race just seemed so horrible. 

And people would definitely speculate if you weren’t there to cheer your own brother on. 

“I have to,” you eventually said. 

“You have a few days to decide.”

Mick titled his chin upwards to press a kiss to your cheek. Obviously it made you smile and that smile only grew when he continued to pepper quick kisses all over your face. Your hold around his shoulders tightened and you pushed him backwards so he landed face up on the mattress with you still on top of him.

“I love you,” he told you, his gaze dropping from your eyes to land on your lips for just a second before looking up again. “I will always love you, Y/N. Nothing is going to get in the way of that, I promise.”

“Not even stupid brothers?” You asked and Mick chuckled, shaking his head.

“Not even stupid brothers.”

You dropped your forehead to rest against his, letting your hair fall around his face. Mick slipped his fingers under the hem of your shirt and the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sent a chill down your spine in the most comforting way. Your nose nudged against his and just like every other time before this, when he kissed you, your entire body felt like it was on fire. 

Mick had the ability to light a match within you from just a simple touch. You were electrified when you were with him and you couldn’t get enough. 

He pushed your shirt further up as your kiss deepened. His tongue traced your lips, just enough to leave you breathless and Mick took that opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. You could practically taste the coffee he was drinking in the car and you loved it. 

You sat up suddenly, giving yourself a few seconds to pull your shirt off because it was bound to come off anyway. You tossed it behind you and Mick pushed himself up as well, attaching his lips to your throat. Your head rolled back when his teeth grazed over your skin and you knew that if you didn’t stop him, he would leave a mark. 

But you just tugged your fingers through his hair, your faint moan encouraging him to keep going. You didn’t care what people would think if your makeup failed to cover it. Let them know how much you love Mick. You wanted people to know that you were his and that wasn’t going to change.

Mick trailed his lips upwards, his kisses were soft in comparison to the merciless sucking on your neck a few seconds prior and the contrast was driving you insane. 

He was the sweetest, most caring guy you had ever met. With kind eyes and a heart bigger than anyone deserved, Mick was truly the most lovable person on this planet.

But good god there was another side to him. A side you only ever saw when it was just the two of you alone and you craved it. He had the ability to flip a literal switch and take complete control over you. Mick would have you begging in seconds, he knew exactly how to please you and how to leave you wanting more. 

Which is why you were more than irritated when his phone started ringing in his pocket. You could feel the vibration against your leg and you pleaded for him to just let it go to voicemail. 

Mick laughed against your skin, pressing a kiss to the spot right below your ear, “You know I’d love to sweetheart but-”

“-but you can’t,” you groaned, finishing the thought for him. Just because he wasn’t a full time driver didn’t mean he got out of F1 obligations. You adjusted yourself on his lap so he could pull his phone out. Charlotte’s name lit up the screen, head of PR for Mercedes. 

Mick answered the phone, still keeping his other hand on your waist. You overheard some of the conversation just from being in close proximity but when Charlotte asked if Mick could join a Zoom meeting, you rolled your eyes.

“Say no,” you whispered, wanting to get back to what you were doing. 

Mick covered the speaker with his hand, “I can’t say no. Mercedes has to do a bit of damage control before the race this weekend.” 

You groaned loudly and you were certain you heard Charlotte laugh from the other end of the call. Mick kissed your cheek before you climbed off of him, reaching for your shirt to put back on. 

“Blame your brother,” Mick told you as he grabbed his laptop from his backpack, heading into your office. He shut the door behind him and you just knew you wouldn’t see him again for at least three hours.

You reached for your phone and flopped yourself on the bed. As much as you should have been staying off social media, you couldn’t help but wonder what people were saying about this whole situation.

It was endearing, and slightly humorous, to see that some fans hated Charles’ apology as much as you did. But it was painful knowing that they too saw the distaste your brother had for Mick. 

When you opened instagram, you noticed that Charles had deleted his story post. He probably did that after you told him how horrible it was. However, it just meant that there was still a mess he had to clean up. 

You didn’t like how the conversation with him ended. He hung up so abruptly. And even though that was not the first time he’d done that, you didn’t want him to get away with it. The two of you needed to talk, you needed to put an end to this bullshit.

So you called him, only for it to go right to voicemail. 

You waited a bit and called again, same thing. 

Not wanting to get too in your head about it, you reached for the remote to turn the tv on. If Mick was going to be in meetings for the better part of the evening, you could at least catch up on some shows.

As the day went on, you kept trying to get a hold of Charles, but to no avail. Eventually you texted the one person who should have at least had an idea as to where he was.

Defeated, you tossed your phone aside. You got up out of bed and made your way down the hall. The door to your office was still shut but you pushed it open the slightest bit. When the hinges squeaked, Mick turned around in the chair and smiled at you. 

There was something so humbling about seeing your Formula 1 driver boyfriend sit at your pastel pink desk with the cheesiest grin on his face. 

“Almost done, I promise,” he told you, glancing at his watch. What you assumed would be a three hour meeting had turned into a five hour one, but at this point they were probably discussing everything for the week so Mick could spend more time with you before the race weekend.

“It’s okay, take your time,” you said, blowing him a kiss. Mick reached his hand up in the air, pretending to catch said kiss.

“I’ll order us something to eat, yeah?” he suggested, grabbing his phone. You nodded in agreement to that idea before retreating out of the office. 

There wasn’t much to do as you waited for Mick to finish up so you started tidying up. Your apartment wasn’t messy by any means but you had to distract yourself. Otherwise you’d just start thinking about what Charles is up to and why he wasn’t answering your calls and you didn't want to pull Mick away from his work to help you out of whatever self-destructed spiral you would surely fall into. 

When there was a knock on the door, you paused. Usually delivery drivers would use the intercom buzzer on the main level to gain entry into your building. You also weren’t sure how the food managed to be prepared and delivered so quickly.

“Mick!” You called out. “Did you give the delivery driver my access code?” 

There was no answer, but there was another knock at the door.

Not wanting the food to get cold, you reached for the door handle and pulled it open. 

Only, it wasn’t food.

And for the second time in less than twelve hours, your older brother’s unpredictable actions had left you feeling a little confused and terribly surprised as you came face to face with the man whose eyes bore so much resemblance to yours.

part 3 here

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