#jori fic

[cbotann]

Beck wasn't supposed to get up on stage after her song. He wasn't supposed to kiss her, nor was she supposed to kiss him back.

No. This shouldn't be happening at all.

Because the song was for Tori.

Tori, who inspired her to write this song and perform it in the first place. Tori, who, coincidentally, was by Beck's side, happily singing along and clapping to the beat. Tori, who she kept glancing at during the entirety of her performance.

Tori, who she loved with all her heart.

One could argue that she clearly accepted what happened afterwards, so that couldn't be the truth.

Well, fuck you, Jade would say. It's her feelings, and she should be the one that knows it best.

And one thing she knows for sure is that she absolutely regretted giving in to the safety of Beck's presence in her life as her boyfriend.

[onlyonetifosi]

chapter 15

series masterlist my main masterlist

hello hello, im back with a chapter that i've wanted to write since Charles got Leo so here it is uncle Yn and Uncle Joris in babysitter duty

The morning sun cast a golden glow over Monaco, the calm before the storm of the Grand Prix weekend. Yn Leclerc stretched lazily in her apartment, enjoying the tranquility before the chaos. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand; a message from her twin brother, Charles.

*Be there in 10 with Leo. See you soon!*

Charles was on his way to drop off his tiny puppy, Leo, before heading to the media day obligations. Yn quickly got dressed and made her way to the kitchen, whereJoris, was already brewing coffee.

"Morning, amour. Ready for a day with Leo?" she greeted with a smile.

"Always," Joris replied, setting out two mugs. "Let's get  the breakfast started before Charles arrives."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Yn opened the door to find Charles, looking dashing in his Ferrari team gear, holding a squirming Leo.

"Morning, sis," Charles greeted with a smile, holding the tiny Dachshund in his arms. Leo wagged his tail excitedly at the sight of Yn

"Morning, Charles. Ciao Andrea. Bonjour, Leo!" Yn cooed, taking the wiggling puppy from her brother. "Did you sleep well, little guy?, come in, we've got breakfast ready," Yn replied, stepping aside to let him in

"Yeah, he was good" Charles replied, stepping inside. "But you know how busy today's going to be. Thank you for watching him"

"Of course. Joris and I are happy to help. Plus, who could resist this face?" Yn said, nuzzling Leo, who responded with enthusiastic licks.

Joris emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "Breakfast is ready. Come on, let's eat before you get swept away by the media storm"

Charles entered, followed closely by his trainer Andrea, who eyed the kitchen warily. The spread on the table included croissants, fresh fruit, yogurt, and—much to Andrea’s dismay—a stack of pancakes topped with syrup and berries

"Charles, tu ne devrais pas manger ça (Charles, you shouldn't eat that)" Andrea admonished, shaking his head

"Andre, relax. It's just one breakfast. He'll need the energy for today" Yn interjected, handing Charles a plate

Charles grinned. "Listen to Yn, Andre. She knows what she's talking about"

They all sat down, with Leo happily run around the apartment. As they ate, Charles filled them in on his schedule for the day, while Yn and Joris shared their day plans

"Alors, comment te sens-tu pour cette course, Charles? (So, how are you feeling about this race, Charles?)" Joris asked, pouring coffee into mugs

"Je me sens bien, confiant. Monaco, c'est toujours spécial. (I feel good, confident. Monaco, it's always special)," Charles replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "And having all of you here makes it even better"

"We're all here to support you, Charles," Yn said, squeezing his hand. "And Alexandra arrives this afternoon, right?"

"Oui, she lands around six. She's really excited to see everyone, especially Leo and you" Charles said with a chuckle

After breakfast, Charles stood up and gave Leo one last pat, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Merci encore, I owe you one and thanks for the breakfast, guys. We need to get going, see you tonight?"

"Of course," Yn replied, giving her brother a quick hug. "Bonne chance aujourd'hui (Good luck today)"

"Merci. See you later," Charles said, waving as he and Andrea headed out the door

With Charles gone, Yn and Joris turned their attention to Leo, who was busy sniffing around the apartment

"Alright, Leo. Ready for an adventure?" Yn asked, crouching down to pet the little dog and Yn asked, clipping on his leash. Leo barked in agreement, his tiny body quivering with excitement

Their day with Leo began with a walk along the scenic streets of Monaco. The tiny Dachshund drew attention wherever they went, his tail wagging furiously as he explored every new scent. Leo’s curiosity was piqued by every new scent and sight. Locals and tourists alike couldn't help but smile at the sight of the small, energetic dachshund trotting happily beside Yn and Joris.

They strolled down to the harbor, where the luxurious yachts bobbed gently on the water. Leo's nose twitched as he sniffed the salty sea air, and he barked at the seagulls that swooped overhead.

"Il est tellement mignon. (He is so cute.)" Joris remarked, watching Leo’s antics

"Oui, il l'est. (Yes, he is.)" Yn agreed, laughing as Leo tried to chase a butterfly

Their next stop was the Japanese Garden, a serene spot that Yn loved. Leo sniffed around the carefully manicured bushes and trees, clearly enjoying the change of scenery. Yn and Joris strolled behind him, holding hands and chatting about their plans for the rest of the day

"Maybe we should take Leo to the beach later," Joris suggested. "I bet he'd love running around in the sand"

"That's a great idea," Yn agreed. "We can go after lunch"

As the sun climbed higher, they decided to take a break and have lunch at a seaside café. They found a shaded spot on the terrace and ordered a light meal. Leo curled up at their feet, content after his playtime in the garden

After their lunch they headed to Larvotto Beach. Leo was ecstatic, barking and chasing after 

the waves that gently lapped at the shore. Yn and Joris watched, laughing at his antics and Yn took the opportunity to snap a few pictures to send to Charles

"Leo's having a blast," she texted along with the photos

By the time they returned to the apartment, it was soon in the afternoon. Yn checked her phone and saw a message from Charles saying that Alexandra’s flight was arriving soon and they were heading home to freshen up before dinner. Yn and Joris spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing and playing with Leo until it was time to get ready

The afternoon flew by with more playtime, a nap for Leo, and a bit of work for Yn and Joris. Before they knew it, it was time to prepare for dinner. Alexandra, Charles' girlfriend, had arrived from Paris, and they were all meeting up for a family dinner

Yn felt a flutter of excitement as they made their way to the restaurant. It had been a while since the whole family was together, and she couldn't wait to see everyone, especially their little brother, Arthur, who she hadn’t seen in over a month

That evening, they all gathered at their favorite restaurant, a cozy place tucked away in a quiet corner of Monaco. Charles and Alexandra were already there, looking radiant and happy. Lorenzo and his girlfriend Charlotte arrived shortly after, followed by their mother, Pascale, and their younger brother, Arthur

"Artie! Ça fait si longtemps! (It's been so long!)" Yn exclaimed, squeezing her brother tightly

"Je sais! Tu m'as manqué (I know! I missed you)" Arthur replied, smiling

“Hi Alex, I’ve missed you! How was Paris?” Yn said greeting her brother’s girlfriend

"Merci, Yn! It's so good to be here. I missed you all," Alexandra said, her eyes lighting up when she saw Leo "And there's my little Leo!"

Leo bounded over to her, tail wagging furiously. Alexandra scooped him up, showering him with kisses "I've missed you, mignon!"

Dinner was a joyous affair, filled with stories and catching up. Charles recounted his very busy media day, while Lorenzo and Charlotte talked about their latest adventures. Arthur recounted his recent races, and Yn and Joris shared funny anecdotes about their day with Leo while Pascale admired their sons and the people they love.

"Merci d'être là, tout le monde" Charles said, raising his glass (Thank you for being here, everyone)

"À la famille," Yn replied, raising her glass as well (To family)

"À la famille," they all echoed, clinking their glasses together

taglist: @love4lando@gcldtom@im-mi@hiireadstuff@celesteblack08@reblog-princess@sunf1ower16@janeholt3@athena-artemis-dorian-gray@minkyungseokie@tesi1

[toilandtroubled]

𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤 — 𝙝𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

If I were to create a tag list for my posts who would want to be included?

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—03. i think i fell in love today —word count: 7.5k —warnings: despicable tooth rotting clawing my eyes out eating the stuffing in my pillows fluff. truly its horrendous. lets talk about it. —love, mackie... i'm sleeping hopefully. right now I am hammocking. the ice cream truck just drove past. I love June.

After Paris, Chris was a bit apprehensive when it came to her ability to navigate the airport in Abu Dhabi with any sort of efficiency. Especially not now, where she needs to go through customs and register for a visitor’s visa and find her luggage and get her money exchanged. Pleasantly, though, she’s surprised at the ease she works through her notes app checklist. It’s within the hour that she’s climbing into the backseat of a taxi and heading to the hotel. 

She spends the entirety of the twenty-something minute drive doing a deep dive on Joris’ Instagram. He’s going to be waiting for you, Charles had told her the night they’d worked it all out. How he knew his friend would be free is beyond Chris, but that's not even the bigger issue at hand. The issue is, of course, that she’s had no more than a momentary interaction with Joris in the background of a FaceTime call two weeks ago. The thought of breezing past him in the hotel lobby is a mortifying one. 

It’s quarter after seven by the time she gets there, and when she catches a glance of herself in a mirror on the wall and almost bursts into laughter. Someone could tell her that she fell down the stairs in Austin and hit her head and is in a coma and it would feel more believable than her life right now. This just… this doesn’t happen to her; five star hotels in foreign countries and heavy accents and guys who call her beautiful from the other side of the globe. 

She spots Joris in an armchair on his phone at the other end of the lobby. She approaches nervously, and he stirs from his phone at her sudden proximity. “Hi,” Chris greets, sounds almost apologetic for interrupting him. “Joris, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, dragging out the vowel sounds when he glances back down at his screen. Chris wonders if he knows he’s waiting for her. 

She smiles. “I’m Chris.”

“Right!” He snaps his fingers, shoves his phone into his pocket. “Chris.” He stands and opens his arms to hug her like they’re old friends. It’s a move straight from her book, one that she’s pulled on dozens of people before. It’s not one that she’s met with often. Chris thinks they’ll get on well, her and Joris. That’s a good thing, right? Friendly friends. 

Chris’ mom had told her more than once that the quickest way to know someone’s character is through their friends. Only a maniac is rude to animals and elderly and children, she’d said a million times over, it’s the character of the people they choose to spend time with that matters. Joris has no idea Chris is silently observing his every action, picking them apart on a human level.

On the elevator ride up, Joris fills Chris in on everything that’s happened during the free practices that day, tells her that it’s been a relatively clean couple of sessions. You do know of the risk this weekend, yes? P2 or P3, he asks and answers his own question. Chris nods. If she didn’t know, she does now. The room is on the fifth floor, she notes, staring at the glowing five button as she picks at her cuticles. It hits her like a ton of bricks, her anxiety skyrocketing as the elevator ascends, her stomach left behind on the ground level. 

This whole thing is crazy, and not the quirky, silly story you tell your friends about over a vodka cran crazy. Just plain crazy. Insane. Off the wall absurd. Why, why are they sharing a room? Why is she even here? What is it about her that can’t be found somewhere, anywhere, else? And the most prudent question, the one ringing in her ears louder with each passing moment; what is it about him? 

Chris has never considered herself to be logical, not in the slightest, but she does like to maintain the idea that she’s well grounded. She might not always act in a way that makes the most sense, but she always makes those choices within the bounds of her reality. 

And, because her nerves permeate off her like a thirteen-year-old’s B.O, Joris takes a stab at cooling her down. “How was your planes?”

“Good. Smooth.” she nods, forces a smile. Her weight shifts from heel to heel, thumbs looped through her backpack straps. The floor is a shiny black marble with white and gold veins, one that commands your attention. Chris pulls her eyes from it to look at him anyway. Nervous and insane or not, she wants to make a good impression. “I could do without navigating the airport in Paris ever again, though.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “It never gets easier.”

“Does any of it?” She offers up a laugh, but it’s as genuine as the smile her face held before. 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off with the ding of the doors opening. There, in the hallway with more marble floors and a wallpaper that walks the line between elegant and gaudy, a couple stands on a white carpet runner. The man has on a Mercedes cap. Chris wonders if they know a Formula One driver is staying on their floor. 

The four of them sidestep awkwardly around each other with polite smiles to the floor, and before she knows it Joris is holding a keycard over the lock on a heavy door and handing the piece of plastic to her. 

It’s not a room. It’s a suite. There’s a living room and a kitchenette and a whole separate bedroom to this place. It’s expensive, wildly so, she’s sure. 

She wheels her suitcase into the bedroom, leaves it in the corner by an armchair with her backpack. At the bottom of the bag is her purse, which she digs out while Joris is using the bathroom, moving things around from one bag to the other. 

The drive to the circuit is twenty minutes, at least, and Joris talks the whole time, mostly about how nervous he is and how hard he’s trying to make sure Charles doesn’t notice. Chris doesn’t tell him that Charles is also beyond nervous about the whole thing–or that he knows good and well everyone around him is losing their minds. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing that would make Joris feel any better. 

“Pascale and Enzo, you know them, yes? Charles’ Mum and brother?” Joris questions.

“Nope,” Chris shakes her head. “Not yet.”

Oh, he doesn’t say. “You’ll like them if you like Charles,” he laughs. “You do like Charles?”

Chris bites down on a smile, a laugh leaving her nose in an exhale. “I do.”

“Good, good.” He nods. “Anyway, they are not here tonight, they already have gone back to the hotel. Arthur is there, still. Do you know him?”

“I think it’s going to be easier for both of us if you just assume I don’t know anyone.”

“Ah, okay. Will do.”

Chris wonders what Charles has said about her to Joris, to Arthur, to anyone. All of the stories he has or hasn’t told them about. She has almost exclusively not talked about him back home. Not because she doesn’t want to, she just can’t figure out how to say anything without sounding like a reality television star. Maybe he’s the same way. There’s a real chance that nobody in his family even knows that she’s coming, and maybe that’s the way she’d like it to be. 

Her reunion with Charles couldn’t be more different than their first meeting. The paddock is empty with exception of team crews and straggling media members. There isn’t a Bud Light in sight and the pass hanging around her neck has a picture of her on the back. He must’ve pulled it from her Instagram, the one that he keeps talking about wanting to follow back. A picture of her and CHRISTYN ELLIOTT - FULL WEEKEND written in bold letters. 

“He’s probably at the briefing,” Joris explains, checking his watch and walking one stride for every two of Chris’. She tries her hardest to keep up with him as he expertly navigates the paddock, all while trying to memorize his moves so she doesn’t end up stranded sometime this weekend. 

A whistle gets their attention, cutting sharply through the hot desert air. Her and Joris both snap their heads around to find the perpetrator of the summons. Charles pats Pierre’s shoulder and jogs ahead of the group of drivers, all already engaged in their own conversations and heading off into different directions. 

He has such a carefree smile on his face, jogging over with happy eyes and wiggling brows and a stupid little wink that puts a smile on her face. “Hello, Christyn,” he quips, greets her with open arms. And then, once his arms are pulling her to him so tight she can’t take a full breath, when he has so much energy to give her he can’t help but rock on the sides of his feet, he whispers just for her, “Hi,” a soft kiss on the crown of her head, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

All she can think about is how warm he is. Warm, and smells so nice. She doesn’t know how she’s going to ever go home. Not when he’s so warm. 

“How was the planes?” He asks, an arm comfortable slotting around her as they resume their walk to wherever it is she’s being led. 

“Uh, I’m tired, but.” She smiles. At him. Right there where she can touch him. Where he is touching her. “I’m here, so. I’m happy.”

On the walk back to hospitality, she asks him how his day’s gone. He’s sure she already knows, that Joris talked her ear off the entire drive over or that she’d checked the media reports of the practice sessions, but it’s nice to pretend she doesn’t know. He tries to summarize everything as concise as he can, because even though he loves talking to her, he’d much rather listen. He can listen to her talk until the sun burns out.

He’s not surprised to notice that Joris has peeled off from them, especially not because he didn’t even realize he wasn’t trailing behind him and Chris until he held open the door to his driver’s room and Joris was nowhere to be found.

He can’t count the amount of texts he’s had to have sent Chris from his driver’s room. How badly he wanted to just be talking with her, and now she’s here. She’s here, she’s here, she’s here with him. 

He moves around the room, cleaning and reorganizing his things for a fresh start in the morning. Casually, he mentions that he has a sponsorship obligation tonight, last race and all, and that Arthur and Joris are coming along. He doesn’t speak it so offhandedly because he’d forgotten, but because he didn’t want her to get freaked out by the idea of it. He explains that she’s welcome to tag along, or, if she’d feel more comfortable, she can stay here while Andrea packs up his things. 

She’s leaning against the wall just next to the doorway, watching him. Without hesitation, she replies, “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking to her. “You don’t have to.”

She nods, looks at the ground or the couch or something that isn’t him, folds her hand to look at her nails and lets out an almost silent laugh. His stomach drops. “You sound like you don’t want me to go.”

“No, no.” He corrects, and she still doesn’t look at him. He waves for her attention, cocks his head to the side when he gets it, “No. That’s not. I just want you to do what you want to do.”

“I want to go.”

“Okay,” he smiles.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looks like she’s trying so hard not to smile at him. “You’re being weird, you know?”

He shrugs, because she’s right. “I told you I would be.”

“Well,” Chris sighs, moves across the room to the small couch in the corner, “why are you being weird?”

“Because.” I want to kiss you, he stops himself from saying. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you twenty minutes ago, since you decided to come, since I met you, maybe. 

“Because, why?” She laughs, and he’s suddenly struck with the thought of what her laughter might taste like. Sweet, surely, just like it sounds. Like a popsicle on a summer day. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tries his absolute hardest to wipe that thought from his brain before texting his brother back. “Je veux t'embrasser tout le temps,” I want to kiss you all the time, he mumbles, isn’t even sure it actually leaves his lips or if he keeps it locked in the vault. He continues to send his reply to Arthur. 

“You know I don’t understand what you just said,” Chris reminds him. That’s why it came out in French, he thinks. Not everything is meant to be said. 

“I said,” he pauses, sends the text, looks back at her. God. “I said I want to kiss you.”

She crosses one leg over the other, looks down at her pants like there is something in her lap to fix. He can see the blush on the tips of her ears, even though she’s trying to hide her cheeks. When she does look up, face still flushed, she tucks her bangs behind her ears and replies softly, “you’re allowed to kiss me, Charles.”

He can’t believe he hasn’t yet. That he’d hugged the life out of her, kissed her hair and told her how happy he is she’s there, that he’d thought about kissing her for weeks, that he didn’t fucking kiss the girl yet. They’re sharing a bedroom tonight, and he still hasn’t kissed her. He thought about it, he did. But they’d promised to keep things as quiet as they could. Now, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have stopped him from throwing all those conversations out the window. 

If there wasn’t something weird in the air before, there certainly is now. A new weird. A good weird. An implication of something in the air, weird. It’s out there now, ust hanging above them. I want to kiss you. You can kiss me. Now all that’s left is for one of them to make the move. 

It’s the least he can do–make the first move. She flew across the globe, he can fucking kiss her. He wants to fucking kiss her. He feels like a little kid, the giddy smile that pulls on the corners of his lips when he walks over to her. He does little to conceal his intent.

“What?” She asks with a smile on her face. A tease, she has to know. 

He holds out his hands, palms forward to her and she follows his lead, reaches up to lace their fingers together. “I like you, you know?” He asks, leans his weight against her hands. Some hands are just meant to be held. 

She giggles like a child, pure and innocent and like nothing bad has ever happened to her. Like the childhood dog and all four grandparents are still kicking. “I can’t hold you up.”

“What?” He quirks a brow, leans more weight onto her hands and she laughs harder, her arms shaking below him. 

“Charles!”

“I said I like you, Chris!”

Through weak arms and uncontrollable belly laughs, she manages to choke out in gulps for air, “I like you, too.” In a swift movement, he recenters his weight on his own feet, pulling Chris up from the couch. The force of his pull almost knocks her from her feet, both of them still laughing, fingers dancing with the others on either side of their frames. The laughter is light and airy and barely there, but it’s laughter nonetheless. When their hands do fall apart, their pinkies stay looped together without force, without any pull at all, just comfortably slotted against the other. “I really like you,” she adds, and her voice sounds like smiles look. 

She blushes under her own words, over the entirety of their private moment, eyes darting from eyes to lips and back to eyes. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, like he’s scared asking might change her answer. She nods, biting down on the smile that paints her bottom lip, and it’s more than enough for him. She’s so good. She’s too good not to kiss. 

He moves a hand to her jaw, thumbs her cheek with fingers slotted behind her ear, dancing along her hairline like a whisper of what’s to come. Like a promise. In the absence of his hand, hers finds his chest, just his thin Ferrari shirt separating her palm from the butterflies stirring wildly in his chest. “Me, too,” he says softly. Softer than she did, more to her lips—soft and pretty and his favorite shade of pink—than to her eyes. And then, either so softly only the atoms hear it, or maybe in his head entirely, “very much.”

And then he kisses her. 

She tastes like mint chapstick and biscoff cookies and coffee. Her lips are soft, softer than they looked, softer than her voice. It’s like a boost of energy, kissing her. Like an immediate and complete charge. 

She tightens her grip on his other pinky. Tightens it, loosens it, re-intertwines the whole hand somewhere off in the distance, far, far away from where he wishes to stay forever. This alone is worth a flight anywhere. Altitude sickness and limbs falling asleep and jet lag and headaches from screaming babies are all poor inhibitors when this would be waiting for him on the other side. 

He pulls his hand from hers because it's just not close enough. Nothing is going to be close enough, but he’ll try his damndest to cup her jaw and pull her deeper into the kiss. Their noses bump awkwardly and they pull apart in a breathless laugh. Nothing more than a quick, shared smile and he’s kissing it off her face, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth and letting her hum mumbles into his mouth. Teeth clacking and more laughing, so breathless it’s practically silent. 

“Chris Elliott,” he says all sing-songy, just because he knows it’ll make her laugh. A quick peck, because he can. “You are something.”

“Charles Leclerc,” she mimics, wide eyes and raised brows and a beaming smile. A quick peck, because he’s never going to stop her. “Something good?”

He hums. “Something great.”

“You’re silly,” she says, and he laughs. 

“Silly?” She nods. “You’re cute.” Chris rolls her eyes, but still has that child’s smile on her face and a pink flush to her cheeks. He kisses her again, quick, because he has a month to make up for. 

“I know,” she retorts, deadpan. He laughs louder than any sane man should. 

Joris, Arthur, and Andrea file into the room a few minutes later. Chris is leaning against the wall again, scrolling through her phone. She clicks it off when they walk in, shoves it deep into her purse pocket. 

Andrea’s eyes bounce from Chris to Charles, and then back to Chris, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Andrea,” he greets, formal and cool. 

“Chris,” she smiles, shakes the outstretched hand. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You too.”

First bad impression. She doesn’t know what it is she did, but with the simple half-minute observation of his interactions with her versus the rest of the people in the room, it’s obvious he’s already soured on her. 

Arthur, though, Arthur is almost off putting in his resemblance to Charles. Same voice, same face, certainly same bloodline. She thinks she could recognize him anywhere, probably. He, however, on his phone, doesn’t even notice Chris’ presence in the room until Joris elbows him on the sofa. 

“Quoi?!” He exclaims in a defensive tone that transcends language barriers. The kind that only brothers know how to use. 

“Hi,” Chris says, and Arthur’s head shoots from Joris to her in the doorway. He almost laughs, he’s so surprised by her presence. “I’m Chris,” she adds, holding out a hand only because he's sitting and she’s standing and a hug doesn’t feel logistically sound. 

“Ah, Chris,” Arthur nods, shakes her hand. “Charles does not answer my phone calls because of you.”

“Oh,” she offers a weak smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no. I do not want to hear from him.”

Chris laughs. From the other side of the room, Charles chimes in, “then why are you calling me?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Maman say, ‘do you call Charles’ and I say ‘yes he does not answer me.’”

- - -

They run into Carlos and co. on the way to the sponsorship event. Chris tries to hang back towards the end of the group, back with Joris and Arthur and away from Charles, purely out of self preservation. They’d agreed in passing that everything would be much easier, hundreds of times simpler, if nobody knew Chris was there this weekend, if everything was kept under the radar. Charles, however, seems to have forgotten that agreement because, no matter how engaged he gets into a conversation, he is constantly looking for her in the group, reaching his hand out to her if she’s within distance to do so, keeping her as close to him as he can. 

She keeps falling back though, falling into ranks. She doesn’t want to look like a girlfriend, because she isn’t. 

Chris has no idea how to be a public… girl? A fling or a girlfriend or anything in between. She’s at home at a race track, yes, and during Chase’s championship winning season, she got stopped three times to take pictures with fans, but, really. Nobody has ever cared about what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with. 

Walking in behind Carlos and Charles is like walking in behind celebrities. Everyone wants to shake their hands, to pat them on the shoulders and tell them this thing or another. There’s lots of languages being thrown around that she doesn’t recognize, accents she struggles to understand. 

“This is crazy,” she says quietly, just to herself. 

Arthur nudges her with his elbow to steal her attention, furrows his brows for a moment and holds up a quizzical thumbs up. Chris nods, smiles gratefully. 

Charles promised that it was going to be nothing more than a quick stop at the event, and he meant it. They aren’t even there long enough to sit down. Instead they hang out in the back of the tent near the bar, watching Charles and Carlos talk on stage with several different people about how important this brand is for us.  

They decide to go out to dinner after, despite Chris’ burning desire to go to sleep for a couple years. They get sat at a booth that’s probably made to hold no more than four people; Andrea and Joris on one side, Charles sandwiched between Chris and Arthur on either side. He finds her hand under the table, his thumb tracing along the lines of her fingers. Chris, against all urges to rest her head on his shoulder, rests it instead on the wooden divider between their booth and the neighboring one. 

Arthur is the only one who struggles to speak English rather than his mother tongue, and while Charles corrects him each time, Chris doesn’t dare. She’d rather die than imply someone speaking in a second language needs to improve the way they speak it. 

“Are you going to be with us all weekend?” Arthur asks around Charles’ frame. 

“I’m actually going to be in the grandstands,” she smiles. Charles rolls his eyes. 

“Oh?” Arthur asks, looks to his brother, but Joris beats him to the punch. 

“You couldn’t get her a pass for the whole weekend?” Joris chirps. Andrea laughs and Charles reaches for the pass hung around her neck. She didn’t even realize she was the only person still wearing it until now. Charles flips the pass over, points out the FULL WEEKEND on the back. 

“Her choice, not mine.”

She reaches to take the pass out of his hand, to pull it off over her head and put it into her purse. “I’m hoping for a drama-free weekend,” she says, and the boys laugh. Charles’ hand finds her thigh, gives it a little pat and a comfortable squeeze. 

Her hands are meant to be held, they really are. He could hold her hand until the moment she leaves, fingers locked together as they walk through the hotel corridor, empty and echoey with their voices and the sound of their feet on the carpet runner. 

Once in the room, face to face together with the single bed, they both burst into laughter. He’s glad he cleaned things up before she got here, because the room was starting to look a little like his driver’s room–clothes strewn about messily, plastic water bottles on the end table, a television remote he lost the night he got here and hadn’t found until this morning. In the corner, Chris’ luggage sits beside the armchair, backpack neatly stacked with a single suitcase. 

“Did you bring your whole wardrobe?” He jokes, and maybe it’s because he’s never been great at conveying jokes in English, or maybe it’s that they’re both absolutely exhausted, but the joke doesn't land. She’s immediately apologizing, spewing out a jumbled apology about I didn’t know what I was supposed to wear, and then– “I’m messing with you,” he says, and hates that she thinks he’d be that worked up over a suitcase, especially when he’d brought at least double what she had. She could have shown up with twenty suitcases and he still wouldn’t have thought it was too much because, well, she’s here. Right in front of him. 

“Oh,” she pouts, and he kisses the look off her face. He’s wanted to do that since he saw it for the first time. “Oh. I like when you do that.” Good, he thinks. Get used to it. 

They both make plans to shower; her before him. He’s on the couch in the living area of the suite when she re-emerges from the bathroom, the TV rolling and absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. When the sliding door to the bathroom opens, he looks up to watch her. 

Her hair long down her back, carefully combed out so that the soaking ends turn the fabric of her sun-worn blue t-shirt a darker shade. It’s big on her–the shirt–hangs almost long enough that you wouldn’t be able to spot the flannel shorts underneath. He can still hear the sink running in the bathroom and she’s got a toothbrush in her mouth. 

He whistles when she walks back from the bedroom towards the bathroom again, and she stops in the doorway, laughs around the toothbrush and does a sweet spin. “Bellissimo,” he says, gestures a chef’s kiss and she bows dramatically. 

After his shower, he finds her in the bedroom, comfortably perched against the headboard, tucked under the crisp white duvet. The only light in the place is coming from her end table lamp, casting a soft shadow on her face, her knees pulled up close while she turns the pages of a book. He hovers around his suitcase watching her, completely in her own world, the only hint of her presence on this plane being the subtle lean into the light to better illuminate the pages she turns. 

It’s not the first time he’s found himself looking at her like this. She’s easy to get lost in and almost never notices him staring. She just gets so focused on the task at hand–grading papers, cooking a meal, painting her nails, watching a television show, or like tonight, reading her current library rental. 

“Do you want a water?” He asks. Her eyes don’t leave the page, a subtle shake of the head before she finally mumbles a no, thank you. He navigates the dark suite to the kitchenette, finds himself a plastic water bottle in the mini-fridge, and then he’s pulling back the comforter to climb into bed with her. “So, I was thinking tomorrow–” he starts, but she cuts him off with a singular finger held in the air. He can’t help but laugh, stupid smile on his face while he watches her eyes hurriedly finish the page, dog ear the tiniest fold onto the corner. 

“Sorry,” she unapologetically offers, setting the book down on the end table. “What were you saying?”

“Uh, I don’t remember,” he says, because he lost it while he tried to guess what she was reading based on the little microexpressions that crossed her face. His eyes fall to the gold chain around her neck, to the small cross that lays over the blue fabric of her shirt. He’s noticed it dozens of times, it’s constant presence in every picture, every video, every call and outfit and event. He doesn’t even think when he reaches for it, examines it with gentle fingers. “Is this a, uh…” he struggles to find the word, “how do you say, family tradition?”

“Heirloom?”

He nods, drops the piece of jewelry back to its rightful spot. “Heirloom.”

“No, it was a birthday gift,” she explains, fingers the chain of it, “from my brother when I turned eighteen.”

He nods, points out the other necklace she’s wearing, a flower with a pearl in the center. “And this?”

She laughs, “it’s silly,” she says. “It goes with these earrings I have, they’re from my parents when I graduated college.” He learns the flower is a chrysanthemum, that her dad has always called her Mum, that her mom has a particular affinity for pearls that she’s passed onto Chris, that all of these things have combined into this piece of jewelry hanging around her neck and that she cried and cried when they gifted it to her. 

Because the sun is still burning, he doesn’t stop asking about the different pieces she wears until he’s run out of ones to point to. He learns the story of a ruby ring–her birthstone–that she found in a thrift store for seventy-five cents when she was fifteen, how it used to fit on her pointer finger but now it fits her ring finger, how sometimes she makes up elaborate stories of how it ended up in the bargain bin of a Goodwill in North Georgia. 

She tells him about three friendship bracelets. The first and second are made by students, her favorite gifts. The third, blue and yellow–NAPA colors, her brother’s racing colors–made by her nephew. “He’s four, and he is everything annoying about my brother and everything good about my best friend, and I think I would kill someone for him.” Charles is sure that tomorrow he’ll be telling someone they wouldn’t believe the way she lights up when she talks about this kid. 

When he’s run out of things to question, she’s examining the red string tied around his wrist. “What about you?” She asks, “what’s up with this guy?”

“My mate, Pierre. He learns about it from our other friend Yuki,” He explains. “They always know the strangest things, Pierre and Yuki,” he chuckles, continues to explain the traditional symbol of good luck. “I don’t know how well it works, though,” he laughs, and she kisses him. It surprises him, but he’s in no place to complain. Perhaps the bracelet works quite well, he thinks when she moves closer, snuggles under his arm while he continues. 

Three metal bracelets. One red, one silver, one stainless steel. Morse code: Amour, Bonheur, Smile. A ring that matches the bracelet. Two hex rings that track his heart rate and his sleep and a million other things.

He spins the rings while he talks, pulls them off and hands one to her without missing a beat in his sentence. She toys with it while she listens, hands it back to him with a quiet yawn. When he kisses her hair, it’s still damp and smells like the shampoo she used, something he can’t place, something he hopes eventually to memorize. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You told me that last week.”

“I know,” another kiss against the unfamiliar scent. “I meant it.”

Charles wants to order room service for breakfast. Chris shuts that idea down the minute it comes out of his mouth, furrowing her brows and making him attempt to rationalize waiting half an hour for food that’s five minutes away. He can’t, so they head to the lobby. 

Chris is wearing the same shirt, pulls a pair of sweatpants over her flannel shorts and ties her hair into a messy, tangled ponytail. She’d keep it down, but her hair dried while she slept and it’s pointing in directions that defy gravity. A ponytail was the only option. Charles doesn’t change, keeps the t-shirt and shorts he slept in on. 

They find Andrea in the lobby, eating at a table for two by himself. Charles pulls a chair over from a nearby table and they sit down with him. By the time Joris appears, the table is officially too full of food to comfortably function. 

She hears his phone vibrate against the hard plastic of his chair, and he casually mentions that the rest of his family is on their way down. 

Chris doesn’t react, not externally, anyways. She finishes what’s left in her mug, bee-lines it over to the coffee bar to make another. Absent-mindedly, she tears the foil from the creamer cups, rips open the sugar packets and stirs it all together. His mom. His mom. His mom. It’s all she can think about. His mother. The woman who gave him life. Chris knew she’d be meeting his mom this weekend, but she figured she’d have more preparation than a couple minutes warning, assumed she’d be dressed, hair styled, makeup done. That she’d be presenting herself as someone you’d be happy to have your son spend time with, not like a  7/11 customer in Dahlonega at one in the morning. Maybe Charles was right and room service was a good idea. 

Even once she’s back at the table, every elevator ding makes her jump, shoots her head in the direction of the opening doors just terrified the people walking out are going to be his family. 

“Are you good?” Charles asks after she flinches at the third elevator bell. 

“Yup,” she lies, slaps a big, phony smile on her face and takes a sip of her coffee. His hand finds her leg, gives it a little you’ll be fine squeeze. 

The next elevator is carrying his family. She instinctively straightens in her seat, moves things around the crowded table so her food looks neat and managed. Joris looks at her with concern, Charles laughs when she refolds a napkin. “Don’t laugh at me,” she whispers. 

Out of earshot, Arthur says something through a stretch and a yawn. His mom rolls her eyes, pushes him in the direction of the coffee bar, mutters something to his other brother that makes him chuckle. When his mom spots Chris, she makes a bee-line for her with open arms. Chris practically trips over the leg of her chair trying to stand up before the hug reaches her. 

“Come here, chérie,” she smiles. It’s warm, just like her boy’s. “I have heard so much about you.” Oh? Chris smiles, suddenly aware that she’s apparently horribly unprepared for this entire introduction. He’s telling his mother about her? 

She hugs Pascale back and looks over her shoulder to Charles with wide eyes. She’s met with a matching expression, Charles shrugging and shaking his head as if to adamantly tell her he has no idea what his mom is talking about. “And what have you heard, Maman?” He asks with a laugh. 

“Don’t start with me,” she says, wagging a finger at her boy, and then to Chris, “Ignore him.” She holds her at arm's length, hands on either shoulder and looks her up and down. Chris laughs, nervous but still noticeably genuine. “You are just beautiful, aren’t you?”

Well. Beautiful isn’t a word Chris would use to describe herself at this moment. Ratty, perhaps. Disheveled. Off-putting. But sure, beautiful is a word she might sometimes describe herself as. “Me?” She shakes her head, “ma’am, look at yourself.”

“Oh, please,” his mom scoffs. “Pascale.”

“Pascale.” Chris smiles, goes in for another hug.

Whether it’s because he’s a brother and not a mother, or because meeting said mother is done and over with, Chris is significantly less anxious when it comes to her introduction with Lorenzo. 

Chris attempts to insist Pascale take her seat, but is out-insisted to finish her breakfast. Charles finds her hand under the table, winks at her when she interlocks her fingers with his. 

– – – 

Outside of their shared breakfast, Saturday is a long day apart for Chris and Charles. A quick kiss goodbye in their hotel room when Charles finishes getting ready, a quicker “good luck,” from Chris called after him on his way out the door, and a thumbs up over his head as a response summarizes their interactions for the rest of the day. 

Chris works on next week’s lesson plans for a few hours, nothing better to do while she waits to leave for the track. 

She watches the third practice session and quali from the grandstand across from the pitlane, and while neither are his greatest showing, Chris can feel it in her bones that everything is going to fall into place for him tomorrow. A third place start is more than good enough to beat out Perez at Red Bull. She knows it like she knows her own name, and nobody is going to tell her otherwise. 

She goes back to the hotel after quali, doesn’t bother to attempt sneaking into the paddock to try and find him. It just doesn’t feel worth it–navigating a place she doesn’t know, avoiding the cameras and the reporters and the chaos–not when he’ll be coming back to the hotel, back to her. 

She falls asleep moments after sitting down on the couch, and isn’t woken up until she doesn’t even know when. It’s the middle of the night, Charles tells her, guides her to bed and tucks her in like a child, complete with a kiss on the forehead. 

- - -

The first words out of her mouth on Sunday morning are an apology. 

When Charles tries to cut her off with a laugh and a kiss, she stops him just short of her lips, claiming morning breath. “Wow,” he feigns shock. “First you fall asleep on me, now you will not kiss me?”

She rolls her eyes, grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss her. “Happy?”

He nods and kisses her again. He keeps waiting for it to not feel so exciting, so much like a stupid movie, so young, and it’s yet to reach that point. It’s not even coming close. “Yes, thank you.”

From the other side of the bathroom wall she dares to ask him if he’s nervous, if the pressure is finally manifesting itself into stress. He’s quiet for a while. 

“No,” he eventually calls back.

“No?”

He peels around the doorway, messing with the collar on his team shirt. “Yes,” he admits with a scale-breaking sigh. She wishes he was as sure as himself as she is, that he could feel in his bones it is all going to work out perfectly. 

“Well, I’ll be here when you’re done, and we can either celebrate Charles Leclerc, Vice World Champion,” he turns away at the title, the side profile of a smile turning the corner back into the bathroom. “Or, we can celebrate the end of an exhausting season. Either way, we’re celebrating.” He stays quiet. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he finally speaks, tone lackluster, unconfident. It’s hard to hear him like this, to hear the distinct shards of doubt that rattle in his chest. “We’re celebrating.”

We’re celebrating. Tonight is a celebration. The positives with the negatives, the good always outweighs the bad. She reminds herself like it’s a mantra. Tonight is a celebration. 

- - -

Alone in the grandstands with an air of certainty about her, Chris’ bar for friendship has never been lower. She finds a group of girlfriends who appear to be sort-of, almost, kind-of, maybe in the same age demographic as she is. They speak English and don’t ignore her when she talks, and that’s enough for her to latch onto for the evening. 

We like McLaren, they tell her, But those Ferrari boys–they’re cute. You can’t help but feel for them. Chris just smiles and nods, offers up a laugh and pretends she won’t be falling asleep next to one of those cute boys later tonight. 

The girls–flew in from London on Friday just for this-fill her in on everything she already knows. They tell her about Charles and his fight for P2, about the strategic pitfalls of Ferrari and the fact that on paper, it was Charles’ year to win it all. 

They’re more nervous during the race than Chris is, not to say that her leg isn’t bouncing watching the times constantly changing, that she isn’t whispering mumbles prayers into the air between here and there, just that she knows. She knows. 

If it was possible to stare through a helmet, Chris would’ve done it during his pitstop, burning the confidence right into his frontal lobe. Her eyes are glued to his car, his helmet, distant and small and buzzing with energy. He’s got it under control, like a perfectly wrapped gift sat in his lap, like a row of monkey bars and hands hardened by months of blisters, like a first kiss and a second kiss and a third kiss. He’s got it under control.

He does, because after what feels simultaneously like the longest and shortest fifty-eight laps of her life, Chris practically has a front row seat to Charles doing donuts. She’s so happy that she thinks she might cry, not that it takes much of anything to pull a tear from her when she’s this exhausted. The girls she’d befriended jump and celebrate and cheer louder than the fireworks. 

Chris tries to live the moment. To feel it all, the energy and the roar and the joy, which only makes it that much harder not to cry. 

Suddenly, momentarily, irrationally emotionally, while she watches him celebrate with his family and his team in front of the whole world she wishes she was down there with him. Screw the world watching, she wants to hug him until her arms are numb and kiss him until she passes out.

There’s no telling when–or even if–she’s going to ever live through a moment like this again. It’s not one she wants to forget. In the chaos of it all, her hand finds her chest, the hard metal of her cross necklace through the fabric of her top, the pulsing of her heartbeat, loud and racing. 

It’s hours before he’s back to the hotel, but it doesn’t feel late at all. He’s still running on adrenaline, just as ready to celebrate as he was when he jumped into his team’s arms. Over the mechanical shifting of the door lock, he can hear Chris’ feet echoing on the floor just on the other side and before he can even make it through the doorway she’s crashing into him. The pure energy that she is knocks him back a few steps, but then he’s hugging her back just as hard, maybe harder. 

He can feel her tears soak through his shirt, and with a laugh asks if she’s crying. 

“Shut up,” she says, and it only makes him laugh harder, hug tighter. God, the show he would have put on if he could’ve found her right after the race. The trouble he would make. “Oh, my god!” She sniffles, pulls her head off his chest and wipes away her tears. “Kiss me, already!”

And so he does. He kisses the shit out of her. 

She pulls away with a smile, arms slinked around his neck like it belongs to her. “So, how does it feel?” She asks, “Vice World Champion, Charles Leclerc.”

He gives her a quick kiss, nothing more than a peck, shrugs, and repeats the action. “Too busy kissing the girl.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she laughs, drops her head so it’s against his chest and vibrates his entire being. It’s a laugh that lights stars, dances around the room like a windchime in the warm August air. The kind so distinct you could hear it across a room ten years later and still know it was her. “A walking cheeseball.”

“A cheeseball?” He humors. 

“I said what I said.”

His satisfied hum says more than words ever could, fingers comfortable dancing along the bone of her hip. “We gotta get ready,” he says. 

“For what?”

“The celebration.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[secretobsessionstuff]

Idk if ur taking asks rn, but in the fic you posted yesterday with Jory, you mentioned that he tattooed a girl’s neck one time and he couldn’t get his stomach to settle down. maybe you could turn that into a fic 😏

Haha I totally planted that in the hopes that someone would ask about it! Anyway, a year later here's the fic.

There's kinda a surprise at the end of this, and it's not heavy on emeto, but still fun to write! Glad my brain cooperated enough.

-------------------

The first time Jory got a red tattoo, he decided—like a reckless buffoon—to get his entire back done up with inky black tendrils surrounding red eyeballs. It was from his favourite anime, depicting a character ironically called Pride. Like a prideful son of a bitch, he convinced himself that he was immune to the common side-effects of red ink. 

Well, it turns out he wasn’t. Only the red parts of the tattoo remained inflamed and itchy as hell for months. The red eyeballs swelled beneath his skin, creating a monstruous image that he did not ask for, at least until the reaction calmed down. Luckily for Jory, his body adapted to the colour and eventually everything settled properly. It wasn’t so much an allergy to the red, but a temporary reaction. But those six months were hell: an apt punishment for the deadly sin. 

Now, whenever he tattooed another person with red ink, he made sure that the first attempt was small. On most occasions it didn’t matter because clients came in with perfectly healed red ink from years ago. This was the case with the girl at his next session. 

“You’re hundo percent sure you had no issues with red before?” he asked the girl during the consult. She wanted cherry blossoms down her neck which required all the reds, pinks, whites, and browns. He was excited about the design.

“Yes, dude, I promise. It healed perfectly,” she assured him. “I’d show you, but I’d have to take off my jeans and I—”

“I believe you,” Jory cut in. “I have an opening in two weeks.” 

Two weeks later, Kaida was sat in his chair, ready to get her neck pricked by a cherry blossom. At least it wasn’t roses. 

“Kaida’s a sick name. How’d you get it?” Jory asked at the beginning of the four-hour session. He was happy to have eaten a big meal before starting this. He certainly wasn’t hungry, not with food grumbling in his belly. 

“It’s Japanese for ‘little dragon’. My parents wanted something different.” She had no issues talking in the beginning because the tattoo started behind her ear. The vibrations rattled her head, but it was less painful than some of her other ones. 

“Love that! I’ll tattoo a little dragon for you anytime.” Jory swallowed his excitement and a hint of acid reflux. “Were you born in Japan?” 

“No, but my parents were.” Kaida went on to explain her family life. 

This was Jory’s favourite part about being an artist: forcing people to share their life stories while trapped in a chair and suffering mild pain. Just kidding, but he liked getting to know people. Kaida had a cool sort of confidence and chill demeanour. She reminded him of Dev, in the way she carried herself, knowing her worth. 

That afternoon, it was hard to focus on his client’s chit chat because his stomach was vocal enough for the both of them. He wondered if Kaida could hear the wet sounds of digestion coming from his belly. 

On top of the increasing stomach-ache, the neck was a shit place to tattoo. It looked freakin sick, but the angle was killer. Jory couldn’t find a comfortable position. The angle was wonky and made for poor lighting. He didn’t know where exactly to put his hands and he kept worrying that he was going to crush her windpipe. Dev kept a close eye on him during this session for all these reasons.

Jory’s watchful mentor was never far. Dev talked to customers as people came into the shop, but mostly they hovered around him and Kaida. They helped out by replenishing paper towel and picking up inky ones from the floor. 

It didn’t take long for Dev to notice Jory’s unease. There was tension in his jaw that wasn’t normally there. His Adam’s apple bobbed excessively every few minutes. The poor guy looked pale and sweaty. They knew he wasn’t feeling the best when he started suppressing burps. 

Root beer had been a bad idea before a session. The carbonation turned Jory’s stomach into a sudsy bath of sugar and grease. He felt pressure build up in his throat but didn’t want to let it out while being so close to Kaida’s face. 

Whenever he reached back to fill the machine with more ink, he took longer than necessary to let out the sour belches that bubbled in his stomach. He exhaled, trying to blow the smell of his chicken sandwich away from Kaida. 

With the linework done, Jory went back to behind her ear to do the shading, giving Kaida a chance to talk more freely. “What do you do for fun?” he asked her, hoping she could fill the silence and mask the sound of his nauseous tummy. Her long black hair was done up in a tight bun to keep it out of the way, but he could still smell coconut shampoo. It was only slightly assaulting to his senses. 

Kaida cracked a big smile. “My girlfriend and I are learning to crochet together. I suck at it, but she’s good. I tried to make a cat and now the beast haunts her boss’s office at work.” 

Jory laughed, the movement jostling his sick tummy. A burp filled his cheeks, but he swallowed it. “Hopefully she’s a vet or something and they can fix the unholy cat?” 

“No!” Kaida chuckled, trying to keep still. “She works at a dietician’s office. I should have crocheted a fucking carrot instead.” 

Jory had to laugh, but this time he couldn’t keep the belch from coming up. It interrupted his laugh with a wet sound that gurgled in his throat. He quickly pulled back from her face. “Jeez. Sorry, babes.” 

“You good, dude?” 

“Probably…” He covered his mouth with his wrist to burp again. “Frick, my stomach feels like a bubble bath.” Jory felt the blood drain from his face, his skin going grey like a colourless tattoo. 

Kaida didn’t know how to act. “What does that mean?” 

Dev came around the corner then. “It means he’s tapping out.” They grabbed Jory’s shoulder and told him to stand. “Come on, take off your gloves and get some air.” 

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, Kaida,” Jory said, stumbling away.

Dev scoffed. “It’ll be longer than a fucking jiffy, girl. You can stand up and take a break. You sat really well by the way. Jory just doesn’t know when to stop.” 

Dev led Jory outside where the brisk air brought some colour back to his features. Sadly, it didn’t fix the issue. They watched him lean over and burp up a small wave of sick onto the pavement. 

The belches kept coming, forcing up pathetic amounts of frothy saliva and bile. Jory closed his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment on Dev’s face or the chewed-up pieces of chicken on the ground. He wished Dev would go back inside, but apparently, they wanted to soak up his misery for a while longer.

When Jory’s stomach finally settled, he looked back to see Dev leaning against the wall with their arms crossed over their chest. “You better not pull this shit again, Jory. If you feel sick, you stop.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. I just need you to understand that this girl’s neck is literally on the line. Let’s ignore the fact that you could make a mistake on a very visible part of her body, but not only that—in there needs to be a perfectly clean environment.” 

Dev sighed when they saw the look on Jory’s face. He got the message loud and clear. He was a dog with his tail between his legs. And he still looked fucking beat. “How are you feeling?” 

Jory kept his gaze away from them. “Better.”  

“Were you too embarrassed to say anything? I could have helped.” 

“It just happened so fast. I thought I was fine.” 

Dev pushed off against the wall and came to lay a hand on Jory’s arm. “Me and the other artists are here to help. You don’t need to convince yourself you’re fine if you’re not. I’ll finish up with Kaida.” 

“What about Kaida?” Just then a shorter woman with bouncy brown hair walked up to the shop. “That’s my girlfriend. I’m here to pick her up.” This girl was all smiles and curls.” 

Jory cocked his head to the side. “We need more time for Kaida’s sess.” He only hoped she wouldn’t see the puddle of sick on the floor. “Do I know you? You look mad familiar.” 

“Um, I don’t know.” She gave Jory an awkward smirk. “My name is Piper. I’m an Aries.” 

Dev chuckled. “Oh right, Piper the Aries. Remember, Jory?” The sarcasm might have escaped Piper, but not Jory. 

He shook his head. “I guess it’s a mystery. Come on in. I’m Jory.” 

“His zodiac is Idiot,” Dev chimed in.”

[bigmilk-13]

getting reminded that I only know The Frays because of a Jori fanfic on wattpad

CAN I JUST SAY

THAT WATTPAD HAS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD FICS?

Trouble, How To Save A Life, Fate Fixes Tori & Jade-

they're all so good

[bloodyymaryyy]

Hello my beautiful people! I have a few ideas i am in the process of writing.

The requests are open tho

1st : gossip girl xoxo grid! X driver! Reader

Gossiping with max, Charles, Pierre and Lando

2th : predictions with y/n grid x reader

Basically y/n somehow is making preparations that they are coming true

3rd : jewellery Charles x reader

Y/n gifting a bracelet to Charles and it doesn't come off without a fight

4th: don't snitch! ( can't decide with who get)

Y/n being a street racer (il)ligal style

5th: invitations grid x driver! Reader

y/n inviting her driver friends to her brothers wedding and chaos is being made with a bit of language barrier, Greek weddings, dances and such

6th : the stream is on grid x driver! reader

Y/n being a big streaming, influenser and finding herself being f1 drivers while she is streaming on a traditional horror night once again. ( that is when she has the time between the races)

[tiny-pun]

You have heard of “drunk calling” now get ready for

“Sick calling”

Person B is sick and can’t think straight anymore since their mind is a haze of eating, sleeping …. And missing A.

So ofc what better thing to do than just … call A up? And confess that they need them and only them ? And also their soup! Their sick soup is THE best they’ve ever had (pssst don’t tell C tho)

Bonus point, if others don’t know they know each other; let alone that they’re in a fight or broken up ! … which will all now be resolved ofc, now that A knows B does care and want them!

[heraofta]

It's both kinda funny and sad how I'd sometimes catch myself thinking about Jori and then get sad over them not being as famous as they used to be. I miss the time when there were so many Jori stories that I would sometimes struggle to keep up with them. I also remember deliberately waiting for Jori updates to pile up so I could binge-read and analyze every chapter like some damn critic wannabe lol. I wasn't as accepting of myself then as I am now, but I remember feeling so happy when I would read them. Reading them felt so freeing, like I was out in the world.

[genderflu1dwh0r]

Jade knew what she had to do, she had planned it out for months, she had figured out everything. She saved up money and was ready. She paced around the house, constantly checking the clock. She went to her little brother, who was laying on the couch, dozing off while the TV played some cartoon. She bent down, moving his hair out of his face slightly and kissing his forehead. "I love you, Jake. Please behave for mom and dad." She whispered softly, before fixing his blanket and going downstairs to the den. She grabbed her bags and leather jacket.

Jade went back upstairs, opening the front door. She looked back at Jake, taking a deep breath. She turned and shut the door behind her. She went to her car, opening the trunk and putting all her things in it before shutting it and getting into the drivers seat. "Ready?" Tori asked, in the passenger side. Jade stared out of the windshield, thinking. Eventually she nodded, starting up the car. "Yeah." She barely spoke, starting to drive.

They drove for hours, stopping at a gas station. "You know you shouldn't feel bad, Jade will survive without you always being there for him." Tori said as she leaned against the car while Jade filled the car up. Jade didn't look at her, she kept filling. Tori sighed, tilting her head. "You are doing this because your parents don't accept you, you need to take care of yourself first. You are doing the right thing, even if it doesn't feel like it." Tori said leaning off of the car and kissed Jade's cheek. "I'm gonna go get snacks. I love you." She said before going into the convenience store.

Jade stared at the car, knowing Tori was right. She just felt awful leaving her brother alone, Jake was her best friend, she loved seeing him smile. When she picked him up from school, he would always tell her about his day. Now it's gone. She's not gonna get that anymore. She's not gonna get his ice cream covered smile, or his stories. No more hugs, no more playing video games with him. It hurt to leave it all behind, but Tori was right. She needed to take care of herself first, and if leaving the country was the thing that she needed to do, then so be it.

When she heard Tori talking, she looked up, realizing the car was filled up. She took the pump nozzle out and set it back. Tori was talking about how nice the cashier was, and how she had cool hair. Jade got back in the car, starting it up again. "You can really make friends with anyone." She said pulling out of the space and getting back on the road. Tori smiled, eating a chip. "I made you fall in love with me, so yes." She teased. Jade tried not to smile, but Tori had a point. She smiled and looked over at her for a second. "I love you."

[jorisjurgen]

Joris whump is like second nature to me. The man is very hurtable.

[cbotann]

Jade extrudes extreme confidence and trust in herself and her skills. Some may say it's borderline arrogance.

But, in reality, Jade is a very insecure person, who hides behind a mask of sarcasm and witty quips. Her true self surfaces in rare moments, and they are almost always solely in Tori's presence. When it's just the two of them.

Tori makes her feel safe. Jade knows she won't be judged, because Sweet Sally Peaches can't for the life of her be mean to somebody. So Jade lets her guard down, and shows that she's just an insecure teenager with trust issues. Whenever Jade presents a play she wrote, be it to just someone or a whole crowd, she's nothing more than a nervous wreck.

But Tori's presence is reassuring. Always complimenting Jade's skills, saying how good of a writer she is, and everything she does is nothing short of incredible. That calms her down. She feels she can relax, a little bit.

But why is that, that when she's near Tori now, she turns into a ball of nervousness, her face all red and, to top it off, stuttering? For goodness sake, she's Jade West! Jade West doesn't stutter! And blushing?! That's for little schoolgirls when they're near their crushes-...

Oh...

...Jade gets it now. At least she thinks she does.

What she doesn't get though, is just how okay it feels. It's nice, to value someone so much. To value someone so special like Tori Vega.

She's not ready, however. Their playful/hateful banter is too fun. Too safe. It makes her comfortable, and Jade wouldn't have it any other way.

Because Jade loves how Tori gives her confidence. Loves how Tori smiles after their little play fights. Loves their silent understanding.

After all, Jade West loves Tori Vega.

[onlyonetifosi]

ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!

Tonight new chapter of behind the camera!! (Monaco GP special)

Sorry for the absence i've been very ill lately and had to get surgery for my chronic illness but im good now and at home so i'll hope to post between this week and next week like about 4 chapters <3 <3

[drippyredsmile]

Jori smut

Tori was sitting in Mr. West's chair, he was gone for the week on a business trip, therefore she was going to take advantage of it. Jade was on her hands and knees, earning her treat. She sucked on Tori's two fingers, whining softly. She loved making Tori feel good, she loved being used. "Look at you," Tori cooed, "sucking on my fingers like a desperate little bitch. Imagine your father seeing you, he would be so disappointed." She mocked, making Jade get redder. Jade knew that her father would be disappointed, seeing her fall for someone lower than her.

The West's were rich, they came from good money and her father was an old-fashioned businessman, he looked down on everyone, always thinking that he was the best. He wasn't too fond of the Vega's, even though David Vega was his best friend when they were kids. They grew apart, David getting into the police force, while Richard took into his father's steps and took over the business. He hated how he had a daughter, but at least he had a son after her, so he could take over the business. He didn't trust women with pretty much anything.

Jade kept sucking on Tori's fingers until Tori slid them out and grabbed her by the jaw. She stared up at her, not knowing what Tori would say next. She loved how she took control, she felt taken care of. "Undo my belt, unzip my slacks, and wait." She demanded, letting go of Jade's jaw and sitting back. Jade quickly did what she was told, getting up on her knees and undoing Tori's belt. She unbuttoned her pants and unzipped them, then sat back down on her legs, waiting. Tori smiled and pushed her pants and underwear down, her dick sprung up and bounced slightly before leaning against her stomach. Her pants fell to the floor, while her underwear stayed around her knees.

Jade stared at Tori's cock, desperately wanting her to use her. She wanted to wrap her lips around her length and make her climax. Suddenly her chin got grabbed and was forced to look up. "Eyes on me, bitch. You will look me in the eyes while you touch me." Tori demanded, letting go of Jade's chin. Jade nodded, scooting closer, she reached up, but her hand got slapped away. "What do you say?" Tori asked, staring at her. Jade whined, just wanting to get to it. Tori leaned forward, grabbing Jade by the jaw again and spitting on her. "What. Do. You. Say." She growled, making sure Jade didn't look away.

Jade stared, mouth slightly opening. "May I touch you, Tori?" She asked, Tori gripped her jaw harder. "Wrong." She glared. Jade stared back, whining. "May I touch you, Master?" She said, pouting. Tori smirked, letting Jade go and sitting back. "Good girl, now get to work." She said running a hand through her hair and sighing softly. Jade nodded, gently grabbing Tori's cock and tugging slightly before spitting. She kept her eyes on Tori's as she stroked her, making her head lean back. Jade leaned forward, licking the tip of her cock, moaning softly.

[hymn-of-muse]

You can stay

A Master Joris + Adopted Child!Sadida!Reader. requested by anon!

using they/them for reader by default, Y/N = your name

Dust begins to settle as the commotion comes to an end. Much of the land, a huge part of the Sadida forrest, was damaged during Nox's attack on the tree.

Many of the people of the kingdom were injured, some even lost in the damage. Some of whom were parents even.

Joris let out a solom sigh as he looked about, checking around places in the forest that were damaged to see if anyone needed help, when he heard a noise that made him pause and listen.

Joris strained his ears to listen for it again. in the quiet of the once lively part of the forest there was a distant voice, a cry. weeping. sad calling and wailing that made his heart drop as his feet quickly took him closer to the source of the sound.

There, at the edge of the ruined forest, sitting by a group of dead tree stumps, a small Sadida child weeping and calling out for their parents between sobs.

He stepped a bit closer, slowly as to not startle them, and called out. "Hey there, little one" Once they lifted their head from their hands and stared at him through watery eyes he extended his hand out to them. "You'll be alright. Do you want to come with me? Maybe we can find your folks, okay?" He spoke softly, offering a small, sweet smile in attepmt to comfort.

The child whimpered, rubbing some more tears away before nodding and taking his hand, letting him pull them to their feet and lead them further into the lush part of the forest and to the heart of the Sadida kingdom where more people were staying after the attack.

"I promise you'll be okay, little one. Do you have a name?" he asked, their hand still firmly in his own.

The child was quiet, giving the softest verbal response despite their voice cracking as they tried to keep from crying more, still in the process of calming down. "Y/N..."

"Y/N...I like it, sounds just as special as you." He offered another smile, earning a small thankful one from the child in return.

Soon they arrived at a small station where people who've lost their homes in the attack where staying until things got sorted out. he had y/n stay seated while he went to talk to someone about finding their parents, but he'd soon find out how difficult that would be.

"what do you mean you dont know? there's plenty of people here, surely someone knows something. they have to be here, or somewhere in the forest, we cant just leave the kid here without their parents!" Joris huffed as he discussed the situation with an older Sadida woman.

"I'm sorry, Master Joris, thats just it. Theres so many here and so many unaccounted for that we cant keep track like that. we'll see what we can do but it might take a while, at least a day or so before we can find anything out about their parents." The woman explained with a sympathetic expression.

"What do we do with them in the meantime?" Joris sighed, crossing his arms and glancing back at y/n.

"well...they could stay with you." The woman offered.

"me? what, why?"

"er-it would just be until we find their parents, i mean, you do seem fairly good with kids and have already taking a liking to each other, they'd probably feel safe with you too." She offered, a kind smile spreading across her face.

"hmm...i guess you have a point, but just until this is all figured out." Joris stated, a bit hesitant but willing to give it a shot.

"We'll have someone alert you as soon as we have some news." The woman said before turning to tend to someone else's issues.

Joris walked back to the kid, running through his mind how he'd bring this up and explain without worrying the kid anymore than they already are.

"Hey kid, how are you holding up." He asked, taking a seat next to them.

"okay...did the lady say where my mommy and daddy are? are they here?" y/n asked, looking at Joris with hope in their eyes. it just about was enough to wrench his heart out.

"we still dont know yet, but she did say you could stay with me till we find them, would that be okay with you?" he asked, hoping this didnt make things hurt worse for them.

y/n's face fell at the first half but listed back up a tad bit at the later. The idea of staying with him seemed to be a good idea and bring a sense of safety, just like the woman had said.

y/n nodded in agreement. "thats okay!" they stated, sounding almost eager towards the idea before suddenly leaning into joris and giving him a big hug.

"alright then, guess you'll be with me for a bit" Joris nodded, lightly patting their back.

a few days passed by, Joris hadn't yet gotten any news or updates of the situation about the kid's family and he was beginning to adjust to having them around like a second shadow.

He was sitting with them at the table when a knock came at the door. "one minute, little one, i'll be back after answering that" Joris excused himself and got up to answer the door.

"Yes?" He opened the door to see someone from the shelter giving a nervous smile on the other side of the door.

"um..Master Joris, I bring some news...*unfortunate* news, I'm afraid." They said hesitantly.

Joris stepped outside, closing the door behind him and looking up to them when he crossed his arms. "I'm guessing you haven't found their parents yet?"

"well...we did, sort of...but thats just it, what i came to tell you. they were found but, theyre..not among us anymore." They continued to speak nervously, pausing between some words as they attempted to explain.

Joris very quickly understood the implications of this news and it felt like his heart was being held my sharp claws and in his throat. "i...i see...so then what about Y/N? what happens to them?"

"they dont have any family left, theres no one else they could stay with..." they stated sadly.

"yes but-...no one else? are you suggesting they stay with me longer?" Joris rose an eyebrow

"Yes, permanently in fact. things between you seemed to have been going well for the past few days, theyre safe with you and they do seem to really like you." they pointed out "we all agreed it was the best idea"

"i...youre saying i should take them in...?" Joris rose an eyebrow, doing his best to process this.

"Adopt them, yes. youre the best choice, clearly, theres not much else that can be done either." they admitted.

"...adopt? me? ....i..." he sighed "i'll have to have quite the talk with them." Joris mumbled.

"It'll be worth it for you both" they smiled thankfully before walking off.

Joris went back inside and back to the table where he'd previously been sitting with y/n.

"who was that?" y/n asked, tilting their head slightly in curiousity.

"that was...someone from the shelter bringing news." he answered, trying hard to think up a quick few lines to better phrase the news for the kid.

"did they find mommy and daddy?" they asked, once again the hopeful look in their eyes returning.

Joris hesitated some more when they asked, eyes shifting about before landing back on y/n as he came up with what to say.

[author lost motivation to complete the story, many apologies.]

[emilyjunk]

iconic milestone, made possible by diet dr pepper and tears