#so i was like what did they do?? just stare at charles until the sun came up???

[justlightlysedated]

small drabble, set in 1x4:

Charles' ears are ringing with the words, you never made it better and then you died and he can hear the echo of his own voice yelling at Edwin, and he can't handle it at all. Especially not when Edwin comes closer, and says his name in a soft tone, as though he's afraid to spook a startled beast.

He feels bad almost immediately after shrugging off Edwin's touch, the feeling sinking down to swirl with the rest of his anger and frustration and sickening fear in the pit of his stomach.

Edwin almost never initiates touch, but for the first time since they've met, Charles doesn't want to be touched. 

Edwin doesn't move away. Charles can see him out of the corner of his eye, looking over at the girls and then inching closer, like he's trying to protect Charles' vulnerability from the others. And Charles would snap and tell him that it's not needed, but he can't deny that if their roles were reversed, he would be doing the same thing.

"Charles," he says again, in that same soft voice he only uses when they're dealing with cases that involve children. "I just wanted to say, thank you."

Charles' head snaps to the side so fast he almost gets whiplash. His eyes dart all over Edwin's face as he shakes his head. 

"There is nothing you have to thank me for," he says firmly.

Edwin's eyes dart all over his face in return, brows furrowed. "Charles," he says again in that same fucking voice, and Charles feels like he might actually crumble if he has to keep hearing it.

"No," he says more firmly. "It's my job, innit?"

He tries going for a smile, but he can tell that it doesn't work. Edwin's frown grows even more pronounced. Charles hates that look on his face, even more so that it's directed at him.

"No," Edwin replies just as firmly. "It's not. But it is appreciated."

Charles gives a hollow laugh at that, feeling like he might just start sobbing again.

He looks down, closing his eyes tight, hating the fact that he feels like he can't breathe properly.

Edwin slides a little bit closer, until their knees are just barely touching and starts to breathe in and out with exaggeration, slowly and purposefully. Charles starts mimicking him almost immediately, and feels a pang of fondness and longing hit him square in the chest, edging away his dark thoughts.

Edwin very rarely becomes overwhelmed enough that Charles has to step in to help him calm down, but it has happened before, and Charles can't help but feel something a lot like warmth spreading across his chest at the thought that Edwin is using tactics Charles uses to calm him down.

It makes him feel good, and also not good enough. Edwin shouldn't have to help him calm down.

But he's glad for it anyway.

They're breathing in unison for a couple of minutes before Charles feels like he can look at Edwin again.

Edwin isn't looking at him, eyes out across the horizon, where the sun is just beginning to rise. Charles can't take his eyes off him, and he knows that he really should.

But he can't, not when Edwin's entire face softens, like this is the first time that he's seen the sun rise. Charles knows it's not. 

But he stares at Edwin as he watches the sun rise, and feels the rest of the negative emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach just drain away. Leaving him feeling hollow and empty.

Edwin turns towards him and just smiles, a small barely there thing, that only exists in moments like these. And always makes Charles feels like, maybe, maybe, maybe.

But he stuffs the feeling down, and out of his mind roughly, turning away from Edwin.

His eyes fall on the girls, leaning against each other half asleep, and feels a little guilty at having forgotten that they were there and they were living and probably needed to sleep after this horrible day.

"Guess it's time to head back to our temporary residence," Edwin says as he gets to his feet.

He looks down at Charles and holds his hand out. Charles stares at his hand for a beat too long, enough for Edwin's fingers to twitch like they want to curl up.

So Charles takes his hand, and lets Edwin pull him to his feet.

[forzalando]

Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[jo-com]

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ ➛ So this is love?

Max Verstappen x Fem!Sainz reader

Summary: The man who always put racing above anything else; not even caring or investing about others because he thinks it’s a waste of time—What did you do to him to make him change his mind?

Genre: Cold!Max x Persistent!reader

Note: Grammatical errors and this is not proofread!! Enjoy thoo

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚💕 ─ ───────

Max stared blankly at his mates as he tuned out the noises that they spoke. His eyes narrowed and brows knitted in a frown— obviously not invested in their conversation.

“Yeah, she’ll be coming here, so be nice guys” Carlos spoke,his tone laced with a warning, glaring back at other drivers who he thinks will scare you off.

And of course he was staring directly at max.

Max cocked a brow,“What?”,he was clearly not listening to them, so why the hell are they looking at him?

The other driver rolled his eyes, “i said don’t be batshit crazy and be nice to my sister”.

“Crazy?” Max scoffed, “i don't even give a damn about her, so why do i have to be nice?.”

The room then fell quiet at his words; no one even muttered a single sound as the heavy atmosphere intoxicated them—awkwardness spreading across the drivers as they stare back and forth at each other.

For a whole five minutes, none of them had the courage to speak up and end the insufferable silence.

Not until Charles let out a scrappy cough, making the others sigh in relief from his boldness.

“Carlos didn’t mean it like that, he meant that you should just be a little nice, his sister's pretty sensitive, you see” Charles exclaimed, his voice shaking from the previous tension.

Max tutted in response, mumbling a low ‘whatever’ before standing up and leaving the Ferrari garage.

…

It was finally the day of your arrival, everybody were excited to meet the you… well almost everybody.

Max just slumped in the corner, his body leaning against the wall with his usual scowling face— avoiding others that tries to converse with him.

He was minding his own business and letting his mind wander off.

What’s so special about her that people kept fussing over her.

His train of thought quickly got interrupted as people swarmed the front door, their voices echoing and colliding with one another making a god awful sound.

He rolled his eyes with judgement as he stared abruptly at the doorframe— not even bothering to check or give the slightest interest on you.

But as you walked closer to his eye range, his breath seemed to hitch and his jaw slowly hung opened.

He doesn’t know how or why, but as soon as his eyes met yours it felt like his world suddenly turned in slowmo and all the others that surrounded you, now disappeared— it was like there were only the two of you.

Max never felt something like this before, it’s a weird and uncomfortable feeling. How the hell do you make it stop?

His once cold and composed look now turned into a love sick fool expression.

“Hey man you okay?” Logan asked, his tone dripped with pure concern over his fellow driver.

Max suddenly jumped from Logan’s presence. He never even saw that he came and leaned besides him. It was so unusual for him to be that unattentive.

Max lets out an awkward cough, “yeah, i am good, just looking like everyone else.”

“Looking? Dude you look like you want to get down on your knees for her” the other joked, easing up to max.

But to him it wasn’t a joke, he was conflicted on why he looked like that and was it obvious to everyone?. What the actual fuck is happening to him.

He then raised his hand and gently lay it to his forehead to check whether or not he has a fever. Damn no fever.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Logan responded, his eyes curled into a soft concern gaze.

Max didn’t answer and flickered his eyes back to yours. His face suddenly heats up as you stare back and smile at him. Your smile that was radiant like the sun and eyes soft like sky.

After that short and subtle interaction, he can’t seem to keep his focus and just let his thoughts wander off that lead to that moment.

…

“You’re max right?” You greeted, tugging the excess hair to your side and smiling softly at him. Having him a clear view of your angelic appearance.

Max could feel his whole face being flushed, god he wishes you don’t notice, “uhm yeah” he spoke, his tone that was always high and mighty now turned into a low and shy ones.

You hummed in response and puckered your lips with a pop, “well I’ve been seeing you all day and you’re always avoiding me, is there something wrong?”

Max’s eyes widened, “no..i-uhm there’s-“ he stuttered; trying to find the right words but nothing came out right.

You examined his actions and then let out a few giggles at his antics. You didn’t understand why they call him mean, to you he was just adorable.

…

After that day, the two of you often hang out with each other and would hear whispers and murmurs about you guys, but always brushed it off and ignore people.

“Here try this max” you beamed, handing him the mango that you were holding— smiling from ear to ear as you share your favorite fruit to someone speacial. You loved mango, i mean how could you not? It’s tasty and delicious.

He gave you a look of uncertainty, he never liked mango, it’s weird looking and nothing will ever change his mind about it, even you.

But maybe one bite won’t hurt.

“Haha sure” he replied, taking the fruit from your hand and gently taking a bite out of it. He then gulped it down his throat and stared back at you— your eyes sparkled with joy and excitement, as you await for his response.

“It’s alright” he answered, giving you a thumbs up to which you retorted with a happy clap.

“Thank god you like it, I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d like one of my favorite fruits”

Hmm maybe mangoes aren’t that bad.

…

It didn’t take long before max realized how inlove he was with you and as soon as he did, he asked to court you.

Of course you agreed to it, you as well fell for him but you also wanted to get the approval of both your parents and brother.

That’s why Max took it upon himself to make your parents like him, though he knew that the real obstacle was Carlos.

“So, you’re telling me that you want to date my sister?” Carlos asked, his voice dripped with sarcasm and anger.

Max smiled nonchalantly, “yes”

“You want to date her with that attitude?” Carlos spat, his teeth gritted with each word.

“Yes” he answered again bluntly.

He was getting on Carlos nerves and you could tell.

“Haha uhm Max can you come here for a sec?” You laughed dryly, grabbing Max’s sleeves and dragging him to the side.

“What did we talk about? I told you to be nice” you scolded, rubbing the bridge of your nose to ease your stress.

“I was being nice” max grumbled, his brows knitted in a frown out of habit.

Unbeknownst to them, Carlos was in the sidelines listening, laughing silently at his fellow driver, ‘hehe he’s done for, he never admits his mistake and apologize’ he thought.

“Sorry, I’ll try okay?” Max mumbled, making you smile and kiss his cheeks in response.

Carlo’s jaw dropped, What the fuck, why was THE max verstappen apologizing, is this real??

The two of them came back hand in hand and faced Carlos once again.

“I am sorry for being rude, and yes i am dating her so please approve”.

Carlos was still in shock, never in his life had he seen Max act like a puppy and apologize to anyone.

“No uhm it’s okay we’re good” he replied, his voice shaky from disbelief.

So that’s what max is like when inlove. Damn he’s like a lost puppy.

…

Sorry for not uploading too much🥹🥹 I’ve been busy but i hope you enjoyed this!!💋

[jamminvroomvroom]

Hey girlll I love your blog so so so much! Congrats on the 4k bc you absolutely deserve it🫶🏼

I just had a little angsty request for Charles lando or Oscar (you can pick any you’re feeling more atm, I eat up anything ab my boys)

I saw this prompt maybe you could use - - "I can be there when you need me!" "But I did, and you weren't."

late night talking.

op x fem norris!reader

in which lando’s little sister has been sneaking around with his teammate, but it’s starting to have its challenges…

hiiiii thank u sm anon! love this request love you MWAH! so appreciative of this request and all of the others and that y’all trust me to bring your ideas to life!! i hope this hits the way you wanted it to! let me know what you think, big love 🤍

songs to set the mood: late night talking by harry styles, i love you by billie eilish, over my head by james marriott, if these walls could talk by 5sos

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, secret relationship, brothers teammate trope (r is lando’s sister), fingering, morning sex, angsty needy sex, lando being an embarrassing little shit

4.1k words

sex and talking. sex and talking. sex and talking.

that’s what you do, oscar and you.

you watch him all weekend, eyes trailing his lean frame, the way his body moves under papaya fabric. then, when your brother finally leaves you alone, you sneak into oscar’s arms, room, bed, whatever’s closest.

you have your way with one another, nothing untouched, unexplored, and then you talk and talk until your lips hurt from stretched out grins and a satisfying ache sets into your spent limbs. you sneak out when the sun comes up the next day and join lando for breakfast in whatever hotel you’re in that weekend.

rinse, repeat.

you can remember the first time you saw him in real life, way back in early 2023, clear as day. you were in bahrain with your brother for testing, the sun in your eyes, and there he was. awkward, stocky, hands buried deep in his mclaren administered slacks. he was littered with moles, mousey brown hair catching the rays of light, chocolate eyes conveying cool confidence that didn’t at all match up with his uncomfortable stance. you could kiss over those moles like a game of dot to dot, tug on his strands that looked like smooth chocolate frosting, sink into his brown irises until you drowned.

lando had caught you staring, sending his elbow into your ribs, and when you turned to glare at him, cuss him out, you saw a look of warning. his eyes said: don’t you fucking dare.

and you didn’t dare, not for a while at least.

-

“o-osc.” you whine, panting through the waves of eye-watering pleasure.

he’s got you laid out across his massage table, two fingers scissoring into your sodden cunt as his thumb bumps your clit in messy circles.

it’s rare that you sneak away so brazenly like this during a race weekend.

“you gotta be quiet.” oscar shushes you, eyes flitting between your own watery pair and his fingers where they’re working you open.

“trying.” you breathe, slapping your own hand over your mouth when your belly tightens one last time. one wrong move and the entirety of the hospitality suite will know. lando will know. perhaps all of china will know. that’s how good he fucking feels.

you sob into your palm, bucking your hips wildly as you fall apart, spilling all around his relentless fingers. he fucks you through it, grinning coyly as your muffled cries subside.

“c’mere.” oscar lulls, pulling you back towards him. he kisses you deeply, smiling against your lips.

“i should go.” you mumble, pushing his hair back and raking your fingers through his hair.

oscar nods apathetically, reserved all of the sudden. you frown, stealing another quick kiss. you stumble to your feet fixing your underwear and your skirt, and grab your bag from the small sofa.

“we need to be more careful.” his words make your blood run cold.

“more careful?”

you sneak in and out of hotel rooms under the cover of night, you have his name disguised in your phone, you never speak to him in public.

“this was risky.” oscar shrugs. he looks antsy, his entire demeanour changing in a matter of minutes, the ecstasy of watching you writhe all for him worn off.

“this- i- you’re the one who dragged me in here, piastri.” you accuse. ‘piastri’ is reserved for when you’re pissed off, a cagey step back from the affection ‘osc’ that you usually called him. “whatever, i’ve got to go.”

“i’ll see you later?” he poses it as a question, uncertain that you’ll show. he has never been uncertain before, not with you, not with a lot of things. bile rises in your throat, and you scoff.

you can’t reply. the door slams behind you.

-

“where’ve you been?” lando ruffles your hair, a single eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“got bored with watching you look at data so i went for a walk.” you reply nonchalantly, pushing his hand away.

he hums in response, nodding slowly. it’s like he doesn’t quite believe you but he quickly moves on.

“you coming out with us after the race tomorrow?” lando asks.

“depends on who ‘us’ is.” you reply curtly. you don’t wanna look at oscar’s stupid, handsome face for a second longer than you have to. a familiar sadness sinks into your bones.

“couple of the drivers, alex, carlos, oh and oscar might even be swayed.” you grit your teeth, suddenly frustrated. “anyway, since when do you have beef with drivers? little miss sunshine fallen out with someone?” lando sounds confused, accusatory.

you stay silent, walking into the back of the garage, praying someone will come and steal your brother away.

“hey, you gonna tell me what the problem i-?”

“lando, we need you to look at this.” your brother gets cut off by a frantic engineer, your prayers answered, and is quickly lost to the chaos of the garage.

a pair of warm eyes burn into the side of your head. you turn to see oscar watching you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s studying you. he’s fidgeting, playing with his fingers, something strange for the man as cool as a cucumber. you look away as quickly as you can, managing to tear your eyes away from him, a lump forming in your throat which you swallow down.

it’s painful, really. sex and talking, it’s not enough, never has been for even a second. oscar piastri, australian f1 driver, number 81, quickly became your oscar, somewhat against your will.

-

somewhere in hungary, about 8 months ago

“are we really doing this, piastri?” you giggle, throwing your head back as his lips work your neck.

“need you.” he groans into your skin, low and needy. you’ve never heard him sound so disheveled, so desperate, a far cry from his usual, monotonous self.

“want you, osc.” you pant when his lips find your sweet spot, the feeling of him so delicious on your body.

“have me.” he whispers, falling into bed with you in his lap.

you lay there basking in stunned silence afterwards, a layer of sweat coating your knackered body. your shoulder is pressed flush with oscar’s, not an inch of space between you while you both stare at the ceiling, sporting matching lazy grins.

“i can’t believe we did that.” oscar mutters, a layer of disbelief in his voice.

“i think we should do it again.” you tease, except you are deadly serious.

“agreed.” he breathes.

“this stays between us, right?” you whisper, shyly.

“always.”

-

always makes your skin crawl now. you’re sick of having him in the dark, of having to avoid him in public for fear of turning into a lovesick fool. it’s embarrassing, really, unrequited love.

you can barely follow qualifying, staring blankly at the empty space in the garage where oscar’s car resides. you manage to catch the radio message through the headset you have on, the one where oscar’s muttering about a stupid mistake that’s just knocked him out. he’s limping back to the pits, licking his wounds.

you feel a pang in your chest, sympathetic and disappointed for him. you wonder what his mistake was, where his mind was. you’ll wait for the right moment, swallow the ache in your heart and your pride, and you’ll comfort him. he gets led away by frustrated engineers immediately, studying lines of data with furrowed eyebrows. you watch from afar, but then your heart sinks to your feet when four words sound through your headphones.

“lando, are you okay?”

will sounds stressed, repeating the four words that make your world stop spinning on its axis. everyone in the garage is staring at the tv screen, breaths held, stomachs tight.

your brothers car sits in tatters, carbon fibre littering the track. you can see the fluorescents of his helmet burrowed in the cockpit, still. your mouth hangs open, one hand clutching your chest, the other covering your quivering lips. you’re numb.

that feeling returns, the one of eyes burning into your weathered features. your wide eyes flit to the australian boy watching you from across the garage, and you beg silently for him to just come to you, pull you close, tell you that lando is okay and that he loves you back.

and lando is okay, his winded voice reassuring you over the radio.

but you stand there alone.

just like always.

-

somewhere in brazil, about 5 months ago

“what’s your favourite colour?” oscar mumbles lazily, lips bumping your cheekbone.

you’re curled up on his lap watching the sunset from his balcony. he was well behind lando after qualifying, and he’d craved a moment alone with you all day.

the air was thick, humid, the hot orange sun sinking far off in the horizon. you turn to face him, his features illuminated by the hazy glow. the sunlight makes his chocolate eyes sparkle warmly, so pretty.

“brown.” you whisper, scanning his face.

he laughs lowly, his chest rumbling.

“brown?” he questions teasingly.

“yep.” you grin, pecking his lips softly.

“why?”

“go look at those pretty eyes of yours in the mirror.” you retort smoothly, threading your fingers through his shower-damp strands.

“you flirting with me?”

“you bet i am.”

you twist back around, facing the view once more, moulding into his body. he kisses over your shoulder, resting his chin. you stay there content until the sun is gone and the stars twinkle.

-

the air in the room is thick, awkwardly silent.

he stands leaning against the desk, opposite where you sit on your bed. the lights are low in your hotel room, the imprint of your body still fresh against the mattress. you’d been crying when he knocked, eyes rimmed red, skin flushed raw.

“you just stood there.” you croak.

“love, i-“

“don’t call me that. please.”

hurt flashes across his features, but like he knows it’s not fair of him to complain, he buries it immediately.

“i just… will you hear me out?” oscar pleads quietly.

you nod feebly.

“it’s impossible. this, us. i wanted to go to you but i- i couldn’t, i didn’t know how that would look and i didn’t want to jeopardise this.”

“but you did.” you whisper. his face shatters, falling fast.

“no, no, i can be there when you need me-“

“but you weren’t!” you cry, your body physically sinking, your shoulders drooping.

“i can fix this, i will.”

“i think we need to stop this, osc. it’s too painful for me. i’ve tried to move past the hurt but after today…” your voice shakes and you crumble, the first tear falling.

“i’m not trying to hurt you.” he crosses the space between you in two rushed steps, collapsing to his knees before you.

“that’s not good enough.” you bite back. “i’m not going to be some guys dirty little secret. i won’t do it anymore oscar.”

“i was trying to protect you… this.” he gestures between you desperately

“i know, oscar. i know! but i never asked you to do that. i can’t love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life.” the words slip from your tongue, abrasive and messy, before your brain can catch up.

you grimace, biting your tongue, but oscar’s reaction couldn’t be further from your own. his watery eyes widen, pink lips pulling into a boyish grin.

“i don’t want to love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life either.” oscar whispers, tentatively taking your hands. you stare down at your slowly intertwining fingers, a familiar warmth oozing through your body. “i wanna love you everywhere.”

“show me.” you murmur through shaky breath.

“i will.” he leans in, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “for as long as you let me, i will.”

“just come here.” your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, one born of frustration, and longing, and a year of late night talking about everything except how much you love each other.

oscar pushes you back onto the bed, crawling over you, starving. you pull him flush against you, leaving no room between your bodies. you crave the feel of his entire weight pressing you into the mattress and as he does, you feel at home. when you pull apart, catching your breaths, he says it properly, for the first time, and the world gets lighter.

“i love you.” oscar cups your jaw, those chocolate eyes boring into yours, the intensity of it knocking you for six. “always.” he adds.

the meaning of the word changes. always doesn’t mean a shameful, taboo secret anymore. life is breathed into the six lettered word; always means you and him, together, finally out of the shadows.

“i love you, osc.” you whisper.

he’s smiling when he kisses you again, unbuttoning your blouse like he’ll die if he doesn’t get the offending item off of your frame. you retaliate by shoving his t-shirt up his back, tugging greedily at it to strip him bare. the material comes off easily and as he sits up to throw it away, you shrug off your blouse and it meets his shirt on the floor. his hands smooth over your curves, brushing the pudge of your belly as he finds the zip of your skirt, ruining the fasten in his state of haste. you barely notice the way he’s ruined the item of clothing, urgently unbuttoning his jeans. your underwear is gone too, nothing separating you but your bra, restless hands on heated skin.

“we need to be quiet.” you breathe. “lando’s next door.” oscar giggles, tinged pink.

“get on top, love.” he drawls, flipping onto his back and taking you with him.

he sits up with you in his lap, nothing anchoring either of you in the middle of the bed. the imprint of your devastated form is gone, replaced by the shape of him. you can feel the head of his cock nudging through your folds, slicking him up so that he can slide nice and deep. he trails his fingers between your legs, thumbing at your clit in deft circles, just the way he knows you like it. you’re mewling in his lap, grinding down on the pad of his thumb; it’s so good but it’s not enough.

“please, osc.” you pant, urging him to let you sink down on his cock. you can see how red it is, feel the way it throbs for you, and the need to be full of him is almost paralysing.

“come on, pretty girl. fill yourself up.” oscar mutters against the shell of your ear.

he kisses down your throat as you slide down on him, dropping your hips firm against his.

“fuck.” you cry, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

“you okay, sweetheart? feel so good for me.” oscar coos, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

“so good, baby.” your head rolls back, feeling him hit that spot tucked away within your walls.

your breaths mingle, your breasts flush against his chest, and as if he realises that he never stripped you of your pesky bra, he grunts, unclasping the black lace and flinging it somewhere far away. he gently mumbles an awestruck “fuck”, as if he hasn’t seen your tits a million and one times before, and latches onto your nipple. his tongue works in slow circles, matching the pace of your hips working languidly on his cock, and you keen further into his body.

“prettiest girl for me.” oscar grits out, his eyes squeezing shut when you clamp down on him, hard.

you’re both trying so hard to be quiet, overwhelmed by touch and taste, love. you’re growing tired, hurtling towards a desperate release, and oscar can sense it, the feel of your quivering thighs tightening around his hips spurring him on. he grinds up into you, maintaining your pace, but he’s fucking you harder now, the anticipation of your release sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna cum for me?” oscar grunts, holding your hips down against him. you can’t move, his hold too tight and your body too tired, all you can do is wait for your orgasm to hit like a ton of bricks. you nod frantically.

“yes, oscar, please baby.” you beg for it, and like the true gentleman he is, the calloused pad of his pointer finger finds its home on your clit, sending you into an upwards spiral.

it’s as if you’re levitating when you let go, in a dreamlike state, your teeth sinking hard into his pale shoulder to muffle a surefire whine of his name. he’s rutting into you, prolonging the bliss.

“cum inside of me.” you urge, voice barely above a whisper. well, you’ve certainly never done this before.

oscar’s eyes roll into the back of his head, tears pricking his lash line. a guttural gasp of your name spills from his lips when he lets go, painting your insides warm and white. you stare at the tiny indents your teeth had left on his thick shoulder, his breath hitting the crook of your neck warm and wet as he comes down.

“‘m yours, and i’m here. i’m always gonna be here, i promise.” oscar speaks so quietly that you wonder if you’ve imagined it.

-

“when i made that mistake today, i was thinking about you.”

you’ve been laying there in silence for a while now, tucked under his arm when he speaks. you turn to look at him, perplexed.

“what?”

“i felt so awful about what i said after we, you know. you looked so upset with me, and i don’t blame you.” oscar sighs.

“i just don’t want to feel like a shameful secret, osc.” you tell him quietly, the words heavy on your tongue.

“you won’t, not anymore. ‘m so sorry, sweetheart.” he lulls, kissing over your hairline.

“how do we make this work? and how are we ever gonna explain this to-“

“lando.” oscar cuts you off, shifting uncomfortable. “he’s going to murder me and my entire bloodline.” he chuckles nervously.

“he won’t murder you. he might put you in a gravel trap, though.” you roll onto your side, smiling teasingly up at him and he rolls his eyes.

“i’ll take the heat. you’re worth it.”

-

“promise me.” you pant, his hips grinding into you. you’re curled into his chest, still spooning and barely awake. he’d woken up needy, and you were even needier, the faint glow of early morning sunshine washing over you through a crack in the beige curtains.

“anything.” oscar stutters, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his nose bumps your skin, teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

you stop meeting his thrusts. he whines low, wordlessly pleading for you to resume. he ruts his hips against your ass, chasing friction.

“tell me it’s all gonna be different now.”

“i already told you, i-“ oscar grunts.

“promise me.” you purposely clamp down on him, a hiss sounding from between his gritted teeth.

“promise, i promise, i love you.”

you giggle, rocking your hips again, fucking yourself onto him once more.

“i know.”

“you gonna let me off the hook?” oscar pants in your ear, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth.

“still gotta prove yourself, piastri.” you moan.

he feels deeper like this and he knows it, revelling in the way he’s filled you up so perfectly. he rolls into you slowly, sliding against each and every spot that makes you squirm. you drop your guard, going limp in his arms to let him finish you off.

“you nearly there, sweetheart? you gonna cum for me, love?” his accents thickens in the mornings, husky and intoxicating. you fall apart, then, and he stays buried inside of you, the only sounds in the room your matching heavy breathing.

“i need you to get dressed.” oscar kisses your cheek.

“kicking me out already?” you feign offence, looking at him over your shoulder.

his fingers come to cup your chin, his forehead resting against yours.

“there’s something we gotta do.”

-

you’re wearing your skirt from the day before, the waistband rolled over to make up for the oscar-destroyed zipper. his hoodie that you’ve stolen almost completely covers the short skirt, and your messy hair and poorly removed makeup don’t do much to convince anyone that you’d actually slept in your own room last night.

still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t really comprehend where oscar is leading you, but when the elevator dings, signalling that you’ve reached the restaurant floor, you’re suddenly painfully awake. time seems to move in slow motion, your tummy twisting as you realise what’s about to happen.

ahead of you, tucked into the corner of the restaurant is your brother, jon, and ashley. lando is already draped in team kit, the papaya of his hoodie blaring obnoxiously for once, a warning sign.

“oscar, what-“

“i’m doing this.” he affirms, speeding up his stride.

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god.

your heart speeds up, dropping to the pit in your belly when lando notices you, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, eyes taking in the bewildering sight before him. his baby sister, disheveled and wide-eyed, and his teammate holding her hand, on a mission.

“what the fuck am i looking at?” lando doesn’t sound angry, per say, more perplexed than anything. there is an edge to his voice that you don’t particularly like, but he hasn’t started swinging yet, you suppose.

“i’m in love with your sister. like, for real. you deserve to know that.” oscar says confidently, somewhat monotonously.

lando opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again, closes it. he repeats the process a few more times, going through the motions of an emotional rollercoaster.

but then, he sighs deeply, a grin of disbelief stretching across his face. jon bangs on the table excitedly, and ash is shaking his head.

“you owe us so much money.” jon laughs, his head tipping back.

“pay up, boss.” ash sticks his hand out expectantly, smirking across the table.

“what… what?” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“i didn’t wanna believe them.” lando shrugs.

“don’t blame you.” oscar chimes in, and you stare between the two mclaren drivers in bewilderment.

“are you okay with this?” you question, staring your brother in the eyes, still a bit disoriented by the entire situation. his face softens, a genuine smile lingering small on his lips.

“if you’re happy, i’ll make my peace with it.” lando’s eyes flit between you and oscar.

all of the sudden, a look of horror crosses his face, and his voice turns stern.

“but,” he inhales shakily. “if i ever, ever, hear again what i think i heard last night,” he glares at oscar, pointing one firm finger at the australian, who stands up a bit straighter. “you’re dead, piastri.”

jon and ash bite back giggles at the empty threat, and you take it upon yourself to put an end to the situation before it gets any more awkward.

“well, on that note!” you sing-song, dragging oscar away.

“and make sure you’re using protection!” lando calls out, panic stricken, big brother mode activated.

“oh my god.” you blush dark pink, speeding up, the elevator in your sights.

“that went well.” oscar quips sarcastically. he looks rather happy with himself.

you kiss him as soon as the metal doors shut.

-

you do go out after the race, but for once it’s not to drink away the memories of a weekend in oscar’s arms. this time, it’s to celebrate the fact that you can love him out loud, and he’ll do the same right back.

you’re dancing in his arms, bright lights in shades of blues and purples streaming over your bodies. oscar holds you close, keeps you wrapped in his arms, despite the shock on the faces of others at the sight of lando norris’s baby sister publicly besotted with his teammate.

when oscar kisses you deep, smiling against your lips that taste like cherry liquor, you know that this last year of your life wasn’t in vain.

you and oscar, you’re built to last.

-

“how did you not see it, mate?” charles beams, crinkles by his eyes from the wide smile he’s sporting. he’s clearly drunk, but lando is too.

it appears he’s clocked the brits sister and her australian suitor on the dance floor.

the monagasque has rocked up to the bar with alex and pierre in tow, the three of them slapping lando on the back as they arrive.

“i guess there were signs.” lando shrugs, dragging his finger over the rim of the crystal glass.

“signs? mate it was obvious.” pierre chuckles, pushing lando’s shoulder.

“wait, you all knew?” lando splutters.

yeah. duh. come on, man.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s funnier.” charles… winks? it’s hard to tell with him.

lando finds you in the crowd, grinning up at oscar like he hung the stars in the sky. the younger mclaren driver returns your look, and it sparks warmth in lando’s chest.

you’re gonna be okay.

-

hehe

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne

[angsthology]

“i am on work trip vacation” — or an alt title: what happens when a group of f1 drivers go on a getaway together

a houseboat sounds like a great idea! ...right?

a/n HELLAUR this was mostly inspired by that one mofy episode “lake life” which to me is very underrated i love that episode SO much. anyway here it is it kinda ended up not how i wanted it to be in the first place but oh well :)

THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD

to be perfectly honest, no one really remembered whose idea it was for them to do this. theoretically, it did sound like a good idea until someone else had the amazing idea:

“what if we rented a houseboat… for all of us…”

the group blinked at the suggestion.

roo, who had been standing next to lando mumbled to him lowly, “are we that close?”

the question made the two turns to each other for eye contact, when their eyes met, lando shrugged.

their attentions were brought away when max spoke up from his seat.

“yeah, but who is paying?”

the group turned to look at each other before agreeing through eye contact and all turn to the dutch driver.

“what? why? this isn’t even my idea!”

“yeah, but…” the group turned to the first porsche driver, “you keep winning…”

he threw his hands in the air, “what?! what does that have to do with anything?”

“you make the most money…” lando answered for her, the words slowly forming in his mouth, “you bought a whole aircraft, a boat won’t hurt your wallet.”

in response, he got a look from the redbull driver.

the woman next to him walked forward, “how about this; you’ve ruled the land, the asphalt if you must; you’ve also had your reign in the air, isn’t it time for you to have something to dominate the seas…?” she carefully propositioned, eyes searching the unreadable dutch looking for any sort of answer.

until eventually, his eyes lit up looking her way, “you’re a genius!” he exclaimed.

“i know, thanks.” she smugly smiled at his reaction.

shortly after, the man speedily walked off somewhere else leaving her with the rest of the grid.

she huffed with a smile playing at her lips, “men are so easy.”

fast forward to where they are now; lando trying to figure out the concept of charles’ attempt at eggs, the latter suspected to be on some kind of edible (currently being silently investigated by george and alex), lance passed out on the couch in an interesting position with his blanket over his face to shield it from the sun, the rest out on deck or still asleep in their rooms.

just as lando did another poke of his… egg? roo walked down the steps from where all the rooms were, eyes still lidded with sleep, hands stretching with a yawn.

“mornin’.” she greeted, the rest present in the room strung along good mornings as such.

walking over to the smell of burning, she felt the ground tilt to the side, making her lose her balance following where the dip goes. the rest in the room too fully woke up at the tilt—a large horn following. lance, emerging from his blanket and sitting half up grumpily, lando quickly grabbing his plate of eggs to stop it from falling off the counter (though, he regretted doing so, he would much rather the eggs get eaten by the floor rather himself.)

the aston martin driver on the couch then snatched the walkie-talkie on the coffee table next to him and barked into it, “VERSTAPPEN!”

max, happily conducting in his captain’s deck, apologized through the walkie sheepishly, “ehe—sorry.”

from out on the deck, came the sound of the french, “honey, slow down, you are waking up the kids.” just as he put the walkie-talkie back on the table next to him, pierre heard the response coming from the same channel,

“gasly, i will throw you overboard.”

just as he grumbled that, the second haas driver stumbled down the stairs, face still a little sleepy (naturally).

“someone’s grumpy this morning.” he commented before taking a seat next to alex on the dining table behind the counter where lando hastily stared at a piece of his egg.

“fuck off.” he grumbled before covering his face with his blanket once more.

george, sat across of mick, stared at his co-worker still drifting off on the table, “‘horn wake you?”

“no, radio.” he mumbled.

the girl finally went back to walking over to the ferrari driver in the kitchen.

“what’s cookin’, mcqueen?” she greeted.

he looked back to her smiling then continuing his focus on the pan, “eggs!”

the woman looked towards the brit with a plate on the counter, raising her brows for confirmation. in response, he frowned with his eyes closed, shaking his head.

at that, she walked over to the fridge and grabbed the carton of orange juice, pouring it into a cup before walking over to where lando sat and hauled herself up into the stool.

“here goes nothing.” she heard the whisper from the side, looking over to see lando carefully putting the piece of egg in his mouth with his eyes closed.

she cringed when she heard a crunch coming from his bite.

“i think that was a shell…” he cried.

the girl beside him frowned and pat his back just as carlos walked down the stairs, behind him two large dogs followed.

she gasped at the sight, “good morning, babies,” she greeted sweetly, crouching down to pet the two dogs.

passing by, carlos smiled, “good morning, sweetheart.”

roo gave him a side-eye as he passed, snickering, she said, “sure.” her expression then turning to one of adoration when she pat her dogs once more.

her attention moved when charles greeted his teammate, “good morning, calos, how do you take your eggs?”

“like god made them,” he said before cracking an egg and pouring them straight into his mouth.

everyone turned to him in shock and disgust, roo herself shrieked at the sight.

“what the hell is wrong with you?!” she yelped in disgust.

charles, face straight, “oh, right, i forgot about that.”

from the dining table, george questioned, “you do that every day? i just do it when i have a nasty hangover…”

carlos looked at him and paused, nodding before answering, “yes.”

roo then laughed smugly into her glass.

“what are you laughin’ at sally?” asked the spaniard.

“i don’t get hangovers.” she bragged, hand reaching over to the bowl of fruit in front of her. her smug face dropped when she held the too-light banana, “what the fuck? are these fucking plastic?!”

charles then turn around and grimaced seeing the look on her face, “oh, yeah, forgot to tell you.” he the paused, contemplating on what he says next, “if you see a bite mark on the apple… no you don’t.”

george then intruded, “wait, wait. i want to go back to how you don’t get hangovers…”

“yeah—how does that even work?” alex asked next.

she shrugged, “well… how it works is that… i don’t drink. —besides champagne that is,” she added with a smile.

“wait what—”

she clapped her hands together, “conversation’s over, i’m going to take my kids for a walk—lando, stop trying to feed them your eggs they only eat things that are edible.”

the ‘cook’ turned around fully offended, “hey!”

“so…”

“please don’t try to make conversation. it’s bad enough you’re here.” again, it wasn’t like she was trying to be rude, but it often came out like that. —she really did hope lando didn’t take it like that.

he scoffed, “oh, come off it, you love me.” he said, while throwing a hand over her shoulder.

the four—lando, roo, bennie, and jet, that is—were currently wandering around the island their boat had docked to. so far on their walk there hasn’t been anything interesting in the island besides the occasional inhabitants of the island (ones that are only visible to the woman anyway).

suddenly, lando let go of her shoulder and went to check his pockets, “oh, right, that reminds me; these has been weighing my pants—”

her attention unmoving, she cut him off, “that or you need a belt.”

he rolled his eyes and continued, “whatever, can you hold this in your pocket.”

finally, that brought her out of her trance, “oh wait—”

she turned around to warn him but it was too late, lando had dropped the item in the pocket hole of her pants only to see it fall to the ground instead.

“wait what—” he grabbed the item off the floor and tried to put it back in her pocket, seeing if he had missed it before only to see it fall to the ground through it again. “what the hell?” without warning, lando put his hand in her pocket all the way through and low and behold; his hand had went through it and peaked out of the bottom of her pants.

he stared at her in confusion.

“yeah, i was going to tell you: my pockets have holes in them.”

“well, no shit, i can fit my entire hand through this—hell, i can even fit both.” he asserted almost going high-pitched. his eyes then changed, visibly remembering a detail she mentioned, “wait—pockets? as in both?”

she rolled her eyes, “yes, drama queen. now can you get your hand out of my pants, do you know how weird this looks?”

“oh, yeah, to who? the wind?” he stated sarcastically as he pulled his hand out of her pocket—if it can still be called that.

the girl was about to answer but her eyes caught something that made her eyes almost pop out of their socket. her hand immediately takes a hold of lando’s upper arm.

“ow!”

ignoring his complains, her eyes still trained on whatever it is she saw and started pulling on his arm.

the brit was still busy complaining on how hard her hand’s grip on his arm was to look up but he still managed to answer, “what?!”

“i think—i think we should uh—go back to shore, y’know, it’s almost lunch, they could be looking for us.”

“no it’s not, it’s only like—” he checks his watch, “—eleven am.” he continues to complain.

but when he couldn’t feel as much pain as before he looked up to see his friend already gone along with the two dogs. he threw his hands in the air, “wha— damn it, roo!”

when he made it back to the beach, she was nowhere to be found, instead he was met with the rottie instead, “oh, hey, bennie, where’s your mum, huh?” he crouched down to give the dog a scratch behind his ear, bennie barked in response.

he—the dog—then turned around and walked over to the side where a white and minty-green volleyball laid, piquing an interest from lando.

when he walked over and grabbed the ball, he heard a call from the other side of the beach.

“oi! you wanna join us for a game?” danny yelled with his hands cupped around his mouth.

without another thought, lando stood up and ran over to the group and joined them. surprisingly enough when he looked to his left, there his friend stood after ditching him in the woods.

he threw his hands in the air when he saw her, “here you are! what the hell was that earlier?”

opting for the easy way out, she replied, “saw something you can’t, you don’t want to know.”

lando—who she knew would steer clear of any further topics involving her abilities—accepted the answer quickly and went back to focusing on the upcoming game.

“so, what’s the game here?” asked the brit.

“it was gonna be two on two but since you’re here i guess, three it is. whose team do you want to be in?”

lando then mulled over his options, go with daniel and mick against roo and zhou or… the other way around. then he remembered just how strong the girl was—he got flashbacks from various sports he had played against her and ones he saw her play, he wasn’t risking it.

“i think i’m gonna stay here, what about you, though? you need one more player?”

the australian looked around until his eyes landed on the rottweiler, a grin made its way to his face, “bennie! c’mere boy!”

when the rottie obliged, roo’s jaw dropped in betrayal.

“first mick! now you too? betrayed by my own boys…”

the german shrugged.

after that, the game went on for a good few minutes. along the lines of those minutes the following had happened;

“what the hell, dan?!”

said man had done an overhand serve with the ball, accidentally aiming it straight where the woman was hitting her upper chest—luckily enough she had managed to save it. but, still, she was a little bit offended.

he couldn’t help but laugh at his own actions—which he swore he didn’t mean to do.

still laughing (all the while the game was still going on), he continues to apologize through it, “i am so sorry karen smith, i swear, it was an accident.”

after that little incident, the girl made it her number one mission to find the right timing for payback.

when she did, she gave it her all into passing that ball hitting it towards the australian’s lower region.

unfortunately for her and luckily for him, he dodged just in time letting it hit the sand instead—unfortunately giving her team a point.

daniel and mick’s eyes were still trained where the ball had landed, seeing how harshly it hit the ground—daniel looked at it more with relief than he’d like to admit.

he turned around from the ball to look at her with ‘offense’, “dude!” he threw his hands up.

without wasting another breath, she pointed at him threateningly, “you hit my boobs! —i target you.”

in return, daniel raised both his hands in surrender and walked backwards to grab the ball and resume the game.

an hour or two later the game finished with daniel and mick on the losing team, leaving the other three in a high.

after high fiving both her teammates, the girl embraced the two men in purpose of gloating, she made sure to say audibly, “so, how did it feel like scoring your first win, boys?” she asked the two, though her eyes stayed on the two opposing teammates.

zhou smiled happily, seemingly glad that he could just participate at all, “feels pretty good, i must say.”

although lando wasn’t quite impressed by her question, “man, shut the fuck up.” he said, slipping out of her embrace to make his way over to the dock with the other five following behind.

“that’s not fair, you play aggressive.” daniel complained half-jokingly.

she was taken aback, “no i wasn’t, are you sure?”

knowing her, he knew her words were genuine(ly confused).

he wrapped his hand and smiled down at her cheekily, muttering lowly, “you don’t know your own strength.”

when they arrived on the boat, the first thing she saw the moment she stepped on the last step up was pierre, still calmly perched on his sun lounger with only his sunglasses protecting him.

the girl stared at him with questioning eyes, “have you moved? like, at all?”

“non.”

she all but shrugged, leaving him to burn under the sun.

when she entered the kitchen slash dining room slash living room, she was greeted with the hypnotizing smell of the food that filled the table—well, what was left of the food.

just as she was walking around said table, she heard the tapping of paws against the wooden floor and before she knew it, she was tackled by the doberman happily greeting her.

“hey, sweetheart, where have you been?” she scratched the dog’s head happily accepting her affection then suddenly being approached by a smaller collie she weren’t too familiar with, “and you… brought a friend?” she carefully stretched her hand out to pet the mystery puppy, “and who do you belong to buddy?”

“mine, actually.” the blonde thai entered the room with a water bottle in his hand. “his name’s otter, or, otto.”

“awh,” she pouted at the information before looking down at the puppy once again, “i love you.” she unhesitatingly hugs the puppy who then wags his tail with even more energy.

alex was about to comment but she beat him to it, “hey, what happened to everyone?”

“uhh—i think esteban took lance out on a boat,”

“i didn’t know ocon was capable of that.”

“not every two-people getaway is in the purpose of murder.”

“sure, tell yourself that.”

“whatever; charles is terrorizing yuki somewhere and carlos went to the bait shop in the island with george.”

“bait shop? is that a bar? there’s a bar here?”

“no– just a normal bait shop… for… fishing… you do know?”

“yes.”

“oh, hey, that reminds me; i’ve been meaning to ask, why didn’t fernando agree to this, again? i would assume he would jump at the chance at the first mention of lake.”

the alpine driver was currently calmly lounging on his chair doing whatever it is people his age does when suddenly two of the younger drivers on the grid appeared behind him.

he paused whatever he was doing when he felt the presence of two demons giggling behind him, he turned around quickly with a flat expression.

“what do you two want?”

they only giggled when he look at them dead in the eyes, earning raised brows expectantly from him.

the man heard whispers of “you say it”, “no you say it” bounced back and forth from the two.

“just say it.” he ordered the moment they got on his last nerve. (well, they were already on his last nerve the moment they arrived but now it was in the negatives.)

the british of the two decided to be the one to start, “we just wondered why… how—”

“we were just wondering why you haven’t turned to dust under the sun.” she cut him off.

now giggling again, lando continued, “it’s just we’re worried, this lake trip is going to have a lot of sun exposure.”

“we still like you, nan.” she finished, both of them continuing their giggling spree.

“you know what, that’s it.” he stood up from his chair, no longer feeling the relaxing peace and quiet he did before, “just like that, i’m not going. you kids are driving me crazy and i need this break.”

their faces dropped at the sudden ‘outburst’, both of them scurrying behind him to beg and plead for his mercy.

“uhh—he already had other plans.” she paused, then looking over him, “and what are you doing here?”

“trying to find a frisbee for the three of us.”

she tilted her head in question.

“me, otto, and… jet.”

“oh. alright, go nuts.” she then stands up from the ground, popping her head out the window that goes out to the deck, “mick, lan, dan, zhou, any of you eaten anything yet?”

she got a chorus of no’s and not yet’s in response.

“i—you are seeing this, correct?”

“looking at the same thing as you are.”

after a good lunch break with the four men, they all had went their separate ways to spend the afternoon and after a lot of exploring, roo found her way back to the deck where the alphatauri driver is still lounging. though now he is fast asleep, —and sunburnt.

she didn’t say anything else opting for nodding her head and slowly moving to the sun lounger beside her—vision directly facing the burnt french.

seeing as she was no longer standing next to him, he crouched down, “what are you thinking about, cariño?”

she shrugged, “nothing… just going to relax here.”

safe to say he did not trust her answer, he squinted as he stood back up.

the spaniard crossed his arms, “can i trust you…”

at that, the woman looks up craning her neck, she then pulls down her sunglasses to bat her eyelashes at him with a sweet smile.

he couldn’t help but reciprocate her energy. with one last smile, he turned around, and by chance he was met with lance who were just passing by. he grabbed the aston martin driver and whispered warningly—all the ‘sweetness’ from his previous encounter dropped, “that is a smile of a con-woman. do not trust her, watch her.”

before lance could even react, carlos was already long gone.

something bad had happened. he left for ten good minutes and he already heard the french-accented sound of agony coming from the deck.

next thing he knew, he was already there with the rest of the drivers all crowded there too to witness what just happened—arriving just in time for the sound of splashing on the side of the boat could be heard.

roo was already there with her hands on the side of the boat, looking down at the man overboard.

all the drivers followed where she was and where her eyes were brightly looking at with a cackle, squished together to all stand along the boat railings to see the emerging alphatauri driver from under the waters.

the girl, still laughing her ass off was getting cursed out in french, even hearing her full name coming out of her mouth.

carlos immediately snapped his head towards her direction, “what did you do?!”

she was still far too busy laughing, leaving the frenchman to answer angrily for her, “espèce de connard!” he cursed at her, “she fucking slapped my sunburn!”

that statement itself had made lando spilt a single cackle, zhou and mick covering their mouth in self-control after imagining pierre’s words.

said man give the three a large glare that didn’t really change their state.

the spaniard then turned to lance with eyes wide, “i told you to watch her!”

“i’m not her babysitter!” he defended, “—lando is! i gave him a fifty-dollar bill to do it!” he continued his defense. (which quite frankly didn’t help him much.)

“so you gave a child a job to watch another child?!” carlos fumed.

“i— well you got me there.” the canadian shrugged and let go of it.

lando, hearing his name, quickly chimed in with offense lacing his tone, “hey! in my defense; i handed the job over to charles!”

everyone then turned to the resident monégasque. he threw his hands in defense, when he spoke his tone a lot less defense-y more reasoning, “what? i am on vacation, i’m not babysitting!”

of all this happening, they all failed to notice the angry frenchman emerging from the stairs—skin red and dripping with lake water.

his wet steps walked slowly towards the culprit—the war criminal in a diy ripped clothing, “count your days.” he threatened lowly, accent thicker than usual, before walking inside the houseboat funnily, body still aching from his ‘little’ predicament.

te1enoviyuh 🎵 Pitbull, Marc Anthony • Rain Over Me (feat. Marc Anthony)

liked by awstenknight, f1, and 6,835,736 others

tagged: carlossainz55

te1enoviyuh D.O.G. — drivers only getaway

two notes for this one:

pierregasly i am... sorry, truly

@ all of u, youve all behaved accordingly so i gift u this picture he took when my phone went missing apparently

see all 2,836 comments.

selvnika oh this gave me a whiplash actually

dunphyrrari selvnika ure so right for this queen

thesainzist HELLO

thesainzist GOOD MORNINGGG SAILOR

thesainzist i thank u for ur service u are a god 🙏🏼

pierregasly die

siriuslyricciardo pierregasly NAHH I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED ON THAT BOAT

backbiteroo pierregasly tea is BOILING

te1enoviyuh backbiteroo his skin actually

pierregasly te1enoviyuh PÉRIR

mclarenovia watch them be super cryptic about this whole getaway

sixteenparx awsten at the scene of the crime once again 📸

awstenknight sixteenparx CAN YOU JUST LET ME LIVE

sixteenparx awstenknight no

aepsainz YARG

aepsainz on behalf of chillination we thank you and owe you for your service we will never forget this 💪🏿

sebastianvettel Have fun!

liked by te1enoviyuh

taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra lemme know if u wanna be added <3

[leclercsredhelmet]

So High School ✮ Mick Schumacher

A/N: Hi again! I come bearing another blurb, this time inspired by so high school and dear Mick!

“ I feel so high school every time I look at you”

Time was not a concept to you as of this moment, being unaware of what time it was you felt a certain sense of bliss. Your phone had long been discarded in your room since the early hours of the morning. Now that you pause to think about this, it was more than likely that your phone had never left your bedside table back in your shared bedroom with your boyfriend. Surely you had been in this chair for hours, and your back was starting to feel it, but you ignored it and kept staring at your computer screen writing, deleting, and rewriting sentences, all while consulting the beat-up notebook and stray papers around your table.

A long-forgotten mug with what undeniably was cold coffee sat there. Your boyfriend had replaced it before he left, he still wasn’t back or hadn’t called but that didn’t worry you. You knew that he was still training, normally he wouldn’t be out until late afternoon training but tomorrow you’d both be going on holiday in Mallorca and he liked to train for extra hours before taking a trip.

Judging by how the sun's rays were changing color you know it was late afternoon and the sun would start setting soon. Standing up you rinsed the mug and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, sitting back down to write some more. As you were finishing up the last chapter of the day you heard the door open and close followed by footsteps and a bag being placed on the couch. A familiar set of lips placed soft kisses from your jawline to your lips and you smiled while looking up at Mick. “Hallo, Mein Leibe,” Mick said, “Hola, amor” you replied in your native tongue.

“Stil writing?” he softly inquired, “Yeah, how was training?” you asked. “Good, did quite a lot of miles cycling, I covered enough for the next three days,” he said with a little laugh and you giggled. “Have you eaten since I left?” he asked. “No, I got so wrapped up in writing that I forgot” you admitted. Mick looked at you concerned, “Liebchen, I thought we agreed on you taking breaks to eat.” “I know, I just wanted to write enough to not worry about it on holiday, but I’m done now,” you said and saved your work and closed your computer.

Standing up you hugged Mick, “Don’t do that again, while I’m out. I worry about you” he said softly. “Promise, this is what you got into when you decided to date an overachieving writer, editor, and book publisher,” you said and he laughed. “That doesn’t mean you need to stay hours without food, I know you get hyperfocused but let’s practice taking food breaks please” he pleaded and you nodded. “Have you written outside or were you cooped up in here?” “Uhm, in here,” you said sheepishly. “We’re having dinner on the balcony and going for a walk around town after,” he said. Smiling you kissed his cheek, “Thank you for worrying about me” you said gratefully and he hugged you.

“You do the same for me, I have to take care of my next great novelist,” he said and you laughed, “And I have to take care of my returning f1 driver and endurance racing champion” you replied. “For the record, you’re my favorite writer,” he said pinching your nose and you giggled. “For the record, you’re my favorite driver,” you replied poking his ribs. “Before or after Charles?” he questioned and you laughed. “Always before, you’re my eternal p1, and Charlie’s one of my closest friends,” you replied with a smile. “A writer and a driver make quite a great pair,” he said grabbing your waist and you laughed because it tickled a little. “You know how to drive and I know Aristotle, we just work perfectly” you added.

Mick smiled and led you to your shared bedroom, he motioned for you to sit on the bed while he disappeared into the bathroom. Hearing him shuffle around you figured he must’ve been looking for something.

Minutes later he led you to the bathroom, he had filled the tub with water and bubbles, and prepared the tray with your scrubs and essential oils. He had lit your favorite scented candles and set the robe and warm towel out for you. “Stay there and relax while I make us some dinner,” he said kissing your cheek and disappearing. Chuckling at his gesture you peeled your pieces of clothing off and tossed them into the hamper, staying in the cold bath water you relaxed and when you’d soaked for long enough you drained the water and rinsed the bathwater off.

With a warm robe around your body and a towel around your hair, you put the candles, oils, and soaps away before getting dressed. The smell of pasta filled the hallway and living room, making your way to the kitchen you smiled at the sight. Mick had his back to you and he moved around effortlessly while he cooked, a kitchen towel was hanging by his shoulders. Standing next to him you pecked his cheek and asked if he needed help with cooking, he denied and you giggled before getting the plates out.

The small table on the balcony had been prepared and you brought two wine glasses, and a bottle of white wine to the table. Mick was right in tow with the plates, sitting down you poured the wine and ate while you talked about your plans for Mallorca. “You want more pasta liebchen? I can go get it?” Mick asked noticing your empty plate, “No, I’m good, amor” you replied. “Are you sure? I don’t mind getting you some more” he asked. “I promise, I’m good, thank you” you replied as you reached over to grab his hand. He twisted your hand and started to play with your fingers, you stayed out looking at the stars before going inside to wash the dishes. Mick went to shower and you decided to look for a sweater to put over your shirt before heading out for a night stroll around town.

Hand in hand you walked around town, enjoying each other’s company and the slight breeze. “Are you excited about next season?” you asked. “Yeah, I’m very grateful to be back, but I can’t wait to spend the break with you and do light traveling,” he said. With a smile, you leaned your head on his shoulder and he pulled you in tighter by the waist. “If there’s one thing I’m going to miss is you being near home,” you said. “I know, but hopefully now that your job is more stable you can come with me,” he said. “As long as I can you’ll always have me on your side of the garage,” you replied. “This time wearing a Rosso Corsa cap with my number on it,” he said with a cheeky smile. “Forza Ferrari” you replied and he grinned.

“I never thought they’d take me back, not after being a reserve for Mercedes, and endurance driver for Alpine,” he said. “Amor, it’s not like you’re a stranger to them, you were in the FDA and hey after Lewis’s move to the Scuderia, anything is possible, you’ve worked endlessly to get a seat and you got it. Be proud of yourself, everyone is” you said kissing his cheek. “I love you,” he said. “I love you more,” you replied. “Lewis being retired is something I didn’t see coming until later but at least he’s joining Seb, Mark, and Jenson in the club,” he said, “Our favorite retired grid dads,” you said with a laugh. Mick threw his head back and laughed. Noticing that your favorite gelateria was open you went inside to buy pistachio gelatos and ate them on a bench outside.

Something as simple as a home-cooked meal, a night stroll, and a shared gelato with Mick was your very own definition of happiness. Whenever you looked at him it felt like you were sneaking with him under the bleachers during lunch at high school, it was all so high school.

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[milflewis]

22 + chalex for the prompt thing! 🫶🏻

22. hug

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 1: So. I am fucked. Surprise though! So you can stop all the tears — talking about you, Commander, the softy that you are - I am alive.]

—

Two weeks after NASA has declared Alex Albon dead and left on Mars, Charles writes to George. He sends it to Sebastian and makes him swear to get it to Lewis in the crew’s next info dump, who will give it to George.

He tells him about how Alex’s plants are doing, and about his shifts at the hospital, how he’s on night work now, with the shifts rotating over. He tells him about going to the beach and just standing there for hours, staring out at the water, until he could no longer feel his face from the cold. He tells that he’s more or less sleeping, that he’s going to work, that he’s eating. He tells him that he hopes they’re keeping safe and that he loves him.

He doesn’t talk about Alex. He doesn’t tell George he doesn’t blame him. He knows he’ll know. That he won’t need Charles to write the words.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 2: I think I've got this actually. Ignore yesterday. Getting stranded on Mars kinda messes with your head. I've got a plan and I'm feeling good about it! ]

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 2: Update. I do not got this. If I die, Charles, I demand a mourning period of at least eighty-three years. Please bury me under some nice flowers. Blue if you can.]

—

“Come back to me,” Charles says, arms tight around Alex’s neck, mouth pressed under his ear. He smells of shampoo and asphalt. His bony elbows are digging into Charles’s back.

“I’m going to make Mars my bitch,” Alex says, grinning, and Charles shoves him away with a laugh.

Alex catches his wrist with a warm hand. His palm is dry and calloused. “Charlie,” he starts, low and careful. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Charles’s voice cracks. He tries again. “Yes, I know, of course, of course. Me too.”

Alex smiles, and it’s wonderful. Charles memorises the shape of it.

Down the line, with his back to the hoard of cameras, Commander Lewis Hamilton is pressing his mouth against his husband’s knuckles. Both of their eyes are closed.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 54]: Did you know that if you grow something somewhere that you've then colonised it? So, like, now that I've got my potatoes going does that mean I now own Mars? A win for the gays and the losers, motherfuckers!]

—

Toto swivels in his chair and looks out of the window to the sky beyond. Night is slipping in.

"What is it like?" he wonders. “Stuck up there. Alone. He does not know we know. What does that do?"

He looks at Niki. "I wonder what he is thinking right now."

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 61: How come Aquaman can control whales. They're mammals! Makes no sense.]

—

Some days, when he hasn’t had much sleep and the air warps and curls over on itself with heat, he sees Charles.

He’ll only ever be far off in the distance — too far for Alex to even see the details of his face, let alone touch him. He’d know the shape of those shoulders anywhere.

Alex waves to him sometimes. This dark blur on the horizon that just stands there and watches. He never waves back. The sun on Mars is unforgiving.

Alex wonders if he’s moisturising his hands. The latex exam gloves he has to wear for work always dry out his skin.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 76: I'm going to have to science the shit out of this. George, please don't use this as porn. I know how hot and bothered you get about me being all smart and sexy.]

—

George has, like, every sitcom ever downloaded in his personal storage. Alex works his way through them all. If he never hears another laugh track in his life he’d die happy.

Lewis’s music list is jam packed full of different genres. There is a surprising amount of The Beatles in there. Alex wouldn’t have guessed he was a fan of them.

Alex decides the music Lewis had made himself, all chords and notes and little words, is some of his favourites. It can be hard hearing other people speak at you and not being able to talk back.

Every book Valtteri had downloaded is in Finnish. Alex thinks he probably should’ve guessed that would be the case.

It turns out Finnish is very hard to learn, especially when the only words you’ve picked up are swears that you’ve heard Valtteri muttering under his breath before media duties.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 206: Finally got into contact with NASA because I am that bitch and I will be damned if I die here, and that is a promise. They won’t stop telling me what to do now though, so, like, it’s a give and take, I guess.]

—

The first thing Charles notices about Alex is that he has freckles all over his face but especially across his nose and cheeks. This feels very important.

The second thing he notices is that he is tall and his wrists are bony. Charles eyes the strip of skin where his MATHS IS SEXY top rides up. There is an equally tall man sitting in the booth beside him with a shirt that reads: NO ITS NOT.

The third thing he notices is that he is extremely drunk. His cheeks are flushed and he’s half falling over the table as he tries to explain something while laughing.

Charles probably falls in love right there if he’s being honest, even if he never gets the courage to go up and talk to him. Alex is the one who says hi, weeks later, asking him if he wants to play pool.

Charles doesn’t know how to play pool. He says yes anyway because he thinks it might make Alex smile. It does.

He keeps saying yes and Alex keeps smiling. They move together after college graduation.

Charles is coming off a double shift and he can’t feel his feet when Sebastian shows up to give him a ride home. He makes him tea when they get in. It’s a blend of something herbal and sweet like honey.

Sebastian tells him Alex is still alive as Charles breathes in the steam. He tells him that they left him behind on Mars. That it was an accident. That they’re figuring out how to get him home.

Alex is alive, Charles thinks. I’ll get to see Alex smile again, Charles thinks, and promptly bursts into tears.

—

[08:47] BUTTON: Good, keep us posted on any mechanical or electrical problems. By the way, the name of the probe we're sending you is Iris. You know, the one who rode the waves of heaven using the wind. I think she's also the chick with the rainbows.

[08:49] ALBON: Gay probe coming to save me. Got it.

—

I’m so glad it’s not me stuck up there, the navigational assistant tells him. He was the one who discovered Alex was still alive in the first place. He tells him he noticed the MAV moving. His name is Yuki.

Alex thinks he’s going to say he’d miss people or fresh fruit or Netflix or sex or something. Alex hasn’t had a mango in so long. He hasn’t had a blowjob in even longer. Some days he isn’t sure which is worse.

Yuki is very very funny.

Can you imagine only eating potatoes, he tells Alex. I would rather die dead and alone. And then: though I guess you would not have to imagine.

And then: the eating potatoes bit. sorry. you haven’t done the other one yet.

Alex laughs so much he rebreaks a only barely healed rib and NASA yells at them both. His calcium levels are very low.

—

[21:27] BUTTON: How are the crops affecting that number? As to your question: We haven't told the crew you're alive yet. We wanted them to concentrate on their own mission.

[21:30] ALBON: The crops are potatoes. I got them from the ones we were supposed to eat for Christmas. They're doing great but the available farmland isn't sustainable. I'll run out of food around SOL 900. Also. Fucking tell the crew I'm alive???? What the fuck is wrong with you????

[21:31] BUTTON: SOL 900 is great news. That'll give us time to get a supply mission to you. And I’ve been told to tell you to watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcasted around the world.

[21:32] ALBON: Look! A pair of boobs - > ( . Y . )

—

Dear Alex: Apparently, NASA is letting us talk to you now. And I drew the short straw. Sorry we left you behind on Mars.

But we just don't like you. You're sort of annoying. And you shed hair everywhere.

Also, it's a lot roomier on the Hermes without you. We have to take turns doing your tasks. But, I mean, it's only botany. It's not a real science.

How's Mars?

— George.

—

Alex stares up at the plain white ceiling of the HAB. The wind roars and rages outside and the Level Threw sandstorm shakes the walls. It holds. It always holds.

When he makes the journey to find the HAB of the HERMES TWO, he’ll be technically crossing international waters without any explicit permission from a governmental body. That makes him a pirate.

I’m going home, Alex thinks. And then: I can’t wait to tell Charlie that he’s married to a bad boy.

Alex runs a hand over his face. He’s even gotten the beard to go with it.

—

Dear George: Mars is fine. When I get lonely I think of that steamy night I spent with your mum.

How are things on Hermes? Cramped and claustrophobic? Yesterday I went outside and looked at the horizons. They really do go on forever.

— Alex.

—

"Thing is," Alex scrambles to say, mouth dry and sore. "I'm selfish. I want all the memorials back home to be just about me. I don't want the rest of you losers in any of them. I can't let you guys blow the VAL. Also, I'm the only one who is allowed to make Charlie cry. Them's the rules."

"Oh," Lewis says. "Well, I mean, if you won't let us — wait. Wait a minute, I think I see something on my shoulder patch here. Oh, right, yeah, it says I'm the Commander. So, you know, what I say goes. Shut the fuck up and sit tight. We're coming to get you."

Alex swallows — or tries to at least. His whole body aches. He thinks he broke a rib, or two. Or three. He wants to cry.

"Copy that, sir."

"We've got you, man." Lewis's voice is warm. Alex doesn't have to imagine his smile anymore. He's going to get to see it very soon.

—

Alex is all bone and mouth when Charles gets to see him again. He has lost so many of his freckles. He hugs him close, pressing his thumbs into the hinge of Alex's jaw. Alex bows and curls over him and Charles doesn't let either of them fall.

He tastes vaguely of salt and snot when Charles kisses him. Charles is crying.

Alex is smiling when he pulls away, arms tight around Charles' back. "Look at your face," he says softly. He's talking to himself.

"I'm here," Charles replies, louder than necessary. Alex blinks at him and his smile, impossibly, gets even bigger. Charles's stomach squirms.

"You're a mess," Alex teases him, running a hand through Charles' hair. Charles doesn't say anything about how his hands shake.

“You should stay here and take care of me then,” Charles says, and Alex closes his eyes, smushing his nose hard into the skull of Charles’s forehead. Charles digs his nails in.

Fuck you, Mars, Charles. Fuck you.

[nyoomfruits]

nyoomfruits masterlist

miscellaneous

my drabbles

fic recs

fave art

—

fics

la douceur de l’été (lando/oscar, 34k, in progress)

“Alright, okay,” Lando says, slumping down a little theatrically. “So you’re all just going to leave me down here to rot.”

“No one is leaving you to rot,” George says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, so, what, are you going to carry me up the mountain then?” Lando counters.

“I’m not going to-“ George starts, but gets cut off by Oscar.

“I can stay.”

--

you love me (but you don’t know it yet) (lando/oscar, 34,5k, completed)

When they get to the McLaren motorhome, his PR rep is already waiting for him in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “We would’ve preferred if you’d told us about your boyfriend beforehand, Lando,” she says, as they make their way inside, glancing at Oscar following behind them. “We could’ve had some contingency plans in place.”

“Well, I would have told you,” Lando says, “I just didn’t know he existed until like 20 minutes ago.”

--

ghost of you (charles/max, 3,5k, completed)

“All right, are you now finally ready to explain why four time world driver champion Charles Leclerc is currently in my living room?” Max says, as Charles towels off his hair.

Charles pauses, lets the towel fall into his lap, stares at Max with wide eyes. “I��m sorry, did you say four time?”

--

where i am going is right where i am (lando/oscar, 18k, completed)

Oscar, Lando likes to tell people, is a slow burn. Unremarkable at first. Almost a little boring. But then he wiggles your way into your life with his croissants and his soft little smiles and then one day you wake up and realize you would conquer worlds, slay dragons, eat spinach puffs, anything just to get him to look at you.

Max, on multiple occasions, has told him that’s a him problem and that not everyone experiences this around Oscar. Lando thinks Max is an idiot.

--

sink your teeth into me (lando/oscar, 5k, complete)

“Yeah,” Oscar says, shrugs. “Would be better if it wasn’t so fucking orange, though.”

“Oscar,” Lando tuts, heading for the door, back to his own driver’s room. “Where’s your team spirit.”

“Dead,” Oscar says, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, gesturing at the orange coffin as if to say ‘get it?’.

--

love you with the lights on (lando/oscar, 28k, complete)

“I texted him,” Lando says. “He can’t have forgotten about me, I texted him, and he never texted back.” 

 Max shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know what to say. After all, how do you tell your fuck buddy that you’ve accidentally gone out and acquired a baby?”

--

already home (lando/oscar, 32k, completed)

Lando takes a deep steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with Oscar.” He says, and hates how immediately when he says the words, he knows it’s true.

“Right,” Max says, nodding. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and?’” Lando says, a little outraged. “I can’t be in love with him! We’re married! This is like, a disaster waiting to happen!”

--

this feels like falling in love (charles/max, 3k, completed)

Five kisses throughout their lives, and the one that started it all.

--

thinking ‘bout your touch (oscar/lando, 2k, completed)

Lando’s brain gets so occupied by the thought it shouldn’t come as a surprise really, when a few rounds later Oscar says, “Dare.” Lando blurts out, “Let me suck your dick.”

There’s a long, awkward silence in which they just stare at each other, Oscar’s expression completely unreadable. “Uh,” he eventually says. “I think a dare is something I’m supposed to do.”

--

i’ve tasted blood (and i want more) (oscar/lando, 5,5k, completed)

Lando grabs a pillow and hits him with it, while Oscar laughs loudly. His fangs are on full display, white and sharp and pretty. “You know what I mean, you dickhead!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oscar says, eyes twinkling. “You want me to use you as a human Capri Sun. You know, like a weirdo.”

“God, you’re making this so much worse than it is,” Lando says, burying his face in his hands. It’s. Well, it’s embarrassing, but Oscar also hasn’t outright said no, so. You know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. “So, will you?” And then, just in case, he adds. “Suck my blood?”

--

purring in my lap (’cause he loves me) (oscar/lando, 5k, completed)

The cat thing ends up getting sort of explained in Bahrain, when Lando walks into his driver room and finds a small orange cat sitting on his couch.

Oscar’s cat, presumably.

And he kind of looks like Oscar, too. Slender, lean, and with a slightly grumpy, unimpressed expression on his face. It makes Lando laugh a little. Like owner, like pet, clearly. “Should I just call you Oscat, then,” Lando jokes, giving the cat a little head scratch.

The cat, Oscat, stops rubbing at Lando’s hand and just stares at him instead. Lando would almost say he was looking at him disapprovingly, but it is a cat, so he’s probably just imagining things.

—

glitch (charles/max, 26k+, completed)

Max hums. “Well, at least that means I won’t bump into Charles Leclerc again.”

“Bummer, really,” Daniel says, moving back to his own seat and drinking the little bit of coffee that was still in the cup. “Could’ve been the start of a great love story.”

Lando snorts. “Kids, it all started when I told your father, who had won two World Driver Championships at that point, that he sucked at driving.”

Max sticks his middle finger up at them, and pulls his noise canceling headphones back over his ears. Only two hours left to go, he thinks, wistfully, and goes back to work.

—

heart on your sleeve (charles/max, 5k, completed)

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing. Almost. But then he goes and falls in love.

—

you’ll be alright (charles/max, 19k+, completed)

Charles is not an idiot. He knows there’s a part of him that has been at least a little bit in love with Max for as long as they’ve known each other. But he’s always been able to shove it down. Burying it under rivalries and competitiveness until it was getting hard to differentiate between love and hate. And that had worked, for a really long time.

And then Max had to go and barge into his life and be really fucking cute with his baby.

—

silly me (to fall in love with you) (charles/max,18k+, completed)

“We’re not asking you to ‘woo’ him,” Christian says, looking pained at having to say the word ‘woo’, “We just need others to think you’ve wooed him.”

“I’m not following,” Max says, frowning.

“A PR relationship,” Poppy explains. “You pretend to date, making the public think you’re all happy and in love. Then you reap the benefits of being in a relationship without actually having to put in the effort or work.”

“Absolutely not,” Max says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s depressing, I’m not doing that.”

—

you can hear it in the silence (charles/max, 7k+, completed)

“Thanks,” Max eventually says. “For letting me crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, we should definitely do this again sometimes,” Charles says sarcastically, seeming to finally have woken up enough to actually get out of bed.

“No fucking way, once is enough,” Max says, because it sounds a lot better than ‘this is the best I’ve slept in ages and I think it might’ve been because you were next to me’. “Besides. You snore.”

Charles gasps and looks at Max. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But the complete outrage on Charles’s face is too good to tell him the truth. “Oh, yeah, like a goddamn sawmill. Thought you were going to wake up the whole house.” Max says, and then laughs when Charles lets out an indignant squawk and launches a pillow at his face.

Or, the five times Max and Charles accidentally fall asleep together, and the one time they do it on purpose.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Now it's a request (a bad one I guess?)

Charles Smith x gn!reader (or whatever gender you'd like)

Reader being someone very shy who spends a lot of time with Charles (learning to make arrows, hunting or just being around each other) but is embarrassed to ask him out until he decides it's time to try

(Sorry, this is a really bad request, creativity isn't my strong suit)

Flint and Cedar

(Charles Smith x GN!Reader)

No request is a bad request

Warnings: none

In the summertime, when the sun was high in the sky, various members of the gang would occupy themselves with jobs. Not that it ever stopped in the colder months, it was just much more bearable now. Train and bank robberies, sniffing for leads like Dutch’s hounds, bounty hunting, homestead robbing, anything that would bring the gang money. Yet you took a much more domestic approach. You preferred staying at camp, yet seldom integrated yourself with the camp girls. You did not seek the company of Kieran, Uncle, Reverend, or any of the other homebodies (Not to say that they didn’t try to occasionally speak to you). You would on occasion engage in conversation with the others, but it was evasive and short-lived.

Instead, you found your company in knapping away at stones, striking rocks at one another and using the compression to angle and shape the points of arrows. You would sew day after day, endlessly, ripping apart old shirts, skirts, dresses, and trousers to remake them into new clothes. You’d learned to can every fruit you could scourge. You'd raise and feed chickens, carry around sacks of food, and of course, hunt. This was your company.

And of course, Charles Smith, who taught you most everything you know.

Charles did not force you to talk, he did not demand a conversation, nor did he immediately expect you to have a heart-to-heart with him about why you were so withdrawn, if at all (As others usually badgered you about.). Charles himself was a reserved and quiet man, he kept to his own devices, he did not put up a facade, and he was good company all the same. And in your friendship, he was usually the first one to say anything.

Your first actual interaction consisted of you staring off from where you sat by your tent, looking curiously at what Charles was doing. You watched him repeat the same pattern of percussion and striking in order to form the flint in his hand. His strong hands held the stones, and you watched as the muscles and tendons in his arms and hands tensed as he struck the stones. You hadn’t been aware of how far forward you were leaning until the jagged edge of the box you were sitting on began to poke into your thigh. He noticed your engrossment in what he was doing, but did not think it was silly.

“I’m making arrows, why don’t you come on over. I’ll teach you.” He set what he was doing down and motioned for you to come over, patting the crate next to him. Your back straightened in surprise of being noticed, and you became hyper aware of your every moment as self consciousness invaded your mind. You looked around then back at him before pointing at yourself.

Charles couldn’t help but laugh, which made you visibly blush out of embarrassment.

“Yes, you, don’t be shy.”

Charles did not know that asking that of you was like asking Sean to actually do a job around camp. You softly set down your fabrics and needles, giving them a pat before walking on over to Charles. There was hesitation in the way you sat down, still second guessing whether or not he was actually talking to you. He handed you a flintstone tenderly, a gentleness in his hands that you found oddly comforting. You studied the stone in your hand, noticing one end of it was already jagged and sharp. Before long, he handed you another stone, a different type of stone.

“Here, you’re supposed to hold the flint while striking it with the other stone. But you gotta make sure you angle it right so it gets a nice pointed end.” He explained. He reached for one of the arrow heads and held it up for you to see. “See? It’ll take a bit but you’ve just got to have patience.”

You nodded in understanding, leaning over your own lap as you attempted to chip away at the flint. As chips of it began flying all over your trousers, frustration was evident in your face. You struck it particularly hard, subsequently splitting the stone in half. You sighed, your entire face burning in embarrassment and you wished the earth would open up beneath you and swallow you.

“Sorry..” You muttered. Charles shook his head, but it was not out of disapproval. He cupped his hands beneath yours, allowing you to deposit the stones into his. His hands dwarfed yours, and you could not help but blush from it, deepening the red on your face. The entire time he taught you, not once did you feel patronized by him.

“No worries, we can try again.”

Since then, you began to spend more and more time with Charles. Being around him, you had never felt more understood. It was as if your innermost thoughts and feelings that you believed no one else could commiserate or understand were part of some shared quota between you and Charles. At first, a part of you felt intimately invaded and you shied away, another part of you welcomed the intrusion into your personal life. Yet it never felt like an intrusion.

You soon began sharing the same smoothness in your hands as Charles from handling the stones. And the fondness in your heart for him began to grow as well, yet you could not ever imagine telling him how you feel. The conversations you two shared would increase in intimacy, as you two began to share more and more details of your lives with one another. You learned about his past, and through that, he was able to share many more of the things he learned with you. He taught you to make all kinds of arrows, how to poison knives, how to make bait. And your favorite, he took you on hunting trips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charles watched you draw the string of the bow back, your arm trembling from the prolonged force as you attempted to steady yourself and aim at your target's head.

“Steady now.” He whispered behind you. But you swore you could feel his breath on your ear, his hands ghosting around your waist as he attempted to get a good look at the animal for you. You choked on air as you lost concentration, his proximity sending riveting shivers up your spine. You released the arrow involuntarily, partially from surprise and the other from exhaustion, and sent your arrow head spearing into a cedar tree instead of the head of the rabbit you intended to kill.

“Gosh! Charles!” You turned your head away, blushing.

“I’m sorry, perhaps I was being overbearing.” He apologized. You shook your head in response, attempting to hide your blush.

“You were a little close is all..” You mumbled. You set your bow down against the tree and slumped against it. “It’s been I don’t know how long and I haven’t been able to catch anything..” You sighed shamefully. You were usually decent at hunting. Probably not as good as Charles, but decent. You never felt a sense of inferiority before, yet lately you did feel an urge to impress him. There was never an underlying tone of competition between you, but there was this thought you had in your head that it had to be enough for him. No matter what you did.

He kneeled down to your level and shook his head.

“(Name), it’s okay. If you don’t catch anything today we can always try again tomorrow.” He gave you a reassuring smile and a nod, one you were barely able to return. He patted your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, letting his hand linger and drift down your arm slightly as he retracted it. A small, easy to miss gesture, but one you promptly picked up on.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, you fancied Charles. It’s not like you ever spoke to anyone around camp about things beyond surface level. You definitely didn’t tell Charles these feelings, and you didn’t have family to write to. So for the first time in a long time, you felt alone with your feelings. And you hated that. Ever since Charles lended you his company you never felt alone. You shared everything with him after all, and to be unable to do so made you feel frustrated and boxed in.

Charles chuckled to himself. “You have that look on your face.”

“What face?” You asked in confusion, perhaps sounding a little harsh. Yet he took no offense.

“When you’re frustrated, you make a face. You scrunch up your nose and eyebrows.” He sat down next to you as you spoke. Your face softened when you realized he was right, the tension in your face evaporating. You looked at each other with a shared warmheartedness as a moment of silence befell you both. That look said all the things you two did not say to each other, and despite that shared yet subtle understanding of tenderness in your feelings for one another, you two remained oblivious to it.

“You’ve been real worked up lately.” He began. He reached into his satchel and undid a cloth containing jerky. He offered the jerky out to you and waited for you to pick a piece. You took a piece, timidly chewing on a corner of the tough meat, not quite biting anything off. You struggled to even look Charles in the eyes anymore.

“A little… I don't know why.” You said briefly. It was fleeting, hasty, and all the things that signified to Charles that you didn’t want to talk about something. Normally he would wait for you to actually warm up to him and tell him on your own terms, but this felt different. Like he had to do something.

Another moment of silence befell you both, the serene yet lively noises of the wood providing you two company. It felt more awkward this time though, the air taut and heavy. The both of you shifted around a little, and in the moments you glanced at Charles you noticed him looking around in thought, opening his mouth slightly to try and start some sort of sentence. You became even more aware of the space you took up, and your heart rate picked up when you realized your leg was touching his. Yet neither of you moved away. Neither of you wanted to move away.

“Say, (Name),” He began, fiddling with the piece of jerky in his lap now. “Do you want to uh, go into Saint Denis with me sometime?”

You looked up in confusion. To your knowledge, Saint Denis was heavily industrialized and far east. And both you and Charles spent your time working outside. So what usefulness could you possibly find there.

“For what?” You asked bluntly in your obliviousness. “Do you need something? Why can’t we go into Valentine? It’s super close to camp, y'know.”

Charles swore he could facepalm, but he made an effort not to, he didn’t want to make you feel stupid for not understanding his proposition.

“I meant, we could do something special.” His voice faltered a little at the end and he cleared his throat. You swore you could see a hint of blush on his cheeks. It took you a moment to realize what he actually meant, but when you did, a timid smile made its way onto your face.

“Oh.” You giggled, looking off again. You suddenly felt jittery as you hugged your knees up to your chest. You dared to look back at him, the two of you looking absolutely smitten, pure adoration written all over your faces.

You knew Charles. And he knew you. And that wasn’t something you could say about anyone else.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I feel like I really amped up the subtlety in romance in this one and I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted ToT I thought it'd be more fitting since both reader and Charles are more reserved and scared to be too direct.

[christmascheeseballs]

Till Death Do Us Part  – An Arthur Morgan x OC Story *PART THREE*

Content Warnings – Kidnapping, Death Threats, Micah Bell, Trauma, Angst, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending

Word Count – 1.2k

Part One - 1.3k words (17th July 2024)

Part Two - 1.7k words (17th July 2024)

Part Three - 1.2k words (19th July 2024)

Authors Note – I really don’t feel like this one is as good as the others – I’m better at writing angst? I think? I’m sorry about the very end, I’m just so bad at writing fluff apparently? If anyone wants to add anything go for it besties <3

“Micah, if you’re in here, come out”

Clasping Bea to your chest, her terrified figure shaking within your arms, you stare at the door, a voice from your past echoing from the frigid mountains ahead of you. The raspy voice of John Marston beckons Micah, and you knew this would be your chance at freedom, if John played his cards right.

A new fear suddenly enveloped you – Bea. Having to explain this entire situation, the existence of your child to her fathers best friend and brother. Your disappearance, everything.

What if he hated you?

A second voice shook you to your core. The once warm, loving voice that used to sooth you to sleep, whispering sweet nothings in the peaceful quiet of the night within your shared tent, now turned cold and unfamiliar. “I told you Bell, you’d pay for what you did to the gang. My family. My wife.” Your head snapped towards the door, your hogtied ankles wrestling against the rope cutting into your skin. You yelled against the filthy rag stuffed into your mouth as a gag, to no avail. Bea looked up at your sudden movements and sounds, confusion lacing across the fear in her sweet face.

“Mama? Are you ok?” She whispered, tear stains etched into the dirt on her cheeks from the last few weeks. You shook your head gently at her, your eyes begging for her to stay quiet. The last thing you needed was Micah or one of his cronies to hear her, and ruin your chances when you were this close to your long lost lover.

How was he alive? Although he never told you, you knew he wasn’t well, and you thought you knew that he was doomed to die. A sudden feeling of despair and grief grabbed hold of your heart, longing for the time that you now knew you’d lost with Arthur.

A sudden gunshot through one of the shacks windows snapped you out of your despair. A gunfight outside continues, jabs and threats thrown between the three men. A sudden movement from behind you caused your head to snap around, allowing you to remember Dutch’s existence in the building with you. Looking at you, he gave an apologetic look, or as close as he possibly could’ve to the sort, before striding out of the shack.

The gunfight ceased at Dutch’s arrival, until one last shot rung out.

“You shot me. You shot me pretty good”

-x-

The conversation outside was too dull for you to hear, until Dutch raised his voice. “It’s worth taking a look inside, gentlemen. That’s as much as I can help you now”. You could hear his footsteps quietening as he walked away in the snow, leaving John and Arthur outside, just moments away from finding you and Bea.

Next thing you knew, more people joined the dull conversation outside. Straining your ears, you thought you could make out the tones of Sadie and Charles. Your heart genuinely ached for the reunition that was about to take place. Bea clasped at you closer, her eyes – identical to those of her father – glistening with confusion. How could you explain to a 6 year old what was about to happen, when you scarcely understood it yourself?

“I’ll take a look. There might be some cash? I suppose? Y’all can wait here”, you gasped lowly, knowing that the time was now

The door of the shack rattled in front of you, and premature tears of joy began to roll down your face. As it opened, you blinked at the bright sun light leaking into the dingy room, as the unmistakeable silhouette of John Marston filled the doorway. As your eyes adjusted, you watched as his face paled in shock.

“Marston? What you stopping for?” You stared into John’s face as he stumbled sideways into the doorframe, his eyes confused, scared, hopeful. So many emotions, and you knew you portrayed the exact same in your own face. Another figure pushed past him impatiently – Athur.

A weak noise left his mouth as he spotted you, truly speechless. His blue eyes, so like Bea’s, stared into your own, before shifting down to the young girl in your lap. His mouth opened, and shut again, clearly not knowing what to say.

As you shifted your weight slightly, the rope cutting further into your ankles, he seemingly snapped into action, suddenly realising your predicament. He stumbled towards you, hand desperately clasping his knife to cut the ropes away from you. Once you were free, you fell helplessly into his awaiting arms, breaking down into broken sobs. Years of emotion all coming to a head. Bea, slightly crushed between you, wriggled gently, once again bringing you back to reality.

At this point, you genuinely didn’t know if it was reality or another helpless dream.

Arthur drew back, staring at the little girl in your arms, the potential of heartbreak flooding his eyes. You could see his calculating face working out her age, taking in her unmistakable eyes, an understanding spread across his face.

“I guess we were both keeping things, huh?” He murmured, a small smile gracing his face. You laughed gently, collapsing into his arms again.

“I thought you were dead, Arthur” you sobbed. He drew back again and stared at you.

“And I you, Flo. Me and John thought Bell had taken you all those years ago, when you disappeared before I could catch up with you guys”.

“But.. but you were ill? When I found out I was pregnant, I thought you was long dead. I had to escape.” You whispered, both of you realising that this was the most tragic misunderstanding.

A cough behind Arthur caused you to both turn, starting at the interruption. Sadie, John and Charles stood, confusion in their faces as well as clear relief. You smiled gently at them, trying to express the apology they deserved in your expression.

“Right then, I guess we better get you home?”

-x-

You sat on the back of Arthur’s horses rump, hugging his back, crying gently into his shirt, his familiar smell flooding your senses, making you realise quite how much you missed him over the last 7 years. You had convinced Bea to finally unpeel herself from you, and she now road with Charles, chatting away to him as he chuckled gently. Your group trotted gently down the mountain, chatting gently to one another as you caught up on the traumatising few years of your life that you had just experienced.

As you begun to approach the area of Blackwater, you sat up gently, looking around at the familiar surroundings. “How long have y’all been in this area?” You said, wistfulness filling your heart. “We’ve been just south of here for like 6 months now, down at MacFarlane’s Ranch, have I seriously just missed youse?”

“You’re not serious Flo?” said John, going on to explain the building of Beecher’s Hope, and how he and Sadie had occasionally worked nearby to the ranch. Again, the bittersweet wistfulness you had suddenly grown used to flooded your heart.

-x-

Turning into Beecher’s Hope, you saw the figures of Abigail and – Jack? You would presume? – heading out of the ranch house, before spotting Abigail pause as she spotted your figure on the back of Arthur’s horse. Once again, you watched her face fill with confusion, yet also relief, as you could see the weight of her secret come off of her shoulders.

The evening was spent catching up, teaching Arthur all about your little girl together, as you watched him step more than willingly into his new fatherhood position.

Life, finally, was good.

[pullakori]

Febuwhump 2023

Day 2. Flinching

TW: Mentions of child abuse

Arguing was nothing new for them. It happened quite often actually, as they liked to debate about pretty much any subject under the sun. Even when they both agreed on something, the other would play the devil's advocate just to spice things up.

Erik liked their conversations, loved the way it challenged his mind and how Charles never backed down, seemingly finding a counter argument for Erik's every point. And how he did same for Charles.

But, seeing as neither of them ever wanted to back down, their debates often became heated. Sometimes just evolving into a well meaning banter, sometimes into an argument that was filled with frustration, but never actual anger.

Until this evening, that was.

Erik was familiar with anger, an old friend who had helped him many times. He knew the feeling of it in his chest, like coals smoldering, ready to ignite at any moment with even the smallest spark of fire.

"And you think you know everything, Charles, don't you?" Erik snarled, staring at his friend, who was sitting on the armchair opposite of his. The chess board standing on the table between them, forgotten. Charles met his glare head on.

"In this, I feel I know quite a lot, yes, considering my own mutation." Frustration was clear in his voice, even though he clearly tried to keep it steady. "Human actions are not black and white, there are thousands of reasons for someone to do terrible things-" and there it was. The spark.

"AND THAT MAKES THEIR ACTIONS EXCUSABLE!?" Erik pushed himself up from the chair with so much force that he knocked the small table between them down with a loud bang and a clatter of chess pieces. He didn't care however, the rage and Charles' wide eyed expression fueling his outburst. "YOU THINK THEIR ACTIONS DON'T MATTER BECAUSE THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE RIGHTEOUS!?" Erik yelled, walking towards the library's doors, but turned back around, standing behind his chair, holding to its backrest with a white knuckled grip.

He took a breath in and out, waiting for Charles to say something to somehow defend his ill-judged view, so he could shoot it down. But the silense stretched on and eventually Erik looked up at his friend. Charles had gone completely still and instead of Erik, he was watching the fireplace, his expression completely blank.

The strange scene before him faltered the flames that had burst alive inside Erik, but he stoked the fire, not ready to stop yet.

"What? Got nothing to say?" He spoke up, not yelling anymore, but his irritation clear in his voise, his words sharp as knives.

Erik watched as Charles swallowed, his adam's apple moving under the skin of his throat, but the telepath stayed silent, his eyes glued to the flames in the fire place. Erik was not ready to quit yet, he could continue by himself for a while as it looked like his words had finally reached his friend

"Or did you finally realize that I'm right?" Erik rounded the chair, stepping closer to Charles, but he stopped abruptly when the younger man flinched quite violently from the sudden movement.

The reaction smothered Erik's anger, confusion taking its place. Not completely, but enough for him to ignore it for now.

"Charles?" He asked instead, not daring to move closer yet.

"I didn't mean it like that, my friend." Charles spoke softly with monotone voice, still not looking at Erik. "I shouldn't have said it at all, I'm sorry." It looked like he was becoming smaller right in front of Erik's own eyes.

What the hell was going on? Erik had never seen Charles act like this. Both of them had gone quiet during arguments before, taking other's words in and mulling them, wondering if the other was right after all. But those times made them feel reflective or even embarrassed, not this. Not fearful.

Charles was certainly not a coward. He had agreed to help CIA to take down a dangerous mutant. He had dived into a dark ocean to save a life of a stranger. He had run after Erik, straight into a heavily guarded home of a Soviet general. If anything, danger seemed to thrill Charles more than scare him.

Erik had seen Charles truly afraid only once before. When they had made it back to USA from Soviet Union and they had heard about Shaw's attack. Charles had been scared that Raven had been hurt, and calmed down only after he had seen his sister alive and well himself. But that fear had made him restless, not frozen. Not hyper aware of every movement of others' around him, not trying to make himself as small and harmless looking as possible.

This was all wrong.

Erik took a slow step towards his friend, faltering when he flinched again, even if just slightly this time, but continued despite it. Carefully, he moved close to Charles, who was completely frozen once again. Erik knelt down on the carpet, so he wasn't looming over the smaller man. He felt quite lost, but knew that he had to move forward.

"Charles," he kept his voice quiet and calm, there was no trace of his eaelier anger there anymore. "please look at me."

It took a few seconds, but eventually Charles took a shaky breath, bracing himself, and slowly turned his head, eventually looking up at Erik. He looked shaken, completely uncertain about everything. Erik hated it, this wasn't like Charles at all.

"What's wrong Charles?" He asked and Charles shook his head, avoiding eye contact again.

"I'm sorry, it's stupid. I didn't mean..." He faltered, looking at the ground.

Erik gave him a few moments to continue, but when nothing happened, he spoke up himself.

"Was it me?" His question made Charles look at him again, eyes wide with surprise.

"No!" He assured, until he became little uncertain once more. "Or yes, but not really, no." Erik didn't say anything, but tilted his head in confusion and it seemed that Charles understood his puzzlement. "It's this place." The telepath finally sighed and Erik frowned.

"The manor?" He wondered out loud. Sure, the place wasn't cozy at all, too big and cold for that. It seemed more like a museum to Erik than a home, but what about it could make Charles so shaky?

Unless it wasn't the place itself, but what had happened in it...

"My stepfather and stepbrother had bad tempers." Charles explained with reluctance, trying hard to keep his voice steady, but Erik could easily hear a tremor in it. "Shouting and furniture throwing were quite a regular occurance in this house. Often followed by beatings." The confession seemed to make the whole room quieter, the only sound being the flames in the fireplace eating the firewood.

Without any conscious thought Erik reached out to hold his friend's hand that was gripping the armrest, but when his finger brushed Charles, the telepath flinched away again.

"I'm sorry." Erik said, pulling his hand away, but Charles shook his head again.

"No, it's fine." He said and turned his hand, palm up. An invitation. So Erik reached out again to take hold of the smaller man's hand. Charled seemed to brace himself this time, and didn't flinch. "I thought that I had gotten rid of this, but it seems that I was mistaken." Charles tried to smile, but it didn't look right at all.

How many times had Charles suffered in the hands of his family? Erik could see it with his mind's eye, Charles, as a small child, cowering in front of two raging figurs that could have been giants compared to him.

Erik swore he would kill them. After his hunt for Shaw was over, he would find them and make them suffer.

"There is no need for that." Erik was taken aback by Charles answer, but then he remembered, that physical contact made it easier for the telepath to hear someone's thoughts. It didn't bother Erik. "Kurt, my stepfather, died long time ago. There was a fire in the house and he saved me and Cain, my stepbrother, but died from carbon monoxide poisoning himself." Charles explained, his voice slowly gaining strength.

"And your stepbrother?" Erik inquierred, trying to sound casual, but from the knowing look from Charles, he knew he had failed.

"Joined the army shortly after. I havent heard of him ever since." Charles answered nevertheless.

"So he might still be alive?"

"Erik, no." Charles chastened, but there was a upward tug to the corner of his lip.

"Why not?" Erik teasingly pushed, releaved to see that Charles was getting better already.

Despite his improving mood however, Charles spoke very seriously, looking Erik in the eyes again.

"Cain was abused much longer than me by his father. I can't hate him, even if I wanted to. He was a child too, betrayed by those who should have loved him." And like that, Erik understood.

"That's what you meant." He murmured and Charles nodded. "It still doesn't make it right." Erik insisted, but the anger did not return.

"No." Charles agreed. "But I still can't hate him, or wish ill will on him."

"You forgive too easily." Erik said and tugged a stray hair behind Charles' ear with his free hand.

"Maybe." Charles smiled and Erik mirrored it. They had made it through the srorm this time.

[effervescentdragon]

sebchal, the way thierry was THE SEB fan in ROC, posting seb in his insta, gushing about and unable to stay away from seb in the live videos.. for the mean prompts ofc

one thing you have to know about me is that i am physically unable to write a mean sebchal without a hea resolution actually

neuville seems nice

Seb stares at Charles' last message. It hasn't been that long since it came in. Ten minutes or so. Seb was changing into casual clothes for the final party, before he is due back in Switzerland.

Home, he reminds himself. It's home. You're going home. You're retired, and you're going home. You're going to rest, and figure out what you want to do. Home. Alone.

He doesn't even know why he keeps texting with Charles. They aren't - they aren't really friends. They aren't anything, really. Haven't been anything for a long time, if ever.

It was just that Seb saw an advert with Charles' face in the Middle of Nowhere, Denmark on his way to ROC, and before he knew what he was doing, he sent the picture to Charles with some silly caption.

(It said I can't get rid of you even in the Middle of Nowhere, Denmark. Charles had responed okay but do you want to, and then with an excited question about the F1X specs, and Seb ignored the first part and replied to the second, and he would've said that was Charles' plan, but he knew Charles. That was more something Seb himself would do on purpose. Not Charles.)

So they've been texting non-stop throughout ROC, and Charles even tuned in for some of the races. When Seb texted him either he, or F1X was on, really. They texted about car specs, and the difference between rally and F1 cars, and how easy it was to drive the Polaris. They texted about racing, really, and it was okay. It was nothing special. It was just a thing, a break from the insanity. Neither of them replied immediately every time, and it was casual, and fun, and okay. Seb even choked at Charles' mean joke about Team GB being out immediately. It was okay, and it was fine, and as soon as ROC was done - as soon as Seb stopped racing - it would be done too. And that was okay.

Sebastian should've known it wouldn't be that easy with Charles. It never was, and he didn't know why he thought this would be different. Charles always went for the fucking gap. When Sebastian forgot what the gap even was, Charles went for it until it was suddenly right in front of Seb, too narrow for him to do anything but let Charles pass him.

Sebastian thinks about replying He is nice, or He is better than you at sucking cock, or His eyes look just like yours when they're in the sun, or He is even nicer than he seems, or just ignoring the message altogether, and deleting the whole conversation, and blocking Charles' number. He could do it. It wouldn't be the first time he did something like it. It wouldn't even be the first time he did it to Charles. He could delete everything that even reminds him of Charles. He could change his phone, and his phone number even, and forget all about it. He is retired, and he's going home, and he isn't racing anymore, and him and Charles aren't friends. They aren't anything.

"Fuck," he swears out loud. "Fuck - fuck!"

He sits down on his bed and puts his head in his hands. They are shaking, he feels them shaking, and he pulls on his curls to calm himself down. The phone is still alight next to him, Charles' message open.

Sebastian is not a racing driver anymore. He's retired. It's all behind him, it has to be. It's not who he is anymore. He never has to go for the gap anymore. There is no gap anymore.

There never has to be a gap anymore.

"Still a World Champion," he whispers into the empty room. "Still the youngest fucking World Champion they ever had."

He grabs for his phone with steady hands.

Do you want to come to Switzerland next week?

The reply comes immediately this time.

yes :)

"Fuck you," he says out loud, then laughs. It feels as light as the Polaris number 16 he drove over the weekend. "Fuck you, Charles Leclerc, you little shit."

He keeps smiling as he finally leaves the room to go to the party.

[agere-fandom]

regressor!charles smith!!

note; I KNOW the whole agere challenge is all over but idc!! i've been getting into the rdr2 mood so more headcanons for all of you!! :D Anyway- CHARLES SMITH!!! I love him so, he's my favorite (if it isn't Arthur or Hosea). Like he's so sweet omg, please I needed more Charles content- (omg he's so beautiful, it took me long too pick my photo my god-)

headcanons; (cw; diapers and periods!!)

Charles is a baby/toddler regressor and his age range is 2 - 5

Like his much more bigger self, Charles is a quiet and introverted little. Always liking his own company than others and liking the peace than the loud chaoticness of what is the camp. He won't speak much either, being non-verbal almost all the time. It's rare for him to speak words, but he has a small vocabulary if so

⬇️ Also, Charles would probably like sensory deprivation. Mostly for when it's quiet and dark. He's always hated the day and with the bright sun in his eyes, and although he is a sensory seeker at most times, sometimes he needs to have a lack of that. Mostly at night. He loves being under tree shade or looking up at the night stars. Oh, and he loves Papa (Arthur), of course

With his quietness, it's made him gone missing one too many times. But he's never left far from camp, but people are still confused because 'where did he go?'. And it usually ends up in Arthur having a 2 hour search and scratching his head before he finds Charles under a tree in the fields LMAO

He is still very much a nature boy, just like Kieran. Always going out to pick herbs, plants, flowers, ect. Most of his days while being little consists of him being out in the fields, having what little peace he can get. And he's known as the camps gift-giver, because he's always giving small gifts from mother nature herself, but only to those who are most closest like Arthur or Tilly. Whatever he finds that makes him think of that person, to be honest

He's always loved the younger littles, John and Kieran, mostly. He doesn't do much with them, he just stares at them and just watches over them quietly. He only minds Sadie and Tilly for the older ones, everyone else is too much for him. Caregivers are only stuck to Arthur and Hosea. Very head-on about who he likes (me too, Charles)

He's never been so heavy first on diapers or even using them. What diapers are used for, for Charles are for comfort reasons. Baby powders quiet the comfort as well. It's not until he got too used to wearing them he would go without noticing. He felt a LOT of shame for actually going, and found it awkward to actually find out he could go. Arthur saw nothing wrong with it, just another baby that wears diapers. And he's been full supportive of his boy, helping him take baby steps (literally) (making a fic about this btw!!)

Also, I do headcanon Charles as trans! And he's usually done shark week and periods and such while he's big and alone. But has slowly come to doing all that while he's regressed. Of course, Arthur is his full support, again, and acts like the absolute legend he is as a caregiver. He would do anything to help support his boy and doesn't even see much wrong with him <3 (i need a cg like arthur pls)

As well as this, I also headcanon him as plus-sized! I am on that road, yes, and mostly because I think he would be! He would be the best with cuddles and hugs, and Arthur's a strong boah to carry his boy, so he's perfectly fine. He usually doesn't like laying on his stomach, because it makes him feel unwell, so tummy time is out of the picture

As much as it's rare to, you would see him being around the ladies. Letting them braid his hair, making small bouquets with whatever flowers are around, even passing some of them to the ladies to put in his hair. He's listening to them talk and hum and he loves it, because it's peaceful and not so loud. Always leaning on Tilly's shoulder and listening to her

[leqclerc]

Sebastian/Charles (+Daniel) 1,042 words Anastasia AU ❄️✨ |  The Monégasque Revolution of 1910 was a series of confrontations by the subjects of Monaco against their ruler (...) It led to the end of absolute monarchy. (...) The Prince's Palace was also stormed by an angry mob who looted the palace. The prince escaped with the help of the Compagnie des Carabiniers du Prince, and stayed in France until the riots died down. Soldiers of the Compagnie did try to defend the palace but ultimately failed after the day-long riot.

***

There’s something arresting about the way the afternoon sun catches on the façades of nearby buildings, casting a warm light across the Piazza Grande. The café is pleasantly quiet, the outdoor tables virtually unoccupied, which makes the intrusion all the more unexpected.

“Is this seat taken?” Daniel sits down across from Charles without waiting for a response, motioning for Sebastian to do the same.

He’s clutching a cup of espresso in one hand, already making himself comfortable. Sebastian is quiet beside him, carefully regarding Charles with an expression he can’t quite read.

“You speak French surprisingly well for someone who grew up in Italy, mate,” Daniel says. “Surely you didn’t just pick it up from the tourists.”

Charles’s brows draw together in confusion. “I—uh, I’m sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”

“We overheard your conversation with your colleague—about Paris—and we thought we’d extend you an offer.”

“Are you French?” Sebastian asks, before lowering his voice, conspiratorial. “Maybe you’re Monégasque?”

Charles stares at him blankly. “I’m a mechanic.”

“At old man Ferrari’s garage?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?” Daniel presses.

He’s met with silence. Charles looks past Daniel’s shoulder, somewhere, staring off into the distance. His face is set in a slight frown. There’s a headache blossoming in his temple, the same one he gets whenever he tries to dredge up childhood memories, always coming up empty.

“I don’t know,” he answers earnestly. “I don’t remember.”

***

It occurs to him, suddenly, that he probably shouldn’t be unwittingly divulging such information to a pair of complete strangers, no matter how interesting they seem.

“What is this about?”

Daniel reaches into the pocket of his jacket and produces a small card of some sort. He holds it up so it’s aligned with Charles’s face.

He whistles appreciatively, eyes flickering from the picture in his hand to Charles and back. “Uncanny, right?” he comments.

“You are talking about me as if I’m not even here,” Charles huffs, pushing his chair back and moving to leave.

“Hey, whoa, wait, what’s the rush?” Daniel reflexively springs from his seat. A trace of panic in his voice belies his nonchalant demeanor. Charles feels some satisfaction at that. “Just—relax, okay?”

“Seb,” he elbows him, “a little help, here, mate?”

“I know we’re not making any sense right now,” Sebastian starts. He’s the calmer of the two, and Charles wonders what his involvement in all of this is. “Please, sit,” he gestures, “and I promise we will explain everything.”

His tone is polite, measured; something about his expression draws Charles in. Against his better judgement, he lowers himself into the chair.

“Okay. You can start with your name.”

The introductions are brief. When Charles reveals his name, Daniel’s lips quirk into a smile, like he’s enjoying a private joke at his expense.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought—you know, why not Carlo? It’s the Italian equivalent, isn’t it?”

“It’s a common name,” Charles argues, a bit defensive. It’s the only name he’s ever known. He’s never questioned it, and he’s not about to start now.

His annoyance eases into curiosity when Sebastian slips the picture Daniel had been studying earlier across the table.

It’s a miniature portrait of a young boy dressed in fine clothes, posing against the backdrop of what appears to be a palace drawing room—there are gold accents on the walls, and rich crimson drapery is visible at the edge of the portrait. It looks like it’s been painted by hand, rather than photographed.

“You look like him,” Sebastian says. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

Charles delicately traces the boy’s face with the tips of his fingers—the wide, doe-like eyes; the full rosy cheeks indented with dimples. His world resolutely doesn’t tilt off its axis; there’s no moment of clarity or spark of recognition, no puzzle pieces slotting neatly into place. He blinks and finds himself fundamentally unchanged, left with a vague sense of disappointment.

“It could be anyone.”

“Yeah, but it could be you,” Daniel points out. “The resemblance is striking. You even share the same name. That has to mean something.”

Charles shakes his head, as if to dislodge the thought. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It’s said that the remaining members of the royal family are still hoping to one day be reunited with the middle child; that they never stopped believing he survived the Revolution.”

Sebastian’s delivery sends a chill down Charles’s spine. “Well, I’m not sure they will find him in Modena.”

He’s still looking intently at the portrait in front of him. The young boy dutifully stares back.

“And I thought they are all gone. I don’t see why this has anything to do with me.”

Daniel laughs, suddenly, like he’s incredulous that they’ve reached a point where he has to spell it out so plainly, “It just so happens that we’re heading for Paris, too. You can tag along.”

“If I pretend to be somebody I am not,” Charles mutters.

“Ah, who said anything about pretending? You don’t have anything to lose. If you’re not the long lost royal they’re looking for, then no harm done—an honest mistake.” It sounds so simple, the way Sebastian says it.

“Find out the truth for yourself. Come to Paris with us,” Daniel adds. “C’mon. You know you want to.” He’s leaning forward now, the giddiness and optimism of impending adventure rolling off him in waves. Idly, Charles wonders if he’s like that about everything.

There’s no logical reason for him to be dragged into some ridiculous scheme; to upend his stable—if uneventful—life in favour of chasing something uncertain and very complicated, just because his interest has been piqued.

Charles’s internal debate must register on his face, judging by the silence that falls between the three of them. There’s still an out. Even so, he already finds himself hurtling towards a decision. Ensemble à Paris…

“Okay, yes, I will go with you,” he acquiesces.

“Yes, mate,” Daniel whoops at that, loud enough to earn him a stern glare from one of the waiters. Sebastian is smiling encouragingly when their eyes meet. He tips his head like he’s giving an imaginary toast. “To Paris, then.”

Charles feels his face warm. Maybe this will afford him some closure, whichever way it goes.

“To Paris,” he echoes softly.

[dick-helmet-magneto]

25

Erik thinking Charles doesn't love him. Plot twist of course Charles feels the same fucking way dumbass!

25.) “It hurts…” “What?” “Loving someone who doesn’t love you…”

Erik typically didn't stay around after a battle ended but he couldn't just leave this time. Charles was still there, the X-Men, all of the brotherhood. Maybe he could leave, but he couldn't bring himself to.

He sat on the ground, looking out towards where the sun was sitting. No one was around, they didn't seem to know he was still there anyway. Not until he felt approaching metal. Charles.

The man came to a stop next to him. Erik didn't pull his eyes away from the sunset but he felt Charles put the brakes on his chair. Then he started to move again and before long, he was sitting on the grass next to Erik.

"How are you, my friend?" Charles asked and Erik sighed softly. There was something in his voice, as though he knew. And Erik couldn't dismiss the possibility that he did.

The question was a loaded one. How was he? Did Charles mean after the battle? Or in general? Those questions had very different answers.

"I'm fine," He answered vaguely. "How are you, old friend?"

"Feeling exactly like that. Old." He replied, looking out where Erik was staring and leaning back on his hands. "The kids are all making it worse. You should hear some of the drama that goes on in a school."

"You would know more about that than I would," Erik replied, "I never spent much time in a classroom, after all."

"It's all who kissed who, one cheated on the other, she loves him but he loves someone else. I'm just left sitting there thinking they're like twelve. What do they know about love?"

What indeed? Erik was in his fifties and still knew nothing about it. But he could successfully say that after twenty years he loved Charles. It was beyond some little schoolboy crush these days. Charles was almost all he could think about. The first thing in the morning he wanted him in his arms. Right before drifting off he would wish for Charles to curl up against. It was getting to be ridiculous. It was-

"It hurts," Erik whispered before he could stop himself or even think about what he was saying.

"What?" Charles asked, looking over at him and Erik wondered if he even realized what he had said.

"Loving someone who doesn't love you. It hurts. Cut the kids some slack, even if they are twelve."

"My friend," Charles stated with an unsteady laugh, "I don't make light of their issues. I do what I can to take them seriously."

For a while, the two of them set in silence and Erik began to think he had gotten away with what he had said. It was stupid. He couldn't say anything to Charles. Charles couldn't know that Erik had been in love with him since he was first pulled from the ocean all those years ago. He couldn't know that the entire reason for their battle today was so Erik could see Charles again. He sounded desperate, pathetic. He was glad for the helmet so there was no chance of Charles finding out what he was thinking about.

"Who do you love? Or did?" Charles asked, as though he could not just leave it alone. It led to a sharp inhale from Erik.

"It's not important, they don't feel the same about me," Erik replied, falling back on the ground so he was laying on the grass. The sun had set leaving him with nothing else to look at and he couldn't simply just look at Charles. Not for this conversation.

"Did you ever tell them?" Charles asked, and Erik wished he had the ability to teleport. He could just float himself away but that didn't seem right. He would still be there while Charles called after him.

"Not exactly. They know I loved someone. They didn't know it was them," He replied, he had just told Charles, after all. "It's been years though, if they felt the same they would have said something."

"What if they thought the same about you?" Charles asked back and Erik couldn't accept that. If Charles loved him he would have said. Or done something to show it, right?

"Tell them the next time you see them. Show them how you feel." Charles gave a single nod as though trying to convince himself as well. And then he was moving to get his chair back into position to move back into.

Erik moved before Charles at the chance. He would take Charles's advice and show how he felt. He pressed his lips against Charles's and it was the most terrifying moment he had experienced in years. Since he left Charles bleeding on the beach at least.

There was no response from Charles and Erik practically jumped back away, to his feet. If only he could run faster, super speed, or something.

"Erik, wait," A hand grabbed his cape and Eirk couldn't move. He knew there was no other option. Slowly, he turned and faced Charles.

"Come back down here, please?" Charles asked and, really, Erik knew he would do anything Charles asked of him, no matter what it was, no matter how stupid or dangerous. He moved back down to the ground in front of Charles and then found his arms full.

"I love you too, you just surprised me," Charles whispered before finally returning the kiss, pushing Erik back so he was laying on the ground and Charles was fully spread out on top of him.

It was perfection.

[flownwrong]

a fic! would you believe it! i sure don't!

after a year of not finishing anything, i summoned this up in an hour. thanks to @kleynfroy for encouragement.

hunnihawk, 1.4k words, additional tags: sad :( photos :( also sad :(

read under the cut or on ao3

It takes BJ three lines in his letter to notice Hawkeye above him, holding something over his head with a grin that gives no hints whatsoever.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says, wiggling the something triumphantly. He’s rough around the edges, straight out of post-op and close to zero sleep, a sight so familiar it’s comforting.

BJ looks. It’s a Polaroid camera. Before he can say anything, Hawkeye snaps a shot, without even bringing the thing to his face. BJ waits for Hawkeye to fiddle with the release catch, the cutting, then snags the positive right out of the camera once the hatch is open, turns it over. His own face stares back at him with a smile he didn’t realize he was wearing, radiant through stark shadows of the black and white film.

Hawkeye swings himself over the photo, studies the paper upside down. He claps his hands. “A veritable Betty Grable!”

BJ snorts and drops the picture in the envelope laid out on his cot. “I’m getting a second opinion on that.”

“Well, you’ve got the legs for it, anyway,” Hawkeye says, spinning and landing almost in BJ’s lap. He just manages to miss the letter.

“To what do I owe the honor?” BJ asks, scribbling his way back to California with Love, Betty Grable. See Million Dollar Legs enclosed.

“North Korean artillery. Private Land figured he didn’t need any more ambulance shots for his scrapbook, so here we are.”

BJ hums as he licks the envelope shut. “Did you already take photos of the whole camp, or just me and the nurses’ shower?”

“Well, the horse didn’t feel pretty and asked me to come back tomorrow, so I had to settle for second best.”

BJ flings a pillow at Hawkeye’s grin, but it lands on the other side of the tent. Hawkeye’s already at the door, camera in hand. BJ never seems to quite catch up.

“See you later, darling!” Hawkeye vanishes, not without sending him a mock kiss over the stale air.

War is a grind, as always. The camp buzzes, blurry in the cycle of blood and bandages and rotgut-tinged evenings.

There’s a new photo on his cot almost every day without fail, though. Peg must know this camp now almost as well as he does.

BJ studies the latest pile accumulated over the week between letters. There’s Klinger’s new violet evening gown, Radar with his fanfare so off-key it must come through even on photo paper, Margaret shading her eyes from the spring sun with one hand, the other raised in a cheerful salute to San Francisco. Hawkeye’s little thoughtful report home.

Most of it, though, is BJ.

Like the one of him shaving, mid-laugh, eyes just off camera on what must be Hawkeye cracking one of his first jokes of the morning.

Or the one of him in the O Club, Father Mulcahy’s face frozen in horror as BJ dips him low with the crowd cheering behind them.

The latest, which Hawkeye must’ve dropped off while he was on post-op duty, is of BJ filling Charles’s pillowcase with lunch leftovers, face scrunched up somewhere between concentration and hysterics.

Hawkeye waltzes into the Swamp, camera at the ready.

“Hello, sailor,” BJ greets, rising to meet him. “What’s this one?” He points at Hawkeye’s chest where another piece of photo paper is sticking out of his pocket.

“That’s between me and Dad, Beej,” Hawkeye sing-songs, spinning away as BJ makes a grab for the picture.

“Come on, you’ve seen mine, show me yours!”

They do a full circle around the tent, furniture and garbage screeching under their feet until Hawkeye knocks face-first into the heating pipe with a cartoonish “Ouch!”

The picture floats in a graceful spiral down onto the ground and is in BJ’s hand before Hawkeye can finish ooh-ing and aah-ing in pain.

BJ takes a look. This one is so dark he can’t see anything at first. Then, the lines slowly arrange themselves into a scene: it’s the Swamp, and BJ is in his cot, sleeping soundly, face half-hidden by the covers. What gets him, though, is Hawkeye—right in the corner, neck crooked at a weird angle to get in the shot, eyes catching the weak dawn light and crinkled at the edges in a smile that’s nowhere to be seen on his tired face.

BJ stares for a full thirty seconds, trying to put his finger on what’s so odd about the photo, until it dawns on him. Hawkeye is there. It’s the only shot he’s seen in weeks since they got the camera where Hawkeye’s there.

“How come you’re in this one, Hawk?” he asks and raises his eyes. Hawkeye’s face is blank in a careful, drawn way.

“It’s for Dad,” he repeats, as if that’s explanation enough. “You put some in your letters, why shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah,” BJ says, “but how come I’m in all of yours and you’re not in any of mine?”

Hawkeye sighs with exasperation BJ thinks he has no right to feel and drops down on his cot like his head weighs a ton. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re kind of my best friend, Beej.”

BJ squints, feeling lost. “Well, yeah, Hawk, and you’re kind of mine, if you noticed.”

“Look, Beej,” he says, staring a hole into the dirty floor. “What do you figure happens when this whole thing blows off?”

BJ frowns. “We go home. I get to see my family, you get to see yours.”

“Yeah, yeah, you get to kiss your wife and hug your daughter and I get to have a drink with Dad. We go back to work and we write each other for a bit until we don’t need that, too.” As he speaks, his voice gets quieter and lower, grainy like the pictures. “You get to have the life you should have had all along. And I—well, I get to keep the photo. It’s not that difficult.”

“Okay, if that’s how you want it, but—why?”

“Why what?” Hawkeye snaps, his head now up, and BJ sees nothing at all in his eyes but bone-deep tiredness.

“Why—why just one? Why this one?”

Hawkeye barks a sharp, sudden laugh that falls just short of making BJ flinch. “God, Beej,” he says, “I love you, but you can be a real jerk, you know.”

“I don’t follow, Hawk.”

“Oh, BJ, but you do. Some days I swear to God you’ll follow me everywhere, no matter how I run.” There’s a film over his eyes, but the pain comes through, cutting better than some of the knives they use.

“Oh,” BJ says, as it falls into place. “Oh, Hawk.” The photo is still in his hand, and he can’t seem to lower it, stuck in the movement.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye says, not blinking. “Yes.”

The PA comes to life. “Attention all personnel! Wounded, two for the price of one! Get yours in triage!”

The sound of running feet makes it hard to think through the all-encompassing static of his brain.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages, when Hawkeye has one foot out the door. “For what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything.”

Hawkeye turns and smiles, a bland, desperate thing. “No,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, it doesn’t.

“Come on, cowboy, before Charles steals the fun cases. You get to break some hearts, you get to fix some.”

The door screeches on half-rotten hinges behind him, half-open. BJ gets running, but turns back before he can make it to the ambulance. The camera sits forgotten on Hawkeye’s cot. He grabs it without thinking.

In the scrub room, seven hours later, as they drop boneless onto the bench, Hawkeye grunts, a different sound of pain than the one BJ knows. He fishes something from under his hip and stares, jaw gone slack with exhaustion.

“What’s this doing here?” He turns the camera in his hands like he’s forgotten what it is.

“Oh, you know.” BJ feels about his neck, more for something to do with his hands than for any real kinks. “Thought I also get to keep something.” He takes the camera from Hawkeye’s limp hands, skin red and raw from days of gloves and scrubbing, but warm.

He takes the shot without looking. Waits a beat before tearing it out, doesn’t look at Hawkeye as he smoothes the snagged edges. When he does look up, right next to him, Hawkeye’s temple is all gray, and his eyes are tight at the corners, his mouth curled up at one side, warm and disbelieving. “That must’ve been the last of the roll,” he says, low.

In the picture, though, in the picture—there’s Hawkeye, the one BJ hopes he can keep.

He’s smiling right at the camera, all teeth, and it’s loud, and brilliant, and eternal.