Being best friends with Ginny Weasley was the easiest thing in the world. Or, at least, it had been at the start. The two of you had three simple rules.
#3. Always save each other a seat.
#2. Never lie to one another.
#1. Ginny’s brothers were off-limits.
It was rule #1 that you found yourself currently in contempt of. But how were you meant to know when you’d made that promise that a few years down the track everything would change?
———————————————————————
You had been best friends with Ginny Weasley for as long as you could remember.
It had started sometime in first year, when you found her crying in the girls’ bathroom after throwing a book at moaning Myrtle. You didn’t ask questions. You just sat next to her, pulled a Chocolate Frog from your bag, and said, “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’m here.” That was the moment it began. Since then, your friendship had become a constant in both of your lives. Like the hum of the Hogwarts Express, or the steady whistle of the wind through the trees by the Black Lake.
And there were rules. Unspoken at first, but eventually written down during a sleepover at the Burrow in a notebook charmed to sparkle and float around Ginny’s room. The most sacred of them all: “Don’t fall for one of my brothers. Ever.”
You remembered the moment it was written with almost photographic clarity. Ginny had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, face twisted with frustration as she doodled angry lightning bolts in the margins.
“Honestly, it’s like every girl who’s ever spoken to me suddenly wants to be my best mate the second they lay eyes on one of them,” Ginny muttered bitterly, tossing her quill down. “Lavender started cozying up to me last year and I thought maybe she actually wanted to be friends. But no. She just wanted to ask if Ron was ‘as tall in person as he looked from across the Great Hall.’ Gross.”
You laughed back then, genuinely amused and a little horrified. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were,” Ginny huffed, brushing her hair back with a quick, irritated flick. “Then there was Marietta. She was practically joined at my hip during dinner and the whole time she was working up the courage to ask if I’d introduce her to George. George!”
“She didn’t even pretend to care about you, did she?”
“Not for a second,” Ginny snapped. Then her expression softened as she looked at you. “That’s why I like you. You’re not here for any of that rubbish.”
Back then you had smiled and laced your pinky through hers, swearing on it.
Now, whenever it was even remotely brought up - like when Angelina tried to hangout with the two of you to get a date with Fred - you had to force yourself to smile. Even as your heart twisted.
You hadn’t intended to fall for one of Ginny’s brothers, but sometime in the past four years, you had. Something about Fred’s clever jokes, his chaotic grin, and the way he always found time to check in on you had chipped away at your resolve. You had fallen slowly, helplessly, painfully. And you had said nothing. Because of the rule.
Because you loved Ginny.
You remembered her smile that night, soft and genuine.
“If I ever find out someone’s only here to get to one of them,” she said. “I’ll never forgive them. Promise me you’ll never do that.”
“Of course,” you had sworn.
You meant it, back then. You couldn’t have predicted you would genuinely fall for one of them. And you still meant it now, in your own twisted way. You had no intention of doing anything about your feelings. Loving Fred from a distance didn’t count. Did it?
But lately it had become harder to look away. He was noticing you. Not the way he noticed everyone else. Not with the performative charm or cheeky quips he tossed around like fireworks. No, he was watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Catching your eye across the dinner table. Sitting closer than he used to, finding reasons to touch your arm when he laughed. Or maybe you were imagining it.
But you and Ginny had rules.
And you were already breaking rule #1.
———————————————————————
The Burrow was chaos, as usual.
The second you stepped through the crooked front door with Ginny, the scent of fresh bread and stewed onions wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The air was humid with the smell of summer earth and something sugary baking in the oven. A breeze drifted in from the open kitchen window, carrying laughter from the garden and the sounds of someone - probably Ron - grunting as he lugged trunks upstairs.
“Welcome home!” Molly was fussing as she grabbed each one of them by the face and planted a big kiss on their cheeks.
“Gross, mum!” The boys groaned and wiped their faces with their sleeves as they came into the house.
“My darling girls!” Molly greeted the two of you, pulling both you and Ginny into a tight hug.
“Hey, Mrs Weasley,” you greeted with a warm smile. You’d spend so much time here that the Burrow had come to feel like your second home, and the Weasleys like a second pair of parents.
“Oh, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you!” The stout woman patted your check affectionately, then stepped back to gesture to the already set table.
“Lunch, everyone! On the table, NOW!” Molly Weasley’s voice thundered through the house with such maternal command it could’ve made a mountain walk.
You hadn’t even had time to protest when Arthur took your trunk before you were swept up in the current of Weasley children charging into the kitchen like a herd of hippogriffs. Chairs scraped. Plates clattered. Elbows jabbed for better positioning. It was always a game of survival when it came to getting a good seat at the Burrow’s table.
Fred emerged from seemingly nowhere at your side, grinning like he’d just won something. “Well, well,” he said in that voice of his - low and amused, with just enough of a lilt to make your stomach flip. “Guess this seat’s mine, yeah?”
He reached for the chair to your left, the one you’d secretly been hoping he’d take, and yet, also dreading he would. It was instinct. Panic. Self-preservation.
You placed your hand firmly on the back of the chair before he could pull it out. “That one’s taken,” you blurted out a little too quickly.
Fred raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “By who?”
And before your mouth could catch up with your thoughts - before you could invent some excuse or redirect him to the other side of the table - Ginny shoved past Fred, bumping him with her hip.
“By me, you great big git. Rule #3, remember? Now move!” she snapped cheerfully, shooting you a triumphant smile as she slid into the seat beside you.
Fred snorted, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own blood.”
He dragged himself to the far end of the table with a theatrical sigh, collapsing into a chair beside George. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he stole a bread roll before the basket had even hit the table, catching you looking just in time to shoot you a wink.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks.
Ginny leaned over, scooping potatoes onto your plate. “Honestly, you’d think they’d learn by now that we always sit next to each other. I think he did it on purpose just to mess with us.”
You forced a laugh, stabbing at a carrot with more force than necessary. “He’s insufferable,” you said weakly.
But your heart was thudding too loudly in your chest to believe it. You had wanted him to sit next to you. Just a little.
You could still feel the ghost of where his arm would’ve brushed against yours. How his knee might’ve bumped yours under the table. You could imagine it far too easily. Close enough to smell the spice and smoke of his cologne, to hear every stupid joke murmured just for you.
But then you looked at Ginny, happily chatting to her mum about the drive there, glowing with sun and freckles and trust. And the guilt returned with full force, crashing like a wave over your ribs.
You weren’t going to mess this up. Not this.
You promised yourself right then and there: You would stay away from Fred this summer. No matter how many times he winked at you. No matter how charming his smile was. No matter how much your hands itched to reach for his under the table.
He was Ginny’s brother. And you were Ginny’s best friend. And those two things could never, ever mix.
———————————————————————
Your first few days at the burrow passed without a problem. Ron kept to himself mostly, sending letters back and forth to Hermione and Harry in between practicing quidditch with the twins. When the twins weren’t out in the field zipping about on their broomsticks, they were locked in their room. No one quite knew what they were up to in there, except for the intermittent explosion that shook the house and earned a few lectures from Molly. Percy was off on some sort of internship at the Ministry of Magic. Which of course left you and Ginny to your own devices.
Your plan of avoiding Fred had been going splendidly. The only times you would see him were during meals, and with the buffer of the whole family present there were no issues that had arisen. He’d not tried again to steal Ginny’s chair by your side. You’d worked to memorise his and George’s schedule, knowing what times to avoid the bathroom or the kitchen for snack break. You’d even taken to using the bathroom at the latest possible time, once the house had gone uncharacteristically quiet and you knew everyone else was in bed.
Hence why you were there now. The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam from the shower someone had taken earlier - probably Ron, based on the trail of damp footprints leading down the hall to his bedroom. You stood at the sink in your pyjamas, brushing your teeth, the tap running low to mask the silence.
You leaned closer to the mirror and wiped a clean patch of glass to check your reflection. Your hair was a bit of a mess from a full day of hanging about the garden. Your skin a little tinged by the sun. The dim golden light from the hallway behind you spilled in from the half-cracked door, soft and flickering like candlelight.
The door creaked further open. You flinched, mid-brush. And then you nearly choked on your toothpaste.
Fred stood in the doorway, shirtless, rubbing a towel over his wild and wet hair, a pair of well-worn pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips. Water glistened on his shoulders. His freckles were more pronounced under the soft bathroom light, and his grin was…absolutely illegal.
You turned back to the sink immediately, hoping the toothpaste foam in your mouth would distract from the fact your pulse had just shot up like a firework.
“Evenin’,” he said casually, like this was completely normal.
You didn’t answer - mostly because you couldn’t speak with a mouth full of mint and panic.
Fred moved behind you, stepping inside without hesitation and reaching for a comb that sat on the bench. You could feel his presence, radiating a warmth that pulsed just inches away from your spine. The tension twisted tighter with each breath. You were practically vibrating.
“You always brush your teeth this dramatically?” he asked, his voice low and amused. “Looks intense.”
You spat your toothpaste into the sink and grabbed your cup to rinse. “Just thorough,” you muttered, praying your voice didn’t sound like it was shaking.
Fred leaned on the counter beside you, one arm braced as he turned his body toward you. “Right. Very serious business, dental hygiene. Sexy stuff.”
You gave a tight, nervous laugh and tried not to look at his collarbone, or his chest, or the single drip of water trailing down his sternum. You tried. But Merlin, you were failing.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” you asked, drying your hands quickly, your eyes fixed anywhere but on him.
“I was,” Fred said, tilting his head. “But then I remembered the bathroom gets much more interesting around midnight.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
He smiled, cocking a brow. “You’ve been sneaking in here late every night like you’re hiding something. Thought I’d investigate.”
“I’m brushing my teeth, Fred. Hardly a great mystery of the universe.”
He leaned a little closer, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. His voice dropped an octave, teasing but edged with something heavier. “Well, maybe I’m the one with secrets.”
You hated that your stomach flipped. That your legs felt suddenly unsteady. That this was exactly the kind of moment you’d dreamed about for years, and yet now it was the last thing you could afford.
You cleared your throat, stepping back. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”
“And yet here you are,” he said. “Cornered. In a bathroom. With me.”
He was still smiling. But his eyes - those hazel eyes - searched yours with something more than just mischief. There was a weight in them. A question. A hope.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Fred, put a bloody shirt on!” The moment shattered like glass.
Ginny appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing immediately as she took in the scene. Fred shirtless and grinning, you red-faced and stiff near the sink.
Fred didn’t move. He just glanced at Ginny over his shoulder, as if annoyed to be interrupted.
“What?” he asked, unbothered.
“You’re disgusting,” she snapped, elbowing past him. “You can’t just wander around half-naked like some trollop!”
Fred looked delighted by that. “Trollop? Really, Ginny? You wound me.”
She made a face. “Honestly, you’re like a feral cat.” Then, without hesitation, she wedged herself firmly between you and Fred, standing like a barrier. Completely oblivious to the electric tension that had just been vibrating in the room.
Fred smirked at you over her shoulder, lips twitching, like he knew exactly what he’d done.
Ginny turned to you, unaware. “Ready for bed?”
You nodded mutely. Behind her, Fred gave you a lazy wink and finally retreated, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room like he hadn’t just flipped your entire emotional state upside down.
Ginny looked at you and scrunched her nose. “Honestly. He’s so weird sometimes. Sorry you had to see that.”
You managed a smile, small and tight. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”
But as you followed her down the hall toward the room you were sharing, your heart was still racing. Your skin still buzzed from his nearness. Your mind - traitorous thing - kept replaying that moment when he’d leaned in, eyes soft, voice low.
And you knew then, with a certainty that made your stomach sink, that this summer was going to be really, really difficult.
———————————————————————-
It had been five days since The Bathroom Incident - a title you’d privately christened it with during your increasingly dramatic internal monologues.
And for five blissful, tormenting, nerve-fraying days, Fred had been…good.
No more shirtless intrusions. No surprise appearances when you were alone. No wandering conversations with too much eye contact and not enough space between your bodies.
Just casual, everyday Fred Weasley. Joking with his siblings, tinkering with George, throwing fruit across the kitchen, absolutely no more cornering you against a sink like he wanted to eat you alive.
You’d convinced yourself it was over. That he’d gotten bored of teasing you and moved on. That maybe you were in the clear.
Until this morning.
You’d just woken up, sunlight stretching warm fingers across your face through the open window, when you heard it.
“We’re going into town for the Sunday market!” George’s voice rang out through the hallway. “Come on, grab your shoes!”
You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes as Ginny barged into the room already half-dressed, tying her hair up with a ribbon. “You’re coming too,” she declared, tossing your shoes toward the bed. “It’ll be us and the twins.”
Your stomach turned. Just the four of you. On a sunny day. Walking into town. All together. You, Ginny, George - and Fred.
Before you could argue, Ginny had already bolted back out of the room, mumbling something about losing her favourite jacket.
You took less than five minutes to pull on a cute outfit and brush your teeth before you waked into the hallway, trying not to look like you were internally screaming. At the bottom of the stairs, Fred was waiting.
He leaned lazily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in a sweater rolled at the sleeves and worn jeans. Casual. Comfortable. Dangerous.
The second he saw you, a slow grin unfurled across his face like a cat who’d spotted a cornered mouse.
“Well, well,” he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was just for you. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get you all day.”
You blinked. “What?”
He pushed off the railing and took a step closer. Close enough that you caught the familiar scent of spearmint and gunpowder. “I mean, I’ve barely seen you all summer. I was starting to worry I’d developed a contagious rash.”
You folded your arms. “Maybe you have. Have you checked?”
“Oh, thoroughly. I’m in top condition.” He winked, words dripping with innuendo.
You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a small smile. He saw it - of course he saw it - and leaned in just a little more.
“You know,” he murmured, “I’d accuse you of hiding from me if I didn’t already know you were.”
Your heart thudded too loudly in your chest. Before you could deliver a scathing comeback - or worse, blush - Ginny’s footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Fred stepped away with impeccable timing, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning innocently as Ginny reappeared with a cropped jacket and her hair now tied in a messy ponytail.
“All right,” she said, tossing her eyes toward Fred. “You better not make me carry everything again.”
“No promises,” he said, already leading the way out the door.
The walk into town was bright and breezy, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes. Fields blurred gold and green beside you, and wildflowers nodded gently in the tall grass. Ginny was by your side for the most part, until she got into a long conversation with George about quidditch and the two walked ahead, occasionally darting into little bursts of sibling bickering. It left you and Fred side by side more than once, though you always kept just enough space to pretend it wasn’t wanted.
The Sunday market stretched along the village square in a mismatched quilt of tents and booths. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, honeycomb, spiced nuts, and something fried you didn’t dare question. Laughter floated above the hum of shoppers and merchants calling out their deals.
You kept close to Ginny, using her as a human shield against Fred’s increasingly amused glances. The two of you stopped at a table of handmade jewellery, and your fingers drifted toward a delicate pair of crystal earrings shaped like intricate flower clusters. They caught the sunlight just right. Clean, simple, quietly beautiful.
You picked one up, turned the tag over. Too much. Not outrageous, but more than you could justify. You set them down gently.
“Cute,” Ginny said, glancing over your shoulder. “But you’d probably lose them in, like, three days.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Ginny laughed and moved to the next booth, where a ridiculous plaid hat caught her eye. George followed, already pretending to model one for her.
And suddenly, it was just you and Fred again. You glanced up. He was already there, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on yours. He nodded toward the earrings. “Those were nice on you.”
You blinked. “I didn’t try them on.”
“I imagined them on you,” he said easily, his voice low and teasing. “I have an excellent imagination. In fact, I can picture anyone, anywhere in just about any position.”
You rolled your eyes. “You really never turn it off, do you?”
He stepped closer, the crowd bustling around you like a river splitting. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all morning.”
You snorted. “I have not.”
Fred tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Okay. Not flirting. Actively ignoring me. Which is basically the same thing, just in reverse. It has the same effect.”
You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re still here talking to me.” He leaned in, voice dropping, “What does that say about you?”
You opened your mouth to retort, but then Ginny reappeared, holding up a hat so absurdly shaped it looked like a squashed owl. “Do I look insane or fabulous?”
“Both,” George said immediately.
“Perfect,” she grinned.
Fred stepped back again, and just like that, the moment dissolved.
The walk home was slower, the sun dipping lower in the sky. You carried a small paper bag of sweets Ginny had insisted on buying, and Fred whistled absently as he kicked pebbles down the lane. You didn’t speak again. Not really. But you felt his presence the entire way.
Back at the Burrow, the house had returned to its gentle, midday hum. You’d taken a shower first, and Ginny had waited until she heard the water stop before swapping places.
By the time you stepped out, dried off, and slipped back into your clothes, it was nearly time for afternoon tea.
You returned to Ginny’s room, searching for a brush to untangle your wet hair. And there, sitting neatly on Ginny’s bed, right where your pillow had been, was a small white box tied with a black ribbon.
Your heart stopped.
You looked around like someone might leap out from the closet yelling “Gotcha!”
But no one did.
You approached slowly, eyes wide, and lifted the box. Inside - tucked in soft tissue paper - were the earrings from the market. Delicate. Dazzling.
With them was a folded note in crooked handwriting: Couldn’t let them get away. Thought you might wear them next time you’re trying so desperately not to look at me. - F.
You clutched the box like it might combust in your hands. Footsteps creaked from the hallway. Ginny.
You moved fast - heart hammering - shoving the box into your trunk, the tissue and ribbon crumpled in your fist. You nearly tripped getting the top shut before the door opened.
Ginny strolled in, towel around her hair. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the blue shampoo bottle. I think one of the boys messed with it.”
As she unwound the towel, her usually ginger locks dropped around her shoulders in a curtain of green. You forced a smile, heart still galloping, hands still tingling.
“Oh Gin,” you said, covering your mouth, every nerve in your body on high alert. “Let’s get that fixed up. I’m sure your mum will have something to help.”
You took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room, mind still stuck on what you were leaving behind.
The earrings were hidden. The note, too. Your secret was safe. Though now, you were technically at risk of breaking another rule.
#2. Never lie to one another.
———————————————————————
The kitchen of the Burrow smelled like butter, thyme, and the kind of warmth only a Weasley home could conjure. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the cooking. You stood at the counter beside Ginny, a cutting board in front of you and a particularly potent batch of onions halfway sliced beneath your trembling hands. Your eyes stung fiercely.
“I swear, I think I’m going blind,” you sniffled, blinking rapidly as tears dripped down your cheeks.
Ginny laughed, pointing her wooden spoon at you. “Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s just an onion!”
“I’m not being dramatic, my eyeballs are melting—” You let out a soft, strangled laugh, wiping at your face with your sleeve and slicing again.
The two of you had been helping Molly for the past hour, peeling vegetables, shelling peas, and listening to Celestina Warbeck crooning softly from the wireless. The afternoon sun cast long strips of light across the warped wooden table, and despite the heat and chaos of the kitchen, it was cozy. Familiar. Safe.
Or at least, it had been, until the back door suddenly burst open with a crash.
“—AND HE SCORES! WHAT A MOVE FROM THE LEGENDARY BEATER!”
“OH, SHUT IT, YOU OVERGROWN GNOME—”
Fred and George exploded into the kitchen like a pair of firecrackers, both sweaty and flushed, yelling in Quidditch commentator voices as they barrelled through the doorway. George had a quaffle tucked under one arm. Fred was lunging for it like a seeker gone mad.
Molly spun around from the stove. “Boys! Absolutely not! Not in my kitchen!”
But it was too late. Fred dodged Ginny, slipped on the corner rug, and stumbled directly into you. You barely had time to gasp before the impact jolted your arm. The knife in your hand slipped.
“OW! bloody hell!” You recoiled instinctively, dropping the knife and clutching your hand. Blood was already rising fast to the surface of your finger, running in a hot, red line down your palm and onto the floor.
“WHAT did I just say?!” Molly’s voice could’ve curdled milk.
“Fred!” Ginny shouted furiously. “You idiot!”
“Oh, shit, you’re crying!” Fred’s eyes widened as he saw your tear-streaked cheeks and the blood on your hand.
You glared at him, though your vision was blurry. “It’s the onions, you twat!”
But your voice trembled. From the pain. From the sheer overwhelming chaos of it all. And - fine - maybe from Fred being way too close again.
Fred looked properly horrified now. “Merlin, I didn’t mean to. I was just…George was…right, c’mere. I’ve got something that’ll help. C’mon.”
Before you could protest, he was already gently but insistently guiding you toward the stairs, his hand warm on your back. You wrapped a kitchen towel around your bleeding finger, trying to keep the pressure steady as you glanced back at Ginny.
“Go, go,” she called, exasperated. “Before you bleed into the mashed potatoes.”
George had dropped the quaffle and was already picking up the knife from the floor, apologizing to Molly in the most unconvincing tone possible.
You followed Fred up the stairs, your heart pounding harder with every creak of the steps. You told yourself it was just because of the injury. The adrenaline. The pain. Not because you were heading into Fred Weasley’s bedroom for the first time.
The door clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in.
His room smelled faintly of parchment, broom polish, and something warm and boyish and entirely him. It was surprisingly neat for a Weasley. Trunks were stacked in a corner, shelves cluttered with joke prototypes, and Quidditch posters pinned crookedly across the walls. There was a pair of socks hanging off the end of his bedpost. A sweater crumpled on the floor. But it felt lived in, personal. Like stepping into a corner of his world you were never supposed to see.
You froze awkwardly in the doorway.
“You can sit,” Fred said, waving a hand at the bed. “I promise my mattress doesn’t bite.”
You managed a weak laugh and perched on the edge, careful to keep your hands to yourself.
He crouched in front of a trunk and rummaged around. “Right, here. We just finished a batch of this last week. Might sting, but it works miracles.” He pulled out a small tin with a garish orange and purple sticker slapped across it.
You squinted at the label. “WWW? What’s that stand for? ‘Weasley’s Weakest Work’?”
Fred grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Close. Thirty-three percent correct, actually. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George and I, we’re starting a joke shop. After Hogwarts.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Wait, seriously?”
He nodded, pride sneaking into his voice. “We’ve been designing products for years. We’ve got a whole trunk full of prototypes. Salves, candies, decoy spell crap. You’d love it. You’re basically our ideal test subject - easily injured and highly opinionated.”
“Charming,” You snorted. “So is that what the hexed shampoo fiasco was all about? Ginny was furious. Her hair was green for days.”
“No, that one was just for fun,” Fred sat beside you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm. He gently peeled the blood-soaked towel from your hand, and you hissed.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft. He dipped his fingers into the tin and dabbed the salve onto your cut.
It was cool and tingly and smelt like peppermint. Within seconds, the pain dulled, and you watched in shock as the raw skin knitted itself closed.
Your mouth fell open. “That’s…actually brilliant.”
“I know,” he said smugly, wrapping a thin bandage around your finger. “And, don’t worry. It won’t scar. Just reapply twice a day.”
“How are you not rolling in money already?”
He laughed and you smiled, until you realised you were still holding hands. Neither of you moved. And the silence that settled between you wasn’t casual anymore. It buzzed. Tense and breathless.
Fred’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inside of your wrist. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”
You blinked. “I haven’t.”
He tilted his head. “You have. You’ve been dodging me like I’ve got dragon pox. Why?”
You tried to smile. To brush it off. “Maybe I just don’t like you, Fred.”
He leaned in, his voice low and serious now. “Or maybe it’s the opposite.”
Your breath hitched. He was so close you could see the golden flecks in his eyes. Count each of the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose
Before you could answer - before you even knew how to answer - the door burst open.
George stood there, eyebrows raised. “Alright, you two, break it up. Dinner’s ready. And Mum’s not in the mood to wait.”
You yanked your hand back, your face going hot.
Fred sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Cheers, George. Great timing.”
George grinned knowingly and stepped aside. You stood quickly, muttering a thanks under your breath and rushing out the door, heart hammering, head spinning.
This summer was going to ruin you. And you finding it a lot harder to mind at all.
———————————————————————
The attic smelled like dust and old wood, warmed faintly by the day’s leftover sun and lit only by a string of enchanted fairy lights that twinkled like stars overhead. The ghoul in the corner moaned softly to itself, chewing on what remained of Fred and George’s bribe - a sticky handful of Drooble’s gum and a crumpled chocolate frog box. For now, it was satisfied. Mostly.
When you climbed through the attic hatch behind Ginny, the stale air hit your face like a wave. Ron, Fred, and George were already sprawled across the mismatched rugs and floor cushions in a circle, a deck of enchanted cards floating lazily in the center.
“There you are,” Fred said as you and Ginny slid the hatch shut behind you. His eyes flicked to yours briefly and he smirked like he had been waiting specifically for you.
You tried not to react, though your stomach was already betraying you with its little flip. He looked far too smug for someone sitting crisscross in moth-eaten socks and a Quidditch tee.
“About time,” George chimed.
“Don’t push it,” Ginny said, elbowing her brother before tossing a pillow to the ground and flopping down.
You settled in beside her, your knees brushing the woven edge of the rug, directly across from Fred. Unfortunately, he was watching you. Still. And you knew he hadn’t stopped.
The bottle of firewhisky came out shortly after. Fred uncorked it with a flourish, holding it up like it was some ancient treasure.
“Compliments of the cabinet behind Dad’s broom collection,” he announced.
Ginny laughed. “Mum’s going to have your head if she finds out.”
“She won’t,” George assured her, “unless someone blabs.”
“Ron,” said everyone at once, and Ron flushed beet red.
The bottle made its way around the circle, and eventually it landed in your hands. You hesitated only a moment before lifting it to your lips. The whisky burned hot, sharp, and smoky as it slid down your throat. You exhaled, eyes watering slightly.
“Easy,” Fred said from across the circle. “Don’t want to fall asleep before the game starts.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, and passed the bottle back, straight to Fred. His hand brushed yours as he took the bottle from your grip. But instead of drinking right away, he rotated it slowly and deliberately in his hand, fingers lingering around the mouth of the bottle. Then he placed his mouth right over the spot your lips had touched and drank without breaking eye contact.
The burn in your throat came back tenfold, but for a completely different reason.
He licked a drop from his bottom lip and grinned. “Tastes better this way.”
Your breath caught. Ginny, completely oblivious, was already giggling at something George said. The cards were floating again, but your world had narrowed to that lazy, firewhisky-laced smirk and the way Fred’s eyes lingered just a beat too long.
Goosebumps erupted down your arms.
The moment passed too quickly. You tried to pretend it hadn’t affected you, that you weren’t wondering what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to feel that heat not through shared glass, but skin.
The shuffled deck split evenly amongst them and a chaotic, barely-rule-following game of Exploding Snap ensued. There were chips of lightning, minor burns, and raucous laughter as the ghoul muttered irritably in its corner. A slightly scorched card flew past Ginny’s head and she ducked with a cackle.
Eventually, the ghoul grew bored. With a loud metallic CLANG, it started knocking on the pipes behind it, clearly unhappy that its stash of goodies had run out.
“Right, time to clear out,” George said, already grabbing the cards and stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.
“I’ll bring more sweets tomorrow,” Fred muttered toward the ghoul, who let out a pitiful moan in reply.
George and Ginny were the first down the hatch. You were about to follow when Ron knocked over an old crate, sending it crashing into a pile of dusty cauldrons.
“Shit,” Fred hissed. You all froze.
Footsteps echoed below. Heavy ones. Then the creak of a bedroom door.
“Mum,” George whispered, eyes wide. “And Dad.”
There was no time to think. There was only enough time for Ron to jump down before George scrambled to shut the attic hatch. Ginny looked back at you from below.
“We’ll come get you when it’s safe,” she whispered, and then, click. The hatch was sealed.
You and Fred were completely alone.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft flickers of the fairy lights and the distant, irritable tapping of the ghoul’s fingernails on wood.
Fred let out a breath. “Well, I guess we’re trapped.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. He held up the bottle of firewhisky. “Still got this. Want to play truth or dare while we wait?”
You tilted your head. “Really? That’s what we’re doing?”
“We’ve got time. And no escape.” He patted the floor beside him.
Despite your instincts yelling at you not to agree, you sat. Not too close, but close enough to catch the cinnamon-heat smell of him, firewhisky and warmth.
“Fine. But I go first,” you said. “Truth or dare?”
He leaned in, elbow resting on one knee, still holding the bottle between two fingers. “Dare,” he replied, too fast.
You rolled your eyes. “Predictable.”
Fred raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you said, drawing your knees up, “you’re always the first to take risks. Always the showman. But when it comes to being genuine? You flinch.”
A beat of silence. Fred’s smile dropped an inch. Not gone, just softened. “You think I can’t be genuine?”
You shrugged, heart hammering. “Prove me wrong, then. Pick truth.”
“Fine,” he said. “Ask me a truth.”
You studied him. The freckles, the messy hair, the too-confident posture covering something far more careful underneath. “Why haven’t you told anyone about the joke shop?”
That made him pause. The flicker in his eyes changed, turning sharper. More focused.
Finally, Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because Mum thinks it’s a waste of time. Childish. She wants us to join the Ministry. Be ‘respectable’ like dad. But I don’t want that. George doesn’t either. This—” He held up the firewhisky like it was part of the dream. “—this is the only thing I’ve ever felt is really mine.”
Your chest swelled at the honesty. “I think it’s brilliant,” you said quietly.
He looked at you, something unreadable softening his features. Then he smirked again. “My turn. Truth or dare?”
You panicked. “Truth.”
“Do you like anyone?”
Your mouth went dry. “Yes.”
His eyes glittered. “Who?”
“That wasn’t your question,” you shot back quickly, hiding your fluster behind a smirk of your own.
Fred chuckled. “Alright. Touché.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Truth or dare.”
He yawned dramatically. “Truth. And see, I didn’t even flinch.”
“Are the rumors true about you and Angelina Johnson?” you asked, voice just slightly sharper than intended.
Fred let out a bark of laughter. “What? No. That wasn’t me.”
You raised a skeptical brow.
“It was George,” he said, dead serious. “They got caught snogging in the common room, and everyone assumed it was me since I took her to the Yule Ball.”
You blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?”
“Yep. She’s more into sensative gits than charming ones, apparently.” The air between them grew charged. Thicker. He sat up straighter. “Truth or dare?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then answered, “Truth.”
He leaned closer. “Who do you fancy?”
Your stomach twisted, pulse thudding loud in your ears. “I change my mind,” you blurted. “Dare.”
He grinned like he’d won. “Thought you might. In that case…I dare you to kiss me.”
The world stopped.
“I’ll take a drink instead.” You offered, reaching for the bottle.
Fred turned the firewhisky upside down and a single drop ran from the lip of the bottle.“We’re out.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “What a shame.”
You were frozen in place, mind trying to come up with a fourth option that didn’t seem to exist.
Then, slowly - so slowly - he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you.”
You couldn’t breathe. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of your earring - the ones he had bought you from the market. You watched him realise it, watched his lips twitch upward.
“These suit you,” he murmured.
You swallowed hard. He was so close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the faint red in his lashes, the faint smell of firewhisky and citrus and boyish heat.
Your cheeks burned. The world felt like it was tilting slightly sideways.
Fred said softly. “All you have to do is give in.”
You wanted to. Oh Merlin, you wanted to. Your lips parted. Your eyes flicked to his. But then the attic hatch creaked open.
“Oi,” George called, voice echoing. “Coast is clear.”
You jumped apart like lightning had struck. Your skin still buzzed where his hand had touched you.
Fred stood slowly, offering you a hand. You took it before you could think better of it.
Nothing had happened. But it had almost happened. And you didn’t think you’d ever stop thinking about that almost.
Neither of you said a word on the way down the ladder. But your ears were still ringing, and yu couldn’t shake the ghost of his voice murmuring, ‘All you have to do is give in.’
———————————————————————
You never usually woke up this early, but sleep had been impossible after last night.
The attic. The firewhisky. His voice, low and teasing, asking if you fancied someone. The way he dared you to kiss him, and the way your body had wanted to obey more than it ever had anyone. You’d never felt anything like that before. That tightrope between longing and fear, between want and wariness. Between what you craved and what you shouldn’t want.
You’d almost done it. Almost leaned in. Almost let yourself fall.
The early morning air was soft against your skin as you walked through the garden behind the Burrow. The grass was cool and damp with dew, the sky still tinted with pale grey and lavender. There was a hush to the world here, like it was holding its breath, just like you were.
You moved slowly between the rows of wildflowers and gnarled trees, trying to clear your head. But all you could think about was him - the fire in his eyes, the way his gaze flicked to your mouth, the smell of firewhisky.
You shook your head, willing the memory away, when a low voice broke through the quiet. “What are you thinking about?”
You nearly leapt out of your skin. “Bloody hell—” you gasped, spinning around. But before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, warm and strong. His hand.
“Shhh! It’s just me,” Fred said, his voice low and urgent as he pulled you further into the field.
You struggled instinctively, swatting at his arm until you were both well out of view of the house. He released you the second you were far enough away, and you whipped around, shoving his chest hard.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” you hissed, your heart thundering in your chest.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was tension under the smirk. “I needed to talk to you. Alone. And you’re a lot harder to pin down these days.”
You crossed your arms. “So you thought sneaking up on me and dragging me into a field was the best option?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
You glared, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you catch yourself. “What do you want, Fred?”
He exhaled, the teasing edge dropping as he takes a step closer. “Last night. Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Your throat went dry. “We’re not playing truth or dare anymore. I don’t have to answer that.”
“I’m not playing either,” he said. His voice was low now, and earnest. And he was closer. You could smell him again - cinnamon and something warm and boyish, still clinging to his skin.
He stepped forward again and gently took your arm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. It sent a flicker of heat up your spine.
“I wanted you to kiss me,” he confessed. “So why didn’t you?”
You swallowed thickly, knowing this was a dangerous game. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Maybe not. But I think I deserve one.”
You stayed silent, your heart in your throat, body humming like live wire. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist.
“You want to know what I think?” he asked, and you looked up at him, caught in that impossible gaze. “I think you’re just as interested in me as I am in you. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
You opened your mouth, but your voice barely came out. “You’re wrong.”
It was shaky. Unconvincing. Pathetic.
Fred lifted a brow, unimpressed. He leaned in until you could feel his breath brush your cheek. “No, I’m not.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You couldn’t. Your whole body was screaming to close the distance, to surrender.
“Why won’t you just say it?” he whispered. “I’m standing right here, telling you that I…” His voice faltered for the first time, softens. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.“I care about you. I want you. I have for a while now.”
It hit you like a punch to the ribs. The tenderness, the honesty in his voice. Your chest tightened. “I do too,” you admitted, your voice betraying you. “But I shouldn’t.”
Fred frowned, still not understanding what was holding you back. “Why not?”
“Because of Ginny,” you said, the words ripping from your mouth. “Because she’s my best friend. Because I made a promise. Rule number one. Her brothers are off-limits.”
Fred blinked, then let out a sharp breath and laughed under it, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you kidding? That’s what’s stopping you?”
“It matters.”
“Not to me,” he said, stepping closer, impossibly close now. “And Ginny doesn’t have to know.”
Your breath stilled. “Fred…”
“All you have to do,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers grazing the earring he gave you, “is give in.”
You shivered as his thumb traced the shell of your ear. His touch was so soft, so gentle, it was almost unbearable. You should have pulled away. You knew that.
But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in. Just the smallest tilt of your chin. Just enough. But that’s all he needed.
Fred cupped your face in both hands and kissed you. It was everything you imagined and more. It was hungry and hesitant all at once. Warm and desperate, like you’d both been waiting too long. His lips melded into yours like he’d somehow already memorised the shape, and you melted into him without thinking.
The world fell away. There was only the sun-drenched field, the soft birdsong in the trees, and his hands anchoring you like he never wanted to let go.
And for a single, breathless moment, you didn’t want him to.
———————————————————————
The grass was still wet with dew as you and Fred made your way back to the Burrow, your fingers entwined with his, warm and certain despite the slight chill in the air. The morning was quiet. Hushed and golden in a way that made it feel like the world had agreed to keep your secret, if only for a little while.
You couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could he.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” you murmured, voice still breathless from the high of it - of him.
Fred glanced sideways at you, that lopsided grin tugging at his lips, his eyes still lazy with affection. “I can,” he said simply. “Been a long time coming, don’t you think?”
Your heart fluttered helplessly. “Have you really felt like this for that long?”
Fred nodded, squeezing your hand. “Since you called me insufferable for making that potion explode in the common room. You had ink on your cheek and told me I was going to fail out of Hogwarts.”
You laughed, a quiet sound that felt like summer. “That was third year.”
“Exactly,” he said. “I didn’t stand a chance.”
You bit your lip, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so naturally, like they’d always belonged there. “I wish it didn’t feel so complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said gently.
You didn’t respond right away. You just walked with him, each step soft and heavy all at once, and the closer you got to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow, the heavier your chest became.
As the back door came into view, you felt Fred’s fingers twitch against yours. You both knew what had to happen. You dropped his hand, carefully, reluctantly. Like letting go of a lifeline.
You reached the back door first and stepped inside.
Ginny was at the kitchen table, flipping through the Prophet, but her eyes flicked up the moment she heard the creak of the floorboards. They landed on you. Then on Fred. Then back to you.
She looked suspicious. “Where were you two?” she asked, casual, but not really.
You didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered too long on the space between your hands. Your stomach twisted.
“I, uh…I couldn’t sleep,” you said quickly. “Went for a walk.” You shrugged as if it meant nothing. “Fred must’ve had the same idea.”
There was a beat of silence. The paper in Ginny’s hands crackled as she slowly turned the page. Her gaze didn’t waver.
“Uh huh,” she said, noncommittal. Then she looked back down at the paper.
You forced a laugh and stepped past her into the kitchen, your heart thudding wildly as Fred moved behind you without a word. You felt his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken questions. Ones you didn’t want to answer.
Because now it wasn’t just Rule #1 you’d broken. You’d lied to her face.
Rule #2. Never lie to one another.
You told yourself it was just a little white lie. A protective one. A harmless one. But it didn’t feel harmless. It felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t take back.
———————————————————————
You’d spent the whole day glued to Ginny’s side. It wasn’t like she noticed. She just thought you were in a good mood, maybe a little extra chatty, a little too agreeable. But every time she laughed, or looped her arm through yours, or offered you a bite of the plum she was eating on the porch swing, your stomach twisted tighter and tighter.
Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know what you’d done that morning. That you’d walked into the garden one person and come out another. That Fred had kissed you like he meant it. And worse, that you had kissed him back.
Worse still: you had liked it. You had wanted it.
And now, you couldn’t look Ginny in the eye without feeling like your whole skin was buzzing with guilt.
So you stuck close. You did the dishes with her. Helped her weed the vegetable patch. Laughed too hard when she told you that joke about Seamus Finnigan and the exploding butterbeer. You didn’t so much as glance in Fred’s direction during dinner, even though you could feel him looking.
It was late now. Everyone had gone to bed. You were brushing your teeth with heavy limbs and hollow thoughts, the kind that came from trying too hard to act normal. Your eyes were tired. Your mouth still ached faintly from the press of his.
You reached for the towel when suddenly a strong hand clamped over your mouth. You gasped, but before you could scream, you were pulled backwards, into the tiny shower room, the door snapping shut behind you with a soft click as it locked.
You shoved at the hand, heart racing, until it dropped away. You spun around, your back to the wall, and saw him.
Fred. He was slightly out of breath from the effort, hair mussed, eyes bright.
You glared at him, even as your pulse stuttered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
He grinned like he’d been waiting all day to see you. “I missed you today,” he said simply.
And then he kissed you. There wasn’t any teasing this time. No playful smirk. Just heat. Sharp and overwhelming. His hands framed your face, and yours found his shirt and fisted there, like maybe you could anchor yourself to him and forget what you’d done.
You kissed him back like you hadn’t been thinking about anything else since sunrise. And for a moment, there was only him.
But then, your hand slid up and brushed against the chain around his neck and your chest cinched tight.
You broke the kiss, breathless. “Fred—”
He looked at you with dazed affection, lips parted. “What?”
“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I feel so guilty about Ginny.”
His brows drew together slightly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. “I really don’t think she’d be upset.”
You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know she loves you,” he said. “And I know if she thought we made each other happy, she’d be glad for it. I think we should tell her.”
You felt the words land inside you like tiny, cruel promises. “No! We can’t tell her,” you said, voice firmer now. “We can’t tell anyone.”
Fred’s hands loosened. “No one?”
You nodded. “Promise me, Fred. Please. You can’t say anything.”
He looked reluctant. “Even George?”
You hesitated, because of course George already knew. He probably knew before either of you did. “Even him,” you said anyway. “If he knows anything already, then you need to make him promise not to say a word.”
Fred exhaled, then nodded. “Alright. I promise.”
You stared at him, heart thudding against your ribs. He reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and smiled gently.
You kissed him one more time. Slow and lingering and filled with the quiet ache of knowing this wasn’t going to get any easier.
And so it began. The start of something you couldn’t name yet. A kiss in the garden. A locked door. A promise made in whispers. The beginning of a secret.
———————————————————————
You’d gotten so used to hiding it, you almost started believing you could keep it hidden forever.
It became a rhythm. A dance you and Fred had perfected over the past few weeks. A series of glances and touches and moments stolen between the cracks of your everyday life. You lived for the quiet thrill of it. The way your heart leapt when he leaned in just a little too close in the hallway, or the way your pulse skittered when he brushed your pinky with his under the table at dinner.
Sometimes, he’d manage to sit beside you, his thigh pressed against yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and steady like a secret only you were allowed to keep. His hand would rest casually on his knee until it inched over to yours, fingers tapping, tracing lines across your skin no one else could see.
And when he couldn’t sit beside you, he’d claim the seat directly across, his foot nudging yours under the table until it became a full-on game of footsie that had you biting your lip and looking anywhere but at him. Every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d grin like he was proud of himself. Like he was daring you to keep playing.
You were hopelessly smitten. And for the first time in a long time, really happy.
Fred made you laugh when things felt heavy. He kissed you like he meant it, even in the briefest snatched moments. He told you you were brilliant, and brave, and beautiful in all the ways no one ever had before. And you believed him.
It was dangerous, yes. But it was yours. Until the day it wasn’t.
It was late afternoon, the sky hanging heavy with sun and heat, and most of the Weasleys were outside flying or napping or doing chores. Ginny had been reading on the porch when you told her you needed to grab something you’d forgotten in the backyard.
That was a lie. Fred had told you to meet him in the broom shed.
You slipped away quietly, past the rose bushes and around the back of the house where the old wooden shed waited beneath the trees. The door creaked as you opened it and there he was, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.
You didn’t even make it two steps before he pulled you in.
His kiss was warm, familiar, and tasted like the honey biscuits Molly had made for tea. You melted into it, hands sliding into his hair, your body fitting against his like it belonged there.
“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” he murmured against your mouth.
You smiled into the kiss. “What if someone finds us?”
“They won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “George is on Ginny duty. We’ve got time.”
You were about to respond - about to tell him you’d missed him too - when the shed door flew open.
You jolted back like you’d been burned. Ginny stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, lips parted in silent disbelief. Behind her, George winced and muttered, “Shite.”
“I knew it,” Ginny said, her voice low and trembling. “I bloody knew it.”
You stared at her, frozen. Every part of you was suddenly cold.
“Ginny—” Fred started, stepping forward.
She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were locked on yours, betrayal carved into every inch of her expression. “How long?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”
You opened your mouth but nothing came out.
George stepped forward. “Sorry mate, I tried to stop her—”
“You knew?!” she rounded on George like a storm, her fists balled at her sides. “You knew and didn’t say a word?!”
“I only found out recently,” he said, holding up his hands. “And it’s not my business—”
“Not your business?!” she shouted. “She’s my best friend, Fred is my brother, and you’re my other brother! How is this not our business?!”
“Ginny, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice soft, cracking. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”
“But you didn’t!” she shouted. “You lied to my face. Every single day. Do you think I’m stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“No, Gin, I never—” You stepped toward her but she stepped back.
Her face was red with fury, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. “I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone.”
Fred reached for her, voice low. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t defend her. Don’t pretend this was nothing.” She looked at you again, and it nearly broke you. “You broke our rules.”
And then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the shed. George gave Fred a grim look, then jogged after her.
And just like that…it was over.
The warmth, the secrecy, the giddy, fluttering joy that had filled you so completely. It all shattered in the space of ten seconds.
Fred turned to you, hands raking through his hair. “Bloody hell.”
You were shaking. “I didn’t know what to say. I froze.”
He pulled you into his arms, held you like it might fix things. “She just needs time.”
You nodded against his chest, but your heart wasn’t so sure. Because you hadn’t just broken the rules. You’d broken Ginny’s heart.
———————————————————————
You tried for days. Tried to talk to her, to explain, to say something, but every time you got close, Ginny slipped away like smoke.
You followed her into the garden the next morning, calling her name as she picked harshly at the overgrown mint leaves along the back fence. She didn’t turn around. When you got close enough to speak, she stood up and walked inside without a word.
Later, you found her in the kitchen, arms folded tight, back resting against the counter as Molly spoke to her in a low voice. You hovered in the doorway, unsure, heart thudding against your ribs. Ginny met your eyes for a second - just one second - and then looked away like it hurt.
You tried again on the stairs, whispering her name as she passed. She didn’t even glance at you.
You hated this. You hated how silent everything felt. How your chest ached with things unsaid.
By the time the sun dipped beneath the hills on the third day and the Burrow settled into its evening hush, you were exhausted from trying. And Ginny still hadn’t said a single word.
You crept up to your shared bedroom slowly, quietly, like maybe she’d be soft again if you just approached the right way. You reached for the doorknob, turned it gently.
Locked.
You knocked. “Ginny?”
Silence.
You knocked again, a little louder this time. “Ginny, please. Can we just…can we talk? Please?”
Nothing. Not even a shuffle from the other side. You pressed your forehead to the wood, eyes stinging.
After a long minute, you sighed and padded back down the stairs. The Burrow was quiet now. Most of the lights were off, save for the soft, golden glow from the living room. You curled up on the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the worn knitted blankets, tucking your knees to your chest. This was where you’d been spending your nights lately, not wanting to bother Molly or Arthur about other sleeping arrangements.
The silence felt louder than Ginny’s anger. It echoed. You must have sat there for almost half an hour before you heard soft steps on the stairs.
Fred. His hair was a mess, like he’d been lying in bed unable to sleep too, and his eyes found yours with immediate concern.
“You okay?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.
“She locked me out again,” you murmured. “She won’t even look at me.”
Fred’s brow furrowed as he sat beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer. “I’m sorry.”
You let your head fall onto his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her this mad. She’s not even yelling anymore. She just…won’t see me.”
Fred let out a breath, warm against your temple. “She’ll come around. Ginny’s stubborn, but she’s not heartless. She just needs space.”
You nodded, letting the quiet settle between you again. It wasn’t the happy silence from the shed, or the secretive warmth you were used to with him. It was heavier. But his presence still helped. Still steadied you.
He rubbed circles into your arm, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”
You closed your eyes. “I hope so.”
And then the bottom step squeaked. You both turned.
Ginny stood in at the bottom of the staircase, holding an empty glass. Her eyes landed on you curled beside Fred. You saw the moment it hit her. The twist of disgust, the flick of her lip curling as she scoffed softly.
She didn’t say anything. Just rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel.
You threw the blanket off and jumped up. “Ginny, wait!”
She was already halfway up the stairs, empty glass still in her hand.
“Please, can we talk?” you called, following her up.
She didn’t even pause.
“Ginny—”
She reached the bedroom door, yanked it open, stepped inside. You made it just in time to catch the door slamming in your face. The sound echoed through the Burrow like a curse.
You stood there for a moment, fingers resting on the closed door, throat tight, heart cracking a little more. You didn’t even knock this time. You just turned and walked back downstairs.
Fred was waiting. His expression softened as he saw your face. “She slammed it again?”
You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to break.
He opened his arms. You walked straight into them. And for the rest of the night, the two of you stayed curled up on the couch. Not saying much. Just holding on.
———————————————————————
The next morning was unbearable. You sat between Fred and George at the breakfast table, the tension thick enough to slice with a wand. Ginny was across from you, lips pressed into a thin line, her toast untouched. She didn’t look at you. Not once. She didn’t even speak. Not to Fred. Not to George. Not even to Molly when she asked if she wanted more pumpkin juice.
Fred’s knee bumped against yours under the table. You didn’t move. But you didn’t lean into him either. You were ashamed. It hurt, having Ginny’s silence weigh this heavy on your chest.
After breakfast, Ginny stood without a word and disappeared up the stairs, her braid swinging sharply behind her. The door to her room slammed moments later.
You didn’t follow this time. You knew better now.
Fred glanced at you, eyes soft. “Come on,” he said. “Walk with me.”
You let him lead you outside into the warm morning light, the sun stretching long and lazy over the Burrow’s messy backyard. The garden was overgrown in the loveliest way. Wildflowers sprawling into vegetable patches, vines curling along the fenceposts. Fred brushed his fingers against yours as you walked, and when he caught your eye, his smile was crooked and bright like he was trying to make things better without saying it out loud.
You stopped in front of Arthur’s old work shed.
Fred pushed the door open and gestured inside with a dramatic bow. “Milady.”
You rolled your eyes. “What exactly am I meant to be admiring in here? The rusted rake or the giant spider in the corner?”
He grinned. “Neither. Just trust me.”
You stepped inside cautiously, brushing past hanging tools and stacks of flower pots, turning just in time to see him still grinning at the threshold.
“Fred?”
“Sorry,” he said in a singsong voice, and with a swift flick and a slam, the door shut. The lock turned with a click.
“FRED!” You pounded your hand on the wood. “This is not funny!”
But footsteps were already retreating. You waited - furious - for him to open it again. But the minutes passed. The shed was warm and full of the smell of soil and sun-dried wood, and you were trying to decide whether you were more angry or confused when the door creaked again.
You stood quickly, hope flickering. “Finally.”
But it wasn’t Fred. It was Ginny. She stepped in with a suspicious scowl, looking over her shoulder. “What—?”
Before she could finish the thought, slam. Click.
You both lunged for the door.
“FRED!” Ginny shrieked. “GEORGE!”
“LET US OUT!” you yelled right behind her, slamming your fists against the wood.
But their voices were muffled and maddening on the other side.
Fred called, “Not until you talk!”
George chimed in, “Properly! No hexes, no storming off!”
“Absolutely mental,” Ginny muttered, crossing her arms as she turned her back to you and marched to the far end of the shed. She plopped down on an overturned bucket, staring hard at the dirt wall.
You stayed near the door, arms folded just as tightly, silence stretching between you like a curse.
It must’ve been hours.
The heat in the shed grew heavier, sun filtering through the tiny window above. Your legs began to ache from standing, but sitting felt too vulnerable.
And then, finally, Ginny broke it. “If you wanted to snog my brother that badly, you could’ve at least warned me,” she said coolly, not looking at you.
You bristled. “It’s not just snogging.”
“Oh, please.” She barked a laugh. “You’ve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers and I found you in a bloody broom cupboard. What else is it supposed to be?”
“It’s real, Ginny.” You stepped closer. “We actually care about each other. It’s not some fling, this means something.”
She turned sharply, fire in her eyes. “And that’s supposed to make it better?”
You blinked. “What?”
“It’s worse,” she hissed. “It’s worse because you didn’t just hook up with him. You fell for him. And then you hid it from me. Lied to me. Every single time I asked where you were or what you were doing—”
“Okay, did lie,” you interrupted, chest tightening. “I did…and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Ginny snapped. “You just didn’t want to deal with the fallout.”
“And I was right, wasn’t I?” your voice rose. “Look at how you’re reacting! You won’t even listen—”
“Because you went behind my back!” she shouted. “I told you everything. Every crush, every stupid thought I had about Harry or Michael, or whoever, and you were pining over my brother the whole time!”
You stared at her, stunned by how deep her voice cut.
“I just…I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought we were friends.”
That one hurt the most. “We are,” you said, stepping forward. “Ginny, I love you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to risk you thinking this was some betrayal. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
“I know,” you said quietly. “I know I did. I just…I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to fall for him. It just happened. And for years I kept it a secret because I refused to act on it so what was the point? And then it just got worse. And I hate that I made you feel like this. I never meant to. You mean too much to me.”
She looked at you for a long time. Then she sighed, sitting down heavily on a crate. “So…how long has it been happening?”
You hung your head low. “Since last week.”
She raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s…actually not as bad as I was expecting.”
You nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but he was so persistent, and…I gave in. And it’s been…honestly, it’s been amazing.”
Ginny pursed her lips. “And he’s serious?”
“Completely,” you said. “He treats me like I’m the most interesting, maddening person he’s ever met. He actually listens. And he makes me feel—” you paused, blushing a little, “—happy. Really happy.”
She let that hang in the air. Then she exhaled. “Okay.”
You blinked. “Okay?”
“I mean,” she shrugged, “I still think you’re an idiot. But I can live with it.”
You smiled, hesitantly at first, and then fully when Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her arms. You nearly knocked her over hugging her.
“I’m still mad,” she warned into your shoulder.
“I deserve that,” you admitted. “Completely.”
You stayed like that for a long moment. Then Fred’s voice piped up from outside, smug and singsong: “So! All good now?”
Ginny shouted, “If you ever lock me in a shed again, I swear I’ll turn your ears into flobberworms.”
George snorted. “We’ll take that as a yes.”
The door clicked open. You and Ginny stepped out, blinking in the afternoon light, shoulder to shoulder again.
Fred looked at you like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. You gave him a small smile and nodded.
All was not perfect, but it was healing. And that was enough for now.
———————————————————————
Dinner at the Burrow felt normal again.
The clinking of cutlery, the smell of roasted vegetables and gravy, the soft hum of conversation. It was like everything had fallen back into place. You sat beside Ginny again, your shoulders occasionally brushing. She’d even nudged your arm when you reached for the salt before her, and when you made a joke about Ron’s plate being stacked like a tower, she actually laughed.
It was subtle. Soft. But genuine.
From your other side, Fred was watching you with that familiar twinkle in his eye. His foot tapped yours beneath the table like it couldn’t stand not touching you, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.
Molly glanced between you and Ginny, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she set down a fresh loaf of bread. “Well,” she said, voice light, “I must say it’s nice to see you two getting along again.”
Arthur looked up from his stew and nodded. “Things were a bit frosty there for a while.”
Ginny gave a dramatic eye roll and stabbed a potato. “Yeah, well…I got over it,” she muttered, shooting you a sideways smirk.
Ron frowned and pointed his fork between the two of you. “Wait. What were you even fighting about in the first place? You’ve been whispering to each other all evening. Did I miss something?”
Fred, sitting beside you, let out a soft breath - part exasperation, part amusement. Then, without warning, he reached beneath the table and gently laced his fingers through yours. His palm was warm, calloused and familiar. It made your chest tighten, just a little.
And then, just as Ron took another bite of chicken, Fred lifted your joined hands into the air. Like some kind of victory signal.
Everyone froze. Ron choked. Ginny groaned. Molly gasped, then squealed so loudly that even the ghoul in the attic probably heard her.
“Oh! Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!” she cried, practically launching herself out of her seat. Her chair scraped back as she rushed around the table, arms outstretched like she might hug the both of you into oblivion. “You’re together?! You’re really…! Oh I’m just so happy!”
“Mum,” Fred muttered, ducking his head as you laughed and tried to brace yourself for impact. “Breathe, yeah?”
She didn’t listen. Her arms were around your shoulders in a second, pulling you into a tight, motherly hug that somehow managed to be both suffocating and comforting.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said to you, eyes misty as she cupped your cheek. “I always hoped it would be you.”
Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d wanted her approval until that very moment.
Across the table, Ron raised his eyebrows at Fred and gave him a slow, impressed nod. “Well, you actually pulled it off,” he said, clearly trying not to smirk. “Didn’t think you had it in you, mate.”
“I aim to surprise,” Fred said, squeezing your hand gently under the table again.
You leaned into his side, heart fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes again, but this time…she smiled.
“To make myself clear, rules two and three are still applicable,” She pointed between the two of you with a warning glare that held to real heat behind it.
“And rule number one?” You clarified.
“To hell with rule number one. It was stupid anyway,” she shrugged, and you beamed.
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Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser @lupinsweater
steve harrington was never the man to pull back when facing his fears, he didn't have anything to lose; nothing he'd grieve for.
but then so suddenly, he feared what he saw ahead of him. because now, there was you.
you stepped in out of the light to brighten up his so dark days. you felt like seeing daylight after a twenty-year dark night.
and now there's nothing in this world that would shake the fear of losing you out of him.
he'd just do anything to keep you out of danger, even if that means pushing you away from him. because he knows that if anything happened to you he wouldn't live. he just can't imagine living in a world where there's no you. because there's just no him without you.
steve was not the man to fall in love; to get attached. god knows what happened when he did and he promised himself he wouldn't be in that position ever again.
but when he saw you for the very first time, he knew it was helpless. because you make it so easy to love you.
it's in the way you talk, in the way you make yourself present. always worrying about him, caring for him and giving him the love he never thought he deserved to get.
for the first time, he felt seen.
he didn't know why, didn't know how. but you saw him, in a way that nobody ever did.
and with that came the urge to keep you right the way you are. he wanted to keep you safe and out of all the bad things that happened around hawkins. even when it meant lying to you.
he knows he can't keep it all from you for ever, he just doesn't have it in himself.
but as long as he can come home and see you safe, laying down on his bed waiting for him, the weight of it all seemed to lift off his shoulders. he doesn't need to explain the bruises or the secrets he kept. he just needs to crawl in beside you, pull the covers up, and hold you through the night.
because out there, everything was breaking apart — but in here, with the door locked and your breath steady against his chest, he could almost pretend the world was still whole.
summary: Steve Harrington has always loved you, it’s written all over him, even if he’s been too scared to admit it out loud. When you, Dustin (your brother), Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve are pulled into the Upside Down, everything changes. Between near death moments to the terrifying realization that he could lose you forever, Steve finally finds the courage to confess how he’s been feeling.
a/n: my first language is not english, and this is my first time writing a fanfic, so if this is bad, i apologize ahead of time. ❤︎︎
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“helloo? you in there” Dustin is waving his hands in front of your face. you look up “wha- oh yeah im fine.” you glance over at Steve and he is just staring at you as the other three bickered. he knew something was up. “it’s steve’s fault for crashing into a wall! it was his idea” Jonathan says to Steve clearly pissed off at the fact he crashed his car — our only source of transportation, into a wall, let alone, in the upside down. “its not just steve’s fault. it was mine too. we came here to look for holly not argue over this”
Nancy storms out of the clearly abandoned church as dustin comes running in from outside yelling “guys! guys guys! okay so I figured out that by talking to el and Hopper that this place — the upside down is just huge circle and in the middle of the circle is-“ “Hawkins lab” they all collectively say looking at the map. Nancy comes back in the room, she overheard all of them talking. “i think we need to meet up with el and hopper then we can make a plan from there” you say “oh now she speaks. when we have a plan already made. no help at all.” you look up at jonathan from playing with your hands “hey man what the hells your problem.” steve asks jonathan likes he’s said the dumbest shit ever. you always liked how steve had stuck up for you even in moments where you are wrong. “i’m just saying she could’ve helped out even a little bit” he says looking directly at you “yeah im- im sorry i- just don’t feel very good about this place- being here it’s so.. off.” you say looking around the church as if it wasn’t really there and you were just dreaming.
you all are walking out of church as you stay behind them keeping to yourself. steve notices and walks next to you. “you okay? i saw you in there you don’t look too good. do you have a fever? does your stomach hurt? are you okay to walk? i can carry you.” he raised the back of his hand to your forehead as he said that. you laugh “steve im fine. it’s just a belly ache” you said to him as he is admiring your every move, watching how your breathing, each step you take, almost like he knows you’re lying just by looking at you. you catch up with the rest of the group and so does steve. you walk up right next to dustin, your brother. “hey” you say to him ruffling up his hair a bit even tho he is a lot taller than you, at the end of the day, he’s still your little brother. “hey, what’s going on with you and steve?” he asks. “what’s do you mean?” you say back to him blushing a bit. “i don’t know like you guys been really close with each other lately.” he says looking at me “well, i- i mean, i don’t know what’s going on, sometimes i think he might like me and other times i think he wants nothing to do with me.” you say to him as his mouth drops open. not like this is new information to him, but you’ve never came clean to him about this kind of stuff. “YOU LIKE STEVE?” he yells quietly as you grab his mouth and cover it with your hand. before you could uncover his mouth, you hear gasps in front of you. you both look up and see a opening in the wall of this house that leads back to the real world. the one you guys just came from earlier. it seemed like time in the upside down was paused. everything moved slower than normal. you, Steve and dustin didn’t even get time to think about whether everyone was going through or not but, nancy, and jonathan where already running for it so, you, Dustin, and steve, ran also. you all made it through, but barely. everyone is catching their breaths as you hear— yet again, more gasps and.. gunshots?
“holy shit, we’re right outside of the-“ “mac-z” nancy says cutting steve off of his sentence. “we need to help them, mike, will, joyce, they can all be in trouble!” dustin says running for the huge gate that is open just enough for everyone to slip through. “dustin wait!” steve says as you all run for the gate that is actively trying to close, you all make it through but see will, on the ground being held by joyce, mike with the kids behind him and.. demogorgans? the demogorgans are taking the military men out like nothing. “will!” you yell running over to him, you always had a sweet spot for kids, let alone ones you practically grew up with, “what the hell happened” you say to joyce as you’re looking at him for scratched, cuts, marks, anything, but you find nothing. “he feels what the demogorgans are feeling. i don’t know how to help him!” joyce says sobbing. you hug joyce. “i’m gonna find help.” you squeeze wills hand quickly not knowing if he can feel it or not and let go to run to mike and the kids. you ushered Steve and dustin to come to you and mike with the kids, and Nancy and Jonathan with Joyce and will. you bend down to derek— one of the kids and ask if he’s okay. “get the hell away from me!” he pushes you down on your back “what the hell man!” mike says to derek as you all turn to look behind you. another demogorgan coming through the wall of the building. you all frantically run behind this military truck where you all are safe until derek runs out in the middle of all the chaos. you run at him trying to save him and you look to your right and see a demogorgan trying to hit you, you duck and miss until you look to your left, another, but this time it doesn’t miss.
you go flying from the force of the hit, and land near the truck that everyone was hiding behind. steve runs to you. “holy- holy shit” he is shaking horribly, scared to touch you, your wounds deep, across your chest, luckily not high enough to cut your throat like Karen’s ended up. you’re wincing in pain as he takes off his jacket and wraps it tightly around your waist to— hopefully— stop the bleeding. “i know, i know, im so sorry” he says to you laying on the ground with tears streaming to his face, landing on you. you reach up and grab his face, and before you knew it, the gunshots stopped. everything went black.
everyone is surrounding you. antsy. Steve gripping your hand like no other, “i’m so sorry i never told you before, i love you so- so much. you’re always there for me when i need you and im sorry i couldn’t be here for you when you needed me. you are the sweetest girl ever im sorry, i really am sorry i take all of that for granted.” steve says sobbing. everyone heard the speech steve made. you squeezed his hand. he puts his head up. “you’re awake?” he says staring at you as you open your eyes. everyone sighs in relief. “how much of that did you just hear?” steve says. “all of it” you say quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear and giggle about it.
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a/n: this one is kinda short but if you guys like this maybeee i could write a part two? also make requests on what to write about next! ❤︎︎
Summary: In which you and Brian find each other in a whirlwind of emotion, lust and mutual adoration. Oh, and of course, street races. Rivals on the streets, lovers in the sheets. What was first just a crush on the new guy turned into you full on catching feelings for the handsome blonde. It was the same for him. You were all over each other, sinfully so. But you two are ripped out of your little rose coloured paradise when you find out about him being a cop…your biggest enemy. All his begging and pleading can’t help him, you have to get away, his kind exists to put people like you behind bars! When you see him again six months later…can he finally change your mind and get his girl back?
Warnings: Mentions of sex, angsty, cussing, lovers to enemies to? (Find out yall)
“That’s it baby, come on! That’s my girl!“ Brian called out over the loud rumbling of your cars as you drifted into 2nd place next to him behind the finish line. Usually you would’ve been bummed over getting 2nd instead of 1st, but losing to the one person you couldn’t be mad at made it somewhat better at least. That, and the fact that you had finished in front of him in the last race in which you’d shared a track. So you were even for now.
His face painted with that addictive, perfect smile of his that only came out when he was truly doing what he loved, he jumped out of his infamous Skyline to make his way over to your car.
“Hi.” He grinned as he peaked his head in through your window. You couldn’t even mutter out a greeting in response before his soft, eager lips were on yours in an energetic, proud kiss. The crowd whooped and cheered for their two steamy winners. „You killed it tonight, baby.“ He beamed proudly, the way he looked at you as he licked his lips sending a rumbling thrill through you. Like your heart was an engine and just one glance from his familiar baby blues could rev rev rev it up. You knew exactly what that look of his meant and boy, you were eager to give him exactly what he wanted. Your pretty boy was practically undressing you with his eyes.
"Race you back to mine? Winner gets to call the shots tonight." He suggested with a wink and a widening grin, earning him an eye roll from you. "Ya little nasty. It's a bet, come on." You smirked in response and he was quick to slide back into his ride, revving in anticipation. The crowd went crazy when they realized Brian and you were getting ready for another race. Nobody knew where it was going, but just seeing these two street legends giving each other the stare down was a sight.
Just like how these two street legends ripping the clothes straight off of each other the second they jumped out of their cars and stumbled into Brian's place was a sight. Brian knew your body like the back of his hand at this point. Every night he was posted up on top of you, behind you, beneath you or in between your thighs, and every night you got weaker and weaker for the man. If he was a good driver...he was damn good in bed. And you...you were like a damn drug to him. A woman who matched his crazy on the road, and a woman who matched his heart off the road. Did you escape from one of his teenage wet dreams? Bonus, your hands weren't just good with a wrench...
God he was crazy about you, he realized as he held your still, warm body close to his the morning after. You'd nearly run him off the road last night, racing him like you hated him. Oh, but you fucked him like you loved him after. You were the most perfect woman to ever exist to him. And as he gently caressed a strand of hair out of your face, you stirred with a soft smile. "G'morning, baby." He said, his morning voice still gravelly and husky. You swore it sent a wave of heat through you. "Morning, Bri." You smiled in response, snuggling into his solid chest even further. He chuckled at how affectionate you were when you weren't racing like a maniac. Your little peaceful bubble was disturbed by the rumbling of his stomach and your following giggling. “You hungry?” You asked to which he nodded enthusiastically. “Starving.” He said and got on top of you, planting kiss after kiss on your laughter painted face. Your rival turned hookup buddy really knew how to make you fall for him.
"Hey listen beautiful, I was thinking me and you should go out tonight. Like a real date not just-" He started but was cut off by the ringing of his phone. Damn it, just when he was about to ask the question you'd been wanting to hear, he was interrupted. "Sorry baby, give me a second." He said and got up, walking into the bathroom with his phone in hand. You sighed and shuffled off his bed, deciding it'd probably be a good idea to get dressed. Over the muffled sounds of Brian talking to someone behind the closed door, you were pulling on last night's outfit.
Well...you had a certain reputation for your fashion when it came to racing. One of your best friends and influences was Suki after all. It was 10am on a Sunday and as you checked yourself out in the mirror, you realized you weren't about to walk the walk of shame in a leather mini skirt, platform thigh highs and a lace up top that could easily be mistaken for a bra. If only you had a large shirt to somewhat cover yourself, you were sure Brian left his laying around last night. But as you shuffled around his room searching for it, you found something that made your heart drop...
"No fucking way." You said to yourself as your eyes widened at what lied in your palm now. Your thumb brushed over the cool metal of a police badge, your ears ringing with sudden fear and betrayal as the bathroom door swung open. "Sorry baby, where were we-" Brian froze as he took in your form before him, crouched on the ground with his badge in hand. Your eyes locked and he swore he saw hurt flash in yours...deep betrayal even. "Baby, where'd you find that?" He asked carefully, but you were quick on your feet and advancing towards him.
"Nah, where'd you find it, Brian? You’re a damn cop?!" You snapped, waving the badge in front of his face. You'd half hoped he would tell you he stole it or killed a cop and kept the badge as a reward or something, but his stunned silence spoke volumes. "Oh, for fucks sake." You whispered, disappointment washing over you. "Baby, please...I was going to tell you." He tried to reason but you shut him down by slamming the badge onto his dresser and quickly moving to gather your things. "Oh, yeah? After you arrested me, right? I can't fucking believe this, you slept with me! Over and over, made me think that…For what, your little undercover mission?!"
"What?! Y/n, no! Fuck no!" He shot out, panic on his disgustingly beautiful features as he tried to grab your arm gently. "What, so you're telling me you're a cop by day and an illegal street racer by night, and not undercover?" You quipped sarcastically, and his eyes darted to the ground. "Fuck this. You should ask for a raise, do you always sleep with the people you tryna take down?" You were angry, had no control over your words but you didn't mind. He fucked you over. "Baby, please don't. You know...you know I didn't just sleep with you. It was so much more than that, I care about you! You're not my suspect, everything I've ever done with you was real, please...just hear me out."
"Not your suspect? You're a cop, Brian! You exist to put people like me behind fucking bars!" You scoffed, your face pure venom as you stared him down. "What the fuck did you expect to possibly come from this? A cop and a street racer?! Probably nothing, right? I was just a fun little venture for you, huh pretty boy? Well, fuck you! Stay the hell away from me or the whole block will know your little secret!" It was a clear threat. Normally, you would've ratted him out immediately. He was a fed after all, your kind's enemy number 1. But even though it hurt to admit...you cared about him. Fuck! You did, and knowing what your people did to cops around here...you couldn't rat him out. Even though you should.
"Baby, please! Wait! Y/n, give me a second, please!" He pleaded, but you shook his grip off of you, grabbed your keys and ran outside. "Don't come after me. I'll tell everyone you're a damn fed if you do." You bit out as he stood in front of your car, and when he finally moved, his face stricken with what looked like genuine pain, you sped off. "Fuck!" He yelled out, kicking a flowerpot that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time as the sound of your engine got more distant. You were a wreck. You fell for a damn fed. Insecurity and fear, shame even filled you. They were getting better and better, not once would you have suspected him. You needed out, you needed to get far, far away from this foolish mistake of yours.
Brian was an equal wreck. He was known to be quite emotional and passionate about the women in his life but with you...it was something else entirely. The look of agony on your beautiful face, caused by him all the worse, was enough to send him into a week-long slump. No racing, no partying. Just him, trying to sleep away what he'd done. He hadn’t known what would become of the two of you, you were right. He was a cop after all. All he had known was that he liked you. A lot. And that had been enough for him. But since you had left, the dreams of you started getting more frequent, his mind and body were calling out for you. And when he woke up for the third time in one night, guilty about the sinfully exciting dreams he was having about you, he had decided it was enough. You told him to stay away. How did you expect him to manage that?
In a split second, he was slipping his converse on (the ones you found so adorable) and rushed outside to hop into his car (the one you found so hot) (the one who's windows had often steamed up as you rode him with your little hitched up miniskirts after a successful race) dear god, he was going to go insane by the pure image of it in his head. He needed to see you. Now. He barely heard the cheers as he rolled into the race meet, eyes scanning for your familiar car. You were easy to spot usually. Insane ride, stereo loud enough to drive a man deaf and hordes of dudes around you, trying to get a closer look at you. When he saw none of that, he was quick to notice - you simply weren't there. "Fuck this." He muttered.
Not a single race. It had almost been 6 months and you hadn't shown up to a single race. Brian couldn't believe it, that such a brilliant driver would lose her spark. He felt terrible. He started to hate these races. The city. The women he tried to replace you with. He couldn't do it. He'd messed up at work, too, lost his job because of a choice he made to help a street racer, a friend of yours named Dom. He had to leave.
.......................................
Friday, 22pm., Miami. The crowd was in an uproar as the woman of the hour drifted into her spot at the car meet. Your car was easily recognizable by anyone who considered themselves part of the community. You had become a local celebrity over the past 6 months in the city you called your new home. Your rep was untouchable, everyone wanted a piece of you. You stepped out of your beloved ride, your legs on full display as you made your way to the center of the crowd in your iconic miniskirt. "Yo, Killdrift!" A few guys called out your nickname, and joined you as you hugged them, all smiley and familiar.
In a rumbling car not far to the side, a very caught off guard Brian sat. He hadn't seen you in 6 months, and as impossible as he thought it was, you had gotten even more beautiful. You were in Miami, what were the odds! The people knew your name. They worshipped the ground you drifted on. And that glow looked damn good on you. That mixed with the slight twinge of jealousy he felt at the sight of you being all touchy and familiar with the other drivers was enough for him to slam his foot on the gas and come to a halt next to you and your car. "Yo! White boy got a nasty ride!" Your good friend Jay called out and you turned around curiously when your heart stopped at the sight before you.
With the window rolled down, Brian sat in his Skyline and simply shot you that smile you had once fallen in love with. What in god’s name was he doing here, had he followed you? To arrest you? You felt your fight or flight being triggered. Amongst other things, like the urge to jump into his car and fuck him senseless like you had wanted to for months now, against your better judgement. The memories of you doing just that in the past shot shivers down your spine and all the anger and betrayal you had felt and tried to forget came crashing down on you at the sight of him.
“What the hell are you doing here, O’ Conner?” You said coldly, your friends looking curiously at the man you seemed to know. “It’s good to see you too, baby.” He beamed as if you two had left things off just fine the last time you saw each other. The audacity of this man. You stood there contemplating what to do. A part of you wanted to scream “Cop!” and rat him out where he stood. But the part of you that turned her back coldly and walked off won.
His smile dropped immediately and he was out of his car and on you in a split second. His soft but solid grip on your wrist sent unwanted goosebumps up your body. "Y/n, wait. Please. I didn't know you'd be here. But I'm happy to see you, baby." You merely slumped down onto the hood of your car, looking up at him. "I remember telling you to stay away from me, Brian. Don't make me have to do something we'll both regret." You said quietly so that noone but him would hear. He nodded as his eyes shifted to floor as if he was non verbally telling you to let it all out.
He nudged himself between your legs that still rested on the hood of your car. "I'm not a cop anymore, I swear on my life, baby. Ask Dom, he can back me." Dom? Did he work with Dom? "But even back then, as a cop...I was obsessed with you, baby. I know I was a piece of shit for lying to you...I was selfish, I wanted you, despite everything." You were now highly aware of how awfully close you two stood. His words sent a ray of warmth, even relief through the heart he’d left frozen. But you still felt as though he’d played you. Lied to you. Made you fall in love and then into a pit of betrayal and fear.
“I can’t trust you, Brian.” You whispered as his head was bowed down towards you, his face so close you could feel his nervous breath on your lips. “I know, baby. I understand. Just know, I'm gonna do whatever it fucking takes to get that trust back. Like it or not, 'Killdrift'." He smiled, having used your Miami given nickname. Usually, you would be cheesing, giggling at the sight of his bashful smile. You had loved it that fucking much. Right now though, you simply stared at the specimen in front of you, deep in thought as your heart was racing. "Yo, Killdrift! Stop flirting with Blondie over here and get in line, mama!" Your friend Jay called out, ripping you out of your trance and announcing the race would be starting soon.
Brian chuckled and you gently pushed him away to hop off your hood and slide in behind the wheel. Not once did his gaze slip off of your moving body. And you couldn't deny what he did to you. Only just seeing him awoke memories, feelings, almost a sort of muscle memory to climb on top of him and tangle your hair in his honey blonde locks while he ravaged you. He poked his head in through your window like he used to. "Good luck, beautiful." Kissing him now would be the easiest thing in the world, the most natural thing ever like you'd never left him in the first place. Your body was practically screaming out for it. You wanted to. But the rational part of you, the part who lied at home and had sobbed for days on end merely brought some distance between your lips and muttered a "thanks."
"Hope you come in second." He called out playfully as he walked off and you whipped your head toward him, to see that he was hopping into his Skyline at the start line as well. A shot of adrenaline overcame you, you'd be racing him again. For the first time in months, just like you'd used to. Your knuckles turned white by the sheer force that you were gripping the steering wheel with. Head empty, no thoughts. Just as the other two cars were falling into line and you were revving your engine much to the liking of the audience, the music stopped.
Then, a loud voice boomed. "Cops! Cops incoming!" In the blink of an eye the crowd went rampant, running for their goddamn lives as cars took off in every possible direction. You sat there, frozen and merely looked at the only man that could’ve brought this on all of you. Brian. Over the muffled sounds of someone calling your name, your glassy eyes met his. He’d lied, he’d been the inside man and ratted all of you out. You felt like you were back in his bedroom, holding his badge again, and the same feelings of hurt and betrayal pierced your heart once anew. Over the muffled sounds of someone calling out your name, your glassy eyes met his. To your surprise, the sheer panic on his face mirrored yours. You realized the voice that had been frantically calling out for you was his.
"Y/n, baby, please! We have to go, now!" He snapped you out of your panicked trance and you slammed your foot on the pedal, flooring it as cops started pouring in. With a skid, Brian was right behind you. Things were getting tight in an alley, cops were right on you as Brian overtook you and flashed his lights, beckoning you to follow him. And so you did, you had sped down straights and alleys for at least an hour when you'd finally lost the last of the sirens. Your brain had been on autopilot, a standby state induced by what must've been a panic attack. You weren't scared of cops. You were scared of Brian hurting you again. And the sheer thought of him having to do anything with what happened tonight had sent you into said whole panic attack.
Only now that you had calmed down enough and were coming to a halt in a driveway by a waterfront did you notice your surroundings. You killed your engine and shakily climbed out of your car, Brian was quick to join you. “Hey, are you okay? Baby, look at me.” He spoke softly as he approached your shaking figure. You merely looked at him, and at the sight of your pained, exhausted face, his heart clenched. "Oh shit, hey, hey come here. Come here, baby, I got you." He cooed and against all your better judgements you let out a sniffle and walked forwards to let yourself fall into his arms. They wrapped around you in a split second, as his hand came to rest on your head.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, babygirl. This wasn't me, I promise you that." He whispered into your hair, and the sheer warmth of his arms around you felt like enough reason to believe him. You pulled away to look at him and his piercing blue eyes took you in like you were the most delicate, stunning creature on the planet. You simply nodded at him. "It's okay, I believe you, Brian. I'm just...I feel...I don't know." He softly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "That's okay. You don't have to know right now. Come on, let's get you inside, huh?" You nodded and with a gentle hand on the small of your back, he guided you into his place.
You'd showered, slipped into some baggy clothing of his and then joined him on his porch swing. Just being this close to him after all this time made you feel nervous. Like a little schoolgirl with a crush she shouldn't be having. Brian smiled at you as you sat down, and softly placed a hand on your thigh as he took you in. "Almost forgot how good you look in my shirts." He said in his typical womanizer fashion, to which you rolled your eyes, failing to conceal the slight smile that crept up in your face. This felt familiar. This felt...good.
"Almost forgot how much I liked wearing them." You replied before you could think twice and you swore his hand on your thigh gripped down a bit harder. You were both looking at each other now, a strange silence filling the close space. A tension. One you could've cut with a knife, then and there. You felt your breathing get shallow, as your eyes darted down from his eyes to his lips, for only a quarter of a second. But he'd noticed. And once again, he was so close that you could feel his breath fan your lips.
You didn't budge when he came closer and closer. Even though you probably should've. And when your lips barely grazed, you felt everything you'd ever felt for him come crashing down on you at once. The passion, the admiration, the lust, the...love. And he must've felt it too, because he closed the final bit of distance between you two and caught your lips with his, melting into a puddle of man the second he did. You never admitted it, but you had missed him so goddamn much. The first and only man to ever evoke such feelings in you, and here you were sat on his porch swing, making out like teenagers again.
Life was okay again. "Fuck, I missed you. I missed this." He muttered in between kisses, before picking you up and carrying you into his bedroom. "Wanna pick up where we left off, baby?" He quipped with a smirk before dropping you onto his bed, promising the kind of night you had learned to adore and yearn for.
You two were back. Only this time - you would do it right.
➪the one where you and the pogues are invited to a fancy party at the cameron’s, and jj can’t seem to keep his hands (and lips) off you.
Warnings: smut, fluff, kook reader, pda, semipublic smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, established relationship, altered plot, swearing, dom jj
Word Count: 3.7k
Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡
“No,” was the first word that came out of JJ’s mouth as soon as you stepped out of your bedroom wearing the newest article of clothing that was added to your wardrobe. It was a simple but cute black dress you thought would look nice on you at the dinner party the Cameron’s were throwing at their house. “Absolutely not.”
Apparently JJ thought differently. “What?” You frowned, looking down at the dress self-consciously. “I thought it looked nice. Cute, you know?”
“Cute?” JJ asked in disbelief, uncrossing his arms as he stood up straight from his slouched position against the wall. “No, you don’t look cute, Y/n. You look fucking hot. Go change.”
A startled laugh escapes you as you look back up at him. “Wait, you think I look hot, yet you want me to go change?”
JJ nodded, and it looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes locked on yours instead of letting them trail up and down your body. “Yes,” he answered as it was the easiest question he’d ever been asked. “It’s bad enough that this is the best I could find, I don’t need you showing me up even more than you already do.”
He gestures to his simple white button up and dress pants he wore when he was a waiter for about three hours before he got fired. You laughed as you looked him up and down. “I think you look hot, too,” you shrug. “I don’t want you to go change though.”
“Baby,” he nearly whined as he reached for your hips. “Please go change into something that won’t give me a boner all throughout fucking dinner. John B will never let me live it down.”
You laugh again and brace your hands on his shoulders as you stand in between his legs. “You can make it through one dinner Jay,”
JJ groaned and leaned in to rest his forehead on your shoulder, his hands trailing further down your body. “One dinner might as well be one hundred,” he hummed, his hands skimming past your lower back.
“JJ,” you warn and he lifts his head to give you an innocent look. “Don’t start, alright? You’ll just make things harder.”
It was a poor choice of words, and you knew that the second you saw the smirk form on his lips. “I know one thing that’s already hard,”
You scoff and push him away with a laugh. “That’s your own fault,” you shrug again and begin walking away from him.
“My fault?” He muttered as he followed after you. “You come out wearing the hottest dress I’ve ever seen and it’s my fault for reacting to it?”
“Yes,” you answer, stepping outside into the cool summer air. It was deathly hot earlier, but thankfully it had cooled down pretty significantly now that it was nearing the evening. “You just had to go ahead and touch me when you knew we need to leave soon.”
“I won’t apologize for that,” he shrugged just as John B pulled up in The Twinkie.
“You’ll just have to deal with it,” you mumble as Pope opens the back door for you.
JJ muttered something under his breath, then he was getting into the van as well and sitting extremely close to you. “Everything okay back there?” Kie asked when she turned around from her place in the passenger seat and saw just how squished you were between Pope and JJ.
“Yeah, Kie,” your boyfriend replied, reaching around you to push on Pope’s shoulder. He took the hint and moved to sit across from you instead, and you glared at JJ.
“That was rude,” you whisper, gently nudging his side with your elbow. “He was keeping me company.”
JJ leaned in close so his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m all the company you need,” he murmured and you froze for a second and had to hold back a surprised moan. “And you look fucking hot in this dress. I can’t wait to take it off you at the party.”
You actually did whimper as you turned to gaze up at him with wide eyes, and he just smirked at you as Kie let out a laugh of disbelief. “Guys, are we seriously going to the fucking Cameron’s for a dinner party?”
John B looked over at her as he turned left down the street that leads to the fancier part of town. “Hey, Sarah really wants us to come. I promised her we would be there,” he defended his girlfriend. “And you can’t lie and tell me that you haven’t been actually getting along with her.”
“Sarah’s fine,” Kie mumbled. “The rest aren’t.”
“Give them a chance, Kie,” Pope said from his place behind her. “We gave Y/n a chance, and now she’s one of us. Richer than all of us combined, but still one of us.”
JJ lifted his head from where it was against your neck and glared at his friend. “Shut up, Pope,” he grunted, pulling you tighter against his side. “Y/n was never like that. She never gave us a reason to not like her.”
You smile at him and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, one that had him fighting off a grin as he turned to his left and reached around the driver’s seat to grab John B’s shoulder.
“Unlike this one, who is dating the girl who cost him his job with her dad,” he added and John B flipped him off through the rearview mirror.
“Sarah’s not like that, either,”
“Whatever you say,” JJ laughed, leaning back and looking down at you with poorly hidden lust in his eyes.
You had to keep your eyes off him for the rest of the ride, otherwise you were sure you would end up doing something indecent to him in front of your friends.
When you arrived at Sarah’s house, she ran out and greeted you all before kissing John B and tugging him inside. Pope scoffed as he watched the two disappear inside the massive house, “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll just find our own way around your giant fucking mansion,”
Kie laughed and shoved him a bit as the two of them walked through the double doors, leaving you and JJ outside. He turned to you with a pleading look, his hand reaching for yours. “We can still go back,” he tempted you by wiggling his brows. “I can think of many things that are a lot more fun than sitting down with a bunch of Kooks for three hours.”
You roll your eyes and take his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Come on, party boy,” you laughed as you pulled him with you. “You can make it through a few hours.”
JJ groaned but followed after you. “Alright, but I’m telling you right now, I won’t be able to take my hands off you when we’re at the table,”
You blushed and tried pulling your hand out of his, but he just pulled you closer then wrapped his arm around your waist. Pope, who was standing in the entryway of the dining room must’ve heard JJ’s dirty promise, as he snorted before saying, “Might not be able to live up to that, JJ,”
JJ furrowed his brows then looked over Pope’s shoulder. “No way,”
John B was sitting across the table from Sarah, Rafe, who looked hilariously miserable, was sitting across from Wheezie, and Ward was sitting across from Rose. “Oh,” you trailed off, watching as John B and Sarah practically eye fucked each other. “Guys sit across from the girls..?” You asked, earning a tight nod from Rose before she downed whatever was in her glass. She clearly didn’t want to be here either, and it was her own house.
“Y/n,” Ward greeted with a charming smile that faded when he looked to your left and at your boyfriend. “JJ…welcome. Come on in, have a seat.”
JJ turned to you with a look of warning in his eyes. “Let’s go,” he mumbled. “I’m serious.”
You bit back a laugh and quickly escaped his hold in order to sit next to Kie. Pope sighed before sitting across from her, leaving JJ to sit in between him and Rafe.
“Fuck,” he muttered, knowing damn well that he would only ever do something like this for you and you only. With a barely hidden eye roll, he sits next to Rafe and Pope, refusing to acknowledge the Kook next to him as he looks at you from across the table. “This is fucked.” He mouthed to you just as Ward stood up.
You held back a laugh as you broke eye contact in order to pay attention to the man you were sure Sarah begged to let her organize this whole thing. “I just want to thank you all for coming. I know things have been tense lately, but I think this is a great opportunity for us all to get to know each other. It’s always nice to know who my little girl is hanging around with these days,” he nodded at Sarah who just smiled at him. “With that being said, enjoy the food, everyone.”
With the ice being broken, you watched as almost everyone began picking at the food on their plates. Everyone except JJ, who just braced his elbows on the table and stared at you. You nodded towards his plate, but he shook his head. “This is torture,” he mouthed and you softly glared at him.
“Eat,” you mouthed back, your eyes flickering between his and his plate. “What is your issue?”
“I can’t touch you,” he mouthed a little too audibly, earning a glare from Rafe that JJ promptly ignored.
You gave him a pointed look, and when he still made no move to pick up his fork, you gently kicked his leg under the table. He jumped slightly, his eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe you actually just did that, then he huffed defeatedly and grabbed his fork.
You smile then pucker your lips at him, laughing at the way he rolled his eyes but let a small grin form on his face.
Soon enough everyone was having their own little conversations, and it was going surprisingly okay, but despite your best efforts, you were getting bored. You could tell that JJ was, too, as he grabbed his glass and spun the liquid around instead of actually drinking it.
When Ward announced that he was going to go get dessert, an idea formed in your head and you smirked. You lean back in your chair and kick your heels off from under the table, then you extend your leg out until your foot grazes JJ’s knee. Your smirk grew when he jumped again, nearly spilling his drink as he registered that it was you who was touching him.
He met your eyes with a look of warning, but you ignored it. Just as Ward came back with two trays of cake and pie, you slid your foot higher until it was trailing along JJ’s thigh, and his knees hit the underside of the table as he reached under and grabbed hold of your ankle. “Y/n,” he muttered, ignoring the many sets of eyes on him at the loud noise. “Come with me.”
Your smirk faded as he gently pushed your leg away from him then stood up, and you had to hold back a moan at the dangerous look in his eyes. “Why?” You managed to ask as Ward set the trays down onto the table.
“Now,” was the answer you were given, then JJ looked over at Ward. “You don’t mind if we’re excused for a few minutes, do you?”
He really wasn’t asking, and Ward knew that as he nodded and sat back down. “Not at all, take your time,” he was honestly probably happy to have you and JJ leave, even if just for a little while.
JJ turned back to you then made a beeline for the doorway, and you were left to quickly stand up and follow after him on shaky legs. “Sorry, we…we forgot..something,” you make up the worst excuse of your life before fleeing the room in search of your riled up boyfriend.
You hadn’t even made it halfway down the hallway before a hand wrapped around your wrist and you were pulled towards JJ’s chest. “You got some nerve, you know that?” He asked and before you could say a word, he pressed his lips to yours and effectively shut you up. You whined against his mouth when he deepened the kiss, then he pulled away and left you craving more. JJ hummed as he lifted his hand and tugged at your bottom lip. “What do you say, baby? Why don’t we explore this house a bit?”
Nodding and in a daze, he takes your hand in his and pulls you along with him as he heads towards the staircase. He let out a low whistle as you and he ascended the stairs, and you were breathless, too, but for a different reason.
“Look at this fucking place,” he grunted, glancing at you as you and he reached the second floor. “Look at all these empty rooms.”
You swallow hard as he grabs your hips and pushes you against a wall. “JJ,” you whisper and he smirks before leaning down and kissing you. Your arms wrap around his neck as you moan into the kiss, just as needy as he is even though you were better at hiding it. “Are we really doing this?”
JJ pulled away and took your hand again. “Oh yeah, we’re doing this,” he answered and you gave him a wide eyed look that he scoffed at. “Don’t give me that look, you’re the one who decided to tease me under the table.”
Your eyes widened as he opened a random door and pulled you in with him. “My heels, Jay,” you gasp. “They’re still down there. Oh, my God, that makes it so obvious as to what we’re doing.”
JJ raised a brow. “Baby, I think it was obvious from the second we left that table,” he laughed then turned to observe the room he chose. “Jesus, even the bathrooms are massive.”
You huff out a quiet laugh and start to walk around him to observe the room yourself, but you don’t get very far before JJ wraps his arms around you and pulls you back to him. You stumble a bit but then are lifted up and set on the marble countertop next to the sink. “You’re impatient,” you tease, running your hands along his shoulders.
“Can you blame me?” He asked, leaning in and kissing your neck. “You look so hot, baby.”
You whimper at his words, tugging on his shirt. “JJ,”
“I know,” he groaned, lifting you up effortlessly and sliding your panties down your legs. “Baby, I love you, but if you ever make me go to another dinner party with a bunch of fucking Kook’s, I might never speak to you again.”
His threat was empty and it had you laughing before you cut yourself off with a moan as he sunk to his knees and wrapped his lips around your clit. His hands pushed your sinful dress up until it pooled around your waist, and you reached out to grab hold of his hair. “Oh, fuck,” you bite your lip and looked cautiously at the closed door.
You’d been secretly turned on since the second you saw JJ dressed in his take on a formal outfit, and that much was clear as his tongue poked out to run along your already soaked slit. JJ hummed at the feeling of your wetness coating his taste buds, “I knew you needed this just as much as I did,”
Your face heats up as you place your other hand flat on the counter behind you. “You dressed yourself, you know how good you look, Jay,”
He laughed, pulling away as he tugged your body closer to the edge of the counter. JJ pressed his cheek against your knee as he stared up at you, sliding one of his hands up your thigh until his fingers were ghosting over your core. “You want me to get you off on my tongue, baby? Or do you want the real thing?”
You bite your lip as his index and middle fingers slip into you. “I want,” you trial off, wanting him to make you come more than once during this little sneak off from the party, but you also didn’t want to ditch them for too long. You whine as you pull him so he is standing up, and you tug him towards you while reaching down to grope him through his pants. “I want this.”
JJ smirked, kissing you deeply as he pushed your dress down and palmed your breasts in his much bigger hands. You moan into the kiss as you unzip his dress pants and push them and his boxers down just enough to free his hard cock. He slipped his tongue into your mouth as you guided his tip up and down your soaked folds, and you shared a groan at the feeling.
“Please,” you begged, tugging at the buttons on his shirt until the top of his chest was exposed. “Please, Jay.” You knew how much he loved when you begged him, and it had the reaction you knew it would, which was a quick thrust of his hips until he was buried deep within you.
JJ groaned loudly, knowing damn well how massive this house was and that there was no way anyone would be able to hear you. “Fuck,” he grunted, grabbing your hip with one hand while his other squeezes at your chest. His thumb and index finger pinch and tug at your nipple until it’s impossibly tight, then he leans down and does the same thing to the other, but this time with his lips and tongue.
You jolt and kick the lower cabinet by accident, but neither of you care about the loud noise you just made as you let the lust take over. “Oh, my God,” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist as he begins to fuck into you. “Fuck.”
JJ sucked in a breath through his teeth as your walls tightly gripped him, inviting him in deeper and deeper with every thrust of his hips. You felt so good, and he knew that, which is why he couldn’t wait until he got you back to your house after the party to do this. He probably would’ve come in his pants if he had to wait that long.
With that being said, there is no way he is lasting long now. Not with the way you clung onto him as he fucked you, and the way your saliva coated chest brushed against his.
You were already a moaning mess as he trailed his hand down and began rubbing circles onto your clit, and the new pressure only made you louder. JJ would proudly admit if you asked him that he loved the way you sounded for him, and loved how you weren’t afraid to get vocal at times like this.
“Jesus, Jay,” you whimpered, biting down on your puffy lip that was swollen from his harsh kisses. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, the other tangling in his blond hair as he fucked you hard and fast. Usually he liked to take his time with you and really worship your body for as long as he could, but this had to be quicker than normal for obvious reasons.
“I know,” he grunted, pinching and pulling at your clit as he worked you open. He watched as he became more and more coated in your arousal with each thrust, and his jaw locked when you tilted your head back and pressed your chest against his. You looked so fucked out and hot, he was still in shock that he somehow managed to get you to agree to be his. “I know.”
“Fuck,” you nearly, cried, pressing your heels against his lower back and letting the sides of your thighs rest on the cool marble of the counter. It gave him the best view of your dripping core and it took a lot out of JJ to not come right then and there.
“Fuck, Y/n,” he rasped, fucking into you even harder than before, determined to make you come first. “Tell me you’re close, baby.”
You whimper, lifting your head and kissing him deeply. “I’m close, Jay,”
“Thank fuck,” he huffed, earning a soft laugh from you as you tensed up. “Come for me, baby. Come on me.”
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned loudly, bracing yourself on shaky arms as you coated his cock in your release. “Fuck…fuck.”
The added wetness and the way you were still clenching around him was all JJ needed as he came deep within your throbbing and pulsing walls, a deep grunt leaving the back of his throat. “God, Y/n,” he breathed out as he stilled inside you, watching with squinted eyes as you push yourself up and grin at him. “The things you do to me.”
You laugh as he leans down to kiss the tops of your breasts before pulling your dress back up. “I don’t want to go back downstairs now,” you blushed under his intense gaze, taking it upon yourself to button his shirt back up. “That was too good.”
It was always good with him, and he knew that, which is why he strived to give it to you better each time. “We could always just sneak out a window, steal The Twinkie and go back to your place,” he suggested as he slowly pulled out of you.
You watched with parted lips as he grabbed your panties and shoved them into his pocket, then he zipped his pants up with a smirk. “But that pie Ward brought out looked really good,” you pouted and JJ laughed, walking back over to you and tugging at your lip.
“Fine, we’ll stay for pie,” he stated, lifting you off the counter. He leaned down to press a final kiss to your mouth, smiling at you when he pulled away and took your hand in his. “Then I’m taking you home.”
Redamancy • (noun) The act of loving someone who loves you; a love returned in full.
Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?
“Mmm baby you feel so wet and tight. All for me huh?” Charles asked while his hands were wrapped around your neck making you choke on your breath. “Y-yes yes all f-for you!” You said almost crying out in pleasure. Your right leg was resting on his piano while he was fucking you from behind. Spanking your ass once in a while to snap you back to reality. “How are you so perfect baby? So fucking perfect” he whispered in your ear.
“Ahh charles baby im gonna cum! Im gonna cum!” You screamed tears dropping down your cheeks. “Yeah baby? Cum for me” he said groaning in your ear. You came as felt like you were gonna fall but he held you close to him. “Such a perfect little baby. My perfect baby” he said as he kissed your neck. You then smiled and got on your knees since Charles didn’t get to cum and he knew instantly what was on your mind as you opened your mouth for him as he filled your mouth with his dick. “Be nice and good. Okay baby?” Charles asked caressing your cheek as you nodded.
A/N: requests are open! feel free to ask what you want me to write! luv you ❤️
summary - cute and (hopefully) short moments in arthur and reader’s relationship written in headcannons
a/n - tada! another one, to be honest they’re short and fun to write especially when i need to post something
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
baby pictures-
~oh my god Pascale would be your best friend
~i imagine her whipping out like a dozen family albums and like one of them just full of just being pictures of baby Arthur
~he is so baby
~i think you and Pascale would just sit there for a couple hours with tea or hot chocolate and she would explain every detail of every picture
~and then eventually he would come home to find his mother and girlfriend on the couch looking at his baby pictures
~i think he would start screaming his little head off at first and then he would get really cocky (as usual) and be all like, ‘yeah i was a really cute baby wasn’t i’
hugs and kisses-
~ugh this man would be so whipped
~i feel like the whole fic universe and booktok all are absolutely crazy about the whole hugging their waist from behind
~early morning kisses, kisses before he leaves for a race, kisses after races, kisses before bed
~i can imagine at Christmas when you’re with Arthur’s family and the two of you are just on the couch cuddling the the whole time and Charles and Lorenzo are just like stop while Pascale keeps laughing and taking pictures
~ugh i see too much fluff
~have y’all seen that one picture i’ll put it down below at the end
playing with their hair-
~whether you have curly hair, straight hair, wavy hair, i’m pretty sure that Arthur is obsessed with your hair
~like just playing with it while you’re cuddling and watching a movie or while your in bed and you have just woken up
~this is actually such a cute idea for anyone to be honest
~i also think that he would try to lean his to braid and then eventually more complicated styles like fishtail or Dutch
~i think it would be equally cute if you played with his hair once in a while
beach days-
~uh, what happened to matching bathing suits
~okay okay, besides all that i think the two of you would have a beach day when you’re on vacation or you’re Monaco for something
~maybe you would go with Charles and Lorenzo and their girlfriends or maybe the two of you would go by yourselves
~you think the two of you would help each other out on sunscreen in areas you can’t reach and definitely some areas that are meant to tease each other
~maybe a little quick kiss here and there
~omg maybe the really cute picnic basket with the whole checkered blanket
Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.
Word Count: 10.1k
Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.
Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.
PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'
Charles Leclerc is a husband.
At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.
That so happened to be you.
You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition.
It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.
A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.
The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week.
A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection.
The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration.
Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days?
Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it.
Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home.
The third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door.
He had come back to the house.
His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation.
With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage.
Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery.
“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television.
“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get.
Charles Leclerc is an actor.
The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions.
You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual.
The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later.
Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves.
You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.
Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him.
Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan.
It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile.
He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment.
You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist.
“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.”
The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child.
The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari.
The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions.
Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago.
He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.
You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter.
“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection.
“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you.
“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.”
“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you.
You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.
“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely.
Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser.
It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment.
You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you.
But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment.
The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home.
His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth.
Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs.
The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.
Charles Leclerc is a slow replier.
The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend.
No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life.
Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion.
The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment.
Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.
Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles.
The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew.
The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter.
Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city.
“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel.
As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp.
The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him.
“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in.
“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage.
Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival.
03:21: Charles Leclerc
Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?
Charles Leclerc is a traveller.
You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning.
It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company.
You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-
“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care.
They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home.
You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.
“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.
“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.
He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment.
“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?
Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes.
The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning.
03:45: Carlos Sainz
Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please.
11:51: Carlos Sainz
Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?
His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.
You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning.
12:25: You
Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening.
12:28: Carlos Sainz
All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today.
The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.
It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.
21:03: Carlos Sainz
Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.
Charles Leclerc is a stalker.
Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it?
He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house.
There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-
“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite.
He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun.
The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing.
23:54: Charles Leclerc
Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.
You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married.
The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you.
“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side.
“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist.
Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember.
If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you.
Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter.
His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.
However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty.
Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt.
His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message.
His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone.
Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case.
It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line.
“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger.
At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.
“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack.
“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-
“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet.
“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired.
“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut.
Charles Leclerc is an investigator.
When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on?
His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to.
“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?”
The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information.
Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay.
Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband.
The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.
10:09: Charles Leclerc
We need to talk.
Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.
The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.
Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position.
You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you.
The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband.
You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries.
There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate.
23:05: Carlos Sainz
Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all.
23:31: You
Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello.
You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.
00:24: Charles Leclerc
I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it.
Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear.
“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?
“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long.
“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.
“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are.
“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand.
He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response.
“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay.
“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity.
“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in.
“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.
Charles Leclerc is your husband.
Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line.
Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition.
Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort.
Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands.
He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport.
Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what.
The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything.
The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?
You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago.
Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have.
Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.
They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long?
And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head.
You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it.
Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen.
Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find.
just wanted to admit that your recent work is amazing. I feel kinda bad for asking this but could you please write more dark smut for any driver of your choice. You would be a life saver if you could. 🥹
Leaked || L.N
A.n: I have gotten so many good dark asks, very suprise how many lol. When you request though can you please go into a bit more detail please <3
Warnings- smut, dark Lando, hand over mouth, forced orgasm, choking
“ this should stop Lando, especially after getting leaked” you say quietly to Lando who looked at you unreadable. You and Lando were fuck buddies per say but someone leaked a photo of you two kissing and to save lando reputation you have to fake date.
You didn’t like this arrangement, Ever since you got cheated on you only ever had one night stands no strings attached never wanting to fall in love again. Lando however is a different story, when he met you at the club for the first time he was hooked. He was convinced you two belong together however your want for no strings attached was blocking his way to have you fully be his.
“ no yn, I didn’t go out of my way to leak our photos just for us to stop—“ Lando eyes widen shutting his mouth close. You look at him in disbelief he leaked the photos? That asshole.
So he paid a photographer to take a photo of you two kissing and released it to the press, so you have no choice but to fake date him. It’s real in his head though.
“ you are suck a dick” you shouted at him, you head to the door having to get out of the hotel room you and Lando were in since it’s race weekend. You gasp feeling yourself getting pushed into the door you were about to open. “ Lando what the hell” you screech, you eyed him in fear seeing how wild and black his eyes were.
He looks crazy right now staring at you like you were his prey pinning you to the door in a bruising grip, you whimper in fear when he gripped your neck tightly, “ the first time I met you, I knew we belonged together my darling, but you were just two afraid of commitment that I had to do something about it” he whispers lovingly like he wasn’t choking you, you writhed in his grip making Lando come back to his senses.
“ love, I’m so sorry” Lando looked at looking heartbroken at the bright red hand marks around your neck watching you greedily take in air. After feeling like you weren’t going to pass out and seeing Lando in a state you rip open the door.
“ help!” You scream, running down the hall hoping someone comes out. You scream again getting picked up, lando’s familiar veining hand over your mouth stopping you for yelling. He drops you in a near by closet seeing as he didn’t have enough time to bring you back to his room hearing people coming out to see what the sound was.
“ sh, sh your already been a bad girl, what happen to my good girl ?” He said into your ear kissing the shell of it, “ oh baby, don’t cry, shh” he shushes, hearing your muffled cry and feeling your salty tears run down his hand. He pouts sadly.
After hearing no more noise outside he peeks his head out checking to see no one’s there, seeing there’s nobody he picks you up making sure his hand is still covering your mouth. Not trusting you that you won’t scream again.
Getting to his hotel room he locks the door, after making sure you can’t get out he sits on the bed laying your squirming body over his lap so your back lays over his thighs. He places one hand on the back of your head so the blood doing rush to your brain and the other hand was quickly undressing the bottom half of you.
You being so exhausted and an emotional wreck from the last 30 mins, “ shit baby, I’ve miss this pretty little pussy so much” he cups it making you sob more. “ this pretty little Pussy is mine” he presses his hand harder against you making you whimper. “ your heart, your body, even your fucking soul is mine, I own you” he harshly says.
Without any warning he slips three of his fingers in your now wet pussy from him rubbing it. A tiny moan slips through your pouty pink lips. “ you like that don’t you, my pretty baby” he leans down ghosting his lips against your fingering you deeper. He smiles against your lips kissing you fevishly, you were just so pretty, especially like this. Vulnerable and a moaning mess in his lap.
“ Lando n—o” you whine knowing your about to cum, “ shut up and take it” he sneers lifting his head so he can see your dripping puffy pussy. He speeds up fucking his fingers into at an inhuman pace, you sobs and moans colliding together. “ you about to cum aren’t you pretty girl ? Cum. Cum for me” he orders, making something in you collapsed cumming hard that you see black dots in your vision.
Hiccuping you shiver from the intensity of the orgasm the man you wished you never met gave you, looking up at him hazily you see him smiling at you caressing the back of your head. Your eyes close completely drained from all that just happened. “ finally mine, all just mine” Lando says watching your rigid sleeping body that’s limp in his lap with a crazy smile playing on his lips.
currently down under in the formula one pit of despair 💅🏼
— all writing below the cut
hey i'm cate (she/her) and i'm an f1 writer (when inspiration strikes) so if you're into cute boys who drive cars, stick around because we have fun around here x
writing
18+ only^, with peace and love.
suggestions are closed
— writing for daniel, lando, carlos and charles (f1)
(sorted by driver & most recent)
daniel ricciardo
one shots ~
it's impossible to win [new!]
one of my kind ^
down under ^
say yes to life ^
the best man ^
strawberries and cream ^
there when you call ^
unless you like that ^
lights up
red desert
blurbs ~
on our side
birthday boy ^
"i thought you’d at least ask me to be your valentine…”
"you sent me naked pictures!"
charles leclerc
one shots ~
itch ^
— parlez-vous français? (sequel to itch)
ruin the friendship ^
when we first met
lando norris
one shots ~
lost in japan ^
series ~
the good, the bad and what could've been
a three-part series (completed) ^
blurbs ~
do i look like i'm joking? ^
carlos sainz
one shots ~
not in the mood ^
"i'm not jealous, you're just mine" ^
pierre gasly
one shots ~
drive me crazy ^
tags
#monzamashmasterlist for all of my work so far
#mmficrec for fic recommendations
ask box is always open #monzamail
"the line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it."
lando norris x you (femreader) | 2.1k
rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language, drug references)
masterlist
The media pen was mayhem after what had been an eventful morning on track. Cameras hoisted every which way, journalists vying for their chance to get front row. And then there was you; little old you trying your best to muscle into every nook and cranny available, wrestling with the big boys and girls. You were a bit of a hot shot now, rising through the ranks online as a media personality and bringing it to the stalwarts of mainstream media.
And you were good – really good. An exceptional storyteller and an extractor of sorts when it came to getting the scoop, something you had honed in on during your days working freelance before eventually realising your potential. Somehow, you’d made it here. Reporting for Sky Sports. Coming to you live from Monaco. Dream shit.
“Lando Norris…” You started, microphone locked and loaded in front of the sweaty, nonchalant McLaren driver.
“Felt like you left a little bit out on track in practice this morning. P10 – where do you think you can get the car in qualifying this afternoon?”
“P1 obviously,” Lando quipped, chewing through his comically large drinking straw in an attempt to hide his smirk. Mocking.
“Yeah?”
“What do you reckon?” He asked, leaning forward ever so slightly with a mischievous glint in his eye that had you rolling yours.
You shrugged, “Wouldn’t count the McLaren car out, that’s for sure.”
“The car and…” Lando smirk widened, lips still pursed and baiting.
“The driver too? Maybe?” Dickhead.
“Maybe that too…” You gave in with a sigh, eliciting a wide smile from the man standing in front of a gaggle of reporters, waiting for your next question with snickering expressions.
“So high expectations going into quali then?”
It had always been like this with Lando from the moment you stuck your little hand held recorder in his face at Bahrain last year to now. He knew he could wind you up and find levity in whatever situation he found himself in at the end of a session – good or bad. It was always a friendly back and forth between journalist and driver. Harmless banter to make the monotony of the media pen just that little bit more bearable. Professional, until it wasn’t.
“The flirting is getting out of hand,” You whispered into his kiss, teeth clashing, hands fumbling as you fell back on your hotel bed with a huff.
“But you look so fucking cute asking me questions like that,” He growled in retort, hands making quick work of the jeans clinging to your hips – the ones that had been taunting him all day.
Everywhere he turned he saw you swaying from side to side, aching to have this moment with you now.
“Well duh,” You quipped confidently, eyes fluttering shut as his feverish lips ghosted above the damp patch of excitement between your thighs. Focus.
“But it has to stop.”
“Oh you want me to stop right now?”
“I’m not talking about…” You stopped mid-sentence when you caught the mischievous glimmer in Lando’s eyes, lips pulled into a smirk, “Okay, fuck you.”
“You love it,” He breathed out in barely a whisper, leaving a trail of marks down the inside of your thigh before finally giving you what you were waiting for.
“And don’t pretend like the thought of me going down on you when you’re asking me those silly little questions doesn’t turn you on.”
Well he fucking had you there.
Lando punctuated his point with a long, teasing stripe to your cunt before burying myself between your thighs, only coming up for air when you tugged on his curls and demanded a kiss. He knew how you were, how needy and insatiable you could be. This was a thing now; a god forsaken mistake in Abu Dhabi that had turned into a runaway train. Neither of you could stop it.
“I can’t live without this.”
The desperation spilled from your mouth in a guttural moan as you titled you hips upwards and let the twisted knots in the depths of your stomach unravel. The sight of you thrashing in pleasure below knocked the wind out of Lando, eyes and mind focused solely on fucking you through your high so perfectly, fingers bruising the buttery flesh of your thighs.
“God – fuck…” He could barely breathe, “Don’t – you don’t have to.”
And with one last pump, he was coming into the condom he’d slipped on without you even knowing. It was second-hand now, muscle memory and so fucking good. But it didn’t start that way – no, it was awkward goodbyes and a cold ‘thanks for that’ which made you regret ever answering your hotel door. The situation had changed in the blink of an eye – now he was lingering, kissing you in places that had you melting into the mussed sheets and begging him to stay a little bit longer.
It was pathetic how reliant you’d become and how distant you could be when he had to leave. The leaving part was the thing that changed and had you questioning all of it. It used to be that you could go shower and come back to an empty bed and not even flinch. Four months of he is just a causal fuck, no hard feelings to now not being so stoic on that sentiment but you wouldn’t admit that. Not to yourself and especially not to the man peering down at you – all lazy smiles and dimples and ocean eyes. You were fucked.
“I gotta go,” Lando whispered, brushing the stray strands of hair from your flushed face, pout present and needy.
“You don’t really though.”
“If I don’t go now I’ll never leave.”
The little voice in your head was monologuing – screaming out all of the reasons why he should stay because maybe deep down that’s what you wanted. But you couldn’t have that. The line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it. It was the devil on your shoulder that tormented you when it came to Lando, pushing the boundaries more and more every time you had him in your clutches. Risking it all.
“Kiss me before you go.”
And he did. Passionately, like a man in love because maybe he was. Maybe he had been for a lot longer than he’d realised – somewhere between Miami and now he let his guard down too far, too soon. You were flawless though, unattainably perfect that he couldn’t be blamed for falling victim to your allure – sharp eyes following you around the paddock, wishing he was the little notebook in your back pocket that garnered all your attention on race weekends.
“See you tomorrow?”
“If you’re lucky,” Lando quipped, knowing he would be the one curled up in his cold, lonely bed for the rest of the night waiting impatiently for tomorrow.
In any other circumstance you would think the two of you were like magnets, drawn together amongst the travelling circus that was your workplace. But you had a job to do and that was to seek out drivers and team principals, digging deep for any story you could find. There was a trust that you’d built with the teams, all of them respected your work and knew that you weren’t malicious; in fact you were the opposite.
“I really appreciate you not writing about my drunkenness last weekend… It wasn’t my finest moment unfortunately.”
Oscar was a rookie driver but also a total sweetheart, who admittedly had found himself in a precarious late night adventure in a Miami nightclub post-grand prix. How he ended up that drunk, you had no idea but you saved him from himself with the help of Lando, who Oscar would’ve thought was suspiciously close by if he wasn’t black out drunk.
“I got you, buddy but I think your Australian citizenship might have to be revoked after an effort like that… Very disappointing,” You teased in jest, both smiling into the blistering Monacan sun as you walked side by side into the paddock.
“I woke up with an L on my forehead which I can only assume Lando put there so I think my ego’s bruised enough thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah,” You cringed, “That might’ve been my eyeliner.”
“Is that right…”
Oscar’s tone was laced with suspicion but before he could quiz you on why you were still there that night and that he had started to notice the budding friendship between you and his teammate, he was being whisked away by one of his McLaren publicists. You were thankful that they'd taken his curious questions away – how the tables had turned.
Lando was watching you wander through the paddock behind his dark sunglasses, as had been the trend all weekend. Every time you glanced around he was there, wondering if he could sneak over and say hello. Sure, you were friends with a few of the drivers outside of work but when you stepped over that white line, the barriers of professionalism came up again. They had to, otherwise you would end up in a situation like this – gawking at someone you shouldn’t be.
But god he looked good.
He wore what he knew was your biggest weakness – a backwards cap and the black denim jacket he slung over your shoulders on that dark, stormy night in London a few weeks ago when Imola was cancelled and you needed a fix. Hotel hook-ups only. And all of this had you asking yourself, how on earth could you deny a good morning from the man who was the subject of your every desire?
“Good morning.”
“Well it’s not a bad one,” You smiled, more energised than Lando who was yawning into the crook of his arm, “Late night?”
He loved it when you did that. Sneaking little inside jokes into seemingly innocent conversation, naughty reminders of the nights you shared together when nobody was watching. The cheeky grin tugging on his lips a definite tell-tale that he enjoyed it – the tells getting easier and easier to spot the more you got to know him. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought that maybe he was into this as much as you. Little did you know.
“Yeah just squeezed in a late cardio sesh – you know how it is…”
A soft ahh slipped from your smirking lips, eyes trained on your path ahead as Lando strolled alongside, “What’s on the agenda today?”
You shrugged, half out of genuine cluelessness and the other half deflecting how nervous you were. Working in the media was your dream but walking through the hallowed halls of a sport you had loved for your entire life and that dream coming true made your stomach churn with every emotion under the sun. Especially in Monaco.
“You nervous?” Lando asked quietly, shaking you from your thoughts and panicked that you were talking out loud.
“Huh? Oh…” You waved him off and chuckled, “No – I mean, yeah but I always feel like this on race morning… But obviously you’re probably a lot more nervous than me so it’s nothing…” You were a stuttering mess and all Lando wanted to do was reach out and give you a hug.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was your little secret, a delicious secret that only the two of you knew and he didn’t want to ruin that. Instead, he dug his hands into his jean pockets a little deeper and gave you a reassuring nudge. Shoulder to shoulder, the same way you laid together the night before after what could only be described as the best sex of your life. Lives.
“My mum always said that nerves mean you care,” Lando’s voice was lower than before – a seriousness taking over, “You’ll do great, as always.”
“Thank you,” You matched his tone, “Hopefully I’m interviewing Lando Norris, Monaco Grand Prix winner…”
That’s all you really wanted deep down. Not the breaking story of the weekend or the drama surrounding contract talks at Red Bull. Just for the guy you had grown profoundly fond of to have some semblance of good luck for once. He’d worked hard for it, you’d seen it first hand and you’d seen the heartbreak when things weren’t going his way. Alas, that was what started this whole situation – frustrated post-race sex. Chef’s kiss.
Lando simply rolled his eyes and sighed loudly before leaning in a tiny bit closer than what you considered a safe workplace distance, “Kiss for good luck then?”
“Get the fuck out of here!” You laughed, kicking his calf with your platform boot as his infectious cackle of a laugh echoed through the growing crowd.
You watched him disappear somewhere between the motorhomes, searching for his team. The lingering feeling in your stomach made you slightly nauseous and a little excited for the next run-in with him. It was like a game of cat and mouse and you weren’t sure who was who but you liked it. More than you wanted to admit because he was Lando fucking Norris – f1's most eligible bachelor, the naughty boy from Bristol, all curls and dimples and undeniable charm. You couldn't help but wonder how many others he had wrapped around his finger like you.
He's just a casual fuck, you mumbled under your breath as you flicked open your notebook and got to work.
daniel ricciardo x verstappen!reader [6.5k]
summary: max comes for a visit before the race in monza and he fails to mention that he'd invited daniel along.
warnings: 18+ explicit smut, verstappen!reader, explicit language.
a/n: not me writing this during my 12hr shift lmfao i hope it's somewhat enjoyable to read. as always, feedback is v much appreciated. love you all 🤍
The first time you saw Daniel, was when he’d been clad in orange at the paddock in Bahrain. It wasn’t so much as your eyes being drawn to him automatically, but more so his laughter. You still remembered where you stood with Max and his girlfriend, offering words of support to your brother before qualifiers. Your eyes had solely been on him, but they’d immediately glanced around at sound of the big belly laugh from across the paddock, drawn like a moth to a flame.
It wasn’t hard to match the laughter to the smiling face, watching with mild interest as he messed around with Lando; slapping him between the legs and dodging the punches the British boy dished out in retaliation. He looked fun, carefree, bearing absolutely no tension or nerves that half the grid did for the upcoming race.
Daniel was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. The sheer charm radiating off of him had your interest piqued immediately, and pairing that with the forbidden fruit feeling, you were hooked. There had never been any real desire to break the unspoken rule of you dating your brother’s friends and colleagues, but it was easy to imagine stepping over that line when you’d watched the tall Australian.
No words were exchanged, but you did get glances and friendly smiles whenever you passed each other. Your best friend received the brunt of your inner thoughts, texting her like a madman of the tall glass of water on the grid.
When Max won, you’d gone back to the hotel and had a few drinks while you got ready for the after party, keeping Sofia - your friend - on the line. She’d somehow convinced you to follow him on Instagram, which you did, and you’d tried not to overthink it when he’d sent you a follow request back a few minutes later.
If liking pictures was flirting, then you were well on the right track.
You’d only ever gotten glimpses of him whenever you did end up tagging along to races, but the first time you actually met him was when Max showed up on your doorstep with Kelly, claiming that he missed his little sister and wanted to spend a few days with you before he was off to Monza. You didn't point out that you'd be right there with him in Italy, accepting his intrusion easily because despite it all, you missed him a whole lot.
What he’d failed to mention was that Daniel would be dropping by too, having invited him without checking with you. It usually wasn’t a problem, sometimes guys from the grid would show up with your brother and it was always a good time.
You really, really wished he’d mentioned it before you opened the door the morning after your brother’s arrival though, still in your very embarrassing pajamas and a toothbrush used and abandoned in your bathroom, fully expecting to see the delivery man on the other end. What you didn’t expect was the tall man who you’d silently been yearning for, looking way too good for someone who'd stepped off a plane.
“Hey.” He greeted you, shooting you a smile that made you blink owlishly. “Good morning.”
You frowned, opening your mouth to greet him but was pushed to the side by your idiot brother. There was a loud and silly exchange between the two men, like you weren’t standing right there with a big question mark on your face, and you watched in silence before Daniel’s gaze on you made Max turn around; like he’d forgotten you were there. In your own home.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you but I invited Daniel.” Max said and you refrained from glaring at him, giving the other man a kind smile instead. “It’s no problem, yeah?”
Killing your brother would have to wait.
“Hi, sorry, of course not.” You thrust your hand out for him to shake, which he did. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
You invited him in, closing the door and shooting your brother a glare when his friend wasn’t looking. He responded with a clueless frown of his own, eyes dropping to what you were wearing.
“What are you wearing?” He asked, yelping when you elbowed him a little too hard in the ribs. “And what do you have on your face?”
He reached a hand out to swipe at your cheek, rubbing off toothpaste and you watched in horror, wanting nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Thankfully, Max lead the way without another word, chatting with the Australian as he showed him to the room he’d presumably be staying in. You watched them round a corner before fleeing to the kitchen, finding Kelly by the stove, looking ten times more put together than you did. The whole place smelled like pancakes, and you almost lost your track of thoughts just by the sheer smell of them. But you were too wound up, a little upset and a whole lot embarrassed.
“What is he doing here?” You asked, careful to keep your voice hushed because you knew how well sound traveled through your house. “Why didn’t Max say anything!”
Kelly looked a little lost, like she wasn’t sure why you were as upset as you were. Which, fair, she didn’t know the absolute turmoil you’d experience whenever you caught sight of Daniel. It was embarrassing, how nervous the man made you. Like a teenaged girl with a crush on her brother's best friend.
“I thought he did.” She looked over her shoulder at you before plating a pancake with practiced ease. “He’s coming with us to the vineyard.”
You leaned against the counter, feeling a little miffed and she must’ve seen the look on your face because she smiled in amusement.
“You’re the one who complained about third wheeling when I booked the tour for us.”
She had a point, but you didn’t say it out loud. Instead, you plucked a cut up strawberry from a plate and turned around to go get ready before the boys came back. The giraffe pajamas had caused you enough embarrassment for a day. It was time for them to retire deep, deep in the back of the closet.
Breakfast was surprisingly pleasant, conversation flowing freely as you dug into your food. You’d forgotten how incredibly well your brother and Daniel fit together, bickering like siblings and taking friendly jabs at each other. Kelly shifted the conversation to the vineyard you’d be touring, talking about the kinds of wines they made and would have in the menu.
It was a beautiful day to spend outside, the Spanish sun shining brightly as you found your little group huddled around the entrance. It was a small group consisting of maybe fifteen people, and you looked around as Kelly and Max walked ahead of you.
“D’ya reckon we’ll get drunk off our asses?” Daniel asked and you gave the man an amused smile.
“I don’t think the samples are that big.” You frowned. “Right?”
“No clue.” He looked ahead as the two of you fell into step, presumably glancing at Max. “Do you like wine?”
You considered lying, but then you figured that it wouldn’t do much harm to just be honest so you shook your head in the negative.
“Absolutely hate it.” You let out a small giggle when Daniel laughed, bumping his arm against yours. “I’m sorry but it smells and tastes so bad!”
“It does the job, though, no?”
You smiled, opening your mouth to reply but Max cut in, yelling at you to hurry up and join them. The tour guide had appeared like magic, out of thin air, and he was standing to the side patiently. You eyed him suspiciously, turning to Kelly to ask her whether it was an English or Spanish tour, but then the man started speaking and your suspicion turned into sheer amusement.
“Why’s he speaking Spanish?” Max murmured quietly enough for only the three of you to hear.
“Because we’re in Spain, Max.” You answered him sarcastically, earning a snort from Daniel and an exasperated eye roll from your brother.
Kelly made a sound in her throat, sounding a lot like a warning to shut up like she did so many times whenever the two of you started bickering in public.
“I think I might’ve booked the wrong guide.” Kelly admitted sheepishly, quietly and you muffled a laugh behind your hand.
It was a funny thought, that she’d managed to choose a tour with a Spanish guide when only one out of the four of you could speak the language. The one being you. You knew it was only a matter of time before your brother would disassociate out of boredom, and you couldn’t wait to witness it.
“He’s telling us to follow him.” You murmured helpfully, referring to the guide and the group moved in tandem as everyone entered the vineyard.
The tour went as well as expected, watching with mild interest and confusion as you walked the fields, descending stairs to basements and getting to sip on samples of expensive wine in the dampness of old cellars.
You tried not to grimace too hard when you brought the glass to your lips, stomach roiling dangerously as you sipped. And it was only when you’d shuddered that you noticed Daniel watching and grinning across from you, catching you in the act.
At some point, you lost sight of Max and Kelly. You suspected that they’d broken out of the group and gone to the restaurant to sample more wines; like their lips weren’t already stained and Kelly wasn’t starting to get into that giggly mood she always got into when she’d had a little much to drink.
You and Daniel stuck together though, eventually wandering off and getting lost in the field of grapes and greens.
It was fun. More fun than you’d had in a while. You took silly pictures, talked and you forgot the time completely.
“I think Max is a little drunk.” You pointed out, holding your phone in your hand with the screen lit up by a text from the man himself.
You held out your phone so Daniel could read the text, watching how he threw his head back to laugh at the jumble of words he found there. Much like the texts he’d sometimes receive after bar crawls and night clubs.
where arew yoh?? This wind is amazing
??? Wind not wind
WINE
are yyu lost? do I nee f to call for help
“He’s trashed.” Daniel agreed.
You sent back a quick assurance that you were fine, pocketing your phone and looking up to find the man already looking at you. It sent a zip of awareness down your back and you looked away bashfully.
The sun had done a lot of good for him, his cheeks were gaining colour and had already started to freckle. It was pretty, and so, so endearing.
“So, are you excited for Monza?” You asked lightly, turning a corner in the hopes of finding the way back to the restaurant but it was another dead end.
The both of you kept walking though, figuring that you’d find your way back eventually. You just hoped it would be before it got dark outside. Max was drunk, but he’d send a search party out and you had no doubt about that.
“Oh yeah, I got it in the bag.” He said, playful, easy. So very attractive. “Max doesn’t stand a chance.”
You laughed, shoving him in the side and he stumbled with a cackle; regaining his footing easily.
"The most skillful driver out there." It wasn't a complete lie, Daniel was one of the good ones. He just needed a team that could keep up with his speed.
“I’m in the category of the more good looking drivers, actually.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” he puffs up his chest, lips getting sucked between his teeth in a poor effort to keep the massive smile off his face. “That’s what my mom said anyway.”
You let out a laugh, thinking of how utterly charming he was. It seemed to come naturally to him, and usually it’d intimidate you when that charm is paired with wildly good looks but he somehow managed to put you at ease.
It wasn’t difficult to see why Daniel was so popular and loved in and out of the grid. He made everyone feel like they were old childhood friends and that was a rare quality to possess.
“I’m starting to think that she lied, though.” He continued, like he hadn’t been staring at your smiling face for a beat too long.
You’d been staring too, though. He was too mesmerising.
“Why’s that?” You grinned, knowing that he’d say something that would reel you in completely, judging by the playful little shake of his head.
“Because you didn’t agree.” He laughed at your eyebrows jumping on your forehead. “You laughed too hard.”
“How do you know I wasn’t laughing out of agreement?” You narrowed your eyes a little playfully.
Daniel smiled, delighted that you were playing along and falling right into his little flirty traps. He couldn’t even remember why he was so nervous to talk to you in the first place.
But then you smiled at him, eyes glistening a little too prettily and it was like someone had knocked the breath out of him. So, he looked away and tried not to show how he’d suddenly felt like someone had pulled the rug right from underneath him.
Never mind that you were Max’s sister, knowing that there was some silent bro-code that he had to consider. It was hard when you had all the qualities he usually looked for in women. And not to mention how fucking attracted he was to you.
“So you do agree that I’m good looking.” He nodded, looking a little smug and you shook your head in amusement.
“Who doesn’t?” You asked, before you had any time to rethink the words coming out of your mouth.
He looked at you and you struggled to not break eye contact, even though your face was feeling a few degrees hotter. If he noticed your nerves, he didn’t say anything and you were eternally grateful for that.
“Well,” he sucked his teeth and tried not to look like his ego hadn’t tripled by that one comment. “ditto, sweetheart.”
The way he said it so casually almost made you stop in your tracks, heat creeping up your neck at the way the word sweetheart sounded on his tongue. You briefly wondered how it’d sound in other contexts.
The thought made your heart race and you quickly banished that thought, because what the fuck?
Daniel made a little sound and stopped walking, and you automatically looked up to notice that you’d finally found your way back. You laughed because somehow you’d accidentally circled around and ended up back where you started.
“Ready for some more wine?” Daniel asked jokingly, brushing his hand against yours and you resisted the urge to grab it.
It was easier to nod, words stuck in your throat as you made your way up the stairs to the restaurant.
It was night by the time you came stumbling back through the threshold of your house, Kelly and Max a little tipsy with Daniel not too far behind; judging by the slight flush on his cheeks that definitely hadn’t been caused by the Spanish sun.
Your cheeks were aching from smiling and laughing too much during the evening, heart feeling light as you navigated your way through the house. Your brother grabbed you with an arm around the shoulders, pulling you into his embrace so suddenly that it made you stumble.
“Easy, Max.” You let out a yelp when he smacked a kiss on your head, slapping at him with your hands until he eased his hold on you.
“Goodnight, bunny.” He was slurring a little, but the words sounded fond coming from his mouth.
You got a similar kiss from Kelly - but less sloppy - and you watched them walk away before disappearing out of sight. The sound of a half-snorted laugh made you turn around, finding Daniel hiding his smile behind his hand. Not that it did much hiding, eyes scrunched up in amusement.
“Bunny?” He referred to your brother’s nickname for you and you frowned in embarrassment. He easily recognised the sheer disdain colouring your face and was quick to plead. “No, no. I need to hear that story.”
“No, you really don’t.” You shook your head with a laugh and began walking to the kitchen. “It’s horrifying enough that you saw me in my pajamas this morning.”
Daniel let out a laugh this time, the sound echoing in the kitchen and you couldn’t even hide your smile even if you tried.
“Hey, giraffes are cute, alright?” He plucked a clean glass out a cabinet and accepted the water bottle you’d gotten out of the refrigerator. “I thought you looked good.”
“Oh, you’re a bad driver and a liar.” You hauled yourself up to sit on the counter.
“I’m not ly— you think I’m a bad driver?” He looked offended, voice going up an octave in sheer disbelief. “You really do have your brother’s sense of humour.”
You stretched a leg out to poke his waist and he easily caught your leg when you tried to pull back. A startled yelp left your lips at his quick reflexes, and you tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was trailing the grip up your leg as he inched closer to you.
“Tell me why he calls you bunny.” He said seriously, and you blinked in disbelief because how did he break the tension so fast?
“You’re not allowed to laugh.” You warned him and he nodded, the smile telling you that he was going to do exactly that. “I used to pretend to be a bunny when I was little. I’d demand carrots for dinner and it has just stuck through all these years.”
He threw his head back and cackled so loudly that you were almost worried that Max would come back out and see what the commotion was all about. But it was hard to deny that his laughter was contagious, so loud and carefree that you couldn’t find it in yourself to even pretend to be mad.
“That’s adorable!” He placed both hands on your thighs as he stepped between them, giving you a bright smile. “Did you hop around as well? Oh you did, didn’t you?”
Your embarrassed smile was enough of an answer, and it sent him into fits of laughter again until you groaned and hid your burning face behind your hands. Daniel’s peals of laughter slowly died down and he made a noise of protest, hands coming up to pry yours off your face.
“Don’t be embarrassed, bunny.” He said and you glared.
“Don’t call me that.” You pointed a finger at him. “Only Max is allowed because he rarely does anymore. I don’t want that nickname to stick.”
He held up his hands in surrender, sucking in his lips to stop himself from smiling and you held your own smile back while staring straight at him.
You hadn’t realised how close the two of you had gotten, your thighs on either side of his waist and him leaning oh, so close to you. There was a shift in the air then, where you both seemed to realize the position you found yourselves in. He didn’t make any moves to pull away though, and you weren’t about to be the one to push him away.
You were aware that you were playing a dangerous game, toeing the fine line that Max had drawn in the imaginary sand. There was no telling how your brother would react if he walked into the kitchen right now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your hands found life of their own; trailing up the meaty expanse of Daniel’s arms until you reached his broad shoulders.
He wasn’t a massive guy, by any means, but he was defined and had muscle. It wasn’t so hard to see that he’d put in work to look the way he did, it came with his job after all.
“Can I…” His words died on his tongue when you glanced up at him, getting a little lost in your eyes and the way you were practically eating him up with your gaze. It was intoxicating. “Can I kiss you?”
A rush of heat flooded your stomach, and you responded by running your fingers through his hair and bringing his head closer to yours. He went easily, eagerly settling his mouth over yours in a kiss that had you gripping his hair and shoulder.
The need took over so fast, you barely had time to take a breath. Your heart sped up when he took that last step forward, bringing his knees flush to the counter as his mouth opened under yours.
You didn’t know what to focus on, getting lost in the feeling of his hands gripping at your ass cheeks and pulling you into him until your crotch was slotted right against his lower belly; allowing you to rub off on him if you so pleased. And fuck, you really wanted to.
He must’ve sensed it, or even read your thoughts because he helped you thrust forward with the help of his hands on your ass, groaning deeply into your mouth when you started grinding against his torso. Daniel didn’t know if he was imagining the heat against his stomach, but you felt warm and so ready for him to take you apart however he pleased.
“Tell me what you want.” He demanded quietly against your lips, and you let out a needy little whimper when he squeezed the meat of your ass in his palms. “You gotta tell me what you want.”
“You.” You managed, leaning forward to kiss him and Daniel allowed it before pulling back slightly.
You almost huffed in frustration, but refrained from doing so. Instead, you grabbed one of his hands and guided them up the apex of your thighs, under your dress and settled his hands right where you needed him most. Daniel’s breath stuttered, the heat of it hitting your face and you blinked at him with pleading eyes.
“Touch me, please, Daniel.” You arched your back a little until his hand moved of its own accord, stroking softly over the dampness of your underwear.
He couldn’t believe how wet you already were, fingers eagerly searching for your hole through the cotton and pressing down until you were whining. It was like music to his ears, and he needed to hear more.
Daniel yanked your panties to the side, cursing loudly at the wetness of your pussy against the pads of his fingers. He touched your swollen clit in circles, never taking his eyes off of your face. You were so animated, pleasure written in large bold letters on your face as your eyelids fluttered; eyes rolling a little when he stroked you particularly nicely, mouth dropping opening in breathy moans.
He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss, the filthiness of it making his cock ache.
“Does that feel good?” He asked when you broke from the kiss, tipping your head backwards so his mouth met your chin instead. He kissed down the column of your throat and sucked against the skin there, mindful to not leave any visible marks.
“Feels perfect.” You slurred, your accent melding into your English and it was so horribly endearing and hot at the same time that Daniel couldn’t resist sinking a finger into you.
The response from you was beautiful, your back arching and hips thrusting into his hand as your hole swallowed his digit without any trouble. Daniel wasn’t sure if you were even aware of the noises you were making, high pitched little uh’s that rose in octaves and he was quick to silence them by kissing you.
He took the opportunity to slide another finger alongside his middle one, meeting a little resistance before you relaxed in his hold. The wetness and warmth of you was so intoxicating that he had to take a deep breath to not blow too soon in his pants.
“Want you—“ your words trailed off as your hands came up to search for the button of his pants.
You were panting, feeling impatient and Daniel watched in silence as the sound of the zipper echoed in the quiet kitchen. There was a brief sense of relief when you dragged down the hem of his underwear, just enough for you to fish him out and get your hands on him.
“Fuck.” You cursed in a whisper, voice laced in enough wonder for Daniel to laugh breathlessly. It was unbelievable how that one word could breathe so much confidence into his body.
Daniel was heavy and hard in your hand, and you took a moment to stroke him to get him fully hard, marvelling at the sheer weight and size of him. Of course, he couldn’t possess the personality and looks, he had to have the full package as well.
“You sure you want this?” He asked and you glanced up at him.
“I want this.” You almost said need, but bit your tongue.
You looked for any sign that maybe he didn’t want this, but you could find none and that made the urgency flare up in your chest as you brought him closer to you. He went easily, hands gripping your thighs to spread them.
“Spread your legs wider.” He instructed you and you did as you were told, ignoring the slight ache in your thighs at being stretched so wide.
Maybe you should’ve felt embarrassed by the position you were in, on display on your kitchen counter with your dress flipped up to reveal your bottom half. But Daniel was roving his eyes over you like he hadn’t seen anything like it before, and that was enough for the last smidge of self-consciousness to dissipate into thin air.
He took himself in his hand and stroked a couple of times, and you were so mesmerised by the sight of it that you almost missed the way he suddenly halted and looked around.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, frowning and he glanced at you.
“Do you have… anything?”
It took a second for you to gather your thoughts and understand what he meant, and dread suddenly sank in your stomach when you realised that no, you really didn’t have protection.
“Shit.” You swore, frowning as you sat up a bit. You looked at him, eyes searching his face as the most stupid idea crept into your mind. “I don’t— I don’t mind?”
His eyebrows jumped, and you couldn’t blame his surprise because it was a reckless move. But you were on the pill and you hadn’t been sexually active for a while. And maybe you shouldn’t, but you trusted Daniel enough.
“I mean, I’m clean and I’m on the pill.” You quickly added when he still hadn’t said anything.
You briefly contemplated sneaking into the sleeping couple’s room and stealing from Kelly, but the sheer horror you felt at the thought of being caught by your brother was enough for you to dismiss that thought. No way.
“I’m clean too.” Daniel said, placing a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. “Are you sure about this? We don’t have to do it.”
“I’m sure.” You said and you meant it.
Daniel smiled with a nod, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss to your lips and it didn’t take long to fall back into that previous urgency you’d felt. You loved on his lower lip as he stepped forward, slipping two fingers into you and stretching you out for good measure before he gripped himself in his hand and guided you forward on the counter.
It felt like the breath was stolen from you as he breached you, keeping his eyes on your face to watch for any change and your eyelids fluttered shut as he pushed inside.
“Fuuuuck me.” He dragged out the words, struggling to find his breath at the sheer warmth enveloping him. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”
You blinked them open, mouth falling into an O that looked too inviting for Daniel. He kept his eyes on yours as he bottomed out, waiting for a nod from you before he pulled back and thrusted forward, jolting you and making you moan out.
“Fuck, baby.” He set up a good rhythm, leaning his forehead against yours as he started fucking you. “Sound so pretty for me but you need to keep it down. Wouldn’t want your brother to find us like this, do you?”
He groaned when you tightened around him, giving you a particularly hard thrust in retaliation that made you whimper.
“That got you tight.” He turned his head to nudge his nose against your cheek, and you could feel him smile slowly against your skin. You could only imagine how downright filthy it looked. “Does that turn you on? The fact that someone could walk in and see you like this?”
It was a horrifying thought, but you couldn’t deny the heat spreading through your entire body as you imagined it. And Daniel could feel it affecting you, feeling you squeeze around his cock so deliciously tight that he almost faltered in his rhythm.
Your stomach was starting to tighten up, a telltale sign that you were so close but you still needed that incentive; that last push over the edge of wild oblivion. Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck to keep you upright while the other one found a home between your legs, fingers a little too slippery to cause any real friction. You let out a frustrated huff and wiped your hands on your dress before returning to touching yourself.
Daniel had his eyes fastened on you the entire time, feeling dangerously close to climaxing but he refused to be the one to come first, staving off for as long as he could.
It was difficult, it was so hard to keep up pace when you were clenching around him like you were subconsciously trying to keep him deep inside. He glanced up at your face and got exactly a two second warning before your mouth fell open and your legs got tight around him.
“Dan—“ The rest of your moan got choked off against the dampness of his shirt as he placed a hand on the back of your head and pressed your face to his shoulder; a poor attempt at muffling your sounds.
He couldn’t hold it off any longer, burying his face against the side of your head. “Where do you want me?” He should’ve pulled out, and he would if you told him so, but you felt heavenly around him and he momentarily wished that he could bury himself deep in your being and never get up for air.
“In.” Your words were trembling, breathless. “In me, please.”
And who was he to deny that, when you were begging so prettily?
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He gave a thrust, two and let out a guttural moan that he struggled to keep inside. Your breathy little noises as he shot off inside you was the only thing he could hear alongside the rush of blood in his ears. “This cunt.”
Your whole world tilted on its axis and you found yourself on your back, the hard and cool plane of the counter a nice contrast against your sweaty back. A giggle left your lips when you glanced down where Daniel had somehow managed to lose his balance, folding himself on top of you.
Daniel glanced up at the sound of your laughter, a dazed smile creeping onto his face and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through his sweaty hair, pushing the locks away from his forehead so you could get a look at his eyes.
He looked a lot like he did after a gruelling race. Sweaty and flushed, the apples of his cheeks tinted pink. But there was a bliss to him that definitely didn’t come from racing, and you flushed all over when you realized that it was your doing, you’d done that.
It was a powerful feeling to bring a man like that to his knees.
“Sorry.” He apologised as he placed both hands on either side of you, pushing himself up on unsteady feet. He held his hand out and helped you sit up. The stickiness between your legs was starting to cool, feeling uncomfortable and very much like you were in dire need of a shower. “You alright?”
You glanced up at him and smiled. “Perfect.”
He reciprocated the smile, looking like he was a little unsure of how to proceed. You didn’t blame him, because what did you do after that whole ordeal, in a kitchen, nonetheless. You wrapped one leg around his thigh and urged him forward, hands grabbing at his arms when he was close enough.
“You look beautiful.” He said, voice sincere and quiet, just for your ears. It made you feel a little sheepish, but you thought that you’d never get tired of hearing it if it came from his mouth.
“So do you.” You said, words spoken against his lips before he slotted his mouth over yours in a kiss.
The skin around your mouth was feeling a little chafed from his beard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you let yourself be kissed; lost in the taste and smell of him. It was unbelievable how intoxicating he was.
“I’m gonna need a shower after that.” You said, laughing when he gave you a look and burying your face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, wrapping yourself around him - much like a koala bear. Daniel must’ve mirrored your delirious thoughts, because he spoke up a moment later.
“Alright, you little koala bear.” He laughed, sounding five shades of amused as he wrapped his arms around you.
You slapped at his back, “Do not make that a nickname.”
The counter disappeared beneath you as he lifted you, the feeling of being weightless so sudden and jarring that you let out a yelp; arms clutching at him to not fall. He had no intention of dropping you though, hauling you up in his arms until he was holding you steadily.
“What are you doing?” You whispered, half-hushed and it was kind of ridiculous that you were being mindful of your voice after all the noise you’d surely created a few minutes prior.
The possibility of Max walking in felt a lot more dangerous now that you weren’t blind with lust, and you still didn’t know how Daniel felt about screwing his friend’s sister behind his back. It was a lot of feelings to unpack, but you put it in an imaginary box and locked it away in your mind for another day.
“You said you needed a shower.” His smile was blinding as always when you pulled back to look at him. “I’m here to assist.”
“That’s what they’re calling it nowadays? Assisting?” You joked and Daniel raised his brows in amusement as he began navigating the way to the bathroom.
It was an old house, depriving you of an en suite that you desperately wished you had now. You’d never felt a need for it, seeing as you were living alone, but it would’ve lowered the chances of the other two occupants hearing the shower running so late.
Your concerns went up in smoke when Daniel finally found the bathroom, kicking the door shut gently behind him. It was a failed attempt, the door screeching like something out of a scary movie and it made you muffle your laugh behind your hand.
“Gonna need to oil that, love.” He said, putting you down on your feet.
That’s what you’d told yourself a hundred times since moving in, but it had a weird charm to it so you never did. That, and you just never got around to fixing the door.
There was a bizarre thought that was so fleeting that you dismissed it almost immediately, imagining Daniel dropping by in Spain and coming to visit you between GP's. Him in your kitchen with his guard down, doing maintenance work on your house that so desperately needed it. It warmed your heart to the core, thinking of him squeezing you into his busy schedule but then you thought of Max and your thoughts halted.
Max. He'd done nothing throughout your childhood but protect you, being there for you whenever you needed it and you'd been leaning on each other into adulthood. He was the closest person to you in your life, and the thought of going behind his back made something sour bloom in your mouth.
"Hey."
You looked up at the hushed word, blinking in slight confusion when you saw the concern marring Daniel's face. He must've seen you zone out completely and you realized that you'd been deep in your thoughts for a while because the shower was running already.
Daniel reached a hand out to touch your shoulder, just a quick stroke of his fingers against your skin and you felt your body light up at the slightest touch from him.
"Lost you there for a minute." He said, tilting his head to the side to catch your eyes. "What are you thinking about?"
You looked at him, considered lying, but again, what good would it do?
"Max." You said, the name heavy on your tongue.
His face morphed into something unreadable and he regarded you silently. Like he was trying to reach into your brain and dissect your thoughts.
"Look," He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and peered up at you with his beautifully brown eyes. "I want to explore this with you, see where it takes us. Do you?"
You nodded before he'd finished his sentence, relief seeping into your tense body because he understood your sudden fear, he knew what you'd meant.
"Alright." He gave you a smile, radiant and reassuring. "We don't have to involve Max until we're absolutely sure where we stand."
He made it sound so easy, and maybe it was. Maybe you could do this without involving the outside world, exist in your own little bubble and see where it takes you without the added pressure from the public or either families.
Daniel helped you out of your dress, pressing small and fleeting kisses to your shoulder and arms. It was like he was trying to encourage you to take the plunge.
And in some way you did, as you stepped under the spray of the shower with him.
Charles x Schumacher!Daughter OC.
- Part 2
- Part 3
- Part 4
- Part 5… in the works.
Carlos Sainz Jr:
Carlos x CelebReporter part 1.
- part 2
- part 3
- part 4
- part 5… in the works.
Daniel Ricciardo:
Daniel x HornerDaughter! Reader - smut
- part 2
- part 3
- part 4
- part 5
- part 6
- part 7
- part 8
- part 9
- part 10
- part 11
- part 12… in the works.
Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Spice
Daniel Ricciardo x DrunkReader! Fluff - he does your skin care.
Lance Stroll:
Lance Stroll X HornerBFFReader! Smut… in the works.
Lewis Hamilton:
Lewis X Reader - Smut - sex on an F1 car.
Max Verstappen:
Max x HornerDaughter! Reader Headcannons.
Max x CelebEx! Reader - Angst.
- part 2
- part 3… in the works.
Sebastian Vettel:
Sebastian x RedBull Design Engineer OC.
- part 2.
- part 3.
- part 4.
- part 5.
- part 6.
- part 7.
- part 8.
- part 9.
- part 10… in the works.
summary... it’s never the right time for you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other.
requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this
warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black)
pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader
note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!
𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
← prev part
high tide came and brought you in
“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”
the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization.
and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him.
daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him.
still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him.
your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin.
but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals.
you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture.
but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is.
eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin.
in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way.
but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him.
one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye.
and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again.
“honey,” he says and your heart trembles.
daniel.
it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not.
but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel.
you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay.
but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well.
“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask.
he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”
please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him.
you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”
the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”
you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much.
but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet.
“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”
you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.”
you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours.
“in a few years,” you say.
and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea.
but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone
the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country.
he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet.
max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.
by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close.
goddamn it.
it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you.
you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend.
the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.
“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him.
“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel.
but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.
and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?
“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him.
you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”
“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”
you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her.
“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”
max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose.
but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.
and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more.
these hands had to let it go free
that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you.
“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him.
“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”
“what are you saying?”
“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”
you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love.
“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor.
“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.
he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”
you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair.
the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate.
“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.”
you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.”
you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”
“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?”
“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”
you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”
struggled through the night with someone new
the next time you see daniel again, you invited him. you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant.
you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for.
but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer.
he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it.
you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him.
james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting.
you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for.
you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready.
and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have.
if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.
“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.
you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today.
you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”
“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you.
you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him.
it was daniel. how can you be so stupid?
his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room.
you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his.
the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.
he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him.
“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!”
daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?
“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you.
daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is.
“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips.
“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him.
daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”
you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word.
the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there.
you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.
daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy.
you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.
“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”
you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up.
“i thought i was over him,” you say.
it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”
you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.”
“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him.
not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared.
“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.”
max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways.
that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you.
eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions.
you come back to what you need
daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.
he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you.
“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you.
a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”
you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you.
he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system.
daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need.
“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here.
daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”
okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.”
daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”
“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”
he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”
“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall.
you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!”
he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.”
“for closure.”
he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar.
his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer.
his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”
with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek.
“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”
you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips.
“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.”
he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer.
like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off.
you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down.
“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple.
you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this.
but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms.
“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen.
and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you.
“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”
you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?”
“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again.
“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?”
you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”
he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes.
you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”
and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel.
when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.”
you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”
“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now?
“breakfast.”
you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that.
and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message.
daniel
i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.
this love came back to me
the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home.
“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement.
after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with.
you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself.
“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go.
“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh.
“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.
you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid.
after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father.
and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown.
“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving.
you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.”
and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be.
and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together.
daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again.
he smiles at you and you smile back.
hello, love, welcome home.
and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore.
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