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Utterly in love with this entire piece of art<3

birds of a feather // cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 30k (i know i've got issues)

warnings: google translate french and swearing

includes: friends to lovers, childhood bestfriends, soulmate au if you squint, heavy pining, and angst

summary: follows charles and the reader through childhood all the way to present day. based off of 'birds of a feather' by billie eilish.

masterlist

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five and eight

It's a hot summer day in Monaco the first time Charles meets you.

The evening sun cascaded through the windows, golden rays bouncing off the walls as the smell of his Mother's baking wafted through the house. Charles' legs soon carried him into the kitchen and to his delight he found her oven-mitt clad hand pulling out a tray from the oven. His eyes widen when he sees what it is, it's one of his favorite sweet treats; cookies. His Mother spots him as she turns to set them on the counter. "Bonjour chéri!"

Charles doesn't answer, he's too focused on the cookies. He knows she won't let him have one, it's too close to dinner time, but he could probably sneak one when she had her back turned. So when she goes to put something back in the fridge he knows this is his chance, but he's not fast enough. His little hand barely hovers over one of the cookies before his Mother is gently smacking it away.

"No Charles! They are for the Y/L/N's." She hands him a stack of plates, motioning towards the table. "Now go set the table, s'il te plaît." Charles whines about it not being fair before stomping towards the table.

All day the only topic of conversation in the Leclerc household was about how an old family friend was to be moving back to Monaco today. Charles and Arthur had no idea who the man their Father spoke so highly about was, but Lorenzo mentioned something about him being their "uncle", but not really their uncle. Something that at only eight years old, confused Charles.

Even during dinner it seems like his Father mentions their "uncle" somehow during every conversation. Between the constant talk of this mystery man and the cookies sitting feet away from him Charles thinks tonight's dinner is the longest dinner of his life. He can see them sitting there, the cookies taunting him the whole time he tries to eat the unpleasant brussel sprouts on his plate. He hears his Father mention their "uncle" again and his attention is brought back to the conversation. "Papa. Is he really our uncle?" Charles asks as he shoves around the food on his plate with his fork.

"Ah, no. I mean he practically is, but not by blood. He is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together, but he moved to America around nine years ago." He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering between Charles and Arthur. "I hate that Arthur and you don't know him, but he's back now, so hopefully you boys will see him as an uncle like Lorenzo does. Plus, their house is just down the street, so I'm sure we will be spending lots of time with each other."

All Charles can do is nod at him, he isn't sure that he can call this random man "uncle", but for his Father he will try to like him as much as he clearly does.

Dinner is over shortly after their conversation, with a little help from his Father's impatience to go see his old friend. And before Charles can try and sneak a cookie again they are out the door, the cookies held securely in his Mother's hands, heading to their "uncles" house.

Charles realizes his Father wasn't lying when he said their house was just down the street, in fact it's only a block away. He's surprised his Father wasn't dragging them here earlier today with how close it is.

His Father knocks on the door and after a moment a man answers."Hervé!” 

"Y/D/N!"

The two men embrace each other, big smiles plastered on both of their faces. "If it was up to me we would have been over as soon as you guys arrived earlier today, but Pascale insisted we give you guys a little time to settle in."

"Oh nonsense. You're fine." The man steps aside, motioning for everyone to come in. "Come on in. Don't mind the million boxes scattered around."

"It's a beautiful home." Pascale states as she glances around.

"Merci."

The man's eyes wander to Charles and his brothers. His arms extend towards Lorenzo and the two of them hug, the man tousling Lorenzo's hair as they pull away. "Dieu te regarde! You're practically a man!"

Lorenzo can only laugh at the man, whose attention is now on the two youngest Leclerc boys. He crouches down so he's at eye level with them. "Bonjour. I don't think we have met yet. I'm Y/D/N, a very old friend of your Papa's." His hand reaches out for Charles to shake. "You must be Charles."

Charles gently takes Y/D/N's hand and shakes it, something he's seen his Father do hundreds of times. "I am. How did you know?"

A smirk plays at Y/D/N's lips. "When your Papa and I speak, he loves to talk about his boys. Even the ones I didn't get the pleasure of meeting until now." His attention now moved to the youngest Leclerc. "Like you little Arthur." Little giggles came from Arthur as the man pinched his cheek.

"Are we going to get to meet the other members of your family Y/D/N?" Pascale asks.

"Patience still isn't your strong suit, is it Pascale?" The man teases as he leads them towards the kitchen.

As they enter the kitchen they find a woman with an American accent putting away dishes into the cabinets. From what Charles can gather from the conversation the adults are having is that their "uncle" met his wife while on business in America. They fell in love and he ended up moving there to be with her. They got married and had a daughter. He wanted to raise her here so they decided to move back to Monaco.

"Guess you should all meet the reason we moved huh? Y/N! Ma chérie come here!" Y/D/N yells.

And here you came, barreling into the kitchen, not knowing that there were five strangers standing there until it was too late. Cheeks turning pink as you hid behind your Mom's legs. "This shy little thing is our daughter, Y/N."

Pascale's face lit up at the sight of you. "Oh tu n'es pas une poupée? She's beautiful you two!" She glances over at your parents then back to you. "You look to be around the age of my two youngest boys, no?" She squats down so the two of you are eye level as you peak around your Mom's legs. "How old are you?" As you lifted your hand, little fingers all stood up straight indicating that you were five, Pascale smiled. 

"Oh, that's the same age as my Arthur." She points towards the smallest boy, who's dirty blonde hair almost covered his eyes. She then points to the slightly taller boy in the middle, his soft blue eyes watching his Mom intently. "That is Charles, he's a little older than Arthur and you. He's eight." Then she finally points to the obviously very older son. "And that is Lorenzo, he's a lot older. It makes me feel old to say this but he's eighteen!"

Your shyness somehow slowly got chipped away by Pascale and you were now standing beside your Mom, not behind her. "Go on baby. Say hi to them." You Mom encouraged as she brushed your hair out of your face.

Even if you had braved coming out from behind your Mom's legs, the idea of talking to these strangers still scared you. You looked over to your Dad who stared back at you, a smile on his face and a slight nod in your direction told you everything was going to be okay.

"Hi." You said meekly.

The two younger boys gave you a small wave in return.

The adults had started to converse, leaving the kids to stand there awkwardly. Not knowing each other well to be the one to initiate conversation or play.

Your Mom had noticed the quietness between you and the boys, and your constant presence by her legs. "Why don't you kids go play out back? The house luckily came with a playset that is begging to be played on." She pulled open the sliding door, motioning for the kids to go outside.

Arthur was the first to run outside, he was practically already at the door when he heard the word playset. His little legs were already running up the slide by the time Charles and you had exited the house.

You watched your feet drag across the grass as you swung back and forth on the swing. Your Dad's voice playing in your head as you heard Charles and Arthur's laughter echo through the hot summer air.

"I know this is a big change for you mon amour. But I promise, we wouldn't have made this big move if your Maman and I didn't think it wouldn't have been a good idea. It may take some time for you to adjust, but knowing you, in a couple weeks you'll probably be more of a Monégasque than me!"

"I'm only half though. How could I be more than you Papa?" Tiny giggles escaping you as you gave your Father a questioning look.

"Anything is possible chérie! Plus you remember me talking about your uncle Hervé? Well, he has two boys that are around the same age as you. And I'm positive you three will become the bestest of friends like we were at that age in no time. When your Uncle Hervé and I were younger people would always say "Wherever there is a Y/L/N there is a Leclerc" and I'm sure it will live on through you three."

As you watched the two Leclerc boys chase each other through the yard, you knew your Dad would want you to get up and go join them. He seemed so excited at the idea of you and the boys being friends and you didn't want to disappoint him, but at only five years old, your shyness overruled the majority of your decisions.

Charles, even though he was playing with his brother, had noticed how you hadn't left the swing since coming outside. He tried to put himself in your shoes, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to move halfway across the world.

What it would be like to leave everything you've ever known behind and move to a country that is nothing like the one you'd spent your whole life in so far. Even if your Father was from here and technically Monaco is as much of your home as America ever was, he knows that at least right now, this place means nothing to you.

So, being the empath that he is, Charles decides that it's his mission to make you feel at home. To make you realize that Monaco has been your home all along. That if he was you right now, all he would want is for someone to befriend him, make him feel less alone. His first step; asking you to play.

His skinny frame soon occupies the empty swing next to you, hands gripping the chains as he barely moves back and forth. His feet mimicked yours, dirt and grass staining his white sneakers.

"Hi." Charles watched as your head perked up at his voice. Your doe eyes timidly looking over at him like you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

"Hi."

"Do you wanna play with Arthur and me?" Charles hopes you don't run back inside after hearing his question, but when your face lights up, head nodding enthusiastically, his worries dissipate. You were just so glad that he had come over and asked you, because you would have sat there on that swing all evening if he hadn't.

In a matter of minutes your shyness and worries about upsetting your Father were replaced with bouts of laughter as Arthur and you ran from Charles. Gleeful screams and giggles filled the evening air as the three of you played and for the first time since getting told you were moving you felt carefree.

The loud laughter and yelling had gotten the attention of the adults and as they watched their children play through the sliding glass door they couldn't wipe the smiles off their faces.

"That didn't take long did it?" Your Mom felt a relief wash over her. At only five years old she knew this move was going to be hard on you, and she wished they could have just stayed in America. But who was she to deprive you of experiencing the life that was quite literally half of you. Deprive her husband of seeing his little girl experience the same things he did as a child.

And as she watched the way the three kids played together she knew it was the right decision. For you to come out of your shell so quickly meant that maybe things weren't going to be so bad here after all.

"Of course it didn't." Your Dad stood behind your Mom, his hand on her shoulder as he watched his little girl laugh and run around. "Because wherever there is a Y/L/N-"

"there is a Leclerc." Hervé finished, an equally big smile on his face.

The painting of orange and pink hues that filled the evening sky told everyone that the sun was making her farewell for the day. Though, that didn't stop you and the boys from still playing and eventually as the colorful painting turned to a star filled sky you all were called inside.

Rosy cheeks and sweaty foreheads adorned all three of your faces as you clambered into the kitchen. "Looks like you kids had fun." Pascale had grabbed the cookies off the counter, but as she opened the lid to offer the kids one, she had a better idea. "How about some ice cream?" Charles' eyes lit up at the mention of ice cream. He loved cookies, but his one true love was ice cream. "I think the place down the road is still open."

And with an unspoken agreement, they are all out the door and headed towards the ice cream shop. Charles and you walk side by side with Arthur trailing behind the two of you. His complaints about being left out falling on deaf ears as Charles tells you about how good the ice cream place is.

The walk isn't a long one and before you realize it, you've arrived. The sickeningly sweet smell hits you as soon as you walk through the door, and your short legs carry you towards the counter, not paying mind to any sort of line that was already formed. Your face was practically pressed against the glass as you looked at all the flavors to choose from. But even with flavors like triple chocolate or strawberry or peanut butter cup. You always go with your tried and true; vanilla.

Charles and Arthur had joined you, faces as equally as close to the glass as yours.

"You think Maman will let me try them all?" Arthur asks, mouth practically watering at the sight in front of him.

"I don't know about that." You recognize your Dad's voice behind you. "You guys tell me what you want and then go wait at the table outside with Lorenzo." The three of you reluctantly turn away from the ice cream and when Arthur tells your Dad he wants mint, Charles and you share a disgusted look. "Ok mint for Arthur, what about you two?"

"Vanilla!" Comes out of both Charles and your mouth. Big smiles spread across your faces as you realize you both said the same thing.

"No way that's my favorite flavor!" Charles exclaims.

"Mine too!"

By the time your Dad comes outside with the ice cream Charles and you had established that; vanilla was the best flavor of ice cream ever, blue was your favorite color, red was his, you both loved dogs, and that he wanted to be a Formula 1 driver when he grew up. You didn't really know what that was, you think you had heard your Dad talking about it or watching it before, but the way Charles talked about it, it seemed like it was something big.

After many brain freezes and Arthur trying to make Charles and you try his mint ice cream, the night was coming to an end. The walk back home was filled with talks of things that you guys had to do this summer, according to Charles, and about how tonight would not be the last trip to the ice cream shop.

As you arrived at your house the grownups said their farewells and goodnights, while you gave everyone a simple wave goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!" Charles yelled as you entered the front door, and all you could do was yell back.

"Ok!"

And Charles wasn't lying, you did see him the next day, and the day after that. In fact, any free day that you or the youngest Leclerc boys had were spent in each other's company that summer. By the time school started back up the three of you were inseparable. 

The idea of starting at a new school in a different country while knowing no one scared you, so you were glad to have Arthur with you in class and just knowing Charles was in the building made you feel more at ease. Any worries you had about moving to Monaco had dissipated and Charles had just somehow knew that he had accomplished his mission of making you feel at home. It may have taken him all summer, but you were practically family at this point to him.

So when he heard from Arthur about a couple boys in your class not being the friendliest towards you, something about you being an annoying American, he knew he had to defend you.

Charles fortunately had caught them in the act one day. Your cheeks slightly damp and eyes red told Charles it wasn't just them saying you were annoying. You wouldn't tell him what they said to you, but that didn't stop him from telling the boys off. It didn't take much for them to run off, heck Charles could have just stared at them and they probably would have darted, him somewhat forgetting they were probably only five or six, but still there was no reason for them to be mean to you.

Charles wiped away your tears before pulling you in for a hug. "They shouldn't bother you anymore, but if they ever do come tell me. You know you've always got me and Arthur and if it gets bad enough I guess we could tell Lorenzo." The mention of the oldest Leclerc boy made you giggle and Charles was so happy to see a smile on your face again. "You've always got me Y/N, we've got each other. I promise." He held out his pinky finger towards you and you hooked yours around his, officially sealing the promise

And from that moment on, you two always did have each other.

 ten and thirteen

Five years had passed since you first met Charles, and in those five years your bond only grew stronger. Not only with each other, but with each other's families too. To Pascale you were the daughter she always wanted and your Dad treated the Leclerc boys like his sons. It was like you guys filled in the missing pieces in each other's families.

Multiple scrapbooks were filled over the years with memories that would last a lifetime. Pictures of the joint family vacations that were taken every year, first and last day of school pictures, birthdays, and major milestones all filled the pages.

Looking back now your Mom could have kicked herself for ever second guessing the decision to move. Clearly this was where you guys were supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. Everything just felt right. It felt like home.

A new thing that had become a part of your life in the past five years was karting. No, you didn't drive them, but Charles and Arthur did. So, that meant it was now a part of you. Multiple weekends were spent going to watch them race, the smell of exhaust and the sound of the engines were ingrained into your brain, but you had grown fond of it.

Although, in the last couple years Charles had started to take karting very seriously. You knew his dream was to be an F1 driver, and you knew (from him teaching you everything about it one day) how much dedication it took from a young age to get to the top. So, over the last year, when almost every weekend he was busy, you tried not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately for Arthur, this year his family had decided to focus solely on Charles' career for the time being, as karting was expensive, and having two boys doing it was just not something they could swing. But with Charles busy and Arthur now free it was almost like the boys had flip flopped positions in your life.

Between the two youngest Leclerc boys it was always very obvious that you gravitated more towards Charles, the two of you having a bond that many didn't understand, especially considering your age gap.

Three years isn't crazy per say, but at the age you two are right now it's a little different. Charles is thirteen, officially a teenager, while you're still only ten. Two very different stages in kids' lives, and sometimes recently it seemed like Charles was moving on, or growing up, and you worried that he wouldn't want to spend time with you anymore. Because really what thirteen year old wants to willingly hang out with a ten year old? You know you wouldn't want to hang out with a seven year old. 

But the slight gap that Charles was currently leaving in your life, Arthur had no problem filling it in.

During the school year you spent basically all your time with Arthur, being in the same grade and him not dedicating all his time to karting at the moment was a big contributing factor. You still saw Charles, but nearly as much as you used to. He had moved up to secondary school a year or so ago and unfortunately Arthur and you were still in your last year of primary school. So your time to see Charles was limited to his rare free weekends and sometimes after school. 

You had thought come summer time you would be able to see him more and were banking on your annual family vacation, but you were wrong. In fact, you barely even saw Arthur this summer. They were so busy with Charles karting it was like they didn't even live in their home. And when they were home your family was busy doing something.

The annual family vacation had to be canceled and you had basically gone the whole summer without seeing them. That was until today, two weeks before school started, when you came downstairs to see Charles and Arthur sitting on your couch talking to your Dad, who was sitting in a chair opposite of them.

"Ah, there she is." Your Dad had spotted you from the doorway. "They've come to steal you."

Rounding the side of the couch you were now stood in front of the two boys. Arthur was the first to jump up from the couch, his arms squeezing you into him, the two of you slightly swaying back and forth as giggles escaped past your lips. "Tu m'as manqué aussi Arthur."

As Arthur finally let you go your eyes fell on the middle Leclerc boy, who was still sat on the couch. "Charlie." The nickname you had given him that first summer had still stuck around five years later. It fell off your tongue with ease, basically second nature for you at this point. He never minded when you called him that, in fact sometimes he preferred it, but god forbid anyone else call him that.

You could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples peaking out as he tried to resist it more. As he stood up from the couch he finally let it free, the corners of his eyes crinkled and dimples on full display as he wrapped his arms around you. You noticed you guys weren't almost the same height anymore, your head hit at about his shoulder now. Had he gotten taller since the last time you saw him? There was no way he had grown that much in almost two months, but yet the proof was standing right infront of you.

"Tu m'as manqué." Charles stated as he pulled away from the hug.

"I figured you'd have your kart seat stuck to you when I saw you again."

"Well when that seat becomes an F1 seat, I know who will be the last person I invite to a race."

You wedged yourself between the two brothers on the couch as you rolled your eyes at Charles. "Yeah I won't need an invite because I'll have a permanent paddock pass." You weren't even sure if such a thing as a permanent paddock pass existed, but when Charles makes it into Formula 1, you had better have one.

"No doubt about it." Charles states, which gets him a smile from you in return.

"So what was Papa talking about? You guys are stealing me?"

"We've got something fun planned." Charles had a small smile on his face as he made eye contact with you. And as you stared back at him you noticed something else that had changed in the past two months, his hair. It was shaggy and almost covered his eyes if he didn't have it pushed to the side. You were surprised Pascale hadn't made him cut it yet, or that she hadn't snuck into his room at night and at least trimmed the hair around his face. It was just another sign of how long it had been since you'd seen each other.

You glanced over at your Dad, unsure of what "fun" they had planned, but he was no help. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise." Charles had stood up from the couch, eyes staring back down at you. "Well come on. We don't have all day."

"Be careful! Je t'aime!" Your Dad hollered as the three of you walked out the door.

"Je t'aime aussi!" You hollered back.

The warm sun beat down on you as you walked the familiar streets of Monaco, following the two boys in front of you. Your insistent pleas of wanting to know where you were going were ignored. And it didn't take long for you to just start guessing random places, which were all met with groaned no's from the boys.

Thankfully you guys had arrived at your destination because you were running out of places to name, but the place you were standing in front of was not where you had expected to end up. Though truly you should have known better.

"Did you guys really just bring me here to watch you two drive go-karts?" Of course they brought you to the track. It wasn't like you didn't like watching them race or even just screw around on the karts, but as of recently it was the one thing that was keeping Charles away from you. It just would have been nice to do something that didn't involve karting.

"We aren't the ones who are going to be driving them." Arthur's devious little smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I don't think that's safe, and don't we need an adult with us?" So perhaps you were slightly scared at the idea of driving – no you were actually more worried than scared. You didn't want to seem like an idiot because you didn't know what to do or wreck and make a fool of yourself. That little shy five year old girl was slowly creeping back in as Arthur and Charles practically dragged you inside.

"The adult is already here." Charles points at Lorenzo who's filling out paperwork at the front counter. "I think it's time for you to learn, no?" Your eyes focus on Lorenzo, praying as an adult he has enough sense to not let this happen. But it was no use, he had already handed the worker the paperwork and was walking towards you with a bunch of gear in his hands.

"No chickening out this time petite soeur. Today is the day." Lorenzo stated.

Before you can even protest anymore Lorenzo is handing you all this stuff to put on, arms overflowing as you stare at him wide-eyed. "Do I really need all of this for" you glance over at the track then back at Charles "an indoor track?"

"Safety first Y/N. Plus you need to have the full karting experience." His dimples on display as he gives you a reassuring smile, that somehow works wonders on you, because you're putting on all the gear without him even asking. "Oh wait you're gonna need this." He slides a hair tie off his wrist and hands it over to you. His action put a smile on your face as you quickly tied your hair back.

It was something Charles had done for a couple years now, always having a hair tie on him. You were always pushing your hair out of your face or complaining about it being hot and of course you never had a hair tie with you. So, he just started wearing one on his wrist, so when you eventually needed one, he was there to provide.

With your gear on you guys walked over towards one of the karts and you made sure to listen intently as Charles explained how to work everything.

You slipped the helmet on and sat down in the kart, praying that you could remember what Charles had told you. "You've got this. Just remember what I said and we will be right here if you need us. I’ll be right here. I promise." Charles holds out his pinky finger, the familiar gesture between the two of you meant much more than just a simple promise. And as you hook your finger around his, you know it's going to be okay. "Please be careful. I think your Papa will have my head if you come back with even just a scratch." Lorenzo says as he double checks that you're strapped in well enough.

"I'll be fine."

You gave Charles one last final glance, who stood there giving you a thumbs up, before pressing your foot down on the accelerator. At first you were going so slow, scared that if you went too fast you were gonna wreck. But as you completed a couple laps you started to feel more comfortable and the cheers from the boys helped you out too.

"Floor it!" Arthur yells as you pass by on another lap.

You were really starting to have fun, so you listened to Arthur and pressed the pedal all the way down on the next straightaway. You felt like you were flying, but what you didn't know was that they had put you in the slowest kart, so you really weren't going as fast as you thought you were.

After a couple more laps Charles stood by the starting line, waving the checkered flag, a cheesy grin on his face as you passed by him. As the kart came to a stop you understood why they loved karting so much, it wasn't just fun, it was exhilarating, addicting, you already wanted to go again.

The boys surrounded the kart as you undid the straps and climbed out. As you took off the helmet you couldn't wipe the grin off your face. "Looks like you might have some competition Charles." Lorenzo teases.

Charles ignored his big brother's teasing and shifted his focus back to you. He had felt bad about not seeing you all summer and in all honesty not that much over this past year. But things in his life were changing, karting was becoming a much bigger deal, and he was winning, like a lot. He knew things were only going to go up from here. And as much as he loved racing, and god did he love it, he breathed it he dreamt it, racing was in his blood. There just weren't many times anymore where he felt like a thirteen year old, like a kid. It sometimes felt like he was missing out on things.

But Charles knew that when he came home from a busy weekend or practically a whole summer filled with racing, that things would always be the same at home. His Mom would always make spaghetti on Tuesday nights, you had to jiggle the handle on the gate to the backyard to get it to open, if you went into the ice cream shop on a Thursday night when the owner wasn't there you'd get extra ice cream, the lady across the street will yell at your for playing in the street, and you will always be a couple houses down. 

He knew that when he was around you that he could feel like a kid again. Sure, he had made plenty of friends through racing, but it seemed like all their conversations always somehow revolved or ended up referring to racing. Which wasn't a bad thing, because of course Charles loved racing. But sometimes he just wanted to talk about video games or other sports, or just something random. And he could do that with you.

Now granted, for someone who wanted to have a little break from racing before school started, you'd think he wouldn't be back at a track the first chance he got. But Charles had wanted to teach you how to kart for years, but each time he had mentioned it you chickened out. So he had finally gotten the nerve, with a little help from Lorenzo and Arthur, to just force you to learn.

He knew you'd do a good job, he never had a doubt. It was just your worries that prevented you from learning earlier. He knew you had grown to love the sport, from tagging along to some of his races, or how you can't wait for the Monaco grand prix every year, not to mention how glued you are to the TV when his free weekends and the F1 schedule line up. So, somehow in his own weird way, Charles knew you'd be a natural.

"You did do a good job, I'm proud of you." Charles flashes you a smile as you guys exit the track.

"Merci Charlie." You quickly shed all the gear and handed it back to Lorenzo. "I don't know why you guys didn't teach me earlier. That was so much fun. I see why you guys love it so much."

"Don't act like we haven't tried for years to get you to learn." Charles teases. "We basically just had to force you today."

Memories of all the past failed attempts at teaching you how to kart flooded your mind. The one time you hid in the bathroom claiming to be throwing up, the time you 'tripped' on your way into the building and said you sprained your ankle, or the many times you just flat out refused. So maybe them forcing you was for the better, because you wouldn't have taken the initiative on your own to learn.

"Whatever. At least I finally learned."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The walk back to your house was filled with Charles filling you in on his exciting karting filled summer. From the new friends he had made to the races he had won, he didn't spare any detail. And you just walked beside him, listening to his every word, grateful to just have him back around. Arthur would pipe in occasionally to contradict something Charles had said, fulfilling his little brother duties. And as the three of you traveled through the principality, the summer sun high in the sky, you wished every day could be like this.

The fragrant jasmine shrubs that lined the sidewalk told you guys that you were close to home. "You guys wanna stay for dinner? It's Friday which means Mom's making something pasta related."

Charles would never turn down a Friday night dinner at your house and so he had no trouble in accepting your invitation. Arthur declined, stating that he was going to hang out with some of his other friends, and Lorenzo had split from you guys at the track. Which meant it was just Charles and you, which was fine with you.

The smell of your Mom's famous red sauce, that she swore had to cook for at least half the day, filled your nostrils as you walked through the door. "Mom! Papa! I’m home!"

"In the kitchen!" You heard your Mom shout.

You found your Mom furiously stirring something on the stove as Charles and you sat at the island counter directly in front of her. She tore her attention away from her cooking just long enough to notice Charles was with you. "Well look who's back! I hope you're staying for dinner?" A big smile accompanied her words as she spoke to Charles.

"Of course, you know I love Friday pasta nights."

"Well it's still gonna be a little bit until everything is ready, so if you kids are hungry grab a little snack or something." Her attention was already back to the bubbling pot in front of her before she had finished speaking.

Charles' stomach had been growling the whole walk home, and now sitting here smelling your Mom's cooking had it growling even more. So, he took up her offer and grabbed two tangerines from the bowl of fruit on the counter. Without even thinking about it, he peeled the first one and handed it over to you.

"You're spoiling her by peeling that for her Charles." Your Dad stated as he walked into the kitchen.

Charles shrugged at your Dad's comment as he continued to peel his own tangerine. "I don't mind it. I know she doesn't like to peel them and it's really not a big deal to me. So I guess as long as I'm around she won't have to."

You never gave a second thought about Charles peeling your fruit for you. He's done it ever since you expressed your dislike for peeling them years ago. To you it wasn't you being spoiled, it was just your best friend doing something nice for you. You gave Charles a smile as you popped another piece of the tangerine in your mouth. "Merci Charles." As you looked back towards your parents, you caught them staring at each other, eyebrows slightly raised, and smiles on their faces. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh nothing sweetie." Your Mom answered, attention turning back to the food. She knew you'd figure it out eventually.

The topic of conversation during dinner was all about karting. Your parents wanted to know all about Charles' wins and if anything exciting had happened during any of his races. Charles truly was like a son to them, granted all three of the Leclerc boys were, but you knew Charles was their favorite. They sat there listening intently as he told them everything and your Dad gave him nothing but praises back.

"You're gonna do great things Charles. I just know it."

And finally when Charles changed the conversation to how he finally taught you how to kart, your Dad though first worried at the idea of you getting hurt, was ecstatic to hear that you were quite good and that you enjoyed it. Your Mom didn't like the idea at all, the sour look on her face told you everything. "I can barely handle watching Charles, let alone my baby."

"I was the only one on the track, Mom. Plus it was just for fun, you don't have to worry about me doing the real thing. I really was not as good as Charles says I was." You tried to reassure her, but she still didn't seem pleased.

"Maybe it will help to know that we put her in the slowest kart." Charles chimed in.

Your head whipped to the right of you, where Charles was sat. "You put me in the slowest one?! You really thought I’d be that bad?"

"It was your first time! You were nervous as is, let alone putting you in a fast one."

A scoff came from you. "I feel cheated out of a real experience."

"Well, the slowest is fine with me. In fact, how do we find one slower than the slowest?" Your Mom inquired, nothing shy of a serious look on her face.

As dinner came to an end Charles and you helped clean up and then ventured out back. The sun had just set, allowing for dusk to settle in, the remnants of the sunset still lingering in the sky. The two of you found yourselves on familiar territory, the swings. The metal chains had slightly rusted over the years, but still held strong as the two of you swayed back and forth on them.

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to figure out how to talk to Charles about the thing that had been subconsciously bothering you for a while. 

Him forgetting about you. 

He had his head down, staring at his feet as he slowly swung back and forth on the swing. "Charles?" He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, blue eyes slightly covered by his shaggy hair.

"Yeah?"

Your hands gripped the chains tighter as you stilled your movements, feet planted firmly in the worn patch of grass. "I need you to make me a promise."

He had copied your actions, even going as far as turning slightly to face you as he spoke. "For what?"

"I need you to promise that you won't forget about me. That when you make it into F1 and become super famous that you won't think I'm some loser. Or even when you move up to F3, just please promise me you won't forget about me."

Charles frowned at your words, never in a million years would he forget about you, or think you were a loser. He didn't want to get into F1 to become famous, yeah it was a perk of the job, but he wanted a seat in F1 because he loved racing, and it meant that he was one of the best in the world.

He held out his pinky finger towards you. "Do you remember what I said to you when those boys were teasing you during your first year here?" You shook your head, the memory replaying in your mind. "That you’ve always got me and I’ve always got you. So that means I don't think I could ever forget about you Y/N, whether I make it into F1 or not. And If I do, I'm gonna need my number one supporter there by my side aren't I? So I promise I won’t forget you."

A big smile spread across your face at his words and as you hooked your pinky finger around his, you knew the promise was true.

But what you didn't know was that sometimes promises are broken.

thirteen and sixteen

Thirteen is a very weird year for you. 

It’s not puberty or the ever revolving drama that comes with being thirteen that is making it a weird year. It’s the embarrassingly painful crush you’ve got on Charles. 

It’s a cliche really, having a crush on the cute older boy you’ve grown up with. 

And one might ask why is it embarrassing? For starters, you can’t be around him for more than five minutes without turning into a blushing mess. He stares at you for longer than a second? Game over. He smiles at you? Done for. He laughs at something you said? You’re dead. 

He doesn’t know he’s turning your thirteen year old brain into mush just by simply existing and it’s embarrassing to even think about him knowing that. 

On the other hand, it’s painful. You’re thirteen and he’s sixteen, once again at very different stages in life. And you know that he doesn’t like you back, that he only sees you as a little sister, but it still hurts. It hurts because you’re thirteen and you think that you’re mature for your age and you honestly think why wouldn’t he like you back. It’s something almost every young girl goes through, and unfortunately it’s happening to you with someone you are very close with. 

Yes, you had always thought he was cute, but that's because he was. That fluffy brown hair, long thick eyelashes that adorned his pretty eyes, his dimples, the little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Okay– so maybe that's how you would describe him now, but still, he was a cute kid also, there was no denying that. 

 But if you really had to figure out when you realized you had a crush on Charles it had to have been this past Christmas.   

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The holidays in Monaco were somewhat different than the few years you remembered back in America. You had stopped celebrating Thanksgiving after your Mom’s failed attempt at trying to make a Thanksgiving dinner your first year here. It wasn’t that your Mom was a bad cook, it was that it was somewhat hard to find everything needed for a Thanksgiving dinner in Monaco. And as hard as your Mom tried to make it work, it just wasn’t the same without that damn Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. 

So to make up for not celebrating Thanksgiving your family truly went all out for Christmas. The couple Christmases that you could remember back in America were nothing shy of magical, but ever since moving to Monaco, your family took Christmas very seriously. There was no denying that part of your household was American, because every year your house looked like it came straight out of a cult classic Christmas movie. Like Kevin McCallister or Clark Griswold had taken up residence in Monaco for the holidays. 

It wasn’t just the outside that was decorated, the inside was just as festive and of course the tree was the main focal point. It was a busy tree, your Mom never liked an aesthetically pleasing tree, it was sentimental or nothing to her. Ornaments that were passed down on her side of the family, ones you had made in school, and some you had gotten after moving all had a home on the tree. 

And as if decorating wasn’t enough for your family, your traditions were even more of a big deal. The most important one to you though was making cookies on Christmas Eve. Mainly because Arthur and Charles had been doing it with you since your first Christmas in Monaco. 

Christmas music played on the record player in the living room, the sound traveling into the kitchen as your Mom and you made sure you had everything ready to bake. You were in your own little world, picking out your favorite cookie cutters and humming along to Wham!’s Last Christmas when you heard your Mom speak up. “You’re just in time Charles.” 

Your eyes moved away from the pile of cookie cutters up to the garland decorated doorway where Charles was standing. A smile slowly crept its way onto your face as the two of you made eye contact. He looked cozy, the sweater he had on was slightly oversized and his hair had a messy fluffy look to it. 

You watched as he talked to your Mom, she was surely talking to him about racing, and he would always gladly answer her questions, as she was nothing shy of a second Mom to him. The longer you stared at him, you could feel your heartbeat quickening. And a feeling was arising in you that you had only ever experienced with a boy in your class a year or so ago.  Though, the feeling didn’t last long, you had caught him picking his nose, and with that went away any feelings you had towards him. 

You didn’t even want to think about the word that was happening right now, the idea of it only making your heart race even faster. You tore your eyes away from Charles and noticed that the youngest Leclerc brother was missing, so you blamed your rapid heart beat and surely pink cheeks on that.

You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself before speaking. “Where’s Arthur?” 

Charles' attention was torn away from your Mom over to you. He pursed his lips, he didn’t know how to say nicely that Arthur said that baking Christmas cookies was for little kids, and he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He let out a sigh before speaking. “He’s not coming, he said he’s too old to be baking cookies.”

“But its-” 

“I know. I told him that it’s tradition and that you would be upset, but he wasn’t budging. So you’re stuck with just me.” 

It annoyed you that Arthur had bailed on you. There was no such thing as being too old to bake cookies, he was just being a jerk. And as far as you were concerned, he’s not allowed any of the cookies when your families have Christmas together tomorrow evening. 

On the bright side you get to have some one on one time with Charles, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise– Arthur bailing on you. You picked up the recipe card from the counter, waving it around in the air. “Well let’s get to work then.” 

Charles is at your side in an instant, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he waits for further instruction. 

“Do you think you kids can handle doing it by yourselves this year? I’ve got some last minute gifts that need to be wrapped.” Your Mom inquired, hopeful that you wouldn’t burn the house down on Christmas Eve. 

You didn’t even look up at her, eyes focused on the recipe in front of you, this was clearly something you took seriously. “Yes Mom.” 

Without a word she was gone, leaving Charles and you to your own devices. 

You can feel Charles peering over your shoulder. He’s practically right up against your side and you can feel the soft material of his sweater on your arm. All you can smell is his cologne, something he had started to use within the last year or two, thankfully moving on from the Axe body spray phase. And you’re trying not to make this seem like a big deal, because it’s truly not, but something has shifted in your thirteen year old brain. The same brain being scrambled by him right now, and you think you’ve read the damn recipe card at least ten times now. 

“Did you forget that the recipe is in American measuring terms?” Charles asks. The recipe was your Grandma’s and your Mom had never been bothered to convert it to the metric system. 

“Nope, just double checking everything.” You force a smile as you set down the recipe card and grab a mixing bowl. You added all the ingredients and made Charles do all the labor, which meant he had to mix it and then roll out the dough. 

You dug through the pile of cookie cutters looking for Charles favorite one. “Herree it isss.” You spoke in a sing songy voice as you held up the cookie cutter to Charles. His favorite in question? A penguin with a Santa hat on. Without fail, every Christmas, for the past eight years. Charles made an excessive amount of Santa hat penguin cookies. 

A grin spread across his face as you placed it in his hand. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without this guy.” He wasted no time in pressing the cutter down into the dough and before you guys knew it the first batch was done and in the oven. 

As you started on the next batch Charles kept a close eye on the baking cookies. The two of you allowed for Michael Buble to fill silence in the air and the mouthwatering smell of the cookies soon filled your nostrils. “You know you still call her Mom?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Charles' random statement. “Huh?” 

He walked away from the oven and back to his original spot next to you. “You still call your Maman Mom.” 

“Yes?” You weren’t really sure where he was going with this, it was nothing new to either of you. 

“I just figured by now you would have made the switch. You speak French with everyone else.” 

You shrugged your shoulders at him, you had never really considered it, the idea felt weird even just thinking about it now. “I’ve always spoken English with my Mom and French with Papa. It would feel weird to switch stuff around now.” You stirred in the flour as you continued the conversation. “You know I could give you some English lessons if you’d like. I think that might have been what you were hinting at.” You teased. 

Charles' eyes widened at your words. “Are you saying my English is not good? I think I speak English very good!” 

“Well.” You didn’t skip a beat. 

“What?” 

“You think you speak English very w-” 

In an instant there is flour all over the upper part of your body, your movements stilled as you’re processing what Charles had just done. You’re mad at first, actually seething because your hair looked so good today and now it’s covered in flour. And you can’t see Charles because you haven’t moved an inch since he threw the flour at you, but he went from having a shit eating grin on his face to a oh shit expression. Your quietness has him worried that you’re actually really pissed at him, but when he hears his nickname come past your lips he knows you're not that mad at him. 

“Charlie. You better run.” 

He isn’t sure he’s heard you right, but when he sees you pick up the whole bag of flour his sock clad feet are sliding on the floor as he runs around the other side of the kitchen island. You're playing cat and mouse around the island for quite some time. The beeping from the oven time ignored multiple times as giggles from both of you filled the room. 

As Charles rounds the corner again his foot catches on one of the barstool legs and you know you’ve finally got him. He doesn’t fall, but he slips just enough to allow you to fully catch up to him. And you may or may not have thrown the whole bag of flour at him, but him being covered head to toe in flour says it was the whole bag. You definitely got him 10x worse than he did you and from that gleam in his eye you know what he’s going to do, but you can’t get away fast enough and his arms are around you in an instant. He shakes his head trying to get as much of the flour off of him and onto you and by you trying to free yourself from his grip he’s transferred a good amount from his clothes onto yours. “Charles! Let me go!” Your pleas are pitiful, laughter dripping off every word. 

“Oh my god!” 

Both of your eyes widen, bodies frozen at the sound of your Mom’s less than pleased voice. The two of you sheepishly stood there as your Mom looks like she’s about ready to cry and cuss you out at the same time. “I can’t leave you two alone for an hour?!” Her eyes shift to behind the two of you, panic written across her face. She’s practically running towards the oven and that’s when you realize the burning smell. And when she not so softly sets the cookie sheet onto the counter you know she’s really not happy. The cookies were burnt to a crisp, the poor Santa hat penguin never stood a chance. “I’m sorry Y/M/N. It was my fault, I started it.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. 

“I don’t care who started it because you’re both cleaning up this mess.” A deep sigh came from you Mom as she really took in just how big of a mess the two of you had made, her head shaking in disapproval as she left the two of you to clean up. 

When you knew she was out of earshot you couldn’t but let out a little giggle, it was like in school when you weren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is just so funny, and Charles follows your actions seconds later. The two of you fools, covered in flour, cookies burnt, and in trouble as you stood there laughing. 

That night you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your bed, your brain would not shut off. And it wasn’t because you were excited for Christmas morning, you only wished that was the reason. You couldn’t get how good it felt to have Charles arms wrapped around you out of your mind, or how that stupid sweater made him look even more attractive than he already was. 

As you stared up at the ceiling, you knew you were screwed. You had a big fat crush on Charles and it was going to ruin your life. You knew he only saw you as a little sister and that made everything so much more worse to you. Why did you have to develop feelings for him of all people? 

Christmas morning came and went and before you knew it evening had arrived, meaning the Leclerc’s would be arriving soon. You were in charge of setting the table, a task you didn’t mind, considering being in the kitchen with your Mom on any holiday was like asking to get yelled at. As you folded the last napkin neatly and placed it in its rightful spot you heard commotion coming from the front door, undoubtedly the Leclerc’s arriving. You spotted Pascale struggling to juggle all the presents and you hurried towards her, quick to offer a hand. “Merci chéri.” A grateful smile painted across her face.

The pile of presents grows as you place them under the tree and you’d think your family hadn’t already opened some this morning. Everyone settles into their usual spots in the living room, but your usual spot by Charles is left empty, as you’ve scurried into the kitchen. You’d rather face the unwarranted wrath from your Mom than be unable to compose yourself around Charles. But you don’t get to hide in the kitchen for very long because she’s practically done with everything, so you help her bring in all the food to the table, and admire your table setting skills as you do so. 

Dinner is pretty uneventful and luckily your Dad has Charles preoccupied with racing talk for most of the time. But you can’t help but catch his eye from across the table every once in a while and every time you do your heart skips a beat. By the time presents start getting passed around you had successfully avoided Charles for most of the day, but that is ruined when he plops down next to you on the floor, shoulders brushing as he gets situated. 

“Are you mad at me for yesterday?” Charles' voice is low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear, but he could have talked at full volume, no one would have heard him over how loud your Dads were being. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” 

Your fingers toyed with the lifted corner of wrapping paper on the present in front of you, your brain trying to figure out what to say. Yes, you had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t because you were mad. It was actually the opposite, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m not mad at you. Just didn’t want there to be another flour fiasco today. You thought she was mad yesterday, now imagine that while she’s in her holiday cooking zone.” You give him a reassuring smile, hoping that he’s bought what you’ve told him. But he doesn’t get the chance to respond as your Mom’s voice fills the room. 

“Ok does everyone have all their presents? Our Santa this year was less than enthusiastic about handing out the presents.” Your Mom shoots Arthur a look as he sits down on the floor across from Charles and you. 

“There is nothing left under the tree. I promise.” Arthur states. 

“Alright then everyone get after it!” 

Piles of wrapping paper fill the empty spots on the floor in no time and excited gasps fill the room as everyone unwraps their gifts. You’re always so grateful for everything the Leclerc’s get you for Christmas, they treat you like one of their own, and sometimes you feel they spoil you a little too much. 

With each present that you unwrapped that wasn’t from Charles, you start to get a little worried. You guys exchanged presents every year and if he didn’t get you something this year, you think you might die. So when you come to your last present and it says it’s from his parents, you try to hide your disappointment, especially because it’s an amazing gift. You hop up from your spot on the floor and make sure to go thank them personally, hugs and all. And you’re pretty sure you hear them say something about how you’re their daughter too and how you deserve it, but your brain is still thinking about how Charles didn’t get you anything. 

When you go back to your spot a little perfectly wrapped box with a bow on it is sitting there. You know you weren’t sitting on that, so it had to be placed there after you got up. You think it’s one of Charles that he forgot about, but when you bend over to pick it up you see Charles sloppy handwriting on it. A smile spreads across your face as you look over at Charles who has an equally big one on his. You quickly sit down, eager to know what’s inside. 

“Did you think I didn’t get you anything?” Charles questions, a smirk toying at his lips. 

“Maybe.” Yes. 

“I would never.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, motioning for you to open it. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?” 

You don’t want to seem like you're absolutely ripping into the present, but it probably looks like you are. It’s a tiny box, like one used for jewelry, and you really aren’t expecting Charles to have gotten you jewelry. But when you open the box, nestled in the velvet cushion, is a ring. You glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then back to the ring. It’s just a simple sterling silver ring and somewhat on the smaller side. To be honest Charles could have gotten you a bag of candy and you would have been happy to have just gotten something from him, let alone a ring. 

But when you pick the ring up from the box you see exactly why it’s smaller, and it makes your heart swell. On the inside of the ring you see the words pinky promise engraved into it and as you look over at Charles, he’s holding out his pinky finger, a matching ring adorning it. Your cheeks are hurting from how hard you're smiling, but you don’t care. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten you and as you slide it onto your pinky finger you feel yourself smiling even more, if that’s possible. Your arms are around Charles instantly, pulling him in towards you, thank you’s tumbling out of your mouth as he giggles in response. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He pauses, trying to figure out the right words to say. “Things are changing. I’m moving up from karting and hopefully into Formula 3 within the next year. It’s just a reminder that we’ve always got each other, even if I’m gone racing or you’re off doing something, we can look at the rings and know we’ve got a piece of each other with us, always.” 

You can’t stop smiling at him, and that crush you’ve got has tripled in size in a few short hours. Your teenage brain over exaggerates everything and you basically think this means you’re gonna be together forever, even though you aren’t even together. 

While you’re in make believe land, your parents are observing the two of you. Whispers and knowing glances are exchanged, between them and your Moms can’t help but think it’s cute how close the two of you are. While your Dad in particular, no matter how he feels about Charles, thinks no boy is good enough for his little girl, let alone some sixteen year old boy. 

Perhaps you may be a little dramatic when you say that this Christmas was the best one you’d had so far, but honestly it was the truth. Sure you realized you had a huge crush on Charles that will probably end in tears, but you also got the most thoughtful gift ever, that you will cherish forever. So yeah, this was a good Christmas, crush aside. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And so you lived with admiring Charles from afar for months. Enjoying what time you got together and just holding out hope that maybe one day he wouldn’t see you as his little sister. But life had a funny way of hitting you in the face with reality, especially at thirteen. 

When Charles shows up to a joint family dinner one night with a girl around his arm you feel like all the air has escaped your lungs. And when he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend you plaster on a smile even though you feel like someone has pulled your heart out of your chest and ran it over multiple times.

It’s the longest dinner of your life and while everyone gushes over his girlfriend, asking her all about her life and interests, you poke your food around with your fork. It’s not like you have an appetite anyways, getting your heart broken will do that to you. And it sucks even more because she’s so nice, like insanely nice, you couldn’t even hate her if you wanted to. Not to mention how pretty she was, she was everything, and you were some pimple faced, awkward bodied thirteen year old. 

You fidget with the ring on your finger and your heart races at the idea of Charles not wearing his anymore, your eyes glance over at him and when you spot the ring still on his finger it calms you a little. But that still means nothing, just that he clearly still sees you as a little sister. What you don’t see is how your Mom has been watching you the whole night. You’ve never told her about your feelings towards Charles, but she’s your Mom, she just knows things. And she knows you're hurting right now, so when she changes the topic of conversation at the table you’re eternally grateful. 

It’s an early night for you that night, not bothering to join everyone for a game of UNO, claiming that you aren’t feeling well. When really you couldn’t wait to go upstairs and just cry it out. What did you do to deserve something like this? It hurt so bad, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it. And as you laid in bed that night all you could think about was how are you going to live without him liking you back?

sixteen and nineteen

Newsflash you do live without Charles liking you back. In fact your crush goes away by the end of that year, no thanks to the new boy in your grade, who eventually ends up being your boyfriend. But it was safe to say you were over Charles, at least you think you are. 

Charles, on the other hand, stayed with the girl who made you go crazy at age thirteen for over a year, but they broke up over text. And to your disappointment, Charles never told you the reason why. Ever since then it’s been somewhat of a revolving door of girls in Charles' life. Okay – maybe not a revolving door, but at least three different girls in the past two years. None of them lasted for more than a couple months though, and it was getting to the point where no one in either of your families got to know the girls.

Everyone knew that they would be gone sooner than later. After his last “breakup” a couple months ago, he hadn’t brought around a new one, he claimed that he needed to focus on racing, that F1 seat was almost in his grasp and that was all that mattered to him right now, but you knew there was something else going on. 

While Charles was having issues in the relationship department, you were actually flourishing. You had met your now boyfriend Lucas, when he was the new kid your eighth grade year. You thought he was cute from the moment he walked into your History class the first day back from winter break. And when the seat next to you was the only open desk you tried to hide your excitement as he sat down, but when he smiled at you first, it was hard to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. He was the first to speak, asking if you had a pencil. But his accent made your ears perk up – he was Spanish. The big brown doe eyes and dark hair fit him, now that you realized he was Spanish. 

“Do all Spaniards come unprepared on their first day?” You teased as you handed him a pencil. It was his turn to be the one blushing as he stifled a smile. 

“No, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” 

So he was a flirt – noted. 

The two of you became good friends rather quickly, but per your parents rules, you couldn’t date until you were fifteen. So, you played the long game and prayed that no one else peaked his interest. Luckily for you, he was so infatuated with you that he was willing to wait, and on your fifteenth birthday you went on your first date. He was nothing shy of a gentleman, even going as far as asking your parents permission to take you out, something your Dad was very fond of. And as your parents watched their little girl walk out the door hand in hand with a boy, they couldn’t help but feel a little sad. 

“Our little girl is growing up.” 

Your Mom wrapped a comforting arm around your Dad. “I know. I’m glad though, I figured she would waste her teenage years waiting on Charles.” 

A questioning look washed across your Dad’s face. “What?” 

“Oh honey. Don’t act like you’ve been blind these past ten years. They’ve always been drawn to each other, her more than him. She was absolutely heartbroken when he brought his first girlfriend to dinner that one time.” 

“Guess I do remember being less than thrilled at Charles getting her that ring for Christmas that one year.” Your Dad huffed. 

“Hmm,” she rests her head on his shoulder, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his abdomen as they still stand there, staring at the door. “You know Pascale has always said that Y/N would end up with Charles.” 

Your Dad scoffs at your Mom’s words. “And what do you think of that?” 

“I think only time will tell.” 

While your parents were discussing your love life back at home, you were having a grand time on your date. The pizza place Lucas had taken you to was cute, a fitting place for two fifteen year olds to be on a first date. Thankfully it wasn’t awkward or tense, and you had to thank the two of you for being friends for a year before your date for that. It was just like the two of you hanging out. 

On the walk back to your house your hands never separate, even when they start to become sweaty. And when he pulls you closer to him, so you're basically hugging his arm, you realize you could get used to this.The way his brown eyes look like pools of honey when the sun hits them just right as he looks down at you, the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hand, and the way your name rolls of his tongue when he talks to you, especially with that accent of his. All of it has that all too familiar warm fuzzy feeling appearing in your stomach. 

When he stops in front of the ice cream shop near your house he doesn’t even have to ask you if you want any, you’re already dragging him towards the entrance. The little bell on the door rings as the two of you walk inside and the all too familiar sugary sweet smell hits your nostrils. 

“Ah! Chérie!” 

The owner Mr. Martin – a short older man, probably in his sixties, with what you would call haystacks for eyebrows was beaming at you from behind the counter. He had grown fond of you and the Leclerc boys over the years, claiming that he loved seeing the three of you grow up, as he never had any grandchildren of his own. Though, when his eyes shifted to the right and saw Lucas standing next to you his smile fell briefly, if you hadn’t been staring at him you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“Who is this handsome young man?” He asks as the two of you walk towards him.. 

You introduce Lucas to Mr. Martin and it’s at that moment that you realize that this is the first time you’ve brought him here. Something that didn’t seem possible to you because you were here so often that you had to have brought Lucas here at least once, but you can’t recall a time. 

Only when a vanilla cone is in front of your face are you brought out of your thoughts. Of course Mr. Martin didn’t need to ask you what you wanted, it’s been the same thing every time for the past ten years. Lucas had already sat down at one of the little tables, chocolate cone in hand, while he waited for you. 

“I was surprised to see you with a boy other than Charles.” Mr. Martin states as he wipes down the counter. “He must be special because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here with anyone other than your family or Charles.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Yes, this was your first time you had brought Lucas here, but you know you’ve brought other friends here. There was no way in your ten years here that you hadn’t, but once again your mind was drawing a blank. As you glance back over at Lucas a knot forms in your stomach, it suddenly feels wrong to have brought him here. Like in some way you were tainting this place with his presence. Ruining whatever special hold this place has on your relationship with your family– with Charles. 

You completely ignore Mr. Martin’s statements and just give him a smile and thanks before making up an excuse as to why Lucas and you need to leave. He doesn’t take much convincing when you claim to want to see the sunset. His hand is back in yours as you hear the bell ring once more as the two of you leave. And it’s like as soon as you guys are back on the sidewalk walking towards your house, the gut wrenching feeling is gone. The only evidence of it is left in the ice cream and by the time you’re standing on your front porch step it’s all gone. 

Lucas has a lopsided grin on his face, one you’ve grown to love, as the two of you stand facing each other. “You know we are missing the sunset you wanted to see.” His fingers lightly toy with yours, before finally intertwining them again.

“Mmh. It’s okay.” You were getting lost in those big brown eyes of his, the sunset the last thing on your mind. 

“I’d rather stare at you anyways, you’re much prettier.” 

His words make you practically putty in his hands and before you know it you’re having your first kiss. It’s sweet, metaphorically and literally, the taste of ice cream still on both of your lips. His hand cups your cheek and you have to wonder if he’s done this before. But when he pulls away he only has you craving more, so you lean up and steal on more from him. Giggles escaping past your lips as you see the light blush on his cheeks, you were sure yours were bright red. “Guess this is where I ask you to be my girlfriend huh? Not like I’ve been obsessed with you since my first day of school, been waiting all year or anything.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk on your face. “Are you going to properly ask me?” 

By the end of the night when you’re laying in bed, you had officially gone on your first date, had your first kiss, and obtained a boyfriend all in a matter of hours that day. You were a giddy mess, excitement coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but repeatedly feel your lips, the feeling of Lucas’ still fresh in your mind the whole night. You couldn’t wait to feel them on yours again. And when he texts you that he wants to hang out tomorrow you think your heart just might leap out of your chest. 

Being with Lucas was like living on cloud nine, you truly couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. As the year progressed you really wondered how you had snagged someone like him– tall, dark, and handsome. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and he made you feel like it too, until he didn’t.

That’s the funny thing about first loves, you really think nothing could ever come between you, that it’s going to last forever. But the only thing that lasts forever is the damage they leave when they’re gone. 

You aren’t really sure what switched in Lucas, but after a year of being together he turned into someone who was never happy with what you did, always picking fights over stupid little things. And you know you should have left him already, but you love him, and you think you guys can make it work. You’re only sixteen and your Mom tells you relationships shouldn’t be like this at this age, shouldn’t be mentally draining, but unfortunately this one is. 

All your arguments as of lately had been about Charles. Lucas, though denying it every time you brought it up, had become jealous of him. You weren’t even sure where the jealousy had come from, you barely saw Charles like you used to. He was in F2 on the cusp of getting that F1 seat and you were busy with school and spending time with Lucas. You had even gone as far as rejecting invites to hang out with your other friends to spend time with Lucas, something now you regret very deeply. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It’s a chilly Friday night in February when everything comes crashing down. The argument started over Charles texting you asking if you wanted to hang out. You were already with Lucas, but you hadn’t seen Charles in a couple weeks and you knew once the season started seeing him would be even more scarce. So, you make the big mistake of asking Lucas if he wanted to hang out with Charles. 

“Why would I want to hang out with him?” His back was turned to you, but you already knew from his tone that this was going to turn into an argument. 

“Well I haven’t seen him in awhile and he texted me asking to hang out, I thought we all could hang out.” You thought maybe by including Lucas in the plans that it would make the situation better. Wrong. 

He turns to face you, walking towards your bed where you’re currently sat. “Did he mention me in the text?” 

“Well no but-” 

“Exactly,” Lucas scoffs at you, his expression sour as he looms over you. “He doesn’t want me to come. I would get in his way.” 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, Charles was not the guy Lucas made him out to be. “Don’t know what you mean by you getting in his way.” 

“Oh don’t act cute about it Y/N.” Hearing your name roll off his tongue no longer sounded like music to your ears, it now more resembled nails on a chalkboard, like each time he spoke your name it was venom coming out his mouth. “Bet if I gave him the chance he’d try to get in your pants at the first opportunity.” 

Your eyes widened, cheeks getting hot at his accusations. “What kind of girl do you think I am Lucas?” 

“All I’m saying is your friendship with him isn’t normal, and it makes a guy wonder.” 

You were up off of your bed now, the two of you standing in the middle of your room. “This is getting old. I’ve told you, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You had started to twist the ring on your pinky finger, a nervous habit you had developed over the past couple years. 

“That is why your friendship isn’t normal.” Lucas grabs your hand, his fingers twisting at the ring trying to pull it off your finger. “What kind of girl wears a ring another guy got her while in a relationship? Huh? Even worse that you’ve got matching ones.”

Yanking your hand free from his grasp you can feel your blood starting to boil, and you’re thankful your parents aren’t home tonight because you can tell this is going to get ugly. “We fucking grew up together! He’s like a brother Lucas!” You were the first one to yell and you had unfortunately opened the floodgates because now Lucas is yelling.

“Who hasn’t heard that before?! He’s like a brother. Give me a fucking break. You’re telling me you’ve never had feelings for him? Not once in your life?”  

The accusations and ideas he was throwing around tonight were beyond ridiculous. 

“I’m not thirteen anymore Lucas. You know I only love you.” And you don’t realize what you’ve basically admitted until it leaves your mouth and you hear Lucas let out a dry laugh. 

“Ah. There it is. I think that last part may have been a lie, because you still wouldn’t be wearing that ring if you didn’t still feel something for him.” 

You shake your head at him, why couldn’t he get what you were saying though his thick skull. “I only have platonic love for Charles. It’s nothing like what you and I have.” 

He clicks his tongue, and you can hear the gears turning in his head. “Prove it.” You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused as to how you are supposed to prove that you love only him. “Take the ring off and give it back to Charles.” 

You tuck your hands behind your back, afraid he’ll try and rip it off your finger again. “No. It’s just a ring Lucas. You’re giving it more power than it has.” 

“If it’s just a ring then take it off.” You shake your head no at him. “Take it off Y/N.” You shake your head no again and he stalks towards you, causing you to back up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Take off the fucking ring!” He’s yelling and you can feel the tears starting to pool in your eyes. He’s never gotten this crazy before and you can tell that this is the end of the two of you. 

“Lucas just go.” You're trying to hold back your tears, but when he tries to reach around to grab your hand you let out a sob. “Lucas, leave! Now!” 

He backs up, and for the first time that night you get a good look at his eyes. They are no longer the pools of honey you once found yourself getting lost in, their dark, like a black void, and he almost looks unrecognizable as he stands there. “You never truly loved me did you?.” 

His words cut through you, because you really did love him, and you thought he loved you. But someone who loves you would never treat you like he has you. “I loved you more than you’ll ever know, but clearly you’ve got some shit mixed up in your head to think that I didn’t.” 

“But you are always going to love Charles more Y/N. You can tell yourself it’s only platonic love, but we both know it’s not.” 

You wipe away your tears as you sit back down on the side of your bed, this was getting old. “I can’t do this anymore. Truly. I’ve tried to tell you how much you mean to me, but Charles is a part of my life and if you can’t deal with that,” You take a deep breath, scared for what's about to come out of your mouth. “Then maybe we should break up.” 

And for the first time that night Lucas doesn’t respond and you’re actually surprised that he doesn’t put up a fight. “Alright then I guess we are done.” When he doesn’t immediately leave and decides to squat down in front of you, you're confused. Especially when he wipes away your tears as his hand cups your cheek. “I never wanted us to end up like this, but I can’t share your heart with someone else.” 

He should be screaming and instigating more arguing, not being gentle and loving. More tears fall down your cheeks as he presses a final kiss on your forehead before walking out your bedroom door. You can hear your parents greet him downstairs, what great timing for them to arrive home, and when the front door slams you’re surprised your Dad isn’t going after him. 

You’re immediately calling Charles and you don’t even have to speak, your sniffles and ragged breathing lets him know that you need him. As you hang up the phone you hear a gentle knock on your door and you see your Mom peek her head in, her heart breaking when she sees the state you’re in. “Oh my sweet girl.” 

“It’s over Mom.” You choke out between sobs. 

She does the only thing that she knows you need right now and just holds you, lets you get it all out as she runs her fingers through your hair. 

But seconds later you’re both greeted with an out of breath Charles standing in the middle of your room. Your tears subside for a moment, as you see him doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you two be.” Your Mom gives you a reassuring kiss on the head before exiting your bedroom. 

Charles takes her spot next to you on your bed, his arm immediately pulling you into him. “Did you run here?” You ask as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Did you expect anything less when you called me crying?” He’s deadly serious when he says it, and you don’t know it, but he’d drop everything to come to your aid, no matter if you asked or not. You don’t answer him, but when you wrap your arms around his waist and basically tuck yourself into his side, he knows you appreciate him being here. “Am I wrong for thinking this has something to do with Lucas?” 

The tears start to fall again as the fight replays in your head. “We broke up.” Your words barely above a whisper, but Charles has no trouble hearing them, even over your sniffles. 

“Never liked that asshole anyways.” 

You rolled your eyes at Charles' statement, lightly laughing because he was totally lying. “Don’t lie, you liked him, hell everyone liked him.” 

“Ever thought I am just a very good actor? He made you happy, so I just pretended to like him, for your sake.” 

“Wish you would have made your dislike of him known, maybe I wouldn’t be a hot mess on a Friday night right now.” A sigh escapes past your lips, the feeling of Charles gently rubbing circles on your side had started to soothe you. And you wished you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his embrace. 

Charles doesn’t mean to pry, he knows you’ll tell him when you're ready, but he’s curious as to why the two of you had broken up, as far as he was concerned the two of you seemed happier than ever. But he wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t happy about the two of you breaking up, for reasons unknown to him yet. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” 

Your grip on him tightens and he thinks if he let you, you’d be under his skin if it was possible. “He was jealous of you.” 

Charles feels his heartbeat quicken and he’s not sure why, but he does know he wants to hear the whole story. “And?” 

You know you’re going to start crying again, but it's Charles, you can tell him anything. So you take a deep breath and spill the beans. “It started a couple months ago. He’d pick fights over stupid stuff at first and then it turned into stuff concerning you. I tried to just let it go and make sure he knew he was my number one priority. But tonight’s fight was the worst one yet and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. He was basically insulating that I loved you more than him and I tried to tell him it was only platonic love that I had for you, but he wasn’t convinced.” 

There’s a strange feeling that blooms in Charles' chest as your words hit his ears and it clouds his mind because he’s never had a feeling like this when he’s been around you. It’s foreign and it scares the shit out of him.

You hold back some information from Charles, mainly because you were still processing how you really feel about him. Trying to sort through what Lucas had planted into your brain and what might have already been there, left over from thirteen year old you. But your ring clad finger searches for his and when you feel the cool contrast of his ring, you wrap your pinky fingers together. “Do you think our friendship is normal Charlie?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused as to what you meant. “Where’s this coming from?” 

Your eyes never break away from your intertwined fingers, matching rings staring back at you. “Lucas said our friendship isn’t normal and basically the fact that we have matching rings isn’t normal either.” 

Now Charles' gaze is also on your rings and for a moment he thinks maybe it isn’t normal, but then he realizes this is your guys normal. So fuck what anyone else or Lucas thought about his friendship with you. “Think he might have been just pulling shit out of his ass at that point. Jealous that he doesn’t have anyone in his life like we do each other.” 

Charles' words do make you feel a little better, because you know no matter what you’ll always have each other and tonight is proof of that, but that doesn’t stop your still broken heart from showing.

“Still kind of made me feel like shit though, like he made it seem like I didn’t love him at all, when I clearly did. I mean god Charles he was my first date, first kiss, first everything. Even with how badly he had treated me these last couple months, we’re always gonna have that connection. How am I supposed to find someone like that again? Fuck. I mean he literally has a part of me that I’ll never get back.” 

And Charles can feel his heart tightening at your words, because you’re truly the most amazing girl he knows, and to know that Lucas treated you badly when all you deserve is the best awakens something in him. 

“I wish you could see how you look to me, how amazing you are. Yes, you have those connections with Lucas, but believe me when I say you aren’t going to have a problem finding someone else.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you hear Charles speak. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“I wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You’re funny, kind, the best listener, and you’re so beautiful. Truly Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you. And Lucas is clearly stupid for letting you go.” 

The blush on your cheeks probably looked like a bad sunburn with how much you were blushing and as you made eye contact with Charles you suddenly felt like that thirteen year old girl again. His blue eyes burning into yours and when he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear you can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach. And for a brief moment Charles had pushed your thoughts about Lucas to the back of your mind. 

He pulls you into a hug and if there is one place you feel the safest in the world, it’s in Charles arms. And when he whispers into your ear that everything is gonna be fine, you know it’s going to be, as long as you’ve got Charles in your life. 

seventeen and twenty 

He had done it. 

Charles had finally gotten into Formula 1. The thing he had only dreamt of since childhood had finally come true. The long weekends away from home, the training, the tiredness, the stress, it was all worth it in the end. That seat was finally his and you couldn’t have been more proud. He had been in talks with a couple of the teams for a while and he always kept you updated on the possibilities, some weeks it sounded like he would sign with one team, and then the next another. The whole situation was beyond stressful to you, so you could only imagine how Charles felt about it all. 

The day you found out that he signed with Suaber was one you’ll never forget.

Charles had tried to plan some elaborate thing to announce the big news to you, but that meant he would have to keep it a secret from you for at least a day or two. Something he found to be rather difficult once he got home, because the only thing he wanted to do was tell you. 

It didn’t matter to him that it was almost midnight by the time he had gotten home from the airport, he was going to tell you tonight no matter what. He pulled his phone out of his pocket– thumbs moving rapidly as he texted you. 

After dozing off multiple times in the last half hour you had decided to call it quits on your binge session of The Office for the night. You had switched the TV to something random to actually fall asleep to and it didn’t take long for you to be on the cusp of actual sleep until– 

DING

A groan escaped past your lips and you contemplated ignoring it, but when the second alert went off you snatched your phone off the nightstand. It felt like you were staring directly into the sun as your eyes struggled to read the text notification. 

Charlie: come out back 

Your eyes glanced at the time – 12:15. What the hell could he possibly want this late? But you begrudgingly got out of bed, slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt before quietly going downstairs. 

The light on the back patio illuminated the backyard just enough for you to see Charles sitting on the swings waiting for you. And If you were even thinking about sneaking up on Charles that would have been impossible with the sliding door to the backyard. The thing screeched like nails on a chalkboard even with you opening it just enough to slide through it. His gaze now locked onto you as you scurried off the porch and towards the swings. 

The smile that he greeted you with was one beyond measure. He was clearly happy about something and you could tell just by the crinkles around his eyes and those dimples that right now looked to be deeper than canyons. 

“What’s got you so happy, Leclerc?” 

Your eyes focused on Charles' frame as he swayed back and forth slowly on the swing. He was clearly too big for it – his legs were bent awkwardly and his swing creaked everytime he moved. You could feel the sides of the swing digging into your hips and you realized you probably looked as ridiculous as him. 

“Just happy to see you. Missed you.” His smile still ever prominent. 

You scoffed at his words, he had just seen you a couple days ago. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t have texted me at midnight if there wasn’t something going on. In fact, how did you know I was up or even home? It’s a Friday night you know.” 

“Because I know you Y/N. Your Friday nights are usually spent at home watching some show until you can’t stay up any longer.” 

A grimace finds its way onto your face, what an amazing life you live. “Okay when you say it outloud it makes me sound like a loser.” 

His eyes had softened as the two of you made eye contact. “Nothing wrong with how you spend your Friday nights.” 

You wanted to get off the topic of your nonexistent social life and onto the pressing matter at hand tonight – what had Charles so giddy? “So are you gonna tell me what is actually going on or what?” 

He took a deep breath, he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to say these words out loud. “I’ve got a Formula 1 seat next year.” 

A blank expression is all that is staring back at Charles and he’s worried that you’re somehow mad or upset, but that’s far from the truth. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard him right, because you think you heard him say he’s going to be racing in Formula 1 next year, but your brain has seemed to have short circuited– your heart beating a mile a minute. 

You’re able to get out, “Sorry – what?!” and when you hear those words come from him once again you’re practically leaping out of the swing and into his arms. The fact that it’s nighttime and people are sleeping is the last thing on your mind as you're shouting excited nonsense at him. 

His laughter filled your ears as he stood up from the swing with you still wrapped up in his arms. You just couldn’t believe it, something he had worked so hard for, dreamt about since childhood, had finally come true. If anyone was deserving of it – it was him. 

“Putain de merde Charles! When did you sign and with who?” You asked once you had finally peeled yourself away from him and were able to form a coherent sentence. 

“Sauber – I just signed yesterday. I know it’s not Ferrari like we had hoped-” 

Your jaw dropped and you lightly smacked his arm. “Ferrari will always be there, I promise. And maybe after they see how good you do this upcoming season they’ll regret not signing you. But what I’m really wondering is why you told me you were going to do testing for one of the teams instead of telling me you were going to sign with them!” 

He put his hands up in defense, but the cheesy grin on his face still remained. “I wanted to surprise you! But then as soon as I signed that contract all I wanted to do was tell you. I literally just got home from the airport when I texted you!” 

The fact that Charles wanted you to be the first person he told had you melting and the butterflies in your stomach had you thinking about those unresolved feelings you had towards him. But you pushed it aside because tonight was not the night for that to be lingering in your mind. 

You reached down to his hand and linked your pinky fingers together. The gesture no longer just meant for a promise, but also one of comfort and reassurance. “I do hope you know though how immensely proud I am of you. How proud your Papa would be of you. I knew from that first time you ever mentioned something about becoming a F1 driver when we were kids that you would accomplish it and now look at you.” 

Charles' eyes soften at your words and when he looks into your eyes he feels that funny foreign feeling. The one that blooms in his chest and travels down to his stomach, the same feeling from last year when he held you after Lucas broke your heart. The feeling he chooses to ignore as he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly, like someone might take you from him. He knows his life wouldn’t be the same without you and that he owes some of this success to you– for constantly believing in him even when he didn’t, for dreaming with him, and for being the light on even his darkest days. 

“And I hope you know that I wouldn’t have made it without you. You’ve been my biggest supporter since we were kids, always believing in me, pushing me, coming to support me when you could, and I can’t imagine you not being at my first race.” 

“Oh do you not remember what I said when we were younger? Think I said I’d have a permanent paddock pass, so you bet your ass I’m gonna be there.” 

A small laugh escapes past his lips and his dimples are back out in full force for what seems like the millionth time tonight. “Truly Y/N. Merci, I couldn’t have done it without you. Je t'aime.” 

“Je t'aime aussi Charlie.” 

His pinky finger finds yours once again and when he curls his finger around yours a wave of deja vu washes over you. And that’s when you remembered the last time the two were out here together. You were still kids, but you had made him promise not to forget you once he got into Formula 1. 

Now here the two of you stood, high on the exciting news of him achieving that goal. You can’t help that pit that starts to form in your stomach as you think of what you feared at age ten coming true. You try to hide it, not wanting to dampen the mood, and you know all you can do is pray that he keeps his promise. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

That following March you make the trip to Australia with the Leclerc’s and your family and it’s everything you could have ever dreamed of. Sure you had attended the Monaco Grand Prix every year, and some of Charles F2 races, but you had never been really in the thick of it like this. Maybe it was because it was Charles' first ever F1 race, but the feeling in the air was indescribable. The roar of the engines, the cheers from the crowd, it was something you could get used to experiencing. 

It’s surreal to see him in the car, see him flying around the circuit like it’s nothing, because all you can imagine is eight year old Charles saying he wants to be an F1 driver when he grows up in that car. He ends up placing P13 and for his first ever F1 race you couldn't have been more proud. And you aren’t afraid to admit that you shed a few tears, honestly you think everyone shed a few tears seeing him finally accomplish that lifetime dream of his. 

When you see him after the race he’s beaming like he’d won the thing and you could only imagine what he will be like when he actually wins his first race. You can practically feel the adrenaline radiating off of him when he wraps you up in his embrace. 

“You did so good Charles. You did it, you made it.” Your words slightly mumbled against his shoulder, but he hears you just fine. 

“I’m glad you were able to come. Wouldn’t have been as special if you didn’t.” You don’t think he’s wiped that smile off his face ever since he got out of the car and it only intensified as he spoke to you. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” And it’s true because there’s no other place you’d want to be right now. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next time you see him is for the Monaco Grand Prix and he’s nearly shitting himself the whole week before. You would have thought this was his first ever time in a F1 car with how nervous he was. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, knows this circuit like the back of his hand, but he still spends an unnecessary amount of time on the sim, trying to perfect every little thing. 

With what little amount of time you see him between practice sessions and qualifying before the actual race you try and reassure him, let him know that he’s still an amazing person and driver no matter the outcome on Sunday. And it seems to have worked because by Sunday his spirits seem to be much higher and he’s got a good feeling about the race, hoping to score some points, and maybe win his home race. 

But when his brakes fail and he ends up crashing into the back of another car resulting in a DNF you’re heartbroken, but you know he’s even more upset. You know he’s going to be so hard on himself and overanalyze the whole situation, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to try and make things a little better. 

When you find him he’s pacing back and forth in what little space he has in his drivers room. Helmet still strapped onto his head and his race suit still done up. You spot one of his gloves on the physio table and the other on the ground — evidence that he had thrown them. He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even see you standing in the doorway as he paces. 

“Charlie.” Your voice is soft and you hope by using his nickname that it may calm him a little. 

His movements stop when he hears your voice and when he finally sees you standing there in the doorway all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. What an embarrassment to have his first DNF at his first home race. It’s like the gods wanted to punish him for reasons unbestowed to him. 

Your reflection stares back at you through his visor as you approach him, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your hands find their home on them. You finally work up the courage to flip up his visor so you can actually look at him and when you see red puffy eyes staring back at you your heart breaks a little more. 

“Let’s get this helmet off, yeah?” 

With a small nod given from him as permission you reach your hands up to undo the strap. You’re trying to be delicate with your actions, but when it comes to taking off his helmet there really isn’t a way to be nice about it. And Charles knows because he’s got his hands over yours, aiding you in taking it off. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he practically tore off his balaclava and threw it haphazardly somewhere in the room. As silly as it seemed, the indentions that it left behind on his face somehow made him more attractive. Combine that with his hair being a tousled mess and his skin glistening from the sweat (and tears) and post race Charles may be your favorite Charles. You watched even more intently as he unzipped his race suit, letting the upper half fall at his hips, exposing the tight fireproofs that you loved more than you should. 

Those unresolved feelings that you’ve tried to shove deep down for years had seemed to be crawling their way back up recently. But for today you pushed them back down because you were here to comfort Charles, not ogle at him, no matter how good he looked at the moment. 

He sat down on his physio table with a defeated sigh, hand running through his already messy hair. “I’ve let everyone down – the team, my family, myself, you. Maybe if I wouldn’t have braked too hard at turn seven or didn’t push as hard in the tunnel-” 

You moved to stand in between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders. He was on the edge of spiraling and you knew if you didn’t take him back from that ledge he’d be in his head about it for weeks. 

“Charles. There was nothing that you could have done differently, it was an issue with the car. Which means it had nothing to do with you as a person, as a driver, or your talent.” Your hand subconsciously searches for his, and like it’s muscle memory your pinkies link seconds later. “I promise.” 

“A ‘once in a generation driver’ would have avoided crashing.” 

Ugh. The phrases that the media used to describe Charles were – yes very flattering, but they came at a price. He took them personally and the idea of being anything less than what they claimed him to be took a serious mental toll on him. 

“You had no brakes Charles. What were you supposed to do? Bust your feet through the floor and Fred Flintstone it?” You could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly at your comment and you knew he was backing away from the edge. His hands find their way around your waist and he’s pulling you into him, your head finding a home on his shoulder. 

“I’m still immensely proud of you. Hell, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be your number one fan.” This time there is an actual smile that washes across Charles face, but you don’t get to see it, your head is still resting on his shoulder. “ And I know it’s easier said than done, but please try not to be so hard on yourself, especially when it comes to things out of your control.” 

“What would I do without you?” It’s a serious question that Charles asks himself often. You’ve been each other's rocks for twelve years now. Through the amazing times and the horrible times. No one knows either of you like you do each other. 

You’ve pulled away from his embrace now, your eyes staring back at his. “Hmmm. I don’t know. You’d probably be absolutely miserable without me.” 

And when you finally see that pretty smile of his, dimples and all, you know you’ve accomplished your mission. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Although after Monaco– things changed. 

The first thing and probably the most inevitable was Charles moving out. Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t done it sooner, but in between the Monaco GP and Canadian GP he moved into his own place. Which in theory wasn’t a big deal, but that meant he wasn’t just right down the street from you anymore. He had gotten an apartment further into the city, which in Monaco that’s not that far, but you knew it would make a difference. 

The days of popping into his house and expecting him to be there were long gone. The whole thing really shouldn’t have been such a big deal to you, but you couldn’t help but think that him moving out was only going to aid in your worries of him forgetting about you to come true. 

After Monaco your communication with Charles started to slowly lessen.Texts that once were answered in minutes now went hours without an answer or sometimes no response at all. You blamed it on his busy schedule, trying not to think too much about it. But much to your dismay, your worries do come true. 

It’s inevitable to you that you are drifting apart when you realize it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, almost a month since you’ve talked to him. And when you see him make it official with some girl you hadn’t even heard mention of after the British GP you feel like it’s just another nail in the coffin. 

You don’t even make the effort to reach out anymore, in fact you make sure not to after seeing that he’s got a new girlfriend. You’d just be wasting your time and energy. And it may seem like you're giving up on keeping Charles in your life, but really what else could you do? It truly hurts like hell to see the person you care about the most not seem to care about you, but you can’t force someone to talk to you or see you. 

He’s living his dream, traveling the world, partying, surrounded by stunning women. You’re still in school, still only seventeen, and not sure what you want your life to look like. It was inevitable really, for the two of you to drift apart, but that little part of you that ten year old you still holds on to, hopes that Charles remembers that promise he made and eventually comes to his senses. Because you know and you know he knows that you two are always going to have that special bond, the ring on your finger a constant reminder of it. And you wonder if he still wears his, but you don’t hold on to much hope that he does. 

Even though Charles and you aren’t exactly the closest at the moment you do want to try and attend another race before you start your final year of school and are forced to give that all of your attention. So when Arthur texts you asking if you want to go to Monza with Pascale and him you don’t pass up the opportunity.

Arthur filled you in on stuff regarding Charles during the flight, not that you asked, but he knew the two of you hadn’t really been talking. And you don’t mean to ask about his girlfriend, but you do, and you can see Arthur tip-toeing around his words. “She’s… nice. I’ve only met her once so I really couldn’t tell you much. You haven’t met her yet though, right?” 

You shook your head at him. “I haven’t even seen Charles since the home race. So no, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.” 

“Merde. I didn’t think it had been that long.” 

What Arthur doesn’t tell you is that Charles doesn’t know their Mom and him are coming, not to mention you. You only figure it out when Arthur says something about making sure Charles doesn’t know to the Sauber team member who gives him three VIP passes. Arthur claims you guys are here to surprise Charles, give him a little pick me up after his last two races were DNF’s. 

The idea of seeing Charles again after so long already had your stomach in knots, but now knowing he doesn’t even know you’re coming makes it even worse. You were under the impression that he knew you were tagging along with Arthur. And everyone knows Charles is horrible at hiding his emotions, what if he sees you and can’t hide the fact that he doesn’t want you here? A million possibilities ran through your brain as Arthur dragged you towards the Sauber garage, while Pascale went to hospitality. 

Qualifying had just started and you were thankful for the extra time to mentally prepare yourself to see Charles again. With the way you were acting you would have thought you hadn’t seen him in years, but truthfully these three months had felt like years. 

The roar of engines were slightly muffled as you put on a headset, eyes focused on the monitor in front of you. Even with your nerves through the roof, it felt good to be back at a race. The atmosphere was intoxicating, you loved the hustle and bustle of it all, the adrenaline you got from just being here was crazy. 

You were so engrossed in watching Charles that you didn’t even notice someone come up behind Arthur and you until you felt him tap your shoulder. When you turn around the person standing there is the last person you expected to be seeing.  

Leah— Charles' girlfriend.  

Her lips are moving, but you aren’t hearing a word, and that’s when you realize you’ve still got your headset on. You quickly pull them down around your neck just in time to hear her say. “You must be Y/N?” You're shocked she knows who you are and from the look on your face she knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Charles has mentioned you before. It’s nice to finally meet you!” 

It’s sad to say that you had a hard time believing that Charles talked about you to her, but you put on a fake smile and accepted her invitation for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you too!” While Arthur and her spoke you tried to get a good read on her, but it was hard to tell if she was naturally this friendly or if it was all just an act. 

Time slipped away as the three of you chatted and you hadn’t realized Q1 was over and that Charles hadn’t made it into Q2 until you saw Leah’s eyes widened at something behind you. That something turned out to be someone and that someone turned out to be Charles. Leah’s practically hanging off of him while she’s trying to take a million photos and videos. And that’s when you know why Arthur tiptoed around his words about her earlier. Yes she was ‘nice’, but she was clearly using Charles for her own benefit. 

Charles on the other hand was oblivious to Leah shoving her phone in his face. His vision had zeroed in on you from the moment he entered the garage, even with your back turned to him he could spot you in a crowd of hundreds. When you finally turned around he felt like his feet had been cemented to the ground. His body felt hot, like a fever was running through his veins, and it wasn’t from being in the car moments ago. 

Arthur wasn’t supposed to be here and you weren’t either– especially talking to his girlfriend. It throws him for a loop and he can’t seem to get his brain and mouth to work together to even greet you, so he stands there while Leah makes sure everyone knows she’s dating a Formula 1 driver. 

The tight lipped smile you throw his direction doesn’t help how he’s feeling. You should be beaming at him, in his personal space (preferably in his arms), laughing at something dumb he said, anything other than how you were right now. And he knows it's no fault but his own, but it still hurts to see you stand there and act like you don’t like him, like you haven’t known each other for twelve years.

Charles could blame his absence in your life on his career, but that wasn’t the whole truth. 

He had seen your texts and truthfully sometimes he was so busy that he would forget to text you back. But those times when he could give you his full attention over text or the occasional facetime were times he never took for granted. He loved hearing your laughter, seeing your smile, or even just having you send him a text about your day. But with those things he loved so dearly came that funny feeling in his chest. 

The same feeling that he first felt last year when Lucas broke up with you, the night he told you he made it into F1, at his home race, and sprinkled in occasionally at other times. He had realized what it was not too long after the Monaco GP and at first he denied it, he thought there was no way it was possible. But then when that feeling would happen just from getting a text from you he knew he was fucked. He wasn’t even going to say the word out loud, not even think it, afraid of what might come if he even allowed the universe the satisfaction of him accepting what he was feeling. You were supposed to be his best friend and not someone he had feelings for. 

So what did he do to combat this insane revelation he had found out about himself? 

Distance himself. 

If he wasn’t in contact with you or seeing you, then surely this silly little thing, that he once again would not acknowledge by its government name, would go away. Plus his ever so busy career was the perfect excuse for him to use in case his Mother or you questioned him. 

And at first it wasn’t hard at all, he had gradually weaned himself off from facetiming you and then texting. And it wasn’t that bad because he had racing and training and media duties and parties– all the stuff that his life involved now to distract him. But then your texts became less and less and then on one off week he realized just how badly he missed having your stupid contact photo pop up on his phone and how he may have fucked everything up. 

But then he met Leah through another driver’s girlfriend and he had her to distract him even more. He knew what kind of person she was from the get go, but he was basically using her too, so if she wanted to make her whole instagram about him then so be it as long as his brain was free of that thing that must not be named about you. And Leah worked for awhile, she was relatively nice and it helped that she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. 

There was no real connection between them and sometimes Charles would rather watch paint dry than have a conversation with her. And most of the time he just let her sit there and talk while he scrolled on his phone, trying not to act like his heart didn’t skip a beat when a post of yours would pop up on Instagram. 

He wanted to contact you so badly, but what was he supposed to say? Hey, I've been so busy that I haven't even picked up my phone to text you hi. 

He knew he had caused some damage to your relationship when his Mom asked why he wasn’t coming home to see you anymore and that you weren’t yourself. He feels like shit about it, the idea of him making you upset is practically nightmare fuel for Charles and he doesn’t know why he thought distancing himself would make things better, they had just made things worse. Made him miss you even more without even realizing it. 

Clearly Charles had never heard the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder because if he had then maybe he wouldn’t have been stood there like a fool in the Sauber garage right now. Heart racing faster than the car he just got out of at the sight of you standing here in front of him for the first time in three months. 

What the hell was happening to him? What was this sudden effect you had on him? Had it always been there and he hadn’t realized it until now? He couldn’t think straight – it was clearly not a good idea to have tried to ignore these realizations (feelings) he had about you. A bad idea to not see you for months because now that you are here everything is rushing back up to the surface 10x worse than before. 

“Long time no see stranger.” Your voice brings him back to reality, but your closer proximity has him searching for an out. His head glancing in every direction for someone– his race engineer, one of the mechanics, Leah, anybody to distract him from you. 

When his search comes up short he resorts to making his stomach hurt even more by talking to you. 

“Yeah. How have you been?” God. Did he not even know how to talk to you anymore? Small talk with someone you know better than yourself had to be a torture method used by government agencies. 

“I’ve been good.” Lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I see you’ve been living it up since I saw you last.” 

You were expecting a little awkwardness between the two of you, but the way Charles was acting was insane, it was like it was your first time meeting or something. He couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life and honestly looked like he’d rather be someplace else at the moment. Your fear of him not wanting you here was clearly not a silly worry, it was reality. 

“Um yeah. Always busy doing something recently.” 

You’ve been fidgeting with the ring on your pinky finger the whole time and your movements catch Charles' gaze. His eyes immediately locking in on the silver ring still shining on your finger. He’s surprised after the way he’s treated you these past couple months that you still have it on, but yet here you stood in front of him with it on, a sign to Charles that he did not deserve you one bit. 

When he sees you realize that he’s staring at your ring and then sees your eyes shift to his naked finger his heart rate quickens once again. His stomach feels like it's about ready to drop out of his ass at the sight of hurt on your face that’s then quickly replaced by a blank stare. He can’t get his words out fast enough, he’s chewing on his words, mouth drier than the Sahara desert. 

“I-um-It’s in my-” 

“It’s fine Charles, really. We’re not little kids anymore. I shouldn’t be holding on to silly childhood promises.” It wasn’t fine, it was far from fine. You’re blinking back tears, your words referencing everything but the ring. But it’s a combination of everything that’s got you upset. The two of you drifting apart, the broken childhood promises, wanting to hate him right now but still being so proud to see him out there doing what he loves, and that damn ring. 

You felt stupid for still having it on, for thinking that he would still have his on. You needed to start being more realistic, but you were still only seventeen. An age that held so much fun and whimsy, you should be out having fun with your friends, not getting upset over a guy who clearly didn’t feel the same about you. The two of you were always going to be at two different times in your lives, it was never going to work out, but fuck there is always going to be apart of you that still holds onto him. He’s got his fingers dug so deep into you that you think you'll be old and gray and still wonder what could have been. 

Each word you spoke felt like a stab to Charles' heart. He wanted to tell you that he still wears his ring. That it’s sitting on its designated spot in his driver's room. But once again he can’t get his words out fast enough, his brain still hung up on your words for some reason. He’s hoping you would realize that the reason he doesn’t have it on was because he had just been in qualifying, but when he sees you slide your ring off and toss it in your bag those stabs to the heart intensify. He feels like he’s losing everything right in front of him, but he can’t seem to get his mind and body to work together to stop it. 

He feels an arm wrap around his and he knows it's Leah. Where was she moments ago when he was looking for an out? Maybe this situation could have been avoided and Charles wouldn’t feel like he had just lost the one person in his life who truly cared about him. 

“Good luck tomorrow Charles.” 

You don’t feel like sticking around any longer, especially if you have to look at Charles and Leah. You let Arthur know you're gonna go find Pascale, but you don’t leave without taking one last glance at Charles. 

It’s a long evening with Arthur’s prying questions about what's going on between his brother and you. All you can do is shrug your shoulders because really you don’t actually know what happened yourself, you assumed you drifted apart, but was there something else that happened that you didn’t know about? 

The next day you decide to watch the race from Sauber’s hospitality with Pascale, hoping to get away from Arthur’s never ending questions and Leah’s presence in general. Pascale luckily hadn’t pressed you on the Charles matter, but she’s practically your second Mother and she knows too that there’s something going on between Charles and you, she’s known from the beginning.

Charles ended up placing eleventh, which is miles better than his last two races, which were DNFs. Though you don’t even bother to go to the garage with Pascale, opting to stay in hospitality until it’s time to leave. It may have been petty of you, but you really weren’t in the mood to see Charles again and from his behavior yesterday he clearly doesn’t care that you're not there. 

But that was far from the truth. In fact Charles was praying that you would show up in the garage this morning, but when Arthur shows up solo he can’t hide the frown that forms on his face. The praying then moves onto seeing you post race, but that is quickly diminished when his Mother shows up without you in tow either. 

Your words from yesterday hung heavy in Charles' mind all last night. I shouldn’t be holding onto silly childhood promises bothered him more than it should have. And he wracked his brain trying to figure out what you could have been referencing. It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he remembered a certain promise that the two of you made at ten and thirteen. Sleep was the last thing on his mind as he laid there wide awake staring at the ceiling recalling the memory in his mind.

He was such a fucking asshole. He’d done the one thing you promised him not to do. Granted he never really forgot about you, you were still clearly on his mind these past three months, but to you it really did seem like he had forgotten about you. Like he had gone off and became this famous race car driver that couldn’t be bothered to text his childhood best friend.

God he had fucked up, like truly fucked up, and all he wanted to do was explain himself (without revealing you know what), apologize, and try and get back to the way things used to be. That though, was proving to be easier said than done when you wouldn’t even come around. And by the time he’s done with his post race duties you’re back at the hotel ready to head back home. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance to redeem himself and you're left wondering why you even agreed to come in the first place. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A week later you're at home sitting on your bed, face shoved into a math textbook trying to figure out some formula when your phone rings. Charles' contact photo pops up on your phone and you contemplate not answering it. You haven’t had any contact with him since Monza so you wonder why he’s decided to call you of all things on a random Monday. But against your better judgment you press answer and put it on speaker before tossing it back down on your bed. 

“Bonjour?” 

There’s muffled sounds in the background, but Charles hasn’t spoken a word, and you wonder if he accidentally butt dialed you. 

“Y/N.” His voice finally echos through the speaker and you hate the way your heart flutters at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue. 

Charles had been working himself up to call you for hours, his finger hovering over your contact too many times to count. He thinks he may have blacked out a little when he finally pressed his thumb down on the screen and then heard your sweet voice, hence his delayed response. Today was his last chance to tell you the big news he'd hoped to tell you last week in Monza, but that clearly didn’t work out. 

The big news in question? Him finally signing with Ferrari. 

The team that he had dreamt of driving for once he got into F1 had finally given him a chance. It was not only his dream, but his Father’s dream for Charles too. Many weekends with his Father spent at race tracks had all led up to him getting that initial seat this year and then finally getting that Ferrari seat for next year, he only wished his Father could be here to witness it. Charles couldn’t have been more happy to finally accomplish that dream not only for himself, but also his Father. 

The other person who knew about how badly he wanted to be sporting that Ferrari red and supported him in finally reaching that goal was you. And to Charles it didn’t matter if you guys perhaps weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now, he wanted you to be the first person he told, just like last year when he got into F1. He sure as hell didn’t want you to find out from the press release, so here he was telling you over the phone. 

“Oui?”

“I’ve done it. I’m driving for Ferrari next year.” It feels good to say it outloud, especially to you because you know just how much it means to him. 

There’s silence from your end for some time and Charles checks to make sure you hadn’t hung up on him, but the call time is still going. He’s about ready to say your name when he hears sniffles echo through the speaker.

“Are you crying?” He’s worried he’s somehow done something once again to make you upset. 

You are in fact crying, as much as you hate it. It’s a mixture of happy and sad tears that you're desperately trying to wipe away like he can see you. Happy tears for him finally signing with Ferrari, a goal that you knew he would accomplish with no issue. Sad tears because you wished he was here telling you in person, wished that things were like they used to be, wished that you never developed feelings for him, and wished that whatever that situation was in Monza last week had never happened. 

“I’m just really happy for you Charlie.” His heart skipped a beat hearing you call him Charlie, it had been too long since you’d graced him with that nickname for his liking. “I told you Ferrari would see what they had missed out on and come running.” 

A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled that night on the swings when he told you about him getting into F1. “I wanted you to be the first person to know.” You can’t ignore the butterflies that form in your stomach at the thought of him thinking about you, wanting you to be the first to know, but you’re still crying, your emotions all over the place. 

When silence fills the line and he still hears your sniffles, he knows it’s not just happy tears you’re crying. It was time to face the elephant over the phone. 

“Listen I know things have been weird between us these past couple months and,” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know it’s my fault. I broke that promise I made you and I hate myself for it everyday.” The idea of him distancing himself from you was the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He wasn’t better off without you, he was better with you. His feelings towards you aside, he’d rather die than not have you in his life. 

“I got so caught up in this new lifestyle and I lost myself for a while.” Maybe he shouldn’t be lying to you, but he wasn’t about ready to admit you know what. He’d already fucked up enough, he didn’t need to go spilling his guts and fuck everything up even more.

“And then in Monza I was shocked to see you there and I felt like an ass for forgetting about you and I was trying to figure out what to say, but you were clearly upset and it was honestly just a mess.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a dick and that I really miss you.” 

His thumb toyed with the ring on his finger as he waited for your response  and he remembered you still didn’t know he still wore his. “I also still wear my ring. I just hadn’t gotten the chance to put it back on after qualifying last week.” His gaze never broke from the ring as he spoke. “I don’t like that you think I would ever stop wearing it. Gonna wear it till the grave Y/N.” 

His last sentence was mumbled, but you heard him loud and clear. Your gaze shifted towards your dresser where the silver ring had sat for the past week. Perhaps you had jumped the gun with your actions last week, you knew he had to take off his jewelry when he got into the car, but in the moment your emotions were telling you otherwise. “You made me feel like shit Charles. It’s a horrible feeling to see someone exiting your life in real time and knowing you really can’t do anything about it.” 

“I know and I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and he thinks he’s done it so many times that he might have a bald spot by morning. 

You feel like you’re forgiving him too easily, but you’ve missed him so much. And to hear him finally admit that he fucked up and say that he missed you too has you unfortunately very easily swayed. He’s been in your life for so long it’s felt like a piece of you was missing these past couple months without having contact with him. So, you forgive him, because you love him.

“I want things to go back to normal, like before.” You’re standing in front of your dresser now, ring rolling between your fingers. 

“They will.” He glanced back down at his ring. “I promise.” 

“You promise?” You asked as you slid the ring back on your finger, a missing part of now you back in its rightful place. 

“I promise.” 

twenty two and twenty five

Over the past four years Charles and you had matured significantly. 

You had graduated and landed a job that you loved at home in Monaco. It required you to travel a lot, which you loved, but also came with amazing off time and flexible hours. A perk you were beyond grateful for because that meant you could attend the majority of Charles races. You had also gotten your own place, a cute little apartment, and was truly embracing adulthood. 

When it came to the love department though– Charles was still there.

Over the four years you had your share of talking stages and two boyfriends who both only lasted a couple months. Your hectic work schedule didn’t help matters, but neither did your feelings towards Charles that you’ve been harboring for the past eight years. You really would have thought you’d have gotten over those, figured it was a thing of adolescents, but your twenties came and the feelings never went. It wasn’t as bad as when you were younger, you learned to handle yourself better and your job keeping you busy helped that. The two of you were at a good place in your relationship and you came to terms that unless you were a big girl and confessed your feelings to him, then you were just going to have to live with him at arms distance. 

Like you when it came to romantic relationships–  you were still Charles number one, as much as he tried to make it work with other girls, they just weren’t you. He had thought multiple times over the years that he was going to tell you how he felt, but you were either talking to someone or had a boyfriend, the timing never right. So he learned, like you, to live with his feelings towards you. A thing that was necessary if he didn’t want a repeat of what happened when he tried to distance himself from you.

So here the two of you were– adults who were completely oblivious to how either of you felt about each other for years, hopelessly pining over each other. 

Charles' career on the other hand was more of a success story than his love life. In the past four years he had accomplished his Maiden win in Belgium during his first year with Ferrari and then his second the next week in Italy. Then went on to win three more races during this year's season. 

A season with three wins may sound like a great accomplishment, but the thing was that he should have had more than three. To say that Charles' fourth season with Ferrari was stressful was an understatement for the ages. He had never been more happy for winter break to arrive than he was this year. He had started the season out on a high by winning the first race of the season, but life somehow had a way of humbling him. 

Horrible strategy calls from the team, bad pit stops, and car troubles had cost Charles his chance at the championship. It seemed like for every high he had– five lows followed. So needless to say when he saw the checkered flag at Abu Dhabi he was somewhat relieved that the season was over and perhaps making the podium may have lifted his spirits a little too. 

But that relief was short lived, because in true Charles fashion, he can’t get out of his head about the what ifs from the season. He had wanted to just let it go, leave it behind him and look forward to this time off and the new season ahead. But all his brain wanted to think about was maybe if we would have gone with softs instead of hards or pitted one lap earlier or managed his tires better then maybe he would have been still coming down from the high of winning the championship right now instead of sulking about. 

He’d been a little distant since break started and you knew he was probably in his head about everything. So when a text pops up on your phone from him late one evening telling you to meet him at the harbor you don’t even think twice about telling him you’ll be there in ten. If you had to guess what he had planned, you’d bet all your money on taking his yacht out to look at the stars. It was something the two of you had done for a couple years now, but it was usually over summer break, not the week before Christmas. But for Charles you would do anything, even brave going out on the water, at night, during the winter. 

When Charles see’s you walk up to his slip on the dock wearing what looks to be the coziest outfit and holding his favorite blanket from your apartment he thinks his heart is about ready to explode. “You’re lucky I love you Charles. It’s gonna be so cold out on the water.” 

I love you. The words echo in his mind as he helps you into the boat. It’s nothing new for you two to say it to each other, and he’s under the impression you’re saying it platonically, but god does it sound so heavenly to hear those three little words come out of your mouth and be directed towards him. 

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He’s referring to you and that glimmer in his eye would tell anyone that he was, but you don’t see it, you’re too busy getting situated in your designated spot next to the captain's seat. 

Once he’s got the boat a good enough distance out into the water he deploys the anchor and you make your way out to the loungers on the deck. You push two of them together, making a big enough space for both you and Charles to relax. 

You’re already cozied up with the blanket by the time he makes his way over to you, but he doesn’t even have to ask, you’re already pulling back the blanket for him to slide under. 

He lets out a sigh once he gets comfortable beside you. “I needed this.” 

A hum in agreement comes from you as you scoot a little closer to Charles, a gust of cold wind blowing through the air. 

“There’s the big dipper.” Charles points his finger up to the sky, your eyes following where he’s pointing to. The two of you take turns pointing out what you think are constellations, but are undoubtedly random stars in made up shapes, but it doesn’t matter to either of you. 

The gentle lull of the waves crashing against the boat fills the silence that falls between the two of you once you’ve run out of things to point out. And you’ve somehow ended up cuddled into Charles' side, his arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest. You couldn’t help it, he’s always been a walking furnace, and when the opportunity presents itself to be in his arms you were gonna take it. 

It was something that was happening more and more with you two recently– pushing the envelope per say on what your friendship entailed. Cuddling, staying the night at each other's apartments, hands lingering a little too long after a hug were all normal things for friends to do– right?  Friends who somehow while doing these things couldn’t tell that the other person felt the same as they did. 

Love may be blind, but in Charles and your’s case, you were blind to love. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you think you could spend eternity out here with him. The feeling of comfort, safety, and the feeling of home that he brings you when he’s around is something you don’t think you can ever live without again. He’s your person and you hope you're his, no matter what the future for the two of you entails. 

The feeling of his fingers ghosting across your arm and down towards your hand tells you he’s searching for one thing and when his pinky finger links with yours you know he’s got something on his pretty little mind. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You whisper, your head still resting on his solid chest.

He doesn’t respond for a while and you think he perhaps didn’t hear you, but then he speaks and it sounds like blasphemy coming out of his mouth. 

“What if I quit?” 

Your body freezes at his words and you’re hoping he’s not meaning what you think, but when you lift your head to see nothing close to a joking manner on his face you know this is about to get serious. 

“I’d think you’d be miserable. You love racing, you were born to do it, it’s in your blood Charles. All the hard work you’ve put in from a literal child to now–” You shake your head, not even wanting to think about him quitting racing. “Don’t be stupid and throw it all away. You’re just only getting started.” 

A deep sigh comes from him, his eyes fixated on your now intertwined hands as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m not going to, but there were so many times this past season that I thought about it. I know that’s crazy to say after I won three times, but god the lows of racing truly are lows. I’d have a good weekend and then have literally a weekend from hell the next race week. It’s just a lot– mentally. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, the teams, the fans, the media, and my own is like a mental prison sometimes.” 

You had sat up at this point, and almost like a small child Charles had clung to you, his head in your lap as you gently ran your fingers through hair. You knew he had a rough season, but you didn’t think it had taken this much of a toll on him. 

“And you’re right. I love racing and I’d be miserable without it, but sometimes I’m miserable with it.” 

The frown that had formed on your face moments ago had deepened at his confession. “I didn’t know the season had affected you this much Charles. Wish you would have talked to me sooner about it.” 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for Charlie, you’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I know you probably get sick of hearing me say it, but I’m still so immensely proud of you. Like I’ve said before, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be proud. I know this season was a rough one at times, but you won three times and were on the podium eleven times. That’s still something to be proud of. So for every time you're miserable because of racing, think about me telling you repeatedly how proud I am of you and maybe you’ll just be miserable because of me instead.” 

You see the corners of his mouth move up and you know you’ve gotten a little smile out of him. “That’s funny that you think me hearing you say that you’re proud of me would make me miserable. It actually has the opposite effect, so your plan may work, but it would result in me being happier instead of more miserable, which is what I think we want to accomplish right?” 

“Yes, I love happy Charlie, but I still love miserable Charlie too.” 

He’s sat up, the two of you sitting face to face now, and you aren’t sure if it's the cool breeze or him staring at you that makes a shiver run up your spine. “That’s good to know.” 

He’s still staring at you and even with only the moon as your source of light, those pretty blue eyes of his are as bright as ever, and staring into your soul. And for a split second you think he’s leaning in and you think this might be the moment he’s gonna kiss you, the moment you’ve been waiting for since you were thirteen. But you’re completely wrong, he’s only reaching for the blanket as he leans back onto the lounger once more. 

“Merci Y/N, truly. For always being here for me, especially for tonight. It was nice to finally get that off my chest. Je t’aime.’ 

You claim your spot back next to Charles and you don’t even second guess yourself when you lay your head back on his chest. “Je t’aime aussi Charlie.” 

Charles, while he can’t complain about having you in his arms and your head on his chest. He can kick himself for that moment mere seconds ago. He was finally going to do it, it was the perfect time, but he chickened out and reached for the blanket instead of using that hand to cup your cheek. He could drive a race car at 230 mph, but couldn’t work up the courage to kiss the girl he was in love with. Maybe he’d find the courage sometime in the next four years. But for now he could live with having you cuddled up against him and knowing that even if it may be platonic, you love him too. 

twenty three and twenty six 

The Monaco Grand Prix. 

An world renowned event. A pinnacle for motorsports. People from all around the world come to the tiny principality every year to watch twenty of the world's best drivers race around the streets of Monaco. 

As a child you watched the grandstands go up every year and you dreamed of getting to watch Charles race those very same streets that you took to school. The two of you as kids watching from the crowd, not knowing that some of those drivers Charles would drive alongside one day, even being teammates with some of them. Charles could only hope that one day that would be him on that top step, hearing his own national anthem play at his home race.  

That one day had yet to happen after six seasons in F1. After three DNF’s, horrible strategy, and two lost pole positions– Charles really didn’t think winning his home race was ever going to happen. He had started to believe the “Monaco curse” more and more year after year. 

You on the other hand didn’t believe that the curse existed. You did believe that the idea of one had made Charles be more in his head when the race came around every year, and in a sense perhaps making him not perform the best at times. But no, you didn’t believe in the Monaco curse.

Every year you had hoped he would win and sadly when he didn’t you were there to pick up the pieces. You knew his time would come and granted you didn’t think it would take this long. But the universe works in mysterious ways, there’s a reason for everything, and you knew there was a reason Charles hadn’t won yet. 

And as this year's grand prix rolled around you hoped that this time the universe was ready to give him what he deserved. 

You did have a good feeling about the race this year, or at least a better feeling than prior years. It was mainly because Charles had been so– carefree these past couple days. He’s usually already thinking about Monaco at the race the week before and the nerves have set in come media day, but this year he’s different. 

He’s excited of course, to be at home for the week and to see everyone for more than a couple days, but during the days leading up to media day he doesn’t show you any sign of nervousness or doubt. And you can’t help but think that this year is the year, he seems to finally be in the right headspace to win this thing. 

Charles and you had spent basically every free moment the two of you had together this week. It was nice, the two of you together again like old times. You had gotten the week off from work, a perk from your job, and it wasn’t like Charles had to travel to another country. So, the two of you took full advantage of the week. Dinner with both families together, hanging out with friends, and just enjoying each other's company filled your Monday through Wednesday. 

But come Wednesday evening you found yourself at Charles apartment after a long day on the water with all your mutual friends. You’re absolutely beat and ready to be back at your place when Charles asks you to come back to his, and you want to say no, but the way he looks in golden hour could be used as a hypnotization technique, so you say yes. 

He claims he’s got something to show you, but the whole car ride and trek into his apartment he won’t budge on telling you what it is. It isn’t until he sits down at his piano with a blush creeping up his neck that you know what he’s got to show you. 

“Have you been working on new music?” You ask with a hopeful smile on your face. 

His fingers ghosted over the keys and his pinky lightly tapped one– the sound filling the room. “For a while now and I think it’s finally ready.” The blush had made its way onto his cheeks and he’s fidgeting with his bracelets as he makes eye contact with you. “So, I think it’s only right that the person that it’s for should get to hear it first.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise and now you’ve both got crimson painted cheeks. “You wrote a song for me?!” 

“Yeah.” He states sheepishly. 

You’ve always loved hearing Charles play the piano. There were many late nights spent where you sat in his apartment and just listened to him mess around on the piano. Those nights were shamelessly some of your favorite moments with Charles, it was like the world didn’t exist and it was just you two and the piano. So to know that he thought and even cared enough about you to write you something had your heart about ready to leap out of your chest. 

“Well, let's hear it then.” You sat down on your usual spot on the couch and eagerly waited for the music to hit your ears. 

He hesitates at first, his fingers slightly slipping on the keys, but once he gets himself sorted the sound that comes from that piano nearly brings tears to your eyes. It’s beautiful and heartfelt and you can’t believe he wrote something like this while he was thinking of you. It’s tugging at those feelings you’ve still got for him after ten years and you try not to get your hopes up that this means he feels the same as you. 

When the song is over his head immediately turns to you for reassurance, but all he sees is your body barreling towards him. You’ve got your arms around him before he can even process what’s happening, but from your excited words of nonsense he knows you loved it. 

“Oh mon dieu!” Is the first coherent thing you’re able to get out. 

“I take it you liked it?” 

“Liked it? I loved it Charlie! It was beautiful and the fact that it was for me made me love it even more. Truly what did I ever do to deserve someone like you in my life? Merci a million times.” 

“I’m glad you loved it. I’ve been working on it for months, wanted to get it perfect in time to show you now.” 

You’re both beaming at each other and to anyone from the outside looking in, the two of you looked so in love it was crazy. Crazy that the both of you have been harboring feelings for each other for years and years and neither of you have made the first move. 

“Will you play me some more?” You try to give him your best puppy dog eyes and of course he can’t say no to you, puppy dog eyes or not. You give him one last hug as a thank you before you sit back down on the couch and let the melodic sounds soothe you. In fact it soothes you so much that combined with the tiredness from being on the boat all day you end up eventually falling asleep. 

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel Charles gently shaking you awake telling you that is time for bed. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to spend the night at one another’s places. You’ve spent many nights in Charles' guest bedroom after drunken nights out or sometimes just for fun. You’re clinging to him, still basically asleep, as he helps you walk towards what you think is the guest bedroom, but it’s his. 

Charles was only going to grab your pajamas that you had left here last time, they were just in the laundry basket on his dresser and it would just take a second. But you followed him into his room still thinking it was the guest room and Charles doesn’t even know you’ve come in behind him until he turns around to see you crawling into his bed.

That all too familiar feeling starts to bloom in his chest as he sees you curled up and comfortable in his bed. He’d want nothing more than to climb in next to you and hold you all night, but he knows the guest room is his room tonight. Charles doesn’t even make it two steps before you call out his name. When he turns around he’s not expecting to see you lying there staring at him with those sleepy eyes, comforter pulled back as you pat the empty spot next to you. He knows he shouldn’t, this is different than cuddling on the couch or sharing beds as kids, it feels different at least. But against his better judgment he climbs in next to you and like he’s your missing puzzle piece you instantly slide into Charles arms. 

It’s like home, being in each other’s embrace. 

The next morning when you wake up in Charles' room it takes you a minute to remember everything, but the blush that creeps onto your face at the memory of you and Charles cuddling in his bed is embarrassingly bad. And you thank god Charles isn’t next to you right now to see it. 

You do wonder where he’s gone though. He’s not in the living room or kitchen, and it’s still too early for him to have left for media day, but then you hear complaining coming from the bathroom. 

“Maman! No, that's going to be too short!” 

As you peek around the door frame you find Pascale cutting Charles' hair, a tradition the two of them have had every year before the Monaco GP. 

“Charles last time I checked you’re not a hair stylist, let your Maman do her job.” You teased as you finally entered the bathroom and you see him roll his eyes at you in the mirror.

Pascale lights up at the sight of you and leans over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mon amour, you’re here early.” The look on her face tells you she knows you spent the night, but it’s not like it’s something new or anything happened. Hell even if she didn’t know she could definitely tell you had just rolled out of bed. 

“I spent the night. Fell asleep after we were out on the boat all day.” You shrugged your shoulders, it truly was no big deal (you sleeping in his bed and cuddling with him aside). 

She doesn’t say anything, but she does nothing to hide the smile on her face and sly looks she gives you and Charles the whole time she’s cutting his hair. She’s been waiting for the prophecy to fulfill itself forever and that prophecy just so happens to be Charles and you ending up together. Call it Mother’s intuition, but she’s known you two were made for eachother since you were kids. If you didn’t end up together soon she was going to have to do her own plotting to get you two to fess up about your feelings.

Pascale can see how you two look at each other, how Charles’ eyes light up when you enter the room. How you’ve always been his soft spot since you were little kids. The way you speak about Charles like he’d hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew you fell first and Charles a couple years later. All these little things she’s noticed and stored away for that eventual wedding day. 

You can see Charles staring at you through the mirror and it’s making you squirm, his eyes burning into you. “You gonna get rid of that facial hair too?” You try to get him to focus on anything other than you at the moment. 

His mouth opens in fake shock and Pascale curses him for moving. “I’m actually thinking of growing a full beard.” 

“Oh please don’t.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘’t.” 

Charles and you don’t speak about you spending the night in his bed or in his arms. In fact you don’t see him again until qualifying on Saturday where he puts it on pole. You’re ecstatic and you can tell he is too even though he’s trying to remain calm and collected while he does his press duties. He’s gotten pole two times before in Monaco, he knows pole doesn’t mean you win, but he can’t help but think it’s a good sign. 

That night you find yourself back at Charles' apartment by his request once again. Which was a surprise, you figured he’d want to be alone the night before the big race. But it’s quite the opposite, he wanted your company, he can’t get how good it felt to have you in his arms in his bed the other night and he selfishly hopes it happens again tonight. 

“Feeling good about tomorrow?” You asked as the two of you sat down for an amazing pre race dinner of pizza. His trainer may not like it, but you two thought it was a good idea. He needed all the positive energy he could get and if that meant pizza for dinner, then so be it. 

“Yeah. The car has been consistent the past two days and I’ve got pole.” He paused for a moment and you can tell he wants to say something, but he stuffs his mouth with pizza instead. You don’t press the matter anymore, figuring he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, didn’t want to possibly jinx anything. It’s a relatively quiet dinner the rest of the time, he asks about how your job is going and you two shamelessly gossip for a moment about two old friends who recently broke up. 

It’s not until you’re putting the leftover pizza into the fridge that he brings up tomorrow again. 

“It feels right this time.” He’s leaning against the counter, eyes trained on you as you turn back around to face him. “I mean tomorrow– it feels right. I think it’s gonna happen.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you move to lean against the counter next to him. “I think so too. You’ve been different too, more relaxed this week. Think it might be the universe telling us it’s finally gonna happen?” 

A deep sigh comes from Charles. “Mon dieu I hope so.” 

You glance over at the time on the microwave– 11:00 p.m. Shit. You didn’t think it was that late already. 

“It’s getting late Charles. You should be in bed and I should be heading home. It’s a big day tomorrow.” You go to give him a hug goodbye, but he’s just staring at you, and it throws you for a loop. “What’s wrong?” 

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Was he sure he wanted to ask you this? Would it make things weird? It never has before when he’s asked you, but this time felt different. Fuck his palms were drenched in sweat and he could feel his heart beat racing. 

“Um– well you could just spend the night if you wanted to” 

You try not to act like you weren’t silently hoping the whole night that he’d ask you to stay. You had figured he wouldn’t want you to again after you basically invaded his bed the other night, so hearing him tell you to stay made you a little giddy. 

“Traffic is a nightmare this time of year…” You act like you're weighing your options while you fully know you’re going to say yes. “Probably take me twice as long to get home, even at this time of night.” You fake ponder some more, really putting on a show. “Yeah I guess I’ll spend the night.” 

He tries to hide the smile on his face when he hears you finally accept his offer and as much as he would like to stay up and talk some more, he really did need to be getting to bed. “Well, I probably should be in bed by now. So I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” 

“Yeah. I should go to bed too.” 

So you follow him down the hall towards the bedrooms. When he reaches his room he opens the door, but lingers in the doorway. You being a couple paces behind him, figured he was just waiting to tell you goodnight. But when you reach the guest room, which is across from his room, he doesn’t say anything to you. Your hand lingers above the door knob and something inside of you tells you not to open it– to turn around instead. 

You’re met with his piercing blue eyes staring at you as you turn around. His gaze sometimes could be so intense, but this time you matched him. There was an obvious tension in the air, but neither of you were brave enough to be the one to break it. Then suddenly you see Charles nod his head towards his room before finally going past the doorway. He’d left the door open behind him and you knew that was just another unspoken invitation. And like a moth to a flame you followed behind him, not even second guessing your actions. You hadn’t even opened the guest bedroom door, you were a goner as soon as he asked you to spend the night. 

For the second time in a week the two of you shared the same bed, not sexually, but it definitely wasn’t friendly or at least how normal friends would share a bed. But tonight he’s in your arms, your fingers lightly combing through his hair as he rests his head on your stomach. He falls asleep rather quickly, his light snores filling the room, but sleep evades you that night. Your heads a mess, you can’t help but think that Charles has to feel the same way as you, there’s just no way that he doesn’t. 

What man is this intimate with someone in a non sexual way and doesn’t have the slightest bit of feelings for them? But then your heart breaks at the idea of him just stringing you along and you know you’ve got to set up some boundaries to protect yourself. Unfortunately you were never going to be the one to admit how you felt first, so unless he spills his guts, then this was the last time you’d share a bed with Charles like this. 

The next morning he’s already gone and at the track by the time you wake up and when you grab your phone from the nightstand you see he’d sent you a text. 

Charlie: i left early this morning and you just looked too peaceful to wake up before i left. so i’ll see you before lights out. 

A sigh escaped past your lips as you tossed your phone on the bed, today was going to be a long day. 

You made the journey back to your apartment to get ready and then fought the traffic again to get down to the circuit. The hustle and bustle distracts your brain from continuing your spiral session from last night, something you were grateful for. You were here to cheer on and support Charles, not go into a frenzy once again about whether or not he likes you. 

A good amount of your time is spent in Ferrari’s hospitality chatting with everyone and discussing potential outcomes for the race. You don’t end up seeing Charles until the time between the drivers parade and race time. He’s in his drivers room when you find him and he’s literally the calmest you’ve ever seen him before a race. 

His face lights up when he sees you and he’s immediately pulling you in for a hug. “Didn’t think you were gonna come for a second. We’ve usually seen each other by now.” 

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just got caught up talking to everyone and you know how our Moms get in a large group. I had to wrangle them in before they invited everyone over for dinner tonight.” 

“Well I don’t plan on being home for dinner tonight. I’m going to be out celebrating.” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as speaks. 

You laughed lightly at his new found confidence. “Oh someone is sure of themself.” 

He only laughs along with you, as the two of you sit down on his physio table.

The two of you chat some more about random things, like if he’s planning on going to Jimmy’z or someplace else tonight. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until he gets a knock on his door letting him know it’s twenty minutes till lights out. Before you leave you stand in front of him, holding out your ring clad pinky finger and like a natural reflex Charles wraps his around yours, pulling them close to his chest. 

“You’re gonna do great and when you take that top step on the podium I’m gonna be there front and center cheering you on.” 

“You better be.” He’s serious, he doesn’t want to win this thing if you aren't right there alongside him.

“I promise Charlie.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You think you might pass out or throw up when the lights go out and the race finally begins. It then turns into thinking you’re going to do both when there’s a red flag not even halfway through the first lap. Your mind automatically goes straight to Charles and your stomach churns at the idea of him being hurt, screw the win, all that mattered to you was that he was okay. Thankfully he’s not involved in the crash, but the red flag lasts for what seems forever. And eventually you have to endure the start of the race again. 

You’re a nervous wreck the whole race, but you think with how hard Pascale has been gripping your hand that she might be more nervous than you. It’s the longest 78 laps of your life and you’re praying he can maintain the lead, put a big enough gap between Oscar that he can just ride this race out. Lap by lap he’s holding steady but that just makes you more nervous. The knot in your stomach grows more and more as that lap number gets closer to 78. 

He’s driven so well the whole time you couldn’t have been more proud. You’d been holding back tears since lap 68, but when you hear him over the radio on lap 75 say that he’s just going to bring it home you can’t help but let a couple tears fall. And by now you know the win is his. He’s got almost a nine second lead and as long as he keeps his head clear he was going to be the first one to see the checkered flag. 

The feeling of seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing he had won was indescribable. The whole Ferrari unit was going crazy, already rushing down to be there when Charles got out of the car. You’re cheering as tears run down your face, your Mom and Pascale hugging you, the two of them also in tears. It’s surreal, him finally winning, you can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now. You waste no time in heading over to get the best spot to watch the podium ceremony. You’re front and center, the metal barrier pressed up against your abdomen as more people fill the crowd behind you. 

The feeling you got seeing him come out, take that top step, and proudly hold that trophy was something you wished you could feel forever. To see him wrapped up in the Monaco flag as the anthem played, the visible weight taken off of his shoulders. You were so unbelievably proud of him and so utterly in love with him. The tears just wouldn’t stop coming as you watched him shine up there. The universe had finally decided that this was his time, he was destined to win this race today. 

Charles feels on top of the world as he looks down at everyone in the crowd, he can’t believe he’d finally won his home race. He’d immediately spotted you as soon as he took that top step and he could see how happy you are for him, tears streaming down your face paired with that beaming smile. His heart has never felt as full as it does right now. And as he stands there hearing his national anthem play at his home race he knows that today was meant to be. The universe put him here, put you here, for a reason. He’s tired of pretending like his life wouldn’t be better without you being his. The two of you haven’t broken eye contact for awhile, both of you grinning like fools, and he decides that now is the time. 

“Je suis amoureux de vous” He mouths to you. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he was saying, but when you do you think you’re dreaming. There’s no way he just admitted to being in love with you right here, during his podium celebration. You pinch yourself just for good measure before mouthing it back to him. And if it was even possible his smile gets even bigger. 

You’re the first person he wants to see after the celebratory champagne pop. He can’t wait a second longer to tell you how he actually feels out loud. He doesn’t care that he’s drenched in champagne or that there’s hundreds of people around. He’s waited too long to let a moment like this go by. He’s pushing his way through the crowd to find you, he’s basically getting manhandled, but he doesn’t care, you’re his priority. And when he finally finds you it’s like a scene straight out of a movie. 

His adrenaline is pumping and he doesn’t even think about what he’s doing, he’s just running straight towards you, his heart fluttering when you smile at the sight of him. His hands cup your face and in an instant his lips are on yours. It takes you by surprise, but once your brain finally processes what’s happening, you grab him by his race suit, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne and sweat, his lips soft, and his facial hair tickles your face. Kissing Charles is everything you could have ever dreamed of and more, you’d never thought the day would come. 

When you finally pull back it feels like the world is spinning and Charles laughs at you being drunk off one kiss from him. His hands cup your face once more causing you to focus on him. “I’m in love with you. Have been for years, but I’ve just been too scared to say anything, but winning today let me know the universe was on my side. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity once again to tell you how I feel.” Your eyes widen at hearing him say he’s been in love with you for years. “Don’t act so surprised. I made it painfully obvious sometimes.” His dimples peaking out as he smiles at you. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen Charlie.” 

Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Was too scared that you didn’t feel the same.” 

“I could never not love you Y/N. It’s always been you, you’re my person. I wish I would have  told you sooner so I could have been doing this more often.” He pulls you in for another kiss and you think if he didn’t have his arms around you your legs would have given out. 

Never in a million years did you think that Charles would be confessing his love to you after he’d just won his home race. If thirteen year old you could see you right now she’d probably die. You can’t believe the man you love with every fiber of your being loves you back. The universe definitely wanted today to be a win not only for Charles, but for you. 

He grabs your hand and presses your ring clad pinky finger to his lips. “Mon coeur.” Then he presses another kiss to your lips. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi.” 

thirty three and thirty six

The summer sun had started to make her farewell to the principality of Monaco, pink and orange hues swirled in the sky. A little boy and girl play on a weathered playset, their giggles echoing through the open air. The sound of a screeching sliding door tells them that their Maman is coming to get them before they even hear her holler their names. “Come say goodbye to grand-mère and grand-père!” 

Their tiny bodies run towards the house and are soon met with lots of hugs and kisses from their grandparents, who they see very often, but it wouldn’t seem like it by the way they were acting. 

“Ok, who wants ice cream?” Their Papa asks after all the goodbyes are said and they are out the door. 

“Me!” Is said in unison from the two children. 

The little girl has her Papa wrapped around her finger, he just thinks the world of her as they walk hand in hand down the street, while the little boy is definitely a Maman’s boy. 

“You know your Maman and I used to come to this place all the time when we were younger.” 

“We know Papa, you’ve told us a hundred times, and we come here all the time.” The little girl sasses her Papa.

“I know but I just like to reminisce.” The man gives his wife a wink and she knows he’s about ready to go down memory lane.

The journey to the ice cream shop is filled with stories about their younger years and luckily for the children the ice cream shop isn’t that far away. 

That all too familiar sweet smell soon fills the parents senses and it brings them back to when they were around their children’s age. That same bell on the door dings as they enter and that same old man who should have retired a decade ago is still working behind the counter. 

“Ah the Leclercs! My favorite family. You know I’m gonna have to start making extra vanilla ice cream just to accommodate you guys.” 

taglist: @rana030 @blueflorals @sltwins

Not really a proper request but I’d love some more fluff??? Maybe winding down after a tough mission??? As much as I’d love to fuck the man I’m also a silly romantic who wants to just hold hands 😕

I’M PROUD OF YOU ⟢

in which logan’s never been exposed to affection before you, so he still is taken back when you show it.

warnings: insane fluff, softie!logan, mutant!reader

i lowkey changed the plot of the first x-men movie if you squint but ignore that. this also takes place during the time of x-men (2000) and X2, kinda in between iykwim

this is the corniest shit ever sos.. sorry to disappoint😗

if you were to ask logan what his favorite feeling was, he’d probably tell you that he doesn’t have feelings and that you’re a goddamn moron. however upon rare occasion he might cheese about how he felt when he first met you.

that day was the first time logan had felt what love was, what it could be.

—

like logan, you too were a result of an experiment that left you with claws and adamantium insides. the x-men had picked you both up at the same time, making their first mistake by leaving you alone in a room to stab each other to what would’ve been death. however the mistake was made up for when jean caught you and logan on top of the roof while trauma bonding with a side of beer.

nobody could’ve prepared logan for the day he’d meet someone so much like him. mostly because nobody knew that day would ever come.

but, damn, was he glad it did.

—

“babe!” you heard logan whine from the bedroom just on the other side of the door of the bathroom you occupied.

you smiled, “one second!” you pleaded, muffled by the toothbrush and toothpaste in your mouth. you circle the brush around your mouth once more, smiling in the mirror as you glide your tongue over your sharp fangs before spitting out the toothpaste.

upon opening the bathroom door, you wipe your mouth before throwing the hand towel somewhere in the bathroom.

the second that logan feels the bed dip beside him, his eyes flash open and a cheesy smile takes over his face.

“hi.” you smile, stroking his forearm with your thumb.

“hi,” he looks almost drunk on you, and you loved it.

you adjusted yourself to lie flat on your back, allowing logan to come snuggle on top of you. you felt his large hands wrap under your body and around your waste, pulling your bodies as close together as they could possibly go.

as you began to run your hands through logan’s soft hair, you could feel his body loosen as a long, shaky sigh escaped his mouth.

you brushed through logan’s faux ears, twisting them around your fingers to make them stand up higher.

you tilt your head, looking down at logan with pure adoration. “y’know lo,” you start, pulling logan’s hair back gently and forcing him to look you in the eyes.

he hums, urging you to continue. “you did a good job these past few days, i’m proud of you.” you smile softly, continuing to stroke his hair carefully.

oddly enough, you felt logan tense up again, but it was different this time. he wasn’t mad, or upset. it almost felt as if he was adjusting to your words; taking them in.

“what?” he asks, almost silently, looking up at you with large eyes.

you swear you could feel your heart near snap in half at how unnatural affection felt to logan. you had been through amounts of trauma and torture, too. a lot of it with logan, even if you have no remembrance of it. however the art of showing love just came easier to you than it did to logan.

you cup his face in your hands, his facial hair rough against your soft hands. “i’m proud of you, lo. i’m proud of how you handled yourself these past few days,” you reassured, gliding your thumb across his skin so slow that it almost pained him.

he only continues to stare at you, studying your face with love and tenderness.

you giggle; a sound that logan could listen to on repeat for days on end. “this is the part where you say ‘thank you, sugar. i love you.” you slide your hands past his ears and down his neck to his shoulders, holding them with a soft but firm grip. you kiss your way from his neck down to where your hands sit, leaving your head there, your chin sitting on logan’s shoulder.

“i love you, sugar. thank you.”

“close enough.”

taglist!! (like this post to be added)

@velvrei

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Can't wait for pt 2!!!!! I especially love it when the shitty asshole gets beaten tf up🙈😻 so well written and had me feeling the anger too

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)

Didnt make me cry or anything!

“Am I going to die?”

𓉸ྀི

characters; Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley(and a hint of Hermione + Harry), Draco Malfoy, Cedric Diggory

Tw; Death, descriptions of Gore

𓉸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐹𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒲𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓁𝑒𝓎

There was Chaos everywhere, screaming, fire, sounds of incantations, even the slowly growing smell of Death.

Time went by fast as a piece of the hogwarts roof falls on-top of y/n. as she went from watching her boyfriend Fred Weasley, and his older brother, Percy Weasley reconcile, to laying on the floor on her boyfriend’s lap. she couldn’t even remember getting hit or falling onto the ground. she felt blood trickle and flood into her ears, slowly blocking out the blurring sound of her boyfriend’s yells.

“Y/n c’mon! please, squeeze my fingers again, Percy do something for merlins sake!” Fred painfully says in panic as he and his brother desperately try to do something to stop the bleeding coming from your head. Fred could feel his girlfriends- no not girlfriend, y/n, the girl who’s always been there for him and shared so many memories with, taught Ginny how to do makeup, helped his mother with household chores whenever she could, go from cold to suddenly hot.

Fred could feel his heart shatter and fall into the depths of stomach, feeling unbelievably deep, as he watched y/n completely stop moving. Wide eyed as Fred tried to stop the enormous amounts of blood from staining her face, continuously wiping the blood away. “Y/n you’re strong, you promised me and Ginny you’ll be fine, come on,” Fred says almost desperately. “And my mom, George, Ron, Harry..” Fred says desperately as y/n mutters, “I can’t move.. Am i going to die?” She mutters as she even manages to fail at squeezing her boyfriend’s hand for a last time. Falling in and out of consciousness, struggling to breathe, struggling to even get out the words “I love you”, before her breath stills to a stop.

“No, no, no..” Fred says as his eyes widen at the sight, his girlfriend completely bloody in his lap, at the school they met. He wasn’t even able to say one last ‘i love you’. “I love you y/n please, for merlins sake,” Fred says as the guilt consumes him, he wasn’t able to say a final ‘i love you.’ while she was still conscious, she instead died hearing the sound of chaos and his sobs.

Percys eyes widen as he looked up, quickly trying to grab Fred. “Fred let’s go, please Fred, we need to go!” Percy says as he tries grabbing his brother and pulling him away from his girlfriend’s dead body.

“I’m not leaving y/-“ Fred couldn’t finish, feeling himself get blasted off the floor, “Fred!” He could hear his older brother yell before cutting cut off himself. landing hard on the ground, his conscious left him almost instantly.

It seems the universe won’t let Fred and y/n go through the pain of losing one another.

𓉸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝒢𝑒𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝒲𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓁𝑒𝓎

Y/N and George met in second year, They immediately got along. Maybe it was the fact Y/N was the only one who could tell the two apart.

“He’s not George! i am! seriously Y/N, we’re gonna be working together and you can’t even tell us apart!” Fred says rolling his eyes, attempting a prank. “No. you’re Fred. you have a rounder face and straighter upper lip.” Y/N states matter-of-factly, dumbfounding the twins. “Seriously?”

Stupid right? that a simple snarky comment on their appearance would create a tight friendship for six years. Y/N being the one to talk them out of the overly-stupid pranks that most likely would’ve gotten them expelled.

Isn’t it also stupid how a snarky comment caused two people to fall unbelievably in love with each other?

No, well, at least not to Y/N and George. They immediately felt a connection, with George being the more sympathetic twin, Y/N would go to him with more personal things. George could, sometimes, admit his wrongs more often than Fred. and was more of a joy to be around when you’re stressed, sad, whatever negative feeling you have. Eventually they went to the Yule Ball together, they’ve been together ever since. They were the power couple of Hogwarts. Honestly, their relationship even made some jealous.

They were by no means perfect, They still had arguments. They were mostly started by one or the other saying they’ll try working on something, but Never doing it. the argument today is one of them,

“You aren’t listening to me George! You guys take your pranks too far!” Y/N yelled frustratedly, fighting the urge to rip her hair out of her head. She just found out about the twins ‘prank’ on Graham Montague, shoving him in a broken vanishing cabinet and leaving him in there without food or water. “He’s fine Y/N! nobody ever complains about our pranks, but you!” George yells back stubbornly, not getting up from his chair. “He could’ve died! he had no food or water! and was in a Broken Vanishing cabinet! all because he tried taking a couple of house points away, as if that’s what anyone is concerned about right now!” Y/N explains for what had to be the fifteenth time. “Ok, it was a bloody mistake Y/N.” George tries to come to an agreement, though his tone shows he doesn’t care. “But he was just some Slyth-“ George starts. “Don’t even with that nonsense! So what if he’s a Slytherin? he’s a person, get over yourself, most logical people get past house grudges by now.” Y/N exclaims with annoyance.

“Seriously Y/N just stop! i don’t care, you’re so bloody tense all the time.” George says with same amount of annoyance. Y/N couldn’t bother to come up with a rebuttal, simply grabbing her bags with her mountain of books and left for class.

The argument affected the both of their moods for the rest of the day. Eventually it was the last class of the day, Y/N was running late because she had to help a first year find the Potions classroom. She was lost in thought, after school should she try and talk to George calmly? or wait for him to go to her? she was so busy thinking, she completely ignored an annoying, agonizing, forced high pitched voice.

“Y/N!” The voice called snapping Y/N out of her train of thought. annoyed she says, “For bloody hell, what?”

Y/N felt like time stopped when she turned and saw who it, her blood freezing with the coldness her body turned to. Professor Umbridge.

༄ • ༄

George was humming impatiently outside the girls washroom, waiting for Y/N. he watched her go into it, what was she doing in there for so long though? it was moaning Myrtles bathroom, an average person can only spend so much time in there.

“She not coming out?” Fred says as he walked towards his twin. “Nope…What in merlins name could she be doing in there?” George says inpatient. “Y’know Y/N, she could be holding a study sesh in there for all we-” Fred was cut off, both of the twins jumping slightly, getting startled by Moaning Myrtles yell.

“What is this?! Somebody, oh somebody! i’m not getting blamed for this! oh wait but..are you ok? oh god!” Moaning Myrtle exclaims before actually leaving the bathroom, wailing her away down the hall.

George doesn’t wait, who cares if it’s the girls washroom. “Y/N?” George says as he rushes in, he felt his skin go pale when he noticed her hazily sitting on the floor, blood dripping from her wrist.

“Y/N what is this?” George says as he immediately dropped down to her, the amount of blood surrounding them was no doubt terrifying to anyone, especially if it belonged to someone you loved so dearly.

Y/N struggled to speak, explaining in a weak voice. “Professor Umbridge…she punished me but then..while i was walking something happened and it just started burning..then bleeding.” Y/N explains.

“Bloody hell!” Fred exclaims in shock at the scene in front of him. “Spells aren’t working.” Y/N explains in a panicked though sleepy tone. “Am i going to die..?” Y/N asks. “No no, you’ll be fine just rest your eyes..” George says nervously but reassuringly, her eyes forcefully close, blocking out the sight of her two best friends of six years, and her boyfriend.

Now, in Current time, George sits on the dry grassy ground. his Mother resting next to him. the murmurs of the rest of his family and friends could be heard in the distance. He couldn’t take his eyes off the two nicely decorated stones. standing tall as they read,

‘Y/N Y/L/N, November 12th 1996.’

‘Fred Weasley, May 2 1998.’

𓉸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝑅𝑜𝓃 𝒲𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓁𝑒𝓎

Ron sat on the beautiful shade of green grass, munching away on some food, listening to Hermione and Harry talk quietly, snacking on some of their own snacks. They sat against a tree. In front of a Grave stone. Ron was admiring the gravestone with a slow curve to a point at the top, little hearts twisting along the edge, Flowers decorating up the gravestone, perfectly shaping around the words,

‘In Loving memory of Y/N Scamander’

‘August 6th 1980-June 3rd 1993’

Ron remembered back in 2nd year, when Y/N mentioned how pretty flowers look when grown over graves, so he didn’t dare cut the pretty, blue Clematis off her grave. Ron couldn’t bring himself to talk, how could he?

He missed her, he missed her so very dearly. Y/N was his best friend since they met at just seven years old. They would have sleepovers, they would binge eat together, they had the same sarcastic attitude, everything. Except Y/N was still better than him. She was amazing at Potions, she managed to find joy in care Magical Creatures, she even managed to be good at Divination. And she was well-liked, then it was all taken from her too soon. In a way, Ron couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault, whenever he recalls their last day together.

“Sneak out with you guys? why?” Y/N asked questionably as she set her Muggle studies book down. “I honestly doubt we can do anything for Buckbeak, i don’t want to witness that.” Y/N explains sadly, not understanding what they think they could possibly do. “Y/N- your suitcase from your grandfather! Buckbeak already loves you, so i’m sure you could get Buckbeak in there no problem.” Ron says excitedly, feeling hope that they can help Buckbeak. “And no body knows that you have the suitcase.” Harry says with a confident smile that they’ll pull it off.

Ron watched with a smile as Y/N’s face brightened up after hearing their idea, “Oh my god yes! i can’t believe i didn’t think of that earlier!” Y/N says as she got up quickly, before stopping slightly, and asking “Am i going to die?” With an unserious smirk, in reference to the many other past times the group have had near death experiences from seemingly harmless adventures. “Of course not, all we’re doing is getting Buckbeak.”

That dammed idea, sure, they couldn’t have predicted what would happen after, Y/N didn’t even manage to get Buckbeak though, being dragged into the hut by Hagrid.

“Ron?” a voice calls from beside him, Hermione. he was so lost in thought he didn’t even realize the tears swelling in his eyes and lip trembling, as he looked towards the face of his concerned and saddened friends. “It’s already been two years..” Is all Ron could say, turning back to look at the Grave of his old best friend, who he hasn’t seen in so long. despite how sad he was, the tears didn’t drop, as if his own tears were trying to drown his eyes.

“I’ll never forget..her scream, it was so..i don’t know..” Ron mumbled.

“Oh god..Professor Lupin-” Y/N says, her eyes widening as she, Ron, Hermione and Harry walked back, watching in terror as their professor changed, morphing into a deranged looking werewolf, and Sirius Black turned into the black dog, trying to calm his friend. her and Rons attention were brought to Peter Pettigrew, quickly trying to make his escape. Y/N was about to grab him until he tried shooting a spell at Ron, quickly yanking Ron down, making the spell miss. “Bloody hell!” Y/N says in frustration as she tried to quickly get Peter but was too late, as he scurried away. “Ron ar-” Y/N tries to say,

“Y/N! move!” Hermione yells quickly behind Ron. “What?” Y/N says, listening as she tried to quickly move, until she got thrown forward up the ground with pair of sharp claws.

“Y/N!” Ron screamed in panic quickly as he tried to get up, Harry quickly going to mutter a spell, before freezing, as a shrill, deafening, traumatic yell pierced the air, along with the faint sound of something sharp piercing skin and pulling.

The trios eyes widened in absolute terror as the werewolf on top of Kiersten got shoved to ground by the giant, black dog form of Sirius Black. Ron felt as though his soul quite literally left his body for a second as he looked and saw Y/N, his best friend, in front of him. “Y/N!” Hermione let out hysterically as she quickly ran towards Y/N. while Harry and Ron stand frozen, not even noticing the incoming dementors.

Ron just stared with wide eyes and his body unbelievably trembling as he saw Y/N, laying on the ground with rigid breaths and wide eyes as she stared at the grass, a big, deep, wide open claw cuts going down her stomach, more piercing her neck and legs. The cuts were so deep that she was already soaked in her own blood, stomach, legs and neck red. Cuts so deep that you could see parts of a human body you never should, bone, pale flesh.

Ron was trembling slightly as he recalled the memory, tears finally falling. It seemed his friends knew what he was thinking about, as he turned and saw Hermiones eyes full of tears as she just nodded slightly, putting her arm around Ron as she rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a pathetic and sad, “I know Ron..” Harry looking forward as well as he struggled to hold his own tears back at the sounds of his own friends crying, not realizing how much he’s been hiding back the memory and thought of Y/N.

The sad atmosphere and crying from the trio of best friends doesn’t match the beautiful tree Y/N loved, that the three were leaning against, and gorgeous gravestone in front of the three.

The trio got slightly silent, even chuckling slightly when a leaf fell from the tree, a beautiful shade of green and in the perfect shape of a heart, landing right in front of the trio.

A sign from their amazing best friend that she’s still there, even as an angel ʚ♡ɞ.

𓉸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑜 𝑀𝒶𝓁𝒻𝑜𝓎

Y/N and Draco met before Hogwarts, at Madam Malkin’s. Draco can remember the memory vividly, despite how long ago it was.

Draco stood boredly waiting, glancing around Madam Malkin’s store, it looked like a place for stray dogs to Draco. The young, platinum blonde boys attention was quickly diverted to the door as someone else walked in, a girl, around his age. She had Y/H/C, which was oddly satisfying to look at.

He wasted no time, strutting his way over towards the other student. “Hello, i’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” Draco says, wasting no time at offering his hand out. “And you are..?”

“Y/N Y/L/N..” Y/N says taken aback at his sudden introduction, before smiling slightly and shaking his hand. “Are you going to Hogwarts this September?” Draco asks with a slightly disinterested tone. Y/N’s face brightened up at this, “Yes! i am, i know you most likely are considering the fact your here, what classes are you looking forward to? oh and do you think Harry Potter will be at Hogwarts? What house do you think you’ll be in, i feel like you’ll be in Slytherin because..you know you’re a Malfoy but,”

And it just went on and on, shocking Draco slightly. he couldn’t help but feel relieved once Y/N finally left. “What a blubbering moron..” Draco said quietly to himself, rolling his eyes. Though he was slightly confused on how unbothered Y/N was talking to a Malfoy.

And that now brings Draco to where he is now, absolutely whipped for that woman, while also being ashamed of himself. Sure, she was a pure-blood, but she was a Hufflepuff. How could he let himself fall for a Hufflepuff? that’s a shame on the Malfoy name.

But no matter what he did, he just didn’t feel right when with other people, or when Y/N was with other people. for example the Yule Ball, seeing her with that wretched Potter, it made Draco nauseous. Why did he need to have those feelings?

Maybe in a way it was because she was always so kind, one of the few students in that rubbish school that didn’t find a way to shame Slytherins for god knows what. Maybe it was because even when he would throw bitter insults she ignored it, barely giving him the time of day. Yet even when he would be rude at times, she would talk to him or treat him with respect. Even when he was an asshole throughout 90% of their… friendship? who knows, Y/N simply brushed it off.

What made Draco finally accept his feelings you ask? well, he never truly did, that lingering feeling of self shame remained slightly, though it was his Mother who made him feel like he wasn’t disappointing their family, or a disgrace to their family name. sure, She was shocked at first, but she didn’t let it affect her relationship with her son, and hey, at least it wasn’t a muggle.

“I want you, to be happy Draco. the family name should not have weight over who you love.” She explains sympathetically to Draco.

Though he came to the realization that he waited to long for Y/N. She was with the ‘perfect’ Harry Potter now. Or at least that’s what he thought.

When Y/N noticed how much more aggressive and rude Draco had been since the Yule Ball, she kept on bugging him to tell her what his problem was, becoming increasingly annoyed herself. and when she found out why, she was shocked herself.

“Draco…You have this completely wrong, me and Harry both had no dates. So we decided to just dance together for fun after Ron and Hermione started arguing.” Y/N explains, though it was no secret she was trying to hide her amusement.

And since then, the two have been in a secret relationship. Draco being able to find peace in Y/N, her understanding his views and pressure from his family name. She taught him how to not be so bloody rude to muggle-borns, resulting in his ended use of the word ‘mudblood’. They dated for a good two years, until the weight Draco had on him to join his family in being a death eater.

He always thought he would be just like his father. Well known, well ‘respected’, a death eater. But, he was a child in an adult situation. it’s easy to say you want to follow in your parents footsteps when you don’t fully understand the severity of it. That’s when their issues started. Y/N was trying to be nice, talk him out of it. and he truly loved her, so he said, ‘Ok’.

But when it actually came the time to decide, he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘no’. with his own life, possibly being on the line, or even Y/N’s, he couldn’t take the chance. That’s what ultimately ended their relationship.

“Draco..” was all Y/N could muster as she looked at the mark on her boyfriend’s forearm. she was hurt..in a way she felt betrayed, he assured her he wouldn’t go down this path. “Y/N..please, don’t fight against us..just completely leave. you could die for merlins sake!” Draco said almost desperately, with the loom of the upcoming ‘war’, Draco was scared. “No, absolutely not, i’m not abandoning my friends at a time like this.” Y/N says firmly.

That’s what Draco had to admire, her loyalty. If only he could’ve been that Loyal to her. He thought he was helping her. how utterly foolish he was.

“Draco.” Voldemorts voice drawled out in a sinister faux, mocking tone of respect. “I’m assigning you with an important task for you to prove your loyalty to me.” He drawls out, smiling devilishly.

Draco tensed at the mention of his name, and turned his head slightly to be able to just see his dark lord. “Y/N, Draco. i know about her, and i know she’s making you a weaker version of yourself, holding not only you, but me back.” Voldemort says. Dracos heart started racing at the mention of Y/Ns name, his jaw tightening.

“I want you to kill her, Draco. prove your loyalty to me.” Voldemort says, grinning in a sadistic and sick way. Dracos heart started beating even faster, is it him or Y/N? if Draco fails to kill her will he be killed? what if he can come up with a plan?

“Bellatrix, you’ll be with him. incase he gets cold feet.” Voldemort adds, still with that grin that Draco would love to Avada Kedavra off. but he was the dark lord, of course he’d find joy in this.

That’s what led to right now, Draco and Y/N standing, facing each other in a cool, abandoned hallway within their old school, just hours before he had to kill her, to give her a warning. “Y/N! i’m telling you to leave! or you’ll die, don’t you understand that?!” Draco exclaimed in frustration.

“Oh? am i going to die?” Y/N replies sarcastically. “For the last time Draco i’m not leaving my friends! maybe if you didn’t care so much about your family name we wouldn’t be in this mess! you could’ve been with everyone else, Then we wouldn’t be destined for death!” Y/N spat bitterly. “I thought i was helping you! now i need to kill you! but if you leave now,” Draco tries to explain, but Y/N wasn’t having any of it.

“Helping me?! what else did you expect to happen? he’s the dark lord for christ sakes! he was going to find out regardless, did you expect him to have pity on you? to let you love the ‘enemy’?” Y/N mocks rudely, she was bitter, understandably so. she was lied to, and now her life is on the line, along with her ex boyfriend. Who, under her facade, she still deeply cares about. “If you do kill me, do you have any idea how much everyone will hate you? how they’ll have it out for you? and even the war, you can die. so then all of this was for nothing!” Y/N rambles, letting her emotions get the best of her, not even caring if she made sense.

“I know! we can avoid that if you just leave!” Draco repeats, getting increasingly frustrated at Y/Ns stubbornness, that he would usually love. “Come with me, then.” Y/N says suddenly. “Or you’ll die too, since you failed to kill me.”

Y/Ns face seemed to soften slightly as she said the last bit, but before Draco could reply, A voice cut through the tense air.

“Avada Kedavra!” a female voice called out, as a spark of green appeared behind Kiersten, instantly hitting her back as she fell to the ground. Revealing none other than Bellatrix, a few feet away from the two. “Y/N!” Draco quickly called out, going to check on Y/N, despite knowing that there was no doubt she was dead.

Bellatrix walked over, fiddling with her wand in her hand as she laughed.

“Oh Draco, you’re suppose to kill her! not tell her to leave. You silly boy.”

𓉸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝒞𝑒𝒹𝓇𝒾𝒸 𝒟𝒾𝑔𝑔𝑜𝓇𝓎

Y/N Y/L/N and Cedric Diggory. the power couple of Hogwarts. they seemed like they had the perfect, movie worthy relationship. which honestly, they did.

They met in first year, and were best friends ever since. Cedric Diggory was a popular, a prefect, and captain of the quidditch team. Y/N was also a prefect, popular, though more reserved, and was at every quidditch game for Cedric.

Whenever they had arguments or disagreements, they would simply stay away from each other until they were calm. Then talked it out, were honest with each other, and took each others advice to heart. They were like the role model relationship for the rest of Hogwarts.

Though, they usually could work out disagreements, this one seemed to be a special case.

“Do you need to do that stupid triwizard tournament? do you have any idea how dangerous it is? and with everything that’s been happening at Hogwarts already-” Y/N has been ranting for about 30 minutes to Cedric about how the triwizard tournament was a bad idea. about how bad things have already been the past three years at hogwarts, and over all dangerous nature of the event. Cedric understood of course, it was all valid fears. but this really meant a lot to Cedric, and he knew with Dumbledore nothing too serious will happen at Hogwarts.

“Like what…if you..i don’t know..” Y/N says frustrated with herself for not being able to find the words as she plopped down onto Cedrics bed next to him. “Am i going to die?” Cedric asked chuckling slightly as he placed his hand onto hers, “Is that what you’re trying to say? because if so, i can assure you that will not happen.” Cedric says with amusement in his voice. “Especially with Dumbledore as Headmaster.” Cedric reassures Y/N with a soft squeeze to her hand.

Y/N looked over to her sweet boyfriend with a soft smile, “You’re right..i just have a bad feeling.”

But Y/Ns agreement didn’t last long, after Cedric actually got in, and somehow Harry Potter. a fourth year.

“How dense are you?! clearly nothing good is going to happen!” Y/N said frustratedly, she’s been arguing with Cedric about how Harry got in, and over the past three years, Trouble always seems to follow Harry. “Y/N! please calm down,” Cedric starts. “Why?! so that you can find some other way to excuse the obvious right in front of you? that this is a bad idea?” Y/N said sarcastically rolling her eyes. but stopping as she waited for Cedrics response. “No..you’re valid to be worried but absolutely nothing will happen. And this means a lot to me, And this isn’t what i wanted a Picnic for, i wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to yule ball with me this year,” Cedric says, trying to calm Y/N down. Cedric couldn’t deny that it was a little weird, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, right?

Y/N sighed in defeat, but smile slightly as she said, “Fine…but please think about what i said.”

And that leads to now, the third task. Y/N waited nervously. she was trying to ignore her nerves that something bad was about to happen, bouncing for foot slightly against the floor. as much as she hated to admit it, she hoped that if something bad happened it wouldn’t be Cedric. She was mentally praying that it’ll happen to anyone but Cedric, and that no one will be too seriously hurt.

Y/N nervously swallowed back what felt like her heart coming up her throat, as she fixed up the initials on her hand that became blurry due to sweat. writing with shaky hands, ‘𐌂.𐌃 ♡’

Y/N smiled slightly when she saw Harry and Cedric, before her smile turned to a face of terror.

“That’s my boy! That’s my son!” Y/N could hear Amos Diggory, her boyfriend’s father yell as he rushed over to Cedric.

Y/N followed quick after, “Cedric!” she exclaimed, she almost wished she didn’t anymore as he saw her boyfriends face. he looked traumatized and lifeless. Y/N could feel the tears start to fall down her face at the sight. “Harry! Harry what happened?” Y/N asked as she knelt down close to him. she was surprised herself with how she hasn’t completely lost control of herself yet.

“He’s back! Voldemorts back,” Harry starts, Y/Ns crying tops for a brief moment as her eyes widened. She couldn’t muster anything else. All she could feel was pity for her perfect and kind boyfriend.

𓉸ྀི

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Written by Ankoluvly, 2024 on tumblr!

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Cedrics and Dracos were lowkey rushed, and suddenly added. this short fic(?) is a rewrite of something i wrote a couple of years ago :)

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Might do a part 2 and add Remus, Blaise, Tom, Mattheo, Theo, and Lorenzo if i start to feel comfortable writing them, i’d also add Newt as a bonus Remus and Newt were suppose to be in this but is struggled with writing them so much.

Needs to be said more.

PSA from Blobby. Something we should talk about more ❤️

Rather heartbreaking, but 110% worth it

「 ✦ cloud nine. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader [part2]

Summary: The "jinx girl," as they call her, is said to bring bad luck. However, when Mattheo Riddle decides to get to know the school's most neglected girl and takes matters into his own hands, Y/N's life is turned upside down in a mere night.

Warnings:fluff,smut, angst

Words: 11.2k

The whispers followed me like a shroud, a constant murmur that swirled around the edges of my existence. "The jinx girl ," they hissed, punctuated by snickers and pointed fingers. Bad luck, they believed, clung to me like a second skin, a misfortune I carried wherever I went.

Hogwarts, a place that promised magic and wonder, had become a labyrinth of avoidance. Empty seats flanked me in Potions, desks strategically moved away in Charms, and hushed conversations abruptly stopped when I entered the room. I was a pariah, a freak, the girl who supposedly brought misfortune upon anyone who dared come close.

Every dropped potion, every sprained ankle, every lost Quidditch match - all blamed on me, Y/N Y/L/N, the harbinger of bad luck. Hogwarts, once a dream, had become a prison. Even the ghosts seemed to cower at my presence.

Professor Flitwick, a whirlwind of energy and charm despite his diminutive stature, announced a project for our Charms class.

"Partnering up for a Conjuring Extravaganza!" he squeaked, his voice a high-pitched melody. "Showcase your enchanting skills with a partner of your choosing!"

The room erupted in excited chatter, students scrambling to find their partners. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, a familiar ache twisting in my gut. Who would want to pair up with the cursed child? As if sensing my despair, Professor Flitwick's bright blue eyes twinkled in my direction.

"Don't worry, Miss Y/L/N," he chirped, "there's always a perfect match for everyone!"

His words offered little comfort. The pairings continued, each giggling duo a stark reminder of my isolation. Just when I resigned myself to another solo project, a voice cut through the din.

"I'll pair with Y/L/N ."

The classroom fell silent. Heads swiveled in unison, disbelief etched on their faces. It was Mattheo Riddle, the Slytherin prince with a reputation as sharp as his intellect .

Professor Flitwick, however, beamed like a firework had gone off in his tiny fist. "Excellent choice, Mr. Riddle!"

My jaw dropped. Mattheo Riddle? Partnering with me ? the jinxing girl ? It was as unexpected as a dragon hatching a pixie. A ripple of surprised murmurs coursed through the class. Did he just volunteer? Was this a cruel joke?

stole a glance at Mattheo, half expecting a smirk or a sly wink that would shatter the illusion of kindness.

But instead, he met my gaze with a genuine, albeit hesitant, smile. It was a rare sight on his usually stoic face, a flicker of warmth that sent a jolt through me. He sauntered over, his confident stride somehow softened as he approached me.

"Fancy working together, (Y/N)?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time he'd ever addressed me directly, to talk to , and the informality sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I... I uh, sure," I stammered, still struggling to process the situation.

Professor Flitwick launched into the specifics of the project, outlining the different magical creatures we could try conjuring. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.

"So," he began, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "what kind of magic are you most comfortable with love ?"he said, pulling up a chair next to me.

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever used that term – "love" – with me before. It was a small word, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown across the chasm of isolation.

A hesitant smile tugged at my lips. "I, uh, I'm actually quite good with summoning charms," I confessed, surprised by my own boldness.

His smile widened. "Excellent," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm more of a transfiguration specialist. We could combine our strengths."

Combine our strengths? The thought of working alongside Mattheo, of learning from him and maybe even teaching him a thing or two myself, sent a thrill through me.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we delved into the project details. Professor Flitwick's lecture faded into background noise . Mattheo surprised me with his easygoing nature, his sharp intellect tempered with a dry wit that made me laugh, a sound that felt foreign escaping my lips.

Finally, Professor Flitwick called out the end of class. "Alright, class! Dismissed! Remember, be creative, be precise, and most importantly, have fun!"

My heart still hammered in my chest, a mixture of trepidation and a strange, exhilarating thrill. Mattheo gathered his books, and as he turned to leave, he caught my eye “ see you around Y/L/N “

The crisp autumn air sent a shiver down my spine as I settled onto the worn wooden bench in the school gardens. pulled out the book I burrowed from the library earlier , determined to bury myself in its intricacies and forget the entire debacle.

The rhythmic crunch of gravel on the path drew my attention. I glanced up, bracing myself for another encounter with Pansy and her posse, only to find Mattheo approaching. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something I couldn't quite decipher.

He stopped a few steps away, a silent question hanging in the air. Surprised, I stammered, "M-Mattheo? What are you doing here?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice softer than I was accustomed to hearing from him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Was this real? "I, uh, sure," I managed, gesturing to the empty space beside me.

He sat down, our shoulders brushing slightly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Stealing a glance at him, I noticed his gaze fixed on the book in my lap. "Studying for the Charms exam?"

I shook my head. "Actually, this is more of a personal read. It's about obscure magical creatures."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh? Intriguing. Anything interesting?"

Hesitantly, I explained the book's exploration of Fae lore, their connection to emotions and the delicate balance they maintained with the human world.

To my surprise, Mattheo listened intently, occasionally asking insightful questions that sparked further discussion. We delved into the complexities of Fae magic, debated the ethics of human interaction with these mythical beings.

A playful glint flickered in his dark eyes, and a hint of a smile danced on his lips as he listened to my passionate explanation of Fae lore.

"Why – why are you smiling like that?" I asked hesitantly

"You just look so passionate about it," he explained, a genuine smile gracing his features.

"Actually, it’s totally my uncle fault he was the one who got me into it," I confessed, a fond smile playing on my lips. "He used to read me Fae tales before bed when I was young. Now here I am, analyzing their magical properties."

"Are you close with your uncle?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, very close," I replied, then hesitated, a shadow crossing my face.

He picked up on the shift in my mood. "Everything okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since the library. "Why are you doing this, Mattheo? Is this a dare or something?"

He frowned, genuine confusion etched on his face. "Why would you say that?"

"You know," I rambled, gesturing at the empty garden around us. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes holding a hint of amusement.

My breath caught in my throat as he reached out, a playful glint in his eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, sending shivers down my spine. "Me?" I whispered, barely a breath escaping my lips.

He smirked, amusement flickering across his face. "You look pretty cute to even scare a fly, love. Why should I be afraid of you?"

His words, laced with a hint of flirtation, left me speechless. His touch, light as a feather, lingered on my cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"You don't understand," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Look at the garden, no one is here because I'm here. They believe... they believe —"

He cut me off before I could finish my frantic explanation. "But I'm here, aren't I, love?" he said, his voice a husky murmur. My heart pounded like a drum solo, the world around us seeming to fade away.

"You shouldn't be," I managed, my voice small and breathless. "I don't understand why."

"I'm not playing games with you, I promise," he replied, his voice firm. I hesitantly nodded, closing my eyes as the weight of his words settled upon me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

"Don't be," he said softly. "I understand. And you know what? I don't care what they say. And to be honest I don't even care if it was true..."

smiling , I looked up , meeting his gaze."So you're the first "

He leaned back, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "Let's just say," he began, his voice low and intriguing, "I know you weren't the reason Ronald broke his leg before the last Quidditch match."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips."And," he continued, his smile widening, "I also know that the explosion in Potions last year was entirely Harold's fault, not yours."

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet garden. The weight of the whispers seemed to lift with each peal, replaced by a lightness I hadn't felt in years

"You were just there, like everybody else," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "So why would you take the blame for that?"

He leaned forward, his face so close now that my laughter subsided, replaced by a nervous flutter in my chest. "You know what they say about what happened in first year," I began, voice barely above a whisper.

"It stays with you till your last," he finished the saying, his dark eyes holding mine. A grateful smile tugged at my lips.

"So when Charlie from down the street brought the rumors from our neighborhood to school, and then spread that story about me jinxing Seamus during his first Quidditch practice.. and let's just say Neville's unfortunate Gillyweed incident didn't help my case too so a that everybody seemed to believe it ," I explained, finally voicing the truth I hadn't thought anyone would ever be interested in hearing.

"That's not fair," Mattheo said, his voice firm.

"Yeah," I sighed, "but as my Nana always says, some children are born with tragedies in their hands." A bittersweet smile crossed my lips. "And by some children, she means me."

"She sounds like a cruel woman," he muttered.

I laughed, a touch brittle. "If you think my Nana is cruel, you should've met my mother then."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a confession I hadn't meant to share. My cheeks burned with a sudden, hot shame. Mattheo, however, didn't seem repulsed. In fact, his expression softened further.

My voice trailed off, the weight of the past suddenly overwhelming. Sharing a secret like that felt like opening a wound I'd painstakingly hidden for years. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, the setting sun casting long shadows across the quiet garden.

"I-I think I should get going," I stammered, pushing myself out of the chair, my resolve shaky at best.

A cool hand gripped my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched as I turned to face him , his gaze a storm of emotions swirling within its depths "Don't run away yet."

My cheeks burned even hotter, but I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away from his. "I'm not running," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't release my wrist. Instead, his grip softened, his thumb gently stroking a soothing circle against my skin. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the cold isolation I'd grown accustomed to.

"Then can I interest you in some Butterbeer tomorrow evening?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful charm. "Three Broomsticks, perhaps? We could continue our discussion about Fae magic, or maybe you could tell me more about your Nana and your… interesting family history."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips. The idea of spending another evening with Mattheo, outside the confines of a school project, sent a thrill through me.

A smile, genuine and unrestrained, bloomed on my face. "I'd like that," I replied, my voice a whisper against the backdrop of the settling evening.

Sleep that night was a distant dream. The events in the garden replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Mattheo's hand in mine, the warmth of his touch lingering like a phantom sensation, his unexpected concern for my story – it all sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

The morning sun filtering through my dormitory window found me wide awake, staring at the ceiling with a tangled mess of hair and a giddy smile plastered on my face.

But then came the most agonizing decision of the day – what to wear? My trunk overflowed with the usual witchy robes, all shades of black and grey. None seemed appropriate for a… date? Was it a date? My cheeks burned at the thought.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. A dark green skirt that swirled around my knees, a crisp black blouse , and my trusty black boots. It wasn't extravagant, but it felt… me.

The walk to the Three Broomsticks was a mess a disaster as I was trying to figure out the right direction . As I pushed open the creaky oak door,I tried to breathe and calm my self down, My eyes scanned the room, searching for Mattheo amidst the bustling patrons.

And then I saw him, tucked away in a corner booth, a solitary figure amidst the chatter and laughter. Relief washed over me, followed by a jolt of something warmer as our eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for me to join him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I walked towards him, a self-conscious fluttering in my stomach. Reaching the table, I slid into the booth opposite him.

his gaze lingering a beat longer than necessary on my face. "you..," he finally said, a low whistle escaping his lips. "You look..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

My cheeks flushed a rosy hue . "I look?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Radiant," he finished, his voice a husky murmur.

My breath hitched. No one had ever used that word to describe me before. "Radiant?" I repeated, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.

"Absolutely," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though, I have to say, for a second I thought you weren’t coming “

“ oh I’m so sorry I was just trying to find the way I, uh, I've never actually been to the Three Broomsticks before," I admitted, hoping to deflect from his unexpected compliment.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Never? But it's practically a Hogwarts tradition!"

. "I guess I've been more focused on the library and…avoiding crowds."

A flicker of understanding crossed his face. "Well, consider this your official initiation," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Prepare to be overwhelmed by sticky tables, questionable singing."

The waitress returned with our drinks, placing them carefully on the table.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, momentarily shattering our peaceful bubble. A boisterous group of students, their laughter echoing through the room, flooded in. My stomach lurched as I recognized them – Charlie Spinnet , flanked by his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, her face twisted in a sneer.

Unlike the usual sneer of Pansy Parkinson, Charlie's expression was a confusing mix of anger and… was that a hint of disappointment ? He locked eyes with me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something more complex in his gaze before it hardened back into a scowl.

Before I could decipher the meaning of it all, Pansy spotted us. Her voice, dripping with her usual malice, sliced through the warm bubble we'd created. "Look who is there," she drawled, directing a flirtatious smile towards Mattheo. "Hello there, Riddle."

Mattheo responded with his trademark icy drawl, "Parkinson. Always a pleasure."

She gave a curt nod before returning to her group. Charlie, however, didn't follow. His gaze remained fixed on me, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. I met his stare, a knot of unease forming in my gut.

"He's jealous," Mattheo said casually, leaning back in his seat. My jaw dropped.

"Jealous? Of what?" I stammered, completely bewildered.

"He likes you ," he replied with a knowing smirk.

A bewildered laugh escaped my lips. "He likes me ? Mattheo, the boy ruined my life" I interjected, my voice laced with a sharp edge. In truth, life hadn't been a cakewalk before Hogwarts either.

Just then, a loud shattering sound erupted from our table, sending shivers down my spine. My cup of butterbeer, which Charlie had probably targeted with a stray jinx spell , lay in pieces on the floor. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the pub as everyone turned to stare

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control the spike of panic rising in my chest. This was exactly what I'd feared. when I opened my eyes again, my gaze met Mattheo's.

Unlike me, he wasn't angry. Instead, a mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes. he was smirking.

"So, you said this is your first time at the Three Broomsticks, love?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips as he stood up. I felt a pit forming in my stomach, unsure of where this was headed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then let's make it unforgettable," he declared, his smile widening. He turned towards Charlie's table, his gaze locking onto Charlie's. Pansy, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, suddenly looked terrified.

Mattheo strolled over to their table, a confident swagger in his step. Reaching down, he casually lifted Charlie's untouched butterbeer He held it out to me with a charming smile. "Here, love," he said, not sparing Charlie a glance.

Charlie watched the exchange, his jaw clenched. "Is there anything you want to say, Spinnet?" Mattheo asked, his voice deceptively calm. Charlie just shook his head.

"Do you like toads?" Mattheo asked again a question so out of place it left us all speechless.

"S-seems like I do," Charlie stammered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Good," Mattheo said simply.

Then, in a blink, it happened. A blinding flash of light erupted from Mattheo's outstretched wand, enveloping Charlie. Before anyone could react, the speechless Charlie had vanished, replaced by a , green toad hopping comically on the table.

My scream was lost in the cacophony of shouts and gasps. Pansy let out a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambling back in her chair. Crabbe, for once, looked utterly bewildered.

Mattheo remained calm amidst the chaos, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ignoring the stunned patrons, he reached for his pocket and placed a couple of pills on our table.

"I would take him back to the castle if I were you," he said to Pansy with a chilling smile. "Unless you prefer the company of amphibians."

Pansy was speechless, her face pale with a mixture of fear and fury. All she could manage was a strangled, "Merlin's Beard!"

Turning back to me, Mattheo offered his hand with his usual nonchalant charm. "Shall we go, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle contrast to the chaos he'd just unleashed.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, following the familiar path towards the Black Lake. Finally, we reached the water's edge, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore providing a soothing counterpoint to the earlier frenzy. Mattheo gestured towards a large, flat rock nestled under a willow tree. "Mind joining me?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

I nodded, still processing the events of the evening. Charlie's transformation, Pansy's terror, it was all a bit surreal. Sitting down on the rock, I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

"So," Mattheo began, a playful lilt to his voice, "first date, and I turn your potential bully into a toad. Not exactly the charming introduction I was hoping for."

I glanced at him, surprised. "Date?" I stammered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

His smile softened. "Well," he began, " we did ditch the project discussion for butterbeer and…, then turning someone into a toad… definitely not your typical Tuesday."

I couldn't help but laugh, My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I… I never thought…" I stammered, completely flustered.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Neither did I," he confessed, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Thank you," I said, taking a deep breath, " it's the first time anyone has ever defended me like that. Not since my Uncle."

Mattheo's smile softened. "Well," he said, his voice gentle, "consider me your knight in slightly-unconventional-Slytherin-armor then."

I laughed a blush crept up my cheek

Silence descended between us, broken only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the lapping of the lake.

"You mentioned your Uncle," Mattheo said, his voice curious. "Tell me about him."

"He's a bit of a character," I began, a smile playing on my lips. "He travels the world, studying ancient magic. He's probably in some remote location right now, chasing myths and legends he’s so brave ."

"Sounds fascinating," Mattheo commented, his voice laced with genuine interest. "But you're not close with anyone else in your family?"

The question hung in the air, and I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. But something about the sincerity in his eyes, made me want to share a part of myself I rarely opened up about.

"Well, I'm not exactly their favorite," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "You see, my arrival wasn't exactly... welcomed."

Mattheo's brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the murky waters of my past. "My mother ,she found out she was pregnant with me. At the same time, she learned about my late brother's… illness. He died tragically, just two days before I was born."

"She… she blamed me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "She believed I somehow took his place, that I was the reason he was gone."

He squeezed my hand gently, as if offering silent comfort.

"And your father?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.

"My father," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "He said I stole his son's place. He never showed me any affection, always seeing a shadow of my brother instead of me."

My throat tightened, and I struggled to continue.

"But then there’s nana … well, she is a healer," I began, taking a shaky breath"She believed in a strange kind of balance. She used to say, 'A soul for a soul.'" A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the chilling words. "'Sometimes,' she'd say, 'life takes one thing and gives another’. She just wished it had been my brother who lived."

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and serious. "That's a terrible thing to say to a child. None of that is your fault. You didn't ask to be born, and you certainly didn't cause your brother's illness."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The weight of their rejection, the constant reminder that I was somehow unwanted, had always been a heavy burden to carry.

Then, with a tenderness that took my breath away, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The simple gesture, so full of empathy and understanding, felt like a dam breaking inside me. The tears that I'd been holding back spilled over, flowing freely down my cheeks.

Mattheo didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply sat there, his hand cupping my face, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that both scared and excited me.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "They don't deserve you , Not your mother, not your father, not sure your weird grandmother . They are blind to the incredible person you are."

His words, sincere and heartfelt, washed over me like a soothing balm.

"You are strong," he continued, his voice husky with emotion. "You are brave. You are kind. You carry the weight of their cruelty, yet you remain kind. That is a strength they will never possess."

His thumb continued to brush away my tears, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

As he spoke, the space between our faces seemed to shrink. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his gaze holding mine captive. The air crackled with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Then, before I could even think to stop him, Mattheo leaned in closer. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand on my face and the anticipation building within me.

His lips met mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a fleeting touch, barely a whisper, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.," is this your first kiss? “ he murmured, his voice husky.

A slow nod confirmed his suspicion , he leaned in again, this time deepening the kiss. This kiss was different – moving with a rhythmic dance that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, a blush crept up my cheeks. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo echoing in the quiet night.The taste of his lips lingered on mine, a sweet and intoxicating sensation that left me craving more.

"So," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "Forget everything I said about first impressions being unforgettable. Maybe this is a better way to start things off."

The next weeks unfolded like a whirlwind. Mattheo became a constant presence in my life, his shadow seemingly falling across mine with an uncanny frequency. Whether it was bumping into him "accidentally" on my way to Herbology, finding him "coincidentally" seated across from me in the library buried in the same obscure text on Fae magic, or him "miraculously" appearing just as I was leaving the Great Hall, it was clear he was making a concerted effort to be around me.

His tactics, though slightly obvious, were nonetheless charming. He started leaving small gifts on my desk – a fascinating book on Veela lore, a single perfect white rose

No one had ever gone out of their way to make me feel special before. Mattheo was doing just that, chip by chip, breaking down the walls I'd built around myself.

His "accidental" helpfulness extended to academics as well. He started leaving me beautifully illustrated books on ancient magic, conveniently "forgotten" on my desk. During Potions, he'd mysteriously materialize behind me just as I was about to accidentally add Flobberworm mucus to my Amortentia potion (a near disaster that could have had…interesting consequences).

One afternoon, while struggling with a particularly complex Transfiguration spell, Mattheo walked in on my frustration. He didn't laugh or poke fun,Instead, he sat down beside me, his patience as impressive as his knowledge. He explained the spell with a clarity I hadn't experienced before, his hand brushing against mine as he pointed something out on my parchment.

By the end of the week, I'd not only mastered the spell but found myself drawn to Mattheo in a way I hadn't before.

Mattheo's efforts extended beyond "accidents." He started introducing me to his friends. Theo and blaise ,Then there was Enzo, Mattheo's half-brother. With his playful demeanor and infectious laugh, Enzo made me feel welcome within their circle. I found myself enjoying their company, their camaraderie a stark contrast to the loneliness I had grown accustomed to.

One evening, while studying in the common room, , Enzo, sauntered over , He slid into the seat next to me, ignoring Mattheo's glare.

"Hey there, love," Enzo said, his voice dripping with a flirtatiousness that made me feel uncomfortable. "Studying hard?"

Before I could respond, Mattheo spoke up. "Enzo, perhaps you haven't noticed, but Y/N is busy."

Enzo simply chuckled. "Relax, brother. Just trying to be friendly." He leaned in closer to me

Enzo whispered, "He can be quite possessive, don’t you agree?" I couldn’t help but laugh, which was Mattheo’s last straw.

"Back off, Enzo," the words laced with barely contained anger , Enzo smiled and with a shrug and a playful wink at me, he sauntered away.

The most surprising consequence, however, was the complete absence of whispers. The rumors that had plagued me since childhood seemed to vanish overnight. Not a single snide remark, not a single pointed finger. The silence was deafening, and yet, strangely comforting.

Was it fear of Mattheo, or something more? Either way, I didn't question my newfound peace.

The stolen moments with Mattheo became a cherished secret language.

One particularly rainy evening, after a long and tedious double Potions lesson, Mattheo found me huddled in the deserted library, desperately trying (and failing) to decipher a particularly cryptic passage in a dusty old tome.

"Having trouble with the love language of Goblins, love?" he drawled, his voice a welcome sound in the quiet of the library.

I looked up, startled, my cheeks flushing at the sight of him. "Mattheo, you scared me!"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Just offering my expertise in the finer points of ancient languages," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

He pulled up a chair next to me, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. As he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he attempted to translate the passage, a spark ignited between us.

Emboldened by the privacy of the deserted library and the frustration of the Gobbledegook text, I turned to face him, my lips brushing against his ear as I pointed to a particularly confusing line.

Suddenly, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Mattheo's hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. His gaze held mine, a storm brewing in its depths.

"There's another way to learn this language," he murmured, his voice husky with suppressed longing.

Before I could respond, he closed the gap between us. The kiss was different this time. It was slow, searing, filled with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine. It was a kiss that spoke not just of affection, but of a growing possessiveness, a silent claim on my heart.

We pulled away breathlessly, foreheads resting together. The quiet of the library thrummed with the intensity of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Maybe Gobbledegook isn't so bad after all," I finally whispered, a shy smile playing on my lips.

Mattheo chuckled, a deep sound that resonated within me. "Perhaps not," he agreed, his eyes lingering on mine for a beat longer than necessary.

One blustery afternoon, while seeking refuge from a sudden downpour in a hidden alcove near the greenhouses, we found ourselves alone. The air crackled with unspoken tension as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on the stone walls.

He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering from my face to the storm raging outside. "This weather is something else, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely a whisper above the wind.

"Unpredictable, like magic itself," I replied, my own voice barely a murmur.

Suddenly, he turned to face me, his eyes a storm brewing within them. Before I could react, he cupped my face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down my spine. The space between us evaporated as he leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek.

"You're unpredictable too, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with something raw and primal. "In the best way possible."

And then, he kissed me. It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced. It was fierce and passionate, filled with a yearning that mirrored my own.

I was hunched over a particularly dense text on Herbology, wrestling with the intricacies of magical plant growth, when a shadow fell across the page.

Looking up, I met Mattheo's gaze, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. "Lost in the world of Venomous Tentacula again, love?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swatted playfully at his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. "These Bulbadox Bulbs are more stubborn than they look," I grumbled.

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Maybe they just need the right touch," he murmured, his breath warm on my ear.

Before I could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the offending passage. A jolt of electricity shot through me, my heart skipping a beat. He lingered for a moment too long, his touch sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"See?" he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes understanding comes from a different kind of connection."

His words were a playful jab, but the intensity of his gaze held a deeper meaning. I felt my cheeks flush, a secret smile spreading across my face.

"Maybe," I replied, unable to tear my gaze from his.

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Mattheo leaned in further. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a wave of warmth cascading through me.

It was a soft, lingering exploration. He trailed a finger down my neck, sending shivers dancing across my exposed skin. My breath hitched in my throat, and I leaned back into his touch, a helpless moan escaping my lips.

He chuckled against my skin, a low, throaty sound that sent a delicious tremor through me. "You should see the way you blush, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

My cheeks burned even hotter. This wasn't the stolen kiss under the moonlight, this was something more intimate, more raw. It was a secret shared between us, a confirmation of the growing connection that thrummed beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the library door slammed open, shattering the intimate moment. Madam Pince, the stern librarian, swept in, her beady eyes scanning the room. Mattheo and I both straightened up, a sheepish grin on his face.

"No hanky-panky in the Restricted Section, young man," Madam Pince barked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Mattheo, ever the charmer, flashed her a boyish grin. "Just helping a friend with her research, Madam Pince," he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Madam Pince narrowed her eyes at us for a moment longer before muttering something about "frivolous students" and disappearing behind a towering bookshelf.

As soon as she was gone, Mattheo let out a low whistle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like we've been caught," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension broken. "Maybe we should stick to the Herbology section next time," I teased, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach from his touch.

He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Maybe," he agreed, his eyes holding mine. "But who knows what secrets lurk in the Restricted Section?"

Suddenly, a voice broke through my concentration. "Y/N!"

I looked up to see Charlie Spinnet standing awkwardly in front of me, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. My stomach lurched, a flicker of unease coursing through me.

"Charlie," I stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Before I could answer, mattheo’s voice cut in, laced with a dangerous edge.

"Actually, she can't," Mattheo drawled, His eyes narrowed at Charlie, a dark glint flickering within them.

Charlie gulped, his hopeful smile faltering. "M-Mattheo," he stammered. "I just wanted to…"

"Whatever it is," Mattheo interrupted, his voice low and cold, "it can wait."

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. My heart hammered against my ribs, caught between the awkwardness of Charlie's unexpected presence and the possessiveness radiating from Mattheo.

"But—" Charlie began, but Mattheo cut him off again.

"No buts, Spinnet," Mattheo said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now, if you'll excuse us,"

He took my hand possessively, his fingers wrapping around mine with a force that left no room for argument. Before Charlie could stammer another word, Mattheo practically dragged me away.

We walked in silence for a moment, the only sound our hurried footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. My cheeks burned with a mixture of annoyance and a strange sense of… satisfaction?

"Mattheo, that was a bit harsh," I finally said, breaking the silence.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. His gaze was intense, a storm brewing within its depths.

"He shouldn't have bothered you," he said, his voice low and possessive.

"He was just trying to talk to me," I pointed out, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice.

"And what exactly did he want to talk about?" Mattheo challenged, his jaw clenched.

"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "But I should have been allowed to find out, shouldn't I?"

Mattheo seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, his emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away.

"Look," he said, his voice softer now, "I just… don't like the idea of someone else getting close to you."

My heart skipped a beat. Was he… jealous?

"Why not?" I couldn't help but ask, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

He hesitated – a rare sight that sent a thrill through me.

"Because…" he stammered, searching for the right words. "Because maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit."

The words hung in the air. A smile bloomed on my face, wider than it had in weeks.

"Is that so, Riddle?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a newfound vulnerability. Leaning in closer, he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face with his thumb.

"Maybe it is," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine.

Before we could explore that maybe any further, a loud cough echoed through the corridor. We sprang apart, startled, to see a smirking Enzo leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Oh please don’t let me stop you ," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mattheo scowled, his usual bravado returning. "Get lost, Enzo," he snapped.

Enzo, unfazed, simply chuckled. "Just making sure you're not neglecting your studies, brother dearest," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Professor Flitwick wouldn't be happy if he caught you missing his lecture because you can’t keep your hands to yourself those days "

My cheeks burned even hotter. "We weren't… ," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo chuckled. "Whatever you say, sweetheart . But don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Though, if you're looking for a more private place next time, I know a few hidden alcoves that are perfect for… well, you get the idea."

"Thanks, Enzo," I said smiling trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible .

"Anytime," he replied, throwing a playful two-finger salute before disappearing back down the corridor.

Mattheo and I stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick in the air.

"I think I need to go …" I began, unsure how to proceed “ see you at ummm….”

"...Great Hall," Mattheo finished my sentence, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. Though his earlier possessiveness had surprised me, I couldn't deny a flicker of warmth at his reluctance to see me go.

"Yeah, the Great Hall," I confirmed, unable to meet his gaze for too long. The lingering confession, the stolen moment almost-kiss, hung heavy between us.

As I sank deeper into the worn armchair, a group of giggling Gryffindor girls approached, their chatter drawing my attention.

"Y/N!" Lavender Brown announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Did you hear? There's supposed to be a total lunar eclipse tonight!"

My heart skipped a beat. A lunar eclipse? A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. For the first time in years, I hadn't even been aware of such an event. But more importantly, they were inviting me.

Parvati Patil chimed in, her dark eyes sparkling. "We're all planning to gather near the lake to watch. It's supposed to be incredible! Are you coming?"

"I…" I stammered, unsure how to respond.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Padma, Parvati's twin, nudged me playfully. "It'll be fun! We can all gossip and make wishes under the moonlight."

A lump formed in my throat. It was a simple question, but it felt monumental. An invitation to not just witness a celestial phenomenon, but to be included, to be a part of something.

For a moment, I simply stared at them, my mind struggling to process the shift. Was this real? Did they genuinely want me to join them?

"I don't know," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "Maybe…"

"Don't worry, Y/N," Lavender reassured me, sensing my hesitation. "It's up to you. But if you do decide to come, we'd love to have you."

With a warm smile, they turned to leave, their excited chatter fading as they descended the stairs. I watched them go, a wave of indecisiveness washing over me.

The rest of day went by quickly as I was still thinking about the invitation then mattheo I looked around searching for him

I spotted him by the courtyard, leaning against a stone pillar, his usual air of nonchalance masking a hint of concern. As I approached, he pushed himself off the pillar and met my gaze.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with a question as his eyes scanned my face.

"Hi, Mattheo," I replied hesitantly.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eye with a gentle touch .

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "There's a lunar eclipse tonight, did you know?"

He blinked, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. "A lunar eclipse?" he echoed.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Apparently, it's supposed to be the biggest one in years. Everyone's going down by the Black Lake to watch it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Everyone, huh?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush, "not everyone. But some people. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil invited me, and…"

I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Did I dare ask him to join me?

"And?" Mattheo prompted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"And," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes, "I was wondering… would you maybe want to come with me?"

The playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "With you?" he echoed.

I looked back up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you want to, of course."

He held my gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching between us. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, warm and genuine.

"I'd like that very much, love ," he said, his voice a low rumble.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink, I made my way towards the Black Lake. The crisp autumn air buzzed with excited chatter as students from all houses gathered, blankets and snacks in tow, eager to witness the celestial spectacle.

A warm hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my system. Turning, I met Mattheo's gaze, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. He wore a casual smirk, but the way his hand lingered on mine spoke volumes.

he breathed, taking in the scene before him. "Didn't expect the whole school to be here."

I chuckled. "Apparently, lunar eclipses are kind of a big deal."

We weaved through the crowd, Lavender and Parvati waving to us over Theo , Enzo even Blaise was there too that was really unexpected . We settled in, surrounded by the cheerful chatter and laughter.

As the moon began to cast its silvery glow, a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned their eyes skyward, captivated by the gradual darkening of Earth's natural satellite. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me than the moon. His hand brushed mine again, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, his voice husky and warm. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his face. "It is," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine. Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, his voice dipped even lower.

"come with me. "

The surprise on my face must have been evident. "Where?" I stammered.

he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

We walked for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle in the bushes. The air grew thicker the deeper we ventured, and a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of my excitement. Just as I was about to voice my concerns, Mattheo came to a stop in front of a section of gnarled oak trees, their branches intertwined in an almost unnatural way.

"Here?" I asked, eyeing the dense foliage with suspicion.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy. "Here," he confirmed, stepping forward and pushing aside a thick curtain woven from the very leaves themselves.

To my astonishment, a hidden passage unfolded behind the makeshift doorway. A narrow path, barely wide enough for two people, stretched into the darkness, illuminated faintly by glowing mushrooms that dotted the damp stone walls.

My initial apprehension warred with the budding trust I felt for Mattheo. Taking a deep breath, I gripped his hand tighter. "What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Just trust me," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

We walked in silence, the air growing colder and the earthy scent more pronounced. The path eventually led to a sturdy wooden door hidden within the rocky wall. Mattheo pushed it open, revealing a sight that took my breath away.

It was a small, circular room, but its crowning glory was a large, arched window that took up most of one wall. Through it, the eclipse was on full display, the shadowed moon hanging in the inky black sky. But unlike the darkness of the forest, here, the view was clear and breathtaking

I breathed, my surprise echoing in the stillness of the night.

Mattheo chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Told you it was worth it."

"This is…" I stammered, searching for the right words. "Amazing."

Mattheo smiled, his hand moving to brush a stray curl from my face. “We found this place a while back," he explained. "It's kind of a secret."

He pulled me towards the window, his arm wrapping around my waist, stood behind me , gazing up at the celestial phenomenon unfolding above us. The darkness, once menacing, now seemed like a vast, inky canvas upon which the eclipse played out.

"It's even more breathtaking from here, isn't it?" Mattheo whispered, his voice warm against my ear. , his words laced with something more than just the wonder of the eclipse.

I could only nod, my throat suddenly dry. The beauty of the celestial spectacle was undeniable, but it paled in comparison to the feelings Mattheo was stirring within me.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a response that surprised even me. Mattheo's presence, so close and unexpected in this hidden haven, sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

As if sensing my shift, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Then, his lips brushed against my ear again. This time, the words were different. Softer, more intimate. "You're even more breathtaking," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my neck.

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze reflected in the moonlight filtering through the window. The eclipse, forgotten for a moment, seemed to cast an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Before I could form a coherent thought, his lips met mine. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration that sent a wave of warmth through me. Instinctively, I reached up, my fingers finding purchase on his arm.

A contented sigh escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers. The touch sent a jolt through me, a current of electricity that ignited a fire within.

When he finally pulled away, a breathless gasp escaped my lips. My cheeks burned, my heart hammered a wild rhythm against my ribs. A shy smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

His gaze never left mine.He leaned down again, his lips trailing a path of fire down my neck. He paused at a sensitive spot just below my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

Unable to hold back a moan, I arched my neck into his touch, a silent plea for more. His hand reached down, skimming the curve of my hip before settling lightly on my lower back as I felt the wall behind us

He was going to stop I know that he was going to hold back again "Wait," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. Looking into his eyes, I saw a storm of emotions – frustration, amusement. It was a look that made my heart skip a beat, a look that made me feel a dangerous mix of power and surrender.

"I want to " I stammered, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling within me.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice husky with suppressed desire.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out, "I want this, Mattheo. I mean…I've never done this before, but I trust you. And I want it."

"Let's take things slow, alright?" He whispered softly in my ear and i nodded, his lips finding their way back to my neck, tracing over the mark he had just left behind.

"Mattheo," I moaned when he nipped at the same spot again, his teeth sharp and his lips unyielding.

"God my name sounds like heaven from your lips" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"Have you ever touched yourself, love?" His question caught me off guard, my breath catching in my throat as I shook my head. I had wanted to try but never mustered the courage.

"It's okay, my love," he reassured, his hands sliding under my top, caressing my skin with a tender touch that sent shivers down my spine.Then he gently pushed me up, settling me on the nearest table. "I'll take care of you."

Pressing more kisses to my neck, his hands moved to my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifted my skirt slightly. "Is this alright?" he asked, his breath hot against my neck.I smiled at him and nodded again

“I’m going to touch you now, Just tell me when you want to stop, and I promise I’ll end it,” said with determination, his fingers brushing my cheek i nodded leaned forward to kiss him instead of just responding.

He did as he told , his fingers sliding into my pants proceeded slowly, finding my most sensitive spot, eliciting pleasurable sensations that made me arch my back and cling to him.

slowly rubbing circles around it. He used light pressure, but it felt amazing. His gaze intently watched my response, figuring out what i like.

He picked up the pace and pressure, sending pleasurable shocks through my body. my back arched as the ache between my legs increased. 

“God you’re so wet for me." he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Does it feel good?"

“ Yes , it feels so good.” I moaned softly, my voice barely audible as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Can I?" he asked, seeking my consent.

"Yes, please," I begged, my desperation evident in my voice.

"It might feel strange at first, but I promise it will get better quickly," he reassured, and I nodded in agreement. With my consent, his finger slid between my folds, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. My hands found their way to his shoulders as I rested my head against them.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of pleasure. I obeyed, inhaling deeply as a symphony of moans escaped my mouth, each one a testament to the pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mattheo," I moaned, his name a mantra on my lips.

"Yes, love. Talk to me," he encouraged, his movements slowing to allow me to catch my breath.

"There's something..." I tried to say, but pleasure engulfed me, leaving me speechless.

His lips found mine, his kisses distracting me from my thoughts as I succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure he offered.

"Just let go for me," he whispered against my lips, his breath igniting a fire within me that sent me spiraling into bliss.

His thumb applied pressure to my clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through my body. I gripped his shoulder tightly as he carefully added another finger, causing me to close my eyes in ecstasy.

"Don't close your eyes, love. Look at me," he urged, his voice filled with desire and a hint of command. I obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers found that specific spot inside me, unleashing a sensation I had never experienced before. It was so intense that I couldn't contain my scream of pleasure, feeling like I was soaring among the clouds.

He continued to target that spot, his gaze fixed on me as if he could read my every reaction. With a satisfied smile, he spoke soft words in my ear , reveling in my response.

His touch remained gentle yet firm, guiding me through the waves of pleasure until I reached the pinnacle, my body trembling in his embrace as I experienced a euphoric release unlike anything before.

"It's alright, I'm here," he murmured, his words a soothing balm as I surrendered to the pleasure that consumed me.

As I floated back to reality, I found myself in his arms, his gaze filled with tenderness and adoration. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

"Maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit too , riddle," I repeated his earlier words. But what I truly wanted to express was that, ,I think I'm in love with you, Mattheo Riddle.’

From that night onward, everything shifted, and my life transformed into a fairy tale. The intensity of my feelings for him grew so profound that a day without seeing Mattheo felt like an eternity, leaving me yearning for his presence. He cherished me as if I were the most precious gem in his life, and to say that I loved him would be an understatement; my emotions ran deeper than mere words could express.

Despite our unspoken declarations of love, we refrained from exploring further sexual intimacy after that intense encounter. However, the desire and longing between us only grew stronger, leaving me yearning for more moments of intimacy with him. Each kiss, touch, and gaze across the room spoke volumes of the love we shared, even if the three words were never verbalized.

The end-of-year party hosted by Slytherin was a legendary affair, whispered about in hushed tones by those who had attended in previous years. Despite hearing countless tales about the extravagant festivities, I had never been tempted to go, for me, it had always been an off-limits fantasy , one I didn't dare to try and make true.

As the "jinx girl", stepping foot into such a renowned event felt like a risky move. The thought of facing judgment, scrutiny, and potentially being ostracized by my peers held me back from even considering attending.

However, in those few months everything changed. I found myself shedding my inhibitions and fears, stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing new experiences. The bonds I formed with other Slytherins grew stronger, and I even made friends outside of Mattheo's circle, feeling more at ease and confident in social settings.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was as legendary as the end-of-year party itself. This year, however, a shared misfortune had united the two houses in a grudging camaraderie. Professor Flitwick, bless his innocent heart, had stumbled upon Blaise Zabini and a very surprised Gryffindor tangled together in a rather compromising position in a dusty basement corridor. Let's just say, both houses lost a significant number of points, paving the way for Ravenclaw to snatch the coveted House Cup in a landslide victory.

So, as the day of the party approached, a thrill of anticipation danced in my stomach.

"Mattheo," I said, catching his attention as I approached him and his friends. He gently guided me to sit next to him, holding my hands with a tender touch

“ yes love ? “

"Are we… are we going to the party tonight?" I asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. "The party?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You… you want to go?"

I felt a flicker of self-consciousness, but I held his gaze. "Yeah," I admitted.

“Honestly, Y/N," he said, "it's a bit… childish."

"Childish?" I repeated, surprised. "But everyone says it's a lot of fun!"

Enzo, chimed in with a shrug. "He has a point. It's mostly just first years causing mayhem."

There it was , that hesitation. Mattheo rarely said no to anything I asked.

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. He glanced at Enzo, exchanging a silent communication that left me puzzled.I don’t really understand I know they used to go every year .

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Alright then love ," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If you want to, then we'll go."

The Slytherin common room was a whirlwind of emerald and silver. Green streamers snaked across the ceiling, enchanted banners proclaimed Slytherin victory in various forgotten contests, and a cacophony of music and laughter filled the air. My heart pounded with excitement, a delightful mix of anticipation and nerves.

The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with laughter and music. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to have me there, chatting and mingling as if I had been a regular attendee for years.

However, what struck me as odd was how Mattheo and Enzo never left my side. It was as if they were guarding me, anticipating something that I wasn't aware of. Despite their usual easygoing demeanor, there was a sense of alertness in their actions that left me curious and slightly uneasy.

As the night progressed, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, not in a malicious way, but more like a protective gaze. Mattheo and Enzo's constant presence by my side felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

I tried to brush off my unease and enjoy the party, engaging in conversations and joining in on the festivities. However, the nagging feeling that something was amiss lingered in the back of my mind.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when Mattheo and Enzo exchanged a meaningful glance, that I realized there was more to their protective behavior than met the eye.

Chaos erupted in the common room as Charlie Spinnet, stormed towards Mattheo. "Get her out of here now ," he growled, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Or I'll do it myself."

Before Mattheo could respond, the room fell silent. A Slytherin seventh-year, Adrian Pucey, stood on a nearby table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hold on there, Spinnet ," he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "This year, we're doing something a little different… a play!"

A cheer erupted from the Slytherins, many of them eager for a change from the usual prank wars. Mattheo , however, remained unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Adrian, suspicion etched on his face.

As the play began, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between my name and the name of the girl portrayed in the story. It didn't take long for me to realize that the play was about a jinxing girl, and it described in vivid detail everything I had confided in Mattheo about my family and my troubled past at the lake that night.

Panic clawed at my throat. I stole a glance at Mattheo, but his face was a mask. He reached out a hand towards me, but I flinched back instinctively .

The room fell silent, every eye glued to me and the unfolding drama.

Onstage, the actress portraying me continued, her voice dripping with drama. "…driven by ambition, she stole her brother's place, but a terrible curse followed. Wherever she goes, misfortune befalls those around her. She's the jinx girl, a harbinger of bad luck!"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like flames, spreading fear and suspicion. I felt them scorching my skin, their judgment a suffocating weight on my chest.

Suddenly, a new scene unfolded on stage. A group of actors, portraying Hogwarts students, stood center stage. "Here's the dare," boomed one, a mock sense of bravery in his voice. "The boy who approaches the jinx girl and brings her to the party… wins!"

Suddenly, a commotion arose from the back of the room. Enzo and Theodore Nott , their faces grim, pushed their way through the crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Stop this!" Enzo said, his voice laced with fury. "This is out of line, Pucey!"

The actors scrambled off the stage, bewildered and slightly scared. The common room dissolved into chaos. Accusatory whispers turned into heated arguments. Pity and fear flickered in averted gazes. I even overheard someone mutter, "Did she really kill her brother?"

The roar of the party faded behind me as I sprinted down the Slytherin common room's hidden corridor, tears stinging my eyes despite my desperate efforts to hold them back. Mattheo's voice calling after me, pleading, only fueled my desperate need to escape.

"Y/N, please!" he shouted, but I ignored him, my feet pounding a relentless rhythm against the cold stone floor.

"Y/N!" he called again, his voice closer this time. Panic surged through me, lending me fresh bursts of energy.

Just as I reached the portrait leading out to the dungeons, a strong hand clamped onto my arm. I spun around, ready to lash out, but it was him – Mattheo, his face etched with a desperate worry I'd never seen before.

He tried to reach for my hand, but I recoiled violently. "Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, my voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

He flinched, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. "Y/N, love, just hear me out," he pleaded.

"Love?" I spat the word back at him, incredulous. "Don't call me that." The weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me. The staged play, the public humiliation, the sickening realization that it had all been a dare.

"It's not what it seems like," he stammered, trying to explain. "I—"

"You what?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? "

"No, no, I swear," he said urgently. "Everything that happened between us was real. My feelings for you…" His voice trailed off, his eyes pleading for me to understand.

But the damage was done. The carefully constructed trust – it had all crumbled to dust in the face of this cruel betrayal.

"Don't," I choked out, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "Don't lie to me anymore."

A sob escaped my lips, and despite the anger burning within me, a part of me ached for the connection I thought we shared.

"Just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded, but I shook my head, unable to bear the sight of him anymore.

The truth, however distorted, was clear. "Wouldn't you deny it was a dare?" I challenged him, a flicker of defiance sparking in my tear-filled eyes.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine pain cross Mattheo's usually guarded features.

"No," he finally admitted, and I felt a wave of numbness wash over me.

As I turned to walk away, he continued, "It was at first, but I swear that from that night at the Broomsticks, everything was real. I even forgot about that stupid dare. Everything that happened between us was real, you know that."

I scoffed, wiping angrily at my tears. "I don't know anything anymore," I said.

"Foolish me. That's why you didn't want Charlie to talk to me that day, wasn't it? Because he was going to expose you?"

""No, Y/N, I just didn't want you to get hurt __“

"You what?" I cut him off again, my voice trembling with fury. "How generous of you," I said sarcastically. "But look, you win now, Riddle. Won't you go celebrate? It was their dare,"

"I don't care about anyone else but you," he said fiercely.

I stared at him, incredulous. "Then why does it feel like you care about everything else more than me right now?"

He took a hesitant step forward, but I didn't back away this time. I met his gaze head-on, my heart a tangled mess of emotions.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation.

"You already have," I said, the words like shards of glass in my mouth. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain I was experiencing.

"I ___ i love you," he confessed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Love. The very word felt like a mockery.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging within me. "And I hate you, Mattheo Riddle," I said, each word laced with the bitter taste of betrayal.

With that final declaration, I turned away, leaving him standing alone in the darkened corridor, the portrait swinging shut behind me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

@artytaeh your writing literally has me both blushing, crying, giggling, smiling and all other sorts of emotions :D I loved this sm and am so SO so happy as a Mattheo girlie for such well thought out and written hcs<3333

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

MATTHEO RIDDLE— not horribly tall, but slightly above average. strong arms; what he doesn't have of height like the weasley twins, he has of muscles on his arms, even though not a ken-like amount, which he finds ugly. dark curls— inherited by his mother, the insanely crazy bellatrix lestrange, and beautiful eyes that he has no clue where he got from. long lashes, defined jawline.

in short, a handsome, easily found attractive, young man. and with that bad boy attitude? well, mattheo riddle is every girl's guilty pleasure of a daydream.

some, because they'd like to have their attitude and confidence fucked out of them, by mattheo riddle who certainly takes no bullshit. others, because they delusionally believe that they can somehow fix him— turning a doberman into a golden retriever.

mattheo riddle who's the only first year to not tremble under snape's gaze, because his father is voldemort. the thing, the person he fears the most.

mattheo riddle who doesn't even blink when teachers, older students and even intimidating people yell at him— this is child's play, compared to the cold, frightening aura of his father, and the eery sound of his mother talking to him; one second, she's calm, putting on a (scary) loving persona— then, she's raging, yelling and slamming things, hands on the table, almost throwing hands at her son.

mattheo riddle who stands on the end of the line, letting students get in front of him and even threatening some to take his place on the line, so he stands further behind. this only happens once, during that one professor lupin's class, with the boggart— because mattheo knows that it'd take the shape of his father, walking eerily towards him. not only does he hate the thought of having his classmates gossiping about him, about his family and making even more assumptions about him; but also knows that he'd stand there, paralyzed. incapable of even raising his wand, much less utter such an easy spell like riddikulus. for mattheo, what's ridiculous is his situation; how he'd love and thank the heavens, if he could have such a silly fear like insects, ghosts, or even clowns.

mattheo riddle who grows extremely confident because nothing scares him at hogwarts; after all, his father isn't there— the only thing that makes mattheo riddle tremble is his presence. anything else isn't half as frightening as coming back home to his mother, bellatrix lestrange, and father, voldemort he-who-must-not-be-named.

mattheo riddle who becomes scary and intimidating, so that no one can scare or intimidate him instead. he spent most of his third year at hogwarts practicing on the mirror— a way to turn his beautiful eyes into a dead stare, making sure that the shining glint of his eyes disappears, to become so scary, that no one would dare to mess with him like tom riddle does. or even draco malfoy, who tried to do this back on their first year, bullying mattheo into becoming his friend and follower—, but all of this was before they became genuine friends, along with theodore, lorenzo and blaise.

mattheo riddle who's known by the unhinged brother, less smart riddle— while others, who are aware of tom riddle's tendencies, call him the older psychopath brother, brilliant riddle. such a charming pair of siblings, aren't they?

mattheo riddle who smokes a whole package of cigarettes with theodore nott, when they're on the train back home. for holidays and for summer vacation, in silence, because they're too anxious and nervous to come back home, to leave their (although they're too proud to admit) safe place — hogwarts.

mattheo riddle who respects his older brother, tom riddle, because he thinks that in many ways, tom is like their father sometimes. and that scares him.

mattheo riddle who only learned how to swim and to stop fearing lakes, when his slytherin friends teached him.

( this happened on lorenzo's house, since he invited his friends to spend some days there, during summer vacation. after all, his parents are the less... frightening, in a way, and blaise zabini gatekeeps his mother from his friends, for obvious reasons. besides, lorenzo has the largest pool! upon realizing that mattheo stayed behind while they played in the swimming pool, the boys, for once, didn't turn the situation into a joke. draco stood behind, throwing opinions and dictating that they were doing it wrong— while theodore and blaise stood each by mattheo's side, making sure that he wouldn't get scared if he felt like he was drowning, while lorenzo is in front of him, advising on what to do. it was a mess. a mess that became a core memory of true friendship. )

even so, mattheo hates to go to a point of the lake where he's no longer tall enough to touch the sandy surface— because suddenly he's seven years old again, with tom riddle standing on the edge of the lake, smiling darkly at the sight of his baby brother drowning in the cold water.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who, after all of these years, still stares at his older brother with a mixture of resentment and sorrow— secretly, mattheo still wishes to be close with tom. to have a normal brotherly friendship with him, even if they're everything but a normal family. so, mattheo riddle, who envies pairs of siblings whenever he sees them around hogwarts halls, hugging, lightheartedly bullying each other. wishing he could trauma dump shared experiences of his parents with tom, who would've demolished inch after inch of mattheo's pride and feelings, calling him weak.

mattheo riddle who doesn't join draco when he bullies the weasleys. he never defends them either; he doesn't need to, because the redhead siblings stick around for each other. mattheo doesn't know if his heart feels like crying, or ripping apart with a vicious, angry jealousy that he doesn't have that. a sibling that cares enough to take care of him.

mattheo riddle who drinks and drinks and drinks until he passes out, or until he almost throws up his stomach away— rarely accepting any kind of help whatsoever, because he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

because pain and finding out a way to solve things by himself, is what he grew up used to. because his mother is a bipolar, sadistic woman; because his father is too feared by mattheo for him to even dare to consider asking for his help; because his older brother, tom riddle, isn't a pillar he can lean on to— rather, a pillar that would glady fall on top of him, crushing him under debris. he's another person to be feared, and who'd leave mattheo even worse than he already is.

mattheo riddle, who hesitantly accepts lorenzo and theodore's help. because lorenzo is too much of a mother of the group (whenever blaise isn't around, but mattheo doesn't think he'd ever allow the zabini boy to help him either. of course, this happens whenever lorenzo isn't planning his way to another girl's bed either) and by far, the most caring of the boys. or at least, the one who easily shows his worry without a hundred walls surrounding his heart.

and theodore nott, well— mattheo thinks that the term best friend is too corny, so he settles to admit that theo is the person who understands him the most. if he doesn't have tom, he has theo, to sympathize with his shitty situation, because theo's family and hardships are too similar, even though they don't share a last name.

they have matching wounds, inflicted by different people, but similar situations.

and because theodore is awfully moody, sarcastic and would punch mattheo into reason, well— mattheo unwillingly accepts theodore's (forceful) help.

· · ·

mattheo riddle who only ever has deep thoughts when he's throwing up from the alcohol, or becomes self-conscious of himself. of the evilness he provokes, of the unchanging way his fate was decided, as soon as he was conceived in his mother's womb. how he, no matter how he'd like to change, believes that he's a lost cause.

something that's not worth the effort, since mattheo riddle, younger brother of tom riddle, son of bellatrix lestrange and the dark lord himself, must have been born with a vicious evil heart. how could he not, with a family like this?

it must be on his dna. or so he believes.

when he's drunk, puke being wiped out from his lips and alone in the bathroom— this is the only time when mattheo riddle allows himself to pity himself. other than that, he'd scoff at the thought of doing so; because that's a weak thing to do.

and to survive his family, mattheo wouldn't dare to be weak a single day of his life. he might get killed if he allows a moment of weakness around his family. whatever family means, anyways.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who's always the first one to start a fight— and never the one to end it. either his friends push him away, or he's held down by some spell casted by one of hogwarts' teachers.

however, he will start a fight with a group of five gryffindors, if they make a nasty comment about mattheo's friends. if they dare to assume, to gossip, to say one mean word about the friends that tolerate mattheo's behavior even on his shittiest days. the first thing he does is grab the last one talking by the collar, so that his fist naturally punches the guy's face. yes, mattheo can keep up a fight with five guys— even though he knows that, as much of a good and violent fighter as he is, there's no way that he won't leave with a few bruises (and bloody knuckles from rashly punching back and forth).

nevertheless, mattheo riddle won't ever allow theodore or his friends to join him, if he's about to have a 1v1. not even to intimidate or make a single threat— mattheo thinks that it's pathetic and coward to do so, which is why sometimes, mattheo doesn't help draco when he puts up a stunt against a single student (or a group that is outnumbered by malfoy's little friends). when draco comes back, mattheo won't scold him— but he won't shut up either, at least making sure that by some miracle, draco understands how coward it is to do that, from the sarcastic comment that mattheo throws with no hesitation.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who actually has one of the most beautiful smiles. once his usual dead stare is gone, showing how those dark eyes of his can look so sweet and bright— squinting into half moons, when he truly laughs or smiles genuinely. his smile is one that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there isn't any evil or meanness to this slytherin boy.

mattheo riddle who is so touch starved, that only a warm gaze from you, is enough to melt him and (at least mentally) get him on his knees. those dark eyes soften and follow every movement of yours— looking like a lost puppy, when you eventually shift your attention to something else, your gaze leaving him. he won't grab you, he won't yell for your attention out of pride— but if you were to look into his eyes, you'd see how mattheo silently hopes to some deity that you'll have your attention on him once again.

mattheo riddle who doesn't know how to be gentle, because he never knew gentle touches, caresses and soft approaches. this man is almost stupid because of this sometimes— mattheo isn't even aware of his own strength, so when he does hurt you unintentionally (by grabbing holding your wrist) and gets scolded about it... he'll genuinely look at you, confused. sure, he'll apologize— fine, sorry!

. . . however, mattheo isn't sure what he did wrong. was it really that hurtful? to him, he was simply holding you, not grabbing...

( because mattheo riddle was never held, only yanked or dragged along. )

mattheo riddle who would love to have people playing with his hair. twirl his curls around your fingers, tug at it (but gently, please! he easily complains at the slightest hint of discomfort!), massage his scalp, caress his dark hair— mattheo melts and for a moment, wonders if sleep does arrive to him this fast at night, like it does now that you're touching him there.

so yes, during classes, mattheo sneakily stands on the door frame— carefully watching where you decide to take your seat, before he marches up to you so he can take the other chair of said desk.

mattheo marches confidently, hands on his pockets and body a little bend to the front; focused on his target: you.

all of his concentration is locked on his goal: your attention for the whole class. and if he's too late, because some annoying girl or asshole with pants got there before him? one glare from mattheo, and they're gone.

mattheo doesn't even bother to take his books; he greets, crosses his arms on top of the table, settles his head there— and if you're too slow to understand what's this whole preparation for, well, mattheo has no problem to make his intentions clear, by (much gentler, this time) grabbing your hand and settling it on his head. among his dark curls.

and if you notice that they look softer and taken care of— well, mattheo won't be catch dead and much less alive saying it. but blaise noticed how mattheo bought a new shampoo, conditioner and a weird bottle that seems to help curly hair like mattheo's.

AND HOW DID AN ALL-IN-ONE SHAMPOO USER LIKE MATTTHEO, KNEW WHAT PRODUCTS TO USE IN WHICH ORDER, FROM DAY TO NIGHT? oh, that was easy; mattheo spent an evening leaning against the entrance of the slytherin common room, watching intently every student that entered or left during that hour of the day. his eyes glared up and down— searching for a slytherin, be it a witch or a wizard, older or younger than him, that has a type of hair similar (if not identical) to his.

finally, a slytherin girl was on her way to hang out with her friends. that is, until mattheo nonchalantly grabs her by the collar of her shirt, right when she innocently passes by him, then drags the girl along with him to a secluded corner of the slytherin common room.

( out of love for life and respect for their well-being, it's safe to say that her friends didn't come to save her. though, props to them, because they kept watching... just in case. of, you know, having to search for help. )

the slytherin girl trembles on her spot, rethinking her life choices; wondering if she had done anything to offend mattheo riddle, the dark lord's son— not the psychopath, the unhinged one. when he bends down, so that he's face to face with her, eyes squinting with his jaw clenched...

she closes her eyes. wondering if she'd be punched or have her hair grabbed to be slammed against the wall. however, after awkward ten seconds pass and her body is still intact, she opens one eye, to see mattheo making a grimace.

a grimace that would be funny if he wasn't so scary. a grimace that seemed to ask, 'what the fuck are you doing?'. which would have been verbalized, mind you, if mattheo didn't have a list of priorities at the moment. he opens his mouth, and this slytherin girl feared to have hallucinated such an innocent, random question.

'which products do you use for your hair?'

( ten minutes later, after having explained her hair routine in detail to mattheo riddle himself, who took notes and hummed for her to keep going, the slytherin girl goes back to her friend group. pale. she doesn't give details— no one would believe her. and she doesn't think that mattheo riddle would like having people know that he's about to spend 100 galleons on hair products to please you. )

౨ৎ please understand that i'm trying my hardest, ♡ ͡

my head's a mess, but i'm trying regardless . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i noticed that i have a few mattheo girlies enjoying my writing, so! please consider this a little bittersweet drabble for you. once again, tysm for the feedback! ♥︎

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

made me blush SO HARD, giggling, twirling my hair nd EVERYTHING😻😭😭

@lowkeyrobin

HII so I was reading your who you write for and saw you write for Charlie Bushnell, so I was wondering if I could get like reader and Charlie at like the an interview???

Thank you -🍄

hell yeah of course 🙏🙏 ; thank you 🍄anon, hope you enjoy 🫶🫶 ; i dunno how but this got a little off topic?? I apologize

CHARLIE BUSHNELL ; the interview

summary ; youre a journalist, he's an actor

warnings ; language, little cringe kissing scene (totally sfw dw)

disclaimers ; I said "scandalous ankles" because back in the olden days ankles and showing any skin was considered scandalous, for anyone who didn't know. reader is described to be not into fitness stuff, also don't mind me not knowing shit about fitness/weightlifting

word count ; 883

masterlist

"Hi, welc-hum inside." You smile, waving to Charlie as he enters the room. You then cringe at yourself in embarrassment. "Sorry, hi, welcome." You awkwardly chuckle, "I apologize, my words are all tangled today"

"You're good" He waves, a comforting smile on his face. He wears a black t-shirt with a logo in the corner and design on the back, paired with some jorts and sneakers like he just came from the gym. You didn't mind though, you urged your guests to come comfortable over casual.

Video interviews that weren't in front of a live crowd were the best for both of you, thank God. Meeting this Godsend of a man nearly gave you a heart attack. Just looking at his gorgeous eyes and his perfect features, nothing was wrong with him whatsoever. He was genuinely a 10/10.

He sits down in the guest chair across from yours, watching you sift through a desk a few feet away, looking for something. Your dress pants rise at the ankles every time you make a step, revealing more of your scandalous ankles, covered by socks.

You finally sit down, apologizing for taking so long to find your notebook where you held a few questions and conversation starters. The cameras begin rolling, and you introduce yourself and Charlie as per usual.

"So, what's it like being on set, with all the cameras, lights, props, and green screens? What are the action scenes like?"

Charlie lightly smiles as he gives you an answer, using his hands to talk a little bit. He seemed a little tense and nervous, but you didn't point it out or blame him, it took you years to be fully comfortable where you sat.

"What even are you? Cause like, you're an interviewer but also a journalist, what do you prefer being called?" The curly haired boy asks you.

You shrug, "Journalist, I guess. Interviewer could be put like, inside the circle of journalism, I'd say. I'm a journalist before I'm an interviewer"

He nods, giving you a gorgeous smile that you had to quickly look away for. You discreetly hide your flushed face, looking down at your notebook.

You write down some memorable quotes as you sit and chat with him, bringing up some interesting conversation and learning more about being on set and the production behind media.

After the cameras are off, you thank him and invite him to stay for some aftertalk and lunch. You came in with a large bowl of taco salad you needed to finish before it went bad and were offering it to anyone who wanted it. He accepts the offer, staying back in the break room with you to eat some of that salad you'd brought in. In his words, it was very much better than whatever fast food he was going to go get before returning home.

Your conversation quickly turns into one regarding music and working out, although you weren't too into fitness, the occasional jog here and there keeping you healthy, apparently.

You both stand up, setting your bowls and forks in the dishwasher to get them cleaned. You stand against the counter as he leans his hand against it a couple feet away.

He pulls up his t-shirt sleeve, flexing his arm to show off his muscles. He's trying to impress you, mostly, but you had asked how frequently he worked out. Not his fault.

"Usually lift about 145"

You nod, paying more attention to his face than his muscles. Not exactly your question, but you'd take it.

"You okay?" He asks, seeing you zoned out staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Am I that handsome to you?" He asks, lightly teasing you.

"Wh- I mean, hey now-"

He lightly giggles, stepping forward a bit.

You stare into his brown eyes, colored like a dark chocolate mocha. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, seeing your eyes almost glimmer as they stare into his.

He's just a guy, you're an interviewer, a journalist. This is weird, isn't it? Is it not?

"May I?..." He whispers, looking down at your lips, then up at your eyes.

Triangle Theory.

You nod, a soft smile painting your face.

He quickly embraces your lips with his, hands resting on your waist. You melt into his kiss, your bodies tied together. He picks you up, hands resting behind your thighs, placing you on the counter.

You quickly pull away, hands on his shoulders as he stands between your legs. "Okay, what the fuck? Do that again"

He smiles, looking up at you. His arms are now loosely wrapped around your hips and waist area, his curls falling into place like dominoes.

"You're an interesting one"

"Says you, actor guy"

"Don't try and play me at my own game"

You open your mouth to speak, but shut yourself up, seeing the smug look on his face.

He holds your left hand in his right, a slight panic running through both of your heads as he rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

You speak up now, finding your stomach filled with butterflies.

"You make me want to grab a dictionary and manually find the words I'm looking for to describe you and how attractive that was."

He lightly laughs, kissing your hand.

"Whatever you say, journalist"

@kquil

Your writing has got me smiling and kicking my feet so bad😭

In love with this writing❤

JAMES POTTER | LIKE LOVERS DO

REQUEST :  hiiiii :) if/when u can, smith like this with james or remus lupin? @bobs-fav-cat

(art is by gyung_studio on instagram)

SUM : you and James Potter are just friends —friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.  

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; idiots in love ; james loves giving you princess treatment ; and you love returning his affections ; just friends being friends ; hehehe~ ; they’re in denial ; domestic fluff ; selfcare session ; biker james? ; james being a sweetheart ; reader being absolute wifey material! ; james and reader being so in love it’s sickening ; the type of sickening that makes you puke rainbows, glitter and love hearts ; mutual pinning! ; slightly based off a tiktok i saw once ; happy ending where they get together ; so much fluff ; scheming gremlin friends ; lily, dorcas and marlene as cupids for reader ; remus, sirius and peter as cupids for james ; idiots in love

LENGTH : 3.6k

“They should wear a sign,” Peter laughs as he and his close friends eye the pair of oblivious idiots across the room, “one that says ‘we’re actually together no matter how much we deny it’,” 

“You said it,” Sirius raises a hand and the two high-five each other before sniggering between themselves.

Across the hall stood you and James. It was a networking event disguised as a formal company party. And even though you and James weren’t each other’s dates to the event, James wore a matching tie to your chosen dress. The two of you unanimously decided to go with the excuse that you had both gone shopping for an outfit together and unconsciously bought matching things. It was only natural because you two were such good, close friends. 

From a distance, the three watch as you lift your left foot up through the high side-slit of your dress and draw attention to your unbuckled heel with a frown. James’ hazel eyes focuses onto your heel as well and immediately places his flute of champagne on a nearby table to help you, as if it was second nature to him; it is second nature to him— taking care of you. He’s kneeling down and re-buckling your heel for you as your hand tentatively places itself on his broad shoulder for balance. 

Once James is finished, he stands back up with a grin, takes up his flute with one hand and wraps his other around your waist to pull you into his side with a smile. Neither of you flinch at the closeness, in fact, you snuggle further into your best friend’s side and tuck your head under his chin so he can place a kiss onto the crown of your head. 

“Wanna bet on who folds first?” Remus speaks up with a devious smirk, Sirius and Peter eagerly voicing their predictions and placing their bets. 

“Oh Jamie!” you gasp and smile widely as your best friend presents you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “They’re beautiful,” he helps the floral arrangement into your arms with a satisfied grin, a fondness in his eyes as he watches you savour the scent of the pretty blossoms.

“My pleasure, my dear,” he regales dramatically as you giggle, “I passed by the florist on my way back from lunch at the pub with the boys and thought you’d like them,”

“I do like them,” you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, “you’re so thoughtful, thank you for thinking of me, James,”

His warm smile softens further and he kisses your temple lovingly, “of course,” aside from the lingering scent of your shampoo and conditioner, James picks up on something more appetising, “what’s that delicious smell, angel?”

“Oh!” reminded of your earlier activities, you lead him into your kitchen where you proceed to find a vase for the arrangement in your arms, “I was baking—”

“Treacle tart!” James cheers and does a goofy little dance in the middle of your kitchen, his excitement obvious. 

“It’s almost done so you popped in at just the right time,” you giggle softly whilst transferring the arrangement into your chosen vase. With a pleased hum, James presses up behind you and places his large hands on the curve of your hips, his thumbs tenderly stroking up and down until he eventually pushes the hem of your shirt up, caressing your soft skin beneath. 

“Mmmmm… lucky me,” he whispers happily into your shoulder, where he begins trailing kisses up your neck. His words send a shiver up your spine and you resist the escalating urge to turn in his arms and lead his lips to cover and press against your own. 

You’re just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

James can’t get over how cute you are. 

Even when you’re doing the most mundane things, he can’t help but find you adorable. Like right now. Even with a bright green clay mask on your face, you are adorable, perched on his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs as you spread the same treen mask over his skin. 

“Stop moving, Jamie!” you chastise gently whilst stifling a giggle. 

“You stop moving,” he counters playfully and emphasises his words by placing his big hands on your hips and squeezing your curves briefly. Your only response is to laugh and do your best to continue applying an even coat onto his face. 

“….there!” you huff and set aside your tool to close the clay mask tub, “all done, no thanks to you!” He tickles your sides in retaliation as you climb off his lap and reach for your phone in order to set a timer. His antics were a brief distraction as you bless him with your tinkling giggles. 

“For how long do we keep this on?” 

“15 minutes,” 

He pulls a face, one that makes him look like a duck as he ponders over his thoughts. He looks so ridiculous, especially with the green mask on his face — it was only naturally for you to burst out laughing, “what should we do until then?”

“Stop talking,”

“Wha—?!”

“Not like that, Jamie,” you coo as he pouts dramatically, “we have to stop talking soon or else the mask will crack too much as it dries,” he makes a long noise of realisation at your words and nods obediently, zipping his lips before throwing away the imaginary key. 

No matter what he does, he’s always making you laugh. You’re sure that, even if you’re temporarily banning him from speaking, he would still be able to make you laugh and your clay mask will end up looking like a dried up riverbed. 

You have no complaints, though. 

You weren’t expecting it but you still weren’t too surprised when you see James waiting for you outside — just in time to pick you up after a night out with your close girl friends. He was wearing one of your favourite sweaters of all time, it was soft and big (big enough to make him appear deceivingly smaller than you know his figure is) and is the warmest thing you’ve ever worn. 

“James!” you call out, happy to see him. The build up of fatigue from the whole night melts off your aching limbs like powdered snow under golden sunbeams. Running to him, he greets you with his heart-stopping smiles.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers as soon as he has his arms wrapped around you. 

“Stop it,” you sigh into his shoulder, your face buried into the soft fabric of his sweater, “I look a mess after tonight,” 

He pulls away, enough to meet your eyes and examine your face without having to remove his arms from around you, “If this is you looking a ‘mess’, then I wonder what type of beauty you were earlier tonight,”

His comment makes your heart soar but you don’t let it show on your face, even when he wiggles his eyebrows comically to emphasise his flattering remark. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him before slipping out of his arms and biting your lip at the confused, pitiful whine he lets out. You don’t leave him miserable for long, however, as you’re quickly reaching down to lift up his sweater so that you could pull it over your head and burrow yourself inside. Like the living furnace he is, you’re greeted by such a comforting heat, you forget that you’re both still outside in the wet cold of the night. 

Throwing his head back, James laughs and wraps you up in his arms again, laying his cheek against the top of your head through his sweater. The first time you ever did this, he wasn’t shy about saying how much he loved it. And now, you’ve made it a tradition to do this often during the autumn and winter months. Admittedly, you loved cuddling him like this too; it’s more intimate and you love being surrounded by his warmth. It was a bonus that his scent literally has you in a choke hold under there. You’d happily suffocate on the smell of his cologne, laundry detergent and natural smell. But it also feels as though you’re falling into a trance by some alluringly scented spirit.

“As much as I love holding you like this, dear, I’m still on a mission to get you home safe so…” he looks down at you, hazel eyes turning soft at the adorable sight of you cuddled up to him under his sweater, “can my princess please let me help her into my car and drive her back home safely?”

You didn’t respond, only pouted and whined to express your dislike of pulling away from him as well as the warmth of his soft sweater. James knew instantly what to do. You two were best friends after all; it was a requirement for him to know all your needs telepathically. It was an awkward shuffling of limbs but James managed to slip off his sweater without needing to lift it off your figure and hoists you into his arms before you could start grumbling at the loss of his embrace.

“Not long now — my princess will arrive at her carriage soon~” he sings in a whisper beside your ear, smiling fondly at your soft giggles and adoring the way you wrap your arms around his neck to cuddle him close before needing to pull away so he can carefully sit in his car’s passenger seat. 

“Oh, come on!” Marlene gives an exasperated sigh as you examine the array of snacks laid out before you. In your peripheral, you observe how Lily doesn’t make any moves to stop Marlene from pestering you; instead a small smirk tugs at the corners of her lips, secretly enjoying and wanting to take part in Marlene’s badgering. 

“You come on,” you throw back with a light-hearted glare, “I thought we were going to buy snacks for movie night, not grill me on my friendship with James,”

“Friends, huh?” Dorcas arches a brow as Lily stifles a giggle beside her. All three were eyeing you mischievously as a heat flushes across your cheeks. 

“Stop it you guys,”

“We’ll stop as soon as you stop playing the friendship game with James!” Lily bargains, unable to hold herself back anymore, and you try your hardest not to roll your eyes while your cheeks flood with a familiar warmth. 

“We’re just friends,” it was a painful admission but you’d rather have what you have right now with James than ever risk sabotaging it. 

Marlene examines a strand of her golden hair as Lily leans against her side, “James acts more of a boyfriend to you than just a friend,”

Dorcas speaks up with a hint of impishness, “and I can prove it~”

“How?” you challenge, raising your chin ever so slightly in silent provocation. But Dorcas has no reaction, she just continues to smirk at you. 

“I’m gonna need your phone first,” you hesitate from the devilish sparkle in her eyes but eventually relent, cursing the weakness that was a result of your aching heart. Dorcas types away on your phone for a moment as Marlene and Lily peer over her shoulder and snicker at what they read. She doesn’t allow you to read the message she typed out before hitting send and handing your phone back

It takes a moment for you to get over your shock and look through the message she sent. It was sent straight to James, lovingly named as ‘My Idiot ❤️’ in your contacts, and it read: ‘James, this scary looking guy keeps following me around in the shop and it’s creeping me out! I can’t find the girls either 😰 what do I do?’. Your jaw drops and you can’t find any words to voice whatever it is you’re feeling; a mix of anger, upset, shock and creeping curiosity over what they have planned.  

Not a minute goes by and your phone is getting rapid notifications from James messaging you, he even tries to call you but the girls snatch your phone away before you could answer. They shake their heads at you and you huff, crossing your arms. You would have protested more from the rising anxiety you feel over having to lie to James but you were so curious. In the end, you reluctantly accept their plotting and try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

For a minute, the message notifications stop from your phone and Lily feels her phone buzz from inside her bag. The three giggle as Lily rushes to take out her phone. From the side lines, you continue observing everything with your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. Lily types back a response and all three look up at you in unison, their eyes swimming with mischief.

“I’m setting a stopwatch to see how long just-friend-Potter gets here,” Marlene snickers and you groan, Dorcas and Lily giggling on either side of her. As much as you love them, they’re such a nuisance sometimes…

You could only guess that Lily sent him her location and now all of you were left patiently waiting for James to appear. 

Not even 15 minutes passes before James comes storming into view, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in all black and without his glasses. Even without his glasses on, when James glances over and catches a glimpse of you, recognition crosses his unfriendly features and he storms over. Within seconds, he’s pulling you into a warm embrace. 

“Oh thank god,” he breathes a sigh of relief and presses his face into your hair, “you’re okay… —are you okay?” you look up as he pulls away and searches for your eyes, squinting to be able to do so without the aid of his glasses. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright. The umm, the creep disappeared a little while ago,” you muster a small smile of reassurance, still uncomfortable with lying to him, before managing to softly ask your burning question, “why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” habitually, you feel about for the breast pocket of the leather jacket he has on and pull out his circular specs. 

As you carefully clean his lenses on your shirt, he goes to explain, “I wanted to look scary so that creep leaves you alone,” you’re quick to realise that without his glasses he would be forced to squint so that it looks like he’s glaring. It also clicks in your head that he wore all black so he could look even more intimidating. It was unusual for him to wear just black, normally that was Sirius’ thing, but you’re not complaining; James looks really attractive dressed in black, his hair tousled around messily and without his glasses on.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he grins boyishly after you put his glasses back on for him, taking a moment to adjust them until they sit aligned and comfortable. By habit, you comb your fingers through his untamed hair and James, in turn, presses a kiss to your temple. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay, princess,” your heart skips a beat at the nickname — he’s called you that so many times but he’s reserved it especially for you and it makes you feel so special, “do you want me to give you a ride home?” he lifts up the motorbike helmet in his hand, which you immediately recognise. Your curious eyes meet his hazel hues and he smiles bashfully, “I borrowed Sirius’ bike to get here quicker…” he shuffles around his feet, nervous under your gaze —he hate lying to you too, “okay okay… I took his bike without asking but I promise to give it back as soon as I get you home safe!” 

You give a small giggle and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his muscular chest. It’s an embrace that James eagerly returns, petting your hair whilst speaking over your head once he finally spots your three friends. 

“Are you guys okay too?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern, Potter,” Marlene rolls her eyes as Lily and Dorcas crack up, “yeah, we’re good,” 

“Good, good,” James immediately goes back to focus on holding you close and kissing the crown of your head, affectionate and sweet. You could always rely on him to be there for you no matter what and the thought made butterflies explode into a fluttering haze in your stomach. 

Dorcas had proven her point. 

It was clear now that James prioritised you over anyone else. And you didn’t know whether to be flustered and scream for joy or melt into a puddle of goo. 

“She’s not my girlfriend so shut up,” James huffs and groans as he rolls over to lay on his stomach across the length of the sofa whilst Remus, Sirius and Peter sat in a scattered array about the living room. 

“Says the motorbike thief,” Sirius hisses playfully, shooting a superficial glare at his long time best friend/non-blood-related brother. 

“She really does act like your girlfriend more than your friend, Prongs,” Remus chimes up, setting his book aside as Peter offers him several cubes of chocolate. 

“I don’t get why you two don’t just date each other,” it was Peter who speaks up this time and James can’t help but roll his eyes that even Peter was on his ass about this. 

“That’s right! You don’t get it!” they wait for him to continue with a ‘so’ before demanding something but James just presses his burning hot face into a cushion and has a silent tantrum.  

“I’ll prove you wrong!” Sirius claims boldly and when James looks over, his biker friend was rapidly typing away at his phone, “I’ll give it around 20 minutes until she gets here,” 

James raises a brow, “Who?”

“Your not-girlfriend, of course!” 

“What did you say?” Remus asks what they were all wanting the answer to. 

“Oh nothing~ just that Jamesie-kins over here is really upset over something but doesn’t want to tell us why so we don’t know what to do to help him feel better,” Sirius fakes a pout and watery eyes as James gapes at him, horrified. 

“HOW IS THAT GONNA PROVE ANYTHING?!”

“If she gets here in 20 minutes then that means she prioritises your hurt feelings over going to her favourite over-priced restaurant with Pandora,” James’ eyes nearly bulge out. 

“That’s today?!”

Sirius’ devious smirk was answer enough. 

“I say 10 minutes!” Peter bets. 

“15!” Remus adds on.  

Remus wins the bet when you get there 14 minutes after Sirius’ text message was sent. Your arms are piled up high with James’ favorite junk food snacks, ranging from sweet to savoury. Over your shoulders, you wear your fluffiest blanket (James’ favourite) as a cape and rush forward to drape it over him. No time was wasted as you silently move around their shared flat at lightening speed, putting on the TV and switching to his favourite, comfort show, laying out his snacks on the coffee table and putting the kettle on before snuggling down under the blanket with him. It was a tight fit for the two of you on the sofa but neither of you minded; you were both cuddle bugs and enjoyed the closeness. 

“Get out, you three! Leave Jamie and I alone!” you speak for the first time to shoo the three boys away. They happily oblige, Remus smirking as Sirius and Peter cough up their betted amounts and close the living room door behind them. 

For a long moment, you merely stay there, your arms wrapped around James’ shoulders, one hand lovingly petting his hair as your other presses his face into your chest. James wasn’t shy about voicing how this was his most comforting position for cuddles and it made his heart race that you had cancelled your long awaited plans just to console him. 

“What’s wrong Jamie?” you finally ask, voice soft and slow with patience, “Sirius told me you weren’t feeling so well… but you’re not ill? Are you?” he feels you press the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature as he finally locks his strong arms around your midsection and pulls you even closer, “No you’re not, thank goodness,” he falls in love with the relief he hears in your voice. He loves falling in love with you over and over again; it’s so easy, “what can I do to help?”

He doesn’t know why he held back for so long. It was all so clear now. The fact that your eyes sparkled around him the way his did when he looked at you was so unbelieved before, he kinda just voluntarily blinded himself. But now, it was like he was seeing colours for the first time. James just can’t believe it took Sirius, of all people, to make him realise it. What a joke… he almost wants to laugh. But he can’t, not when his heart was ready to beat out of his chest for you. 

“Jamie?”

“…a kiss…” it was a whisper but you heard him so clearly. And he knows because he heard your breath hitch. 

“—what?”

“I want a kiss…to feel better,”

Not wanting to raise your hopes, you press a kiss to his forehead and your heart deafens your ears as it beats loudly against your eardrums. 

“A proper kiss,” he raises his head and pulls up to level his lips with yours, his hazel eyes melting your gaze, “like lovers do,”

You’ve waited so long for this moment that you couldn’t even fathom that it was actually happening and your entire world slowed to a standstill. It wasn’t until James had pressed his full lips against yours that you felt your senses come to life with so much intensity that you felt like you wanted to faint. But you wouldn’t dare miss your first kiss for anything. 

Like lovers do, you kissed. Like lovers do, you embraced. Like lovers do, you whispered sweet words, a life long promise, to one another, “I love you,” 

A/N : this started off as a timestamp that i sneakily wrote this request into (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ i didn’t know how to conclude it at first but i just kept writing and writing and now it’s finished haha! i hope you darlings enjoy the read! and i would also like to humbly tag my beloved moot @diputy for reasons she understands on a deep level (⸝⸝⸝• ω •⸝⸝⸝) ♡

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE GOTE FEELING ALL SORTA THINGS😭😭😭❤❤❤❤

@sub-text in love with your writing

Masterlist

Pairing: Remus Lupin x f!reader

Word Count: 16.7k

Content: Fluff & Angst

Summary: When you are revealed to be fancying someone, Sirius Black and friends take it upon themselves to figure out who it is. Will their highjinks ruin your chances? Or will you finally get the romantic attention of the one and only Remus Lupin?

——————————————————————————

“Leave her be, Sirius. Can’t you see the girl’s uncomfortable?”

You couldn’t help the relieved smile that passed over your lips at the boy’s words. There he was again, taking care of you. You hated how he did it so easily.

“Oh Moony why you have to ruin all the fun?” Sirius cackled. He winked at you and continued despite the warning. “Just wanna know who in all of Hogwarts would have our friend all riled up.”

“I am not riled up!” You protested, earning heafty laughs from all across the room. Sharp glares shot out towards your friends. You’d expected a laugh from Sirius, even James, but seeing Lily, Marlene, and Dorcus join in felt like an afront. Even Remus had chuckled. You decided that Sirius needed to back down and you knew just how to do it. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me all riled up, Pup.”

That did it. The lean foreward, the small dip in pitch, a slight pause before the nickname - which included you unabashedly checking him out - and the tiniest smirk took the boy by surprise. The whole room, actually. It came to mind that your friends had never actually seen you be blantantly flirtatious. It was likely because you had no courage to be flirtatious with the one person you desperately wanted to flirt with. But Sirius Black? Easy.

Keep reading

Nothing like kicking my feet in the air and giggling with a smile only for fictional men😍😍

Unexpected | m.r x reader

prompt: Hii! How are you? This is my first time sending an ask and I just wanted to say that I love your writings! May I ask for a enemies to lovers with Mattheo Riddle? The reader is from the golden trio and they get into an argument with a lot of chemistry and tension. Thank you and I'm sorry for my bad english.

maybe enemies to lovers, like they hate each other and then realize that they are soulmates and then have to figure out what to do. some angst but ends i fluff please 

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: slight angst feeling, fluff, e2l, soulmate trope, some heavy petting

an: so there's no argument like the prompt asks (sorry) but when I started writing it just kind of flowed out this way so hopefully it's still okay.

“Go on, show us again,” Ron Weasley was shaking a turkey leg in your general direction, asking to see the words that appeared on your arm this morning. In the wizarding world, on the day you were going to properly meet your soulmate, the first sentence they speak to you, excluding their name, will appear on your forearm in their handwriting. 

It was incredibly annoying to you that Ron and Hermione got this mess out of the way the first day on the bloody train. To your and Harry’s amusement, neither were originally excited about the match, but after the chaos that ensued for the four of you by the end of that year they were inseparable. Nothing brings two people closer than tragedy. 

Things got even more frustrating for you when Harry and Ginny realized they were soulmates, leaving you the lone wolf in your foursome. Entering your sixth year this year you were hopeful that maybe you would finally be able to find out who your soulmate was, roughly three fourths of those leave Hogwarts knowing who they’re intended to be with, and you would rather Avada Kadavera yourself then leave your seventh year soulmateless. 

You grabbed the sleeve of your jumper, tugging it up to your elbow, sticking your arm out in the middle of the table for your three friends to view. There on your arm read a singular sentence, do I intimidate you, love?

Hermione sat back on the bench, “His handwriting really is awful, whoever he is.” You scoffed at your friend, “Not exactly my biggest concern, Mione. More worried about why he thinks he would intimidate me? Who would even think that? By this point in our school life you’d think any of us were more intimidating than the majority of the student body.” 

“Yeah, except Slytherin,” Harry snorted, Ron following with his own round of laughter. But you weren’t laughing, you were looking at Hermione who was sporting the same grimace and worried eyes that you were sure your face looked like. 

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then looked at the two of you. “It was a joke, y/n/n,” Harry tried to ease the tension that was building. “Yeah, I mean, y’don't really think your soulmate might be…one of them,” Ron was anything but subtle with his tone of disgust, as well as his entire body turning around to face the Slytherin table. 

Ron’s actions didn’t go unnoticed by a particular group of Slytherin boys. “Staring problem, Weasley? Got a crush?” Malfoy shouted across the dining hall, earning laughs and teasing hollars from his friends. 

“Oi, Malfoy, got a present for you,” you stuck your hand in your school bag, pretending to roam around before pulling your hand back out and lifting it high in the air, giving Malfoy the middle finger. His face immediately turned into a scowl. The boy next to him, however, pretended to catch your gesture in the air and put it in his pocket, winking at you in the process. 

You rolled your eyes, turning to Hermione who had a look of disgust on her face, “Riddle’s ego really is massive innit.” All three of your friends' heads began to nod. “I swear if he didn’t verbalize how much he bloody hated us I would think he was flirting with you y/n/n.” 

“Shut it, Weasley, don’t you put that on me,” you pointed your finger at him, tone joking but words serious. He put his hands up in defense, laughing along with the rest of your friends as you all gathered your things and headed towards your first class. 

Unbeknownst to you, a similar conversation was being had at the Slytherin table. “Glad to see meeting your soulmate hasn’t deterred you from trying to flirt with anything that breathes,” Pansy took a sip of her pumpkin juice, teasing the curly haired boy across from her. 

“Dunno what you mean, Pans,” the dimples on Mattheo’s cheeks popping out as he smirked. 

“Show us your arm again, cousin,” Draco’s words causing everyone to look at Mattheo now. The younger boy scowled, rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. There on his arm, in beautiful loopy script were the words you’ve got to be fucking joking.

Theo couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a foul word in such pretty handwriting.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeve back down, “Yeah, well let’s just hope the bird is someone I can tolerate.” 

You let out a long groan, hands rubbing up and down your face as you leaned your elbows on your knees . Hermione was sat next to you in the common room, rubbing up and down your back, “The day’s not over quite yet, y/n/n. It wouldn’t appear if you weren’t gonna meet them today.” 

“Yeah,” Ron put on his best attempt at an encouraging smile, “maybe they’re another Gryffindor and you’ll meet them before we go to bed.” Harry nodded next to him in agreement. 

You stood up, grabbing your jumper off the arm of the couch and throwing it on, “M’gonna go for a walk.” 

Hermione’s lips downturned, “It’s nearly curfew.” You sighed, looking over at Harry. “I’ll go get my cloak,” he sighed, standing and walking quickly to his dorm room. 

After Harry’s return you thanked him, spending an extra twenty minutes convincing Hermione that you would be the utmost cautious and affirmed to Ron that you would stash the cloak if you were to be caught. 

Now you were quietly climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower. When you got to the top, you did a quick look over the railing. With no sign of Filch anywhere you dropped the cloak, laying it on the floor so you didn’t have to sit on the bare ground. 

As you got comfortable you dug in your shirt, pulling out a spliff. Hermione would murder you if she found out you smoked, however the year you all had to study for your O.W.L’s, you were so stressed you ended up buying from Theo Nott.

He promised to keep it to himself and you promised it was a one time thing, but you found yourself buying from him every couple months. You weren't sure if she would be more disappointed in your smoking, or you interacting with someone in the forbidden Slytherin group.

You mumbled a short incendio before taking a long drag. You blew the smoke out slowly, watching it ripple through the air and up into the night sky. You looked up at the stars, knowing the day was likely to be over soon and wondering if you were the only witch that was destined to not run into their soulmate like everyone else. 

You were lost in your thoughts and self pity. So much so you didn’t even hear someone come up the tower steps until they hit the top. You scrambled to your feet, ready to cover yourself with the cloak when you realized it wasn’t Filch, but a boy instead. 

The dark of the night made it difficult for you to see exactly who it was at first, that and the fact that every time he took a step forward you seemed to take a step back until your back was against the stone wall. When he finally stepped into the light, your breath caught in your throat. Standing in front of you, signature smirk adoring his face was Mattheo Riddle. 

You stayed rigid against the wall as he got closer to you. His fingers brushed yours as he took the spliff, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling. His eyes never left yours as he turned his head slightly, blowing the smoke into the night. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your black sleep shorts and house jumper. When he looked at your face again he locked eyes with you, almost like he was trying to read what was going on in your brain. 

“Do I intimidate you, love?” The words seemed to leave his lips without a second thought and you felt like your chest was going to cave in. There was just no way, absolutely bloody not that he said those words, the words you had been anticipating someone to say all day. Him of all people that could’ve spoken them. 

He raised his eyebrows at you, clearly looking for you to answer. Instead of some sputtering response of nervousness like Mattheo was expecting, your face just dropped. 

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Mattheo’s face went white after you responded, and that was all the evidence you needed to confirm that Mattheo fucking Riddle was your soulmate. He hated you. You hated him. How could two people that despise each other be destined to be soulmates?

"What are you even doing up here?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting into your hip. His smirk only seemed to grow, "I think the better question is what are you doing up here, partaking in drugs no less? Little miss golden girl."

You rolled your eyes, "What's that supposed to mean, Riddle?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, "It's Mattheo. And you know what it means. Wonder what everyone would think if they knew little miss perfect liked to come up to the astronomy tower to get high."

"Why would anyone believe you over me?" You were acting a little cocky now, but Mattheo was right in the aspect that you and your friends were seen in an overall more positive light than he and his.

However the look on Mattheo's face made you think he knew something you didn't, "I guess I could just have your dealer tell everyone, or are you buying from someone besides Nott these days?"

He was irritating you on purpose now. You grabbed the spliff back from Mattheo, going to sit where you were before but now leaning your forehead against the railing, “This is got to be some kind of mistake.” 

Mattheo could only snicker as he went to sit next to you, hanging his arms over the raining as he looked over the grounds, “S’destiny love, no mistake about it.” 

“Thanks so much, you’re being really encouraging about this whole thing,” you rolled your eyes, holding your hand out to him. He took it from you, filling his lungs with smoke again, passing it back and forth throughout the conversation. 

Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “At least we’re both fit.” You snorted at this, “Who said I thought you were fit?” He scoffed, “Please, I’ve seen the way you ogle me.” You found yourself laughing, a true full belly head thrown back laugh before you looked at him and he thought the smile you were wearing was actually kind of cute, “How would you know that unless you were ogling me, hmm?”

Mattheo opened his mouth to respond, but found he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse before you were speaking again. The sigh you let out let him know how stressed you really were, “Our friends are not going to like this.” 

He nodded, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke, “Merlin, no. They’re going to bloody hate it. But s’not like it was really our choice.” You knew he was right, and you knew he was trying to be comforting, but the tone in his voice let you know that he was just as worried to let his group of friends know as much as you were. 

You opened your mouth to respond to him when you heard the all too familiar jingle of Mrs. Norris’ collar sounding like she was ascending the stairs. Your eyes grew wide as you and Mattheo both jumped to your feet. It looked like Mattheo is contemplating jumping over the tower railing when you grab his arm to push him flat against the stone wall. 

He looked at you with utter confusion as you grabbed the cloak before turning around and pushing your back flush against his chest. “What are you-”

“Shut it,” you cut him off, indicating to him to wrap his arms around your waist as you threw the cloak over the pair of you. As the cat walked on to the tower landing you felt Mattheo’s arms tighten around you, doing his best to pull you impossibly closer. 

He was decently taller than you, having to duck down slightly so the cloak covered you both properly. His face was tucked in close to your neck. His breath warm and tickling your skin as Filch followed after his beloved pet, glancing around for anything out of place. 

When he was satisfied, Filch turned around to leave, letting his cat lead the way. You waited a few beats, making sure they were nearly to the bottom of the staircase before pulling the cloak off the two of you and pushing Mattheo’s hands off of your body. 

“Thing comes in handy, that,” he pointed to the cloth in your hand. You chucked, “Yeah, m’sure your lot would get a lot less detentions if you had one.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we can’t all be like the golden quartet.” 

You scoffed slightly at this as you headed down the stairs, Mattheo close behind you, “We didn’t give ourselves that nickname, you know.” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah but m’sure you all don’t mind it. Definitely gets you some favoritism.” 

You stopped at the end of the corridor, Mattheo running into your back at the action and cursing. You turned to face him, “You know, my friends and I have endured a hell of a lot of shite over the last couple years, maybe we deserve a little break when we’re actually able to do normal bloody teenage things.” 

As much as you were trying to be harsh with him, be the slightest bit intimidating, his height gave him all the advantage. Mattheo knew what you meant, what you were saying without saying the words themselves. “I’m not like him. Don’t clump me in your same category of hatred. He’s done things to me too,” his eyes reflected a bit of hurt as he spoke and you knew he was telling the truth. 

Everyone in school assumed Mattheo was just like his father, held the same ideals and wanted the same things for the wizarding world. The look you were seeing on his face told you otherwise. Your frustration quickly fizzled, instead turning into something closer to pity, “M’sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he deadpanned, “Let’s just get back to our common rooms.” You walked together in silence until you had no choice but to split off. You agreed to meet each other in the courtyard during lunch the next day and you were racking your brain on how you were going to break this news to Harry, Hermione and Ron.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. When you broke the news to your friends about who your soulmate ended up being it wasn’t exactly well received. Hermione was worried, but understanding of the fact that you had no choice in the matter. Harry was upset, but again was trying his best to be mature and said he wouldn’t interfere with you spending some time with Mattheo to get to know him better. Ron took it the worst, which you wished surprised you but he did have a flair for the dramatics.

You were first waiting for Mattheo on a bench in the courtyard, but you couldn’t stop your legs from bouncing, therefore you found a place beneath a tree, attempting to read the same three lines of a book Hermione had loaned you the other day. 

When Mattheo found you and finally sat down next to you, you shut your book immediately, letting out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank Godric, you’re here.” It didn’t go unnoticed by you the way a pair of dimples christened his cheeks, “Miss me already, pretty girl? S’barely been twelve hours.” 

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to resist the pink that tinted your cheeks at the nickname he used, “Not at all, I’ve been sitting here for the better part of twenty minutes, mind you. Thought maybe you decided to ditch me.” Mattheo shrugged, “M’always late. You’re gonna have to get used to that. And I would never ditch you, we’re soulmates, love. You’re stuck with me for life.” 

He had a childlike grin on his face when he said that latter part and you couldn’t help the slight notion of butterflies that seemed to flutter in your stomach or the smile that appeared on your face.

All last night you thought it was going to be difficult to fall for Mattheo, but maybe the universe knew something when it paired you two together. 

“So how did your friends take the news?” You tried to keep voice neutral, but you really were worried about their responses. Mattheo leaned back against the tree, “They were shocked for sure, Draco took it the hardest. He was more worried about having to spend more time with Potter than me being with you though. Told him that would probably be more rare than he anticipated. W’bout yours?”

You nodded, “Not as bad as I thought, actually. Mione was understanding, as always. Harry was actually pretty good about it, but very skeptical. Ron actually took it the worst, but he’s just protective. Basically like me brother.” 

“How d’ya mean?” 

You leaned back against the tree yourself, shoulder to shoulder now with Mattheo. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and you wondered if his skin was always warm to the touch, “Both my parents are aurors so they travel a lot. They didn’t think it was safe for me to go with them, so Ron’s mum offered for me to stay at theirs whenever it was needed. Turns out it was needed more times than not growing up.” 

Mattheo nodded, listening intently as you spoke. You both started asking surface questions about each other; favorite color (he said black), favorite hobby (quidditch), favorite class (free period). 

When both your friend groups came looking for you after lunch period Mattheo asked if you would go to Hogsmead with him over the weekend. You agreed, finding yourself wanting to get to know more about him. Over the next two months you went to Hogsmead with Mattheo at least one day during each weekend. 

You slowly learned that his favorite candy was fizzing whizbees, having to stop at Honeydukes every trip for him to grab some. You learned that he was actually very intelligent even though he tried to seem like he wasn't, as he was passing all of his classes even though he skipped half of them. You learned that even though Draco was older than him, he felt like an older brother to his cousin. And maybe your favorite thing that you learned, purely on accident, was that if you squeeze just above his hip that he was incredibly ticklish. 

Throughout all of this you still hadn’t kissed. You kept telling yourself (and your friends) that you didn’t want to, but the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself yearning for it. There were times of lingering touches; his hand on your lower back as he guided you into a building, his fingertips brushing yours as you walked, his leg pressing against yours while you sat next to each other in the courtyard or at the Three Broomsticks. 

Hermione, the ever observant friend that she was, noticed your shift in attitude towards Mattheo even before you did. So when she cornered you in the common room, demanding you tell her your true feelings it was almost a relief to let it all out. 

“I think I might actually like him, Mione. Like, I know that sounds like something an insane person would say, that they like Mattheo Riddle, like romantically, like someone who isn’t just some daft bimbo, but there's just so much more to him that he lets people see.”

Hermione can’t help but laugh, “I get what you mean. Harry and Ron are coming around, you know. They see how happy you look when you’re with him.” 

You tilt your head slightly at this, “What do you mean how happy I look?” 

Hermione just shakes her head with a smile, “Like you’re with your person.” You can’t escape the blush that creeps up your neck and covers your cheeks. Hermione’s giggling at you now, “Have you still not kissed him yet?” 

You scoffed, “Godric, no.” She pushed your shoulder playfully, “Well why not, y/n/n? Don’t you want to?” 

You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers, “I mean…I think so? But he just hasn’t really…gone for it, you know?” 

She nodded in solidarity, “Oh I know, trust me. I had to make the first move with Ronald. Maybe you have to do the same thing?” 

You contemplated her words. They invaded a space in your brain for the rest of the night, then the rest of the next morning, and through dinner, and even now as you stood leaning against the railing in the astronomy tower waiting for Mattheo to meet you. 

When you heard him coming up the steps you turned only to see him with the sweetest smile on his face. “Hey pretty girl,” he greeted as he enveloped you in a hug. “Hi, Teo,” you had donned the nickname on him your third or so time at Hogsmead. He gave you a good squeeze before letting go, his arms still lingering on your waist with yours around his neck, “What’d you wanna talk about?” 

His question was innocent, no implications in his voice that he expected anything beyond you wanting to see him. With Hermione’s advice in the back of your head you knew you needed to just act, as any more talking might lead to you psyching yourself out. 

You slid your hands down from his neck, grasping lightly to the lapel of his blazer. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the action, the smallest of smirks on his face. 

Without giving yourself time to overthink you pull him into you, lips crashing against yours. He’s shocked at first, but just for a moment before he responds, walking you back until you’re pressed against the stone wall.

One of his hands slides up your body, ghosting over your stomach and the valley of your breasts before settling lightly on your neck. The implication of the hand gesture makes you whimper slightly and Mattheo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the curls.

When he finally pulls away you find yourself chasing his lips and he smiled at the reaction. “I think I could kiss you forever,” his forehead is resting against yours, lips still so close you can feel his breath on your own. “Yeah?” you laugh a little, smile only increasing when he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Yeah, pretty girl. Forever.”

Obsessed. And this only makes me fall more in love with men im not supposed to😭❤

i won't say (im in love)

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of Aphrodite!reader, wc: 5.1k

no warnings, just some kissing and miscommunication. this is my first fic ever :)

You didn’t believe in love at first sight. 

It was so cliche, always the same story whenever you asked a couple how they met. In fact, you thought that anyone who said they fell in love at the first sight of their significant other was lying through their teeth. You were pretty sure most of the couples at camp were forcing it, there was no way everyone had a crush on someone else from another cabin except you.

It was no secret that you were a hater, as some of your half siblings would say, always making a comment about every couple that passed your way. It seemed ironic - the daughter of Aphrodite detesting love. But it wasn’t like you had many choices to begin with. The dating pool within Camp Half Blood was lacking, to say the least.

There was Chris Rodriguiz, always hanging around his half-siblings in the Hermes cabin or strolling beside Clarisse. He was a decent fighter, strong willed and determined, and his smile never seemed coy like his half-siblings. But with the daughter of Ares always around, you doubted Clarisse would appreciate your sudden interest in her buddy, especially after the Ghost King incident.

Then there was Charles Beckendorf, a son of Hephestus who was sweeter than he seemed. He was nice to talk to, more of an attentive listener than talker, though you didn’t mind his silent company. Although you found Charles nice to look at, there was nothing else that interested you in him. He seemed more interested in his machinery and staying within the forgery, especially since you’ve caught him eyeing your half sister Silena a couple of times during dinner.

And finally, there’s Luke Castellan, head of the Hermes cabin and your number one hater. You’re not sure when he first started to hate you, though you could only count the number of decent interactions you shared on one hand. He used to be close with you, always guiding you through the countless camp activities and even teaching you his sword fighting tricks.

He was your first friend at Camp Half Blood, the first one to greet you with a welcoming smile and treat you like you’re normal. Luke didn’t mind that you were unclaimed and shared a cabin with his half siblings, always reminding you that his father Hermes protected the travelers and roads.

Luke never seemed to realize the effect he had on you. You weren’t sure what it was, if you were clinging onto the first person that showed you basic human decency or if you really were warming up to him.

You remembered how quickly things changed between you two, how you became friends to strangers within an instant. It always haunts your mind, the same situation happening over and over again in your dreams and nightmares as if the gods wanted to punish you with the failure of your only friendship.

Luke was fixing your armor during your sword lessons, his hands expertly tucking in the straps and buckles that you had awkwardly put on. It was the same routine - he’d fix your armor and playfully tug at your chest armor, asking if it felt comfortable. You’d tug at Luke’s armor in return with a teasing smile and nod, both of you 

You remember glancing up at him, noting how gently he was with you as he guided your hands along the hilt of your sword. His hands were rough and calloused, most likely from the years of training he had at camp. But when his fingers gently traced along yours, fixing your grip and adjusting your position, you could’ve sworn he was being softer on purpose.

You knew of his reputation at camp, word spread about the best swordsman at camp as soon as you arrived. And you’ve seen how Luke trained with the more advanced campers, directing orders sternly as if he were commanding an army of men rather than abandoned half-bloods. But with you, Luke was always kind and gentle, never raising his voice or handling you with roughness like his with the other demigods.

It felt nice, normal almost, to have someone to help you when you first arrived at camp. Still unclaimed and unsure, you were able to find solace and comfort in Luke’s presence. He was smart and kind, so willing to help the new campers find their way amongst Camp Half Blood’s many opportunities for glory.

Luke always spoke to you in a soft voice, kind and patient, as he instructed you. Raise your arms, grip the hilt tighter, and slash the dummy. When you followed his lead, Luke gave you a small smile of approval and helped you get back into position. The summer sun burned brighter and you could’ve sworn you felt yourself grow hotter as well.

And then it happened. 

A thick, red haze enveloped all around you, fogging your vision as the sound of a woman’s sweet laughter filled your head. The smell of roses surrounded you, so strong and intense, and yet you couldn’t do anything but wave away the thick haze that blocked your surroundings.

You felt different within the haze, your regular training armor felt silky and lighter and your hair no longer felt damp with sweat. It was as if you were changed into a different body completely, no longer awkward but confident and sure.

“What’s happening?” you asked, coughing as the haze began to fade. A crowd of campers had entered the sword fighting area at some point, watching you as if you were the designated entertainment for the night. Maybe you were, if the gods felt vicious enough to make you pay for your right to earn a heritage.

Luke’s eyes never left your face, his mouth parted slightly in shock as he just looked at you. A shocked gasp from the crowd of campers had you glancing over at them in confusion. And then you saw it - your reflection in one of the camper’s sunglasses.

A pink hue surrounded your body, following your every movement. Your hair was braided with gold strands woven between your strands of hair. Your armor was replaced with a white sleeveless gown that stopped at your ankles, showing off golden sandals that wrapped along your ankles and up your shins like delicate vines. Your makeup was done flawlessly, not a single smudge on your new winged eyeliner or glossy lips despite the training you had done just moments ago.

“You’ve been claimed,” Luke said, his voice still soft and filled with disbelief. You flushed under Luke’s intense stare and you glanced away, meeting the stares of the other campers around you. “By Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, the laughter loving goddess.”

Ever since that day, Luke had avoided you as if you had the plague. He avoided you during your shared archery and pegasus riding lessons, hardly sparing you a glance when you struggled with your gear over and over again. During dinner, he sits with his back turned towards you, never moving from his seat until you finally leave. Even during the nightly campfire visits feel awkward when the son of Hermes is looking everywhere but your direction while the children of Apollo are leading the singalong.

Even after your blessing had worn off and your makeup eventually smudged again and you stopped smelling like fresh roses, Luke still made the effort to avoid you entirely. You tried approaching him during sword fighting lessons and walking by the Hermes cabin when you were ready for the day to no avail. It was as if he were never there anymore, disappearing when you entered a room and reappearing right when you left.

It took every bit of courage you had within yourself to go to your half siblings one night, bitterly ranting about Luke’s sudden change in demeanor. In true fashion, all of your siblings gathered around your bunk bed, the love experts of Cabin 10  listening intently to your ramblings even as curfew was set into place and Silena was supposed to call for lights out a while ago. 

“He’s definitely avoiding you,” Silena commented with confidence after hearing your complaints. You let out an annoyed huff as you picked out a nail polish from one of the hanging racks along the walls, distracting yourself with the bottle as your half-siblings murmured in agreement. “Guys do that when they don’t know what to do with themselves,”

“But I didn’t do anything to him!” you huffed, shaking the nail polish a few times before opening the bottle. Silena stayed silent as you started on your left hand, carefully painting your nails a sparkling pink color. You stared at the sparkles now adorning your nails, shining brightly against the pink of your freshly painted nails, and thought of how your mother’s blessing ruined everything. 

A comfortable silence fell amongst your siblings, all of them watching you with intensity. It was as if they were waiting for you to say something else, to add more to your story. You glanced up from your nails and raised an eyebrow at your siblings, waiting for more input about your lack of action.

“Maybe it's not you, maybe he’s just intimidated because of the blessing.” one of your sisters offered, her voice full of hope as if she were also trying to convince herself. You hummed in agreement, blowing at the nail polish as you stayed lost in thought.

There had to be a better reason, it didn’t seem like Luke to just stop talking to you because of a pink glow that followed you for a couple of days. He was smart, attentive, he had to have seen one of your other siblings get claimed in a similar way. It didn’t make sense that he would only avoid you.

What if he hated the way you looked after you received your blessing, what if the perfectly done makeup was too much? Doubt began to cloud your mind as small insecure thoughts filled your mind again. For the first time in weeks, you felt small and insignificant again, as if you were still the same unclaimed demigod that just entered camp.

“At the end of the day, he’s just a guy,” one of your brothers, Mitchell, added with a roll of his eyes. Your shared siblings hummed in agreement and began to conspire amongst themselves, sharing theories and stories about Luke’s sudden change. He always kept more to himself, hardly opening up to anyone but Annabeth Chase of the Athena cabin it seemed.

You let out a sigh of defeat and laid on your bed, staring at the pink ceiling above you. There wasn’t much for you to do, not when you had so many questions and hardly any answers. You hated this feeling, this uneasy feeling in your stomach like you did something bad. 

“So what am I supposed to do? Just be ignored by my only friend at camp?” you asked, almost annoyed. Your nail polish had dried on your left hand and you began to paint your other hand. Even distracted with anxious thoughts, your hand never shook as you expertly coated your nails with the nail polish - one of the many talents you had as a child of Aphrodite.

“You can pray to Mother,” one of your siblings suggested, glancing up at you through a skin care mask. You made a face but didn’t say anything else, not when your Mother could hear within your own cabin. It was your only hope, your only way to figure out why Luke was avoiding you all of a sudden and how you could fix this.

That night you put your favorite pair of shoes on your mother’s altar, an expensive pair of heels you had gotten for your birthday a couple years ago. You weren’t sure how to feel about asking for help when you had gone out of your way to detest the very thing your mother represented, though you were half hopeful that she’d at least hear your pleas for help. You never prayed to Aphrodite before, never really knew how to speak to the goddess that called herself your mother.

Sleep didn’t come easy to you. You tossed and turned all night, huffing in annoyance when you just couldn’t get comfortable in your own bed. You tried sleeping at an angle and on your side and on your back, but nothing seemed to lead to you exhaustion. It wasn’t until you finally looked out the window, gazing out at the Hermes cabin with a wistful sigh, that you felt your eyes grow heavy and heavy until you finally gave in to the lulling comfort of slumber.

The sound of soft waves crashing upon the shore filled your ears, the familiar scent of roses prominent once again. When you opened your eyes, you knew you were dreaming. You weren’t in your cabin anymore, now standing in ankle deep waves that never seemed to truly reach the beach.

You knew where you were, yet you didn't. Something within you longed to stay at this beach, to stay home. But this wasn’t your home, no. It was your mother’s, you were sure. Somehow you were in Cyprus.

Before you could open your mouth and call out for your mother, sea foam began to crash faster and faster upon the waves. The foam gathered along the sand and rocks, growing larger and larger until the foam blanketed along your feet and legs. From the horizon, you could see the same pink aura that had surrounded you when you first got claimed - Aphrodite’s blessing. 

Rising from the sea foam, your mother appeared before you, radiating nothing but pure loveliness and beauty. You glanced up at her in awe, you could see why gods and mortals alike fawned after the goddess for centuries.

Her appearance was infinite, constantly changing when every blink you took. One second she had honey brown eyes, another she had sea green eyes, then she had sky blue. Her hair flowed perfectly with an invisible breeze behind her. Curly blonde hair turned to straight black hair turned to coily hair, but you recognized her all the same. 

Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, your mother.

Your mother glanced down at you at last, a gentle smile on her red painted lips. Gods, she was so intimidatingly perfect, you weren’t sure if you were supposed to bow or kneel in her presence. “Child, you have rejected your heritage for so long,” she said, her voice soft and lovely. But you could hear the slight annoyance in her tone, as if she were waiting for you to finally come to your senses.

You bowed your head and fiddled with your hands, playing with the golden rings that adorned your fingers. Your appearance had changed too, now dressed in the very outfit your mother had given you when she claimed you. “I know, I’m sorry….mom…” you said softly, almost embarrassed. You really didn’t want your first interaction with your mother to be a lecture.

Aphrodite said nothing, still staring down at you with her ever changing eyes. Centuries worth of knowledge swirled within her irises, knowledge of ancient lovers and broken hearts beckoning you closer. You wondered what appearance she took when she met your father, if she even took a mortal appearance. “Your heart is not happy,” she said at last, confident and all knowing.

“How do you know?” you asked, almost defensively. You were plenty happy. You enjoyed strawberry picking with the children of Demeter, you enjoyed teaching the younger campers how to make friendship bracelets before dinner, you enjoyed the karaoke competitions with the children of Apollo when it was one of their birthdays. 

You were plenty happy at camp, you told yourself, you just needed help. Platonic help with a friend. 

Your mother tilted her head at you slightly, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you. She looked like one of those rich moms that stayed at home, silently judging your question like the answer was obvious.“Your heart is not happy,” she repeated in the same tone, as if it were enough to answer your question. 

“I didn’t come to ask about my love life, I just need some advice.” You said, your cheeks heating up at her statement. Maybe your mother was confused, maybe you should’ve prayed to one of her children instead. Romance and friendship were often confused, you told yourself, maybe she thought you wanted relationship advice. “My….friend, Luke, won’t talk to me anymore. Ever since I got claimed it’s like he wants nothing to do with me.”

Aphrodite stayed quiet for a moment, her body still changing and glowing as she stayed lost in thought. You didn’t know where to look, at her perfect face or perfect body, still adorned in a similar gown to yours. She radiated pure confidence, casually posed as the sea foam still gathered around your feet.

“Have you heard of Pygmalion and Galatea?” she asked, looking out into the distance of the sea. A distant look clouded her face, as if she were remembering how long ago she met the couple. You didn’t bother wondering how long ago those people lived.

You racked your brain for those familiar names, you knew them from somewhere. Lovers, they had to be lovers. But from where, you didn’t remember. Memories of ancient myths filled your mind. Eros and Psyche, Orpheus and Eurydice, Pyramus and Thisbe, but no recollection of a Pygmalion and Galatea. 

The image of a statue of a woman so perfectly made that she was almost human came to your mind. Beside the statue was a man, tenderly tracing along her arms, her waist, her neck, as if she were his lover. “He fell in love with his statue, right?” you asked suddenly, the myth coming to mind. You had remembered now, a man painfully in love with something that couldn’t love him back, a tragic tale.

“After detesting marriage for so long, yes.” Aphrodite answered fondly, as if she were amused by the story. Perhaps she was, you knew of her resentment for those who openly despised love itself. “But his heart was not happy alone, and he wanted the perfect woman to be beside him - his own creation.”

You stayed silent for a while, unsure of how to respond. What did this have to do with Luke? Was he the sculptor and you the statue? That didn’t seem motivating, though you doubted your mother knew what it felt to be on the other side of unrequited feelings. “You turned his statue into a real woman after he prayed to you, when he finally fell in love though.”

Aphrodite turned to you, a small smirk on her lips. She looked at you as if waiting for you to say something, to realize the point of this story. You blinked up at her, confusion still evident on your face. Maybe there was something wrong with you, maybe she accidentally claimed the wrong child. There was no way she was implying that this story reassembled your own problems.

“What does any of this have to do with me?” You asked finally. This was a mistake, you shouldn’t have listened to your half-siblings. Of course they would suggest you talk to your mother, they all were in relationships. They probably got a better blessing, getting a gift of successful love lifes while all you got were steady hands when you did your nails and makeup.

“A hardened heart does not open for opportunity,” she said, flashing eyes turning to yours. Her eyes were gray now, resembling some of the children of Athena with that knowing look in her eyes. Was she trying to tell you that Luke’s heart was rejecting you?

As if she could read your mind, Aphrodite shook her head. She gave you a pointed look, now dark brown eyes staring directly at you. Your heart skipped a beat at the intense gaze of your mother, it was exactly how Luke looked at you when your first got claimed. Gods, were you really getting flustered over a single glance?

“Not Luke’s heart,” she said, her voice fading as the waves stopped moving. The sea foam slowly melted into the waves, taking your mother with them. She gave you a sympathetic look, as if she didn’t want to leave so soon. But she was a busy goddess, you understood, love waits for no one. “Your brother has done his part, it is up to you to do yours.”

You woke up with a start, your shirt sticking to your back as you sat up from your bed. Below you, one of your siblings groaned in their sleep before their soft breathing resumed. Soft, classical music played from someone’s side of the cabin, though you didn’t mind this particular song.

Your brother has done his part, what was that supposed to mean? You sighed as you wiped your brow, sweat sliding along your forehead. Gods above, how long were you sweating in your sleep?

Carefully, you got off of your bunk bed, your feet softly padding along the cabin floor as you grabbed your slippers from the shoe rack. No one stirred from their slumber, and you silently celebrated as you double checked you were the only one awake in the cabin. The moon was still overhead, the moonlight pouring into the pink stained glass of your cabin and dancing along the countless crystal chandeliers. 

A walk wouldn’t hurt, you told yourself as you quietly tiptoed out of your cabin. You just needed to clear your head, dreams were often filled with messages that were difficult to understand.

You kept to the trails that were long walked upon before you first arrived to camp. The moonlight illuminated the camp, no need for any lanterns or fire as you made your way past the other cabins. Neatly made paths guided you from the common area to the sword fighting arena, an old habit. You hadn't realized you were standing at the entrance until soft footsteps followed behind you then stopped.

With a quick glance, you turned to face whoever was behind you, ready to make up an excuse for your late night stroll. You weren’t even properly dressed, still in your pajamas and fluffy slippers. Instead of facing Mr. D or even Chiron, you met a familiar face. Curly brown hair, now unruly and tussled, and soft brown eyes met yours. 

You didn’t believe in love at first sight. 

Until you met Luke Castellan. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and raspy. You nodded, suddenly shy. Maybe if you didn’t speak, Luke wouldn’t recognize your voice and avoid you again. He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a soft yawn as he rubbed at his face and slowly woke up.

You stood still, unwilling to ruin this moment. You didn’t even know what to say to him, how nice of you to talk to me again sounded snarky and why haven’t you approached me sounded clingy. Gods, what did your mother tell you again? Something about you needing to do your part? You didn’t even know what brother she was talking about either, though you were sure Mitchell didn’t have any part of her plan.

“I just needed some air,” you said softly, daring a glance up at him. He was a couple feet away from you, the moon shining upon him as if Artimes herself gave him a spotlight. His beaded necklace was half tucked into his shirt, almost as if he were in a hurry to get changed, though you paid it no mind. You weren’t the best dressed at the moment either.

It was quiet again, neither of you saying a word. Somewhere in the distance, a hellhound howled. Shifting your weight from one foot to another, you glanced away from Luke. If he didn’t want to say anything else, you wouldn’t either. 

A hardened heart does not open for opportunity, your mother’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you with a mockingly sweet voice. You scowled at the reminder and made a mental note to grab your shoes from her altar when you returned to your cabin.

“How have you been?” you asked, looking back at Luke. You let out a small breath, your heart pounding wildly as he looked back at you. Did he always look at you like that? As if you had given him the moon and stars and everything in between? “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Luke flushed at your question, rubbing a hand behind his neck. For once, Luke looked unsure. Gone was the confident camper that always had an answer for everything, ready to comfort the newbies and unclaimed demigods alike. “I’ve been alright. Nothing interesting has happened, you know.”

You nodded in understanding. The days leading up to Spring were often dull, with most activities halting to a stop until the Sun could shine again and give comfort to the campers of the earth gods and goddesses. Even some of the Apollo kids were complaining of the lack of warmth in the camp lately, though Mr. D chalked it up to them being dramatic as usual.

“I heard you were training that Jackson kid,” you said softly, raising an eyebrow at Luke. He smiled at the mention of the newest camper, a blond haired kid barely the age of 12 that had apparently killed the minotaur right before he arrived. “I heard he gave Clarisse a nasty drench in the bathroom.”

Luke huffed out a laugh, covering his hand as the sound echoed around the arena. You smiled at the sound, you forgot how nice the feeling was to make him laugh like this. “How did you know about that?” he asked when his laughter had subsided. 

You gave him a small shrug, though a playful smile tugged at your lips. It felt so easy to fall back into normalcy with Luke, as if there were never any problems between you at all. “Gossip spreads. People talk when they're getting facials, you know.” you said with a smile.

Another laugh came from Luke and you prided yourself in making him laugh twice in a row. You were sure you’d be caught by now, the noise echoing around the arena. The ears of the monsters on patrol were always precise, though you hadn’t heard the hellhound from earlier since you arrived at the arena.

“Can I ask you something?” Luke took a small step toward you. You nodded, taking in a small breath as he slowly stepped closer and closer to you. He stopped right in front of you, where you could faintly make out the scar along his cheek. It took all of your effort to not reach out and trace it, just to hold his cheek in your own hands. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You nodded again, “I do, actually.” Tilting your head up to get a better view of Luke, you noted all the small details of his face. His dimples never left as he smiled at you, light freckles dusted his cheeks from grueling days in the sun. A soft pink blush spread along his face, and his eyes looked at you and only you. “Do you?”

“I do.”

A comfortable silence fell between you again, and you took in a shuddering breath. He was close, so close to your face, almost inches away from sharing the same breath as you. “Can I ask you a question?” you asked, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Do you feel like-”

“You’ve been shot by Eros’s arrow?” Luke gave you a small smile, leaning in ever so slightly until his lips met yours. He tasted like sweet ambrosia, addicting and inviting, and you leaned closer to get another taste before he could pull away. You wanted more, more, more until there was nothing left for Luke to give you, and he seemed willing to give you everything you wanted.

A small huff left your lips when Luke eventually pulled away, panting slightly and blushing profusely. “Took you long enough,” you said softly, your own cheeks burning. You couldn’t believe your own mother, much less your godly half sibling. You made a mental note to offer some of your favorite chocolates to them both as a thanks for helping you out.

Luke let out a chuckle, brushing some hair away from your face with a fond smile. He looked good like this, happy and relaxed without the weight of his burdens filling his mind. You wished you could make him happy like this forever.

“Sorry for avoiding you,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers gently traced along your cheeks, your jaw, your lips. He gently wiped his thumb along the corner of your mouth, and your heart fluttered at the slight touch. “I thought…you wouldn’t want to be seen with me after getting claimed.” “Why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion. You grabbed his hand, gently interlacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He returned the gesture, squeezing your hand back as he stared at your hands. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to have me when you looked so…” Luke blushed slightly, and you covered your mouth to hide your smile. Perhaps your siblings were right, perhaps he truly was intimidated by your mother’s blessing. “You just looked so beautiful, and I didn’t know if you wanted someone better, someone fit for a daughter of Aphrodite.”

“Luke,” you said softly, giggling slightly at his reluctance to meet your gaze. You gently cupped his cheek with your hand, your thumb tracing the scar along his face. Luke leaned into your touch slightly, and you gently kissed his scarred cheek once, twice, three times. “Shut up.”

Luke smiled at your response, moving his face to meet your lips instead. His hands found their place at your hips, pulling you closer to him. Beneath the milky twilight of the moon’s shine, you wrapped your arms around Luke's neck, tiptoeing to reach his height as your lips molded against his once more.

You didn’t care about getting caught, you didn’t care about the footsteps that seemed to lead towards the arena when Luke chased your lips like he needed salvation. You’d worry about your punishment tomorrow, whether it was an extra month of kitchen duty or losing desert privileges, you didn't care. Not when Luke was holding you so tenderly, kissing you like it was the only thing he was made for on this Earth.

You used to say you didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that was before you met Luke Castellan.

This is literally so good oh my goodness

𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑫𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑵

𐬺 ➾ 𝑃𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚！𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𐬺 ➾ 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 (𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆) 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑴𝑱.

𐬺 ➾ 𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑘𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡！

It wasn’t fair.

You had been dreaming about going to prom with Peter Parker since you were six years old, and now, some girl Peters barely known for a year, gets to accomplish your dream? How is that fair?

You stir your punch, legs crossed as you watch Peter and MJ dance. Your own date, some guy you barely even know, is behind the bleachers making out with some girl you don’t even know the name of. That doesn’t bother you though, no, Peter is bothering you.

It hurts even more because it’s not even his fault! He doesn’t know that you’ve been practically in love with him since the first grade, so how can you expect him to do something about it?

So lost in your own self pity, you don’t notice the sound of a chair behind pulled out next to you.

“Hey,” Ned says, a slight smile on his face, “How are you feeling?”

Ned is the only person (besides your mom) that knows how you feel about Peter. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” You seethe. Ned rolls his eyes, he takes a sip of his own watered down punch, and gives you a, stop-bullshitting-me look.

You furrow your brows, “What?” You exclaim, arms crossing over each other.

Ned gestures to Peter and MJ briefly, “So you’re just staring at them like you want to murder them for fun?”

You scoff, “I’m not staring at them.”

You choose to ignored the way your voice wavers, and you’re thankful Ned chooses to ignore it too. “Whatever you say… Look, if you get sick of sitting here by yourself, me and Betty are only a couple tables down.” He says, getting up and walking away, but not without a final sympathetic glance at you.

You nod in acknowledgement, shooting Ned a reassuring smile.

Once he walks away, you pull your eyes back to Peter and MJ, only to find that they’re gone. Your eyes fart around the room, looking for the couple but coming up with nothing.

You bite your lip. If they walked away from the party to get some privacy then you should let them have that, but what if they didn’t walk away? What if they were forced away?

You were one of the only people who knew that Peter was Spider-man, which meant you were one of the only people who knew the constant danger he was in. Which meant if he was in trouble, you were one of the only people who would know. So you should go look for him, right?

You stand from your chair abruptly, causing it to make a loud screeching noise against the gymnasium floor. People in the tables around you glance at you, and you awkwardly clear your throat and give them all an apologetic smile.

You swiftly make your escape from the gym, ignoring ned as he attempts to talk to you as you walk past his table. You quickly flutter your eyes open and closed as they adjust to the bright of the hallway as you exit the dark gym. Slowly, you begin to walk, keeping yourself vigilante for any clues that could leed you to Peter or MJ.

As you walk farther into the school, you hear the faint sounds of giggling.

“Peter, what are you doing?” A female voice shrieks, one you know belongs to MJ. Relief fills you at the revelation that neither of them are in danger, but dread replaces it as you realize the other possibility.

Slowly, you follow the voices until your against the wall next to them. You flatten yourself against it, doing your best to make yourself as unnoticeable as possible.

You listen as Peter shushes MJ playfully, and the girls giggles softly in response. Logically, you know it’s in your best interest to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to.

Peter softly pushes MJ against the wall, softly he says, “Can I kiss you?” MJ nods swiftly. As soon as he gets her consent he’s quick to connect their lips. You feel sick, and your hands ghosts over your stomach.

Tears fill your eyes as you make a quick escape for the gym. Once you make it, you rush past a confused Ned and Betty and begin collecting your things. Your date, who must’ve reappeared somewhere in the last ten minutes, smiles once he sees you and begins to try and make conversation, but you shoot him a glare that effectively shuts him up.

You leave the gym with tears dripping down your cheeks, trying and failing to hold down your sobs. You quickly climb into your car and slam the door shut. You were Peter and MJ’s ride but you could care less if they were stranded, as far as you were concerned they could stay at the school all night.

Rationally, you know you have no right to be feeling like this towards the two of them. You technically have no real claim on Peter and he could kiss whoever he wanted, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

You pull out of the highschool and break practically every traffic law in existence to get to your home. Once you make it, you stumble into your house and begin to tear off your clothes and pull your hair down.

Your mascara runs down your face as you pull onto a baggy shirt and throw yourself onto your bed, too exhausted and depressed to take off any of your make up or shower.

You continue to hiccup, closing your eyes and attempting to get some sleep, but your thoughts are still plagued with thoughts of Peter and his stupid, pretty face.

You wake up to the shrill sound of your ringtone. With a groan, you turn it off, already knowing who’s at the phone and why they’re calling.

You attempt to close your eyes and go back to bed, but you’re interrupted by your door bursting open and an angry looking Peter stepping through the threshold.

“What the hell, y/n?” He seethes, “Me and MJ were stuck at the school for an hour before May could come get us!”

You smile victoriously, “I’m sorry?” You giggle. Peter furrows his brows, “Sure you are.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, it’s nearly midnight. “Jesus, Peter. It’s almost midnight- why the hell are you here?”

Peter looks at you like you’re stupid, “Because something is clearly wrong, and i’m not just gonna let you sit here and be depressed about whatever it is by yourself.”

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing and a fresh set of tears beginning to fill your eyes. Even though you abandoned him at the school- he’s still trying to make you feel better. Why did he have to be so nice? Why did he have to make this harder then it already was?

“I’m not upset.” You mumble, arms stretching out behind you to prop yourself up.

Peter sits at the end of your bed, causing it to sink a bit. “Where’s MJ?” You ask. He smiles at the mention of her, “We took her home.” He says.

You hum in acknowledgment, eyes looking past Peter, because you know if you look at him right now you’ll burst out crying.

Peter, always so in tune to your emotions, immediately notices the shift in mood. “Hey, hey…” He scoots closer to you until you’re face to face. His hand cups your cheek, “What’s wrong?”

That’s when the dam breaks. Your lower lip wobbles as a new cascade of tears flows down your cheeks. You push him away, practically jumping to the other side of the room to put some space between the two of you.

“Please, just please Peter, just go-” You beg.

Peters eyes snap open as he stands from your bed. He knows well enough to not attempt to get close to you though. “Not until you tell me what’s bothering you!”

“Nothing is bothering me-”

He laughs at that, “Then why are you crying?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossing over your chest, you scoff out, “It’s none of your business.”

It’s Peters turn to scoff as his eyes practically bulge out of his head, “It is my business y/n! We’re best friends, we tell each other everything! Just tell me what is bothering you so I can help you feel better!”

“I can’t!” You sob.

You can see Peter trying to put it together in his head. He suddenly steps closer to you, eyes searching your face for, well, really anything at this point.

“Is someone threatening you?” He asks seriously. His hands reach out for yours, but you’re quick to pull them behind your back. Hurt flashes in his eyes at this, but still, he persists. “If someone is hurting you because you know me then you have to tell me. Mr. Stark and I can-”

“No one is hurting me!” You huff. You do your best to maneuver around the taller boy, who has somehow cornered you against the wall, but he stops you. Peter gently grabs you shoulder and keeps you in front of him. “Then what is wrong?”

“Please don’t make me say it.” You gasp, “Please, Peter, don’t.”

Peters eyes soften as he pulls you against his chest. You sob into his shoulder, arms circling around his torso and squeezing him against you.

He pulls back, his hands cup your face and he smiles, “There’s my girl.” He says adoringly.

Your lips twitch into a smile and then fall again. “You have to go, Peter.” You mumble. The brunette nods and pulls you into his chest once more. You squeeze him like this is the last time you’ll ever touch him, because as far as you know, it is.

It’s been nearly a month since prom, and you and Peter have spoken possibly three times. It’s not his fault really, he’s just so busy with him and MJ’s new relationship and you, well… you’re not really making any effort to hang out with him. It hurts too much- having to listen to him gush about how in love he is.

Too busy playing with the food on your tray, you don’t notice that you’re staring at Peter and MJ across the lunchroom until someone waves a manicured hand in your face.

“Um, hello? Anyone home?” Gwen jokes. You roll your eyes and drop your fork. Gwen pulls out the chair across from you and drops her tray with a bang.

“I’ve been trying to get her attention this whole time.” Kate says. Gwen shrugs, “Well, you know how she gets when she sees… well. Y’know.”

Kate nods sympathetically and you cross your arms over your chest. “You’re both so dramatic.”

Kate and Gwen share a look.

“How are the plans for your birthday party coming along?” Kate asks, and you’re grateful for the change in subject.

You shrug, “They’re coming.” You say, taking a bite of your mashed potatoes. Gwen snorts, “Coming.” She laughs. You and Kate groan, “You’re such a child.” You say endearingly.

The three of you laugh and continue to eat. You each throw in little comments here and there, and you don’t even notice when Ned sits in the empty chair next to you.

“Hey.” He says with a polite wave. He nods to Gwen and Kate in greeting and the two follow suit. “Hey, Ned.” You respond with a warm smile.

Ned clears his throat, nervously he asks, “Are you avoiding Peter?”

You furrow your brows and glance at the boy in question. Peter is staring right at you. When your eyes meet, he’s quick to look the other way.

“No, i’m not. Why would you think that?”

The boy shrugs, “No-no reason. I was just… wondering.”

You roll your eyes, “Tell Peter if he wants to talk to me he can do it himself.”

Ned opens his mouth to protest but you give him a glare. He nods solemnly and walks gloomily to Peter.

“I think I lost my appetite.” You say. You pick up your tray and leave the table without saying goodbye to a concerned Kate and Gwen.

You throw your food away and head for the bathroom. You’ve spent way too much time here these past couple of weeks, either to just get a breather or to sit in cry. Right now, you want to sit and cry.

You look in the mirror and watch as fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks, eyes glassy and cheeks beginning to redden.

You drop your backpack on the floor and lean against the sink. Face falling into your hands. A position you’ve found yourself in way too many times.

You aren’t even sure what hurts more- Peter and MJ’s relationship or the fact that you had no right to be mad at Peter and especially not MJ. They didn’t do anything. If you really considered yourself Peters best friend you would be happy for him, right? So then why aren’t you?

Is it because you’re too selfish? Is it because you want Peter all too yourself?

Yes, you think, Is that too much to ask for?

You’re pity party is interrupted by the door opening, and you’re quick to wipe your face and pretend that the mascara stains on your face simply aren’t there. And you’re praying the other person does the same.

Clearly you did something to make the world fucking hate you, because of course Michelle fucking Jones is the one who walks in the bathroom. You sniffle and keep your head down, avoiding eye contact.

Her hair is pulled back in a low pony, some strands left out to frame her face. She’s wearing a simple blue crewneck and baggy leggings. She’s one of those girls who make looking homeless look good.

“Oh,” She clears her throat, “Sorry to… interrupt.” You nod in acknowledgment, immediately attempting to push past her and walk out of the bathroom, but she stops you.

She stares at you for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then says, “Are you in love with Peter?”

You swallow the lump that formed in your throat, your heart falling to your stomach. You suddenly feel nauseous- like the room is closing in on you.

“Who told you that?”

She shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “No one. But… it’s not hard to tell.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.You shouldn’t be surprised she noticed. MJ’s always been an observant person, she’s always been able to read right through you- so why did you think you could hide this from her?

“Look,” You huff, “I’m not- I’m not going to act on it so you don’t need to worry-”

“I’m not.” She blurts, “Worried, I mean. I know you and I know that you just want Peter to be happy. I just wanted to tell you that… i’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen and you look at her in shock, your hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She’s apologizing? For what? Have you really made her feel so bad about being happy wirh someone that she felt the need to apologize?

You feel like a terrible person, your eyes welling up with a new set of tears.

“You have nothing to apologize for-” You start, but she interrupts you again.

“No, I do,” She sighs, she grabs your forearms and bites her lip. “I…I knew. I knew and I still went after him and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your jaw clenches as a new wave of emotions crash over you. She knew how you felt and she still went after him? Doesn’t that violate like every single girl code there is?

Through your anger, you manage a smile. It’s not her fault, you remind yourself. Peter was so.. so easy to fall in love with, if you were in her shoes you probably would’ve went after him too.

An awkward silence filled her revelation, but through bated breaths you manage, “It’s fine.”

MJ looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, and maybe you have.

“The heart wants what it wants right?”

Birthday parties have never really been your thing. You always feel awkward at them, with all that attention on you. Some people revel in it. You are not one of those people.

You continue to brush out your hair, pulling it back and out of your face to allow you to start your makeup. Your parents are out in some business trip, and as far they’re aware, you’re just going to dinner with a few friends.

You huff and continue to do your makeup. You rarely ever go all out usually, not unless it’s a dance or something like that, but tonight is different. Tonight you’re going to look amazing and you’re absolutely positive about it.

You carefully pull your party dress over your hair, which you just finished doing. The dress is black and lacy. It has spaghetti straps and it reaches to your middle thigh. The material is skin tight and silky to the touch.

You pull on your black heels and walk to your full length mirror. You smooth your hands over sides and make sure you’re comfortable with how you look. You smile and take a deep breath tight as your mom calls you to the living room.

You walk down the stairs slowly, a smile on your face as you see Kate and Gwen talking to your mom. Kate is wearing a beautiful purple dress, the top is tight but the bottom is slightly flowy and it reaches her mid thigh. She looks almost like a princess.

Gwen is wearing a tight sequin teal dress. Her hair is up in a low messy bun with some strands framing her face. “You guys look amazing.” You compliment. At the sound of your voice both of them snap their heads towards you and their eyes practically bug out of their head.

“No fucking way! You look beautiful! Is Peter coming? He should be able to see what he’s missing.” Gwen mumbles the last part, but you still hear it. Your heart pangs a bit at her suggestion but you still put a smile on your face. You explain that you had invited Peter before any of this had even happened, and as far as you knew, he would still be here.

Gwen made a face at this, but didn’t say anything. You shrugged, “Besides, it’s not like we aren’t friends anymore. I just needed some space so I could get used to him and MJ being together. I’m basically over it at this point.” Kate and Gwen shared a look at your blatant lie, but you choose to ignore it.

An awkward silence seeps into the room that all of you choose to believe isn’t there, and it isn’t broken until the first couple of guests get there. You hope up and quickly instruct Kate to dim the lights and start the music, which she does. The room is covered in an incandescent glow now, and the familiar sound of Spotifys, “Best Pop Hits of All Time” playlist begins to play.

You open the door and see the familiar face of Flash Thompson as well as a bunch of other faces you hardly recognize.

You furrow your eyebrows at Flash’s smirking face, “Last I checked, I didn’t invite you.” You snarl. Flash shrugs and pats your shoulder, “Happy Birthday, Sweetie.” He walks past you, and the rest of the guest follow suit.

By the time Peter arrives the place is packed. He can barely turn the corner without nearly running into someone, and the music is blasting so loud his senses are beginning to go awry.

He catches a glimpse of you dancing with Gwen and Kate, your eyes are sparkling and a real smile is on your lips. He thinks it’s the first real one he’s seen on you all month.

His lips twitch up, and his heart aches a bit at the current state of your relationship. He has no idea why you’re avoiding him, but he’s determined to find out tonight and fix it.

You however, have no idea Peter is even there. You’re too busy dancing and finally letting loose. Any thoughts about Peter or about school or even about your life seem to have completely left you, and finally you feel happy. You feel free.

“Happy Birthday Bitch!” Kate exclaims and you laugh heartily. This day really couldn’t be any better.

“Hold on, I’m gonna go get something to drink!” You yell over the music, you practically run to the “punch” (you spiked it) and fill it to the brim of your cup.

You gulp it down, hardly hearing someone calling your name. You glance to the side and see a smiling Peter, but you’re too buzzed to even care.

“Peterrr!” You squeal, immediately throwing your arms around the boy. Peter seems taken aback by your sudden show of affection for him, but he doesn’t push you away. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”

You step away from him with a dopey smile on your face, “How have you been?” You question, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in, like, forever.” Peter cringes and laughs nervously, “I’m fine, but today’s not about me. How are you, Birthday Girl?”

You shrug, “Today? I’m great. Every other day, not so much.” Peters smile falls slightly at your revelation. He knows if you weren’t as drunk as you were you would’ve never admitted something like that to him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He says honestly. You smack his arm and laugh, “I bet you are.” You giggle, and then you kiss him on the cheek and walk back to the dance floor.

Peter really, really needs to find out what’s been bothering you.

The next two hours you spend partying and drinking, getting drunker and drunker as the night continues. Peter has soent the night much different then you, him and MJ mostly keeping to themselves, but he’s been trying to figure out when and how to talk to you.

Eventually, he finds you again grabbing the cake out of the fridge and placing it on the dining table. Peter smiles softly at it, his mind taking him back to all the other birthdays the two of you have shared together.

“Let me guess, half vanilla half chocolate?” He asks you. You loved vanilla, but Peter loves chocolate. So when the both of you were even you decided to go half and half during both of your birthdays, so you could both enjoy the cake together.

“Of course it is.” You slur.

Your obvious drunkness makes Peter question if tonight is really the right night to be doing this, but he knows if it doesn’t happen tonight, it never will, and then things will just continue to get worse. So her takes a breath and asks you, “Can I talk to you?”

You furrow your brows and cross your arms over your chest, “What about?”

Peter looks around at all the watchful eyes and listening ear around you, and gently he grabs your arm and leads you to the backyard. The area is relatively empty minus the few stragglers who aren’t even sober enough to discern their ass from their head.

He takes a breath and watches as you glance around. Your arms cross over your chest as you suddenly feel uncomfortable. “What’s going on?” You ask.

Peter takes a deep breath, “Look, Y/N, I know that you’re avoiding me, I know that for some reason that I can’t wrap my head around that I did something, but I really can’t figure out what it is.” He rambles. You open your mouth to defend yourself, but he interrupts you. “And I really just want to know what I did and how to make it better. So please, please just tell me.”

Your eyes widen and your breath begins to quicken. All the alcohol you consumed seems to have vanished as you feel more sober then you ever have in your life. You don’t know how, but you know tonight is going to change everything.

“I’ve already told you Peter, nothing is wrong.”

Peter rolls his eyes and clenches his fists at his side, “Are we really doing this again? The lying?” You squeeze your eyes shut. Peter takes a step towards you and pushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What is wrong, Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you!” You finally blurt, “I’m in love with you and I have been for years. I didn’t know how to tell you and then you and MJ started dating and I just- I just couldn’t take it. It was selfish and I am so fucking sorry.” You’re crying by the time you’ve finished.

Peter looks shocked, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. You both sit and stare at each other in silence, the music from the party blaring from the inside of the house.

Peter swallows, “I have to leave.” He mumbles, immediately walking past you and practically running into the house.

You cough out a sob and cross your arms across your chest. You almost feel relieved that the truth is finally out there, but Peters reaction causes a whole new set of emotions to wash over you. You aren’t sure of a lot, but you do know that you and Peters relationship will never be the same after this.

Peter knows he fucked up. He knows leaving you there by yourself was not the way to handle that situation, especially not after he basically forced you to confess to him- but he didn’t know what else to do. This changes everything for Peter.

What you don’t know, is that it took Peter years before he was able to finally accept the fact that you didn’t like him like he liked you and to move on. Thats what his and MJ’s relationship is supposed to be, him moving on, but now…

He swings himself across New York Cities skyline, trying to understand what his next move should be. He can’t just break up with MJ, doing that would solve absolutely nothing, but he knows he doesn’t love MJ like he should.

He doesn’t love her like he loves you.

Peter eventually climbs his way up to the top of the Empire State building, a sandwich from Mr. Delmar’s corner shop resting in his lap.

He sighs and runs a masked hand over his face. On one hand, he has his current relationship with MJ. He liked MJ, yes, but he was in it for all the wrong reasons, and breaking up with her would just hurt her which is not something he ever wants to do.

And then there’s you. His childhood friend, the girl he fell in love with, the girl he wants to marry. But he’s practically ruined any chance he had with you. There’s no way you’ll ever want to talk to him after this, and as far as you know, he doesn’t want to talk to you either. Plus, if he broke up with MJ and then confessed everything to you there’s no way you’d even want to be in a relationship with him! (Not that he blames you.)

Even with all these thoughts swirling in his head, he knows he needs to do one thing, and that’s find MJ.

When he reaches her apartment, me knocks on the door solemnly. MJ opens it nearly immediately, and the look on her face shows that she knows why he’s there.

He smiles sadly at her, “Hey.” He mumbles. She just nods in greeting and steps out of the way to let Peter through the door.

She guides him to her room, where they both sit in an uncomfortable silence. “MJ-” He begins, but she interrupts him with a hasty kiss. It’s passionate- but only on her side. Peter sorta just sits there like a hunk of flesh and rests his lips against hers. When she pulls away there are tears in her eyes.

“I know, Peter. It’s okay.” She whispers. She squeezes his hand, and Peter’s eyes well up with an on-set of tears.

“I am so, so sorry.” He says shakily. MJ shakes her head and smiles at him reassuringly, “You have nothing to apologize for. I know you loved her when we started dating, it was just a matter of time before you realized it yourself.”

Peter bites his lower lip, a string of new emotions hits him like a truck. He had been so stupid to think he would ever be able to get over you, and he hates that he’s only just now realizing it.

MJ kisses him on the cheek one final time, “Go to her.”

Peter nods and quickly exits the house, he practically throws himself across buildings to get to you.

You one the other hand, have since practically kicked everyone out of your house so you could sit and wallow in your own self-pity. Kate and Gwen had insisted they stay but you refused saying you just wanted to be alone.

Now, you sit in the dark of your bedroom. Your house is a disaster, but your heart hurts way too much to even care.

Your mind runs through every memory you and peter have together- from the time you met when you were five years old, to now, when you’ve practically ruined any relationship you hoped to have with him.

The thought only rips more sobs out of your throat. You really have no idea how you’re even able to still be producing tears with how much you’ve cried this past month, but here you are, makeup ruined and your eyes practically blood shot.

You practically jump out of your skin when you hear a knock on your window. You don’t need to look to know who it is. The noise usually brings you comfort, happy to know Peter felt safe enough with you to come visit you after patrol- but now… now you know what’ll happen when you open that window, and you know it won’t be anything good.

Peter knocks again, a bit louder this time, and you finally force yourself to get up. You don’t bother trying to fix yourself, Peters seen you at your worst too many times to count.

You pry open your window with a soft grunt, and peter pulls off his mask and crawls through. He stumbles a bit once he lands, but he finds his footing quickly. He smiles shyly at you, but you turn around a cross your arms over your chest. You sit on your bed, causing it to sink a little bit with your weight.

Peter feels awkward and uncomfortable, which is something he never thought he’d feel when he was with you.

“Y/N…” He sighs, “I am so sorry.” You shrug your shoulders, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t like me and I was stupid to ever admit that to you, especially not when you have a girlfriend.”

Peter shakes his head and leans against your wall, his arms crossed over his suit, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Not anymore.”

Your breath hitches and you finally look at his face, “What do you mean?” You mumble.

Peter shrugs, “I broke up with her.”

Your mind can’t process what you’re hearing. Why would he do that? You can’t conjure up any reason other than he had to be possessed.

“Why the hell would you do that?” You question, standing from your bed and begin pacing the room. “I mean seriously Peter! She loves you! You need to get out of here and go fix it with her!”

Peter chuckles, even through everything you’re still worried about him. “Funny,” He says, “She told me the same thing.”

You stop walking and immediately a feeling of guilt begins to settle in. You ruined MJ’s chance at happiness because of your own selfishness? You promised her you wouldn’t act on your feelings and yet here you are.

“If you broke up with her because of me then you’ve got to be out of your goddamn mind.” You seethe.

Peter shakes his head, “That-That’s the thing Y/N! I didn’t break up with her because you told me you love me, I born up with her because I…” Peter takes breath and squeezes his eyes but, “Because I love you too. And I was stupid for not acting on it sooner and forcing us into this mess.” He confesses.

Your heart practically stops. You can’t believe what you’re hearing and you can’t even look at him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Peter shakes his head hastily and steps towards you. “I do though. I have loved you for years Y/N and I thought you didn’t love me back so I tried to move on and!- well, you know the rest.”

You swallow, and finally look up at him. Your eyes shining, “So you really love me?” You question.

Peter smiles and wraps his arms around you for the first time in what feels like months.

“I’ve never loved someone more.”

tag list - @fictional-characters-i-love-them

LITERALLY LOVE THIS SM, MY CHEEKS HURT FROM SMILING😭❤❤

The Grump & The Drunk | Miguel O'Hara

》 PAIRING: miguel o'hara x spider-woman!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x (drunk) sunshine, fluff, humor

》 SUMMARY: You were clingy, feisty with no filter when you're drunk. Miguel had front row seat of it—literally. You're lucky he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad it was him and not anyone else. The thought made him seethe in jealousy even though you technically were not his girl. But he wasn't sure if that still rang true after tonight's drunken confession (or that make-out session).

》 WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, soft!miguel (also emotionally constipated!miguel but what's new), r calls him miggy to tease him, height difference (he's 6'9" he's an effin giant), r thirsts over him in front of his face lol, some innuendos, brief argument about feelings, overall very cute and fluffy.

》 WORD COUNT: 6.1k+

A/N: can anyone guess what movie i watched recently. is anyone surprised that i liked the grump with a side of trauma lmao. ANYWAY. this is the first time i'm writing miguel so pls be nice. wrote this fairly quickly too and it's barely proofread sooo. but i hope you still enjoy it!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was late.

Quiet.

Well, for now, at least.

Moments like these were rare to come by, where there wasn't much to do except to let things happen. The multiverse was stable enough not to need any intervention.

It usually was the epitome of the calm before the storm.

Nevertheless, everyone—well, those left at HQ and weren't on stakeout—in the Spider Society took advantage of it.

There was always some sort of activity going on during these types of days. Most of it were small get-togethers in the cafeteria, or perhaps a low-key karaoke in the cinema room. Other times it was much more on the nose.

Right now, there was a party held on the rooftop.

The music was blaring—muffled for him, thanks to his soundproofing—as it jumped from genre to genre depending on who successfully bribed the DJ.

It was rowdy—that he was sure of. What, with the modified alcohol strong enough to affect any Spider-Person as if they weren't enhanced, how could it not be?

Miguel wasn't one for festivities. Not to mention, strobe lights always gave him bad migraines. So after showing face for about ten minutes—he wouldn't have shown up at all but was begged to go by someone he couldn't say no to—he decided to call it a night.

Well, back to his…Spider-Cave.

He was sure there would be copyright issues if that was made official.

But it was dubbed by you so it simply stuck.

You, with bright eyes and a sweet smile as you pleaded for him to come with you to the rooftop even if it was "just a couple minutes, please?"

You, who wore a simple yet gorgeous black dress as you all but dragged him into the elevator, bouncing with excitement because it was going to be your first party here at HQ.

You, who enthusiastically sipped on your Pink Señorita—a margarita with pink lemonade—giddy to feel the buzz of the alcohol after years of being unable to.

You, who was so joyful and uncaring as you danced to your heart's content when your favorite song came on, right in the middle of the floor, shining as bright as the sun as the others revolved around you.

Miguel only watched from the sidelines, his chest aching with longing. So close but out of reach because he couldn't.

He'd only put a damper on your light.

It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

He couldn't do that to you.

Soft spot.

Miguel had very few of those.

Anyone who dared to give their opinion on his life with the bravery to say it right to his face said one was occupied by you.

Some would even imply that you held the biggest one.

And sure, the first time Lyla scouted you and suggested for you to be recruited into the Spider Society he might've said yes far too quickly than he should've. But that was only because he saw the way you took down a sector of the Maggia all on your own. He was thoroughly impressed.

There were also times when he let you get away with annoying him scot-free. Whether that was teasing, various nicknames, talking his ear out for hours as you refused to leave him alone to do work, and sometimes even pranks. If it were any other person doing the same things you would've done, they would be leaving the premises at least fearing their life.

He also let you spend time around his magic carpet—as you so unoriginally named it. You were constantly testing those copyright issues—quite often to the point that some of your stuff had migrated the space. There were little trinkets scattered around, evidence that you'd been here.

Miguel finally bought a desk chair perfectly suited for his big and tall stature all because you complained about not having anywhere to sit while you were up here with him.

It was more your chair than it was his, to be honest, since you definitely sat on it far more than he had.

Sure, he could've bought an extra one for you but he didn't want to encourage the teasing—that had been nonstop since you waltzed into his life—that he was playing favorites.

He preferred to stand while he worked, anyway.

Fine.

He could kinda see why many people would say he had a soft spot for you.

Speaking of…

Miguel could hear you before he could even see you.

You were giggling to yourself, followed by poor attempts at whispered apologies when you knocked over something or bumped against something else.

It made him worry a little.

Sure, you were too enthusiastic for his liking, all optimism and sunshine despite everything that you had gone through—it harshly contrasted with his personality.

But he wouldn't particularly classify you as clumsy.

He waited for you to call for him, anticipating which way you'd say it this time around. Your most recent one was: "O'Hara, O'Hara, let down your floating chair."

You thought you were really funny with that one.

But silence.

No cheeky way of asking him to let you come up.

Where'd you go?

Suddenly, he heard a very annoyed and frustrated groan, prolonged and all dramatic.

Then, that familiar thwip rang in the air.

You couldn't have been more impatient.

He was aware of exactly where you were, shooting your webs in random directions so long as you hit a column that took you higher and higher. But even if he didn't have his enhanced senses, your constant giggling would give you away.

Yet as loud as you had already been, your shriek was even louder.

Miguel didn't hesitate to jump off the platform.

His heart was pounding as he clocked your falling figure, adrenaline and fear all at once.

You looked dazed in your freefall, unable to comprehend that your cartridges were empty as you kept trying to shoot your webs.

In the nick of time, he caught you by the waist—upside down.

He let out a huge sigh of relief at the same time you turned into heaps of giggles.

"This isn't how I imagined us getting into this position," you snorted as if you weren't dangling a couple of feet above the ground, feet in the air, arms limp and swaying. "Wow…your thigh is bigger than my head!"

Miguel's whole body warmed, not only from your comments but also because you were still in your dress.

Thank fuck it wasn't a loose skirt.

Not that he would ever look. He might be a bit of a grump—temperamental at times, he'll admit—but he was still a gentleman.

Though he was glad you couldn't see the obvious fluster on his face given your current upside-down predicament.

He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm flipping you around," he said.

"Like a pancake?"

He didn't answer. He simply tossed you into the air, your squeal echoing off the walls. He caught you again but the right way up this time—your hands clinging onto his shoulders, legs around his waist.

Miguel tried not to dwell on your closeness as he shot a web and pulled you both back up.

"You flipped me like a pancake!" you giggled, stumbling onto the platform once you reached it.

What on earth is going on with you?

One look in your eyes, his unspoken question was swiftly answered.

"Widely irresponsible to swing while drunk," he reprimanded, arms crossed over his chest.

You blew a raspberry, waving your hand dismissively. "Am not drunk."

"Then why did I have to save you from falling head-first into the ground?"

"I slipped!"

"You could've just called me to let the platform down."

"And have it take so fucking long?"

Miguel blinked.

Oh you were so drunk.

"I know it's an intimidating tactic or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. Either way, it's a choice, but it doesn't have to be so damn slow, Miggy!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, no heat in his tone. He simply couldn't stand the way his heart did a funny thing whenever he'd hear that nickname slip past your lips.

"Sorry, sir," you said, sarcasm lacing each letter.

Miguel took a deep breath.

"Don't call me that, either," he said, voice an octave deeper.

You rolled your eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Someone's extra grumpy today."

"Night."

"What?"

"It's night."

"Pfft, you know, you should loosen up your suit," you said, waving at all of him. "Maybe the tightness is making you grumpier somehow, suffocating your muscles and everything."

"The tightness of my suit has nothing to do with my mood."

"Could've fooled me," you scoffed, glaring at him from head to toe. "You're probably chafing in weird places and it's making you irritable. I bet—no, I know you're naked underneath because even though I haven't seen you naked I can still see…stuff, many stuff, big stuff, you know, imagination and not leaving any and shit."

"Dios mío," he grumbled in disbelief, rubbing a palm over his warm face. "How drunk are you?"

"Zero percent-o, Miguelito."

He bit back a smile.

"Could've fooled me," he said, raising a brow at you.

"Don't you dare throw my words back at me," you warned, attempting to appear threatening with your chest puffed out, chin raised as you got all up in his face. You slumped with a pout a second later. "You are so fucking tall!"

"And you are so drunk."

"M'not!"

"Uh-huh, sure," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh I am very sure—Miguel, can you sit down," you complained, brows deeply furrowed as you tried grabbing onto his shoulders, urging him to settle on the chair.

He decided to mess with you a little, planting his feet firmly so you weren't able to budge him even with your enhanced strength.

Your inebriated state wasn't helping your case.

It was the first time he ever got to see you annoyed and he actually found it cute. What, with your brows deeply furrowed and that pout in full play, huffing and puffing as you pushed at his chest with your full body strength, how could he not?

"Miggy sit the fuck down!" you growled.

He resisted the urge to laugh, throwing his hands up as he obliged, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting."

Now, he was the one looking up at you.

Yet you still looked frustrated.

"Is that not any better?" he asked, confused.

"No," you mumbled, glaring down at him, pout still prominent.

The next thing he knew, you were already grabbing onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up the chair.

You sat right on his lap.

Miguel was rarely surprised these days, considering what he did for a living.

But he sure as hell wasn't prepared to have you on top of him.

He could almost feel his brain short-circuit, taking a bit more time and effort for it to get its bearings back into place.

But then, you turned shy, eyes blinking at him all wide with shock as if you didn't know that climbing onto his lap resulted in him and you being so close.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hello," he murmured, fingers twitching to hold you. He gripped the armrest instead. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're doing?"

"What…was I doing?" you questioned, almost to yourself, scanning the nearly non-existent space between you both before your face lit up. "Oh! I'm trying to talk to you without spraining my neck, genius."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! You try talking to a six-foot-nine Adonis of a man and see if your neck doesn't hurt after a while."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Adonis, huh?"

"Not like that," you quickly said, voice shyer. "I mean like…huge, muscular, a-and plump."

"Plump?"

"Yeah!" You nodded enthusiastically, pressing your palms right on top his chest, one on each pec. "You've got plump boobs and ass."

He almost choked on air.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked, thoroughly amused.

"You, hopefully."

"Diosito, ayúdame," he muttered, resisting the temptation to take your word for it. You were drunk. You had no idea what you were saying.

Miguel shook his head when you stared at him confused, still slow on your Spanish. Then again, he'd only ever taught you a few phrases so far.

"How many lemonades did you have?" he asked instead.

"Why are you asking me so many questions!" you groaned, head thrown back as dramatically as you could. "It's my turn to ask questions!"

"Fine," he sighed, ignoring the urge to nip at your exposed skin. He heavily disregarded the thoughts that brewed in his head from the way you were innocently squirming on him, trying to get more comfortable, your skirt hiking up in the process.

He was good at keeping his composure, mastered it after years. He could do it for a couple of minutes more.

"Why'd you disappear?" you sighed.

"Too bright. Too loud."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"You were having fun. Didn't want to spoil your mood," he stated the obvious. "Besides, my absence didn't affect anything."

"But it did," you insisted, bottom lip jutting out. "Was gonna ask you to dance."

His brow rose at that. "And what made you think I'll say yes?"

"You always say yes," you said, shrugging as if it was a known fact to the universe.

If it was you asking? Maybe.

He honestly felt a little glad he left the party early. He wouldn't even dare to imagine the outcome if he was seen out on the dance floor with you.

He would much prefer it with no audience—just you and him.

"I don't always say yes."

You narrowed your eyes, obviously not believing him by one bit.

But you didn't bother to argue.

Instead, you plopped forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face pressed against his neck.

Miguel froze.

He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

Well, he wanted to do so many things at once, he just didn't know if he should—too many boundaries, too dangerous to cross.

A battle between logic and emotions.

You chose him, though.

"Will you just—" You pulled his arms off the armrest, wrapping it around you instead. "Want cuddles, please."

How could he say no?

And for the first time in a long while, Miguel finally let himself go.

Body relaxing into the seat, he pulled you a little closer, palms rubbing soft patterns on your back as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head.

It had been so long since he'd cuddled with someone, so maybe his judgment was a little skewed. But still, he didn't remember it feeling this lovely—not until now.

Or maybe because it was you.

And if he didn't know any better, he'd say you were purring.

"Comfortable?" he hummed, rubbing the tip of his nose against your crown.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, humming soon after, "I've always wondered just how nice you smell up close."

He couldn't stop the flush that crept up his face.

"You're warm," you whispered, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat.

It made him wonder if you'd been hanging around Spider-Cat too much—or Meows Morales.

He'd rather not think about it.

Instead, he commanded his suit to uncover his hands, one less barrier between his palm and your skin. The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal your warmth as he continued giving you comforting rubs.

It made you bury yourself deeper into his arms as if you could go any further.

"This feels nice," you murmured, voice muffled against him.

He hummed in agreement.

You both settled into a comfortable silence after that.

But if he listened closely, the steady thump of your heartbeat was soft against his ears. He found the sound relaxing, and the minuscule romantic part of him imagined it was syncing with his own.

A peaceful rhythm.

Your soft breaths tickled his skin as you snuggled closer, his smile unabashedly painted on his face.

No one was here to see it, anyway.

After a few more moments of calmness, he assumed you'd already fallen asleep. He was already preparing himself to carry you across universes and back home when you suddenly spoke up,

"Can I touch your fangs?"

He blinked.

"What?"

You shifted, pulling back a little so that you could meet his eyes, face so close your noses almost touched.

"Your fangs," you repeated.

Before he could even respond, your hands were already on his face, one thumb lifting the corner of his lip while your other hand found his chin, holding him still.

"Wanna feel how sharp they are," you muttered, opting to use both hands now to pull his lips and expose his canines.

"Very sharp and dangerous," he chuckled despite himself, gently grabbing your wrists to stop your prodding. "Just take my word for it."

"You're pretty when you smile," you said, beaming and proud as if seeing his fangs was an accomplishment.

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning.

You smiled wider in return.

Holding your hands between you both, he absentmindedly started stroking your palms with his thumb.

It guided your gaze toward it.

"Your hands are naked!" you gasped, grabbing his wrists and bringing his fingers up to your face, wonder and awe in your eyes as if it was the first time you'd seen them without cover—it wasn't.

You'd seen him in casual clothes before.

Miguel couldn't stop his laugh from escaping even if he tried.

"I didn't know you could do that!" you said, fully amazed before your brows furrowed, pout coming back. "Why can't my suit do that? I have to get all naked just to feel my fingers."

He didn't dwell on that picture.

"I'll tweak it for you if you'd like," he said instead.

Your whole face brightened.

"Really? You'd do that?" you giddily gasped, bringing his hands up to press your palms against his like a double high five. The way your hand was much smaller than his made his heart warm.

He interlaced your fingers together. "Really."

"We're going to make a suit together!" you laughed, lovely and sweet. "That's a big big step."

He chuckled, gaze carefully tracing your beautiful features, each curve and divot glowing with happiness. He felt tempted to count every perfectly imperfect mark that littered your skin, wanting to know if it was there naturally, or if there was a story behind it.

It was supposed to be a swift glance.

He didn't mean to settle too long on your lips.

Nor did he plan to get caught.

"Stop staring," you whispered shyly.

"You're right in front of my face," he deflected, eyes back on yours.

"I know but…" You trailed off, shifting slightly, the tips of your noses brushing in the process.

"But?" he softly prodded.

"You're looking at me weird."

"How so?"

"Like…" you started, voice dropping into a whisper as if you were disclosing a secret. "You want to kiss me."

He couldn't even bother to deny the truth.

"I'll stop staring," he hummed, words holding no weight as he never removed his eyes from you.

"No!" you protested, turning flustered a second later, shyer when he smirked.

"I thought it was weird?" he teased.

"'Weird' was the wrong word," you said, scrunching your nose in thought. Adorable. "I meant different."

"How different?"

"I don't know," you admitted, leaning a little closer. "But I like it."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, hands finding their way to gently cup his cheeks.

Miguel leaned into your touch with a soft smile. "Now who's staring?"

"It's because I want to kiss you," you admitted shamelessly. Your fingers traced the outline of his lips, your eyes following their path.

Miguel kissed your fingertips.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock.

A split second, they fluttered shut, head tilting, whole body melting as he kissed you back.

He spent countless amounts of time daydreaming about this moment, different scenarios, wondering what you tasted like, how it'd make him feel. But fuck—nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

It was so many things all at once.

Relief, hunger, satisfaction, desperation, fondness, fear, mind stopping, heart beating faster, soft lips, warm skin, so lovely, so sweet, so fucking addicting.

Now that he'd gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough.

Miguel cupped the back of your neck, arm snaking around your waist to keep you steady, close.

Your hand held onto his shoulder, the other finding its way into his hair, your fingers combing through the strands.

He lost any sense of control when you pulled.

Gripping your hips, he teased his tongue against the seam of your lips, slipping it in the second you opened up for him.

He groaned at your taste.

You whimpered in response.

The sound made him want to devour you.

But then you started moving your hips.

It was awakening, in more ways than one.

But the rational part of him prevailed because it was for your sake.

He pulled away, gently grabbing your chin, when you tried going back in.

"Slow down," he rasped, holding your waist and keeping you still. "Estás borracho, corazón."

"You know I don't understand," you breathed out, chest heaving, lips all plump and tempting.

"You're drunk, sweetheart," he clarified.

"I don't care," you whined, squirming.

He cupped your face in both hands.

"I do."

You pouted.

"Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Don't pout," he sighed.

"I'm not pouting," you denied.

"You are," he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your pout only turned more prominent.

The beep of the clock broke him out of his trance.

It was midnight.

Miguel stood up, taking you with him before gently urging you to stand on your own two feet.

"It’s late. You should go," he said monotonously and stepped back.

You frowned.

He looked away.

"Why do you always do this?"

You were frustrated—no, you were getting angry.

He turned his back on you, eyes on the holograms even though there was nothing worth looking at.

"Do what?" he said, acting oblivious.

"Confuse the fuck out of me," you said, loud with frustration. "You act cold and distant one minute and then you're being nice and sweet the next. You keep your distance but then call me all these cute nicknames sometimes—and yes, you say them in Spanish but I asked Lyla about it once and she told me what they meant."

Traitor—thrown under the bus by his own invention.

"But then sometimes you give in and we get closer but the second I chip your walls you push me away," you continued, getting angrier by the second. "I thought things were getting better between us. But now, you won't even fucking look at me even after we just kissed—"

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me back!" you screamed.

It took him by surprise.

You had never raised your voice, much less yelled at anyone.

But honestly? There was no one else who deserved it more than him.

Slowly turning around, his heart sank when he met your tear-filled eyes.

By instinct, he reached out to try and comfort you.

It only made you angrier.

"You're doing it again!" you growled and stepped back, hands balled into fists.

Miguel stopped, hands up in surrender.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he softly said.

"Protect me?" you scoffed. "Or protect yourself?"

"I'm doing what's best for you," he reasoned, wanting nothing more than to wipe your tears away and kick his own ass for making you cry in the first place.

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe," he said, hands dropping to his sides, dejected. "But I know myself.

"Someone like me shouldn't be with someone as pure and as bright as you."

"No one gets to decide who I should and shouldn't be with," you gritted, taking long strides until you were squaring up to him. "No one but me. That's my choice."

Despite your boiling anger, despite the fact that you were glaring at him in a way that should scare him, despite the absolute animosity that lingered in your voice, your next words couldn't have brought the most opposite reaction from him.

"And I want to be with you."

Happiness, warmth, euphoria—the few things that made his heart burst at the seams.

But Miguel shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, quickly stomping down emotions.

"I'm only going to end up hurting you," he sighed, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his warm face.

"I trust you that you won't."

"Well, you shouldn't," he insisted, eyes filled with longing, wanting to pull you close and taste your lips again despite his words saying otherwise. "You deserve so much better."

"If you believe that so fucking much then be better."

With that, you turned on your heel.

So many things flashed before his eyes, one of which was if he let you walk away now, he was going to lose you, for good.

He fucking panicked.

So much so that he jumped—right over your head.

You squeaked in shock when he landed in front of you.

Miguel didn't waste a second.

He grabbed your face and kissed you senseless.

You stumbled back, Miguel quickly webbing the chair, pulling it just in time for you to land on the cushion.

Not once did his lips leave yours.

He was bending over, hands grabbing the backrest, trapping you against it. You cupped his face, a shiver running down his spine when you trailed your hands down his chest.

But then you gently pushed him back.

He ignored the ache in his heart as he pulled away.

Miguel dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his, placing a kiss on each palm before he pressed it against his cheeks.

"I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, eyes never leaving yours so you could see it—all of him at your mercy.

"But I'm scared," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "I'm terrified that all I'll ever do is fail you, that I will never end up being the man that you deserve."

"How would you know if you won't try?" you said, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with the sweetest smile. "And I know you think otherwise, but you deserve to be happy, too."

Miguel didn't know what to say.

So he didn't.

He kissed you instead.

It was slow, reassuring, a soft touch of your lips on his, but never less passionate.

He would've opted to deepen it a little more, but then you downright yawned between the kiss.

And here he thought you couldn't get cuter.

"You need sleep," he chuckled.

"I don't wanna go home," you grumbled, burying yourself into his chest. "It's too far."

"My room, then?" he offered.

You quickly nodded. He could almost feel you grinning against his suit.

He kissed your forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Bed?" you gasped, emerging out of your hiding spot to wriggle your brows at him teasingly. "Gosh, take me out to dinner first."

"What am I going to do with you," he grumbled, shaking his head

"Many things, I hope."

He rolled his eyes, pressing the button to let the platform down.

"Miggy, can you give me a piggyback ride?" you asked, pouting for good measure. "I'm tired."

He sighed, turned around and crouched down.

"He doesn't always say yes he said," you giggled.

"Are you getting on or not?"

"Okay, okay, geez." You grabbed his shoulders and hoisted yourself on his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Cheek pressed against his shoulder, you grinned. "Always eager to have me ride you, huh?"

His face warmed.

"I'll drop you if you won't stop."

"No you won't."

Miguel loosened his grip.

You yelped, quickly tightening your hold around him.

"You're so mean!"

He chuckled, turning his head as much as he could and puckering up his lips.

You giggled as you gave him a chaste kiss, pressing your cheek in between his shoulder blades with a deep sigh.

"Lyla, please send extra blankets and pillows to my quarters," he said, smiling to himself when you suddenly got heavier on his back.

He was sure you'd already fallen asleep.

Lyla appeared in front of him a second later, her grin far too wide for his liking.

"Not a single word about this to anyone," he interrupted whatever it was she was starting to say. "Please. Just…give us time to figure this out."

"Gotcha, boss," she said. "But for the record, I'm doing it for her."

"Good."

•••

You squinted at the bright glare that roused you from your sleep. You always close the curtains, it was part of your nightly routine. Why did you forget it this time?

Sitting up, you flopped back down with a deep groan.

Your head was pounding.

Hungover.

You didn't miss this part of drinking at all.

After a few moments, you slowly opened your eyes, the ceiling looking too unfamiliar.

Glancing down, the color of the sheets wasn't the sky blue you recently changed it into. As a matter of fact, that bed was much bigger than you were used to.

This wasn't your room.

In fact, this wasn't your world.

"What did I do?" you whispered, glancing at the nightstand. You saw the tall glass of water first, then the few pills of aspirin.

It was the framed picture that made you realize where you were.

This was Miguel's room.

Memories from last night came rushing in like a train, using your brain as railroad tracks which made your headache worse.

You quickly gulped down the water and meds, throwing the blankets off of you only to flush at the discovery.

Boxer shorts and a huge jacket—you were wearing his clothes.

Stumbling into the en suite, your heart warmed at the extra toothbrush that was already waiting for you.

You quickly made yourself as presentable as possible before making your way to the only place you knew he would be at this time of day.

First to clock in, last to clock out.

The platform was already down when you got there.

It was as if he was waiting for you.

"Morning, sleepy head," Miguel greeted without looking away from the screens.

"Good morning," you responded shyly. You picked at the hem of his jacket, second-guessing your choice of not changing out of it.

You honestly didn't know where to even begin.

As if sensing your discomfort, he turned his chair to face you.

Something flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, something primal as he regarded your figure. It was gone the next second you might as well have imagined it.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out both hands for you to take.

Walking over to him, you slipped your hands into his, the platform beginning its ascend once you did.

You gasped in surprise when he suddenly pulled you onto his lap.

He placed your hands on his shoulders, his strong fingers curling around your waist.

You couldn't look him far too long in the eyes.

It felt like you'd combust if you did.

"What, now you're shy?" he teased, smirking freely. It was a good improvement, but you didn't know if your heart could take it having him smile at you like that. "You didn't seem to have a problem with this last night."

"Don't remind me," you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

Miguel chuckled.

God this was so new.

It felt like you were drunk all over again—no sense of what was real and what was all in your head.

But with the soft squeeze on your waist, and the gentle fingers circling around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, you knew this was as real as it was going to get.

"What else do you remember?" he asked, thumbs drawing random shapes on the insides of your wrist.

You scrunched up your face. "Everything?"

He hummed, leaning a little closer to nudge the tip of your nose with his, urging you to keep your eyes on him.

"I have no idea how to do this…relationship thing. It's been a while," he started, a faint blush on his cheeks that made him so much more endearing. "But I'm willing to try this—with you."

Your heart grew ten times its size, you were sure of it.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, kissing your knuckles. "If you'll let me."

"We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his face in your hands with a smile.

"I'd like that," he whispered, grin turning cheeky. "On one condition."

"What?" Your brows furrowed.

"Morning kisses are mandatory."

You let out a hearty laugh, sound quick to turn into giggles when Miguel pressed his lips against yours.

It didn't take long for things to get heated.

You were picking up right where you left off last night, a little further given that alcohol wasn't in the equation anymore.

Yet with the way Miguel's hands were roaming your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could reach, tongue hot and heavy as it slipped past your lips, his deep groans vibrating against your palms as you rested it on his chest, his kisses moving their way onto the warm skin on your neck, softly nipping, tongue soothing—it was far more dizzying than any modified alcohol and then some.

It was a familiar voice that broke you off this time.

"Ahem! Uh, hello, I'm here!" It echoed from below. "The baby, too, by the way. So make sure you're…uhm, decent when you bring that thing down."

Miguel pulled away with an annoyed groan, eyes landing on the floating figure that appeared behind you.

If he could kill Lyla with one look—

"What?" she exclaimed. "I didn't say anything!"

"She didn't! You guys just weren't particularly…quiet," Peter B. defended on her behalf, chuckling. "And this place has the worst echo."

"Yeah, that's your fault," you whispered against his lips, pecking him one last time before getting off his lap.

He wasn't particularly happy about that either.

You pushed the button before he could say anything, the platform descending, smiling at him all innocent.

"I'm not done with you," he warned, voice deep with lust it made your whole body tingle.

"I'm counting on it." You winked, hopping off the platform before he could even respond.

Mayday landed in your arms before you could take a step.

"Hi, beautiful girl!" you greeted cheerfully, her chubby cheeks lifting as she giggled at you. "

"I wouldn't rush it," you heard Peter say.

"What?" Miguel gritted, still so annoyed.

"I know you're thinking about having a baby with her."

You bit back a laugh.

The utter silence from Miguel made it so much harder.

"You know nothing," he grumbled.

"Maybe," Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "About time you made your move though."

Miguel grumbled something incoherent and turned back towards the screen.

Still, you caught the smile he was trying to hide.

It made you warm and fuzzy inside.

You walked over to him with Mayday in your arms. "Say hi to Uncle Miggy!"

Always your best accomplice, Mayday made grabby hands at him, blubbering, "Middy! Middy!"

Miguel sighed, carefully taking Mayday from you, before giving her a soft smile—the only other person he wasn't grumpy to. "Hello, peanut."

She giggled in response, climbing onto his shoulders, settling on them with her arms above his head. She always loved being so tall.

Miguel shot you a glare then, no heat to it at all. If anything, it was filled with pure fondness.

You grinned at him.

"You're a bad influence," he whispered to you.

"I don't think I am, Middy," you teased, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips.

The way he suddenly turned flustered was adorable.

And when Mayday made a yucky sound, and Peter B. laughed, you knew your work of teasing him for the day was done.

"Come on, bub, let's go get you ice cream," you called, the little girl giggling in delight before jumping into your arms. You sent Miguel a wink before leaving him to deal with his beloved friend's teasing. Peter was practically waiting for this moment.

Many people regretted what they had done while drunk, especially when it involved something embarrassing.

Not you.

You regret nothing at all.

✫*｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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Fr tho f u if you dont love him- respectfully

okay i’m awake time to write for my silly little phone spiders

Im literally in love w this post😭❤

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, "mother"/"daughter"/"wife" used, parental death, mentions of child abandonment, not too much mention of him being spider-man

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, hints of pining, just some good ol' fluff for everyone's current favorite dilf, angst w/ comfort, heavy need of editing prob, not beta read

notes ; purely self-indulgent to fuel my love of found family trope apologies

Single Father!Miguel O'Hara whose life revolves essentially around one person—his daughter—but to be one of the heads of America’s largest corporation and bearing the responsibility of keeping Nueva York safe and sound whilst simultaneously being a single father was not exactly something that Miguel O’Hara could juggle so easily. Hell, he’s even surprised that he’s made it so far without losing his absolute sanity considering he couldn’t even recall the last time he was able to rest properly without his attention being wavered to something or someone else.

Single Father!Miguel whose hands always filled to the brim with tasks and obligations. Miguel wished he was able to clone himself twice in order to have three Miguel O’Haras attending to each of his duties soundly, but alas, Alchemax and the matter of his mind can only do so much.

Single Father!Miguel whose ever so lucky to have you as his assistant to at least help with two out of three of them. You entered the picture around three years ago, when he had caught the eye of his superiors and had used his intelligence to their own advantage, disguising it as a promotion of sorts. You were given as some sort of gift to them as a way to help ease his workload and he truly couldn’t be more thankful for your existence—if he doesn’t necessarily show it most of the time from his stoic countenance he masks on 24/7. While not exactly a carbon copy of him, you, by far, come rather close, and Miguel will take whatever comes to him in this day and age.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that you're obedient and demure, though rather soft spoken and a little too apprehensive for his liking at times (he had noticed, before you became his assistant, that your coworkers would shovel their workload onto you and you’d accept with little complaint but evident hesitation; he wonders if it was the given similarities between you and him that made him choose you as his assistant). You dressed well, hung onto every word he said, and spoke out when properly needed. You were a good aid to have around—great, even.

Single Father!Miguel who trusts you as both his assistant and a human being enough to leave his precious daughter in your care knowing full well she would be in good hands. Sometimes Alchemax would work him overtime, sometimes his duties as Spider-Man would interfere. No matter what it was, it delayed him from seeing and attending to his daughter’s needs, and thus, he had asked you once in a while to pick up and babysit his daughter after your usual 9-5.

Single Father!Miguel who, at the beginning, once in a while asked you to pick his daughter up from school. Once in a while turned into occasionally. Occasionally turned into sometimes. Sometimes turned into constantly, and next thing Miguel knew, you were the one that his daughter and teachers would look out for during school pick up time. He didn’t expect that you would become his assistant even outside of work, but you did, and Miguel can’t exactly turn back time now. He’s labeled you as his child’s unofficial secondary caretaker—you’re even listed as an emergency contact.

Single Father!Miguel who thinks you’re too polite for your own good. Miguel had asked you once if this was a burden, being his assistant both in and out of Alchemax, and if it became too much that you were more than free to quit at any sudden time without consequence. You had merely replied that you understood the struggles of being a single parent and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help when it was needed. 

Single Father!Miguel who notices that Gabriella views you more than just her occasional babysitter. When he'd come home late at night, he was usually greeted by you two doing something together, whether it be doing math homework together, baking cookies, you reading aloud to her, or just simply talking, he'd always catch you and her almost... bonding.

Single Father!Miguel who often dwells on the memory of young Gabriella asking innocently why she doesn't have two parents like the rest of her classmates, why she only had one parent compared to everyone else after witnessing she was the odd one out during Family Day. Miguel didn't, and still doesn't, have the courage to tell her that her real mother had abandoned her to him, leaving Miguel in the dust. Miguel used her naivety to his advantage. He disguised it as her being unique compared to others, that some moms just came later in life; she just happened to be a late bloomer.

Single Father!Miguel who always thanks you for staying late tucking Gabriella into bed when he couldn't. You constantly tell him that it's truly no problem, but he insists on thanking you every time and ever so subtly increasing your paycheck. How could he not? Especially considering the fact you always, always whip him up extra dinner that was tucked away for him to eat during the late hours of night.

Single Father!Miguel who feels uneasy as he opens up a fridge to find the said pasta left by you one night in a glass tupperware container, staring at how neatly it’s been plated despite its standard container. He juts it into the microwave as he attempts to ignore how quiet and desolate the kitchen and the apartment is, how the humming of the microwave and the humdrum of the ceiling fan are the only noise that floats through. And when he quietly eats the pasta serving meant for one, he can’t help but gaze longingly at the empty seat across the dining table, where someone else should be seated with him sharing the same meal.

Single Father!Miguel who finally has the time to pick up his daughter after school for once in the school year, but forgot to tell you that you were able to take the rest of the day off. So you, him, Gabriella, and essentially everyone are surprised when both you and Miguel show up to pick Gabriella up after school. One of the teachers goes to gush about how she's excited to meet Gabriella's dad and what a beautiful family you all are, to which you and Miguel, evidently flustered, explain loosely your relationship to each other and how it's merely professional (to one curly-headed third grader, though, it's not—but she'd never tell you and her father that. At least not now.).

Single Father!Miguel who tags along to Gabriella's after school soccer practice for once and despite your protests about you not wanting to interfere "family time", Miguel and his daughter convince you to come watch her like you usually did on Wednesdays. He says he doesn't mind at all and if anything, could use your presence there to ease his nerves since he'd be a newcomer to the soccer parent group.

Single Father!Miguel who watches attentively to how you support Gabriella on the field from the sidelines. He wonders tenaciously if you've fallen into routine of this—from helping her get ready into her uniform to offering small suggestions that help her on the soccer field. He doesn't miss the way her eyes go towards you whenever she did something right and he especially catches onto the fact that she would gush in pure happiness from your approval when you would throw a thumbs up or a delighted nod.

Single Father!Miguel who merely blinks at the compliments given by the two friendly soccer mom next to him.

"Gabi does certainly look a lot like you, but she still has (Y/N)'s beauty and kindness, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes, I agree. Your wife is nothing less of lovely, you know, you're a very lucky man, Mr. O'Hara!"

He's so caught up in trying to process both their words and Gabriella's action on the field, that it doesn't register to him until a few moments later. Miguel attempts to butt in, saying that you're just his subordinate, but when a loud cheer from the other team erupts through, his words fail him.

Single Father!Miguel whose mind is still so stuck on what the soccer moms had said about you that he didn't even realize Gabriella had made the winning goal for today's practice match. Lying through his teeth when asked about if he saw it from her, he realizes that perhaps he should start viewing you in a different light rather than just his daughter's babysitter because the way that Gabriella looks at you with such elation when you congratulate her on her win pulls at his heartstrings ever so slightly.

Single Father!Miguel who contemplates over and over again if he should be doing this—inviting you to Gabriella's first game of the season—the two purchased tickets he held in his fist. You've entered his home a dozen of times, but this would be the first time in three years that he was outside of your own residence. He thinks he's too dressed up for the occasion, cladded in a white button up and black dress pants. A voice asks him if he's his daughter's boyfriend, and Miguel whips around to face an elderly man with a questioned look on his face.

Single Father!Miguel who realizes that it's your father standing in front of him, spare key in hand. He's quick to say no (to your father's disappointment), and introduces himself as your superior. Your father invites Miguel inside your apartment, telling him that you were out fetching groceries and jokingly mentions he uses this opportunity to sneakily fill your cabinets and fridge of food. Your father complains you're too independent for your own good, but he can't exactly blame you—you grew up that way.

Single Father!Miguel who learns that once in your life you were just like his daughter and that in one point in your father's life, he was just like Miguel. All details shared from him, he learns that your mother passed away early in your life due to cancer and ultimately left you and your father to fend for yourselves. Your father tells Miguel that you often had helped out even when you didn't need to—and it doesn't take long for Miguel to piece the pieces together. Why you barely complain about the extra workload, why your father said you're too autonomous, and why all those years ago you not only sympathized with Miguel, but understood his situation as you came from the same exact upbringing.

Single Father!Miguel who listens intently when your father quietly tells him that all he wants for you is to find a good man that would be able to take care of you properly because he believes he wasn't able to. Miguel is quick to reassure him, however, that he did a fantastic job raising a selfless, humble woman that grew to be compassionate and considerate of others' needs, that you were the hardest worker he had ever seen and that he shouldn't discredit himself. Your father goes to examine Miguel for a moment before letting out a loud, haughty laugh in your apartment and jokingly (not really) tells Miguel he hopes that you'll marry him one day, or at least someone like him.

Single Father!Miguel whose resolve dissipates when you walk into your apartment to find your boss and your father talking amongst each other. He sits silently and awkwardly as you complain to your father about dropping by without any warning before you ask him what was he doing here in the first place. Your father takes his leave, winking at Miguel with a glint in his eye, leaving you two in your apartment alone.

Single Father!Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to ask you if you'd like to attend Gabriella's soccer game with him. You interject with visible hesitation, telling him that it was implied that it was a family-only event and you'd hate to intrude onto something so intimate, but he's quick to reassure you that his daughter would love to have you there considering all the help you had given her during her practices—if anything, she would need you there for your support.

Single Father!Miguel who tells you that Gabriella had shown visible distress last night when Miguel told her that you might not be able to come due to your non-familial relationship with them. He almost begged you to come with them, as Gabriella had even threatened to quit soccer altogether if you weren't there to witness her first game. When you give in after moments of contemplation, Miguel truly couldn't believe his luck.

Single Father!Miguel who roots alongside you for Gabriella and her team, watching oh so closely just in case someone from the other team did a dirty trick on his precious daughter. He'd sometimes occasionally glance at you, only to see you completely zoned in and focused on Gabriella's playing like the rest of the parents, offering your support through compliments and encouragements that his daughter always caught and would visibly improve from. When she finally scores the winning goal per usual, she's quick to ignore the cheers coming from her teammates and parents to run off the field and not look for Miguel first, but for you.

"Did you see me?!" Gabriella exclaims excitedly as she flings her arms around your waist. "Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, yes," you laugh, attempting not to stumble over from the impact with visible glee and crouch down to her height. Pride written all over your face, you grin. "And I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"It's 'cause I did what you taught me," she declares. "I pointed first and then I shooted!" She uses hand gestures to reanimate her play on the field.

"Shot, Gabi," you correctly gently, your fingers going to automatically comb out the tangles out of her hair like you usually did after practices. "It does come handy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes go to see Miguel, who doesn't stalk too far behind with open arms and the same proud look painted on his face. "Dad! Didja see me?! Didja see that I scored?!"

Miguel lets out a once-in-a-blue-moon chuckle and lifts his daughter into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affirming hug. "I saw very clearly, mi cariño, and I can't wait to brag about how my daughter scored the winning shot for her team," he compliments warmly.

Gabriella goes to point gleefully in your direction. "It was all because of Miss. (Y/N)," she declares, not knowing that her statement would make a rush of heat bloom onto your face.

"O-oh no... I only... w-well," you stammer out meekly, trying to find the right words. "I'm actually not too knowledgeable on soccer... I only repeated what I found online and—"

"Thank you," Miguel starts off fondly. "(Y/N), truly. Thank you."

You stare at him. "Mr. O'Hara..."

He sets Gabriella down for her to join her rejoicing teammate and pats the small of your back with a grateful look plastered on his face. You were so used to seeing the rather stoic and often tired side of Miguel O'Hara that you forgot he, too, was capable of smiling at times, so when you spotted the small of a grin on his lips that was for you specifically, you felt something in your chest jerk a little bit.

"If it weren't for you being here," he starts off quietly so only you can hear. "Gabi wouldn't have participated at all. She wanted you to come so she'd have enough courage to play because she was so used to you supporting her," Miguel glances at his daughter giggling about on the field. "So it was understandable that if her biggest supporter wasn't here to cheer her on, she wouldn't exactly do her best."

You blink slowly at him, digesting his words in order to truly savor them for all that they were. "I was just—"

"—doing your job?" Miguel finishes for you. He shakes his head. "Last time I remember, 'attending your boss's daughter's soccer games' wasn't on your job description," he says, earning a soft chuckle out of you despite his rather flat tone.

"I suppose so," you murmur with an evident warmth in your eyes, one that Miguel is sure Gabriella has seen numerous times and will continue to welcome as long as you're around.

So when after a dinner celebration at her favorite restaurant, after the star player is tucked into bed after a long day's work, Miguel takes it upon himself to do the what he thought was the impossible for him but possible for Gabriella.

"Stay safe out there," Miguel directs quietly as he helps you put on your coat again. "And again, thank you for today."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Hara," you reply, "And I actually had fun today, so I can thank you for that."

He escorts you down the apartment complex to the lobby and begins to watch you leave, the words on his tongue tipping ever so slowly before they spill the moment you're about to exit through the doors.

"(Y/N)."

At the sound of your voice, you turn to him with a questioning look on your face. "... yes?"

Miguel opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a couple of seconds before blurting out, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

He scans your face for a reaction before surprise paints itself on your moonlit features. "I-I suppose I am," you nod slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Gabi is having a sleepover at one of her teammate's house," Miguel coughs out and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their fidgeting.

"Do you need me to drop her off...?" you ask, clearly puzzled.

"No, um," he clears his throat again. "I was... I was actually wondering if you'd... if you'd like to check out that new restaurant that opened up on Clark..."

Regret pools in his mouth the second it falls from his lips and he begins to internally conjure some sort of half-assed lie, perhaps saying something along the lines of the company wanted him to review it for a potential cater in the future or that a friend of his worked there, but when he sights your eyes softening with the same warmth from earlier, he lets you take the reigns on fate.

"I'd quite like that," you murmur, a modest smile on your lips.

a/n ; i told you i was going to give into temptation. wrote this on a plane with no wifi on the way here (thank god for offline editing!)

anyways, i'm trying to squeeze this bit out before my plane ride tmrw since i've been travelling for the past week and a half! i'll be returning home soon where i can finally write to my heart's content, phew! i just reallyyyyy wanted to write something for miguel adjdjfkfalwf but fear not! we shall be back to our regularly scheduled program soon!

as always, thank you for reading and likes+comments+reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed（╹◡╹）♡!

Literally laughed my booty off and my head sarted to tingle ngl😭😛

//spiderverse 2 spoilers

Am I the only one who got so mad with Addison in Z3? She was all 'it all makes sense, I belong here', and I'm all like /: girl what the herk. (Then my hubby Zed comes in and is all like ' girl ur fine, you've done so much for us we all love you!'. So I thank my husband Zed. )

Criminal Minds 8.18 | Restoration

the green dress effect | s.r

summary: skirts were never to your liking and didn't work for you, until penelope convinces you to try one, and wow, do they work.

warnings: absolutely nothing, enjoy spencer with an IQ of 60. this story is spencer x female reader btw.

words: 1,113.

a/n: I'm finally back with a little au/blurb I wrote during my vacation, I've had more revelations of ideas during them so I hope you like it and wait for them. By the way! Thank you so much for almost 1k likes on the little boyband!spencer blurb, you guys are absolutely crazy, thank you so much! ♡

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You were never a big fan of skirts.

Any kind of skirt.

They caused irritation between your thighs in summer, the material was itchy, when you walked they lifted up and they were always too small. In addition to the sexist comments from men for wearing them, the whistles in the street and the typical comment of "your skirt is too short, you pretend to seduce someone with it" by men who think it is not their fault, but yours for seducing them.

Under that stigma, the skirt was never an option for everyday wear.

Pants, on the other hand, were more comfortable.

They allowed you to walk around easily, they were easy to match, plus they were always on discount at the supermarket.

And they were much more comfortable to wear when you started working at BAU. In fact, they became your best friend.

You could swear on your family that no one had ever seen you in a skirt or dress. You could count on the fingers of your hand the number of times you wore anything other than your collection of different colored pants.

In winter they were long pants, straight cut, flared leg, tight, all kinds. In summer they were shorts or fisherman cut pants, or they could also be ones with a thinner fabric.

Occasion there was, occasion you had a pair of pants for it, as if it were a Taylor Swift song.

That was until Penelope convinced you to accompany her to a little clothing store, with the excuse that she was looking for some accessories for her new outfit for the arrival of spring.

In front of you was a beautiful green dress fitted to your figure, with a nice loose skirt that allowed you to move without feeling trapped.

It fit you like a glove, in the words of Penelope, your new image consultant. It gave a new touch to your aesthetics without taking away the tranquility that usually surrounded your attire.

You had looked in the mirror a thousand times before you could make up your mind - but Penelope's compliments were the fuel for your confidence and you decided to take it home.

After a long week of work, the day finally came when the only thing that needed to be done was the paperwork.

The case? An unsub in Miami who was looking to regain the attention he had as a child, after being involved in a case where his babysitter at the time was murdered. To make himself relevant again, he decided to imitate these deaths so they could talk about him again as they had done before.

Monday had arrived and you could feel the cool breeze on your legs after getting on the elevator. The dress had been the perfect fit for that cool day at Quantico, plus it lent a cheerful tone to the office filled with shades of black and gray.

The persistent murmur reached the ears of your colleagues, who were already immersed in the reports they had to send at the end of the day. Penelope was the first to see what the distraction was about and was surprised by your new look.

"Look at you! No way, you look beautiful. You look just like a little spring fairy, finally someone who can share my love of cheerful colors." Blondie's arm intertwined with yours and they walked together to the cubicles, hearing Luke's whistle.

"Who are you? Please Garcia, introduce me to your friend" joked Luke looking at Penny, who shook her head.

"In your dreams, Alvez. I saw her first." You laughed at both of their comments, separating from Penny to walk over to your cubicle.

"Nice choice of outfit, you really always have an ace up your sleeve." Rossi commented towards your direction, thanking him for the compliment.

"That was a good play, you left a player more than surprised by your hand." Tara turned in the direction of the kitchen, where Spencer stood dumbfounded looking in your direction.

He was carrying two cups of coffee, actually he was carrying his cup of coffee and your cup of tea. But his usual commute was interrupted by your arrival at the office.

He thought he had seen all the wonders of the world, but he was wrong. He hadn't yet seen you in that green dress, which he was sure was perfect to put you at the top of the wonders of the world.

His cheeks were colored a sweet pink, his pupils had dilated and his heart rate had increased, so much so that his carotid was pounding.

"Hey, Spence." You rose from your seat, approaching the man standing in the middle of the aisle until you were facing him. You brought your hands up to his, taking your cup. "Thanks for the tea, it was just what I needed."

A soft nod was his response.

His eyes scanned from head to toe over your body, feeling it wasn't enough for him to take his eyes off you to observe every detail of you and that green dress.

"What do you think of the dress? I know it's not a usual thing to occupy, but I feel it's a good choice for today's weath- Spence, hello?" your hands passed in front of his eyes, catching his attention. "Earth calling Reid, is anyone there?"

Spencer's intrusive thoughts were interrupted by your sweet voice, who was watching him in search of knowing where his precious brain was at the moment.

"Wait... You don't like me? Geez, that's too bad. I think my choice was bad, I'll see what I'll do with him-"

"You look beautiful."

Your nervous glance went to Spence's face, who was watching you breathlessly.

"Really?"

"Don't put him back, please." Your own words startled him. "I-I mean, i-it wasn't a bad choice, i-it looks spectacular on you, well! You always look spectacular, all the time, every day, that's my opinion! B-but your opinion may be different, I mean.."

A giggle came out of your mouth, stopping Spencer's rambling.

"Thanks for the compliment, maybe for next time you can join me in choosing, I've decided I want to give dresses and skirts another try!”

Spencer nodded, following your lead back to your desks to get back to work. But the last thing Spencer did was work, because his eyes were on you and your cute green dress.

"And that's how the effect of a green dress brings an IQ of 187 down to 60!"

Emily elicited laughter from everyone, but Spencer was so deep in thought from seeing that dress of yours on the floor of his apartment.

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If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀