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scuderiahoney · 4 months

Text

Stick Around

Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been searching for your soulmate your whole life. Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, cheating/infidelity (not by a main character I promise) mild swearing, excessive use of italics

|Age 20|

“You can’t seriously still be reading that stuff,” Oscar says.

You peer at him over the top of your magazine.

“What stuff?” You ask, playing innocent.

“Your horoscope,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you outgrown that yet?”

You shrug, directing your gaze back to the page in front of you. Today, you should avoid the color pink and embrace your skepticism. Oscar’s doing enough of the last part for the both of you. You could gain a great deal of information from social interactions. That’s helpful- you’ve been in search of some gossip. Your soulmate is just a click away- wait, no, that’s an ad. You huff and set the magazine down on the table. Oscar nods in agreement.

“I just think maybe it’s better to live your life without worrying about what the stars say,” Oscar says, waving his hands around in a way that you think is supposed to represent the stars. “Just, like… do what you want to do.”

“I do,” you mutter dryly. “Doesn’t hurt to have some advice, though.”

The two of you have always been like this. Oscar is a skeptic, you’re a believer. He calls it being easy to brainwash, says it in a teasing way that makes you glare at him every time. He’s taken it as his responsibility to keep you from falling for things. You’ve told him time and time again that you’re fine on your own. You just like the idea of predestiny, that what’s going to happen was always meant to.

Oscar is just worried you’ll join the first cult you cross paths with.

|Age 5|

It’s the day after you turn 5 when you first hear the word soulmate. Sol-meight. You sound it out through your lips, sticky with jam from your breakfast. Your best friend at the time, a girl whose name you’ve long since forgotten, had said it.

“S’when you’re meant to be,” she explains, in that all knowing tone that only little kids who know nothing at all seem to have. “Like, my mum and dad say they’re soulmates.”

Oscar, who’s sitting next to you, scoffs. “Everyone’s parents say that. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He’s taller than you, even sitting down, hair cut short after one of his sisters stuck gum in it a few days ago. His cheeks are rosy red, and there’s cream cheese on his nose. Years later, Oscar’s face will be one of the first ones you ever remember meeting. Right now, he’s just the boy in your class whose mother knows your mother, and because of that, he’s the boy who rides to school with you in the backseat. He’s not the worst, you guess. He’s… okay. Sort of just… always there.

“Is too!” Your friend says, shaking her head, pigtails bouncing. “Mum says there’s signs.”

“What kinda signs?” You ask, and Oscar turns to look at you in disbelief.

She shrugs. “Dunno. I’ll ask later.”

She comes back to the breakfast table the next day with a magazine page, torn haphazardly and slightly crumpled. On it is a list of signs someone could be your soulmate. The two of you pore over the page at every available opportunity for at least a week, barely able to read all the words.

Your friend forgets about soulmates a month later and moves on to an obsession with Barbie dolls. You carry the magazine page with you for years after that, until it’s worn and falling apart. Then you copy down the list into a safer place, worried you’ll lose it forever. 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate, written with magic marker on pink construction paper and stowed away in your desk.

|Age 10|

“I hate olives,” you sneer, staring at the very last slice of pizza.

It’s a birthday party. You can’t for the life of you understand why there’s pizza with olives on it. Olives don’t belong on pizza- not much does, in your opinion. Just pepperoni, really. Maybe a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese, if you’re feeling fancy.

Katy, one of your classmates, is standing next to you. “I love olives. Here, I’ll pick them off for you and you can have the last slice.”

The pizza still tastes a bit like olives in the end, probably baked into the cheese, but it’s better than it would’ve been. Katy is your best friend after that. The two of you are inseparable from the moment you get to school until the moment you leave. You beg your mothers for sleepovers on the weekends, for day trips during holiday breaks. YouandKaty. Your names melt together until they become one.

Oscar still rides to school with you in the morning. Sometimes, Katy does too. Katy doesn’t like Oscar. She doesn’t like most boys, calls them gross. Since Katy thinks boys are gross, you do too.

“Be nice to Oscar,” your mother tells you one morning. “He’s not done anything to you.”

You’re in the backseat of the car, on the way to his house. “He’s a boy. Boys are gross.”

Your mother sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She says your name sternly, and you shrink in your seat. When Oscar gets in, you say hello and force a smile.

Oscar’s the one who finds you crying on the playground. You thought you’d chosen a better hiding place, really- nobody had bugged you in your spot between the two large myrtle trees. But Oscar finds you anyways. You can’t even bring yourself to tell him to go away, too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks.

His cheeks are red- he’s likely been running around with the other boys. You shrug, pulling up another clump of grass and letting it fall from your fingers. Oscar sighs, scuffs his toe in the dirt.

“Katy doesn’t wanna be friends anymore,” you say, rubbing at your bare knee. “She says I’m not cool enough.”

Katy likes olives. You don’t. It’s on the soulmate list. You’re meant to be best friends.

Oscar’s quiet for a moment. Then- “That’s stupid. You’re like, the coolest person I know.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious,” he says. He holds his hand out to you. “Wanna come play cricket with the gross boys?”

You take his hand, wipe your tears with your other hand. “Yeah. I do.”

|Age 12|

“Are you and Dad soulmates?” You ask your mother one morning, before you even leave the house.

She’s standing at the counter, a piece of toast in her hand, half eaten. Her coffee is half drank, too.

She tilts her head at you. “What do you mean, love?”

“Like, when you met, did you just know he was the one? Did it feel meant to be?”

She laughs. “Oh, god no. We were polar opposites. Barely spoke to each other for the first year after we met.”

You stare at her in surprise. “What changed?”

She sighs, wistfully, staring into her mug. “He asked me if I wanted an orange. I said yes. And when he handed it to me, he’d peeled it for me.”

You blink. “Because you hate peeling oranges.”

“I do,” she agrees. “Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action. I think love is more about the choices we make and the things we remember about each other than whatever is written in the stars, honey.”

|Age 15|

There’s a boy on the football team- Ryan. Ryan has dark, curly hair and long, long eyelashes and this smile that makes your heart melt and your brain all fuzzy. Ryan doesn’t like olives, either, but he has a birthmark on the back of his right hand in the shape of a lopsided heart, and if you squint hard enough, you have one that matches on the back of your left arm. You stare at in the mirror for hours after he points it out, his hand on your arm.

You stare at your lips in the mirror for hours, too, after he kisses you for the first time. You think maybe you look different. You must. You’d never been kissed before, but Ryan hadn’t minded.

You go on group dates with him, because you’re nervous and your parents think you’re a bit too young to really be dating. You go to the mall, the movies, the diner down the street from the school. It’s your first taste of freedom.

Oscar asks you if you really like Ryan, like- “like like him?”, one day when you’re sitting in his backyard. Your mothers are inside, drinking wine. His sisters are in the pool, you’re laying out in the sun. Oscar sits under an umbrella and squints at the brightness of the world around him.

“Yeah,” you say, in the same tone you’d say duh or of course. “I think he’s my soulmate.”

“Why’s that?” Oscar asks tilting his head.

“We have matching birthmarks,” you say, again, in the same tone.

Oscar forms his mouth into a little o shape. You squint at him, pushing yourself to sit up.

“Why’re you so worried about it, anyways?”

“M’not,” Oscar says, crossing his leg over his knee. “S’just. He’s kind of an arse, isn’t he?”

He whispers the curse word so his sisters won’t hear. Oscar’s big into karting and racing right now, and the older boys at the tracks swear like sailors. There’s a swear jar stuffed to the brim sitting on the kitchen counter inside, right next to the half empty wine bottle.

Ryan is a bit of an arse, you’ll admit. To almost everyone.

“He’s nice to me,” you shrug. “He brought me flowers, yesterday. Isn’t that what matters?”

Oscar shrugs. He doesn’t ask about Ryan again.

Oscar is the one who brings you flowers when Ryan cheats on you and the other girl tells the whole school. He brings them to your bedroom door and you let him in. He sits with you, even as you cry, the door open the parentally required six inches. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t tell you he warned you. He just stays.

When Oscar moves to England, you wave goodbye with a smile. Then you lock yourself in your room and bawl your eyes out for a week straight, harder than you ever did about Ryan.

|Age 18|

Your university roommate, Emma, was born on the same day as you, at the exact same time. Down to the minute. You find it out on your second day of living together. It’s fate, kismet, meant to be. The stars and planets were aligned exactly the same way when you both took your first breaths.

Oscar laughs when you tell him, though he does admit that it’s a pretty cool coincidence. You’re chatting with him on the phone, telling him about your first week of university. You talk a lot, despite the distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

You and Emma aren’t in any classes together- you have completely different majors. Despite this, you still become fast friends. You study together in your room and in the library, meet up for meals, and join a book club together. When Emma gets invited to her very first uni party, she brings you along with her. Your closets become shared.

You visit her family over the winter break for a week. She lives closer to the beach, and you love getting to soak up the sun with her and meet all the childhood friends you’ve heard stories about. Oscar comes home for his break and texts you, wondering when you’ll be back and if you’ll even have time for me, or are you too cool for me now?

You tackle him with a hug when you see him, standing at the kitchen counter in your house when you get there. He’s laughing and pushing you off of him, acting like he didn’t miss you just as much. You know he did. It’s written all over the smile on his face.

Emma visits your family later in the break, and that’s when you have your first fight.

“He’s definitely in love with you,” she insists from her spot on the air mattress on your floor.

She’s talking about Oscar, who she just met today. You’d brought her with to a barbecue at his family’s house. You’re regretting that choice. She’s spent all night afterwards pointing out all the signs that he’s in love with you- his hand on your shoulder, the look in his eyes, the way he smiled at you.

“He’s not,” you say, cheeks burning hot. “He’s- we’re friends.”

“Friends, right. Guys and girls can’t be just friends,” she says.

“Yes, they can!” You say indignantly.

Emma ignores you, rolls over, and goes to sleep. She leaves for home the next day- not earlier than she was supposed to, but it feels weird anyways. When you get back to campus, things feel different. You never really talk about the fight, though there wasn’t much to talk about, anyways. It’s not like she’s mean to you- the two of you still hang out, still see each other often. But Emma makes new friends, and you do too, and you stop doing everything together. It’s alright, you suppose, it’s just…

You were supposed to be destined to be friends. But soulmates shouldn’t be this easy to let go of. It’s written in the stars, it’s shouldn’t fade away like this.

Months ago, you and Emma had talked about spending the holiday break somewhere far away- somewhere tropical, exotic, so grown up and chic. But it hasn’t come up lately, and then she mentions a trip she’s taking with some friends from her classes. You book a flight to England instead and see Oscar in his new home for the first time.

You have new roommates next year. None of them have the same birthdate as you. You think that’s okay.

|Age 21|

There’s a stain on your dress, someone’s wine or sangria or cranberry juice that they’d been too clumsy with. You suppose it could be yours- you’re really not sure. It’s your fault for wearing such a light color to a club like this.

It’s your birthday. You’ve been able to drink for a few years, but it’s still your birthday, and for once, Oscar is there for it. Or really, you’re there for it, there being England. You’re on yet another trip to visit him, money saved and scraped together from your job on your breaks from school. Oscar helped pay for the plane ticket as a birthday present, and your parents got you a new luggage set to take along.

Oscar’s disappeared- at the bar, you remember, closing out his tab. You check your phone- 2:22 am. It’s really time you should be headed home-

You’re jostled from behind, and moments later, you feel cool liquid deep down your back. You turn, and there’s a guy standing there, sandy blonde hair and a terrified look on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, British accent smoothing the words over. “I didn’t mean to-“

“S’okay,” you tell him, though you wrinkle your nose at the feeling of what was likely beer running down your back. “The dress was stained already.”

The man sighs. “It’s not okay- let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink?”

You frown. “I think I’m supposed to be leaving. My friend just went to pay.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.” The guy’s eyes light up, then. “Wait, how about I take you on a date?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. 2:22, you remember. Angel numbers. You are in the right place at the right time.

“I’m only here for a couple more days,” you say, cautiously.

“I’m free tomorrow if you are,” he suggest. “Well, more like later today, but-“

“Yeah, okay!” You’d at brightly, and hopefully not too eagerly. “I’m free.”

He’s holding out his phone for you to put your number in when Oscar pops up. He looks between the two of you with raised brows. “Everything alright?”

“He’s taking me on a date later today,” you explain, tapping the last number. “Because he spilled beer on my dress. Can you check if I put my number in right? My fingers aren’t working right.”

Oscar laughs, leans forward, and nods. “That’s right.”

You don’t remember getting back to Oscar’s apartment. You barely even remember the guy from the bar until Oscar brings it up that morning, a teasing tone in his voice. Suddenly you’re checking your phone every minute, looking for a text from him. You name him Angel Boy, mentioning the angel numbers you’d seen just before you bumped into him. Oscar, well versed in your obsession with things that are just meant to be, rolls his eyes affectionately.

When the sun is trending towards the horizon and Angel Boy still hasn’t called or even texted you, your mood sours. You plant yourself on the couch, an episode of some stupid reality show playing. You’re not paying attention, only staring at your phone.

By the time 7:00 rolls around, you know it’s a lost cause. You can hear Oscar in the other room, shuffling around, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. There’s got to be someone out there who’s actually meant to be yours, right? One of these times the signs will be right, and it’ll all work out. It’s just… you’re getting discouraged.

Oscar appears in front of you and slips your phone out of your hands. He shoves it into his own pocket. He hands you a jacket, one of his, and you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” he says, as he reaches to brush the tears from your cheeks. “Just because he’s not going to text you, doesn’t mean you should just sit here all night.”

You could cry even harder at that, at the fact that Oscar cares enough to try and break you out of your moping. You don’t really want to go out, but he has this hopeful look on his face. Both of you don’t need to be sad today. So you stand up, pull the jacket over your arms, and take a deep breath. You walk out of the apartment, your arm linked with his.

The ramen bar you go to is probably better than anywhere the guy would’ve taken you, anyways. If you’re being honest, the company is better, too.

|Age 22|

Oscar flies you out to the Netherlands to see him race. You’d been at the Melbourne Grand Prix, of course, but he’d insisted he’d fly you out for at least one race in his first season- promised it years ago, when Formula One was just a dream on his bucket list. Zandvoort works well- it fits into your schedule, and the summer break starts right afterwards, so he’ll actually have time to spend with you.

In the days leading up to the race, he’s extremely busy and extremely apologetic about it. You reassure him that you understand, that you knew what you were getting into, knew he’d be busy. You wander around the paddock, say hi to Logan- who you know only slightly better than all the other drivers- and keep yourself entertained. You spend time with Oscar when you get the chance- between interviews and practices, stolen moments of privacy in his driver’s room. It’s nice, it really is, but it’s also… weird.

You’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about what your mother once said about soulmates and love. For all the soul searching you’ve done, all the stars you’ve tried to read, you’ve come up empty. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that maybe there’s just not anyone out there for you. Maybe you’re not meant to have a soulmate.

The thing about letting go of that pressure, though, is that it leaves space. Not a hole, not an emptiness, just… space. Room for other things to sneak in and make their home and grow. Somewhere along the lines- you don’t know when, maybe it’s been there all along- a seed had been planted. Now the roots are digging cracks in your heart, the leaves are shading out every other thought, and there are flowers blooming.

For months, now, your heart has been jumping in your chest every time Oscar texts you. You can’t wipe the grin off your face when he calls. You’ve been following every race, waking up at odd hours to cheer him on, sending him selfies with the tv to prove it to him, to make sure he knows you’re watching. You feel a little crazy, because suddenly he’s all you can think about.

Maybe love is about choices. You start making them, start choosing him. The only question now is if he’ll choose you, too.

The whole weekend is chaos. Oscar crashes in practice, sending himself and your heart spinning. He’s okay, thank god- though his mother texts you frantically, asking if he’s really okay. Then the race itself is even more chaotic, between the rain and the crashes and all the stuff in between. Oscar ends up in the points, though not as high as he’d hoped to be. You cheer for him either way.

You stick around the paddock all the way through his debrief, even when he tries to say you can head back to the hotel without him. Eventually, you leave with him and Lando, his arm around your shoulders the whole way to the car that’s waiting. It’s nice. He’s warm. Lando is making small talk, trying to get to know his teammates best friend, the one Oscar never shuts up about. You feel your face grow hot and hope Oscar doesn’t notice.

In the hotel lobby, Oscar makes a stop at the complimentary snack bar. Lando says something about Kim, his trainer, getting after him, which Oscar ignores. The three of you ride up together in the elevator, with Lando demanding most of your attention as he begs for stories about Oscar as a kid. Oscar’s quiet- you wonder if the weekend is weighing on him more than he’d previously let on.

You say goodnight to Lando and then Oscar scans you into the hotel room. Two beds, a couch, and a balcony that the two of you had eaten breakfast on that morning. You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge, flopping down onto your back.

Something lands on your stomach, softly. You look down, and your throat suddenly feels tight. It’s an orange. It’s a peeled orange. Oscar is standing at the window, pulling the curtains closed. His back is to you.

You blink, picking it up delicately. “You peeled it for me.”

“You hate peeling them,” he says. It’s very matter of fact. The same tone he’d use to say duh or of course.

You stare at his silhouette, the slope of his shoulders, the soft puff of his hair. You sit up, stomach turning. Suddenly, you need to be close to him. You stand up, orange in hand, pulling one of the pieces from it. You hold it lightly between your fingertips. Love is an action.

You hold it out to him. He takes it, smiles down at you.

“I love you, you know that?” You say, before you lose the courage.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he says, giving you a goofy look.

“No, like-“ you pause. Maybe you shouldn’t do this. Maybe you should just-

But it’s too late, because a wave of understanding washes over his face. His eyes go wide, lips parting. His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, the orange slice still in his fingers.

“Oh,” he says, voice cracking. His face splits into a grin. “Jeez, took you long enough to catch up, didn’t it?”

When he drops the orange slice on the floor so he can grab your face and kiss you, you’re somehow still so startled that you also drop the rest of the orange. That’s okay, though. He’ll peel another one for you without you even having to ask. Stars light up behind your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours, and you realize then that maybe soulmates are just the people who choose to stick around.

…..

Deep in your desk in your childhood home, there’s a piece of paper. It’s been unfolded and refolded a million times. At the top, the title says, 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate in messy, primary school handwriting. You pull it from your drawer and uncap the gel pen that sits in the cup on the desk.

At the bottom of the list, beneath your faded magic marker scrawl, you add:

#16: He peels your oranges.

#16: childhood best friend??

#16: YOU JUST KNOW

little bit of a different format for this one. as always, feel free to check out my other fics and tell me what you think!

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #formula one fluff #formula 1 fluff #f1 fluff #soulmates #f1 soulmate fic #oscar piastri x reader #Spotify #honeywrites #Oscar piastri

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rowanswriting · 2 months

Text

Mr. Mechanic - E.M.

wordcount- 1.5K

warnings: spitting, choking, p in v sex, older Eddie ((he’s 40 and reader is 29)) name calling, roughness, cum eating, they almost get caught, if any of this makes you uncomfortable please don’t read it and lemme know if I missed something and I’ll add it to the warnings! Do not read unless you’re eighteen or over, thank you! feedback welcome as always! ❤️ @voyeurmunson thanks for the help on this sweetheart!

“Y’know we don’t have very much time sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear, deep and full of lust. You moan quietly, biting your lip hard to keep yourself as quiet as possible as his hands run themselves down your torso and to the top of your jeans. “Just couldn’t help yourself could you, had to walk in here looking like absolute sin? Bet your daddy doesn’t like that very much does he?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes, pushing your ass back against him hard, feeling his hips dig into you, his obvious bulge pressing up against your ass. “Quit talking and get to it already Mr. Munson, before he catches us.” He shushes you quickly, wrapping one of his hands around your throat and pulling your head back so he can lean down close to you, you groan out as his brown eyes narrow at you. “That’s not how you fucking talk to me is it baby?” You shake your head ‘no’, earning a disappointed look from Eddie. “I thought I taught you better than this doll. You answer me with words.” He says harshly, quickly letting go of your throat to push your pants down hastily. You look down, watching your clothing hit the dirty shop’s flooring, ‘oh well I can wash those later’ your mind quickly focuses back on the older man behind you as you watch his thick fingers hook into the sides of the tiny thong you purposely wore just for him today. “Baby have I ever told you why your dad watches me so closely when you’re around?” You go to shake your head before remembering his rule, muttering out a quiet ‘no’ instead. “Your dad only watches me when you’re here, he knows I can’t keep my eyes off of you, and I think you like knowing that this is wrong. I could get fired for this, but I don’t care.” You fight back a smirk, you naturally knew the effect you had on Eddie, it was pretty obvious. Every time you made a trip to your dad’s car shop, Eddie was always following you around like a lost puppy. It was adorable to you, but your dad hated it. You wanted to talk back and tell him how he’s ’not slick’ but you didn’t get the chance, hearing his belt being buckled behind you sent your brain into overdrive, your legs shaking with anticipation as you bend further over the car, waiting for him to give you what you need. “Tell me baby, do you like showing up here, looking like a slut? Do you like making me so hard that I feel as if I could cum in my pants again like some virgin who can’t control themselves?” You bite your lip hard as his ringed hand slaps down onto your ass, before he’s digging his blunt nails into it, causing pleasure and pain to shoot its way through your body, your toes curling in your shoes as you do your best to answer him. He doesn’t give you very much time to reply before he’s pushing his boot in between your shaking legs, spreading them apart for him. Your body jolts as you feel something wet slide down from your ass to your pussy, shockwaves of pleasure course their way all through you as you realize that he just spit on you, ‘dirty old fucker.’ You thought, laughing slightly before the air feels as if it’s being punched out of you, he doesn’t even warm you up before he’s pushing the tip of his cock against you, muttering out about how you have the ‘prettiest pussy’ he’s ever seen. You clench your eyes tightly, the feeling of how big he is isn’t something you’re used to, his big hands are placed gently on your hips as he pushes in further and further, just when you think you can’t take much more he bottoms out inside of you, his hips pressed up snug against your ass as you clench around him. The intensity of how deep he is makes you feel like you could pass out, but it was the most delicious thing you’d ever felt. Your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head as he pushes you down flat against the car in front of you, he places his hand right in the middle of your back, holding you down as you squirm beneath him, he thrusts once, twice, before he’s picking up the pace, Eddie Munson is anything but gentle when it comes to fucking, and you were finding that out.

You moan loudly, trying to find a place to grip on the car but it’s too slick, your hands sliding down it pathetically as you cry and drool all over the hood. “Oh baby, you look so pathetic, look at you making a mess on my customer's car. You’re cleaning that up when we’re done here.” He laughs, pushing in even deeper as his other hand digs into your hip, it’ll cause a bruise later but you’d welcome the reminder of being taken apart by him like this. “Dirty old man.” You spit out rolling your eyes no, as he fucks you harder than you’ve ever been fucked in your life, tears well up in your eyes as he slaps your ass again. “Sorry, what’s that? Oh wait, look who’s the one getting fucked by the ‘dirty old man’ awww sweetheart you really wounded me.” You clench around him again, your brain fuzzy and floating as your orgasm approaches. “Fuck… Eddie please…” you moan, pushing up a little to look back at him. He was a sight to be seen, the bun that he was sporting earlier in the day was gone, his crazy curls were everywhere, framing around his face beautifully. He’d pulled his shirt up enough for you to be able to see his stomach flexing every time he slid back into you, you wanted to run your tongue all over him and never stop. “Please what?” He pouts at you, laughing sadistically as you push back against him, asking for more. “W-wanna cum, please let me cum, can’t hold it anymore.” You cry out, not even waiting for him to allow you before your orgasm comes crashing down, Eddie moans out behind you, keeping his grip on you and grinding his hips against you slowly, letting you ride out the waves of pleasure making their way through you. You slump against the car lazily, your breathing slowing down some as you sigh. “You’re precious, get up and get your ass on that car, right now.” The assertiveness in his tone is all the motivation you need as you sit up quickly, pushing your pants off the rest of the way and spinning yourself around, sitting down on the car before scooting back on it and spreading your legs. “Keep them open for me sweetheart, gonna cum all over your pretty pussy.” You look up at him, his eyes black with lust as he strokes himself in front of you. You wanted to suck him off but there was no time to, ‘maybe another day’, you think as he tenses up in front of you. “C'mon Mr. Munson, give it to me.” The most beautiful sound comes out of his mouth as you lay back in front of him, he strokes one more time before he’s cumming all over your pussy, some of it is hitting the car beneath you, it’s an absolute mess, but so hot. You look up at him and smirk before pulling him down into a kiss, it’s filthy and full of want. As soon as you go to speak you hear the door rattle on the other side of the room. “Oh shit… my dad!” You whisper, trying to get off the car as quickly as you can while Eddie pulls his clothes back up. “No wait, get over there and clean up the car. I can’t have him see that.” He says, staring directly at you. “How am I supposed to do that Eddie?!” He laughs quietly, and points to your mouth, you don’t have time to think as you hear keys being put into the door, you quickly drop down and pick up all of his cum off of the hood, before standing back up, grabbing your pants and getting them up as fast as you can before turning to Eddie again for a moment. “Show me.” He whispers, grabbing onto your chin and tilting your face up towards him. You stick your tongue out proudly, before swallowing and leaning up to kiss him sweetly. “Get to work Mr. Munson, I'll see you some other time.” You whisper smiling at him before sneaking out the back door, just in time to hear your dad come into the shop. “There you are Eddie! I’ve got another job for you, but do you want to go grab some lunch first?” You hear him say as you laugh, walking back down the street towards your car.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #older eddie munson #older eddie #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem smut

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onetoomanyfandomfixations · 5 months

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Helluva Boss Characters Reacting to You Asking for a Hug

Tbh this series is just for my own enjoyment at this point lmao

I’m so normal about them, I swear.

BLITZØ

Honestly, it depends on what type of relationship you have with him

Familial relationship? Best BELIEVE he’s coddling the shit outta you rn

^ def a cheek pincher

“Hey sweetie? Do you need me ta fuck someone up for ya?”

But if y’all are platonic, or SATAN FORBID

R O M A N T I C ?

Ur not getting Shit

Well, until you start crying

“You’re a fuckin’ baby, you know that?”

Very casual hugs

Always sits his chin on you

Will complain the entire time

But you both know he loves you

LOONA

“Oh shit, you good?”

She’s blunt, not heartless

Honestly pretty touched that you asked for a hug instead of just going for one

Like her adoptive dad, very casual hugs

Usually just slings an arm over your shoulders

Won’t talk to you about it

Y’all just sit in comforting silence

Don’t let anyone point out that she’s letting you touch her

Will get v flustered

Depending on how you both feel - may let you play with her hair to self regulate

MILLIE

“Sure thing, hun!”

Doesn’t matter who you are, or why you need a hug, she’ll take it

Physical affection is her top love language idc

Squeezes super super tight

Like, you can barely breathe

Gushes over how sweet you are

Will probs pepper your face in kisses too (doesn’t matter what ur relationship with her is)

((Millie is a strong believer in non-romantic kisses, she told me herself))

Will probs ask Moxxie to bring y’all a drink

MOXXIE

“Uhh, you sure you want a hug from me?”

Yes babe I’m sure

Doesn’t think he’s the best one to be comforting you - will palm you off to Millie if he can

But will be offended if anyone else says he can’t look after you

^^ Gets all huffy about it

Distraction is his new best friend

Will tell you a mixture of stories and fun facts to try and make you feel better

Will also make you a hot drink

If you want to, will talk out your feelings with you

STOLAS

Babes just blinks for a hot minute as your words register with him

Has the softest smile

“Of course, dearest. Come here.”

A hug isn’t enough for him, you’re in for a full blown cuddle sesh now

Likes the feeling of having you fully wrapped up in his arms

Forehead kisses. Forehead Kisses.

Will sometimes swaddle you in blankets like a literal baby

Hums softly for you

Tries to ask what’s wrong, will def push the subject

He just wants to fix it, okay?

Will just,,, smother you in affection until you’re okay

And then some

OCTAVIA

Judgemental eyebrow raise.

Judgy, judgy girl

Y’all gotta be CLOSE for her to hug

((But not really, she’s so touch starved its not funny, but we don’t talk about that-))

Long, comforting hugs

If u end up crying, will fix your makeup for you

Don’t mention it though

Like, literally don’t mention it or it won’t happen again

She probs just breathes a sigh of relief when y’all hugs

Holds on a little too tight, for a little too long

If you ask first, she’ll start coming to you for hugs now too

FIZZAROLLI

Baby. Baby, baby man.

Will wrap his arms around you several times over

Another really tight hugger

You had shit to do?

Sike, not anymore

Now you’re spending all day with Fizz

Your fault, you started it by asking for a hug

Is super worried about you, but tries to play it down

Will do stupid shit just to see you laugh

Will ALSO flirt with you until you can’t stand it anymore

ASMODEUS

Immediately concerned, does not try to hide it

Much like his bf, cancels all plans for today

Y’all are gonna be chilling in bed and cuddling now

Just kinda,,, scoops you up?

Definitely plays with your hair

Gives a SOLID head massage

So so gentle and sweet

Just lays you on his chest

Draws pictures on your back and makes you guess what he’s drawing

^^ he does this to help ground you

Tbh he’ll probably drag Fizz to bed too, so know they’re both looking after you

Mans isn’t gonna let anyone get left out

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sw33tsuccubus · 4 months

Text

“𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝒹”

summary: Apollo’s child is upset at him for ending a beautiful relationship.

pairing: percy jackson x child of apollo!reader

word count: 481

A/N: reader isn’t dyslexic, or they read the song of achilles in greek. you can choose

“I hate my dad.”

Percy turns to face the entrance to his cabin. There you stand, your arms crossed.

He gulps. The whole Luke Castellan deal.. he seriously hopes you’re joking. It’s been almost a year since the Battle of Manhattan. His life had changed afterwards, going missing and everything. He had missed out on months of your relationship after Hera put him to sleep. The moment he returned to Camp Half-Blood and saw you, it was like the world was finally rewarding him for all he’s done for it.

He really hoped you didn’t want to repeat Luke’s idea.

“Why?”

You huff, walking into Cabin 3, sitting onto his bed. You poke at his group of sea creature stuffed animals.

“Have you read Song of Achilles?”

Percy sits beside you. He recounts you talking about a book you’ve been reading. Too bad Percy isn’t a reader. He’s dyslexic anyways.

“Nope.”

“Well, you know the end of Achilles’ life story?”

“His heel was struck by an arrow?”

You shake your head. He tilts his head, curious.

“His lover Patroclus died while wearing Achilles’ armor and trying to get the army into Troy’s walls. Achilles, fueled by rage, defeated a god to reach the man who killed Patroclus. Achilles ended up dying because he wanted to make the whole world pay for killing Patroclus.”

Percy nods.

“What does this have to do with your dad?”

You frown deeply. His hand automatically wraps around yours in response, giving a gentle squeeze. He hates seeing you upset.

“My dad pushed Patroclus off the wall of Troy. The second time, he loosened the straps of his armor and people realized he wasn’t Achilles. Hector then killed Patroclus.”

Percy pieced the information together. He leaned his head on top of yours.

“You’re upset at your dad because he killed two people you’ve never met?”

“They were in love, babe!”

“Right.”

You pull away and narrow your eyes at him. He gives you a playful smile, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your head.

“I’m sure your dad learned his lesson. I don’t think he’ll do it again.”

“He better not. I won’t be on speaking terms with him, then.”

Percy laughs lightly. The Apollo children were kind of spoiled; their father visits them in dreams and answers prayers often. They have relationships other demigods dream of. Even Percy gets a little jealous sometimes, when his dad doesn’t answer him about something.

“You’ll have to tell me what he says when you confront him about it.”

“Oh, I will.”

You then pull away so that you can sit on his bed properly. You cross your legs and face him. He copies you, and you take hold of his hands.

“Now that I’ve finished the book, though, can I tell you about my favorite parts?”

His face breaks into a large smile.

“Of course.”

#percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #gn reader #hoo x reader

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headkiss · 1 year

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not just on christmas

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve’s parents are coming home for the holidays and he’s in need of a fake date. who better than you, his best friend?

word count: 8.2k

warnings: steve’s parents (derogatory), negative comments about his job, fake dating, friends to lovers, christmas themes, fluff, first kiss!

a/n: i had lots of fun with this one and i hope u guys like it!!! merry christmas and happy holidays i hope they treat u all well <33 consider this my gift to you :D

༄

The phone ringing forces Steve out of bed. Floors cool on his feet, the air a chill on his bare chest, he rubs his eyes lazily and picks it up.

“Hello?” He clears his throat to get rid of the sleep in his voice.

“Steve, why do you sound tired, it’s nearly noon!”

It’s no surprise that the first words aren’t asking him how he is. He’s shocked she cared enough to pick up on the tone of his voice at all. “Hi, mom.”

He doesn’t even know where she’s calling from, doesn’t know what business trip they're on. He can’t remember the last time he got a phone call that wasn’t you, or Robin, or Dustin, or anyone else other than his parents.

Steve’s not even excited to be hearing from them, because it’s a reminder that they’re not around, that they haven’t forgotten about him, they just don’t care.

He wishes you were the one that called.

“Listen, sweetie, your dad and I are coming home for Christmas this year, isn’t that great?”

He deflates, “yeah. Super.”

“There’s a business event he wants to take you to. And we’ll find you a date,” there’s the catch. There’s always a catch. “You can make some connections, maybe get out of your job at that video store soon.”

The thing is, he actually likes working at Family Video, but he knows that doesn’t matter. Then there’s the topic of the girlfriend, or lack thereof. His parents are always nagging him about when he’ll settle down, grow roots, or something.

Maybe that’s why he says, “I can get my own date. I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh! That’s fantastic! She’ll have dinner with us, won’t she? What’s her name?”

Like an idiot, he says your name. The first one that came to his mind.

You’re his best friend, and it’s easy to let his thoughts drift to you. The problem is, he has no idea how he’s going to explain this to you, how he can ask you to fake date him just to satisfy his parents for once.

If he wasn’t still on the phone, Steve would be groaning into a pillow right now.

“Okay, sweetie, your dad has a brunch we have to get to. We’ll see you soon!”

“Bye, mom. See you.”

He hangs up and sighs in relief. That feeling is quick to fade when he remembers that he had just named you his girlfriend in the midst of his phone call. He drops his face into his hands, runs them through his hair, and tries to figure out how the hell to bring up the subject with you.

To go along with that, he has to worry about his parents coming home. Though, can they really call it ‘home’ when they’ve been gone for so long? When they’ll leave again after a few days, a week at most?

Most people would be happy, excited, about their parents being around for the holidays. Steve’s not. He’d rather spend it how he has since the two of you became friends. Breakfast at your house with your family—who have become family for Steve, too—presents opened with scented candles burning and Christmas albums spun on the record player.

You went out of your way to include him, and he’s never felt so welcome in his life as he does when he’s with you.

At least, if you agree, you’ll be with him this year, too.

It’s the next day when Steve decides to bring it up. You’re at his house for movie night, which has become a weekly ritual for the two of you. He’s been trying to figure out what exactly to say since he hung up the damn phone. He’s given up and instead hopes it’ll come to him in the moment.

Today, Steve’s quiet, which is unlike him. You know something’s on his mind and you try to avoid asking him about it, trying to let him talk about it on his own time. It’s about halfway through the movie that you change your mind.

He didn’t complain when you showed up with your cheesy Christmas movie choice, he didn’t light-heartedly tease you about your outfit of choice (some festive patterned pajama pants and a sweater that’s so worn there are holes in the neckline), and the most unusual, he didn’t make a single joke or comment as the movie played.

He’s really, really quiet.

You pick up the remote and pause it, “what’s going on with you, Steve?”

He looks at you, catches your eye and sees nothing but genuine concern. Sometimes he hates the way you know him so well. He can never hide anything from you.

“What? Nothing.”

You blink at him, “come on.”

“Fine, okay. Just, don’t say anything until I’m done, please.”

“Okay,” you pretend to zip your mouth shut, ready to listen.

“My mom called yesterday and told me they’re coming home for Christmas, and that there’s this business thing they want me to go to, and that I need a date for it,” he scrubs a hand down his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. “And you know how they’re always on my ass about me being single and stuff so I kind of told her I already had a girlfriend, and maybe I told her that girlfriend is you.”

What?

There’s a lot to process there. Mostly the fact that out of all of the names he could have chosen, he said yours. You wait for him to explain some more, but he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for a reply, so, your mouth is now unzipped.

“So, what exactly does that mean?”

He mutters a curse under his breath. “Um, so, I need you to pretend to be my actual girlfriend while they’re here.”

His use of the word ‘need’ is telling. Steve’s not one to ask for help, not even when he needs it the most but here he is, nervous and a little pink-cheeked, asking for your help.

You let the thought sit in your head for a bit. It’s not hard for you to want to agree. Steve’s your best friend, and you’d do pretty much anything for him. Though, that might also have to do with the fact that you’ve been in love with him for years.

You know more about his relationship with his parents then most do, so if you can make their visit more bearable for him in any way, why wouldn’t you?

“Okay,” you say.

“Okay? Like, you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m happy to help.”

That was a lot easier than Steve thought it’d be. You barely even questioned him before agreeing, and that’s not lost on him.

“Thank you so much, seriously,” he throws his arm over your shoulders, squeezes you to him in a side hug. “It’s only a few days, then we can go back to normal.”

“Easy peasy,” you say, reaching for the remote and hitting play.

Aside from your wanting to help him, to be there for him like you know he would for you, you’re also curious to see what it’s like to be with Steve that way, even if it’s fake. It’s hopeless, the way you love him, like the moon orbiting the earth around and around. Constant.

Sure, those feelings will probably only swell because of the fake relationship, but you’ve been housing them for long enough anyway.

What could go wrong?

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Robin says from the other side of a clothing rack, sifting through the pieces.

She’s the first, and only, person you told about the fake dating thing. Naturally, she decided she’d help you shop for a dress to wear to this business thing and talk about it at the same time.

The mall is decorated, garlands and lights strung, a big Christmas tree lit up in the middle of it all.

“It’s only a couple of days. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m talking about you being in love with him,” she deadpans.

“Robin, not so loud.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

You know she’s being honest, and though the thought has been at the back of your mind, a whisper, you’d like to believe that you can handle a fake relationship without ruining things because of your big, big feelings.

“I spend time with him alone a bunch. It’s not that much different, okay?”

“Besides the fact that you’ll be calling him boyfriend and acting like it, too, you mean.”

Actually, you’ve been trying not to think about what exactly pretending to be his girlfriend entails. You don’t know if he’ll hold your hand, if he’ll hold you closer than he has before, if he’ll kiss you. You think it might be better to wait and see, to not let the possibilities eat at you.

“I know it sounds bad, but it’s Steve. Nothing major will happen. We’re friends and I’m helping him out.”

Robin’s in a tricky spot. She knows how you feel about Steve, obviously, and though he doesn’t see it yet himself, she knows that Steve feels the same, too. It’s taken a lot to hold herself back from speeding things along, and as much as she wishes this fake relationship plan might be a good push, things usually aren’t so easy.

She can also tell that there’s a lot you’re thinking but not saying, but instead of pushing it, she returns to looking at the dresses. It’s not long before she gasps, pulling one of the rack to show you.

“This one,” she says.

“I don’t know. That won’t look good on me.”

It’s pretty, though. You’ll give her that.

“Shut up, everything looks good on you. Will you at least try it on?” She wiggles the hanger in her hand, “for me?”

“Fine.”

You take it from her, walking back towards the fitting rooms with a grinning Robin in tow. She waits outside the door while you change into the dress.

Once it’s on, looking in the mirror, you don’t even know what to think. You’re not one to feel all that confident in what you wear, or in how you look, but this dress makes you feel pretty. Maybe you should make Robin pick out all of your clothes.

“Let me see!” Robin calls.

You step out of the changeroom, doing a shy little spin when she asks. She’s smiling proudly, like she knows she chose well (which she did). She can’t help but think of how Steve will react, because she knows he feels something for you, she can see it on his face everytime he talks about you. He’s just a dork and he doesn’t realize it. Not yet, at least.

“What do you think?” You ask.

“If Steve’s not already in love with you…”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

If she does, your brain will conjure up way too many ideas of what could possibly happen. If Steve could really feel the same. If maybe he’ll feel those same butterflies in his stomach that you do, if his heart feels bigger when you’re around. In your dreams, he does.

“I’m trying to tell you you look hot!”

December twenty-third is the day that Steve’s parents come home as well as the night of the business event. You and Steve have tried to figure out how to act like a couple, quizzing each other on things you already know, setting loose boundaries, but you figure after knowing each other for so long, being so close, it won’t feel much different than now. Besides the extra touching, the possibility of kissing.

You’re already at his house when his parents get home, your makeup and outfit for tonight sitting in Steve’s room. The two of you linger near the front door waiting for their arrival, a nervous and jittery welcoming committee.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabs your attention. It’s a clapperboard snapping shut, marking the scene. Action.

“You ready, babe?” He holds out his arm for you to grab, and you do.

“Time to be the best couple ever,” you reply.

Steve grins at you. He has no idea how to thank you for agreeing to do this, how to even explain to you the relief you’re sure to bring. It’s one less thing for his parents to pick and pry at.

The door opens, and you can already feel a change in Steve’s demeanor. He’s standing straighter, stiffer. You squeeze his arm, a reminder that you’re there.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother barely greets him before moving onto you, “and this is your girlfriend?”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.”

If it were someone else’s mother, you’d be hit with the usual ‘oh please, call me (insert name here).’ However, where the Harringtons are concerned, formality is a must. Besides Steve, of course. From what you know, the apple had fallen very, very far from the tree and you mean that as a compliment.

Even after being friends for so many years, this is the first time you’re actually meeting Steve’s parents. It’s clear that he’s never jumped at the opportunity to have his friends around when they’re home. He’s told you about them, and that’s enough for you.

“Steve! Come help me with the bags, would you?” His dad calls from outside, though he says it as a demand rather than a question.

“Yep, coming,” he replies. He kisses the side of your head before going outside, quick and sure, like he’s done it hundreds of times.

“How was your trip, Mrs. Harrington?” You fill the silence.

“Oh, just lovely, thank you,” she moves to the kitchen, expecting you to follow. “The house looks clean. Do you have something to do with that?”

Despite her trying to sound like she’s joking, you know that she truly doesn’t believe that Steve could be the one keeping the place going. As if he hasn’t been doing just that for ages.

“No, no. It’s really Steve.”

Her eyebrows raise, surprised.

Steve and his father walk in before anything else is said—thank God. You shake hands with Mr. Harrington, saying hello and wearing a tight smile. Steve’s quick to come to your side, an arm over your shoulders like a shield. Your hand moves to hold the one resting on your shoulder.

He’s even more tense when his father’s in the room, you’ve noticed. You hold his hand a bit tighter. You wish you could do something to make him feel better, and you hope that this fake relationship will do that at least a little bit.

Meanwhile Steve’s wondering how your presence could make him feel much better than he usually does with his parents around. You’re a comfort beside him, and when he gets the chance, he kisses your head again, whispering a ‘thank you’ into your hair.

The first few hours with Steve’s parents go by dreadfully slow, even with his touch on you most of the time. You’re quickly learning that as a boyfriend—even fake—Steve’s love language is easily physical touch. He has an arm around you, a hand in yours, on your leg, anything.

You’re also learning just how strained his relationship with his parents is. He’d trusted you enough to tell you most of it, but seeing them interact in front of you was different. The backhanded comments, the faces whenever he mentions his job, it makes your heart ache for him.

It’s bad enough that his parents are hardly ever around, but having them act like this when they are? You’re amazed at how good Steve has remained through it all.

When it’s time to get ready for the business party, you’re thankful for the reprieve.

“Think we’re doing a good job?” You ask Steve as he shuts the door to his room.

“They seem to be buying it. Thanks again for doing this.”

“You’ve thanked me like a hundred times, Steve. It’s okay, really.”

You want to tell him that you’re sorry these are the people he has to call family. That he shouldn’t listen to any of the shit they give him about his job or his lack of post-secondary education. That he’s the best boy you’ve ever known.

The problem is, you don’t know how to say all of that without making your feelings for him painfully obvious.

“Just gotta keep it up ‘til Christmas. That’s when they leave.”

“They’re only here for two days?” You knew the trip was going to be short, but forty-eight hours?

“Yeah, something about getting a deal on a cruise. I don’t know.”

He says it so casually, like it’s normal. You guess that for him, it is, but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting.

“Does that mean you’ll come to mine for Christmas day? Like usual?” You ask, hopefully lightening the mood.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up, you’re always welcome. Think my mom likes you more than me anyway,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, then move to bring your stuff into his bathroom to start getting ready.

He leans on the doorframe, watching you set your makeup out on the counter, “she does not.”

“Steve, you have your own stocking hanging on our fireplace. And it’s bigger than mine.”

He smiles genuinely then, the first one since his parents have arrived.

He leaves you to get ready, shutting the bathroom door for when you change. You can still hear him through the door. The opening and closing of his drawers, a curse when he stubs his toe.

So far, pretending to be with Steve has been easy. You’ve acted the same save for the touches or small pecks he’s decided to keep placing on your head or your cheeks. The story you settled on was simple: you met him picking up a movie at Family Video, he asked if you needed company to watch it, the rest is history, blah blah blah.

Steve knocks on the bathroom door when you’re pretty much ready, you glance at yourself one more time in the mirror before opening it.

He stands with his tie in hand, wearing a button up and dress pants. You assume there’s a suit jacket to go along with it, and you think it might kill you. He’s so pretty, and he looks it all of the time but seeing him dressed up is really something.

“You look good, Steve,” you say. Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Thanks. You look- you too.”

Steve’s stunned. He realizes he’s never seen you in anything formal and it’s making him feel all fluttery in his stomach and he doesn’t know what to think of it. He’s always known you’re gorgeous, in an obvious way like how the sky is blue. Now, though, it’s like he can feel it.

He clears his throat quietly and remembers the reason he knocked in the first place, “you don’t happen to know how to tie a tie, do you?”

You’re thankful for the time you decided to learn how when you were bored one day. You take the fabric from his hands, “it’s your lucky day, Steve.”

“Thank you. Didn’t wanna have to go ask my dad.”

He’s almost shy about wanting your help over something so small, his cheeks a little pink, his head bent. You give him a reassuring smile—or what you hope is one—and place the tie around his neck.

His eyes are on you as your hands fiddle with the fabric, doing it up for him. Your eyebrows are slightly scrunched, and he wants to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb. He’s not used to having that urge.

You finish up successfully after having fumbled a little bit, adjusting the tie so it isn’t crooked.

“There you go,” you pat his chest and he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat, the way it’s quicker than normal.

He has no idea what that’s about.

“Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

He’s still standing close to you, enough that he has to keep his head tilted downwards just a little to be able to look at your face. Your eyes lock onto his, and time seems to slow. You’re so gone for him and you know it, but it almost seems like maybe he’s feeling something too. Just for a moment.

His father calling out that it’s time to go snaps you out of it.

Steve grabs his jacket, shrugging it on then offering you his hand to hold, “let’s do this, girlfriend.”

The hall is oozing Christmas when you walk in, Steve’s hand in yours. Ornaments hang down from the ceiling, warm white string lights line the top of the walls, Christmas music hums through the speakers, and an extravagant Christmas tree sits in the middle of the room.

You’ve never been to an event like it, and you have a hard time keeping your nerves at bay.

Pretending in front of Steve’s parents alone was one thing. Now, the stakes are higher. You have to be convincing and though it’s not difficult for you to pretend to be in love with Steve (you don’t have to fake that at all), you worry that you’ll slip up somehow and give yourself away. Both in the sense that the relationship is fake, and that your feelings are anything but.

It’s not long before Steve’s father gets pulled into a conversation, and his mother goes along with him. You’re left standing near the doorway with Steve, biting at the inside of your cheek.

“Relax,” he leans his head close to yours and whispers.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“We’re fine. You’re fine,” he squeezes your hand, something that’s quickly become a wordless reassurance between you. “We’ve done good so far, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Except for the fact that I love you and that you being a really good fake boyfriend isn’t helping.

“Okay.”

He smiles and leads you further into the room. The smile he gives you is different from the one he gives the people that say hi to him, the people that stop him for a chat. For you, it’s honest. For them, it doesn’t reach his eyes, it doesn’t mean anything.

“About time you tied someone down, Steve,” a man says to him. A coworker of his father’s, just like most men in the room.

“Think she’s the one who got me, but yeah.”

“That’s sweet. Next step is to get you a stable job, huh?”

It seems like all anyone here is concerned about is what people do, who they know. It’s no fun for you and they aren’t even speaking to you directly most of the time.

“Sure. Good to see you,” Steve excuses the both of you from the conversation.

“These people suck,” you say to him, leading him to the bar set up in a corner.

“Tell me about it.”

You order water for the both of you, something to get rid of the dryness in your throat and occupy you for a bit. You drink quietly before Steve speaks up.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

He doesn’t know why it slips out now, but it does. The thought has been on his mind since he saw you standing there in his bathroom, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

“You don’t have to say that, Steve. Nobody’s listening.”

“I mean it, seriously.”

“Oh,” you look down at your glass, at the condensation running down the side. The corners of your mouth lift, “thank you.”

“I know this isn’t the most fun, but I’m glad you’re here with me,” he admits. He’s always been sweet to you, but this feels different. You don’t know how or why, but it does.

“I am too.”

Steve’s dad interrupts your moment, pulling Steve off to meet some people. Already, there’s a guard being put up by him, a shield he saves for his father.

For those few minutes, where it was just you and Steve, you realized that he’s probably the best date you’ve ever had. He pays attention to you, he’s comforting without even trying, and he compliments you with so much honesty you could melt.

He’s the best date you’ve ever had and it’s fake. It’s becoming a mantra repeated in your head; it’s not real, it’s not real.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the boy who’s sat next to you now.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he says.

“I’m not usually at these things. I came with my boyfriend,” you tell him, unsettled by his stare.

“And where is this boyfriend now?”

“He’s out there. I just needed some water but he’ll come back soon.”

You’re trying to get him to go away, to take the hint. He won’t.

“Why don’t I keep you company in the meantime?”

You’re about to reply when someone else does it for you, “not necessary. She’s my girl.”

My girl. Steve. He stands behind you, wraps his arms around your waist. It’s like he knew you needed him then, showing up as soon as you felt like you wanted to search for him. He runs his hands over your sides, a possessive touch that has your skin tingling.

“My bad, man. Thought she was lying about the boyfriend,” the guy says.

“She wasn’t. Even if she was, maybe you should learn to tell when someone isn’t interested, yeah?”

The stranger nods and walks off.

You spin in Steve’s hold, facing him. “My hero.”

“You know me,” he shrugs.

What he doesn’t say is that seeing another guy talk to you made his gut churn, bringing something that he didn’t want to admit was jealousy. He also saw the look on your face, the discomfort, and felt his feet carry him over before his mind could think it first.

His hands are still on your waist, even with the stranger gone.

It’s not until Steve’s parents are ready that you leave. They’ve taken advantage of the champagne that sat on trays, free for the taking, as well as the opportunity to talk up their son to many, many people. It seems they’re only proud of him when there’s other people around, and even then, the praise doesn’t hold much weight.

He’s trying his best. At least he’s working. He’s got a girlfriend now. No, he doesn’t host backyard parties while we’re gone anymore.

You wish you could speak up, but you know, with this many people around, it’d cause more harm than good. It’s hard to listen to the people that raised Steve talk about him the way they do. You want so badly to shout in their faces how brilliant he is, no thanks to them. How he has the kindest soul and a sort of midas touch that makes everything shine.

At least, you think he does. You promise yourself to love him better than they ever did, even if it’s in secret.

One memory from the night overpowers the rest, luckily. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ played, a slower rendition, and a slow dance ensued. You watched couples split off, and when you looked at Steve, he was already looking at you, a question on his face and a hand outstretched.

You fell into step with him quickly. It wasn’t awkward for a second. One of your hands in his, the other on his shoulder, his on your waist. You swayed together, unknowingly moving closer until you were close enough to rest your head on his chest. And you did.

He rested his head atop of yours and hummed the song softly. You’ll dream about that dance, probably.

Now, you sit in the car with Steve, who’s become the driver. He drops his parents off at his house first, leaving the two of you alone for the drive to yours. He sneaks glances at you at stop signs and red lights, turning back to the road when he thinks he’s been caught.

His mind is full because he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. He sees parts of you that he was blind to before. The shape of your lips, for example. The dip of your spine and the way it feels to hold you. It’s dizzying and warm, confusing and sparkling all at once.

Once he’s pulled up to your house, he offers to walk you to the door. Ever the gentleman. A romantic no matter how much he denies it, you think. He gets misty-eyed when you watch rom-coms, opens doors for you, has bought flowers for nearly all of his dates, as far as you know.

What must it be like to receive flowers from Steve Harrington?

He faces you on your front porch, hands in his pockets, “thank you again for doing this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s okay. I’m happy to help you, Steve. You’re my best friend.” Who I love more than anyone.

“You’re mine, too, honey.”

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Turns out, it was his default to use in your fake relationship. It is, however, the first time he’s said it when it’s just the two of you. It sounds sweet coming from his lips, sticky. Just like honey itself.

“What time should I be over for dinner tomorrow?” You ask. It’s the last hurdle of the fake dating.

“How ‘bout I come pick you up after I finish work?”

“Yeah, okay, that’d be great, thanks.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold of December biting your skin.

“Here,” Steve notices, of course he does, and he reaches out with his hands, rubbing them up and down your arms to warm you.

“How’re your hands still warm?” You ask.

“I'm magic.”

You smile at that. He has no idea.

He reaches up with one hand to cup your cool cheek, and you nudge your face into his touch. For the warmth, you tell yourself. That’s it. His thumb runs over your skin, once, twice.

“Did I ever tell you that you have a pretty smile?” He says it so quietly you almost miss it. You don’t, though, and there’s a swarm of butterflies in your gut because of it.

“Shut up,” you try to mask your bashfulness.

Then, just like that, his face is close to yours. So close that it looks like he might kiss you. His eyes flick from your mouth up to yours, like he’s unsure of what’s happening while he’s doing it.

You can feel his breath tickling your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. Before that can happen, he’s swerving away quickly, planting a kiss on your cheek instead. The one he isn’t holding. His mouth lingers for a second.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your skin.

“Night,” you say, dazed. And he’s walking away.

Steve’s not at all sure what’s come over him. He wanted to kiss you just then, to tangle his fingers in your hair and kiss you stupid. What the fuck was happening to him?

When you let your eyes flutter shut, your mouth parted slightly, like you’d let him kiss you, like you wanted it, too, he panicked. Couldn't do it.

No, he doesn’t know what just happened, why it did, or why he’s resisting the urge to go back and knock on your door and actually kiss you when you open it. What he does know is that his heart seems to be doing something funny when you’re around, and that your fake relationship has been better than any of his real ones.

He knows he needs to talk to Robin about this.

Steve had to work the next morning—Christmas Eve—which he was actually thankful for. Thankful to get away from his parents, though the comments about his job followed him out the door this morning. Especially thankful because he needs to talk to Robin and sort out the mess of his feelings that has occurred in the last twenty four hours.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to kiss you. About how his stomach was all twisty when you slow danced with him. There are so many moments playing over in his memory. Not just from yesterday, either.

He remembers the way his stomach would sink when you’d tell him about a date you had or how he’d often reach out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, or to wipe something away from the corner of your mouth.

So many things over your friendship that he never thought about are coming back to him and he’s realized he doesn’t act that way with any of his other friends. Only you.

He also realizes that he hasn’t really been pretending with you at all.

“I think I love her,” Steve blurts out while he and Robin are organizing returns, the store luckily empty.

Robin reaches into her pocket, barely fazed, and tosses a handful of confetti at Steve. Some pieces stick to his hair, some to his clothes, most of it at his feet.

“What the hell?” He shakes the flecks out of his hair, “we have to clean that now.”

“I’ve been carrying around confetti for like a year waiting for this to happen!”

“Wait, what?”

“Steve, you’ve been loving her for a long time, hate to break it to you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” He’s no longer preoccupied with the confetti.

“I was letting you do it on your own time. You’re welcome.”

Steve had only just deduced that he’s in love with you and yet, when he thinks about you, he feels the same way he has for years. He finds it hard to believe that he’s been blind to it for that long, but he has been called an idiot enough in his lifetime for it to make sense.

Then, there’s the fact that you’re not done fake dating yet, that there’s still dinner today to get through and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep himself together.

“What am I gonna do, Robin?”

“You’re gonna tell her how you feel and I will finally know peace.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I freak her out?”

“Steve, she looks at you like sun shines from your pores,” she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

He picks you up after work as promised, his hands holding the wheel a little tighter, his greeting a little louder than normal. You figure he’s just nervous about dinner.

Nobody brings up the almost kiss, and you don’t plan to. Maybe you read things wrong. Maybe he was aiming for your cheek all along. Maybe he’s been thinking about it as much as you have.

It seems that your feelings for Steve are present now more than ever. Impossible to ignore. It might have something to do with the Christmas spirit floating around, the lightness of the holidays. It definitely has something to do with you being Steve’s fake girlfriend.

Because it turns out, he’s an excellent boyfriend, real or not.

He opens doors for you, even if he has to jog ahead of you to do it. He’s always got at least one hand on you, warm and sure. He looks at you with so much care, his brown eyes stuck on you.

It’s all adding up and you feel like your love for him is overflowing, pouring out of you before you can reel it in. You just hope he doesn’t notice that you’re not acting, that you never were.

Walking into Steve’s kitchen, you pause in the doorway, him behind you, “this smells great, Mrs. Harrington.”

Though Steve knows she probably bought most of the stuff and then put it in pots and pans to make it look like she cooked, he agrees, “so great, mom.”

She turns to look at you both from her spot by the stove, “thank you. Oh!” She cuts herself off with a gasp, her gaze drifting above your heads.

Oh no.

“Mistletoe,” she says, pointing.

“Look at that,” you laugh, short and awkward.

“Steve, sweetie, kiss your girlfriend for tradition's sake, won’t you.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“A real one, son,” his father pipes up from his seat at the table.

Steve finds your gaze, his eyes wide and questioning. Are you okay with this? He’s asking without saying it. You nod, barely there, but you nod and he sees it.

He cups your cheek in his hand, flashes of last night on your porch come to you. He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to stop him. Instead of doing that, you hold his wrist in your hand, squeeze it. Your silent communication.

In a blink, his lips are on yours. Pillowy and almost shy, but he’s kissing you and you feel like you’re floating, your feet off the ground and everything. He pulls away before you can even register the fact that it happened.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, your lips still burning with the memory of his.

Steve can't believe he hasn’t kissed you before. You’re soft and you fit together so well, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. He’s kicking himself for not doing it last night, when you were alone, when it was real. Next time he kisses you, he thinks, it will be real.

He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from you, “so, let’s eat.”

Just like that, he’s moving to the table, pulling out a chair for you and kissing the top of your head once you’ve sat down. Already, the extra affection he’s been giving you has been dizzying. Now, it’s dialed way up.

He helps his mom serve the food before he sits down, though all he gets as a thank you is a pat on the cheek. Next to you, you can see Steve’s leg bouncing up and down. You reach out and place a hand above his knee, stilling him and drawing his gaze to yours.

You smile, and you hope it’s enough to say it’s okay, it’s all gonna be fine. He rests his hand on top of yours, fingers laced together.

“So, Steve, have you been looking for jobs?” His father speaks up. The never-ending topic.

“No, dad. I have a job,” Steve doesn’t look up from his plate, pushing mashed potatoes around with his fork.

“Well, a real job, I mean.”

At Steve’s silence, his mom adds, “we just think, especially now that you have a girlfriend to support, you should look for something… better.”

You look up when she says it, eyes wide and hand tensing on Steve’s leg. You don’t understand how they care so much about what he does and so little about how he feels. He likes his job, you know that, and he’s tried to tell them multiple times over the past couple of days.

And still.

It’s impossible for you to sit by and listen to them talk to him the way they do, like he isn’t good enough. Like the only defining thing is his job, which isn’t even a bad one. What defines him is who he is as a person and he’s the best one in your life.

“Why does it matter so much?” You ask.

His parents look at you, surprised to be questioned, it seems. Steve looks at you, too, with something more like astonishment, appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you continue, “it’s just, you haven’t seen your son in how long? And all you guys keep bringing up is his job, which he’s told you he actually enjoys. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”

Steve’s world is tinting pink, heart-shaped lenses over his eyes hearing you defend him. Nobody’s ever tried to go against his parents for him, and here you are. Fuck, he loves you.

They’re quiet, and you’re not finished. “Steve is the greatest person I’ve ever met, and that’s no thanks to you. I’ve known him for a long time and not once have I seen you guys around. How can you judge him so much when you don’t even take the time to know him anymore?”

The room is dead quiet. Nothing but the clinking of forks against plates for the rest of the meal. You feel lighter, after saying what you did. Though you’re also terrified that you’ve overstepped, that Steve will be upset with you for causing a scene.

As if sensing your worry, he holds your hand just a bit tighter.

It’s not until after dinner, hidden away in his room, that you talk about what happened. Not the kiss; your outburst.

He shuts his door and you’re already apologizing, “listen, Steve. I'm so sorry if I made things worse, but I couldn’t just let them shit on your job anymore. I couldn’t. You’re my best friend, you know that, and-”

His arms are around you in a blink.

“Thank you,” he breathes into your hair. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me. Thank you, honey.”

“Oh,” you blink away your surprise and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Anytime.”

“You’re really special.”

Your smile spreads, spilling before you can do anything about it. You hide your face in his neck and stay that way until he lets go, a flush in his cheeks and stars in his eyes.

Steve wanted to tell you he loves you right then, but the words seem stuck in his throat. They won’t come up. He wants to be with you for real, and though it happened in a rush, it also didn’t. His brain just needed to catch up to his heart.

He doesn’t say it, but he will. As soon as he can.

“Wanna go watch a movie?” You ask.

“Yeah, okay.”

Movie night. You and him. That’s real.

Steve’s parents seem to have gone out somewhere, the car missing from the driveway. They haven’t left, though. You and Steve checked for the suitcases (they’re sitting, already packed, in their room).

Playing the movie, yet another Christmas pick that Steve couldn’t say no to, you share a blanket. There’s plenty of room on the couch, you’re the only people there, and yet, Steve still tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you to lean against his side.

Maybe he’s just doing it in case his parents come home while you’re downstairs. That’s gotta be it.

“Is it bad that I’m sort of relieved they aren’t here right now?” Steve says to you, quiet.

“Not at all. You deserve better than what they give you, Steve.”

“You think so?”

“Are you kidding? I know so.”

He lets his head lean atop of yours, and that’s that.

You want to bring up the kiss, but then again, why would you? It’s not real. It’s not real no matter how much you wish it was, no matter how much it feels that way. You knew going into this that you might end up kissing Steve, you just didn’t know it’d fuck you up so much.

Part of you hopes that mistletoe will appear above your heads yet again, just to be able to feel the way you did when he kissed you. Heart fluttering, stomach twisting, warm all over.

Though Steve’s head feels relaxed, resting on yours, it’s overflowing with thoughts. You, his parents, the way you defended him, how it felt to kiss you, how much he wants to do it again. You. The entire length of the movie, he’s trying to think of a way to tell you he loves you. The best he comes up with is to wing it.

When the screen fades, and the film ends, you remember the gift you’d left in Steve’s room, buried at the bottom of your overnight bag (you decided to sleep over, something you’ve done too many times to count, and head to your place in the morning with Steve). You sit up, only to face him.

“I have something for you. C’mon,” you tug on his hand, leading him all the way to his own bedroom.

“What?”

“Just,” you make him sit down on his bed when you’re in the room, digging through your bag and finding the present you’d wrapped last night. “Here.”

He takes it from your hand slowly, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He doesn’t open it right away, staring at the red and green patterned wrapping paper and the gold stick-on bow sitting in the middle of it.

“Open it,” you urge, shuffling nervously on your feet.

He shoots you a shy smile before tearing at the paper, revealing a scrapbook of sorts. Flipping through the pages, he finds memories upon memories. Pictures of you and him, of him and Robin, all three of you. Some with the kids or with Eddie. Most of them he doesn’t even remember taking.

And it’s more than just pictures. There’s movie tickets and receipts from random fast food dinners, confetti from a surprise party for Dustin and a piece of a plate Steve broke once.

It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever given him. It reminds him that he does have a family, no blood relation needed.

“Honey,” he says it quietly, his eyes watering ever so slightly. “This is- I don’t even know what to say.”

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

“No. I love it. It’s perfect, seriously,” he runs his finger over a picture of the two of you, your faces squished together and your smiles absolutely ridiculous. “Best gift ever.”

He means it.

“I had some help with the pictures. Everyone in that book loves you, Steve.”

Everyone in that book. That means you love him, too. He knows that you could mean it platonically, but something about the way you look at him when you say it makes him think that he has to tell you. He has to try.

He’s suddenly very glad he bought you a locket for Christmas, and that he left it unwrapped because of his lack of skills in that department.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Steve-”

“Please,” he trades spots with you, sitting you on the edge of his bed, “close your eyes for a minute, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you shut them tight, placing a hand over them as well, “double closed.”

He rushes to grab the locket from the bottom of one of his drawers, then grabs the tiniest bit of paper and manages to write as small as he can on it, placing the message in the necklace and closing it with a small click.

Steve reaches for the hand that isn’t covering your eyes, opening it up and placing the delicate piece of jewelry in it. “Okay, open.”

You do, glancing down to what rests in your palm. It’s gorgeous, dainty, and the corners of your mouth lift at the sight of it.

“It’s beautiful, Steve. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s a locket,” he says. His head is bent, shy and visibly nervous. “Open it, too.”

Your heartbeat picks up, like you know, subconsciously, that something big is hiding inside despite the small size of the necklace itself. You wedge your fingernail into the gap, pushing the locket open. The note inside makes your stomach drop.

In his messy, rushed writing, the words ‘I love you.’

You look at him, mouth agape and hopes way up. “Steve?”

“I mean it.”

“How-”

“I mean I’m in love with you, and I think I have been for a really, really long time. I guess it took you being my fake girlfriend for me to realize it.”

“You’re not pranking me, are you?”

You’ve spent so long loving him, and convincing yourself that he could never love you the same, that it feels unreal. Hazy, like a dream.

He sits beside you, cupping your face in his hands softly to make you look at him, “I’m not pranking you. I love you.”

“Holy shit. I love you, too. For so long. I never thought I had a chance with you.”

“I think you’re the only person who’s had a real chance with me since I met you, honey.”

Right there, discarded wrapping paper on the floor, the glow of Christmas lights shining through the window, you doubt you’ll ever take that locket off once it’s on.

You can’t stop yourself from rushing forward and kissing him. A small press of your mouth against his at first, then, it’s more. It’s slow and every single thing you’ve ever wanted. His lips move with yours like they’re the only ones that know you.

This time, when you kiss, there’s no question. It’s real and it’s thawing every single worry you ever had about this. This is real, you get to think now.

Steve pulls away only when your breathing gets heavier, only when he absolutely has to. His thumb trails over your cheek, a lover’s touch. He takes the necklace from your hand, puts it on for you and kisses you again when he’s done.

“Do you think this was a Christmas miracle?” You say, teasing.

“I think this was just me being too stupid to notice how I feel about you. I know now, though.”

“Because you needed a fake girlfriend.”

“Because I needed a fake girlfriend,” he confirms. “But, I’d like a real one now.”

“I think I can manage that,” you nod, a lovesick smile on your face.

For once, Steve’s glad his parents came home. He never would have asked you to fake date him if they hadn’t, and he wouldn’t have realized his very real feelings for you, either. So, maybe it is a Christmas miracle, after all.

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f1smutwriter · 30 days

Note

so excited to see that youre willing to write about so many drivers i feel like a lot of them do not get enough love. anywhooo maybe arthur x pierres younger sister, where everyone always thought they’d get together and pierre was always just like “no. not gonna happen” but it definitely happened anyway 😩 ly pookie definitely wont be my last time requesting 💁‍♀️

|𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲 (𝐚𝐥𝟏𝟐)

Arthur Leclerc x little!Gasly reader

Summary: Little Leclerc and Little Gasly aren’t so little anymore. They end up showing each other their true feelings but how would their brothers react

Warning: nothing just me ugly crying while writing this

Notes: Stop girl thank you so much. I do feel like a lot of the drivers get unappreciated. I love your energy and yes please request more would love to hear your ideas ♡︎

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April 9, 2005

“Look at them both, they’re so cute” Pascale said to mine and Pierre’s mom as they see me and Arthur in the front yard riding bikes together when our older brothers are at karting practice with our dads.

“I feel like those two are gonna get together in the future” My mom said to Pascale while smiling on the front porch drinking tea together. “Arthur you can’t do that you have to go straight no zigzag” I told Arthur the rules again to our game we were playing. “petit lapin that wasn’t part of the rules” he told me while still going in zigzags. “Thur play fair, and y/n that wasn’t in the rules” Enzo said making sure we didn’t argue anymore making Arthur stop and me pouting.

“Look at her pout” Pascale said to my mom pointing at my pout on my face. “Watch he’s gonna feel bad” Pascale laughed softly and without a heart beat Arthur came to me and said sorry. “I’m sorry petit lapin I won’t zigzag anymore” He said to me while holding my hand making me laugh a little.

When I see my dad’s car in the drive way I run to it wanting to see my older brother and Charles. Once they got out the car they had their bags in their hands making me help them. “Soleil it’s too heavy for you” Pierre said to me before kissing my head making me pout because I wanted to help. I skip over to my dad and jump into his arms “Papa I won racing with Arthur” I said to my dad while Arthur is talking with my brother and Arthur “I let her win” he whispered to them loud enough for me to hear.

“Hey no you didn’t I won fair and square” I say pouting at him not liking that he said he let me win. “Okay, okay I’m sorry you won fair and square” He said telling my little five year old self before I skipped to my mom and Pascale. “She could barely reach the petals so Enzo gave her a push” he laughed before going to me and the mom’s. “Maman can I have some water” I asked my mom when she put me on her lap. “Go ask your brother mon amour” she told me softly before kissing my head softly. Instead of asking my brother I skip to Arthur. “Thur can you help me get water” I asked with my puppy dog eyes that got him every time. Without a second to waste he gets up and walks with me to the kitchen.

“Soleil why didn’t you ask me” Pierre called out from the porch stair where him and Charles were talking. “Because Thur does it better” I shouted back before going back to Arthur. “I hope you know she has a crush on my brother” Charles said chuckling to Pierre who was an upset. “No she doesn’t, she’s not allowed to have crushes anytime soon” Pierre said a bit angrily not liking the idea of his little sister having a crush.

“Sorry buddy but she does” Our mom said while chuckling softly while sipping a bit of her tea. All of a sudden they hear my giggles from the kitchen, they all look inside and see me on Arthur’s back as he spins me around a bit. “Told ya” Charles chuckled before making Pierre roll his eyes staring at his little sister and his best friends little brother.

October 14, 2010

“Thur where are you” I call out from outside his room. When he didn’t answer I went to Charles room. “Cha have you seen Thur I have his present but he’s not opening his door” I asked holding his birthday present in my hand. “Yeah he told me to tell you to go in the tree house” Charles said while doing his hair. “Thank you cha” I giggled before running to the tree house hearing Arthur.

“Thur” I sang from the bottom of the tree house before giggling when I see him stick his head out. “petit lapin what are you doing here” he asked me looking confused on why I was at the house so early. “Got you a present that I want you to open in private” I said softly before climbing the ladder to the tree house. He just smile at me helping me up the last step before looking at the present in my hand. “You didn’t have to petit lapin I don’t expect anything” he whispered softly to me holding my hand still.

“Here open” I squealed excitedly giving him the present. He just smiled at my reaction before opening it and seeing a red bracelet. “I know your favorite color is red because of Ferrari so I made you a red bracelet, so that one day when you become a Ferrari driver you have a perfect bracelet” I explain before looking at him. “Do you like it” I asked him before feeling him pull me into a hug. “I love it Mon petit lapin” he whispered softly into my ear making me smile before hugging him back.

“Love you Thur” I whispered to him softly. “I love you too Mon petit lapin” he whispered back to me before we get called down by Charles and Pierre. We get down and Pierre sees the red bracelet on Arthur’s wrist. “She spent all day and night making that for you” he whispered to Arthur before looking at his little sister who was laughing with Charles about something stupid Charles had said. “Really” Arthur mumbled not believing that his petit lapin did that for him. On that very day he realized he was gonna be friends with her forever.

February 14, 2016

“No Thur it’s embarrassing everyone has a valentine but me” I mumbled against my pillow as he just chuckled rubbing my back. “Come on petit lapin, it’s not that bad” he laughed making me groan loudly in my pillow. “It is bad because even you have a date” I grumbled looking at him holding the teddy bear that he got me at the fair. “Your fifteen do you really need a valentine” he says to me softy rubbing my leg to make me feel better.

“You act like you’re so much older then me” I say smiled before looking at him with a bigger smile. “Go have fun your girl is probably waiting for you” I encouraged him to go have fun while holding my bear. “You sure because I don’t have to go” he asked me groan. “Yes go don’t be miserable here with me go have fun on your date Thur” I reassured him before I see him get up and walk out the door to go get ready for his date.

I sigh going into the kitchen and getting by all the good snacks we had. My mom just comes and sees me confused “what’s wrong Mon amour” she asked me seeing me get the good snacks. “No Valentine equals a very sad day maman” I said with a sad smile trying to lighten up the mood. “It’s okay Mon amour there will be many men lined up for you soon” she reassured me kissing my head before going back upstairs.

A few hours I hear the doorbell, then I hear my mom call me down stairs. “Y/n it’s for you amour” she called for me from the door. I groaned getting with my big pajama pants and Pierre’s hoodie that i never gave back going down stairs. “Who is it” I asked from the stairs before going to the door seeing Arthur with a big box of chocolate chips cookies along with white and pink tulips. “Wow look at you she’s gonna love it” I said softly with a smile before fixing his glasses that I loved on him. “Do you like it” he asked me with a smile as I fix his glasses. “Of course I do and she will too” I replied before looking at the beautiful flowers again.

“Well then my girl here are your favorite flowers and since you hate chocolate and can’t be normal whatsoever here is your cookies with chocolate that make no sense” he says to me giving me the flowers and cookies. “Thur what are you doing” I asked him holding the flowers and cookies. “Y/n Gasly, my petit lapin will you do me such an honor of being my Valentine” he questioned making me look up at him with a huge smile on your face. “Are you being serious right now” I asked almost about to cry from the sweet gesture.

“Actually now that I think about it I asked the wrong Gasly” he grinned at me making my eyes roll automatically. “Your stupid Leclerc” I said before hugging him wrapping my arms around his neck. “Not as stupid as you Gasly” he whispered to me wrapping his arms around my waist. My mom and dad just looking at us with awe on their faces when Arthur did all that for me. “I got more stuff in the car like food from your favorite restaurant, your favorite drink and everything else Mon petit lapin” he said softly kissing my head making me look up at him with the biggest smile on my face.

That was the day I realized I was in love with Arthur Leclerc.

November 18, 2023

Me and Arthur are walking down the strip of Las Vegas for the very first time. “This is Las Vegas, don’t really get the hype” Arthur laughed while walking around and looking at all the buildings. “Well Las Vegas is about gambling and drinking so” I giggled swinging our hands back and forth. “Yeah my pockets are done for the day” he told me before we walk in the lobby of our hotel. “Wanna go bother Pierre and Charles” I asked him with a slight smile on my face making him chuckle. “Let’s go” he says dragging me to the poker game they were playing with the other f1 drivers

“Hey tripod” I say to my brother before kissing his cheek and placing my head on his shoulder. “Soleil go bother someone else like max he’s winning right now” he whispered to me so no one else heard him. “No he scares me” I whispered back making him laugh and me just giggle. “Just go please and I’ll buy you sushi tomorrow” he offered making me going over to max placing my chin on his shoulder. “Max verstappen what are you doing on this fine evening” I say before he looks at me making me smile big and bright.

“Trying to ignore a certain Gasly” he says back with the same smile making me laugh. “Okay, okay I’m sorry please forgive me” I said before going to Arthur and sitting next to him at the booth where the rest of the drivers were. “I just realized is little Leclerc and Little Gasly dating” Max Fewtrell asked Lando who was drinking his drink. “Yeah they’ve been dating for like a while now, I think their childhood sweetheart.

“Wanna go back up and order room service” Arthur asked me while rubbing my thigh softly. “Always” I whispered before getting up off him and going to the elevators. “I still can’t believe you still have this” I say holding his hand and pointing at the red bracelet I made on his twelfth birthday. “A very special girl made it for me” he whispered softly to me before we walk to the room. “Yeah how special is she” I asked softly still holding his hand.

“Well she’s really special, the day she made me this was the day I fell in love with her” he says to me softly making me stop in my tracks. “W-what” I stuttered softly not believing the words that came out of his mouth. “I said the day she made me this was the day I fell in love with her, even though it was my twelfth birthday and she was 10 I fell hard” he whispered softly to me making me tear up.

“Please tell me you’re not joking, because if you are imma die Leclerc” I ranted fast making him look at me with his smile. “Never Mon petit lapin” he said before holding my face and kissing me. I kiss him back the guy I’ve loved for the past eleven years. The boy I had a crush on at five years old. I was kissing him I was finally kissing him.

He pulled away putting his forehead on mine. “I love you so much Mon petit lapin” he says while he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I love you so much more Thur” I say back tearing up happy tears now that I finally had the love of my life in my arms. He kissed me the man that I’ve been in love with for eleven years counting finally kissed me.

———

March 6 2024

“Gosh this feels so surreal” Charles said fixing Pierre’s and his bow ties in the back room. “I know I mean I always knew they were gonna end up together but wow it doesn’t feel real” Pierre said softly tearing up realizing his little sister his Soleil was gonna get married. He hugs Charles tearing up in his shoulder as Charles tears up with him.

“Oh come on I can’t have my best men cry on me” Arthur says before hugging them both softly laughing at the two. “Bunch of cry babies” he teased them before Pierre pulls away. “Hey my baby sister is gonna be a Leclerc let me have my moment” Pierre told him before wiping away his tears and looking at Arthur. My dad calls for Arthur telling him it’s time. “Promise me you’ll take care of her” Pierre said looking at him with a smile.

“I promise” Arthur said back before hugging him quickly making his way down to the doors where everyone is. They open the door for him and he walks down the aisle first seeing everyone he loves is there. His mom, my mom, all our friends and family. He makes it down to where the priest is taking his spot before all the maid of honors and best men walked down with each other. After then were the flower girls spreading white and pink tulip petals. After them I come in with my arm entangled with my dad’s as he tears up and tells me how much he loves me. He walks me down to my spot in front of Arthur where he mouths to me with tears in his eyes how beautiful I was.

The priest starts the reception not hearing anything but just staring at Arthur with so much love in my eyes showing him I couldn’t wait to be his forever. “Do you y/n, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live” the priest says to me making me squeeze his hands a bit making sure he knows I will first. “I do” I say softly while looking into Arthur’s eyes.

“And Do you Arthur, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live” the priest asked Arthur making him squeeze my hand like I did to him. “I do” he said back to me making a smile pop up on my face along with tears. I turn around and grab the wedding band from Kika and he turns around to grab it from Pierre. I slide it on his ring finger as he slides his on mine.

“I know pronounce you husband and wife, Arthur you may now kiss your bride” he said making Arthur grab me and kiss me softly. Feeling the feeling I’ve had in my body for eleven years slowly come back. I kissed him back before pulling away as everyone is clapping for us. I grab his hand and we both walk down the aisle hand in hand going to the car to go to our honeymoon. I kiss him one last time before kissing and hugging everyone good bye before I get in the car where Arthur is waiting for me. “So Mrs. Leclerc Gasly where would you like to go first” Arthur asked me as he puts the car in drive.

“Anywhere you are Mr. Leclerc Gasly” I said before rolling down our windows and driving off wherever we will go. Only we know that and that’s only for us to know.

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Notes: I’m not crying you are. I know you asked me something so little but I just had to make it um how do you say it. ✨extra✨ which made the story a masterpiece. I did this scene twice because I forgot to save it and I left and everything went with me sooo. I really hope you like it and more story’s coming soon.

#arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 fluff #f2 fanfic #f2 fluff #f2 fic #f1 x reader

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simonrileysfavteacup · 26 days

Note

Ok so, maybe this is gonna be a bit further into the future when Tommy’s a bit grown up (teenage maybe).

So your doing laundry and see that your son hasn’t been doing his chores and you go up to his room and see him playing his video games as usual, and you softly chastise him about his chores.

And he surprises you with his outburst, and he actually swears at you. And you flinch at the sound, astounded that your own son, your baby boy talked you into that manner.

Simon. Is. Pissed. He loves Tommy, but he will never tolerate him disrespecting you. Simon knows how much work you put into being a mother. Simon goes full on stern dad mode.

Imma let you decide what happens next 🤭🤭

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA WTFFFFF

Run through here for anyone confused about all the characters

***

Sundays were your favourite days. You loved the relaxation, the peace, the days off. Simon had been home for a few days. Your kids, Tommy, Emma, Lilah, and Alex, were ecstatic. Atleast, the twins were. The second Simon walked through the door, they wanted to play games and go outside and all that. Emma was just happy her dad was home and safe. She had been her father’s daughter from the moment she came out of the womb.

Tommy, however, your eldest, was a bit closed off. He practically sat in his room all day and never came out, It was starting to get on your nerves.

You were doing Simon’s laundry when you notice Tommy’s dirty clothes that you had asked him to wash still sitting by the laundry machine. You roll your eyes, heading into his room. “Bubby?”

“What?” he doesn’t turn to look at you, still focused on his PC.

“You didn’t do your laundry.”

“So what?”

“You need those clothes for school.”

“So you wash them. I’m busy.”

“Bubby, you’re old enough to wash them yourself.”

“Don’t call me that and isn’t it your job? It’s not like you work or anything. Dad does all of that. All you do is cook and clean and-”

“Thomas Riley!” His words hit deep in your chest.

“What? God, why do you always have to be such a bitch?”

That was it. He hit a nerve. You turn, walking out of his room, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You head into your room, holding a pillow to your chest. His words hung in the air.

Simon walks in moments later, covered in mud after a football game with the twins. “HI lovie,” he smiles before noticing the tears on your cheeks. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you turn away from him.

“You can’t lie to me, lovie.”

“Tommy yelled at me and he called me a bitch…said my only job was to cook and clean…”

“He what?” Simon is fuming.

“Please, don’t say anything to him…”

“He’s getting grounded. You stay here,” Simon walks out, running into Lilah. “Oi. Go to mom. She’s sad.”

The little girl nods and pads off to see you.

Simon walks to his eldest son’s room. Tommy turns in his gaming chair. “What?”

“Off the game or I unplug it,” Tommy rolls his eyes but turns off his game. “What did you say to your mom?”

“Nothing.”

“You lie just like her,” Simon holds back a chuckle. “She’s crying and it’s because of you. You know how much she does for you? And you swore at her. Go apologise. You’re grounded. No games for a month.”

Tommy looks down at his feet, guilty. He walks off to your room, where Lilah curls into you. You look up as Tommy sits on the edge of your bed. “Ma?”

You look at him.

“Ma, I’m sorry. I kinda let my emotions get the better of me. Didn’t mean to yell at you…just…I found out Lizzie was cheating and I’ve had a real bad week and I took it out on you. Please forgive me?”

A moment passes.

You open your arms, letting him curl into you. “She cheated?”

“With Neil,” he sighs. “I’m never dating again.”

“That’s what we all say, bubby.”

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astraysimp · 5 months

Text

Future Producer

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ Hello, hello ,hello, my lovelies! I am back with the last edition of my personal dad!skz series, finishing off with a Bahng! ( I DO have another series planned)

ੈ♡˳Summary: Chan, ever the hardworking man he is, takes baby Bahng to the studio( or his in house studio).....um I think that’s it

ੈ♡˳Warnings: Dad! Cha, fem!reader, fluff fluff FLUFF, tiny baby and appa chan (he is no longer foive),pet names, playful teasing Chan about losing his hair , idk what else ੈ♡˳

✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

You and Chan were adjusting to parenthood well. You loved it, and he did too. A baby Bahng– Haneul Rei Bahng– Chan’s proudest accomplishment. But, he missed the studio, which was why he had a studio built into your shared house.

That’s exactly where he was right now, with a tiny Haneul on his chest. At only 1 month old, she was already in the studio, though she just wanted to be with her appa. It was midafternoon, and you had woken up from a nap. Usually, you were met with Chan singing to Haneul or her crying……but, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Sitting up on your bed, you stretched and kicked your legs over the side of the bed, Chan and Haneul nowhere in sight. “Hm? Where are they?” You asked yourself, throwing one of Chan’s hoodies and slippers into a pair of slippers. You checked her nursery, no one was there. The master bathroom? Think again. So, you wandered downstairs, singing to yourself. “ Where is my Channieeeeee? And my princesssss?” You hummed.

The kitchen. Empty. The living room? Nope. The laundry room? Still, no luck.

So, you wandered to the basement. Where the main gathering area– for game nights and movie nights to be held with his bandmates– was empty. As was the basement bedroom and half bathroom. Smiling to yourself, you saw the door to his studio closed. Softly knocking, you peeked your head in– wanting to respect his space because his studio was his safe place(other than with you). “Channie? Bubs, you in here?” You asked, as you gently pushed the door open. He was,but he couldn’t hear you, and he was focused. Fingers clicking away on his soundboard, adjusting, rearranging and editing different sound clips. “Does that sound okay, Haneul?” You heard him whisper. She just gazed up at him, her cheek against his chest with a pacifier in her mouth. He chuckled, “Then again….you don’t know what these sounds are.” He giggled, kissing her forehead, before he adjusted her on his chest. Humming to himself, he went back to his work, writing down notes in the notebook on his desk. “Frick…..that doesn’t sound right,” he mumbled. “What if I……put it…….here.” He tapped his chin, eyes scanning over the screen, as he moved the clip to another spot and listened to the playback. “Aaaaah, yeah. Better better. Okay.” Haneul was growing sleepy, her afternoon nap time approaching. “Ooooh, is Princess Haneul tired,hhm?” He cooed, soothingly patting her back, humming a lullaby at her. “Somewhere over the rainbow.Way up high.There's a land that I heard of.Once in a lullaby,Somewhere over the rainbow.Skies are blue,” Chan sang, running a gentle finger over her cheek, as her eyes fluttered shut.

Deciding to step in, you smiled, walking over and kissing his cheek. “Hi, my love.” You whispered, sitting in your designated chair. Yes, you had a chair because you also spent a lot of time in the studio with Chan. Slightly jumping, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Geez scared me, baby. Didn’t see you come in,” He giggled, eyes crinkling up. “Mhm, woke up from a nap to be met with an empty house,” You pouted , leaning your chin on his shoulder. “Sorry, darling. Had a song idea, and needed to get in here.” He chuckled, still patting Haneul’s back. Smiling you nodded, nuzzling into him. “Speaking of naps, is our baby girl asleep?” You asked, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. Looking down to where she lay on his chest, Chan nodded. “Think so, oh she’s so cute.” He cooed, seeing his baby asleep on his chest.

You, too, have fallen asleep in the studio . Whether it was on his lap, on the small couch or in your chair. You looked at Haneul and smiled. “She reminds me of when you fall asleep in here,” he chuckled. “Your lips all pouty and your cheek squished against the couch or chair or my chest,” he cooed at you, pinching your cheek. “Yah, don’t blame me.It’s so cozy in here, smells like you and is so warm, plus you take so long.” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at him. Shaking his head, he booped your nose. “That’s how I feel about being in your arms, so warm and cozy and you smell so good, darling.” He smiled, pecking your lips before adjusting a now sleeping Haneul. “She’s so precious. Aw, look at her little cheeks,” you cooed, finger softly running over her cheek, her hand gripping Chan’s shirt. “She is, just like her mummy.” Cha smiled at you, saving the file to his computer , and turning to you.

“Do you think she’ll be a producer in the future, darling?”

Playfully, flicking his forehead you sighed. “No, I will not have my baby doll losing hair at the age of 25,” You pressed him. Pouting, he cuddled Haneul closer to him,”mummy is so mean, mentioning my hair, doll.” He whined, cuddling her to his chest. Giggling, you pinched his cheek. “I still love you, though, even if you are losing hair, Channie.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪Please don’t steal, claim, repost, modify, copy, translate or paraphrase my works, you will be blocked𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 AStraySimp2023𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪Reblog to show support, xoxo𓆩♡𓆪

Tags; @straykeedz𓆩♡𓆪 @straykeedz-recs𓆩♡𓆪 @moonjxsung 𓆩♡𓆪 @hyunsvngs 𓆩♡𓆪 @yangbbokari 𓆩♡𓆪 @mumusreblogs 𓆩♡𓆪 @kai-lee08 𓆩♡𓆪 @cinhomi-rkive 𓆩♡𓆪 open- 𓆩♡𓆪

#skz fluff #stray kids texts #stray kids fluff #seungmin fluff #lee know fluff #seungmin x reader #han jisung fluff #jeongin x reader #changbin fluff #bang chan #skz fanfic #dad!skz #dad!chan #skz fluffiness #skz soft thoughts #skz soft hours

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tender-rosiey · 1 year

Text

swear on love — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am alive!! better late than never but here’s my gojo coming back drabble (ceo gojo has been thrown into a corner)

something your son has learned is that if his dad, satoru, swears on his love for you then he will never break that promise.

like the first time he had asked his dad to take him to the amusement park he saw on the tv, satoru beamed, ruffling his son’s hair and telling him that he will.

when your son told him to promise him, satoru instead said, “I swear on my love for your pretty mama that I will take you there.”

it makes you flustered and makes your heart flutter—maybe even cringe a little, but who complains about having a man down bad for them plus he somehow makes it cute.

in addition to that, satoru never fails to look at you whenever he makes that promise and god knows that his gaze makes you feel weak in the knees.

he also goes to you right after, almost by instinct, to hug you and call you his ‘pretty wife’ and the ‘mother of his child’ — ‘and future ones’ he adds, but you’re quick to smack him when he does.

nonetheless, your son was quick to learn that it was the only type of promise his dad wouldn’t break.

it was october 31 when your husband has last made a promise to his son.

while the three of you were chilling in the living room, satoru was suddenly called for. he had to go to shibuya. your son was bummed, of course, but reluctantly let go of him.

“I won’t take any time buddy, don’t worry,” he said, patting your son’s head.

your son squirmed a bit before speaking up, softly, “you will come back safely, right?”

satoru simply noded with a smile.

your son, pouting –something he definitely inherited from his dad—looked up to him and stuck his pinky finger out, “you promise?”

your husband only chuckled, “I swear on my love for mama, champ.”

your son’s grin was unrivalled as he gave his dad thumbs up, “okay! I trust you!”

before departing, satoru took you in his arms and gave you one last kiss, giving you a promise of your own of coming back soon.

it has been 19 days since then.

everything has gone to chaos; everything was going wrong in all the possible ways. people you care about were dying left and right and the only thing you could do was protect your son with everything you got.

you’re often reminded of the time when your son had asked you, a week after his dad had been stuck in the prison realm, “mama, did dad break his promise?”

you could only smile sadly at him and whisper, “no, honey, he is just—going to fulfil it a bit late this time.”

now, you were with yuji, toge, shoko, and angel, along with some others, to finally get satoru of the prison realm.

yuji was a bit nervous and asked, “what if it…doesn’t work? or something happens—“

“don’t say that!”

all heads turn to your son who is barely holding his tears back, “dad said that he will be back! he promised me! he never breaks his promises!”

he looks at you, eyes pleading for assurance, “you know that, right, mama?”

tears of your own threaten to spill as you nod weakly at your son who runs and hugs you tightly, mumbling, “daddy will be back safely; I know it.”

you smile and pat his head, “I trust both of you.”

when they finally go through with the opening of the prison realm, it disappears right away.

your son’s grip on your shirt tightens as his eyes search frantically for his father everywhere around him, “where is he…?”

meanwhile, kenjaku smiles menacingly while looking at gojo, the newly freed man, “your wife and son must be pleased that you’re back, huh?”'

gojo smirks, “as am I, but I think it’s none of your business.”

both stare into each other before gojo quips, turning his back to the man, “well, I will meet you on december then!”

“oh? why is that?”

gojo stretches and walks to pick a few flowers. kenjaku is left confused as he watches the white-haired sorcerer make a bouquet.

“to put it simply, my wife and son are more important than you,” he smiles, “and I wouldn’t want to have two anniversary deaths on the same day.”

kenjaku cackles, “so you think you will win?”

satoru grins, “I will win.”

and without a word, he teleports to you.

“hey sweets!—“

you punch him in the guts and he yelps, “that’s not how you greet your husband—“

you then pull him into a very tight embrace, cutting him off once again, “I thought I lost you, asshole.”

you fist his shirt in your hand and bury your face in his chest before full on sobs escape you.

gojo’s eyes soften and he starts rubbing your back soothingly, “didn’t believe I would come back? you wound me doll.”

satoru nudges you lightly, “what do you think of the bouquet?”

you look at it and fondly roll your eyes.

he’s back.

your son runs to him screaming, “dad, you’re back! you’re back! I knew you would! i told them, but no one believed me!”

your husband picks your son up with his free arm and rests his forehead on his, “thanks for trusting me; sorry for keeping you wait.”

he’s here.

you shake your head, lightly, before nuzzling into his chest, “it’s okay…you’re here.”

“mama is right!”

satoru kisses both your foreheads before whispering, “I am here.”

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luveline · 1 month

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hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3

kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k

“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers.

Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking.

“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.”

“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.”

Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks.

Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.

“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says.

“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.”

“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does.

She grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You all done?”

“Yep.”

“Not hungry anymore?”

“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.”

“Thanks, beautiful.”

She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?”

Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night.

Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch.

She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests.

“I’m tired.”

“It’s not bed time.”

She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat.

“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it.

“That sound fun or what?”

She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder.

He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.”

You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.”

“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask.

“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns.

You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided.

Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids.

I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday.

“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now.

“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily.

“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.”

Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.”

“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter.

“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!”

“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says.

He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?”

��She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?”

“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.”

He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”

“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.

“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says.

“I didn’t say one!”

“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.”

“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”

You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove’s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.”

“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks.

Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?”

Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips.

Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying.

Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says.

If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?”

You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest.

You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out.

“Oh, no,” Avery says.

“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.”

They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else.

“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks.

Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.”

“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.”

You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say.

“Gonna get Beth changed.”

“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.”

It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed.

“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?”

The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask.

Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?”

“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.”

“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says.

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?”

“I want to share,” Beth says immediately.

Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.”

This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!”

“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.”

She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.”

“Sorry,” she laughs.

“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?”

Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player.

“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.

He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?”

“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs.

“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in.

Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time.

Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time.

You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.”

He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous.

“You want a glass of water?” Steve says.

You catch his hand. “I got you one.”

Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth.

“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter.

“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?”

“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin.

He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff.

“Feels too good to be true.”

“My turn tonight,” he says.

“No, baby, it’s my turn.”

“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”

“I want them too,” you say.

“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Less when they wake me up,” you joke.

Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.”

“‘Cept here,” you whisper back.

“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.

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