Everything Has Changed
everything has changed
part eight — the killerverse masterlist
pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader
summary: you, luke, and the aftermath of the way you’d kissed him last night
content: lots of fluff and a sprinkle of angst
notes: title from everything has changed by taylor swift. special dedication to @locknco thank u for fighting through this fic with me
There’s so much pressure on your head that you have to make sure your brain isn’t currently being sucked up by a vacuum.
It’s not the worst headache you’ve had, but it’s been so long since you’ve drank. The pain behind your eyes is enough to have you resisting the urge to even stand up.
But the need to get rid of the pain wins out in the end. Eyes barely open, you lean over to the bedside table where Luke usually leaves painkillers for you—
Holy shit.
Luke.
The banging in your skull quiets the second you sit up, your hands curling into the sheets.
The bed is empty. The sun has barely risen.
You can tell it hasn’t been too long since Luke’s left because you can still see the clear outline of where he’d been sleeping next to you. You stop yourself from chasing after his residual warmth and curling up on his side of the mattress.
The rest of the beds around you are full, everyone sleeping soundly through the early morning.
You feel the breeze from the open window tickle the top of your head.
It’s been humid all week and everyone keeps forgetting to fix the air conditioning, which has turned all of Cabin Eleven into a muggy swamp. Every other window is cracked open, letting the cool air from outside circulate into the cabin. It’s dark out too, but the sun has risen enough that you can just about see through the rest of the room without needing any of the lights on.
It’s very still inside of the Hermes cabin. The only signs of life are the little movements of the campers while they’re still asleep. One of Luke’s brothers nearest to the door mumbles something before turning over with a huff. The girl across the room from you stretches, then kicks off the blanket strewn across her legs. She settles back against her pillows and doesn’t shift after that.
Something tells you that Luke won’t be back to bed for a while, so you do your best to rub the sleep from your eyes before getting up.
You bring Luke’s blanket with you when you slip out the door. It gets so painfully hot during the day, but the mornings at camp can be unbearably cold. The air nips at your bare legs when you find them carrying you into the woods.
The rays of the rising sun peek through the oaks as you walk the path you have a million and one times. It might be crazy for you to assume where Luke is, but you have a good feeling.
A rabbit darts across the path ahead of you. The land parts for it while it pushes through the green sea of lemongrass.
You find Luke where you’d expected: his legs dangling over the old dock and staring out across the water.
You don’t bother approaching quietly because you can tell he knows you’re there.
“You’re up early,” you say, voice hoarse with sleep.
Luke is quiet, but you know he’s listening. He moves away from the edge of the wood before he turns to look at you.
He drums his knuckles against the planks, so you step over his knee to settle between his legs. His arms come around your front and you’re surprised to find he doesn’t feel as warm as he looks.
“Are you cold?”
He leans down to press his face against your neck, and he shakes his head against you, a silent no.
You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of his lips ghosting over the skin there, and he takes to rubbing his hands along the outside of your thighs.
“You should’ve put pants on,” he says quietly, taking your shuddering as something caused by the morning chill and not the feeling of his skin on yours. “And I mean real pants. Not shorts. You feel cold.”
You’re very lucky. You’re always immune to the morning chills at camp when you’re close to him like this. You rest your face against Luke’s matching sleep shirt and feel the warmth from his arm seep through the fibers.
“I’m not cold. But what’re you doing up? It’s so early.”
The water ripples below you, though you can’t quite see your reflections. Luke stifles a yawn.
“Woke up and started thinking. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”
You hum, and Luke slides one of his hands up the front of your shirt.
“Did you have a nightmare?” you ask.
“The opposite. I was thinking about you.”
You’re happy he can’t see the smile on your face. “You were?”
“I think about you all the time, you know that. I was waiting for you to come out here and find me.”
His nails drag slowly over your stomach. Goosebumps rise in his wake.
“I always do.”
“I know you do.”
The two of you get quiet again, watching the sun rise above the horizon. Both of you sit there and try to gather the courage to bring it all up.
This has been a long time coming. You think it’s been part of your lives since the moment you were born—an inevitability. You were always going to end up here eventually, with your hand in his and his arms wrapped around you. It just took you an embarrassingly long time to get here.
You feel like you should be more scared to talk about something as serious as this—something that could change you two forever—but you don’t think it's possible to doubt your relationship with Luke. You already know what you want to say to him.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“I really want this with you.” You let his blanket fall from around your shoulders so you can turn in his hold. “I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more than you.”
“You have me.” His voice is serious. “You always have.”
Luke’s had you since the very second you understood what it meant to love. He’s your best friend. Half of your mind. All of who you are.
You can’t help but take his face in your hand and brush your thumb under his eyes. Your eyes slide shut while you kiss down the length of his scar, soft and chaste across the expanse of his face.
You can’t tell if it’s you or Luke who tilts his head to the side to kiss you again.
You’d been grateful for your first kiss last night. But you think this is the first one that really counts.
He holds you like you’re going to float off into the sun. One of his hands snakes around your waist to hold you to him while the other reaches to caress your face.
Luke’s never held you without unadulterated love. You feel it at night in his bed, and in the morning when he's brushing a hand over your shoulders as he passes by. And you feel it now, when he breaks the kiss to drop his face into your chest. He lets out a heavy sigh against you, like a ten ton weight is sliding off his shoulders. You’re content to stroke his hair and cradle the back of his head until he squeezes you a little too tight.
You twist one of his curls around your finger. “Are you okay?”
He leans back slightly—making sure not to stray too far—fragments of a smile on his face. His eyes shine like glass, and you’re quick to swipe your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks.
Luke’s voice is a whisper when he says, “I don’t thank you enough.”
You frown. “For what?”
“For this.” He gestures at you like it’ll get his point across. “For—for everything.”
“Luke…”
“For putting up with me. For leaving with me as kids, for—”
“Luke, stop.”
“But I should,” he insists, always so persistent. His eyes have dried up, but his voice isn’t nearly as steady as it was a second ago. “You’re the most selfless person I know. You do everything for me, and I just—”
You shake your head and he stops talking, the last of his words dying on his tongue.
Luke’s always had a hard time accepting things.
You remember being nine and somewhere in Massachusetts. Luke had been so sick that he was constantly feverish and couldn’t walk more than half a mile without needing to sit down. But still, he’d refused the bites of your food you’d demanded he eat, even though he’d been unsteady on his feet for the past week.
And you see bits and pieces of it now, too.
You compliment him all the time—maybe a little too much—and you see the way his smiles are always tentative, like he doesn’t quite believe you. You see it when you talk about the future with him, like he doesn’t believe he’ll ever get to experience something that good. He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, never fully letting himself be happy.
But there’s no catch. Your feelings for him are about as straightforward as they come.
You place both of your hands on each side of his face, trying to drag his eyes back to yours. You don’t know what other way to make him understand than to just say it.
“I love you, Luke.”
You watch the shadows of his face shift as he tips his head down.
“I’m with you because I love you. Not because I feel bad, or—or because I want something in return. I just love you. That’s it.”
His fingers dig into your back. Three times. There’s pressure at your side where his other hand works nervously at your skin.
Luke’s voice breaks. “I don’t deserve you.”
He kisses it in the gap between your collarbones and under your skin and into your bloodstream, and you understand exactly what he’s trying to say.
“I can’t believe it took so long.” It sounds like he’s thinking out loud rather than speaking directly to you. “Nineteen whole years.”
“Think we were just being stupid for the last few,” you say around a yawn. He exhales in what you know is a laugh and it makes you shiver.
You’re tracing something into his arm in silence, listening to the sounds of the early morning when something comes to you. “Do you remember the trip we took to Olympus?”
His face screws up at the old memory. “‘Course I do. Why?”
You can’t help but smile when you hear the sound of the turtle doves chirping in the trees amongst the other noises of the forest. “Do you think Aphrodite knew about us?”
You’d been so embarrassed by what she’d said, you’d brushed it off before you could give it too much thought. You feel like an absolute idiot now. The goddess of love, basically handing him to you on a silver platter, and it had taken you almost half a year to come to your senses.
Luke laughs, and you can’t help the way your chest warms. “I think everyone knew, to be fair.”
“Like Chris! What an asshole.” You shake your head. “I think we need to throw him a party or something.”
“What’d he do?”
You’re very quickly reminded that his best friend confessed his little scheme only to you.
You snitch. “He only brought up Callea in the first place to see what we’d say.” You enjoy watching the way Luke’s face flickers through about ten different emotions before settling on unamused. “He thought we’d started dating without telling him.”
Luke sighs, but doesn’t sound surprised. “Of course he did.”
“Wonder what he’ll say once he finds out.” You rub a greedy hand down Luke’s back. You know your cabin isn’t going to let you hear the end of it, Clarisse especially.
You still when Luke says your name quietly, his hands pausing around your waist.
“Yeah?”
“We should probably… probably keep this a secret, don’t you think?”
Your heart sinks.
“Oh,” you say, the word coming out frighteningly stilted. “Okay.”
Luke can’t pull away from you faster.
“I don’t—fuck. I don’t want to keep this a secret, I swear.” His face pinches when he looks at you, so you smile, trying not to look too upset about it. It does nothing but make the furrow of his brows worsen. “But if Chiron or—or Mr. D finds out about it, we’ll never be able to be like this again.”
His words are making sense, but you don’t want them to. You finally have him, and only the two of you will ever know about it.
But then you think about what you’d lose—the sleeping together, the touching, the alone time. They’d watch you like hawks.
“We’re already lucky they gave up trying to stop you from sleeping at mine,” he points out, smiling at you sadly.
You’ll never forget about those early days at camp, the both of you freshly fourteen and wary of everyone that wasn’t each other or Annabeth. You’d gotten such weird looks from the other kids when you’d dragged your sleeping bags right next to each other, and then even weirder looks when they’d started waking up to find you in the same bed. It had only got worse when you’d gotten claimed and had to move cabins. You’d been more than excited to meet your siblings, but then you’d found out you no longer were allowed to spend the night at Cabin Eleven.
It was safe to say you didn’t take that lightly.
You’d brought your protests all the way up to Chiron’s desk yourself, even when he’d refused your begging with a firm no each time.
You didn’t care. You just got very good at evading the curfew harpies and sneaking in through windows.
They’d tried punishing you with dishes, and then laundry, and then the stables, but you took each punishment without complaint—especially since Luke took them on with you. All of you knew they would have to drag you kicking and screaming from his cabin if they’d wanted you to leave.
You didn’t give in, and it had only taken them four weeks to cave.
The two of you theorized they gave up because they had expected you to grow out of the habit with time, and they’d been right—to some degree.
You had stopped sneaking in every night, but your nights spent at Luke’s cabin were still just about as common as the nights you spent at yours.
“If we’re together,” Luke adds, “and I mean, together together, there’s no way they’ll let us be the way we are right now.”
No more hand holding under tables. Or friendly kisses on shoulders. Or hugs just because you feel like it.
You only realize you’re frowning when Luke kisses you again.
“They’ll ban us from being near each other,” he mumbles against your lips. “And then make us watch another awful sex ed video.”
Ah. That’d been Mr. D’s one final punishment for you both.
You’d been forced to sit down in the Big House while they played that video for the two of you, both of your faces on fire. The video had been on an old VHS tape and you’d watched it on an ancient box television, so you and Luke had been forced to sit shoulder to shoulder during the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of your life.
“I forgot about that,” you say, thinking about how you’d been unable to look him in the eye after. “We should’ve had him charged for cruel and unusual punishment.”
Luke grins, and you find that your chest pulls in on itself. You love Luke. You want everyone to know.
“I’m still sad,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I wish we were normal, but now I really do.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“If we were normal I wouldn’t have to keep you a secret.” You run a hand through the curls hanging over his forehead, letting them get tangled in your fingers. “We could just have each other and… I don’t know. Be normal.”
He rubs a long circle into your hip, leaning forward so his nose knocks against yours. You go cross-eyed trying to look at him.
“Yeah. Normal.”
Normal teenagers don’t have to live their lives behind an invisible barrier because of the threat of mythological monsters. Normal teenagers go to school, and live in real houses, and don’t have to pretend they aren’t dating their best friend.
Jealousy burns hot under your skin.
Luke knows. He holds you out on the dock until the ring of the conch shell sounds in the distance.
—
The two of you don’t end up formally talking about it — not in the way you’d expected. But thinking about having to flat out ask if you’re dating feels weird when the both of you just know.
You doubt the decision at first, nerves and uncertainty looming over your head. You’ve never dated anyone before, but you know it’s probably normal to at least say something to make it official.
But then you feel the way Luke slots his hands with yours on the walk back to his cabin, different but sure, and you know it’s real.
It’s as real as your lungs expanding in your chest and as real as the kiss you give him before you go to breakfast, his hands closing around one of his spare camp shirts hanging over your shoulders.
The two of you walk so close together your shoulders brush with each step, and you stay like that all the way until the pavilion, your heart racing.
Everyone’s already seated. Your tables are right next to each other by some stroke of luck, everyone already getting started on breakfast.
Luke only lets you go when you have to sit down, giving you one last lingering squeeze on your shoulder before greeting his own campers.
“Where were you?”
Clarisse spits out the words the second you sit down across from her, squinting at you.
“I slept over.” You scoop some food onto your plate, surprised to see it’s not completely gone yet. Meals are usually a bloodbath. “Where did you think?”
She ignores your question. “Obviously you slept over. I mean why didn’t you and Castellan show up with the rest of his losers?”
You don’t quite look at her, trying to relax your nerves while you think of what the version of you from last week would’ve said. You’re an okay liar, but Clarisse is known for pressing and squeezing and wringing people out until she gets an answer she wants.
You end up giving a nonchalant shrug, filling your goblet and taking a long sip. “We took a while to get ready. Why?”
You can’t see the face she makes because one of your sisters reaches across her to reach for the plate of fruit. When she sits back down, you are met with her narrowed eyes and hard stare.
“Chris said you guys were gone from the cabin this morning. Where were you actually?”
“Chris,” you say thoughtfully, your eyebrows raising. “Didn’t know you two were close.”
She’s not amused. She points her fork at you accusingly. “Can you answer my questions?”
“We were at the lake,” you say, your voice pitching at the end in annoyance. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“This early?” she pries. You groan before you can stop yourself. “Doing what?”
Her raised voice draws the attention of Nathan, who butts into your conversation.
“Fucking around with her boyfriend, Clarisse,” he says, a smug smile on his face. He turns his back to you and wraps his arms around himself, miming kissing noises and moans of Luke’s name.
You whip your fork at him, which he is unfortunately quick enough to bat away.
“You’re fucking disgusting, Nate,” you snap, your face undeniably warm. You resist the urge to turn around in your seat to see if Luke heard.
He just shrugs, grinning at you with a mouth full of food.
“And Clarisse,” you hiss, turning to her. “We just woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Are you happy?”
She seems to accept your answer but doesn’t stop giving you that stare of hers. “Was just wondering.”
“Wonder a little less, maybe.”
She rolls her eyes and finally goes back to eating, leaving you to your own meal while your siblings talk about their bets for whatever activity they have planned for later.
You zone out in a second. You find that it’s very easy letting yourself get swept up in dreams about being normal.
—
Thoughts about you and Luke and the future and everything in between rage through your mind, and you pay miserably for it.
Your cabin rushes to the climbing wall after burning their offerings, as excited as always for the cutthroat competition. You only realize how far away your mind is when you’re barely fast enough to dodge the flaming boulders coming your way.
You give yourself a break after almost getting your hair singed off by the lava, your chest heaving with exertion. Clarisse gives you a very unimpressed look, her eyebrow raised and her lips pressed into a thin line. You’d been lagging so far behind that she’d had time to sit and wait for you at the top.
“I’m getting a drink,” you say to one of your younger brothers next to you.
You aren’t sure he actually hears you, though, his eyes looking a little dazed from the rock that’d whacked him in the head earlier.
There’s a cooler just by the edge of the arena, filled to the brim with melting ice and wet plastic water bottles. You’re lucky that no one takes much notice when you head towards the mess hall instead.
It feels like your head is slamming against your skull from how hard you’re thinking, so you let the slight breeze cool you down while you walk.
You love Luke, and he loves you too. That much is clear, but you can’t help the way that doubt gnaws on your insides.
How long do you have to keep it a secret? Until the end of this year, or even longer? Does he plan on staying here this summer? Do you?
It’s the start of July, which means that there’s only about a month and a half left of camp. Once the middle of August hits, the non-year-rounders will leave for the rest of the year, going home to see their families and their friends and go to school.
You’ve taken plenty of classes yourself, courtesy of Chiron, who wouldn’t let any of you fall behind academically. But those were lessons taken at the amphitheater, and at the mess hall, or in your cabins. You haven’t been in a real school since…
Gods, when was it? The second grade?
It’s been about five long years since you’ve moved to Camp Half-Blood, which means it’s been five years of watching everyone move in and out. Each of them go on to live real lives—something you’d do anything for.
Sam, a girl from Apollo, just got accepted to some prestigious school for music about an hour away. Annabeth’s older brother, Martin, is heading down to Jersey at the end of this month to spend time with his family before leaving for college.
And you want to do it too, more than anything. But you don’t think you’d be able to do it without Luke.
You remember a conversation you had by the lake years ago, sometime before he had left for his quest. You’d planned to leave together—go to college and live somewhere away from New York.
California had been the dream, of course, but it didn’t matter where you were. It mattered if you were together.
But the two of you are old enough to enroll now, and Luke hasn’t said a word about leaving this summer. You’re honestly scared that he never will.
The next fall semester deadline has crept up on you faster than you’d thought. You’d have to make a decision soon, and the thought of it was impossible.
Your movements are near robotic while you drink from the water fountain by the side of the mess hall. It’s empty at this time of day, and you let your thoughts cloud your senses.
It’s why you jump when Luke appears at your side.
“Sorry,” he says through his laugh. He has an easy grin on his face and pats your back while you cough to clear your throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Luke wipes the water from your face while you give him a closed-mouth smile. There’s a wet spot on your shirt from where water had dripped down your chin, but it’s so hot out that it’ll dry in no time.
“You okay?” he asks when you don’t answer. “I was calling your name.”
You nod, watching as the smile on his face fades into just the softness of his eyes. You look down the hill where the rest of his cabin is, playing a game in the field between here and the beach.
Luke doesn’t look tired at all, though he’s breathing a little hard, like he’s just come back from a run. You watch a frisbee fly in the distance and understand why.
“I was melting by the climbing wall. I wanted a break,” you explain, fanning your face. You can’t believe it’s this hot out when it’d been freezing a few hours ago.
Luke nods in understanding. “Want to join us?” he offers, gesturing to where his siblings are. Someone gets tackled into the grass, and a collective groan travels through the crowd of kids. “It’s not nearly as hot here. It’s pretty windy since we’re close to the water.”
You shake your head, letting yourself sit and stare at his face. You study his features—the shapes of his eyes and the crease between them—and comply as easily as a soldier when he nods in the direction of one of the tables. He urges you to sit but doesn’t follow, leaning against the marble and letting you wring out his hands.
“What’s got you so sad?” he asks, letting you squeeze his palms intermittently.
“The summer session is almost over.”
He nods. “It is. A little more than a month, yeah?”
“Yeah.” August 16th is marked on your calendar with a massive red circle. “Did you—did you know that more people are leaving camp for college this year than any other year we’ve been here?”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Good for them,” he says, a smile pulling at his face. “But you don’t have to be sad about that. They’ll visit. And we can always write as often as we want.”
You shake your head, your brows furrowing. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh. What is it, then?”
You swallow before speaking. His head is turned while he assesses you, and you remind yourself that it’s just Luke. You can admit anything to him.
“I’m scared.”
He pushes hair away from your face, soft as always. “They’ll be safe,” he assures. “It’s what they’ve been training for for so long.”
You shake your head again before you let the words spill out. “Luke, I’m scared that we’re going to be stuck here forever.”
It ends up sounding more like one huge word than a coherent sentence, but you know he still understands.
He drops down next to you on the bench so he can look at you better. “We won’t. We’re going to leave together, aren’t we?”
“I want to leave camp at the end of the summer session,” you admit. You can’t help but feel like you’re committing an act of betrayal against the place that’s kept you safe for so long. “I love it here, I do, I just… I can’t stay here for another year. I want to… I want to—”
“You want to leave? This summer?” he can’t help but ask, his eyes widened the slightest bit. He’s rubbing your hands in the way that always soothes you. “You—you want to go now?”
It hurts to admit, almost. Last summer, you’d put it off for another year, but you know it’s time to go.
You want to leave Camp Half-Blood.
“Yes,” you say. “I do.”
You aren’t sure how Luke will answer. All you’ve known for the last five years of your lives is this. It’s fireside singalongs and Capture the Flag. It’s always being together, and your spot by the lake, and never having to worry about getting hurt at the hands of another monster.
You don’t expect for Luke’s entire chest to stutter as his sigh of relief gets caught between his laugh. “Me too.”
“You… wait, you also want to leave this summer?”
Luke nods quickly, drawing your hands closer to him. “I do. I think… I think I’ve been ready to go for a while.”
You can picture everything now: you, Luke, and California, just like you’d always planned. Sunshine and school on the west coast.
“It’s just me and you, killer,” he swears.
“Me and you,” you repeat. It sounds a lot like a promise.
He starts mirroring the smile that’s growing on your face, and it does nothing but make yours widen even further.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, unable to help himself. You lean closer to him just because. “I didn’t think I’d be able to leave without you with me.”
“Me too,” you say honestly. “I would wait here until we were fifty if it took you another thirty years to decide to leave.”
He laughs, one of his arms going around your waist. “You really have no idea.”
The two of you don’t move apart. Your hand finds its way into his hair like it always does when you’re sitting this close together, feeling his curls that are hot from the sun.
You feel hot from the sun too, and it only worsens when he slots his lips against yours again for a kiss that’s over so quickly you almost miss it.
“Does this mean this is our last month at camp?” you can’t help but ask. The thought of it is making your heart ache. You can’t imagine leaving this place behind.
The realization settles slowly on Luke’s face too. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
You shut your eyes and relish in the feeling of the breeze from the water as it rolls in. This is the last month you’ll spend in the place that raised you. You aren’t sure how you’ll say goodbye to it all.
“Luke!” a voice shrieks from nearby.
You’ll have to say goodbye to your family. And Luke’s family too, the one that’s currently walking up the hill towards you now.
You can’t help but inch apart as if you’d been doing anything but holding him. The group of kids flood into the mess hall, grumbling and arguing amongst themselves. It’s impossible to miss the fact that everyone has at least one part of their person stained with grass.
Chris managed to survive mostly unscathed, save for the line of dirt smeared down his arm. He’s staring openly at the space between both of you, an eyebrow raised. After a second, he snorts. “I think this is the farthest apart I’ve ever seen you two sit.”
“Shut up, Chris,” you say, though there’s no real bite to it.
Luke ignores him, but you can tell he’s a little flustered when he stutters for a second while talking to the kids.
There’s been an issue between one of his sisters and a son of Hecate. One of them had played dirty by pulling on the other’s shirt, and then they’d both fallen into a heap on the ground.
It doesn’t explain why everyone else looks like they’d gotten dragged through the mud—especially Chris, cause he’d been reffing—but Luke doesn’t mention it. He uses his camp counselor magic to make them apologize to each other and the crowd of kids rushes away again, ready for another round.
There’s a certain kind of look on his face while he watches them go. You lean into his side again and the two of you watch as the frisbee gets thrown into the air at Chris’ whistle.
“I’m going to miss this,” you say.
How do you leave behind a place you call home?
Luke presses a kiss into your forehead. “It’ll be okay.”
He sounds so sure of himself, you can’t help but agree.
—
The month of July passes almost as quickly as it came.
You and Luke keep quiet about your relationship and your plans to leave, and you find that you don’t mind keeping those secrets anymore.
You receive a mountain of notes from him each day, all of them signed with his first initial and slipped into your pockets or hidden between your things. The contents of the notes range from little compliments to heartfelt messages you read so often the paper grows worn out.
You commit each and every one of them to memory.
One of your favorite notes had been delivered to you by one of the younger campers. You’d been sweating like a pig after a match with Clarisse when one of his little brothers came right up to you with a piece of paper clenched in his fists.
“Hey, Richie,” you’d said, crouching down to talk to him better. “What’s up?”
He’d shoved the paper into your hands, wiping sweat off his brow. “This is from Luke.”
He’d looked totally wiped, so you gave him a water bottle and fanned his face for him. He drank it in that very audible way all little kids do.
“Did Luke have you bring this all the way to me?” you’d asked, bringing the boy under the shade of a tree. The Hermes cabin was at the arts and crafts cabin right now, a pretty far distance away.
Richie nodded furiously. “He said it was an important message and I couldn’t look at it.”
Your brows had furrowed, and you were quick to unfold the paper. It’d been a thicker material than usual, the side jagged like it’d been ripped out of a book.
It was a coloring page. Two warriors, side by side, colored in with waxy crayon. There was a pink heart drawn between them, and in Luke’s handwriting at the bottom, it read:
Us.
You must’ve been grinning like a fool, because Clarisse whacked you upside the head.
“The hell are you grinning about?”
She’d moved to grab the paper out of your hands, but you’d shoved it into your back pocket before she could manage it.
“Nothing.”
“You look flustered. What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” you’d insisted, your smile only growing. The soreness of your muscles was instantly cured. You didn’t feel exhausted at all.
Clarisse definitely hadn’t believed you, but that was fine.
You think this month with Luke has been the happiest you’ve ever been. You’ve always been clingy with each other, but it makes new emotion well up in your chest when you hold his hand now. You curl into his side by the fire and he pulls you against him, and not just as friends. It makes you feel hot and cold and unwell.
And you get to kiss him like this now.
That’s good too.
It’s the annual Pie Eating Contest today, where the cabin that eats the most pies is set free from chores for two entire months. No one would dare miss such an important event—which is exactly why the two of you have escaped to your cabin.
You think Luke likes it when he can kiss you lying down, but you think he likes it even more when you sit on his lap like this. His eyes are just the tiniest bit wider, and he sometimes smiles without really realizing it when he pulls back from smothering you in kisses.
“You look cute,” he compliments, eyes shining.
Luke’s back is propped against the headboard and you’re very pliable draped over his front. His hands are placed on your hips, and every once in a while one of them will inch up towards your ribs and you’ll get ticklish.
“Thanks, hero.”
You also think Luke really likes it when you call him that—a silly nickname from years ago you’ll never let go of.
Your lips are swollen from how insistent Luke’s been with his kisses, and you’re resting your chin over his shoulder, limp and tired. You’re exhausted from the run around camp he forced you on earlier and are now happy to let him do whatever he’d like. He’s taken full advantage of it, your lips worked over by his mouth a million times over.
“Did you make me do all that running earlier so you could have your evil way with me?”
You think your shirt collar is going to be stretched out with the way that he’s been pulling on it for the past hour, taking care to only kiss you hard where no one else will see. The two of you have been kissing as lazily as humanly possible, but it hasn’t stopped Luke from waging war on the skin of your throat.
“Who do you think I am?” he asks, pulling you closer in a way that makes you choke. He gives you a very pleased smile in return when you try to shove your face into his shoulder.
“Someone who wants me dead,” you complain when he tries to pry your face away from him.
Your eyes slide shut when you tilt your head down to kiss him again, your mouths moving so slowly you aren’t sure if it even counts as kissing anymore. One of Luke’s hands splays itself across your lower back, his touch warm.
You’re sitting flush against his front, and you realize distantly that you can make out the lines of his chest where he’s pressed to you.
“I can’t wait until we get to have our own place,” you say absentmindedly.
Luke snickers. He pinches your sides. “Can’t wait until you get to have your way with me? That’s dirty, killer.”
You do wonder what it’d be like to be able to kiss him without the threat of twenty other people walking in, but that’s not totally why. You’re about to defend yourself, but then he encourages you onto your back and your vocabulary seeps directly from your brain and out your ears.
He takes extra care not to hit you in the face with the beads on his necklace, and he very politely pulls down your shirt so your stomach is no longer exposed.
“You’re burning up,” he says, like he hasn’t just sucked the air out of your lungs. “Is this okay?”
You nod your head, letting your hands come around his shoulders to urge him downwards again. He drops onto his forearms to get as close to you as possible, and you drag his upper lip between yours, enjoying the way it makes him shudder. You’d accidentally bitten him there earlier when you’d gotten a little too jittery, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Luke’s humming when he takes his hand down to your thigh and rubs half circles into the skin. Your hands link together and you bring his to your chest, where he feels the rise and fall just next to your racing heart.
The sound of the conch signaling the end of the contest is just barely audible over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.
You probably would’ve bolted upright in bed if Luke wasn’t pinning you, his teeth dragging over a sore hickey.
“Luke,” you protest lightly, nudging at his chest.
His eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut. “Huh?”
Pulling away takes every ounce of willpower you have. “The contest is over. I have to go talk to Chiron.”
“Okay,” he agrees, capturing your lips in another kiss. “In a second.”
It pains you when you swerve away from him, but you do this dance every other day and know that ‘a second’ usually means fifteen more minutes. He looks offended.
“I have places to be, people to talk to,” you say, trying to be stern. “Get up, Luke. I’ll be back.”
Even though you’re alone, you know you’re playing a risky game now that lunch is over. He’s frowning, and you exercise the highest level of restraint when you don’t lean in again to kiss him again.
“You’d seriously rather talk to Chiron than stay here with me?”
“Luke.”
“Gods, what is it? It’s his beard, isn’t it? I should’ve known—”
The comment gets one last laugh from you, and he squeezes you in his arms once more before letting you get up. He settles in the space you’ve just vacated, watching interestedly as you pull your shoes on.
“I’ll try not to let it drag on too long,” you swear. He catches you by the arm when you nearly tip over, your sneaker halfway on. “And you know I wouldn’t go unless it was important. I’ll be done before dinner.”
His eyes are soft. For a second, they look misty, but then he blinks and it’s gone. You wonder what has him thinking so hard.
“Don’t take too long.”
You kiss him again for good measure, nearly falling forward onto the bed when he tries to drag you back towards him.
You huff his name very angrily, but the smile on your face does nothing but encourage him.
“My bad.”
—
The next time you see Luke, it’s after you burst free from the doors of the Big House.
It was hot inside the building, with nothing but the small fan in the corner of Chiron’s office to cool you down. You hadn’t expected the conversation to go on for so long, but it’d been all worth it in the end. He lets you go with a smile and a firm pat on the back.
It’s not late enough for it to be dark out, but the sun has started setting, making it much cooler outside. Luke’s waiting on the wrap around porch for you, a surprise as pleasant as ever. It’s clear he must’ve woken up from a nap because his hair is messy and flat on one side, like he’s just been asleep. He’s leaning against one of the pillars on the patio cracking his knuckles, impatient.
You take him by surprise when you slot yourself against his side. “Nice nap?”
Luke flinches hard before realizing who you are.
“Hey,” he says, his voice sounding more breathless than you’d expected. He slides a hand around your waist. “How’d it go?”
You hadn’t told him why you’d needed to speak to Chiron so badly, and the envelope he’d given you is burning a hole through your pocket.
“I have something to show you,” you blurt out quickly, trying to stop the grin about to take over your face.
“Yeah?” he says. He links your hands together as you walk down the steps. “What is it?”
You lean over to fix his hair with your other hand, flattening out the back. “It’s pretty important.”
The nerves get to you very quickly, your hand already growing slick with sweat. You try freeing yourself from Luke, but he holds fast.
“I have something important to tell you too,” he admits slowly.
The levels of giddiness you’re feeling is right off the charts. You get the urge to come outright and spoil your surprise, but you pinch yourself to stop the words from spilling out.
“Yeah? Wanna head to the lake, then?”
The lake is public to everyone, but you like to pretend it’s a spot for you and Luke only. It’d been where you were the morning you’d first started dating, and where you’d gone the day Luke had come back from his quest. It’s very special, which is why you know that you have to surprise him there.
After all, your days at camp are limited. After you leave, you have no idea when you’ll be back.
Luke lets you lead the way without another word. Campers rush around the two of you, a few of them waving to one or both of you before heading away. You hear the occasional whisper about the events of the pie contest—the Ares cabin had won, of course.
Your meaningless conversation fills the air until you reach the lake. Luke tells you about how upset Travis had been about their loss in the competition this year, and you tell him about the argument you’d gotten into with Mr. D outside of Chiron’s office.
You reach the lake a lot sooner than you had expected. When you let go of Luke’s arm, you realize you’d been basically dragging him the last hundred yards to the water.
The sun is nowhere close to setting—courtesy of it being late July—but you can hear the crickets between the trees and you can tell it’s coming up on late afternoon.
Luke stares at you expectantly, so you break the silence.
“Do you want to go first?”
He cracks his knuckles again, starting from his middle finger and working outwards. “Oh, uh… no. You go first.”
You don’t need too much convincing.
“Okay,” you say quickly, your hand moving to your back pocket. You miss it about three times before you pass him the envelope with shaking hands.
“I’ve been talking to my sister.”
Luke loves Mel. She writes to you all the time from California to update you on her life and always has the craziest stories from her college there. You and Luke used to pore over her letters, dreaming about the west coast and the sunsets on the beaches there.
“She’s doing great. She moved off-campus for her last year,” you explain.
Luke nods along, drumming the envelope against the palm of his opposite hand.
“And she…” You trail off, the words getting jumbled in your mind. “Just open it, Luke.”
The envelope scrapes against itself when he pulls open the flap, and the two thin leafs of paper spill out onto his hand.
His mouth parts.
“She knows how badly we’ve been wanting to see California, and… now we can.”
The two glossy plane tickets shine under the light of the sun.
“And she’s out of the dorms now, so she’s offered us a room to stay in at her apartment.” You look up at him, apprehensive. He looks stunned, flipping the paper over in his hand like it’s a trick of the light. “We can go see her and get a feel for California. Look at colleges like we’d planned.”
His hands still, and you realize the fluttering of the paper a second ago had been due to his hands shaking. The tickets disappear inside the envelope again, and he wipes at his face.
“Shit,” he says. “I…”
You aren’t sure what’s wrong, but he’s upset. He’s frowning hard, his brows creasing with stress, and the feeling of your chest dropping makes you want to vomit.
“What’s wrong?”
Luke shakes his head firmly. He steps backward. He won’t look at you.
“I’m sorry. Fuck, killer, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you say. He hasn’t even explained what he’s sorry for, but you already know you’ll forgive him. You reach for his hands, and it feels like your ribs force inward around your heart when he moves even further away. “What’s the matter? Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” he grits out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
“Go to California?” you ask, confusion distorting the features of your face. You don’t try reaching for him again despite how badly you want to. “Luke, you—you know that’s okay. We don’t even have to go.”
The words start rushing out as you try working out what’s wrong. You want Luke to leave with you, so, so badly. But you know deep down that you’re willing to stay another ten years if he’s changed his mind.
“We could go to another state. Or—or, stay here. We don’t even have to leave at all. I mean, I don’t even want to go that badly.”
You’re lying to him. Leaving with him at the end of the summer has been the only thing you’ve looked forward to for the past month.
Worry lines crease between his eyes as he stares at you, shaking his head robotically.
You can’t tell why you feel so nervous.
It’s just Luke.
The sun dips quickly past the tree line, casting half of his face in darkness. Your hands wrinkle and curl into the hem of your shirt.
It’s like a switch turns off in Luke’s eyes. You watch his face harden as he prepares himself for what he’s about to say, and your chest plummets before his mouth can even form around the words.
“I’m not talking about California,” Luke says, the word biting.
A hawk flies above your heads. The trees go silent behind you.
“I meant us. I can’t do this anymore.”
Your heart hitches inside of your chest.
You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this scared.
notes: sorry for that ending but all will be explained in due time! lmk what u thought :)
More Posts from Guessyourenottheone and Others
This is Rafah which the occupation army is preparing to enter and these small square-shaped plots are the tents of the displaced and they contain more than a million displaced people,reality on the ground is much worse than it appears from above,as there is no greater suffering..
Hello, my name is Fadi from Gaza. I am 35 years old. I work as a carpenter. I have lived through all the harsh details of the war on Gaza, including hunger, displacement, fear, terror, and the loss of my dearest people.
I no longer have anything to lose after the death of my father in this war, the destruction of my home, and the destruction of my workplace, which is the source of my income and that of my family, and that's why I'm speaking to you today.
I was in good condition before the war on Gaza, and I didn't imagine for a moment that I would ask for support from anyone, but as fate would have it, I lost everything I had:
my father, my home, my family’s home, and my place of work (the carpentry), and I would have no choice but to ask you to help me rebuild my workplace at least.
The amount required is much less than what is necessary, but I don't need more. I just want to have this amount with which I will be able to open smaller carpentry than the one I had, but at least I will be able to start my working life faster when this war ends.
Some achievements👇
This picture
Go found link ..Help, even if just a little
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-establish-my-business-after-it-was-destroyed-in-gaza?lang=en_US&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link
you say good morning, when it's midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 2)
main masterlist | fic playlist | part 1
PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader
SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.
REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WARNINGS: use of y/n, inaccurate information, fluff, timestamps are all irrelevant, a little bit of a slow burn, reader is a little bit ball of mess, weird, awkward, and unhinged, and minor typographical errors
WORD COUNT: none
AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 2! i know i have a few series that i need to update, but atm i don't have the drive or motivation to update it yet. writing narration sucks the whole energy out of me, but don't worry! i'll eventually update it, so pls bear with me. hope you'll enjoy this new update!
𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼
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liked by hattiepiastri, yourmom, yourbrother, and 5 others
𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼
taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us, @satorinnie, @pessismisticpotato
don't blame me | j.potter [part three]
note : having the worst week of my life but at least I can write ficitonal scenarios about dead gay wizards from the 70s, sigh
warnings :more james potter annoying you, like the usual , holidays with the Potters - yay? , a short moment of angst, jealousy jealousy
𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 3.6k
![Don't Blame Me | J.potter [part Three]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d51199e3aa26c871d1dd1a7fcb932975/dc821f3195dac1b9-aa/s500x750/4115956c3fec3081ad99edc006c8012d7e8b9134.jpg)
Patrols with James Potter had been . . . exhausting.
Weeks of late-night rounds patrolling empty corridors, always with him trailing two steps behind or two inches too close. Always with his voice slinking into the silence like it belonged there, like you were supposed to be comfortable with him. And somehow, he made it his mission to use every moment to chip away at your patience with all the grace of a blunt axe.
Lovely.
He was determined, though. You had to give him that. Determined to get under your skin, to make you smile, to tease you until your eye twitched. His favourite hobby lately was whispering “Wife” every time you reached for your wand. You hadn’t hexed him yet - but not for lack of desire.
Still, despite his relentless antics, there had been moments - rare, fleeting ones - where you forgot to hate him. Where he’d say something unexpectedly kind, or remember something about you he had no business remembering, and it felt like you might be on the edge of. . . something.
You always walked away before you could fall.
And then, mercifully, the holidays arrived. Which meant no more late-night patrols, no more being cornered by James Potter in dimly-lit corridors, and no more having to pretend you weren’t flustered when he said something that made your chest ache.
You’d barely shared any classes with the Gryffindors this term anyway, and now, with the castle slowly emptying for the break, it was easier than ever to avoid him. You packed with care, meticulously folding your robes, grateful for the distance the train ride would provide.
Until, of course, it didn’t.
![Don't Blame Me | J.potter [part Three]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3615f6c250992a26e95d79fe7a14b119/dc821f3195dac1b9-28/s500x750/d5f736e52b006522eb4717bdcff7d4a44f3e2f21.jpg)
You’d just spotted your roommates and were about to slip into their compartment when a hand grabbed your wrist.
You barely had time to yelp before James bloody Potter was dragging you away, all boyish charm and zero respect for personal space. Right through the train halls.
“Come along, darling,” he said with a smirk, ignoring how you perked at the designated nickname. “Reserved you a seat in the madhouse.”
“I’m reporting you to the authorities,” you hissed, wriggling uselessly as he tugged you toward the Marauders’ carriage. “Kidnapping is a crime.”
“Betrothed privilege,” he said smugly, as if that were an actual law.
The carriage door slid open, and Sirius Black greeted you with a roguish grin and a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Our lady of misfortune has arrived.”
You gave him a look which he was unfazed by, charming as always. “Get a haircut, Black.”
Remus smiled warmly and offered a casual nod. “Good to see you, ____.”
“Hi, Remus,” you said, already angling toward the empty seat beside him. Safe. Calm. Not James Potter.
If the boys noticed how you called him by first name, they failed to comment.
Peter gave a little wave. “Hey.”
You slid in next to Remus with a grateful sigh, already launching into a discussion about Ancient Runes - anything to keep your thoughts occupied, anything to avoid looking across at James.
Remus was, as ever, a good conversationalist - sharp, observant, gentle. He asked questions about your last essay and even jotted down a mental note when you mentioned a reference book he hadn’t read yet.
And James . . . frowned.
Sirius leaned in close to him, voice low. “You’re glaring, mate.”
“I am not.”
“You are. That’s the face you made when Evans talked to that Ravenclaw bloke - Klove, was it?”
James swatted him. “I’m not jealous.”
“You’re so jealous it’s making me jealous,” Sirius muttered, biting back a laugh as to not let you in on their whispered exchange.
James only responded when you glanced up, mid-sentence with Remus, and he spoke over you without remorse. “So. About the engagement dinner.”
You stiffened at the sudden mention, all words about Ancient Runes falling off your tongue. “What about it?”
“The others’ll be there,” he said casually, gesturing at the boys, Sirius nodding at you. “Whole family’s been invited.”
You groaned, already picturing the social chaos that would ensue and just how you'd be front page on the Daily Prophet.
“My mum doesn’t want to go,” Sirius said cheerfully. “She hates the Potters, obviously. Calls them blood-traitor filth. But it’s two pureblood houses uniting, so she’ll show up to save face. Probably poison the wine, but she’ll be there - the rest of the noble house of Black too.”
You groaned louder, face in your hands. “There really isn’t a way to get out of this?”
Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You could marry me instead.”
You snorted at his suggestion, like hell you'd marry into his crazy purist family. “If I had to choose between the four of you, I’d pick Remus.”
That earned a low whistle from Sirius and a quiet, pleased hum from Remus. He knew your words held no ground, so he neglected reacting much.
James didn’t say anything. But his jaw clenched, and he looked out the window like it had personally offended him.
The silence lingered until a loud bang shook the carriage.
“Was that . . .?” you asked.
“Dung bombs,” Peter said, grinning - you drank in the boy's mischievous glint that the four of them seemed to have. “Slytherin carriage.”
You stared. “Seriously? You couldn't have let it rest, spirit of Christmas and all that?”
“I told him to set a delay timer,” Remus said with a sigh, there it is. He really isn't the squeaky clean Gryffindor Prefect everyone thought he was, questioning his validity as a Marauder. “Did you?”
“Ten minutes,” Sirius said proudly. “Perfect.”
The door burst open with an angry thunk. Evans.
Her angry green eyes swept the room, nostrils flaring. “Who’s responsible?”
No one spoke. It was a beautifully choreographed silence.
Then her eyes locked on you. He had expected the boys, the moment she caught sight of James through the compartment door - but you were an odd addition.
She briefly remembered the offer James made her over the summer, which she agreed to.
“What’re you doing here?”
You blinked, deciding not to answer that. “We’ve been mostly well-behaved. While I’ve been here.”
You left out the bit where you hadn’t been in the carriage for the first few minutes of the journey, giving them enough window to set up their prank.
Evans narrowed her eyes, but sighed. “I’ll let it slide. Because it’s you. And I don’t think you’d lie to me, ____.”
She turned on her heel and left, hair swinging like a blade behind her. Those gorgeous red locks that one would recognize from a mile away.
Peter leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Think she’s jealous?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Not of me.”
James didn’t laugh. He was staring out the window again, entirely unreadable.
At the station, the boys peeled off one by one.
Sirius gave you a wink and a mock bow before strolling toward his reluctant mother.
Peter mumbled something about his mum hating delays and hurried off. Remus gave you a small, reassuring smile, bidding you a polite goodbye before walking off.
James stayed.
You spotted your parents before they saw you - dressed in their best travel robes, standing beside the Potters as if this were already a done deal. Mrs. Potter was beaming, saying something animated to your mother, who looked politely engaged.
Your father was shaking hands with Mr. Potter like they were discussing ministry business instead of their children’s future.
You gulped.
James came to stand beside you. “Ready?”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this.”
“Too bad. Train’s already stopped,” he said with a grin.
Then, just loud enough to reach only your ears: “Did I mention we’re staying at my place for the whole break?”
You whipped your head around. “What?”
He beamed. “Didn’t you hear? My mum’s idea. Think she wants us to bond.”
Your expression must have betrayed every drop of horror in your soul, because James just kept smiling. You couldn't muster a reply, not even to retort at the shock.
“I’ll save you the room next to mine.”
You groaned.
He offered his arm with mock chivalry, you knew your parents were watching but decided against playing along. “Shall we?”
You didn’t take it, but you didn’t run either. You were already walking toward the wolves. What was one more step?
Next up: The Potters’ home. Preparations. Chaos. And an engagement party you weren’t sure you’d survive without throttling your fiancé.
But for now, you squared your shoulders and forced a smile.
Let the holiday nightmare begin.
Potter Manor was exactly as you remembered it, nevermind it hasn't been long since your last visit. That was the worst part.
The same winding staircase you used to race James up two steps at a time. The same enchanted portraits that used to cheer you on. The oak banister still bore the scratch marks from when you and James attempted to slide down it on a tea tray - and spectacularly failed. And the smell - cinnamon, broom polish, and whatever potion Euphemia Potter always had brewing - hit you like a ghost to the ribs.
It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was haunting.
Because you used to belong here. Before Hogwarts, before the forgetting, before everything fell apart. You used to run barefoot through these halls, laughing with the boy who now called you wife just to see you flinch.
And now you were back.
Not as a friend. Not even as a guest. But as the future daughter-in-law.
Euphemia Potter regarded you with a warm smile the moment you step through the threshold of Potter Manor, as though it’s been years instead of just four months since the last time you were here.
Her arms wrap around you in a motherly hug, and she smells of ginger tea and old parchment, just like always. She beams at you like nothing has changed, like you’re still ten and sleeping over in James Potter’s room with a blanket fort between the beds so you wouldn’t accidentally kick each other in the night.
But everything has changed. More like, nothing has remained the same - not even you did, you grew out of your dirty robes thanks to playing in the mud with James and he's outgrown the little boy that clung to you.
Because now you’re here not as James’s childhood friend, but as his betrothed, and every memory you once thought was yours alone is being dragged out into the light and repackaged for an entirely different future.
The Manor hasn’t changed much - same grand portraits, same ticking grandfather clock in the hall, same scent of cedar and magic in the air. But it feels like something inside you curdled on the walk up the gravel path. Maybe it’s because only you, and your parents, and the Potters remember what this place meant to you once.
James certainly doesn’t. Not in the way you do. Not in the way that matters.
“James, sweetheart, would you be a dear and show her to her room? It’s the same one from the summer,” Euphemia says with an airy smile as she leads your parents and her husband into the drawing room, already slipping into talk of tea and travel and wedding colors.
“Gladly,” James says, far too quickly, turning toward you with that irritating sparkle in his eye. You curse your rotten luck.
You groan under your breath as he falls into step beside you. “Don’t start.”
“What? I haven’t said anything yet,” he replies innocently. “But since you’re clearly in such a cheery mood, I’ll just skip straight to the part where I invite you to sneak into my room later if you get too lonely.”
You don’t even flinch as you mutter, “Try it and I’ll kick you so hard your grandkids will feel it.”
James clutches his heart in mock pain. “Merlin, and here I thought you would be caring to our grandkids!”
You roll your eyes as he pushes open the door to your room - same as last time, same rich emerald curtains and vintage vanity, same bed that used to feel like a dream when you were younger, when this place was magic instead of a distant memory.
“Feel at home, darling,” James sing-songs as he retreats, and you don’t bother with a retort. You’re already shutting the door on him, not minding if it slammed right on his face.
Dinner is practically déjà vu.
The Potters and your family sit at the long mahogany table, wine glasses glinting in the candlelight, laughter echoing too easily around you. Euphemia compliments your dress. Your mother beams with pride every time James says something even mildly charming.
Fleamont asks your father about business, and all of it feels like a play you’re being forced to star in, only you didn't rehearse your lines just yet.
What makes it worse is James, who can’t seem to sit still. Halfway through dinner, you feel it - the subtle nudge of his foot under the table. You glare at him. He grins and taps your ankle again, continuing to dine like he wasn't bothering you through mouthfuls of steak.
You dig your heel into the top of his shoe, he stiffled the groan that threatened to escape him.
“Darling,” your mother says suddenly, drawing your attention -Merlin, that nickname is ruined for you thanks to James. “We were thinking, maybe as part of the engagement party, the two of you could do a little performance. A dance!”
You nearly choke on your pumpkin soup, a fucking dance with James Potter? you'd rather not, he'll surely pull some shit to make you trip.
“It’s not a coming-of-age ceremony,” you blurt, denying the suggestion before it could blossom.
They laugh it off, but James’s brow furrows. “Wait a second - when is your birthday?”
“In two weeks,” you mutter pretending how it didn't sting that he doesn't remember.
Back when you were kids, he'd owl you non-stop the full week leading up to it as he also begged your parents to let you celebrate at the manor.
Euphemia claps her hands, your Mother already caught the idea and was nodding enthusiastically. “Perfect timing, then! The engagement party will be both a celebration of your union and your birthday.”
You smile tightly, your thoughts bitter. Great. Now no one will actually celebrate your birthday. They’ll be too busy celebrating the inevitable.
James goes oddly quiet after that. Which should have been a relief. But instead, it unsettles you. Because if James Potter wasn’t talking, then he was definitely thinking.
And James Potter thinking is a very dangerous thing.
Sleep is an elusive thing that night. You toss and turn, too warm under the thick blankets, your mind racing with everything unsaid. You finally shove off the covers and open your door, planning to sneak into the library or just pace the halls until your thoughts tire out.
Except as soon as you step out, you nearly crash into someone in the dark halls of the Potter Manor.
James.
He blinks at you, hair even messier than usual, shirt wrinkled and collar loose. “You too?”
You consider turning around and shutting yourself back in your room, as if seeing the gears turn in your head - he grabbed your arm.
“Nope. You’re coming with me,” he says before you can escape, already tugging your arm with a firm, familiar grip - man, those Quidditch practices really sculpted him well.
“I was planning to walk alone, thanks,” you say dryly, pulling your arm from him but to no avail as he wouldn't budge.
“Too bad. I’m feeling generous.”
He drags you down the hall, past darkened paintings and sleeping portraits, all the way to the kitchens, where a single house elf pops in to greet him.
“Young master, James - sir - may I - ”
“It’s alright, Winky, I’ve got this one,” James says, waving her off. “Go on, enjoy your break, it's late.”
The elf vanishes with a pop. You bid the familiar elf goodbye which she smiled at.
“Please tell me you’re not about to burn the Manor down trying to make toast,” you mutter, remembering how he'd almost done just that.
“Have a little faith,” he says, already pulling out ingredients and fiddling with the stove. To your surprise, he’s. . . not terrible. He makes sandwiches. Cuts up fruit. Even remembers you like your tea a little sweet - though you doubt he'd actually remembered, it was probably just muscle memory.
You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him work.
“We used to do this,” you say quietly, breaking the silence.
He glances at you. “What?”
“Sneak around. Late nights. Kitchens. You always got crumbs in your hair.”
James chuckles, then falters. “Yeah. . . I think I remember that. Vaguely.”
You look away, heart twisting. “Doesn’t matter, it's been years.”
“Hey.”
You don’t answer.
“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “I’m sorry.”
You swallow thickly, still turned toward the wall - scared to show him the expression on your face. You could only guess you looked pathetic.
“It’s not your fault,” you say, despite yourself. You hoped the shake in your resolve did now show in your voice. “We were kids. I guess it just mattered more to me.”
There’s a pause. Then he says, “If we do end up shackled to each other - ”
“Romantic,” you deadpan and he pointedly ignored that.
“ - I’d treat you well,” he finishes. “You’d be the happiest wife in all of Britain. Or at least the most well-fed, I am very rich, you see.”
You turn just in time to see his stupid wink, your tears blinked away and they failed to cascade down much to your delight.
“You’re such an arse.” you tell him but this time, there was no bite to it, a smile even tugging at your lips.
“And yet, here you are, sharing a midnight snack with me. So what does that say about you?”
You snatch a slice of apple from his plate and lob it at his head. He catches it in his mouth with infuriating ease, bloody Quidditch.
You don’t even give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. You slip away before he can see the flush rising up your neck, before he can notice how your heart is pounding in a way it hasn’t since you were ten years old and thought that maybe - just maybe - he’d always remember you.
Maybe not in his head, but his heart.
You were somehow comforted by the talk tonight, he’s starting to try.
Preparations for the engagement party take over the manor in the days that follow. The adults are swept up in an endless flurry of guest lists and menus and floral arrangements, and you and James are pulled apart before you can even properly register it.
You're ushered off to endless dress fittings and hair trials while James is fitted for his formal robes in another wing of the house. It’s necessary, of course. With the wedding scheduled shortly after graduation, this is the only time left to get things sorted.
They were making the best out of your holiday break.
You’re glad for the space. The distance gives your heart time to settle, to remember that this engagement isn’t real - not in the way you once hoped. Meanwhile, James seems disappointed by the lack of time together. He even pouts when he thinks you’re not looking.
You ignore it.
On the day before the engagement party, you spend most of it in rehearsals. A stern but kind dance instructor leads you through the steps again and again, correcting posture, instructing turns.
Your mother watches proudly from the corner, beaming at how lovely you’ll look twirling across the reception floor.
Except you’re not dancing with James. The parents insisted it would be more romantic if you waited until the wedding day to share your first proper dance together.
So instead, you dance with the instructor while your mind drifts to the boy you’ll be expected to smile at all night. The boy whose name you'll take.
Midnight is close by the time you finally collapse into bed, limbs sore and eyelids heavy. You drift off after practise, only to be jolted awake by an abrupt knock on the door.
You stumble up and open it - and there he is.
James stands in the hallway, grinning like a child with a secret. He’s holding a small cake, clumsily decorated but clearly well-meant. The icing is in your favorite colors - ____, and your heart trips at the sloppily-written greeting.
“What - ?”
“I baked it with the elves,” James says proudly. “They were very excited to help, they like you a lot.”
He steps inside without waiting for permission and places the cake on your desk. Then he lights a single candle in the center, making your heart do cartwheels.
Before you can say anything, he begins to sing.
His version of happy birthday is terrible - off-key, full of dramatic vibrato, and entirely too cheeky - but you laugh anyway, despite yourself.
“Happy birthday, ____,” he says softly when he finishes, voice warm and real in a way that makes your chest ache.
You stare at the candle for a moment, you're now of-age. An adult in the eyes of the law.
“Well?” James nudges you. “Make a wish.”
You shake your head but close your eyes anyway, blowing out the flame. When you open them, he’s looking at you in that way again - quiet, unguarded.
“What’d you wish for?” he asks.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
He grins. “It better be something dramatic. Like me getting hexed in the Great Hall.”
You smile, soft and fleeting. For a moment, it feels like you’ve got him back. The boy who used to race you down the hallways of this manor. The one who knew every secret passageway. The one who always remembered your birthday.
And then he leans in.
He’s so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes. His breath ghosts across your cheek. You almost lean forward -
Almost.
But then you remember. Lily.
You pull away sharply, eyes fixed on the cake.
James blinks, hurt flashing briefly across his face before he masks it with a lopsided grin. “Well. Better try this or the elves might get offended.”
You force a laugh. “The cake better be edible. I’m only trying it because I’m starving.”
“Please. It’s only edible because the elves did ninety percent of the work,” he admits.
You chuckle at that and take a bite. “Sixty percent.”
“Forty,” he argues, taking a bite himself
“Ten.”
You both laugh.
But your heart still aches.
to be continued. . .
part four | masterlist
When I read the story of Mohammed Alanqer ( @famousturtlebanana ) I was reminded of my own dear father, Christopher, and how much he protected me during my childhood, so I dedicated this poem to them both. There are more similarities between the Alanqar family in Gaza and my family in Australia than there are differences.
Mohammed was supporting his young family (wife Enas, and children Layan, Sarah and Adam) with a tech startup when war broke out in Gaza. During the war, young Amir was born.
His son Adam has hepatitis and his son Amir has blisters on his feet. He is struggling to provide food for his children because the prices of groceries in Gaza are so high, and there is no aid coming in.
You can help by donating to his GFM. If you cannot afford that, you can share this post. If you're a creative of any type, he would love you to create art for him.
His campaign is number #174 on el-shab-hussein and nabulsi's google doc as well as being reblogged by 90-ghost here
Tagging for reach
@wellwaterhysteria @cuntylouis @appsa @paper-mario-wiki @eastgaysian @a-shade-of-blue @ana-bananya @schoolhater @stuckinapril @thatsonehellofabird @roadimusprime @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @imjustheretotrytohelp
when i was a kid i would get a sick thrill from learning someones middle name now i dont feel anything at all ever and im no good for nobody
I hope every single us soldier dies horribly and in shame. Yeah even your cousin and brother and uncle and grandfather and gay bf who's fighting for a "better future" bc he can't afford brand name underwear. Theyre not the good ones; there is no such thing as a good us soldier unless they're a corpse sitting in a watery hole
What Kind Of Woman Do You Take Me For?
SHIP: Charles Leclerc x Reader
SUMMARY: After a dinner date at your apartment, Charles is forced to sleep over as to not get caught up in a snowstorm.
CONTENT: Mention of alcohol, domestic fluff, you/yours pronouns with fem!reader, no use of Y/N.
1.1k
"Well, this was lovely."
Charles used his napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. You leaned back in your chair, your elbow coming to rest on the backrest of the one next to you. A vague silence washed over the dining room of your apartment, both of you observing the snowfall outside.
The view out of the dining and living rooms of your apartment was spectacular, and half the reason you were paying such a ridiculous price for it - the sprawling cityscape and background of rolling Swiss Alps breathtaking on evenings like this.
Was it really even evening anymore? You had sat down for dinner four hours ago - really, the date had actually started in the early afternoon. He had come in bearing gifts, with the first snowflakes adorning his coat, hair, and eyelashes. Then, he spent the better part of a few hours helping with dinner.
If you could count his sitting pretty on the barstool, drinking wine, and distracting you with gossip the entire time helping. You had a good reason to keep him away from the stove, however - the man was many things, but a culinary expert he was not.
"Is there anything we forgot to talk about?" You joked, tearing your gaze away from the panoramic view to the, arguably, far better one across the table.
He, to his credit, did take a moment to consider. You liked the way he looked when he was deep in thought. "I... don't believe so. How long has it- oh, wow. Midnight already?" The shock on his face, like all of his other emotions, was visible as soon as he caught sight of the clock hanging in the living room behind you.
"Nearing it." The snow outside was bad now - Switzerland was used to snow, sure, but was Charles? At night? In that sports car you saw him drive here? "You should stay over."
"Yeah?" His smile was teasing while he picked at a few crumbs on the tablecloth. "Are you propositioning me? Is that what this is?"
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Don't be ridiculous-"
"I came all this way-"
"Charles-"
"-all for an elaborate booty call? Really? Thought you were better than that, amour." Combined, the twinkle in his eyes and the smirk tugging upwards at the corners of his lips made you want to jump across the table and do unholy things to him. Not that you’d readily admit it.
You gestured to your matching empty glasses and plates. "Well, technically, I’ve been wining and dining you. Not a booty call. Come on, what kind of woman do you take me for, Leclerc?"
He shrugged, now picking at the tablecloth itself.
Clearing your throat was more uncomfortable than you’d thought. "The guest room situation isn't- um. I've got my office in there."
"Right, yes."
"...And I have a queen bed." That you didn't know if you wanted to share with him. This was- what was this? The third date? He had said he wanted to take it slow, get to know you. This wasn't exactly planned.
"Oh."
Another silence fell over the room. You felt like you were drowning in it.
"You can take the bed. I just changed the sheets this morning," you offered.
"No, no, I couldn't take that from you."
"I insist."
"No-"
"You're a houseguest. Fae rules."
"What? Fae rules?" He sputtered in surprise.
"Yes." You were smiling smugly, and he pointed it out.
"It's not a problem, chat." The tips of his ears went a little red at you calling him 'cat', but you continued. "The sofa’s comfy. I made sure when I was buying it just in case my, how did you put it, ‘booty call’ could be comfortable."
An extended quiet passed by before he nodded. "Alright."
"Alright."
You cleaned up together - he washed dishes, you dried them; he offered a piece of gossip about the people in his life, you returned one about an office affair you nearly got caught up in; he gasped in disbelief, you nodded solemnly; he caged you against the counter when you were done, you reciprocated his kiss sweetly, slowly.
He tasted of alcohol and dessert, mostly, then of mint after you brushed your teeth together and stole a final kiss. And your pillow.
"Bonne nuit." You whispered against his lips.
"Bonne nuit, amour."
To your credit, you managed to get incredibly cozy on the couch - spare duvet, blankets, pillows galore. You allowed yourself the luxury of imagining him lying in your bed, daydreaming about the way you’d look there with him. You then spent a good quarter of an hour debating with yourself whether joining him there would be uncomfortable for both of you or not.
Oh, god. Had he seen your stuffed animals? The thought nagged at you as you drifted off.
A click of a door roused you from sleep. You couldn’t really tell what time it was in the dark, but the room being so dark and the snow still falling heavily suggested it hasn't been more than… what? Two hours?
"Amour?" He whispered from the doorway. You hummed, acknowledging his presence, but not exactly comprehending it yet.
"Wha's up?" The only word your half-asleep mind could really think of to describe him then is cute - hair a little messy, shirt a little askew, sweatpant cuffs riding up a little on his legs.
He didn't answer, instead stealing one of the top-most blankets covering you. Before you could protest, he moved - sort of clumsily, which prompted a snickering laugh from you - to lay down on top of you. After he got comfy, you were pressed into the couch - his legs tangling with yours, his arms enclosing around your waist under your shirt, his head resting on your chest.
A more conscious you would probably hesitate a little, and a more conscious he probably wouldn't have done what he did. Alas, tired people do stupid things, and you embraced him back quickly. You helped him cover himself in the stolen blanket, and your hands carded through his hair a little while neither of you were asleep yet.
"Thank you." You heard him whisper, and you made a little noise of agreement.
"Didn't know if you'd want to sleep together."
"Hah, I thought you didn't want it, amour?"
"With you? Don't be ridiculous. If I had more confidence, I'd be throwing myself all over the opportunity." Your finger twirled a longer strand of hair, and you got to enjoy the way his fingers were mind-numbingly warm drawing patterns on your waist.
This was miles better than any sleep you could have gotten on your own.
NOTE: these fics keep getting shorter and shorter but i'm not lying when I say everything that could have possibly gone wrong while writing this went wrong. I'm truly shocked and appalled.
Rivals to lovers Max fic is hopefully still on the way - alas i got too ambitious with it and now it's looking like it's going to be the longest thing i've ever written. not yet sure if i should be excited or worried?
Liked this? Check out my masterlist!
Howdy folks, the Senate will be considering the first ever resolution blocking arms to Israel. This is huge and historic; it would block government contracting and about $20 billion in arms and support. This is an uphill battle, PLEASE urge your senators to support S.J.Res114-115. This is maybe the most important piece of legislation relating to Palestine that we have ever gotten and we must seize this opportunity.
This doc has information on the resolutions and their process, as well as sample messages and a phone script you can use. Please, use this moment to hear witness for your neighbors.
girlfriend of the enemy | charles leclerc
face claim: none ♡
request: here !
tags: max verstappen x reader, thoughts of infidelity, max sucks a lil in this i'm sorry
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You knew the novelty had worn off. Max was known for picking up things that were shiny and brand new to him and dropping them without a moment's notice. You just never thought you would be one of them. The two of you had met in the paddock, you having been invited by your reporter friends. Instantly the two of you had hit it off, chatting the whole night and enjoying each other's company.
That was 7 years ago.
Now the two of you were attending the end of the race year celebrations but you may as well be strangers.
He’d swirled you around his friends, eye candy on his arm to match the fact that his face was plastered across the entire room. After he was sure everyone had seen the two of you together, he subtly brushed your arm off and went to talk with Daniel and Checo who were standing by the bar.
Taking a seat at one of the tables strewn out across the large dance hall, you picked nervously at the acrylics on your nails. Max knew events like this made you nervous, with the large crowds full of people you barely knew. At the start of your relationship, he never used to leave you alone, constantly having a hand around your waist or resting on your knee so you knew he was there, but it was as if he no longer cared. You hated this side of him, missing the funny and attentive man you fell in love with.
Drivers passed back and forth behind your chair, often bumping it accidentally as they walked, too deep in conversation with their walking buddy to notice they had knocked you. It had been at least 2 hours since you had seen Max, having watched him stalk off to a dark corner with the two men he was chatting with at the bar. You knew you looked miserable, but you were so tired of hiding how you truly felt, how Max made you feel.
A hand brushes the back of your chair as someone takes a seat beside you. A soft voice barely audible over the loud music pumping through the room, close enough that their breath brushes across your neck.
“Not having fun?”
You jump at the proximity, whipping round to come face to face with Max’s longtime frenemy, Charles Leclerc. He simply smiled, either not noticing how close the two of you were or simply ignoring it.
You’d come to know Charles through the years you’d spent as a wag. He was always polite, full of kind smiles and funny anecdotes. You knew he wasn’t a fan of these things either, choosing to excuse himself early, either with his teammates or Oscar whenever things got a little too raucous. His two closest friends on the grid, Daniel and George, were more open to the party atmosphere, often getting to the point of drunkenness where you had to mother them a little, rounding up the giggling boys and wrestling them into an Uber.
You loved chatting with the group of friends, never having a dull moment as each of them tried to outdo the other with a joke or a roast. However, you were always a little more drawn to the Monagesque, finding his warm voice and awkward jokes lightened the tension that festered deep inside whenever Max abandoned you at one of these events.
You smiled back at Charles in the present, toying with the Tiffany bracelet around your wrist. “Not particularly. Never really liked these kind of events.”
If it was anyone else who had asked, you would have lied. Various excuses of not feeling well or simply needing a moment to yourself, but Charles had never once shown judgement towards your lack of enthusiasm for these nights.
“Where’s Max?” His eyes flick around the room, elbow coming to rest on the bar. He must realise his mistake straight away as he pulls away, the stickiness of the counter following him.
You sigh, reaching to drain the last of your mojito. “Fuck knows. Last time I saw him was just after 9.”
He raises his eyebrows, turning to catch the attention of the bar staff. “Another mojito and a vodka soda, please.” Turning back to you, he checks his watch. “It’s 2am.”
You return the eyebrow raise, welcoming the new drink he hands you. “Yeah, it is. He’s probably with Daniel and Checo if you want him.”
You were used to people approaching you just to get to the other. Nothing new but it still irked you a little that you were only ever seen as an extension of the great Max Verstappen, never just y/n l/n.
Smiling softly, he raises his glass for you to clink yours against. “Nah, I’m fine where I am.”
–
The hours passed quickly, the two of you hunched over the bar as you tried to make out what the other was saying over the loud bass of the music. You could lie and say your heart didn’t flutter every time he laughed, eyes sparkling as he listened intently to every dumb joke you made. It made you feel a little bit sick, the butterflies in your tummy stabbing tiny little daggers into you as you try to remember the last time Max had ever spent time with you like this.
He was a busy man, with the racing and Twitch and the various other events Redbull required him to do, the two of you rarely saw each other. You tried to organise monthly date nights in order to reignite the spark you once had but every time Max texted that he couldn’t come, not even mentioning the word sorry, you felt a little piece of your heart fall away.
Through some kind of sick manifestation, Max rounded the corner of the bar, flagged by a barely conscious Daniel and a still chipper Checo.
“Charles! Nice to see you!” Checo was his ever lovely self, dapping Charles up and pulling him into a brief hug. Daniel barely acknowledged either of you, slumping into the chair on the other side of you and drunkenly resting his head on the back of your shoulder. Max was neutral, eyes darting between the two of you.
“Yeah, nice to see you Charles. I see you’ve met my Mrs.”
You hated that term. “Mrs”. Maybe if he showed any kind of interest in actually taking the next step and marrying you after 7 years together maybe you wouldn’t mind. He knew you hated it to some extent, having used it often as a joke in media events to make you roll your eyes and send him a cheeky text. But now the word just grated you, imaginary hackles rising at his standoffish tone.
Charles smiles at the two, briefly eyeing Daniel from where he was snoring on your shoulder. “Yeah, me and y/n have met quite a few times at these things. Normally when I’m too tired to deal with Daniel and George’s shit.” He aims the last sentence towards you, joining you in a small chuckle.
Max laughed sarcastically, hand coming to grip your free shoulder. The strength of it made you shrink slightly, hating the possessiveness it held. “Well, it’s getting late, I better get her home.” His head nods down at you, the resignation in his voice a poor attempt at humour but it lands flat.
Charles eyes him, then the hand gripped harshly on your shoulder and finally lands on you, eyes warm with a tint of ice. “Sure. It was nice to chat to you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” He rises from his seat, hand raised to deliver a half hearted fist bump to Max and Checo before he disappears, swallowed by the horde of people still present at the event.
You grab your bag as Max shakes the sleeping Daniel on your shoulder. The two of you work side by side to sling an arm of Daniel’s around each of your shoulders, Max thankfully taking the brunt of the weight. Silently, you make your way to Max’s car, humming at the drunken gibberish from the man hanging between the two of you.
As you settle into the passenger's seat of Max’s car, you can’t help but wish it was Charles sliding in beside you.
–
👤 maxverstappen1 Liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc and 592,048 others
y/nstagram eindejaarsfeest met mijn lief en jouw wereldkampioen ♥️ (end of year party with my love and your world champion)
fan she’s so gorgeous, maxverstappen1 can you fight? ♥️ 39,927 others
redbullracing never mind the trophy, we think you’re the real prize ↳ fan damn admin got rizz ↳ redbullracing 😎
fan why does max never like her photos anymore i miss the “here before the dutchman” jokes ↳ fan they’ve been together 7 years maybe the honeymoon phase has just worn off? ↳ fan idk even when we see them in the paddock he brushes her off all the time ↳ fan i thought we all agreed to stop prying into their relationship? ↳ fan true but 7 years and no ring?? I’d have wifed her up immediately
charles_leclerc si belle ↳ y/nstagram merci charlie :) ↳ fan ariana what are you doing here? ↳ fan he’s been in her likes / comments since he joined f1, i’m pretty sure they’re friends ↳ fan he always comments “beautiful” or smth sappy on her posts… ngl i kinda ship them ↳ fan saying that on a post where she’s just called max her love… seek help ↳ fan damn sorry that i just wanna see her be treated the way she deserves???? She posts max nearly weekly and the last time she graced his ig was like 6 months back ??? AND he never likes / comments on her posts even when she tags him AND he ignores her in the paddock like all the time ↳ fan he’s a 4x world champion and the face of redbull, he’s a busy man damn
-
-
Another country, another race, another day of Max ignoring you. You’d always been understanding of the fact that, as the current world champion, he had a lot of pressure on his rather wide shoulders. People called for him wherever he turned and he’d follow, giving piece by piece of him to whoever needed his attention. Race engineers, press, other drivers, even Christian himself. In the earlier years, he’d drag you along with him, hand wrapped firmly around yours as he discussed better ways to reduce drag or answer the same god damn question from the same 10 faces you saw at every race.
Nowadays, he’d barely look your way as he gets out of the car, instead letting you roam around of your own volition. You often found yourself walking up and down the paddock, looking at all the other drivers who would throw a loving glance to their girlfriends as they rush around their garages, or drop a small kiss to the crown of their heads as they pass by to the back rooms or even something as small as readjusting their stance as they spoke to their engineers so they could press a thigh or an arm against their other half.
So far you’d passed Alpine; exchanging quick hugs with Kika and Flavy before they went to the back rooms, McLaren; where Lando and you had exchanged a quick fist bump whilst you swiped away his questions about Max’s whereabouts, and Haas where both Kevin and Nico had waved brightly at you as they entertained their children on the garage floor. Looking up, you find yourself standing in front of the Ferrari garages. More specifically, in front of Charles’.
Whether the halt in your footsteps has been subconscious or not, you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping for a glimpse of Charles. Flashes of red passed your vision, engineers and strategists moving amongst one another like a well oiled machine, but no sign of white fireproofs or padded red race suits.
Sighing softly, you turn on your heels, ready to head back to the Red Bull garages where you’ll inevitably end up being forced into putting on a headset and a fake smile when it’s race time.
Eyes focused on the ground, you walk slowly away from the Ferrari garages, not wanting to see all the loving couples around you. Only three steps down, a pair of race boots pop up in your vision, eyes trailing up until you meet Charles’ worried gaze.
“Y/N, what are you doing all the way over here? It’s nearly race time?” His head quirks a little to the left, reminding you of an inquisitive puppy.
It’s enough to bring a small smile to your face, eyes flicking over his face. “Hey Charles. Honestly, I didn’t even realise I’d made it this far into enemy territory until I looked up and saw your garage.”
He matches your teasing smile, nudging his foot with one of yours playfully. “I wouldn’t say enemy, just unfamiliar.” He takes a moment to give you a once over, eyes clinging to the ever present furrow of your brows. “Where’s Max?”
Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you huff quietly. “God knows. Last I saw, he was in a very heated debate with GP, something to do with the rear wing.”
He nods in response. “Does he know you’re in enemy territory?” He teases softly, aware of the way your expression darkened at the mention of your boyfriend.
“I don’t think he would realise if I upped and left to be honest.” The second you said it, you regretted it. Charles has enough to worry about on race day without you piling your relationship problems onto him. “Sorry, ignore me. Must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something.” You laugh unconvincingly, trying to avoid his knowing eyes.
He’s quiet for a moment, pensive silence spreading between the two of you. It makes your skin crawl, all too aware that he was probably already clued into your crumbling relationship. You wanted him to make a joke, to nudge his shoulder with yours as he quips about how you should join the other side for once. You wanted him to make you smile, knowing he’s been the only one to do so in so many years.
A knot sits heavy in your stomach. Wanting another man to make you smile like your boyfriend isn’t standing 20 feet away. Another man who was the best friend of your boyfriend.
Yours and Max’s relationship wasn’t all arguing and sneaking into bed whilst the other slept far on the other side, but the only times he made you laugh recently was in front of cameras, smiles too large and laughter too loud to be believable to either of you.
With Charles, it was easy. Almost like breathing. He was still a little awkward with you, jokes sometimes landing flat but the way he would wince and chuckle at his own bad lines were enough to have you laughing loudly and unapologetically.
You needed to get out of here before you said or did something you’d regret. Luckily, Xavi came to your rescue, spotting Charles out on the paddock and rushing over to sling a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Charles, vamos! We have to get ready for the race. Sorry to steal him from you, Y/N, but I can’t risk him sharing trade secrets with the girlfriend of the enemy.” He pairs the teasing jab with a wink at both of you, the arm hooked around Charles’ neck pulling him gently away.
Charles’ throws a smile over his shoulder, waving a hand goodbye as he’s dragged into conversation with Xavi. You wave back, energy not quite matching his.
It was a throwaway comment, something every team said when you’d chat with their racers, normally coupled with a squeeze of the shoulder or a friendly grin. Charles had even said the same thing himself two minutes prior. But something about it being Charles’ race engineer left a sour taste in your mouth.
To Charles, you were just the girlfriend of the “enemy”, and that’s all you could be.
-
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a/n: i swear i'm working on a happier one for charles' monaco win buuuut before i spend another 2 weeks finishing this off - anyone interested in a part 2?
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