Heart's Getting Soft (Jake "Hangman" Seresin X Fem!reader)

Heart's getting soft (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader)

Summary: It felt so nice, so normal. Having you in his arms, as you laughed and chatted with his sisters and mother. For a second, he forgot it was all fake.

A dash of angst, lots of fluff, a little smut, and a Christmas fake-dating trope.

Warnings: dysfunctional families, cursing, friends to lovers, fake dating, bed sharing, slow burn, mutual pining, very brief miscommunication, smut, unprotected p in v, very brief oral (f receiving), fingering, breeding kink, not beta'd.

A/N: Finally! I started this thing back in November but anytime I opened the draft I just kept staring at it. It's finished!! I didn't plan on this being so long, but oh well. There's still 1 day left of my 700 follower celebration

Wordcount: 18K

There weren't many things that left Lieutenant Jake Seresin terrified. Fear was a pretty unfamiliar word for him. He was raised not to be afraid of anything.

When he was four years old and cried in his parents’ room, because he heard a noise at night, his father scolded him.

Men don’t cry.

When he fell and scraped his knees, he swallowed the whimpers that were threating to escape and stood up, acting as if the blood trickling down his leg didn’t bother him at all.

You’re weak. I didn’t raise you like that.

When he was 17 and the girl he was dating broke his heart, he never showed it. He told her she couldn’t possibly hurt him, if he never loved her to start with. She couldn’t see through his lie. She couldn't see the broken pieces of his heart lying on the floor.

Love is pathetic. It makes you weak.

When his best friend’s plane was almost shot down, his eyes started tearing up and his throat got tight. He blinked the tears away, without anyone even noticing they were there in the first place. He never showed fear in front of anyone else, instead he bottled all of his emotions up. Javy was okay, after all. What was there to cry about?

Emotions were a weakness and he wasn’t supposed to be weak.

He didn’t fear heights, instead enjoying the rush of adrenaline he felt anytime he was up in the sky. He didn’t fear death, after so many brushes with it. He knew everyone would die one day and he seemingly made peace with it. Yes, there were still some things on his bucket list he wanted to experience, but he felt like he still had so much time to do them. There was no rush.

But one thing that still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, his heart drum wildly in his ears and his blood run cold, was his father.

Commander William Seresin was a tough man.

He never cried, wanting to keep the image of this heartless, cold monster, because he thought that would make people respect him. He never told his children he loved them, never hugged them, never showed positive emotions. How else would they learn discipline? Love won't teach them to be tough.

Commander Seresin wasn’t a good father, he was far from it.

How can a father make his own children feel so worthless? He always hid his insults behind “words of encouragement”, because he wanted his children to be the best.

You should be better. This isn't anything to be proud of.

As if that made hearing those words any easier.

For this very reason Christmas was a sore subject to Jake. He didn’t spend it with his family since he moved away from home when he was 18.

He missed his mother’s cooking and decorating the gingerbread house with his sisters. He missed sitting around the Christmas tree and watching those dumb Hallmark movies in the living room, even if he complained the whole time.

His mother was pleading with him, begging him to come home this year. He had his answer ready, on the tip of his tongue: I have a mission, I won’t be able to make it there for Christmas. But hearing his mother’s desperation made his heart clench painfully.

So now here he was, having a dilemma, and there was only one person that could comfort him. You.

You and Jake met back at Top Gun all those years ago. You didn’t start off as friends. Hell, he was sure you wanted to punch him any time he as much as looked at you.

Jake was an arrogant asshole, everyone knew that. So of course he started out by teasing you and flirting with you. You didn’t take his shit and humbled him. And as hard as it was for him to admit, he’s been whipped ever since. At first it was just a stupid crush, one that made him feel like a 13 year old, who kept twirling her hair and giggling as she wrote in her pink little diary with one of those fluffy pens.

But then the years went by, without hearing much about you. He thought his luck has run out and he wasn't going to see you again. It's not like he could just reach out to you. You weren't exactly friends.

And then you got called back for the mission. After so many years, you met again at Top Gun. You were just as beautiful as before, just as feisty, but something changed. You were softer when you spoke to him, welcoming. You still bickered like children sometimes and teased each other, but you also became somewhat of a safe haven for each other. Without ever saying it out loud.

Somewhere along the line, after things started to blur between friendship and something more, he fell in love with you. You did too, but Jake was a blind man. He never believed someone like you could ever want someone so broken. If he only knew you had so much more in common, that you were just as broken, he might have changed his mind.

That didn't mean he didn't hope. His eyes lit up anytime you hugged him, or called him over to your place to watch a movie and cuddle. He felt like he was going into cardiac arrest anytime you were near him. He’s pretty sure everyone figured it out by now; not like he could do much to hide it anyway.

Jake’s tired mind wasn’t able to catch up with how fast his legs took him to your house. You didn’t know about Jake’s family issues, nor his own. But just being close to you could bring him a peace of mind like nothing else could.

He found you sitting on your terrace, in a warm Christmas sweater with Rudolph on it, what he presumed was hot chocolate in your hands and a fluffy blanket wrapped around you to protect you from the cold. You looked so cute. He smiled unconsciously, before he realized he was staring at you. He cursed under his breath, realizing just how fucked he was. Running a hand down his face, he walked up to you.

When you finally noticed him, you grinned, pulling up the blanket so he could sit down next to you.

“Hi.” Jake swore his heart skipped a beat, hearing your tired, soft voice.

“Hi, Angel.” you smiled, rolling your eyes affectionately at your callsign.

Of course, you got it from Jake. He was always teasing you with cheesy nicknames, but for some reason, this one stuck. You were mad at him at first, but you got over that with time. He found the death stares you gave him absolutely adorable.

He still kept telling people, very proudly, that he gave you your callsign.

Jake sat down next to you, pulling you closer to him, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. You handed him your cup and he took a sip.

“God, how can you drink that?” he asked, grimacing. He knew you had a sweet tooth, but this was too much, even for you.

“It’s hot chocolate, Jake.” you scoffed.

“It’s too sweet.”

“It is not.” you protested. He loved how defensive you got over the smallest things. Teasing you was always fun.

“You’re gonna get diabetes.”

“Well, it will be worth it.” He shook his head at your antics, but his smile gave him away.

A comfortable silence took over, before Jake frowned, looking at you. “What are you doing out here?”

“It's supposed to snow.”

“So you decided to freeze your ass off?"

“Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” you pouted, trailing your nails down his chest, the action making Jake’s heart beat faster. It was unbelievable how easily you turned him on. He had to bite his tongue in order not to tell you how much he wanted to take you on this fucking bench, before he ruined everything.

“I mean look at it, it’s beautiful.” you said, nodding your head towards the view in front of you. Jake hummed, running a hand down your arm.

You started telling him about the movie that you watched, which you thought he would also enjoy. Small things like this always made his heart leap, knowing that you were thinking about him just as much as he was thinking about you.

But halfway through he stopped listening to you, instead turning his face to look at the sky. The moon was full, illuminating the street even through the slight fog. Every house on the street was decorated with Christmas lights, some more than the other, and he realized how right you were. It was indeed beautiful. He didn’t think there was anywhere he’d rather be than here with you in his arms, right now.

When he didn't respond, you realized he wasn’t listening to you, and although you wanted to be offended, you sensed there was something bothering him. Jake didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but you sometimes knew him better than he knew himself.

“Okay, talk.” you said, putting the hot chocolate (that was now cold) on the table, turning your body towards Jake. He whined at the loss of your body warmth against him, reaching his hand out to pull you close again. You sat farther away from him, dodging his attempt, and gave him a stern look.

Jake sighed. “Talk about what?”

Your gaze softened when you heard his defensive tone. “What’s going on, Jake?”

“What do you mean? Nothing is going on.” He deliberately avoided looking into your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t push it. But you just looked at him, your eyebrow raised, your face screaming something along the lines of Cut the shit. He still didn’t know how you figured him out so easily.

“My mom wants me to go to Texas for Christmas.” he said quietly, so quietly you almost missed it.

Although Jake didn’t talk about his family, you could sense there was some tension. Anytime his father was brought up, his jaw clenched, his eyes void of emotions. It was just a fleeting moment, so short you wouldn’t have even noticed, if your eyes weren’t always on him.

“And you don’t want to?” you asked, shuffling closer to him.

Jake let out a humourless chuckle. “Not really.”

“Why not?” you asked, instantly noticing how his body tensed next to you. You winced, regretting your previous question. You didn’t want to push him too much, scared that he would just build those walls you were pretty sure you already knocked down back up. “If I’m pushing, you don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine.” he let out a shaky breath, running his hands through hair.

“I don’t really have a good relationship with my father. He’s not really the loving parent type, y’know?” If that wasn’t an understatement.

“Yeah, I get that.” you said, thinking back to your own parents. You knew exactly what he meant. “You don’t have to go. You can just make something up.” You reached your hand out to wrap it around his wrist, rubbing his skin with your thumb.

Jake nodded. “I know, I thought about that. But my mum will be sad and I haven’t spent Christmas with them in years.”

You hummed. “How can I help?”

Jake caught your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, still avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t come here because of this, I just-“ He couldn’t find the right words to express how much you helped him without even knowing it. “You-“

“I what?” You caressed his hand with your thumb, hoping to soothe him. You knew Jake was shit with words, especially when it came to talking about his emotions. Sometimes he got frustrated with himself for it and you wanted to let him know that it was okay.

“There's just something about you that makes me forget about everything else when I'm with you." You looked at him, a little surprised at his admission. He turned to look at you, knocking your knees together. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I always come to you after a hard day or if neither of us can sleep.”

You smiled softly, your heart clenching in your chest with the affection you felt towards this man. “I did notice. I’m honoured.”

You bit your lip, thinking about something. “Would it help if I was there with you?”

You spending Christmas with him? He would definitely say yes. You spending Christmas with him and his mother and sisters? He would also say yes. You spending Christmas in his childhood home, with him and his whole family, which included his father? Hard pass. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out what kind of a childhood he had, so you had just another reason to write him off as a lost case. As if he didn't already give you enough of them.

Jake shook his head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. Don’t you have plans with your family?”

You sighed. “You’re not the only one who’s family sucks.”

“I’m sorry.” he said sincerely. You did mention that you weren't on the best terms with them, but he didn't know it was so bad you weren't even going home for Christmas.

If you weren't spending Christmas with family, would you be spending it alone? Maybe he should tell his mom that white lie and just stay with you. Hang a few mistletoes around the house so he could kiss you at least once and then laugh it off afterwards.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s okay. If I have to deal with your issues, at least I can ignore mine.”

Jake pouted at you, acting offended. “Mean.”

You grinned. “I am.”

As much as he would've loved to say yes, he shook his head. “Still. You don’t know what you’d be getting into.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Jake. Just answer the question.”

He sighed. “Yes, it would help me immensely if your cute ass was there to calm me down.”

“Then I can come.”

“What should I even tell them? Hey this is my friend Y/N, she’s here because I don’t want to deal with dad’s bullshit alone this year?” That sounded ridiculous and weak. His father wouldn't even let him step through the threshold if he told them that. 

“Lie and tell them I’m your girlfriend. We’ve been dating for a while, but you didn’t want to tell them unless we knew it was serious.” Jake was taken aback a bit at how quickly you came up with a cover story, before he even really realized what you said. You wanted to play his girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. Which meant there would be hand holding and hugging. Not that you've never done that. But you've never done that while pretending to be his girlfriend.

This would be different. And maybe...maybe he would finally get to kiss you. But now wasn't a good time to think about all the things he'd like to do to you as part of your little plan.

Oh, you were good. It was getting harder and harder to say no.

You sensed that he was contemplating, thinking about this whole thing. You knew Jake enough to know what would work on him. “Tell them I don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with either. And since you’re such a lovely boyfriend, you don’t want to leave me alone, so you’re bringing me home with you.”

Jake groaned, closing his eyes. “God, you’re so good at scheming. It’s so hot.”

You giggled, the sound stirring something deep inside him. He wanted to make you laugh all the time. 

Jake sighed then, finally nodding. “Okay. I will call my mom tomorrow.” It's not like your suggestion was so bad. He just hoped it wouldn't end in a catastrophe. He looked at you one last time, wanting to make sure that you thought this through. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely.” He looked at you, still not convinced. “Let me be a little selfish." You smiled softly, sadness passing through your eyes for only a brief second. "I don’t want to be alone either.”

“You won’t have to be ever again.” When you looked into his eyes, you knew he meant it. You looked down at your intertwined hands, your cheeks flushing with warmth.

Both of you stood up, as the night got a little colder. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm hug. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You buried your face into his chest, inhaling his cologne that you loved so much, before finally saying goodbye. You watched as he walked away, disappearing into the night.

That night, Jake lied awake in his bed, unable to sleep, his mind too occupied with you. He thanked the Gods he didn't even believe in, and his lucky star, that he got to meet you.

The next morning, Jake woke up to a text from you, reminding him to call his mother. He smiled, sending you a short response.

Javy, like the amazing friend he was, was hyping him up through text messages, reassuring him that this was an amazing idea. Wasn't spending time with you alone exactly what Jake craved?

Maybe Javy also had a selfish reason for doing this. He just couldn't watch you two dance around each other without either of you making a move, while Jake whined about how much he liked you. It was becoming unbearable to the point he was thinking about spilling Jake's biggest secret to you in order to help his friend (and himself).

Jake clicked on his mom's contact, finger hovering over the call button. He found at least 20 reasons why this was a bad idea and 20 reasons on why this could go terribly. But those 10 reasons on why you playing his fake girlfriend was the best plan you ever came up with were enough for him. There was no one else he would want to do this with. So he called her and waited anxiously, before she picked up. 

“Jake, sweetheart. Is everything alright?” He could hear the worry in her voice, which made him smile. 

“Hi, mom. Everything’s fine.” he reassured her, making her let out a breath. “Oh, good. Made me panic a little bit there.”

She always worried. He might've been an adult, old enough to take care of himself, but that didn't mean her mind was at ease. Jake could still remember her cries when he told her he was joining the Navy.

At least one of his parents cared.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. Just wanted to ask you something.” 

“What is it, honey?”

“I was wondering if I could bring someone home.” Jake closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. Why was it so hard to say those words out loud? He practiced those exact words so many times in the past hour and he still couldn't get them out. Maybe if his father didn't teach him his whole childhood that loving someone would make him vulnerable and that it was a bad thing, maybe then it would be easier.

He sighed shakily. “My girlfriend. I wanted to ask if she could come with me.”

He heard as she took in a sharp breath. Was she shocked that he was dating someone? Was she shocked that he was bringing them home? Or shocked he was going home at all? “Oh, honey. You didn’t even tell me you were dating someone. What’s her name?” He could hear the smile in her voice, which made him smile in return. 

“Her name is Y/N. We’ve been together for a few months, but we wanted to keep it quiet until we figured out where we’re heading.” It's a good thing he got pretty good at lying about anything by now. It came completely natural. At least this lie wasn't going to hurt anyone.

“Oh, of course. Is she not spending Christmas with her family?”

“She doesn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, mom.”

She cooed sympathetically. “Oh, poor thing. Of course she can spend Christmas here. You never brought anyone home, I’d be so happy to meet her.” I'm happy you're going to meet her too. It's not you I'm worried about.

But Jake knew there was no point in making his mother sad, so he didn't say those words out loud. “That’s great. Thank you, mom. I will tell her that. How are you?”

“We’re getting by, baby. The last few months have been chaotic thanks to our newest family addition.”

Ah, yes. His little nephew, Noah.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” Jake smiled, thinking about the little boy. He got his sister's eyes and her personality. At just two months old, he was already just as stubborn as her.

“I’m glad you’ll be home for Christmas.” His vision blurred slightly as he teared up. “Me too, mom. I have to go now, we will talk later, okay?”

“Bye, honey. Tell your girlfriend I said hi too. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too.” He ended the call, letting out a breath.

That part was done. Now he just needed to make sure both of you would survive the holidays.

“So you’re going home with him for Christmas?” Phoenix asked, while you were sitting and drinking at Hard Deck. Rooster was sitting next to her, munching on some peanuts, giving you a questioning look.

He was way too judgemental for someone who was sitting in a Hawaiian shirt in the middle of December.

“Yeah, why?” you shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was and you were freaking out. You were about to go to Texas with Jake, meet his family, all while pretending to be his girlfriend.

Rooster and Natasha looked at each other, before giving you the are you serious look.

Rooster spoke up. “That doesn’t sound very friendly.”

Natasha agreed with him. “His parents were okay with him bringing a stranger to their home? On Christmas?”

Oh. Right. You forgot to tell them the most important part. “He told them we’re dating.”

Their eyes widened, mouths hanging open. “What?!”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. You should've guessed they would make a big deal out of it. “I told him to say that, there’s no need to panic, jeez.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster with a smirk. “I bet you 20 that they’re going to fuck at some point.”

“At this speed, it will take them 20 years to get there. You will get a dollar for every year.”

Bradshaw thought he was really fucking funny with that quip. He didn't even realize he was in love with Natasha yet, so you're one step ahead of him.

“Can you guys stop? Me and Jake are friends.” Just friends. Unfortunately, that was true. And it didn't bother you at all. Nope. 

Rooster raised an eyebrow. Were you really that blind? “Friends my ass. You’re way more than friends. Don’t tell me you didn’t think about banging him. I saw how you looked at him when we were on the beach.”

Of course you were drooling when you saw him running in the sand shirtless, skin all shiny as if someone poured a whole bottle of baby oil on him, which made him look like a model during a calendar photoshoot. 

You groaned, exasperated. “He’s hot, you can’t deny that. But you know Jake. He doesn’t do relationships.”

“He didn’t do them before. Have you not noticed that he didn’t sleep with anyone for months now?” Matter of fact, you did notice. You kept looking at him at the end of every night you spent at the Hard Deck and he never once even looked at another woman. Maybe he just got bored of meaningless one-night stands? But Bradley didn't share that opinion. “Unless he's practicing celibacy, I'd say he's waiting for someone special."

“Why wouldn't he tell me then? He's the most confident person I know, if he wanted me he wouldn’t keep that a secret."

Bradley shrugged. “He's probably just as scared to lose you as you are.”

You were about to tell him just how dumb that sounded, because this was Jake you were talking about. Jake, who wasn't scared of anything. But what if there was at least a small chance that they were right? Before you could overthink it, Rooster spoke up again. “Anyways, we will see after you come back. Trust me, there is something going on there.”

Natasha smirked teasingly. “Pack some pretty lingerie, I feel like you will need it.”

“Fuck off.” you grumbled. 

That's when Jake walked over to the table, putting down your drinks. “Did I miss something?”

You shook your head, sending your annoying friends a death glare. “They're just being asses.”

“Say the word and I will fight them.” Nat and Bradley looked at each other, as Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“My hero. But there's no need for violence.” Jake grinned at you, before getting into a conversation with Rooster.

Natasha nudged you with her foot under the table, while you shrugged innocently.

Throughout the days leading up to your flight, Jake was restless. He wanted to make sure everything would be perfect. He warned his family not to bring up any embarrassing stories, hide all the baby pictures, not be too pushy or overbearing. Everyone reassured him that it would be okay. They never saw Jake like this, so concerned about what someone else might think of him. His mom teased him, telling him how cute it was. 

And then there was you. He wanted to make sure you weren't nervous, or that you didn't change your mind. So the next step was to talk about boundaries and make up a story on how you got together, all while hoping that one day, he could take you home and you wouldn't have to pretend anymore. 

"So, I assume we can do all the things we usually do, like hugs, hand holding and cuddling?" Jake asked, sitting on your couch as you both ate the take-out he brought. You nodded in agreement. That wasn't too much PDA. You could definitely do that.

Jake hummed, digging his fork into the rice. "What about kissing?" he asked, looking at you to gauge your reaction.

You stopped chewing, as you looked up at him with wide eyes. "Kissing?"

He shrugged. "Cheek kisses, forehead kisses. Maybe a small peck here and there." You were just imagining what it would be like, finally being able to feel his lips against yours, when you felt his foot nudge yours to bring you back to reality. "But if you want we can fully make out in my room, I don't mind."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. But you agreed to the kisses anyway. How could you not?

"And how did we get together?"

"Obviously, you fell in love with me as soon as we met the first time years ago. After lots of begging from your side, I relented and finally went on a date with you." He grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrow.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Not a chance in hell you're telling that to someone."

Jake laughed but nodded. It didn't take him long to come up with a better story. "We met again after a couple years and I finally had the balls to tell you I've had it bad for you since we met for the first time." If only the whole sentence was true.

You nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah. That's a good story."

After that night the days went by in a blur, before the calendar was showing the big X, the day of your flight.

You were squeezing his hand the whole flight, trying to take his mind off the things that made his thoughts race. But before either of you knew it, the taxi was turning into the street, his house visible in the distance. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” you reassured, giving him a soft smile. If his heart wasn't already beating out of his chest, it would definitely sped up right at this moment. You were almost there. Inside his childhood home, where his parents and siblings would all meet you and welcome you with open arms. Except for his dad. And isn't that exactly what he's been terrified of since you brought this up? It's terrifying, knowing that you might look at him differently once you find out what kind of a person his father is. 

The car stopped in front of a big 2 story house, decorated from top to bottom. Jake took in a shaky breath, squeezing your hand briefly. “We’re here.” 

He handed the money to the driver, as you both got out. Like a gentleman, he took your luggage, and lead you inside. 

You heard the rushed footsteps coming towards you, before you saw his mom standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. "Oh, I can't believe you're here." She hugged her son, as you quietly watched, taking in the peaceful expression on Jake's face. You knew he missed his family. He talked about them a lot. You were glad you could be here to support him as much as you could.

His mom pulled away, looking at you. "Mom, this is my girlfriend Y/N." Jake introduced you with a smile. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you." you said politely.

As it turns out, the Seresin's are huggers. "Come here." She pulled you into a tight hug, before looking you over. "I'm so glad my son brought you home." 

"I'm glad I can be here, Mrs. Seresin." you said, hoping you were making a good first impression. You really wanted them to like you.

"Call me Pam." She waved her hand with a chuckle. "Go and unpack. I prepared everything you might need, but if I forgot anything just let me know."

"Thank you, mom." She nodded, looking at her son one last time, before leaving you two.

"Come on, sweetheart." Jake took your luggage and lead you upstairs into his room.

You whistled, surprised at how not-Jake his room was. "I definitely imagined your room with a bit more playboy posters."

Jake put his hand on his heart, acting insulted. "How judgemental of you." 

If his father wasn't so strict, he definitely would have had them, but you didn't need to know that.

You took your time to look at all the medals hanging on his wall back from his school days, before looking at the only picture he had framed in his room. It was of him and his sisters, back when they were younger. You smiled, putting the picture back down, before unpacking your stuff.

Jake kept stealing glances at you, still in disbelief that you were really here, in his home. He was about to spend Christmas with you. 

Once you were done, you went back downstairs to wait for his sister. Jake made you sit down on the couch, after his mom assured you she didn't need any help in the kitchen. He brought you a tray of cookies, as you quietly watched some Christmas cartoon playing on the TV. 

The door opened, both of you looking up when you heard someone complaining under their breath about the snow. You instantly recognized Jessica from the pictures Jake showed you. Jake took your hand, both of you standing up to walk over to her.

She looked up, her eyes twinkling with the reflection from the Christmas lights. She had a big smile on her face, showing her excitement. Jake let go of your hand to hug her, but she shooed him away, looking at you expectantly. 

Jake rolled his eyes. He knew his sister would instantly love you, why was it surprising that she was more excited to meet you than to see him? “Jess, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is my younger sister, Jessica.”

You smiled at her, a little unsure if you should shake her hand or hug her. So instead, you just stood there awkwardly. “It's so nice to meet you.”

Luckily, she didn't seem to mind. Instead she took charge, walking towards you with open arms. “Oh, come here.” She hugged you tightly, like she was really looking forward to this. Which was surprising considering that Jake only told them that you were dating two weeks ago. “It's nice to meet you too. I can't believe he kept you away from us for so long!” she looked at her brother, scolding him, before she let you go to hug him. 

“I had my reasons.” Jake whispered, not wanting to think about that right now. He was just happy to see his little sister.

She sighed, nodding with a sad look in her eyes. “I know you did.”

She turned back to look at you, while taking off her coat and scarf. “How are you finding Texas?”

“It's nice.” 

“She's lying, she hates Texas.” You rolled your eyes, silently thanking Jake for throwing you under the bus like that. Traitor. He just couldn't let go of that time when you told him (after way too many tequila sunrises, so it's not like that should count) that you despised his accent, country music, cowboys, and all of Texas.

One of those was a lie and that was his accent. You only said you despised it because you didn't want him to know the effect it had on you.

Also the cowboy thing, was maybe half a lie. He was wearing that stupid fucking cowboy hat and looking so good, it took a lot of self-control not to do what Big & Rich were saying. You didn't really know where you would find a horse to save, but you had already picked the cowboy you wanted to ride. 

And okay, maybe you didn't hate country as much as you said, especially when Carrie Underwood was playing. You knew some of her songs word for word. But he didn't need to know any of that. 

She scowled jokingly. “How did he convince you to get together with him, then?”

“His good looks and charm?” If she only knew that the only reason you became such good friends was because her brother was absolutely unbearable and wouldn't leave you alone and maybe you kind of liked it. And now, years later, you weren't strong enough to resist his charm.

Just then, a man walked through the door, holding a baby car seat. Jake shook his hand, exchanging a few words, before Jess introduced him to you. “This is my fiancé David and our son, Noah. David, this is Jake’s girlfriend, Y/N.”

“It's nice to meet you. She hasn’t stopped squealing the whole way here, she couldn’t wait to meet you.” You laughed, happy that Jake's family was so welcoming and kind. You heard a small cry coming from the car seat, as you both finally looked at the baby. He was covered in a fluffy blanket, only his little face visible. Both you and Jake cooed, as you saw his little pout transform into a grimace, before his cries got louder. 

You wrapped an arm around Jake's torso, leaning your head on his shoulder. “He's so adorable.”

Jess chuckled, shaking her head. “Want to borrow him for a day?”

“If you guys want to have a night off, you can leave him with us.” Jake offered, looking at you for approval, as you nodded. 

“Okay, we're definitely taking advantage of that offer.” 

David nodded, grinning. “As cute as he is, we're exhausted.”

Jess looked a you pointedly. "We should definitely have a girls night. Leave the kid to the men, go out, have fun. Drink.” 

Pamela walked in, interjecting. “If Jake can let go off her for more than 5 minutes, that is.”

All of you laughed, except for Jake, who found it very not-funny. “Stop.”

His mom shrugged. “It's true. The poor girl hasn’t had a second to breathe since they arrived.”

Everyone slowly left the hall, leaving you two behind. 

Jake groaned, burying his face into your neck. “I'm regretting this already.” His breath tickled you, making you squirm in his arms as you laughed. 

“I'm not. They're nice.”

He sighed, pulling away from you slightly. “Yeah they are.” 

You could feel how tense he was the whole time, knowing he dreaded the second his father would walk through that door. Your heart broke for him, as you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms and comfort him.

You held his face in your hands, making him look at you. “Hey, everything's gonna be fine. I'm here.” He nodded reluctantly, really wanting to believe your words. 

“Come and eat, you're probably all starving.” Pamela shouted, getting your attention. 

You walked to the dining room, before Jake spoke up. "We're not waiting for dad?"

She shook her head. "No. He said we should start without him."

You sat down next to Jake, who reached out to hold your hand under the table, making you smile. You all chatted, as everyone kept asking you all about your relationship. 

It felt so nice, just sitting there with Jake. You got a glimpse into what it would be like to be his girlfriend and you loved every second of it.

The laughter died down when the front door opened, all of the Seresin's getting uncharacteristically quiet. 

You saw the change in Jake the second his father walked in. He pulled away his hand from yours, his smile vanished, his relaxed posture became tense as he straightened out, almost like the person wasn't even his father, but his superior in the Navy. It made sense. He did mention he followed in his father's footsteps. Just like he mentioned that he was a Commander. You should've realized this sooner from everything he told you. Jake probably never had a father, a parental figure. Instead he had a military man, who wanted to form a mini-me out of his child. A perfect soldier. 

Which was why he wanted to be perfect at everything, why he was the most competitive person you ever met. Why it was so hard for him to let anyone in. 

He didn't want anyone to see how imperfect he truly was. If only he know that was exactly what you all loved about him. Hangman was a selfish, egoistical bastard. Definitely someone his father would be proud of. But Jake Seresin was the sweetest, kindest human, with the biggest heart. That's why you fell in love with him. 

You frowned when you saw his jaw clench, wanting to reach out, so he would know he's not alone. But you were scared he would get defensive and that would only hurt and embarrass you. So instead you just gave him space, hoping that he would tell you if he needed you. 

His father walked towards his seat, sitting down. Jake gulped, swallowing the nerves, before speaking up. “Dad, this is my girlfriend Y/N. Y/N, this is my father.” His voice wasn't soft or carefree like a few minutes before. It was monotone, almost harsh.

His father finally looked at you two, eyeing you quietly.

“It's nice to meet you, sir.” you smiled, lying through your teeth. You were sure he knew that though, if not even his children were happy to see him. 

William hummed, but didn't do anything else to acknowledge you. He looked at his son, sneering. “I'm surprised you’ve found someone that wants to put up with you.”

The fake smile on your face disappeared, your blood boiling as the man sitting opposite you started to eat his dinner as if he didn't just insult his child. What a piece of shit. 

You could feel your heartbeat ringing in your ear, too scared to look at Jake. You didn't want to see the heart-broken look on his face. But once you had enough courage to face him, what you saw was even worse. Your Jake was gone, in his place was sitting a man drained of any emotion, his face blank, almost like he was detached from reality. Cold and distant. 

It almost made you cry, with how much your heart ached.

You decided to reach out your hand, intertwining your pinkies. His finger twitched, making you think he would hold your hand, but he didn't make any move. He just sat there, staring ahead. 

It was a defence mechanism he developed in his childhood. Act like you don't feel anything, make everyone else believe you don't feel anything and maybe one day, you can make yourself believe that it doesn't hurt.

Everyone continued to eat their dinner in silence, except for Jake. He couldn't eat, feeling like he was going to throw up any second. He could already picture it; once you got up to his room, you would tell him that this was too much for you. There was no way you could ever love someone like him. He was going to lose you. 

You hoped the tension would die down eventually, but his father didn't share your sentiment. 

"You would think that at thirty years old, you would at least have a higher rank. As my son, it's your duty to make your family proud. You need to be better." he grumbled bitterly, disdain coating his voice. "I didn't raise you all to be disappointments." Did this man hate his own children for him to talk to them like this?

You really tried to bite your tongue and keep it in, but you couldn't. Not when you heard how he talked to his own son. So you took a breath, trying to keep your voice steady, but to no avail. You were too angry for that. “Your son was one of the top 12 graduates from Top Gun. He has 2 confirmed kills.” you said through gritted teeth, your voice laced with venom. “He's an amazing pilot and an even better person.” You hoped Jake knew how much you meant that. 

You stood up, trying to form a smile as you looked at his mom apologetically, before looking back at that poor excuse of a father. "If you will excuse me. I lost my appetite." 

You needed to calm down, before you ruined anything even more. But you had more than enough things you still wanted to say. 

As soon as you were out the door, Jake's fist clenched, nails digging into his palm, as he looked at his father with anger. "Can I be dismissed?" 

He nodded, before making sure he knew he already formed an opinion about you. "You should teach your girlfriend some manners." Jake knew what that meant. He couldn't even keep his girlfriend in line? What kind of a man was he?

Jess joined the argument, having much less patience than her brother. She didn't try to keep her voice low like him, didn't try to hide the tears in her eyes. At least she learned how to handle her emotions, unlike him. "She's right and you know it. You should learn to appreciate your children before you end up all alone." 

"Like there would be anything to miss." his father said, without any anger in his voice, which was felt even worse. It meant he has already given up on them.

Of course. One of his daughters had a child out of wedlock. His other daughter was dating a woman. And his only son wasn't man enough in his eyes.

Jake stood up from the table abruptly, knocking his glass over. His hand was shaking, jaw clenched as he tried to control himself, before he did something he would regret. Instead he tried to think about you, about what you've done for him. He looked at his sister, to make sure she was okay. She nodded for him to go, as she also stood up from the table, before he left. 

The door to the room opened and you heard Jake’s footsteps coming closer and closer to you. Your back was turned to him, as you watched the snow that was falling. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice hushed.

Was he really asking you if you were okay? You sighed, turning to face him. “I’m sorry for that. I just couldn’t listen to him berate you.” You lasted exactly two minutes. Not too bad. Usually, you would have been much harsher if someone insulted the people you cared about.

“Come here.” he said, outstretching his hand. You hesitated for a second, before taking his hand and stepping closer towards him. Jake pulled you into his arms, your palm coming to rest on his chest to feel his steady heartbeat. His hand came to rest on the side of your face, thumb caressing your cheek softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Don’t think that even for a second.” he assured you.

“You stood up for me, that was…” He could never find the right words. But they weren't needed. You understood. You always did. 

“Of course I stood up for you. He was talking bullshit. You’re great at what you do, Jake. You know that. Don’t second guess yourself.”

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

No matter how dysfunctional his family was, you knew there was no place you would rather be than here with him. “Me too.”

As it turns out, his father barely stayed at the house. The marriage between Jake's parents had been crumbling for years, the love long gone. 

The good thing was, after you and Jake calmed down, you could return to the living room knowing that his father would be gone.

You were ready to apologize to everyone as soon as you stepped in, but they didn't even acknowledge what happened at dinner. 

Jessica looked up, Noah in her arms. "Look who woke up." She stood up, walking towards you two. "Wanna hold him?" She looked between you and Jake, waiting for you to decided who should hold him first. 

You looked at Jake, nodding at him. "He's your nephew."

"And you're my girlfriend." Jake grinned, the word rolling off his tongue with ease. He loved the feeling in his chest whenever he called you that. He also loved the way you looked up at him with wide eyes, flustered. "You can hold him first."

You nodded. "Hi." You took the baby into your arms, sitting down on the couch with him. You booped his little nose, while he looked at you with wide eyes, mouth open as he let out little gurgling sounds. "You're so cute!" He grinned at you, as if he understood what you just said. You caressed his chubby little cheek with your finger, feeling content just sitting there with the little one.

Jake watched as you cradled little Noah in your arms, his little fingers wrapped around your finger. As if he needed another thing to add to the list of things that make him soft for you. He was whipped. He could hear Javy's voice in his head, the one that was always telling him to finally make a move. But what good would it do if you would kill him soon anyway? Because if you kept looking at him with those eyes, while grinning at him, his heart would eventually give out. 

“You're in love.” Jessica teased, coming up from behind him suddenly. 

“What?” he scoffed with an incredulous laugh. Was he really that transparent?

Who was he kidding? Of course he was.

Jess knew her brother. He never looked at anyone the way he was looking at you. But she also knew how hard it was for him to accept his feelings. He never knew how to handle them. She hoped he would realize he deserved to be loved, just like everyone else. And if there was one person that could make him realize that, it was you. You were strong and stubborn, keeping Jake in line. It was like you were made for each other. 

She had half a mind to just let it go, knowing that Jake wouldn't admit it, but decided against it. There was no fooling anyone. “I've seen the heart eyes you've been giving her.”

“Well, she looks good with a kid on her arm.” That at least wasn't a lie.

Jess smirked, a knowing look in her eyes. “You just wish it was your kid, don’t you?”

Jake shook his head, but the smile on his face was enough to prove her right. “Maybe in a few years.”

Her smirk softened into a smile, as she patted his shoulder. “You would be a good dad.”

He looked at her, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know. You always took care of us. Of me, Kim, mom. You wouldn't be like him. I know that."

He didn't really think about fatherhood that much, but when he did, he thought about his own father. Jake's biggest fear was always that he would turn out to be like him. What if he became a coward like him? What if he couldn't love his child right? What if his kid grew up to hate him? Hearing those words coming from his sister meant more to him than she would know. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him, before nodding in your direction. “Go after your girl, she looks like she needs the help.” Jake looked at you, chuckling when he saw you trying to pry your hair out of Noah's hands. 

"Need some help, baby?" Your heart almost burst out of your chest at the nickname, while Jake, oblivious to all that, reached out to help you untangle your hair from Noah's fingers. 

"Thank you. You wouldn't believe the strength these babies have." Jake wrapped an arm around your waist, leaning into your side. "Here, hold him." You handed the little boy over to Jake and regretted it instantly. 

Did seeing Jake with a baby make your hormones go crazy? Did it make you feel absolutely feral, because you wanted him to put his baby in you, while your heart also beat wildly because it was the most adorable thing you've ever seen? Yes, yes and yes.

You blamed his big, strong arms and the way he used that soft, baby-talk, while holding the little one so carefully, like he was scared he'd break any second. His protective nature always made you a little horny, but god, this was new. It was too much. If he continued on like this, they'd have to sedate you, before you started acting like a rabid dog. 

Jake caught your eye, smiling at you. You hoped he didn't see the drool in the corner of your mouth. 

You were thankful he didn't call you out on your obvious staring, instead, he just smiled at you. "Want to go for a walk?" 

You nodded, as he passed his nephew over to his sister.

Jake took you out to walk around the streets, both of you admiring the beautiful Christmas decorations. He wanted to reach out and hold your hand, or wrap his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him, but he decided against it. 

Instead he tried to take his mind off of how much he wanted to hold you and started a conversation. “So? Did you enjoy today?” Except for the part where you went toe to toe with his father, of course. 

His soft smile got bigger as soon as he saw your contagious grin as you practically started skipping next to him. “Are you kidding me? Your nephew is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I bet we could make a cuter one.”

You swore your heart stopped for a second when you heard those words, but you tried to not let it show. You hoped to god it didn’t show. Instead you grinned again, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Wanna be a daddy, Seresin?”

He really had stop getting affected by you so easily, but hearing you say that word…let’s just say he wouldn’t mind hearing it a few more times, in a different situation. Not like talking about you having his baby wasn’t making him feel some type of way either.

He tried to clear his head of the dirty thoughts and get back to the conversation at hand, but with him thinking about you all pretty and round, while pregnant with his child, it was hard.

“Yeah, one day.” he smiled and you could feel the happiness radiating off him as he thought about it. “I always wanted to have kids, a big house, a happy family.” He looked at you for a second, then back at the ground. With you was left unsaid. “Something that I never had.”

You wrapped your arm around his, leaning your head on his shoulder, while continuing to walk. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but you were yearning to be close to him so bad, it didn’t matter.

Jake leaned his head on yours for a second, kissing the top of your hair.

“I’m just not sure if I could be a good parent though.” he sighed. “I didn’t really have the best example growing up.”

You shook your head, squeezing his arm to make him look at you. Both of you stopped walking, turning to fully face each other.

“You’d be amazing.” you reassured him with a smile. “I’ve seen you with Noah. You’re amazing with him.”

“Yeah, but having your own is different after all, isn’t it?”

You nodded. “It is. But I know you, Jake. You just have to let people in. Work past your issues. I feel like you talking to me about this so freely means you’re on a good path.”

He looked at you, not believing that a person like you really existed and chose to be friends with him. Every day you surprised him more and more, and he should’ve gotten used to it by now, but he still couldn’t help but feel surprised about how amazing you were. “You’re so incredible, you know that?”

“I try.” you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. Was there anything he could ever find at least slightly irritating about you?

He pulled you closer to him, his cold fingers caressing your cheek. “You're way too good for them. They don't deserve you.” he said in the softest voice you’ve ever heard him talk in, and you saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. It made your heart thump wildly in your chest.

At first you were confused, before you understood who he meant. Your family. What did you do deserve someone like him in your life? You weren’t sure, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You smiled, biting your cheek to stop your lip from wobbling. “Let’s go back inside, I’m freezing.”

Jake nodded, turning around to walk back towards his house, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He let out a breath, closing his eyes for a second to savour how good it felt to have you this close. “Want me to warm you up in our bed?”

You glared at him jokingly. “Stop pushing your luck.”

The words just kind of went over your head. You haven't really thought about what he meant. Which meant you didn't understood why he was acting so weird once he closed the door to his room behind you.

“So.” Jake started, looking awkwardly around the room, which was very out of character for him.

“So?” you looked at him confused.

He motioned to the bed and you realized why he was acting the way he was. Of course, there was only one bed. Of course, you were going to sleep in one bed, because you were dating. Not like you’ve never shared a bed with friends before. But you were never attracted to those friends.

“Are you cool with sharing?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. He hoped to god you would be. This was the thing he’s been looking forward to the most. But if you didn’t want to, he’d respect your decision. It’s not like he’d ever do something you weren’t okay with.

You just chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully, trying to act like you weren't about to jump out of your skin. “If you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Jake sighed, looking you up and down. “Can’t promise anything when you look like that.”

You shook your head, turning away to hide your grin from him.

“Wanna take a shower first?” he asked, switching on the light in his en-suite bathroom, before he looked back at you with a smirk. “Or we can share.”

“I will go first. Thanks for the offer though.” You gathered everything you needed, before walking to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Jake let out a breath. The day turned out better than he expected. He had you here with him and that was all that mattered. 

Minutes later, you walked out of the shower. Jake wanted to make a joke about how long you were inside and that you probably already used up all the hot water, but the words died on his tongue the second he looked up at you. He felt like a cold shower was exactly what he needed right now. 

You, oblivious to what was going on inside his head, wrapped a towel around your head. “The shower’s all yours.”

Jake stood up, clearing his throat. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He couldn't look away from you. The way his shirt (which you denied stealing from him after an impromptu sleepover at his place) barely covered your thighs, leaving your legs exposed. He could see your hard nipples through the material, and as you turned around to look for a pair of socks in his drawer, the shirt rid up enough to expose your black panties and your round ass. He had to bite his lip to not let out the groan threating to leave his mouth, as his hands itched to touch your soft skin. 

He walked over to you just as you found the perfect pair of fluffy socks, but instead of heading to the bathroom like you thought, he paused in front of you. He reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. Your legs moved on their own accord, a little wobbly.

He wanted to kiss you, touch you, pull you on top of the bed and show you just how much he wanted you. Goosebumps rose upon your skin, as you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down. You could hear his heavy breathing, before he swallowed and let go of you. He looked you over one last time before leaving to the bathroom. You were tingling all over, confused, but really turned on. 

How were you going to survive this week?

Once Jake got back, he saw you laying there in his bed, wearing his shirt, looking so cute and hot and his heart and dick both agreed that it was the best sight he's ever seen. 

Meanwhile you were just about to lose your mind, seeing him only in his boxers and knowing that he would be sleeping like that next to you.

He laid down next to you, turning the light off. His arm was behind his head, as he laid on his back, while you were on your side, facing him. 

You cuddled before. He could just shuffle closer to you, pull you into his chest. No big deal.

He turned suddenly, so he was also on his side, before putting his hand on your waist and pulling you closer to him. He could hear your steady heartbeat, as he ran his hand up your bare thigh and side. He inhaled sharply when he heard a small noise coming from you, before clenching his fist into the hem of your shirt.

Your hand was on his warm chest, his heartbeat steady under your palm. You had to fight the urge to ran your hand down his abs, as his soft breathing slowly lulled you to sleep.

The last thing you remember before falling asleep, was Jake pulling you flush against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. 

Waking up in Jake's arms for the very first time felt so good, you were questioning if you were really awake.

When you looked at him, you were mesmerized by how pretty he looked. You were looking at the way his eyelashes kept fluttering softly, when he suddenly spoke up, spooking you slightly. 

“You're staring.” he said, his voice deep and hoarse, as he opened one eye to look at you. 

Flustered, you looked away from him, rolling your eyes. “Can't help it.”

Jake grinned, pulling you closer to him to kiss the top of your head. He hummed, nose brushing along your jaw. "Good morning, beautiful.”

His good mood was contagious and there was no stopping the smile forming on your face. “Morning, handsome.”

“How did you sleep?”

You haven't slept that good in years. His body kept you warm all night, like your personal heater.

“Good, and you?”

Jake sighed, content. “I woke up with the most beautiful woman in my arms, so.”

You had to bury your face in his chest, hoping he wouldn't see how flustered he made you. “Shut up.” You pulled your face away, looking into his eyes when you felt how empty your stomach felt. "Breakfast?" 

Jake thought about it for a second, before he caged you underneath him, careful not to put his whole body weight on you. "Or we could stay here, like this." 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, caressing his back. "Until?"

"Forever."

"Forever sounds good." If only it was that easy. You smiled softly, kissing his cheek. You didn't even realize what you did, but Jake did. He was surprised you couldn't feel his heart beating out of his chest. "But I'm hungry."

He groaned, kissing the side of your neck where your face was buried, before standing up. It was your turn to get all worked up over how good his lips felt on your skin, even for that brief second. 

"Stay here." he said, putting on some clothes, before running downstairs. He came back a few minutes later with a tray.

“Breakfast in bed?” you asked, sitting up.

Jake hummed, kissing the top of your head. “My girl deserves the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head, as you both ate, content to just sit with each other in silence. That was the best thing about your friendship with Jake. There was no awkwardness when neither of you talked, you just enjoyed each other's presence.

When you got downstairs, you were instantly ambushed by Jessica and Kim, who arrived in the morning.

Kim gasped, looking you over, before looking at her sister. "You were right, she's gorgeous."

You were looking between them, a little embarrassed, while Jake only stood there, proudly showing you off.

Kim noticed you standing there, playing with the sleeve of your hoodie, before she realized she hasn't even introduced herself. "Oh, I'm sorry, manners. I'm Kim. Welcome to the family." she said, pulling you into a hug, which made you laugh. "Hi, I'm Y/N. It's so good to finally meet you."

"You're telling me!" She pulled away, punching her brother in the shoulder. “Jake talks about you so much. We had a little bet going on about how long it will take him to ask you out.”

Jake talked about you to his family?

Jake froze for a second, his mind going blank. He told them not to bring those things up. "Can you not-"

Kim waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, hush. You're already dating, what does it matter."

“Mom told me about the dinner yesterday." She gave her brother a sad look, before looking at you with an appreciative smile. "What you did was very cool."

You felt Jake’s arm curl around your waist, as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "I just couldn't listen to the bullshit he was saying." You shrugged, like it was no big deal. You had no idea that it meant the world to Jake.

"Still. I'm sure Jake appreciates it." As if to show she was right, he squeezed your hip, before kissing the top of your head affectionately. 

Jess cleared her throat, changing the topic. “Anyways, mom is already planning your wedding. Speaking of which, summer or winter wedding?”

You were taken aback, as you stuttered out a response. “I-I think fall?"

Jess cursed under her breath, turning to leave. “We will have to re-plan everything from the start.”

You looked at Jake with a raised eyebrow. “They're just kidding, right?”

He gave you a look, before taking your hand and leading you to the living room. 

There were presents and wrapping papers scattered across the floor, as Jess and Kim sat next to the Christmas tree, wrapping the presents.

Jake pulled you into his lap, as Pamela sat down next to her daughters, to help them. 

"You guys are so cute." Jess cooed, as Kim nodded. "I've never seen Jake so in love. I'm happy he found you."

Indeed, Jake was a very good actor. You almost believed him yourself. You smiled. "I'm happy I found him."

It felt so nice, so normal. Having you in his arms, as you laughed and chatted with his sisters and mother. For a second, he forgot it was all fake. 

You turned to look at Jake, noticing how quiet he was. “Tired?”

He had a far-off look in his eyes, as if he wasn't present in the room at all. “Hm?” He rid himself of the thoughts swirling aimlessly in his head, before looking at you. “Oh no, just thinking.”

You hummed. “About?”

“Stuff.” he shrugged and you knew you wouldn't get anything else out of him right now.

“Fine, keep your secrets.” you teased.

“You two would have really cute kids.” Kim spoke up.

“I know, I said that too.” Jake grinned, thinking about it. You and him having children. You having his children. The thought always made his heart race. He felt you squeeze his hand, as you relaxed against his chest. 

The hand that wasn't holding yours was laying on your ribcage, dangerously close to your belly. He wanted to put his hand on it, just for a second, to imagine what it would be like. The perfect life with you.

“Well, when am I gonna have another grandchild?”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Mom, leave them alone.”

Kim squealed, agreeing with her mother. “No, I need another nephew or a niece to spoil.” She looked at you two expectantly, waiting to know when you were planning to take your relationship a step farther.

You looked at Jake, raising an eyebrow jokingly. “Well, Jake?”

He scoffed. “Why are you looking at me? You will be the one that has to carry the little spawn for 9 months.”

“And you're the one that has to make the spawn.” 

While you were having a little staring contest, his sisters already started talking about how they would spoil your child. Since the attention wasn't on you anymore, you found enough courage to lean closer and whisper into Jake's ear seductively. “Wanna go upstairs and practice, daddy?”

You felt his whole body tense, his fingers digging into your ribs. You looked at him innocently. “Did I say something wrong?”

Jake chuckled, but there was no humour to it. “You know exactly what you said.” he rasped, voice so low it sent chills down your spine. “You'll be the death of me.”

After David and Noah got back, you spent most of the time with Noah in your arms, which made Jake pout like a little kid. He just wanted to hold you and have you to himself for a few minutes. 

All of you were having an amazing time, but the good mood only lasted so long. 

His father arrived, making himself known by slamming the door so loud you were sure even the neighbours heard it. 

You squeezed Jake's hand, hearing his shallow breathing in your ear. 

His father walked into the living room, eyes searching the room, until he found Jake. "Son." He motioned for Jake to follow him and you reluctantly let him go. You watched as he walked out of the room with a worried expression and the way everyone else was acting didn't really help you calm down. 

Jake closed the door to his father's study, not bothering to sit down. He knew his father wouldn't have anything nice to say to him.

"She's a pretty one. Mouthy but pretty." Jake's first clenched, as he gritted his teeth. 

"Is that why you called me here?" He didn't want to ruin Christmas for his family, but if his father insulted you once, he couldn't be held accountable for whatever he'd do next. 

"How long do you think this one's going to last? How long before she decides you're not worth it?" It felt like Jake's been stabbed in the heart, as his father brought up his greatest fears without any regards to how it would make him feel. 

"She's not like that."

William shook his head. "You have so much potential. She's only going to slow you down. Kids, marriage, love. That won't make you happy."

Jake chuckled humourlessly, licking his dry lips. "Stop acting like you care about my happiness. You don't even know me."

"I know enough. You're my son. We're not good with emotions." Jake clenched his eyes shut, trying not to think about his father's words and how true they were. "She's going to leave and it's going to hurt. Better end it now before you can get too attached." 

He didn't say anything, just stood there leaning against the door with his head hung low. 

"Do you really think, that once she gets to know who you are inside, she's going to stay?" 

Jake looked up, shaking his head. "You don't know Y/N. She's going to stay."

His father hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Is she?" He didn't even try to hide the disappointment he felt for his son. "She's going to find someone better. There's always someone better."

"You're just bitter because there's no one left in this world that cares about you. But I won't let you ruin this for me." Jake stormed out, angry. You stood up, reaching for his arm as he rushed out the back door, but he shook you off. 

"He's going to the tree house." Kim said, giving you your coat. The words you wanted to say died in your throat, as you swallowed. I'm not sure he wants me to follow him.

As if Kim saw your inner struggle, she smiled. "Trust me, he needs you."

You put on your coat and boots, before following him. Behind their garden, there was a small forest filled with trees. You followed the path, noticing a big tree house in the distance. 

Once you finally got there, you climbed up the ladder, finding Jake sitting on the old, worn-out carpet. 

You sat down next to him, putting your hand on his shoulder. “Jake?”

He smiled, leaning into your touch without looking at you. “When I was younger, I always sneaked out past my bedtime to come out here.” He could still remember the stinging sensation his father's palm left behind after he came hoke covered in mud and rain one time. He climbed down the stairs quietly, in his pyjamas and slippers, before running out of the house, only a small flashlight to in his hand. He wasn't scared of the dark or the animals that were lurking there. He knew who the real monster was. “It was always so peaceful and calm. I didn’t have to listen to my parents fight, or my sisters cry in the other room.” His voice broke a little, as a tear fell from his eye. “This was my safe place.” He smiled, before it turned into a grimace as the tears kept coming. He finally turned to look at you apologetically. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m so sorry for all of this.”

You shook your head furiously. “Hey, none of that.” You reached out, brushing his tears away. “I want you to know that whatever he said was a fucking lie, okay?”

He looked anywhere but at you, trying to pull his face away, but you didn't let him. “No, Jake, look at me.” you begged quietly. “Please, look at me.”

It was hearing your voice break that made him finally look at you. You smiled, caressing his face. “You’re amazing. You’re so brave and courageous and kind when you want to be.” Both of you laughed at the last part, knowing it was true. “I don’t regret coming here, because the thought of you having to go through this alone scares me more than whatever your father can do or say. You achieved so much and everyone else is so proud of you. Don’t let him ruin you.”

You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could. “He’s not going to scare me away from you.” you added, hearing the pained whimper escape from his throat as he buried his face into your neck. “I’m so glad I met you.” he whispered against your skin softly, as you smiled, thinking back to the first time you met. 

When you got back, after everyone made sure Jake was okay, he pulled you away from them. "I'm going for a run to clear my head. Will you be okay here?"

You nodded. "Yeah, go. Just be careful, the roads are slippery. It was freezing all night." He always got butterflies when you acted so protective and caring. It was just one of the reasons he fell in love with you. He wanted to pull you in and kiss you breathless, right under that fucking mistletoe you were standing under, obliviously. Instead he nodded, giving you a tense smile. "I will be."

While your boyfriend went for a run, you decided to help his sisters bake some cookies. Somehow it evolved into you sharing embarrassing stories about each other, but mostly about Jake. 

When Jake got back, he found you all laughing in the kitchen, an album with his baby photos open in front of you. He groaned, ready to tell everyone off for breaking their promise, but then you looked at him, your eyes twinkling and your smile so big it was hurting your cheeks. You walked up to him, kissing his cheek. "Did you have a good run?"

He nodded dumbly. "Yeah."

You grinned. "Good. Go shower real quick and get ready. We're going to the Christmas market." He shook his head with a smile, but did as he was told.

You decided to facetime with Nat and Bradley while Jake showered. You didn’t really have time to keep them updated, which was probably for the better given the last 12 messages you had that were all asking if you have already banged.

But right now you needed to get some things off your chest.

“So, how are things?” Nat asked.

“Tense.”

“Between you and Jake, or his family?” You wanted to tell them about the previous night, the way Jake looked at you and how he acted, but ultimately decided against it. 

“Between me and his dad, between him and his dad.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair frustratedly.

“But the rest of the family loves me.” 

Bradley scoffed. “Of course they do, who wouldn’t.” But that wasn't why they've been dying to talk to you. He bet Natasha another 20$ that you would be the one to make the first move, while Nat's convinced it's going to be Jake. Both of you are stubborn as hell, so it can be either, really. “What about you and Jake? Come on. Don’t leave us hanging. That’s your boyfriend’s job.”

You ignored the fact that he called him your boyfriend, because in the last two days you got so used to calling Jake that, you barely even noticed it anymore. Before you could decide where to start,  the words were spilling out of your mouth. “He told me we would have cute kids.”

Nat punched Bradley in the shoulder, telling him she was closer to getting her 40$ than before. “Jake wants kids? Jake wants kids with you?”

“I’m sure he was joking.”

“Come on, stop doing that." 

Just as you were about to answer, the door to the bathroom opened, Jake walking out in just a towel wrapped really low around his hips. You couldn't pull your eyes away from his Adonis' belt, as you imagined just trailing that V shape with your finger. Or mouth. You moved your eyes up, over his very nicely shaped body, over his six-pack and his pecs and that definitely wasn't the outline of his cock under the white towel, right?! 

“You okay?” Nat asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, just uh-” Everything was fine. Your brain just stopped working, because it got overheated. 

Bradley knew who you were looking at like that. You were going to kill him for this but it would be worth it. "Is that drool?" he yelled out, making you screech as Jake laughed in the background. 

"Fuck off!" you said through gritted teeth, before ending the call. You were mortified, unable to look Jake in the eyes. Instead, you were already drafting the message you were going to send to your best friend for being a dickhead. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping you would just die on the spot, so Jake wouldn't get to tease you about this. 

You opened your eyes, rather reluctantly, when you felt his hand on your chin, as you met his green eyes. Your eyes strayed, again, but it's not like he could blame you for that. The towel was like, really, really low. Like, you were scared it would fall off low. 

“See something you like, sweets?” Jake teased, his face so close to you you could feel his hot breath on your face. You gulped, nodding. “You know I do.”

Jake's smile widened, his face leaning closer-

"We're leaving in five minutes!" Kim shouted, before you heard her footsteps disappear as she ran down the stairs. 

Jake swallowed, nodding his head with a small smile, before he picked out some clothes and went back to the bathroom to get dressed. 

You just kept sitting on the bed, wondering what would have happened if Kim didn't interrupt you. Was he really about to kiss you?

You couldn't get that thought out of your head even as Jake pulled you through the crowd of people an hour later. His hand was holding yours in a tight grip, as you walked next to him. You got separated from his family halfway through, almost as if Jake did it on purpose. Which he did. He wanted to spend some time with you alone, without anyone else. 

“Jake?” You were both admiring the lights, when you heard a feminine voice somewhere from behind you, making both of your head's turn. You found a pretty blonde looking at your boyfriend, an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You should've expected to run into a few of his exes or one-night stands. Why was it even bothering you?

“Stacy?” Jake asked, almost like he didn't believe the luck he had to meet her here. You had to ignore the urge to roll your eyes, as Stacy ignored your presence. Maybe she was too busy ogling Jake and didn't even notice you were there. Who could blame her. 

“Hi. Oh my god, it’s been so long since the last time I saw you. How have you been?” 

You could feel the jealousy running through your veins like lava, setting everything on fire, when you heard him chuckle. “Great, great actually. I just came home for the holidays with my girlfriend.” 

It was over as soon as he looked at you with that heart-stopping, panty-dropping smile, as he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you into his side. You guessed that Stacy and him didn't end on good terms, otherwise why would he keep up the charade when his family wasn't near? 

You saw her smile drop when she saw you, turning into a bitter grimace, which made you smile. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’m so happy she finally got to meet my mom and my sisters.”

“Have you been dating long?” She wasn't giving up. Damn. How desperate can one person be to try and get with someone's boyfriend in front of them? You eyed her, hoping she caught the judgy stare you gave her. 

“Few months. Definitely not long enough for me to say that I’m looking forward to spending forever with her, but…” Jake spending forever with you? That almost got a laugh out of you. You needed to admit though, he was a good actor. 

“I’m so happy for you.” she said in a high-pitched voice, something you both knew was overly-affectionate and fake. Her face screamed something entirely different. “I have to go now. But hopefully we will see each other again soon.” Hopefully not. She kept her eyes on Jake the entire time, as if waiting for a response. But she didn't get any. It did make you feel a little smug. You leaned into Jake's side, smiling into his coat. 

When she realized Jake wasn't going to say anything, she looked at you. “It was nice meeting you…” she trailed off, realizing she didn't know your name. “Y/N." you introduced yourself with a grin. "Likewise.” Not.

She said her goodbye, before leaving.

You looked up at Jake. “Ex?”

“Something like that.”

You nodded, looking away from him, a bitter feeling taking over as you thought about her. You were envious of whatever they had together. 

“You okay?” Jake asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Mhm.” Oh yeah, just peachy. 

He was looking at you with an unreadable expression, a smile on his face. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Let’s go, we still have to buy the best gingerbread cookies you’ll ever eat.”

“The best? You’re setting the bar a bit too high, don’t you think?” you teased.

“Trust me on this. You’re going to love it.”

And he was right. They were the best gingerbread cookies you ever had. He also bought you hot chocolate with little marshmallows in it. 

You moaned as you took a sip of the drink, savouring the sweet, chocolatey taste, while it warmed you from the inside. "This is the best hot chocolate I've ever had." 

“Can I get a taste?” Jake asked innocently. 

You stopped walking, handing him the drink. “Here.” 

Instead of taking it, he pulled you closer with an arm on your waist, not giving you any time to panic before his lips were on yours. He sucked on your bottom lip, before you felt the tip of his tongue asking for access to your mouth. You almost dropped the cup when his tongue met yours, the moan he let out starting a Niagara Falls in your panties. 

He pulled away not long after, giving you one last dizzying kiss. “You’re right.” he said breathless, staring into your wide eyes. “Taste’s amazing."

Were you just supposed to go about your day as usual after that? Because it was definitely affecting you more than it was affecting Jake.

So the first thing you did once you were back at their house was locking yourself in the bathroom to call Natasha. To no one's surprise, Bradley was there with her.

"He kissed me!" you said as soon as she picked up, not giving her the chance to even say hello.

"What?" she exclaimed. "Tell me everything."

What was there to tell, really? That was pretty much the whole story. "He just...kissed me. And now he's acting like nothing happened. It was probably part of Jake Seresin's fake-girlfriend premium package." you groaned frustrated.

Bradley, the voice of reason, spoke up. "Just talk to him about it." And if you were braver, you would have agreed because you knew it was the easiest way to find out if Jake felt the same way. But you weren't so talking to him wasn't an option.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship over a meaningless kiss."

Bradley sighed, fed up with you two dancing around each other, but understood. "Jake's head over heels for you. I'm sure he's going to bring it up later."

"I hope so." you said with a sigh, as you listened to Nat and Bradley while they told you everything that happened in the last few days that you missed.

But neither of you actually brought up the kiss. Jake acted as if nothing happened and you were doubting yourself too much to ask him what was that about. You were scared he would dismiss it, find out that it didn't mean to him nearly as much as it meant to you. 

But the tension could have been cut with a knife. It was unbearable. And everyone noticed.

"Are you two okay?" Jess asked, once she caught you alone. 

Were you okay? You weren't sure anymore. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Both you and Jake have been acting a little weird ever since we got back." You felt like you were backed into a corner.

"No, it's-" It wasn't okay. You sighed. "It's going to be okay. This has just been a bit much for the both of us." you smiled, trying to make yourself believe your own words. 

She bought it though, nodding with a small smile. "Yeah, I get that." Before she left the room, she looked at you one last time. "Don't let him push you away." 

"I won't." you promised. 

But it was hard when Jake refused to meet your eyes. When he left the room as soon as you stepped inside. How he spent way longer in the bathroom than you knew was necessary, just so he didn't have to talk to you. 

"Jake." you called out his name as soon as he walked back into the room, but before you could say anything, the words you dreaded were coming out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." he sighed, not even looking at you as he pulled back the covers and laid down on the bed. "About that kiss." he clarified, like you didn't know what he was sorry for. Was that all it was? An action he regretted doing? As a final stab, he answered your silent question. "I shouldn't have done that."

So you were right. It really meant more to you than it meant to him. You nodded. "It's fine. We talked about the boundaries, so it's-" You took in a sharp breath, your eyes tearing up. "fine."

You laid on the bed as far away from him as possible, turning your back to him. Jake's heart clenched in his chest. He wanted to reach out and pull you into him, but he couldn't. He tried to ignore the way you trembled as you tried to hold back your sobs. He tried to pretend he didn't hear the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. Tried to make himself believe he didn't want to wipe your tears away and comfort you. 

No weaknesses. No weaknesses. No weaknesses.

Maybe his father was right. Still, he didn't regret a single second of loving you.

He stayed up for a long time, long after you fell asleep, just watching you in silence. And if a few stray tears fell, wetting his shirt, no one needed to know that. 

But what else was he supposed to do after what he overheard? You found the kiss meaningless and didn't want to ruin your friendship over it. He would make sure it wouldn't get ruined.

When Jake woke up the next morning, your side of the bed was already empty. For a second he panicked, running to the closet to look if your stuff was still there. He let out a sigh, when he saw that dumb Christmas sweater he bought you last year, before putting on his sweats and running downstairs. He found you sitting in the kitchen, alone.

You looked up at the sound of his footsteps, startled. "They went shopping for some last minute Christmas stuff." you explained, when you saw his confused look. 

Jake nodded, trying to ignore the palpable awkwardness in the room. 

"I made you breakfast." you said, voice so quiet, like you didn't want to be heard. 

"Thank you." You nodded, standing up to leave. Jake's hand reached out for you, pulling you back. 

Just tell her you're sorry. Tell her the truth. Tell her you love her. 

But Jake was a coward. He didn't say any of those things. 

"Want to help me devour those gingerbread cookies?" A quiet peace offering. It wasn't much, but it was a start. You nodded with a small smile, as he put the plate on the kitchen counter, both of you eating in silence. Until your phone pinged, the screen lighting up to show a new text message. Before you could reach out and take it, Jake was already smirking, having read it. "Natasha wants to know if you brought that lingerie and if you put it to good use?" He looked at you, raising an eyebrow. 

Oh. 

You were going to kill her. 

You jumped, reaching for your phone, but Jake put his hand behind his back. "Give it back." 

"No, no, no. What lingerie and why haven't I seen it yet?" You were back to joking and teasing each other, that was a good sign at least.

"Jake, give me my phone." you groaned, knowing that there was no way you were getting it form him. "She was just teasing me, that's all. I didn't bring any lingerie." 

He hummed, eyes trailing over your body. "What a shame." His voice was low, sending chills all over your body.

You and Jake were now chest to chest, as you tried to reach for your phone, your hand landing on his lower back. “Hey, don’t get handsy now.” he scolded you jokingly, making you roll your eyes. “I’m pretty sure it was you that said no inappropriate touching.”

“Shut up.” you grumbled, taking a step back. 

“In the kitchen, none the less.” He shook his head. “And to think I thought you were oh so innocent.”

You scoffed. “Just because I don’t do one night stands doesn’t mean I'm innocent.”

Jake smirked, straightening out. “Prove it.” he challenged, knowing you wouldn’t back down.

You were taken aback for a second, your heart pounding in your chest, before you nodded. “Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jake wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him. You gulped, hands shaking slightly as you put them on the side of his neck, before leaning up. You had to stand on your tiptoes, about to grumble about how Jake wasn't making this easier for you, when he leant down, connecting your lips. It wasn't soft, like the one in the Christmas market. It wasn't slow. No. This was passionate and hungry, rough, teeth clashing and tongues caressing each other. Jake kissed you exactly the way you dreamed about being kissed by him. 

You inhaled his scent, your lungs filling up with his cologne, as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling on the strands. This earned a groan from him, his fingers digging into your hips so hard they were about to leave bruises. His hands explored your body, trailing up and down your back, before settling on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. 

You whimpered into his mouth, hands trailing down his pecs, playing with the chain of his dog tags. Jake pulled away suddenly, looking into your eyes intensely.

"What I said yesterday..." Oh. Here it comes again. You shut your eyes, trying to block everything out as you prepared for the blow from his next words. But it never came.

Jake held your face so gently in his palms, knowing that this might be the last time he has the chance to have you this close. "It's not that I didn't want to kiss you, I did. So badly." He took in a shallow breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. "But I heard what you said and I don't want to ruin our friendship either. If you don't want me, I will deal with that, but I can't lose you."

Your eyes opened, widening as you thought back to the conversation you had with Natasha and Rooster. Of course the idiot only listened to the worst part and misunderstood it.

You shook your head, clutching at his shirt, scared he was going to walk away from you and disappear any second. "You won't lose me. I thought the kiss was meaningless for you." You put your hands on the side of his neck, pulling him down so you were on eye-level with each other. "I wanted that kiss. And I want you to kiss me again."

And Jake did so without a second thought.

You were so occupied you didn't hear the front door opening, nor his family walk in. 

“Oh, are we interrupting?” Jess asked, as you pulled away from each other, embarrassed at being caught making out as teenagers. 

You could feel your body flush with warmth, scrambling to say something. You just kept opening and closing your mouth, stuttering, before getting out something that finally resembled a sentence. “No, I'm sorry.”

Were you sorry? Because if they haven't interrupted, you're pretty sure you would have ended up pressed up against the kitchen counter and you wouldn't be exactly opposed to that. Still, you were sorry for being caught, sorry that they had to see you like that. 

You looked at Jake, trying to see if he looked at least half as embarrassed as you, but you found him looking down at you, with a look in his eyes you couldn't really describe. It was soft and loving, and for a second you thought that maybe you should've listened to Natasha sooner. 

His mom waved her hand dismissively. She was young and in love once upon a time too. “Don’t apologize, darlin.”

Jess nodded, amused. “Yeah, I mean Noah was conceived on the couch here so.”

That got Jake's attention, making him look at her horrified. “Ew, what?”

“Hey, don’t act like you weren’t groping her ass when we walked in.” 

You hid your face in his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

Kim shook her head with a smile. “Still wanna help with dinner, or would you rather make out with my brother?” 

You pulled away from Jake, avoiding his eyes. “I will help with dinner.”

Jake on the other hand couldn't keep his eyes off of you. If Javy was there, he would tease him for that look he had on his face. He was smitten, whipped and he couldn't even try to deny it anymore. 

You felt him stare at you, as you looked up to find him smiling at you. You tried to hide your own smile, but it was hard when he didn't even try to make his staring subtle. 

Jake couldn't take the tension anymore. The way you were looking at him from across the room while biting your lip was driving him insane. 

You were only half listening to what Kim was saying to you, especially when you felt Jake's presence next to you. 

You caught his eye, raising an eyebrow. He caught your wrist, pulling you out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "Jake. Your family-" 

"Trust me, this is better than them having to watch us eye-fuck each other across the room." he said, closing the door behind him.

He pushed you against the closed door, eyes gazing into yours with a hunger you never saw in them before. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, as his hands gripped your clothes. He wanted to tear them off you, but not before he could make sure that you knew what you were getting into. Because he was in it for the long run, and he hoped to God that you were too. So he licked his lips, putting his hand on your face to lean your head up. "Do you want this?"

The tip of his thumb was caressing your bottom lip, making your lips part. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice. But Jake shook his head, not moving an inch from that position. "I need to hear you say it." His tone was desperate, pleading. "I need to know that you want me." He leaned his forehead on yours, not breaking eye contact.

In that moment you saw the person Jake was trying so hard to hide. The scared, insecure man, that wanted to be loved so badly, but was terrified he wasn't good enough to be loved. You saw him now; all of him. The good and the bad parts equally and you loved all of them.

"I want you, Jake." Your voice was just as breathy, just as desperate. And all it took was one kiss and the promise of something more to come. 

Jake let out a disbelieving huff at hearing your words. "I want you too, baby." The second his parted lips touched yours, you were opening your mouth for him. Jake walked you blindly over to his bed, your hands pushing on his shoulders until he sat down on the edge. You pulled away from him to take off your shirt, as Jake looked at you in awe. You climbed on his lap, connecting your lips again, as he trailed his hand down your body, touching you everywhere he could. 

As good as your ass looked in the leggings you had on, he wanted them gone to get more access to the one place he desperately wanted to touch right now. Jake turned, pressing your back against the mattress, his fingers gripping the band of your leggings and pulling them off. He threw them somewhere carelessly, not pulling away from your lips for a second. 

He felt like he needed your lips on his to keep living. He needed you to breathe, like you were his oxygen. 

And in a way, maybe you were. 

You let out a breathy moan when you felt his hand sneak into your panties, as he found your clit with ease. "Jake."

He loved the way you sounded saying his name, while he pleasured you. He buried his face in your neck, revelling in the small sounds you were making as he played with you. 

"Need your fingers." you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. Jake let out a shaky breath, nodding. His minds still hasn't fully caught up with what was happening. Like it was just one of his dirty, wet dreams that would end with him waking up painfully hard.

But your hands on his body reassured him this was all happening. It felt too real, too good to be a dream. There was no way his unconscious mind could come up with this.

He helped you take off your bra, before pulling your panties down your legs. You climbed up the bed to lay on the pillows, Jake going after you with a predatory look in his eyes that made you shiver. 

Once he was face to face with you, as he caged you under him with his arms on either side of your head, he started kissing your neck, biting, before soothing the soft skin with his tongue. 

Your hands were gripping his dog tags and the shirt he still had on. As you started pulling it up, he broke away to pull it over his head, before getting back to work. He kissed down your chest, licking and sucking on your hardened nipples, his big hands palming your breasts. 

You never really felt anything when guys did that, but you were convinced you could've cum just from watching Jake's tongue tease your nipple. It felt overwhelming. 

He kissed down your sternum and stomach, until he was face to face with the part of your body you really wanted him to lick. You whimpered as his hot breath hit your wet pussy, while he put one of your legs over his shoulder to get better access. You were writhing on the bed, silently begging him to do something. 

Jake was too mesmerized to notice just how much you needed him. His fingers slowly spread your wetness, as he pushed a finger inside you. He watched as his finger disappeared until only his knuckles were visible, before pulling it out. It was slow, he wanted to explore your body, before giving you what you wanted so badly. His pace was steady. In and out. In and out. Then he curled his finger up, hitting your sweet spot. You thought you were going to lose your mind, a conviction which only got stronger once you felt his tongue on your clit.

"Jake." you moaned his name, sounding so sweet for him. He added a second finger, picking up his pace. He was watching your face contort in pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets as you tried to silence your moans. 

"You're taking my fingers so well, pretty girl. Let's see if you can take three." He looked in awe as your pussy swallowed his fingers up, the other hand coming to hold your hips down so you wouldn't move around that much. "Looks so pretty. You're gonna look so good full of me."

You could feel your wetness gush out of you every time he pulled his fingers out, before thrusting them back again.

He pulled out his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. His hands were on your thighs, nails digging into your skin as he lapped up your sweet juices. 

"Jake. Please." you begged, needing more. When he didn't as much as look at you, you thought about the reaction you got for him to another word, and decided to play dirty. "Daddy." you moaned.

Jake groaned against you, eyes catching yours, before he pulled away. "That's so hot." He wiped his chin with his hand, gaze darkening. "Say that again."

"Please, daddy." you begged, breathing heavily. "Fuck me."

Jake smirked darkly, unbuttoning his jeans. You sat up, pulling down the zipper, before he finally took them off. You could see the prominent bulge in his black briefs, your hand reaching out to palm him through the thin material. He threw his head back in pleasure as you dipped your hand into his boxers, swirling your thumb on the head of his cock.

"Sweets." he warned in a low voice, knowing you were teasing him on purpose. You bit your bottom lip, grinning, as you pulled down the final piece of clothing, revealing the leaking tip. He saw the way you licked your lips, groaning, before he pushed you to lay down on the bed. "Want that mouth next time. But I need to be inside you now."

"Want to practice now, sweetheart?" he asked, voice raspy, bringing up the conversation you had a few days ago. You moaned, nodding your head furiously. 

Jake let out a whimper as he swiped the head of his cock through your folds, getting his cock nice and wet. "Yeah? Want me to put a baby in you?"

You whimpered, tears threatening to spill from your eyes because of how badly you wanted this man. "Yes, please."

"Beg for me, sweetheart. Beg for my cock."

"Please, please fuck me, Jake. I need your cock."

He finally pushed the head in, putting his hands on either side of your head to hold himself up, as his lips found yours again. You whimpered from the slight pain, as Jake slowly pushed his whole length in, bottoming out. He gave you a few minutes to adjust to his size, before he started moving.

He couldn't believe he was finally inside you. You were naked, moaning and writhing underneath him. 

He set up a steady pace, thrusting his hips so roughly, your moans were now a constant noise in the room. That, and the wet, squelching noises your pussy made, along with the slapping sounds of skin on skin. 

You wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing his mouth to yours in a heated kiss. His dog tags were cooling your warm skin, and the sight of the metal with his name engraved on it laying between your tits as they bounced with every move, brought out something possessive from somewhere very deep inside him. He growled, a deep, low sound, that made your walls clench around him.

"I love you." His mouth was moving, the words coming out without him having any say in it. That didn't mean he meant them any less. Your breath got caught in your throat, your eyes watering at his confession. He buried his face in your neck, moaning when you clenched around him again. "I love you so much, baby. You're so perfect for me."

Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest from the happiness you felt, your hand going to the back of his neck to make him look at you. You could see the slight insecurity in his eyes, as if he was scared you would tell him you didn't feel the same. Like that was even a possibility. "I love you, Jake." 

He whined, kissing you, pouring all of his emotions into it.

"You're close, baby, aren't you?" he asked, feeling your walls flutter around him. You nodded your head with a hum. His hand trailed down your body, his fingers playing with your clit. 

"Come for me, sweetheart." he whispered into your ear, grunting when you dug your nails into his shoulders. "Cum so that I can fill you up."

"Jake." Your walls squeezed around Jake, as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You've never cum so hard before, your vision going black as you let out a loud moan.

Jake groaned into your neck, thrusts becoming erratic and unsteady. "Fuck, baby."

"Cum inside me. Please." you whined. Jake thrusted into you a few more times, before you felt his hot cum fill you up, his hips stilling. 

Once you both came down from your highs, he pulled out of you, making you whine at the emptiness you felt. He laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest. 

"That was..." Jake started, not finding the right words to describe just how good it was. 

But you understood. You nodded your head, letting out a small laugh. "Yeah."

Jake never thought that the holidays would end with him dating the girl of his dreams, but life always throws a few surprises your way. A real Christmas miracle.

To make everything even better, his mom decided to ask for divorce. The relationship was dead anyway, and if that meant the holidays would be peaceful from now on, it was worth it. 

“I like her.” Pamela told her son, as you were both saying goodbye to his family, ready to go back home.

Jake smiled, looking at you affectionately. “Yeah, me too.”

"Don't let her go."

He chuckled, as you walked back towards him, leaning into his side. "There's nothing that could make me do that. She's stuck with me." he joked, kissing you.

“Come here." His mom teared up, bringing you into a hug. "Thank you for making my son happy.” she said sincerely.

“Thank you for raising such an amazing son.” 

You were meeting at Bradley's place to celebrate Christmas together and exchange some gifts with the rest of the squad. Neither of you talked to your friends about what happened yet and you knew Nat and Rooster were both waiting to ambush you as soon as you stepped through the door. Just like Javy, who's been pestering Jake ever since you two got back. Every head turned to the front door, as you and Jake walked in, laughing. 

Jake stepped under the doorway, pulling you into him with a grin. You raised an eyebrow questioningly, as he looked up innocently. You followed his line of sight, noticing the green plant, tied with a red ribbon. "Oh look. A mistletoe." 

You smiled, rolling your eyes at his antics. Still, you leaned closer. "I guess, it's tradition." Jake grinned wider, pulling you in for a slow kiss. Your friends whistled, not one bit shocked that this was happening. Once you pulled away, he smiled at you lovingly, before intertwining your fingers with his. 

Rooster and Natasha ran towards you first, looking between the two of you.

"You owe Natasha 40 dollars." you told Rooster with a grin, earning a laugh from Nat as she pocketed the money. 

Javy patted his best friend on the back, before giving you a hug. "I'm glad you two finally got your shit together, because this was becoming a little tiring." 

Both you and Jake laughed bashfully, as he pulled you into his side, arms wrapping around your waist. He kissed your temple, finding your eyes. “This Christmas might’ve been a disaster, but I’m glad I could go through this with you.”

“I’m glad I could be there.” You smiled, squeezing his hip. “I forgot what it’s like to be a part of a family.”

Jake smiled softly. “You will always have a family while I’m alive. I mean, my mom already calls you her daughter-in-law.” 

You grinned. “Can’t disappoint Pam, now can we?”

“Definitely not.” he agreed, pecking your lips.

Taglist: @shawnsblue @imahoeforchrisevans @eddiemunsonownsme

2023 F1 Season Prep I Winter Training (x)

---

Crying. This was sooooo incredible

see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways. 

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety. 

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.” 

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water. 

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you. 

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening. 

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family? 

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh. 

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!” 

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family. 

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it. 

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills. 

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone. 

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place. 

You slide him five euros over breakfast. 

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards. 

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you. 

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses. 

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes. 

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room. 

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.” 

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face. 

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles. 

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating. 

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings. 

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh. 

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes. 

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him. 

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply. 

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off. 

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts. 

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

---

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

---

Suzuka 2016 Lewis Hamilton risks it all to take some snaps of Carlos as a Bambi and a Bunny

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Bradley Bradshaw

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