.ೃ࿔Neptune°☆

☆ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

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⋆ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs:

↳ It's one of the shorter chapters you're gonna see of this series, but i just wanted to create a base/introduction for the next events. I hope you like it! ᡣ𐭩.

⋆ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs:

↳ I do provide a brief description of scarring, and I also hint at some past trauma.

Amaani had been lounging on the takhat outside when the call came. She’d been itching at the thin raised scars — their pinkish tone so fucking obvious against the rich brown of her skin — etched into her hands; her mind elsewhere as she’d stared at the forest ahead of her when she'd heard the ring of her phone — seen the name flashing on her screen.

Amaani's standing beside the airport's check in area now — one hand wrapped around the handle of a worn out suitcase while the other pats at the soft obsidian hair of the little boy buried against her legs.

“You’ll come back soon, right? Right Appi?” A hand tugs at her cargo pants, tightening their hold on the pocket flaps, “Appiiiii! Appiiii, Answer meee!”

“Allah mujhe bachae,” Amaani laughs, “yes, meri jaan. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and with a shiny new F1 seat too! If you make due for me, that is.”

Zakariah pouts at his sisters teasing tone, raising his head from where it’d been pressed against her hips, eyes narrowing—

Amaani looks away immediately, fingers twitching as her thoughts begin to whir — She can’t- not here, please. Not again. She can’t shecan’t she can’tshecan’tshecan’t—

“Amaani,” her mother’s hands brush against hers, an abrupt pull back to reality. Zainab’s long fingers curl around her own slightly, “I think it’s time for you to go shehzaadi, you can call your chipku brother once you’ve landed.”

“Amma!” A cry of outrage.

Amaani chuckles, slipping her hand out of her mother’s grasp purposefully before she squeezes her brother’s cheeks.

“Okay guys, I’ll call you once I’m on English soil; pretty sure Liam’s gonna be there too for some sim work — you can continue lecturing him about whichever cuisine he’s been annoying you about now, if you want, Zaku.”

“Amaani, wait, please—”

“We’ll talk later, Amma. Tell Nani and Nanu I said goodbye, okay Z? And tell our Mamus I’ll miss them. And tell Faisal and Akbar not to touch the snacks in my room. And make sure Laila goes nowhere near my closet. And keep Hayaa-”

Giggles interrupt her tirade, Zakariah’s eyes crinkling as the girl blinks in surprise. Amaani huffs sheepishly; she hadn’t even realised the tangent she’d gone off on!

“I’m gonna go now, before I start talking again and miss my flight, or just forget I have a plane to get on in the first place.”

The nineteen-year-old turns around, taking a few steps forward before she hesitates, then swivels right back — eyebrows scrunched together as she frowns.

“Kia ekh aur ‘bye-bye pappi’ ke liye khud phooch na pari ga!?”

ೃ˙ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 ࿐

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˚˖⋆.𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒆?

. ݁₊⊹𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕀 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣? ⊹₊ ݁.

˚˖⋆.𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

˚˖⋆.𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒎 𝑰?

pending . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ೃ˙ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 ࿐

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˚˖⋆.ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ:

˚˖⋆.ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs:

˚˖⋆.ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs & ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀs:

. ݁₊⊹𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒘𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓⊹₊ ݁.

˚˖⋆.ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs:

˚˖⋆.ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs:

-> ☆ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

˚˖⋆↳ ✦ Amaani's got the call. The 19-year-old bids farewell to her family as she boards her plane to Milton Keynes; the possibility of accomplishing the final step of her career — now more closer than ever before.

⟳ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⟳

˚˖⋆.ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs:

⟳ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⟳

Thoughts on a Muslim! OC (probably a girl) driver x F1 Grid series? There won't be any romantic relationships (maybe there might be with another Muslim OC! or Muslim Celeb, but like the halal way) and she'll probs be desi, bc I'm a Pakistani Muslim writer 😋😚, so I won't have to do much research (yes I'm lazy rn😭)

Edit: I did it!!!

Prompt word: Hotel | Pairing: Brocedes

The scene in front of him is breathtakingly beautiful.

A cacophony of blues, pinks and reds that intertwine and blur into each other, casting hues of gold into the sea as it begins it’s slow embrace of the sun.

Nico could stay here forever — watch the honeyed sunlight melt into deep waters till there's nothing left, and then wait right there as a new day passes and the cycle starts all over again — endless.

He shifts a little; his back sore from the uncomfortably-shaped balcony chair he's seated on, he knows Lewis is going to be cross with him later, is probably going to lecture him about self-care and what not, but the world champion is too tired to care about anything right now — let alone Lewis’ weird protectiveness over his health.

Nico sighs, he missed Lewis.

For all his infatuation with the sight before him, the blonde haired man would give it up in an instant if it meant having Lewis by his side again — the slow dance of blues and pinks and reds may take his breath away; but the soft golden-brown of Lewis’ skin, the infinite black of Lewis’ eyes, that— that left him with no air at all.

He’d been cooped up in this hotel room for a week now, lazily shifting between the bed and the balcony — an occasional trip outside sometimes; walking down streets shaded by never-ending trees, sitting on benches wrapped in leafy vines as he licked drops of melted ice-cream off his fingers.

Nico never wanted to leave. Wanted to spend the rest of his life like this. Didn’t even want to think about the plane ticket he’d placed in the bedside drawer.

A quiet ruffling draws the man out of his thoughts, blue eyes moving upwards as he tries to find the perpetrator of the noise.

There are two birds a few metres in front of him, brown feathers brushing against white ones, their wings stretched out and tense while loose talons tear against the clouds surrounding them. There is something wrong with the white one, it’s left wing crooked and bent, yet—

Oh. Nico’s eyes crinkle, lips curling softly. What a wonder it is, he thinks — watching where the brown sparrow had placed itself. To live. Right below the lower left side of it’s counterpart’s body. To love. Holding up the extra weight that the other could not.

“Man, what are you doing?”

The retired driver looks behind him, musings of wings and feathers vanishing immediately as a pout falls on his lips, “I missed you.”

“Nico-” A chuckle, I was gone for ten minutes.”

Nico sniffs haughtily, “ten minutes too long,” he frowns.

“Babe! I literally asked you if you wanted to come with me!”

“Yes. Well-”

“Oh shut up and come inside before the food gets cold. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re sitting on that chair again.”

Nico rolls his eyes, pulling himself up and arching his back as he steps inside — groaning in pleasure as he feels a few satisfactory pops, “I want a hug.”

“Oh my god, you are so clingy.”

Yet there are arms wrapping around him instantly, blanketing him in a cocoon of warmth and love that he lets himself melt into.

“You okay, babe?” Lewis asks quietly. And Nico can feel the sincerity, the care; he can already feel the tears forming, can’t really believe that he has this now — will have this forever. Maybe.

“You won’t leave me when we go back home, will you? When the season starts? I won’t be on the grid anymore.”

“Oh Nico. I’m not going to leave you ever,” Lewis murmurs into his hair, “I know I can’t change the past few years, but that's never going to happen again, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” A nod, beaded braids brushing against the skin of his face, “Never again.”

Dark lips graze against his closed eyes. Nico’s grip on Lewis’ sweater tightens, a sudden lightness in his chest.

Liv!!! Finally done with this for you, and honestly, I just had to do fluff bc I have read way too much angst abt them😔✋🏽. I hope this matched ur expectations, meri jaan💗 ALSO, in the time it took me to write this, I gained a 100 (A HUNDRED😵‍💫🤭) more followers!! So the happiness just keeps going<3

I have also just given up on finding aesthetically matching pics of the drivers😭 (I scoured pinterest for an hour bfr ending up on nico's YouTube vids and taking ss's from there🙂🔫)

ANWAY, FEEL FREE TO DROP BY WHENEVER POOKS (this goes to all of you)🫶🏼😘

Divider creds to @cafekitsune as always♡

Rules and details☆°•~

Prompt word: Remarriage | Pairing: Charlos

Can be read as part 2 to this

Carlos had been in the cereal aisle when he’d heard him. The now retired driver had been busy arguing with the four-year-old girl tucked in his left arm, trying his best — and failing horribly — to convince her that honeyed cheerios were a much better option than those chocolate Coco Pops she’d been obsessed with, he had to get her to eat healthier, ¡por Dios! No matter how little of an improvement this was, at least it would be something.

Isabella had been tugging at his already greying hair when he’d heard the harsh clatter of something being dropped. And then. A mortifyingly familiar accent as the culprit swore in french.

He had turned around; brown eyes settling on the messy brunette hair of the other man.

Carlos had sighed, “Joder. I was doing so well, too.”

It’d been a year now since that abrupt meeting, and as Carlos stood in the open doorway of his daughter’s room; head leaning against the wall, a smile on his soft lips while he watched his Charles tuck the little girl in, leaving a kiss against her forehead, he was so glad he’d let this happen, let the other man back into his life — even if it had once caused him so much turmoil.

Charles’ head had whipped up so quick, frantic eyes meeting Carlos’ own tired ones as the Ferrari-

No. No, it was RedBull now, wasn’t it?—

as the RedBull driver had lurched forward in an attempt to step closer to him. The Spaniard had been quick to take a step back, hands tightening around Isabella, bringing her closer to himself in a poor attempt to shield the other man from her sight.

“Mon Dieu.”

Carlos felt ill.

“Cahlos,” he was going to throw up, he was going to wretch his guts out with his daughter in his arms.

“Where have you been?”

Carlos made his way towards his partner, footsteps turning muted as he stepped onto the fluffy blue rug that carpeted Isabella’s floors, “mi corazón, come here. She is already sleeping, come with me.” Charles looked up at him from where he was sitting next to the bed, blinking drowsily as his hand reached out to grasp at Carlos’ outstretched one, “come cariño,” he pulled the other man up, “I want to talk to you.”

He didn’t really understand what had happened next. One second Charles was there, standing unnaturally still while staring at his beautiful baby, the next, he’d been right in front of him — talking a mile a minute as he begged Carlos to meet with him at the local coffee shop, begged Carlos to let him explain, begged Carlos to just hear him out, please. I swear you do not have to see me ever again after, but please, please, just this once, please— all the while snatching quick glimpses at Isabella, as if unsure what to focus on. A third second, and he’d been gone, no trace of him left behind — a ghost.

“¿Quién era ese, papá?” (Who was that, papa?)

Oh fuck.

“Cariño. I think- I think we’re ready, no?” The black haired man whispered, “I think we’re ready.” Green eyes widened, “Are you sure, Cahlos?” His lover asked hesitantly, “what I did to you it cannot be forgiven, it is unforgiv-”

“Sharles. It is me who decides what I will forgive, what I will forget.” His tanned fingers rub soothing circles against the — almost fragile — hand they held, “what happened- it was bad Charles, but I have made it my past, cariño. I am so happy, so happy that I went to the coffee shop. What Ferrari put you through was horrible, and it was wrong for you to hide it from me, to put me through that hurt without telling me why.” He wipes at the tears dripping down the other man’s cheeks.

“But that is the past now, mi vida. You are not with them anymore, you are with a team who supports you now.”

“It- it’s been five years now.” A shaking voice, “it’s all so different.”

“It may be different, but we are still the same, carino — and look at mi princesa, she loves you even more than me now!” Carlos teases.

Charles lets out a giggle before sighing, “okay. Okay.”

The man in front of him grins, “yeah? We’re giving it a go?” His eyes crinkle, “A second marriage? No. Hm. A Retry-marriage? Remarriage? I think that is the word!”

His heart sings as he hears the driver laugh. Oh, how far they’d come.

Can't say much abt this, other than the fact that it might be a little worse than my other works, bc I was lowkey out of motivation near the end of it😭 sorry anon😔✋🏽. I think I might take a little more time responding to prompt ideas now bc I fr need to get on the study grind😤, but I'd love to hear u guys' thoughts and opinions on my works💗🤭

Also, sidenote, it's getting so hard finding matching aesthetic pics of these drivers😭🔫

Divider creds to @cafekitsune ♡

Rules and details☆°•~

YOU😤🫵🏽 NO. MARK KNOWS HOW RO SHAVE HIS BALLS, I ONLY MEANT HE HAD TROUBLE CUTTING HIS HAIR (FACE AND HEAD) IN A WAY THAT LOOKED GOOD. HE KNOWS HOW TO DO THE REST😠✊🏽. (Never thought there'd be a time where I was saying these words💀)

In all srsness tho😭 mark not knowing how to trim his beard was a way for me to write abt how the only other ppl he let style it was his barber and seb.

Don't know where that idea got lost🥲, but when I realised it, it was way too late to incorporate it😔✋🏽

Prompt word: Letter | Pairing: Princess Cake

Jenson hadn't been in when the letter had been delivered to his house. He’d come home from a lovely dinner with Mark, stripped down to his boxers, brushed his teeth and then slept like the dead.

The driver had woken up the next day, none the wiser to what was in his post, and had gone about his morning routine lazily; eating breakfast and doing the daily house chores before — finally — deciding to step out and check his mailbox for any new envelopes.

He should’ve known. He should’ve realised immediately, should’ve recognised the letter was from him, he’d always ripped the corners of any sort of paper he had his hands on, always left those tiny (almost unnoticeable) tears at the edges. Jenson hadn’t known, though. He hadn’t looked.

He hadn’t looked.

He’d opened the envelope casually, had licked the tip of his index finger and unfolded the paper as if it were any normal mail. And then—

Jenson doesn’t quite remember what had happened, had only come back to himself while he was booking the flight; his phone in his left hand while his right one haphazardly stuffed an assortment of random clothes into his suitcase.

The letter had been direct, straight to the point — an address, a plea for his presence, and a signature at the end.

What an idiot, Jenson had chuckled softly to himself later in the plane, who the hell signs a letter like that.

Then again, Nico was always pulling shit like this — desperate to remain formal, to have any feel of normalcy he could when things went awry.

His smile had dropped quickly after that thought.

He’s standing outside the hotel room door now, hand knocking incessantly against the dark wood as his foot taps against the tiled floor impatiently, “Nico!”

“Nico, I swear to God if you don’t open this door right now! Nic-”

“Jense.” A sob. A squeak as the door opens.

Nico’s finally in clear view of him; trembling hands holding the handle, his body drowning in an oversized hoodie, hair mussed up as if he’d run his fingers through them repeatedly, and he's crying. He's crying.

Jenson lets go of his suitcase, immediately pulling Nico forward, wrapping up the man in his embrace and pushing the other’s tear stained face into his chest.

“Nico- sweetheart, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Jense. Jense-” A wail this time.

Jenson could feel his heart breaking, his thoughts frantic as he pulled Nico even closer, panicked fingers reaching up to hold the blonde’s soft face.

“Love. love, tell me what’s wrong, please,” he caresses the wet skin beneath his thumb,”Nico, please. Tell me what’s wrong, I’m here now, I'm here. I’ll fix it, I promise”

“I don’t know what to do-” hitched breaths, “I lost my phone, and I can’t remember what to do and he left me all alone, Jense! He left me, and I want to go home!”

Oh. Oh.

Jenson let his body fall still, let Nico bury himself back into his chest as the taller man sighed in relief. He could fix this. It was okay.

“Oh, love. It’s okay. Let’s go home, yeah?”

His hold around Nico tightened as he felt the blue-eyed man relax against him. Jenson could already feel the brief sense of ease that had filled him fading away as a seething rage grew in its place.

Lewis.

Lewis would pay for this.

I love princess cake so much, so seeing this request in my inbox had me GUSHING🤭 Hopefully, you had just a good time reading this as I had writing it💗 Also, I listened to 'Tere Mere (from "Chef")' while writing this, and it made me realise that the songs I play genuinely have an effect on what I write😭 (you'll get it if u listen to the song)

As always, credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers♡

Rules and details☆°•~

Prompt word: Monaco | Pairing: Sebmark

“Ugh.”

Mark grumbled as he swiped the blade across his beard again.

Fuck sky sports for calling him in so late — what was their need for him anyway? They literally had every retired driver on their payroll, but noooo, they needed Mark to fill in the emergency spot. God —

Another swipe.

They couldn’t even tell him a week prior. No! They just had to wait till yesterday afternoon!

‘Oh! You have to be there by tomorrow morning, Mark! It’s Monaco, Mark. You know how it gets!’

The retired driver let out a groan, resting his hands on the basin in front of him as he pulled himself closer to the mirror — carefully checking to see if he’d managed to get everything. It’d been so long since he’d gone clean-shaved. He was diligent with his barber appointments, always making sure he got a touch-up every 2 weeks. The poor man was awful at trimming and styling his own hair; no matter if it was on his face or on his head, his hands simply refused to follow any instructions his frustrated mind tried to provide.

Yeah, fuck his job. Couldn’t even let him go to his barber’s before dragging him here. Of course he fucking knew how Monaco worked, he’d fucking won here for Christ’s sake! Twice! The way he’d wrap his hands around the neck of whichever sick sod bailed so late —

An abrupt snap stopped his inner rant; Mark’s head shifted as he slowly looked down at the sink with bewilderment. Was that-

Was that a crack? Oh my god. It was. What in the fuck. What kind of shitty hotel room had they given him. Why couldn’t he have a single break already? Why —

The reporter stepped back, closing his eyes and pursing his lips before swivelling around and making his way back to the main room, electing to ignore what had just happened; instead, shifting his focus to putting on some decent clothes so he could finally head out to the godforsaken track that was causing him all this misery.

Eyes lifting up; his gaze caught against the window next to him, a muted pang running through him as he registered the dark green banner attached to the lamppost in front.

Seb.

Oh, how he missed him.

Mark could already feel a sense of melancholy reaching for him; A clouding of nostalgia as he remembered their whirlwind romance, remembered their promise to come back to each other — to settle down properly when they both felt right in the head again.

The taller man had done his part, he’d reached out to Sebastian as soon as he felt he could, an unanswered text laying in their chat logs as Mark forced himself to remain satisfied with the small glimpses he caught of the other’s life now.

Maybe Seb hadn’t meant it. Maybe he’d moved on —

The shrill ring of an alarm.

Fuck, he was late!

The brunette pulled on his clothes, swearing as his elbow bumped against the closet handle, and the telltale pain of what could only be a forming bruise encapsulated it. He hopped side to side as he pulled his pants on, nearly slipping and falling as he hurriedly rummaged through his suitcase to find his paddock pass.

The sharp ding of a bell.

What idiot was outside his room?

Mark walked towards his door frantically, pulling at the knob with irritating force as he prepared himself to shout at whichever poor lad had thought itself okay to interrupt him this late.

“Mark.”

His eyes widened.

“Mark. I’m retiring, Mark.”

His jaw dropped.

“Oh, for god’s sake-”

Cracked lips pressed against his, teeth knocking together. Mark could already hear Sebastian’s laughter as he felt his knees give out.

This was so fun! I honestly had no idea what to write for it at the beginning, but I think i did a pretty good job🤭 I hope you like it nonnie!💗 i listened to 'kiss her, you fool!' while writing this, and that's probably the reason for that kiss in the end, but I love it🤗.

As always, divider credit to @cafekitsune ♡

Rules and details☆°•~

Prompt word: Divorce | Pairing: Charlos

Can be read as part 1 to this

Carlos knew he was crying, could feel the slow wetness against his cheeks, the uncontrollable shake in his fingers as his body refused to cooperate with him.

The phone in his hand slipped slightly — the call had long ended, yet the device had remained in its position next to his ear. A slow stream of acknowledgement coursed through him —

It was done. It was over. There was nothing more after this.

He didn’t know what to do now, should he go and make the breakfast smoothie he normally had at this time? Go cut up half the strawberries he normally did, pour half the amount of milk he usually did? Should he go look at the unfinished nursery they had so meticulously been planning? Figure out what to do with the newly bought pastel blue crib, the baby monitor so recently installed?

Should he ignore the missing half of his heart? Force himself to breathe the same amount with half his arteries gone?

He didn’t know.

How had it even come to this? They were doing so good. They were planning to adopt a baby, for god’s sake! Carlos had only bid Charles goodbye a mere week ago, kissing his husband softly on the lips as the other man boarded his flight to go attend another one of those nonsensical Ferrari meetings. They had shared a happy smile— had said the usual ‘I love you’s’ to each other. Charles had said it, he’d clearly told Carlos he loved him. His lover had looked straight into his eyes and told him he couldn’t wait to be back, to finally go and look at the adoption centres that they both had so joyfully made lists of.

Yet, here Carlos stood — his whole world crashing down in front of him, legs trembling as he tried his best to remain upright; tried his best to ignore the absence of the slimmer, paler body that he’d grown so accustomed to having next to him.

The Williams driver sat down, body creaking and groaning as it settled against the hardwood floor beneath him.

How could Charles do this to him. How could he do this.

Sure, the leaked photos of them together were sudden and undeniable — their fingers intertwined as they stood next to each other in the vegetable aisle of their local grocery shop, smiles on both their faces, noses an inch apart and eyes crinkled with love — but Carlos had thought that this was finally it. They’d finally come out; he’d finally be able to hold his husband’s hand in public, finally be able to kiss his cariño openly after a particularly good race, wrap his arms around the other during race weekends without having to worry about anything.

A cold laugh left him.

Oh, how he’d thought. How he’d believed.

What a fool he was, calling Charles excitedly in hopes of sharing his joy with his husband. What a fool.

He’d been met with nothing but silence, an extended ring as his call went to voicemail; Carlos had thought nothing of it, pressing the dial button a total of two more times before coming to the conclusion that Charles must be busy — and it was probably time for him to sleep anyway, Charles would probably call him later and then they could finally celebrate.

What a fool.

The only thing he’d received from Charles was a four line text. Ferrari wanted them to act like it was just another old teammate photoshoot. The tifosi wouldn’t accept this relationship. Ferrari couldn’t accept this relationship. Ferrari would drop him if he were to remain with Carlos.

The dark haired man had laughed, he’d laughed and laughed, laughed when he realised Charles had blocked his number, laughed when Charles’ lawyers had called him, laughed when he’d been told that the divorce papers would be mailed to him, laughed as he choked and sobbed and left bloodied marks against the kitchen counter he’d gripped.

Carlos’ head thunked against the rustic floor.

God. Let this be a nightmare, god. Give me mercy, god.

WHAT ABT A HI? A HELLO? A HOW R U DOING? DO I LOOK LIKE A COMMON WHORE ANON??😔 Nah lmfao I hope this matched ur expectations💗, I did get a little bit carried away with it though😭 (in my defense I WAS listening to 'traitor' by Olivia while writing this😤)

Divider by @cafekitsune

Rules and detailes☆°•~

Prompt word: Piano | Pairing: Lestappen

The melodic symphony echoes against his living room walls, a slow tune, but one that never fails to bring him comfort. Charles tips his head back, a hum on his lips as his fingers dance upon keys of black and white with easy familiarity; the stool beneath him creaking slightly, protesting against the shifting weight on top as Charles’ body sways slightly.

A second creak makes itself known — sudden and loud — causing the slow blink of drowsy eyes and an abrupt silence as long tanned fingers hover still over the ornate piano.

“Schatje.”

A soothing rumble, the voice vibrating against his back as a chest presses against him and larger calloused hands pull him towards the warmth behind. Charles melts against the man immediately, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips, “Max.”

Max’s head drops against the younger man’s shoulder, tousled blonde hair falling this way and that as the driver nuzzles into Charles’ neck, “they kept me for so fucking long,” he groans; pale hands squeezing and pinching his boyfriend’s waist in an attempt to express his obvious unhappiness.

“Hey! Don’t take it out on me!”

Another groan, muffled by the soft sweater it’s pressed against — and this time Charles’ can’t help but let out a small chuckle, “Stop pouting, mon chéri. You’re here now, get off so we can go sit somewhere more comfortable,” a pause, “preferably in bed.”

Max’s head lifts up, eyes narrowing as he frowns at the other man, “Charles. It’s 3AM. What in the fuck are you still doing out of bed.”

His boyfriend flushes immediately, a squeak leaving his mouth as he turns around to look at Max, a slow smirk forming on the other man’s tired face.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, you were waiting up for me, weren’t you?” He shouts with glee, “you’re such a clingy idiot! You couldn't fall asleep without me, could you?”

“NON-” Charles exclaims, hands flailing around as he tries to think of something — anything — to save himself from the mortified embarrassment coursing through him, “No! Max-” the ferrari driver leans back as the blonde man steps closer with a smug smile; the brunette’s arms reaching behind himself as he blindly searches for anything to grasp and steady himself with.

“Charles, wait- NO!”

A cacophony of sounds boom through the quiet apartment, both men flinching as Charles hurriedly lets go of the various keys he’d unknowingly clutched onto, gulping as he locks eyes with Max’s sleep-addled ones.

Blue irises stare into green as a silent pause rings through. Max smiles,“you ready to sleep now that I’m finally here, mijn vervelende jongen?”

“Max!” Charles scowls, yet a thick honeyed happiness seeps through him as he reaches up to interlace his hand with the one being held out to him.

Thin, sun kissed fingers intertwine with big pale ones. “Yes. Let’s go to bed now, mon chéri.”

It's been a while since I wrote anything so be nice to me😔, let me get back into the writing grind before you start judging me please😩🙏🏽. Anyway, I hope you liked this, anon!!💗

Divider by @cafekitsune (guys how tf do you make dividers, someone help me please)

Edit: I just reread this and do I have a hand kink or smthng😭? Why have I described their hands like 10 times😭😭

Rules and details☆°•~