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flowerandblood · 4 months

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The Knight & The Judge

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, smut, angst, domination and humiliation kink, description of physical and mental disabilities, prejudices against disabled people, aggressive behavior, violence, swearing, trauma, mention of an accident with fatalities ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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On that day it seemed to him that the whole world had turned against him. His coffee machine had broken down, there was more traffic than usual on the roads, he was sure he would be late for work, and his brother had woken up in a mood worse than always and cried all the way to the centre.

"I don't want to go there. I-I'm scared of some of those kids." He muttered under his breath, swallowing loudly, whooping with tears. He looked at him in the mirror, feeling a squeeze in his throat every morning when he left him there, but saw no other alternative.

He still hadn't recovered mentally after what had happened five years ago and, according to his psychiatrist, he wasn't ready to attend a normal school until he gained more confidence.

He did not want to force him to listen to unpleasant comments, however, he felt uncomfortable himself.

The centre was huge, classes were taught in different groups of matched children, however, there were times when Daeron encountered kids with a spectrum of disabilities other than physical and was simply afraid of them.

He tried to explain it to him, but how was a child supposed to understand these complicated, sometimes even uncontrollable behaviours and screams?

He swallowed hard, leaning the back of his head against the backrest, turning on the right indicator with his hand, driving into the car park of the building where he would leave him for the time he spent at work, during which he studied and had various extra classes with children with problems similar to his.

However, was he to surround himself all his life only with children who had mobility problems, who had no arms or legs, who suffered from paresis or lack of feeling in their limbs?

Every time he thought about it he wanted to cry.

He turned off the engine, staring dully ahead, hearing his mother's screams again in the background of his mind as his father fainted behind the wheel and drove off the road into the other lane – he felt once again that hard crash with the big truck coming from the opposite direction that crushed them.

They were only alive because they were in the back seats at the time, Daeron, however, was not as lucky as he was.

Compared to what happened to his younger brother, the glass that smashed into the left side of his face was nothing.

"Mrs Thomson said you can't spend all day at home doing one-to-one tuition. You have to see other children." He calmly repeated the formula he said whenever such a situation arose, opening his door, heading for the boot of his big black SUV – the car dealership had told him it was the safest and biggest model they had.

He took out the small wheelchair that had been put together and unfolded it, driving it closer, to the back seat where his brother sat, opening it – he looked away, unable to watch his brother's weeping face.

"I'm already late for work. Please. I promise we'll play FIFA' 23 together when we get back. Hm?" He muttered, and Daeron nodded, pale, breathing loudly, using his hands to move slowly towards the wheelchair onto which he shifted the weight of his body, hissing loudly as he lifted his legs onto the special supports.

The bones of his little legs had been simply crushed then – he continued to grow, the rehabilitation was hard and caused him great pain.

He would have preferred it to be him who suffered like this and not an innocent child, but God, who he wasn't sure he still believed in despite the deep faith his mother had always instilled in him, decided otherwise.

He closed the car and moved with him to the main entrance, pushing his wheelchair forward. When they got inside they were greeted by a lady they knew very well, several of his friends waved to Daeron, one of them was paralysed from the waist down, the other was missing one arm.

He swallowed loudly, thinking that his brother had to watch someone else's misfortune every day, himself for sure feeling like a cripple, like someone defective, someone who was a burden, even though he loved him the most in the world.

The cruelty of the situation left him with a clenched throat, so he would usually only throw him a few words to say goodbye, stroke his head and leave, only by the car tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, his healthy eye burning from the moisture that gathered under his eyelids.

As he always did in moments of breakdown, he started the engine, selected the number of his sister phone on the display under his dashboard and, turning on loudspeaker mode, started backing his car as he tried to drive out of the car park and drove ahead towards the national prosecutor's office.

"Hello? Aemond, did something happen?"

He heard Helaena's soft, sleepy voice. He knew she was still doing overtime as a doctor, overworking herself as much as he was and thought that he had woken her up after the night shift.

He felt remorse for not being able to handle it himself, although she always reassured him that she would always help him as best she could.

She got Daeron the best possible physiotherapist so that he was even able to take a few steps in the last month while holding on to his supports, however it still caused him great pain, the doctors said his bones would continue to hurt as long as he grew.

Perpetual undeserved suffering.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He says he is afraid of some of the children, those with intellectual disabilities. I know it's cruel, but fuck, I'd be scared of some of them too. Do they have to see each other in the same building, pass each other in the corridor? Shouldn't they be separated somehow?"

"God, Aemond, they're not animals. After all, they're children too." She said with sadness and resentment – he clenched his eye, sighing impatiently, trying to focus on the road again, tense.

"I know. I know. I really feel for them, but it's bad for his psyche. He recently asked me if he was normal, if he too would start shouting and babbling like them. That sometimes they are aggressive and the carers have to drag them away from him and his friends."

"It's horrible. Maybe he really should go there less often?" She asked sighing quietly, he heard her rise up on the bed with a quiet creak of the mattress.

"And what, he's going to sit at home with some boring old teacher? How will I know that no harm comes to him in my absence?" He asked resignedly, hearing silence on the other side for some time.

"Maybe find someone who won't be very distant in age. Someone who won't just teach him, but play with him and spend time with him. Someone old enough to be responsible for him and at the same time young enough not to feel so distant. Someone joyful." She replied, and he rolled his eyes as he drove into the underground car park of his office building.

"Joyful? I am supposed to pay someone to be joyful?" He sneered, shaking his head, his sister sighed again.

"He needs it, Aemond. We're all tired, and he's a child."

He hung up after a few minutes of further discussion, telling her he had to go, grabbed the case folders he'd just brought in and headed for the underground lift. He pressed the button showing the floor he wanted to move to when a woman's hand stopped the sliding doors, which opened a moment later.

Alys smiled broadly at him as she stepped inside with a confident stride – her high black heels emphasised how slender and long her legs were, her fitted, waist high pencil trousers and black blazer with a beautiful white shirt underneath highlighted both her confidence and her attractiveness.

He remembered the last few times the thrusts of his hips had pushed her into her desk, bent over and helpless, with firm, wide buttocks on which he tightened his fingers as he panted heavily, watching what he was doing to her, rooting into her again and again, thinking with mockery and amusement how easy it was to make a mere whore out of such a proud woman.

"Good morning, Mr Prosecutor." She said softly, contentment and calmness on her face, several of their intense close-ups had clearly left an intense mark in her, not just physical.

She liked the violent and determined ones, he knew that – she hid her age well and apparently decided that this was the last moment in her life when she could reach for what she wanted.

"Good morning, Miss Rivers." He replied calmly, uninterested in her ambiguous look, apparently suggesting that she wouldn't mind if what happened between them was repeated a few more times.

He was all about the sex. He was frustrated in this aspect – his artificial eye, although perfectly colour-matched to the other and the still clearly visible scar from where the glass pierced in, were a source of his complexes and shame.

He knew that no matter how perfect a professional he was, it was his appearance that made the first impression.

In the courtroom he still struggled to be taken seriously so much so that his cold, calculating, ruthless nature began to frighten some – his judgement and questioning was harsh and lacking in compassion.

He knew exactly what he wanted and strove to get it.

He preferred them to fear him rather than pity him.

His superiors quickly appreciated how skilful a lawyer he was and his ability to bring cases to an end and push whoever he needed to, hence he quickly moved to the National Prosecutor's Office, where more responsibilities and more money awaited him, which he could spend on Daeron's rehabilitation.

As he sat over the files he thought hard about what his sister had told him and decided that he would install CCTV in the house and then hire someone on a trial basis to see if it made sense.

He put up an anonymous job ad not wanting anyone to recognise him, described briefly his broad expectations and his rate per hour.

It turned out that dozens of people responded to his ad, just as he suspected attracted by the sum he had quoted, but he didn't know how he was supposed to sort them to choose the ones that seemed best to him. He began to read their answers, figuring that already from them he could deduce what types of personalities they were.

I am interested. My phone number is below.

Reject, he thought, clicking the red button informing the message sender that his offer was not accepted, and began to scroll further.

I am a carer with 10 years of experience. I have already cared for 14-year-old Mike with cerebral palsy, Adam with….

Reject, he clicked again.

He had no intention of making his home a second centre for the disabled.

He felt frustration and rage when he found that most of the messages were similar and just as empty in their tone, nothing convinced him about these people.

He knew Daeron wouldn't want to stay with them, and neither would he.

He stopped at one of the messages that looked completely different and blinked.

Good morning! I saw your ad and thought I would speak up. I'm a student, I'm studying costume design at the Faculty of Fine Arts. I'm looking for a casual job and I really enjoy working with children, I teach dressmaking as part of the teaching section of my university classes. I think that helping your brother with his studies at primary school level would be no problem for me at all, and I would also be happy to come up with different extra-curricular activities with him. Even if you decide not to hire me, I would like to sew your brother a costume of his favourite super hero, without any payment of course. You would just have to give me his measurements. I don't think anything makes kids his age happier!!! My warmest regards and I am sending my email below.

He looked at her message not too sure how he felt, at the same time being impressed, on the other hand feeling the seed of uncertainty and extreme caution characteristic of him when it came to his approach to newly met people.

What if this was a psychological tactic to make him believe her to be innocent and unselfish? To make him subconsciously choose her because she was the only one offering him something for free? If it was just her free promotion?

He chose two people reluctantly, but kept coming back to her message, trying to imagine her, seeing some crazy painting student looking like a hippie.

Maybe this was just what he needed? He thought with regret and sighed heavily, opening a new window in his inbox, writing her a short, brief email to appear at their house in a few days' time.

He was going to interrogate her.

The young man before her immediately made him uneasy – he had the impression that he smelled weed from him even though he had taken a shower, so he must have been smoking like crazy, and he had no intention of letting anyone who might encourage him to use any stimulants look after his brother.

The other girl was very frightened – his questions clearly startled her and made her uncomfortable, it frustrated him that she was barely able to make a sound. He thought she had something to hide, that people who have a clear conscience don't behave this way.

He thought with resignation that all he had left was a mad artist.

He sighed heavily as he heard the bell ring suggesting that someone was standing outside the gate. He walked over to the intercom and opened it, seeing in the small monitor a petite girl with dark, slightly wavy hair tied up in a ponytail.

He thought in disbelief that she was dressed for a job interview in a white turtleneck, dungarees and trainers, a fabric floral back on her back.

What the fuck, he thought, opening her door with a cold, indifferent expression on his face.

"Good afternoon." She said softly, a wide smile on her face. Before she walked in she wiped her shoes on the doormat, which pleased him. When she came inside she wanted to take off her trainers – he looked at her surprised, thinking she must be crazy.

"No, you don't have to. You can stay in your shoes." He said lowly, pointing towards the armchair, indicating to her with his hand the seat on the couch next to him.

She sat down in the seat he showed her, looking boldly straight into his eyes, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

She was clearly a tad nervous after all, he thought, musing for a moment that she had incredibly long, dark eyelashes.

"Do you have experience in working with children?" He asked immediately; she blinked and corrected herself in her seat, as if prepared for the question.

"Only in terms of working with them in sewing workshops." She answered simply, without any further explanation, which pleased him.

She was letting him draw his own conclusions, rather than imposing them on him so as to present herself in the most favourable light.

"My brother has mobility problems. How do you imagine helping him, for example, if he needs to go to the bathroom?"

"I think he's old enough that he can tell me himself what he'll need help with and what he won't, and what he'll feel comfortable for me to help him with and when he'll want me to leave." She said without thinking, shrugging her shoulders as if it was obvious. He squinted, intrigued that she was allowing herself to say unthoughtful things in front of him, as if she wasn't afraid of the consequences they might bring.

"And your studies? How will you have so much time to come here?"

"From what I understand, I would be expected to turn up on Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight in the morning until sixteen. I have practice classes then, the costumes I'm sewing I can bring with me and finish them while he's eating or watching something, maybe he'll even like it and want to practice with me?"

"What will you do if I don't hire you?" He asked dryly and she looked at him surprised, a light smile on her face indicating that his words didn't worry her.

"Then I will continue to work in the café. But my words about the superhero costume stand. Even if I can't work for you, sir, I would like to meet him and give him something. Children can be so brave." She said softly with sincere, bright joy and some kind of pride, as if Daeron was her brother and not his, something in her innocence, something in her attitude endeared him.

He could smell a lie a mile away, she wouldn't be able to pretend so well even if she were an actress.

These reactions were natural, she was saying exactly what she was thinking about.

"I will contact you once I have made my decision." He said indifferently, getting up from his seat and pointing with his hand towards the exit, suggesting that their conversation was over.

She stood up and smiled, undaunted by his behaviour or the length of their conversation. Both of them flinched when Daeron appeared in the living room, pushing the wheels of his wheelchair with a light flick of his hand.

"Good afternoon. Who is this lady?" His younger brother asked him, obvious curiosity on his face. He swallowed loudly and glanced at her – she answered nothing but waved at him vigorously, Daeron smiled shyly and waved her back, embarrassed.

"No one. I needed to talk to her." He replied, opening the door for her. She said a polite goodbye to him and his brother, waving at him once more, Daeron waved her back again, looking at him with questioning eyes as he closed it.

"I like her. She seems fun."

With no other choice, he decided he would give her a chance.

The first day she was to be left alone with Daeron he was all nerves despite the fact that his little brother hadn't seemed this excited to him in many years. He told him about his toys and the cartoons he was going to show her.

"First the lessons. Then two hours to play and free time." He replied dryly, tense, glancing at his watch, thinking with rage that she only had fifteen minutes left, that she was sure to be late or not come and leave him in the lurch when he had already cancelled his presence at the centre's classes.

They both flinched when they heard the bell ring; Daeron said, moving briskly forward in his wheelchair that he wanted to open for her and indeed, after a moment the girl he had hired appeared on the doorstep of their house, smiling and content – her cheeks flushed again, her dark hair loose, pleasantly framing her bright face, on her body only a black top and tracksuit shorts as it was a sunny, warm spring morning.

"Good morning, Daeron, nice to meet you!" She said with fondness and satisfaction in her voice, extending her hand in front of her, which his brother shook confidently. Daeron moved ahead of her, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Come, I'll show you my room. I'll explain everything to you." He said, rolling his wheelchair up to the door, which was located on the ground floor of their house so that he could move around easily. The girl nodded, pulling her trainers off her feet, saying that she will come to him in a minute.

He took the opportunity to walk up to her, towering over her, and she threw him a quick surprised look.

He thought her eyes seemed even bigger than before, he wasn't sure if they were blue or green, both colours blending into one.

"You are to take care of him. I want you to go through all the material that was prepared for today. Only two hours of free time, no more. Behave responsibly and only call if it's really urgent or if something happens to him." He said matter-of-factly, and she swallowed quietly, nodding quickly, clearly horrified by how close he stood and how cold his voice was.

Good, he thought.

He wanted her to be afraid of the consequences of her actions.

He sat in the office all day terrified, stressed and unsure, trying to focus on the file in front of him, while involuntarily still glancing at his phone, checking to see if she might have called him.

Was everything okay? What if something had happened but she was afraid to call him? Maybe he should go home and test her, see what was going on?

He thought he would go mad if he didn't, so he left work an hour early – Alys threw something at him as he walked past her, probably something about a meeting or an evening out together, but he didn't answer her, heading for the stairs and the underground car park.

He drove forward, trying to calm himself down, thinking about how oversensitive he was, that surely everything was fine.

He pulled up in front of their house hearing music in the distance, wondering if any of the neighbours were having a party outside at this hour.

However, as he pressed the key to the gate and it slowly swung open he saw in disbelief the girl he had hired riding with lightness and grace on roller skates in his driveway to the tune of the Scissor Sisters song Don't Feel Like Dancin. Daeron laughed out loud, spinning beside her in his wheelchair, both of them wearing elbow and knee pads, in addition to his little brother wearing a bike helmet on his head.

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He got out of the car, furiously slamming the door, his brother wheeled up to him briskly, his companion spinning slowly around them on roller skates – she raised her eyebrows with a smile, seeing the look on his face and waved at him.

"Look how well I dance, brother!" Exclaimed Daeron, spinning the wheels of his wheelchair around his own axis again.

He, however, instead of looking at him grabbed aggressively the arm of his carer who was doing another spin – she nearly fell over because of his tug and caught him abruptly by his jacket in an attempt to catch her balance.

"Ah!"

"What the fuck are you doing? Is this what I pay you for?" He growled and shook her hard. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, her lips slightly parted in accelerated breathing from fear, her face red from exertion, strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks.

"Let me go, sir. I will not speak to you like this." She said warningly, her brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together noticing that something had changed in her gaze, suddenly confident and angry, ready to fight if necessary.

He felt that look in his trousers, he'd never had the urge to slap a woman's ass as hard as hers before.

He glanced at his brother, who was looking at him in horror, only realising after a moment that the song had long since ended and there was a tense, awkward silence around them.

He let go of her arm, seeing with satisfaction that he had left a bruise on her skin in the shape of his fingers – she massaged at the spot, furrowing her brow.

"You're fired. You're irresponsible. Good thing I came back earlier." He said with mockery and fury, walking over to his brother, unbuckling the helmet he wore on his head. Daeron burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

"I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't want to go back there, I want to stay with her. It's my fault, I told her I wanted to dance, please, please, please, I want her to stay, I don't want to go back there." He babbled, running his hands over his shoulders in some helpless, childish pleading gesture from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her gaze fixed on his little brother, sad and resigned – she was leaning over, untying the laces of the roller skates that had once belonged to his sister.

"Something could have happened to you. You could have fallen over and hit your head on the ground." He replied coldly, kneeling in front of him, unbuckling his knee pads.

"But I had a helmet on my head. After all, normal boys fall off bikes and stairs and they're fine! Nothing would have happened if I'd bruised myself a bit, I'm not made of glass!" He burst out suddenly with a fury he had never seen in him before, burying his little face in his hands, all red from tears and despair.

"I won't go back there, I won't go there tomorrow, if she doesn't stay, never, never again, I'd rather kill myself!" He whined out loud, falling into another attack of hysteria in recent months – he had trouble catching his breath, his lungs were wheezing all over. He took his face in his hands, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at him.

God, why?

"Remember what I told you?" She asked walking up to his brother in just her socks, kneeling beside him, grasping his hand. Daeron immediately fell silent, looking at her with wide eyes.

"That boy who calls you Quasimodo is just mean. You are my Phoebus, you have his beautiful hair, humour and valour. I'll sew us costumes and we'll go to the carnival ball together. His jaw will drop when he sees that you came with your Esmeralda. What do you say?" She asked softly, and he looked at her in disbelief, wondering if that was the reason his little brother didn't want to go there.

That boy who calls you Quasimodo.

He felt a twitch in his throat and swallowed loudly, his brother nodding quickly, drawing in air loudly, his eyes full of hope.

"Promise?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she smiled broadly, sincerely, squeezing his small hand.

"Promise."

They entered their house as his brother calmed down; he told Daeron to go to his room and leave them alone, which his brother eventually did with great reluctance, crying for a while longer, not wanting to say goodbye to her.

As soon as he heard the door close behind him at the end of the corridor he slipped his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, took out a few banknotes and threw them on the table in front of her in a careless gesture.

"Get the fuck out of my house." He said coldly, looking her straight in the eye. He saw her lower lip twitch, the pain of humiliation in her gaze, her eyebrows arched in disbelief that such words had left his mouth.

He wasn't paying her to make a circus of herself dancing like some fucking Esmeralda, exposing his brother to danger and injury.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and trembled with rage as she took the money and tossed it in his direction, the banknotes flying scattered around his feet.

"You could dress up as Frollo for the carnival ball, sir. It would suit you." She said drily, turning away tensely – he moved behind her, feeling anger buzzing strongly in his veins at her words.

He grabbed her by the neck with an aggressive flick of his hand and slammed her back against the wall, her voice stuck in her throat in horror, her big, bright eyes open wide in disbelief.

He took a step closer to her, feeling her warm body quiver all over in his grasp, digging his fingertips deeper into her skin, finding with delight that she was obscenely soft.

"Do you have anything else to say?" He asked in a low whisper filled with threat – she shook her head quickly clearly feeling the situation was out of her control, obviously fearing if he was really going to do something to her.

"No, are you sure? I'm listening to you. Tell me something else interesting about me." He said softly, encouragingly, moving even closer to her, the tips of their noses almost touching.

He could finally get a good look at her and he found curiously that he still couldn't tell what colour her eyes were, now slightly reddened from tears of fear.

She shook her head quickly, not making a sound; all he could hear was their quickened, raspy breaths, her hand touched his wrist as if she wanted to make sure he didn't strangle her.

He was somehow delighted by how delicate, long and slender her fingers were, feeling a pleasant pulsing in his trousers at the thought.

"Look at you. So silly. Because you're a silly little girl, aren't you? You would benefit from someone teaching you a lesson. No? Then apologise and I'll let you go and pretend I never met you." He said calmly, her whole body quivering with terror.

"Never." She said quietly, and he felt involuntarily that his lips curved in a dangerous, satisfied grin, his fingers clenching tighter around her neck.

"You're asking for trouble, Esmeralda." He muttered lowly, her nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

"I will report what you are doing to the police." She said dryly and he smiled even wider, feeling her tremble all over as he leaned over her ear, his nose sinking into her soft, flower-scented hair – he closed his eyes and savoured the experience for a moment before whispering something she froze from.

"I am a prosecutor −"

Her hand clenched tighter on his wrist, a moan of despair escaping her lips, as if what he had said had really shocked her, as if she was only now realising what she had gotten herself into.

"− and I've never lost a case yet." He whispered in her ear, sliding his face lower, to her jaw and then to her neck, pressing his full lips to her skin, leaving wet, hot marks on it. He heard her draw in a loud breath.

"− w-what are you doing, sir? − no −" She whimpered, he felt her lift her arms up in a defensive gesture, trying to pull away from him, but he pressed her against the wall with his body, letting go of her neck, his erection throbbing hard in his trousers, pressing again and again against her stomach.

She felt it, a terrified cry escaped her lips as his lips pressed tightly against her neck – he began to suck painfully hard on her skin, wanting to leave her a crimson reminder of himself.

"− how did you put it? − who do I remind you of? −" He asked tauntingly, running his rough tongue over her red skin, feeling the veins pulsing rapidly under her soft, warm skin.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry − please, please let me go −" She mumbled out in despair on the verge of crying, her voice trembling all over in terror, her breathing raspy and uneven, her small hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck that he wore under his jacket.

He gasped at her words, sliding his mouth lower, repeating the same process, rubbing against her with his hips – his cock was all swollen and hard, pulsing with pleasure, his hands roaming down her back, sliding at last to her buttocks where they clenched.

"− look at you − so you can be polite after all, hm? −" He asked softly, lowering the material of her tracksuit shorts a little, his large hand grasping her plump, firm buttocks and slapping it hard – she clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the whimper that squeezed its way down her throat.

"− that's what I thought − turn around and let's get this over with −" He murmured, soothingly massaging the place that was now pulsing from his slap, grinning as she did so wordlessly, tears of helplessness and fear on her cheeks.

"− please −" She muttered and he sighed softly, sliding the material of her shorts and underwear down, revealing what was underneath – she shuddered and wept quietly as the tips of his fingers ran over her swollen folds, focusing their pressure on her sweet spot hidden between them, digging into her fleshy skin in circular, calm motions.

"− shhh − this way it will be easier for both of us −" He explained in a soft tone of voice, as if he was telling her something obvious, as if it would benefit her in the future and teach her something.

He heard her shy moan full of fear, then another, a tad louder as his fingers sank more firmly into her skin. He licked his lips at the sight of the wetness that began to leak slowly from inside her and slapped his hand with a short, rough movement into the space between her thighs.

"− quiet −" He ordered, and she pressed her lips together, stifling whatever wanted to come out of them. Daeron was far away, locked in his room, but he still preferred him not to hear anything, and he didn't have the time or desire to take her upstairs to his bedroom.

This situation, her bent figure and her lovely buttocks pushed up towards him, suited him completely.

"− good girl − see? − it's not that hard −" He murmured pleased with how obedient she was despite the fear and terror from which her whole body was twitching. The confident movements of his fingers were accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her cheek pressed against the cold wall where her hands were helplessly trying to find support in this position, her eyes closed as if she just wanted to wait it out.

She opened them when she heard the sound of his zipper being opened – her lips pressed together with difficulty as he guided the fat, swollen head of his throbbing cock against her opening, leaning with his free hand against the wall just above her head, trying to force it between her tight folds with the motion of his hips.

"− wider − that's it, there you go −" He exhaled as she opened her thighs a little more and he spread her wide on his cock, feeling her muscles gave him a wonderful squeeze – he sighed loudly, surprised at how pleasurable the sensation was.

"− fuck −" He hissed out, clamping his hands on her buttocks, spreading them like a ripe fruit; she squirmed in discomfort as he forced her to take him deeper inside her, filling her so much that he felt like he was going to rip her skin apart.

"− barely fits −" He scoffed, moving his hips back and forth with a splat of her moisture dripping down her thighs – he heard her begin to pant along with him as he deliberately rubbed against her lower wall just above her very entrance, teasing the spot inside her from which her whole body was quivering.

"− here? − do you want me to fuck you here, little one? −" He gasped as he stretched her skin enough to fit all of him inside her, rooting into her again and again with increasingly brutal thrusts of his hips, digging his fingertips into her buttocks, looking at the spot where their bodies joined, at her muscles clenching against him greedily in panic, sucking him inside.

"− please −" She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips parted in disbelief at how pleasurable and terrifying the experience was. He sank his hand into her soft, dark hair and tilted her head back, burying his nose in the hot skin of her cheek, speeding up, stretching her weeping folds with a loud, lewd slaps of his thighs against her buttocks.

"− use full sentences −" He commanded, his other hand from her hip slid down between her thighs – she squirmed helplessly as his fingers sank again into her fleshy skin, sticky from her moisture, teasing her clit with circular, slow motions.

"− here − fuck me here, sir −" She mumbled with difficulty in a voice trembling with exertion, her cheeks all red, the beautiful curls of her dark hair clinging to her sweaty face – he felt with satisfaction that her hips began to respond to his eager thrusts.

"− good girl − that's my good girl −" He breathed out with a quiet groan of pleasure, seeing and feeling her walls squeeze his fat cock at his praise – he licked his lips thinking that Alys had never responded to him the way she did, so frightened and aroused at the same time, relying only on his mercy, his goodwill.

"− you understand that this is necessary, don't you? − that you need to be taught a lesson −" He muttered, feeling that he was losing his temper, thrusting into her so fast that he was barely slipping out of her, slamming into her again and again, his cock throbbing with desire, signalling to him that his peak was coming, her wonderful scent filling his lungs.

"− y-yes − yes, I'm sorry −" She mumbled out –he wasn't sure if she was saying what he wanted to hear or if she really believed it herself for a second, but she clamped her eyelids shut and spread her mouth wide, helpless, girlish, sweet moan of relief burst from her throat as she came, sucking and squeezing his cock, soaking it in her moisture. He sighed in relief when, after a few desperate, deep slaps he spilled inside her, feeling the wave of hot pleasure shake his body.

"− fuck − oh, God, little one −" He muttered, their bodies involuntarily moving for a moment longer, wanting to prolong this surprisingly shocking experience, both of them panting embarrassingly loudly, her body trembling all over – if his arm hadn't been holding her around the waist she would have fallen for sure, her legs completely numb.

He looked down at their joined bodies, his half-hard, throbbing manhood sinking into her again and again, all sticky from his semen and her wetness.

He swallowed loudly, sliding out of her slowly, realising now what he had actually done to her – he heard her quiet hiss of discomfort and sigh of relief, her face flushed from exertion and tears.

"− are you all right? −" He asked in a trembling voice, quickly zipping up his trousers, her shaking hands slipping her underwear and shorts back onto her buttocks.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled in embarrassment, horror and disbelief, not looking at him, in some automatic gesture reaching for her trainers, putting them quickly on her feet.

"Come back on Thursday as we agreed before." He muttered, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart and the panic rising inside him, a complete void in his mind.

What had he done?

"I can assure you that you will never see me again." She whispered in a trembling, broken voice, quickly put her backpack on her back and walked out, slamming the door, leaving him with complete silence, remorse and horror.

He pressed his forehead against the wall, hiding his face in his hands, and burst into tears like a small child.

How could he treat a strange, innocent girl like this?

What if she didn't take her pills, what if she got pregnant?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

What if she really does report it to the police?

I'll destroy her, he thought with a bitter certainty that, after a moment, turned again into terror, regret and shame.

He grabbed his phone quickly and dialled her number, wanting to beg her forgiveness, but she didn't answer. He sat down on the couch and drew in the air loudly, devastated, not recognising himself, realising what kind of man he was.

He laughed desperately, shaking his head, thinking with painful amusement how well she had judged him.

He didn't even have to pretend.

He was like Frollo.

_____

Author's note: Many of you may believe that Quasimodo is the best and most worthy of imitation character, not Phoebus, and this is true when it comes to the book, but I assume that if anything, Daeron at this age has only seen a Disney fairy tale, in which Phoebus is a handsome man with a noble heart. The whole idea of this scene, in which the heroine says that he will be her Phoebus and she will be his Esmeralda, is that Daeron wants to see himself not only as a person with a disability, but as someone handsome, a warrior that a woman could love one day. It's easy to understand how children's minds work and why his works this way, and his "Esmeralda" only wants to help him become the person he wants to be and encourages him not to give up on these dreams and this self-image.

_____

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kurogxrix · 1 year

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Hi can I request a concept with Ao’nung where his female mate is cold at night and doesn’t want to wake him but he wakes up anyway pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her trying to get her warm with back rubs and having her lie on him completely with a blanket on them both, thanks?

Ao’nung x Metkayina!reader

It was cold, oh so cold upon the lands of Pandora tonight. You weren’t used to this extreme weather because Pandora was usually a one-temperate planet, so the sudden meteorological outburst was not something that your na’vi body was made for. The humans would’ve told you that you were exaggerating if they were there, but thankfully for you they were not.

Your metkayina body was used to the scorching sun rays that made you feel like you were literally frying under the light. The nights in Awa’atlu were usually a bit more tolerable due to the absence of the sun. You couldn’t help but shiver uncontrollably in your spot besides your mate. Talking of your mate, Ao’nung didn’t seem too disturbed by the cold. Though his body was designed just exactly the same as yours, he didn’t seem too bothered.

Maybe, it was because he was hogging the whole of your shared blanket.

You turned to the side as you eyed him angrily for taking up all of your warmth. Though you feared that if you tried to reconquer your side of the blanket again, you would wake him up. Ao’nung was so busy nowadays, being the future Olo’eyktan. You were just as busy with Tsahik training, though his physical tuition was far more difficult than yours. He would wake up early at dawn to go training with his father and the other men, while you would wake up later to go train with Ronal.

He’d come back home all tired and exhausted but he’d still always find time for you. For he feared the fact of neglecting his mate.

You dreaded accidently waking him up as you twisted and turned in your place, but the surge of cold breeze that ran down your back could only make you shiver even more. You wondered if this was Eywa’s way of punishing you all for your sins, and just then had you regretted not being the perfect child growing up.

Chills raised upon Ao’nung’s arm, despite being tucked into the comfort of the cover. You resisted the need to roll your eyes at him while you were literally dying out here. On any other day would you have snatched your covers back, probably grabbing the whole thing just to be petty. Though today you just couldn’t get yourself to, he had come home oh so tired and you just couldn’t do that to him.

You knew that he was trying so hard for his people, for you.

Your eyes moved back to your husband, able to notice all of his features in the dark given your nocturnal vision. The glowing freckles that adorned his face just seem to accentuate his beauty, and his untied hair framed his face to perfection. At times you’d wake up and think about how lucky you are to have been mated to such a man. Though he thought the same of you. How could the brash and troublemaking Ao’nung end up with such a good woman as you?

You moved slowly as you tried not to awaken Ao’nung, carefully trying to tuck yourself next to him. He was peacefully splayed on his mat, his toned body facing the ceiling as he used both of his arms as pillows. Eywa, the curve of his neck just looked so cosy and warm for you to nuzzle your face in. So you did just that.

You tried not to touch him too much, but given your aim, that would be kind of hard. You winced as Ao’nung shifted slightly under your touch, and you tried to convince yourself not to double back at the moment. You hadn’t even gotten halfway comfortable when a pair of finned-arms engulfed you in their embrace and you let out a pathetic yelp at the jumpscare.

You looked down to see Ao’nung’s arms wrapped tightly around you and he was glad that you hadn’t been looking at his face, because he was trying so hard to hold back a drowsy smirk. He was too tired to even open his eyes, deeming that his drowsiness would dissipate once he would do so. Ao’nung hummed distantly as he imploring you to join him.

He lifted the home-weaved blanket off of his warm body, urging you to take the soft material’s place. He hummed once more as you failed to understand his inquiry. Your face was still in the crook of his neck as he moved you from there with little to no effort. You were suddenly engulfed but his body heat, and you urged your own cheek against his warm chest.

If Ao’nung was not this tired, then he would’ve totally relished in the sight of you snuggling against him. With his aqua eyes still closed, he reached out blindly for the lost cover. Once his nimble fingers made contact with the item, he grabbed the corner of the blanket between his fingers.

You couldn’t help but smile wider at the added heat that frameditself on your back. The feeling of peace was tripled as your husband brought his hand to rest on your back. You tried to get a look at his face, trying to see if you had broken his sleep. Though his eyes were still closed and the same peaceful look stayed glued to his face. You knew that he wasn’t sleeping, because of the same hand that rubbed a relaxing up-down pattern upon your back.

You lived for these moments with Ao’nung. The moments where it was just the two of you, basking in each other’s presence. You had allowed yourself to go back to sleep that night, absent of any guilt as your husband guided you to slumber. Ao’nung bought just enough heat as you needed, to both your body and your heart.

short but full of love

#aonung x reader #aonung #ao’nung #ao’nung x reader #atwow #avatar 2 #ao’nung oneshot #aonung oneshot #aonung x y/n

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bigtreefest · 2 months

Text

Chapter 5: From the Ground Up

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: It’s time for Bucky to take charge in your absence.

Word count: 4,065

Content/warnings: Interrogation, restraints (not in the sexy way), allusions to violence, swears, name calling, pet name usage, female reader, kissing, horseback riding?

Author’s Note: I REALLY loved writing this chapter. This is where we start to see the other storylines of the Outta Nowhere AU emerge, so keep an eye out as those get released.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky was mad-no, he was seething as he paced back and forth in your home office. It was in the wee hours of the morning when his private jet had landed on the local airstrip. Within that same hour, Sam had personally escorted in the little nerd responsible for a good third of the turmoil going on in Bucky’s head: Jake.

Sam had taken the liberty of pre-binding his hands and duct taping his mouth shut. Bucky was going to enjoy ripping the goatee straight off his mousy little face.

Five hours ago

As soon as Steve had gotten off the phone with Bucky, he called the construction crew. They kept them on call for things like this, but the two of them never thought the stakes would be this high. It wasn’t often that someone important and non-expendable was put in this type of danger, let alone someone Bucky cared about. As he was finishing up the call and directing them towards your house, Sam reached out to him with a sticky note.

On it was a name and the address to an apartment in the city, along with Sam’s scrawled ‘pick her up on your way over.’ Steve nodded as he hung up his call and placed another, grabbing the duffel bag he kept packed by the door and heading out.

Three Hours Later

Bucky hadn’t left your side since the rocks collapsed. Luckily, the two of you had been able to find a small gap in the rocks where you both sat. It wasn’t large enough to keep air circulating, but it was big enough to at least allow the two of you to talk with each other. You and Bucky had shared so much, from him sharing his first business operation with Steve, to you detailing crazy college stories of when you, your roommate, and Curtis would hang out.

Bucky laughed along. There was a whole side of you he never knew. He had studied intently what showed up on paper, and he knew the hardships you’d faced from your deep conversation last week, but this? This was a whole new, more playful side. He was surprised to see your spirits so high despite the situation.

“I do not believe that one bit. No way you were climbing up clock towers at school just to steal the clock hands, or a random brick or whatever. You’re too straight-laced.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you leaned your head back against the stone wall. “Oh please, people already pay so much to go there, if anything, I had more than the right to do it. Our money pays for that stuff. Technically we owned it. Not the school.”

Bucky snorted. “You didn’t even pay tuition. Didn’t they pay you to go there?”

“That’s besides the point, Bucket. Fight the man. And anyway, if you think I’m straight laced, you should meet my roommate.”

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah, about that. She’s on her way here right now.”

Your ears perked up. “Decks is on the way? Oh, that’s good. She’ll be super helpful. She’s so organized, although, I can’t imagine she took well to whoever had to interrupt her beauty sleep. Who’s the poor guy?”

Bucky sharply inhaled. “Steve.”

“Oooo hooo hoo.” You laughed. “That’ll be a fun one for both of them. They’re either gonna love or hate each other. What are all the rest of the ETAs?”

Bucky looked at his watch. Well, really, he had been checking his watch this whole time to monitor his pulse, which was over 100 consistently since the tunnel buckled. He was shaking with concern for you, but kept his voice level to keep you calm, a trick he and Steve had worked tirelessly to master. “Ummm… looks like the construction crew should be here within the hour. And I’ll bet Decks and Steve will be pulling up any minute.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Anyone else coming that I should know about? So I can figure out where they’ll best fit around the farm? Decks is great with the animals.”

You hadn’t heard all of Bucky’s or Curtis’s phone calls earlier since they stepped out of the cave to make them with better reception. Bucky didn’t want you to know Jake was on the way, mostly because he knew you’d make him promise not to hurt the rat, and he didn’t want to have to make that promise with the high likelihood it would be broken. He decided a better move would be to change the subject.

“So where did the nickname ‘Decks’ come from anyway?”

“Oh! Well it’s actually-“

Bucky heard footsteps near the mouth of the mine. He did his best to politely cut you off. “Wait, Honey, I’m so sorry, quiet for one second.”

He sat there and silently listened, the rustling becoming closer and clearer until he identified it as hooves clopping gently against the soft ground. He heard Curtis’s voice say something vaguely before he moved to get his feet underneath him and brush off his pants.

“I think Curtis is here with Steve and Decks. I don’t want anyone else to come in, just in case it’s still too unstable. Can you tell me exactly what you need them to do?”

You nodded, even though you knew Bucky couldn’t see it and began to lay out the instructions. Decks and Steve weren’t here to clean out the tunnels, they were here to help keep the farm running until you were freed, and no one knew how long that would take. It was best to keep only those who could be closely trusted around until this was all figured out. God forbid the authorities come knocking, or worse yet, Cole. Bucky held onto your every word before briefly leaving the tunnel to relay the information.

Bucky returned to you shortly after instructing Curtis to take Steve and Decks back to the house so they could rest before their long day tomorrow. Everything needed to run as smoothly as possible to not raise suspicion from your absence, which they were going to claim was due to a corn crop farmer’s conference out in Iowa if anyone asked.

After another hour with you, Bucky let you know the construction company arrived and was starting to stabilize the ceiling so they could dig you out. “I’ve gotta go deal with some business, so I’ll be back soon. Plus, I can’t get in the way of these vehicles. But say the word to one of the crew and I’ll be back here in a minute flat. I promise.”

Bucky’s promises meant a lot. That was something you had learned in your conversations. He never said something unless he had a plan to deliver. A man’s word was everything in his line of work.

“Okay, I’m going to hold you to that!” You yelled back.

Bucky chuckled. “I’m going to send Sam back here as soon as he arrives. He’ll keep you company.” And with that, Bucky made his way back to the house.

So this is where Bucky found himself, walking back and forth menacingly behind Jake, who had been tied down to the guest chair in your office. Jake’s eyes shifted back and forth with nervousness as he tried and failed to hold back whimpers and near-hyperventilating breaths.

Bucky had been silent for only ten minutes. He liked the way it made them squirm. He could sit and stare all day, completely unbothered, as anyone he interrogated slowly lost their mind. Of course, there were other, more fun ways, to get information, but he wouldn’t dare mark up your home. He’d never let the one they called ‘The Winter Soldier’ be unleashed in your sanctuary. This is the closest he would ever get, though, and it would never be seen by you.

Bucky stalked around Jake and crouched in front of him. “A milk maid came in here and told me that you’d given him information about this farm. Care to share?”

Jake shook his head vigorously and whined through the duct tape over his mouth. Bucky leaned in closer. What was more terrifying than being yelled at by him? Bucky with an alarmingly level voice.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that. I can help you talk a little better, but you’ve gotta be quiet. There are people upstairs sleeping, and I can’t guarantee they’ll be as nice as me if you wake them. Promise to be good?”

Jake nodded carefully and slowly. Bucky reached for the tape at the corner of Jake’s mouth and ripped it off quickly. Jake’s head lurched forward, his mouth open with a silent scream between gasping breaths. Bucky examined the sticky side of the tape. There was no hair on it. The steam from Jake’s mouth must’ve reduced the stickiness just enough that it didn’t cause damage. Shame.

Bucky slammed his hands over Jake’s on the armrests of the chair. “Tell me everything.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Jake giggled uncomfortably. “Uh….there’s not really much to know, mister…sir….does this have to do with Peach? I thought she owned this farm now. Where is she?”

Bucky growled. “That’s not important right now, but yes, this is about this farm. Tell me everything you told the guy with the soft hands and the jackets that were too crisp to indicate a day of work in his whole life.”

Bucky had no intention to associate that with his own designer crisp suits that he wore everyday back in the city. That was different, it was a totally separate line of work, plus, he wasn’t trying to pose as something that he’s not when he wore them. Anyway, he’s not the one on trial here.

“Oh! You mean Cole? Fucking prick.” Jake mumbled looking down and to the side. “I can promise whatever he said to you was a lie. That guy’s always been awful. He hides a demon face behind his handsomeness.”

Bucky didn’t want to be on Jake’s side, but he couldn’t argue with that. But to keep him talking, Bucky leaned in closer, moving his hand towards the knife on his belt loop. Jake flinched and raised his hands in surrender as much as he could with his wrists tied down.

“Okay, okay, I promise I didn’t say much. At least not on purpose. I was at an investors party up in San Francisco when Cole bumped into me. He was bragging about how he had just inherited his parents’ company and it was way bigger than when we were in high school. Frankly, I didn’t care, I make an effort to forget about a lot from back then, mostly him, so I tried to disprove him by saying that there are still nice little farms around despite his family’s efforts. I told him I still had my mom buy me honey that Peach makes, herself.” He hung his head in shame.

Bucky huffed as he leaned back against your desk and crossed his arms. “Well, way to go. You know, they painted you to be some genius, but you’re an absolute idiot.”

Jake looked up and scrunched his nose. “Well I actually prefer the term loser, bu-“

Bucky raised his hand to stop Jake from talking. “I really don’t care. What matters is that you’ve made a mess for Honeybee that inconveniences all of us. I’ve gotta be the one to work on cleaning this up while she’s otherwise occupied.”

Jake cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who the fuck is ‘Honeybee?’ Are we talking about the same person?”

Bucky sighed and wiped a hand over his face, stopping with it covering his mouth. He looked at the helpless man in front of him. How had you ever dated this guy? If he used to be great, what on Earth happened to him? “God, you’re slow to catch on. Yes, it’s the same person, but I don’t think the sweet peach you used to know and love is in there anymore. Not after you abandoned her. And especially not after you gave up her operation on a silver platter to Cole.”

Jake swallowed as he caught on. He had seen the devious glint in Cole’s eye when they had run into each other, but just thought it was a product of Cole’s braggadocious success. Not his complete hunger for domination. Despite the way Jake left, he still cared for you. He didn’t want to see the thing you loved taken away, especially by the guy who caused him so much grief. The guy your family defended him from on so many occasions. He felt awful. You’d taken care of Jake when he was around, but when the opportunity came for him to do the same for you, he failed.

Tears began to well up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Whatever I can do to help, I will, please, misterrrr…….”

Bucky’s shoulders pushed back in arrogance. Jake squealed all the information he had and didn’t even know the name of the man interrogating him. That wouldn’t do, especially if Bucky wanted to eventually release Jake back out into the wild once this was all over. He made a mental note to have someone coach Jake on how to not give up sensitive intel so easily. But for now, Bucky would take advantage of the ease of informational access.

“Barnes. You get to call me Barnes.”

“Ooh! So like a cool nickname only I get to use? I feel so special.”

Bucky chuckled dryly at that. Jake really was clueless. “No. Not at all like that.” Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees as his face inched closer to Jake’s.

“Now tell me everything you know about the mines.”

Jake’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? Those old things? Yeah, Peach and I used to make out in the-“

Bucky waved his hand again as he closed his eyes, unable to look at Jake for another second. “No. Skip that part. What else?” He quickly said, dismissively.

“I know they’re old? Like crazy old and probably prone to collapse at this point. But Pe- I mean, your Honeybee does some occasional civil engineering contracting work. She could probably easily whip up a plan to reinforce them.”

Bucky looked at Jake more intently. He liked the way Jake said his Honeybee, but he couldn’t let that distract him right now. And anyway, you were very much your own person. Far from his. If anything, he was yours. He knew about all your business endeavors, but not those kinds of specifics. “Keep talking.”

“Yeah, I kept up with her after school-well, more like I asked my mom to keep up with her. Apparently she’s like, designed bridges for town and stuff. Why? What’s going on with the mines?”

“That’s not technically your business.” Bucky stood there, debating on his next move.

Jake’s eyes lit up as he gasped loudly. “Oh my gosh. Is she in trouble!? Did she get hurt in a mine!?”

Bucky slapped his hand over Jake’s mouth and whisper yelled at him. “What did I say about keeping it down?”

Jake winced and whispered back. “Sorry. Does Curtis know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes. And he’s upstairs sleeping. Don’t. Poke. The Bear.”

Jake nodded again. He was being so compliant, Bucky figured he could let a few more details slip. Maybe Jake was a little smarter than Bucky gave him credit for. “She’s trapped in one of the smaller caves. I’ve already got a construction crew digging her out.”

“Wait wait wait. You guys have a proper plan for this, right? You’ve gotta put supports in first and then calculate the load-bearing rocks. You can’t just go willy-nilly digging or it could get worse.” Man, based off that language, Bucky had no doubt Jake truly did grow up around you.

“Good observation, Jakey. That’s where you come in. I know I could’ve just called you if I wanted to know what you told Cole, but I needed you in person to know how serious I am. Grab your little computer and we’ll get going so you can run the calculations while Honeybee talks you through them. You can still ride a horse, right?”

Jake moved to get up, only to be stopped by the restraints. Bucky turned around from the door, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Oh, that’s right, my bad. I’ll get you untied and then we can go.”

Sam was talking with you about where to put which construction vehicles when he heard hooves make their way to the entrance. Bucky dismounted the back of a horse holding a laptop, followed by Jake who was riding ahead of him on that same horse.

“Not a word of this, Samuel.” Bucky growled lowly into Sam’s ear with clenched teeth. “I’ve already threatened the kid with the same.”

Bucky still had no idea how to ride a horse on his own, but would never admit that, so he was actually extremely grateful that Jake could take the reins. Sam had taken the other horse to get to you, leaving only one back at the house for him and Jake to use.

Bucky handed Jake the laptop and patted him on the back harshly, making it more of a shove. This led him to the small hole where you and Sam had just been talking.

Bucky followed at a quicker pace, reaching the area just before Jake could and held his arm out in front of the blond to bar him from going any farther. “Hi Honey, it’s me. I brought you a little present to help out, I hope you’re not mad. It’s your old friend Jacob from high school. Say hi.”

“Jake? Like… Jensen?” You responded, trying to look through the small hole unsuccessfully.

“Yeah, Peach, it’s me. I’m here to get you out. A-and Mr. Barnes wants you to know he’s been nothing but kind to me.” Jake clutched his laptop firmly to his chest, leaning over to be heard better through the small opening.

Bucky gave a stern nod to Jake for already responding well to his coaching on the way over here. Jake sat down by the hole where Bucky had sat before and got to work.

“Okay, Bee. Like I told you before, you say the word and I’ll be here in a minute. You can time me.”

“Where are you going?” He could hear the slight worry in your voice.

“To run a farm. And by that, I mean listen to Curtis.”

You giggled. “Okay, Bucket. See you soon.”

He looked back and smiled before turning towards Sam and pointing into his chest. “You tell me the second she’s close to getting out. I’ll be there.”

Sam nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Need help getting back up on your horse?”

Bucky was already turned away and heading back to your house. He waved a hand dismissively. “No. I’m walking.”

Sam chuckled as he watched the mob boss trudge away. He knew something had shifted in Bucky’s feelings. And he definitely had his suspicions that Bucky couldn’t ride a horse.

When Bucky returned to your house, he didn’t go upstairs. He feared the creaking of the steps would wake Decks, Curtis, and Steve. Plus, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. Why would he when there was so much to do to help you? He would just get in the way at the mines, so he went into your office. He pulled out the files and article you had planned to show him the previous night regarding Cole from the kitchen, and as he sat down in your chair, he saw a contract with a familiar watermark. Shit.

Fuck. Shit. Bitch.

The letterhead was from ‘Turners Farm Corporation,’ which he had expected, but the associated law firm was ‘Hansen & Co.’ Bucky had his fair share of law firms in his back pocket, but this was not one of them. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Lloyd Hansen was something of Bucky’s rival in the city. He was an unhinged lunatic. Where Bucky ran things with honor, poise, and calculated movements, Lloyd was messy, unpredictable, and reckless. He’d been trying to make multiple steps into Bucky’s territory, geographically and business-wise, but Bucky had done a decent job at shutting it down thus far.

And now Cole was in cahoots with Lloyd, well, not him directly on paper, just his bitch-ass sister who ran the firm. Bucky couldn’t believe-well, actually he could. He could believe that Cole would have teamed up with Hansen to build enough power for a takeover, especially considering it didn’t add up if Cole was making these moves on his own.

Fired by frustration that more than supplemented the sleep Bucky lacked from not just tonight, but this whole week, he snapped a picture of the contract and sent it to Sam. Sam would make sure it made its way through the right channels and contacts still back in the city. For now, Bucky had a more important priority than personally dealing with business: You. He had never been so grateful for Sam.

As he skimmed through the final page of the contract Cole had proposed to you, the first rooster crowed. Bucky got up to gather the eggs and make breakfast like any other day in the routine he’d grown so familiar with over just the past two weeks. But instead of cooking for you, he was cooking for the small army that came to your aid.

Curtis came barreling down the steps first, followed by Decks, and then eventually, Steve, who slumped and slinked down the stairs, reminiscent of Bucky’s first day doing the same. At least they were able to get themselves up.

Bucky plated their food, Curtis eyeing him with a small smile that Bucky failed to notice, and he sat down in his normal spot to start eating. He honestly didn’t have the appetite to do so, but he knew he’d crash without food since he already wasn’t sleeping, so he forced it down, preparing to go over the assignments with everyone once again.

Steve would be doing what Bucky had last week to set up the farmer’s market since it was scheduled to go again. Decks would be taking over the tasks you had, feeding the animals, and then doing sales with Bucky since people already knew his face. No need to raise more suspicion by introducing two new people to an event you were usually at.

Once everyone cleared their plates, they got to work, doing everything they could to be of assistance for the mob boss who was very evidently on edge.

It was early afternoon when Bucky got a call from Sam. He immediately picked it up.

“We’re close, boss. Only a couple more large boulders to go before there’s a big enough gap to pull her through.”

Bucky dropped the empty crates he was carrying onto the floor of the storage shed where he was returning them from the farmers market. Lucky for him, the storage shed was much closer to the mines than the barn.

Bucky was full-on sprinting in a way no one had ever seen. He never had to once he rose to power. All he did was walk, his long strides alone commanded enough respect. But this wasn’t about pride. It was about you.

He arrived at the mine entrance, breathing heavily, just as Sam was holding your hand, helping you step over a pile of sand and pebbles. Jake stood awkwardly to the side as you looked up from your feet to see Bucky quickly moving toward you. A smile took over your face and you sighed in relief. He scooped you up and spun you around before setting you down again and using his large hands to frame your face. Bucky didn’t care about the dirt and grime that had built up on the two of you. All he cared about was your safe return to his arms.

You watched as his eyes darted between yours and down to your lips. You wouldn’t hold back anymore. He had put all his resources into saving you, helping you. Without wasting another second, you leaned up on your toes and smashed your lips into his. When you pulled back, Bucky lost consciousness, collapsing in your arms.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Tbh I thought some moments in here were so funny, but I’d love to hear your thoughts!! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo appreciated!!! If I could, I’d make a secret handshake with you through the phone for following this plot line with me. 😉🤠

Series Taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

@vicmc624

@hawkeyes-queen

@blackhawkfanatic

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chrisevansonly · 1 year

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Block Out the Noise

pairing: harry styles x female reader

summary: sometimes you just need to listen to your song and love on your boyfriend to make the negative thoughts go away

warnings: mention of past abuse, talks of depression and suicidal thoughts, potentially triggering(?!) very soft and caring harry<3

a/n: i wanted to write something about matilda because it’s a song that I hold so close to my heart. from growing up in an abusive home and needing to take care of my brother from age 6 and up, when i heard matilda i knew it would be a song i’d cherish forever. this is a fic i hold close to my heart because i was that scared and small little girl who didn’t understand why i got anger taken out on me and why i had bruises when other kids didn’t. you’re not alone, you’ve got me in your corner and your stronger than you know, i hope my inner child knows that too<3

No one asks to be born into a world of chaos and fear, especially not when you’re a child. Wondering why your parents fought, the screaming matches, the subtle bruises you somehow ended up with because you ‘stood in the way.’ As a child you never knew what went wrong or what you did to be treated this way but you still tried your hardest regardless of the war zone you once called home.

you were riding your bike to the sound of its no big deal, and you’re trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels..

You taught yourself to read, to cook, to take care of yourself and your siblings. Going as far as to teach yourself to ride a bike and even drive, you raised yourself in a world where you wished you hadn’t needed to do that. When you got to high school the insults from your father got worse, the insecurity creeped in and you struggled with self worth and self harm.

nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming til now..

Then came college where you worked three jobs to pay your tuition and fought tooth and nail to get the best grades and work your absolute hardest to get your degree which you did all on your own. Mental illness and recovery was never linear and you battled some of your darkest days throughout college and even towards graduation when you met Harry.

so you tie up your hair and you smile like it’s no big deal

Harry was your world, he was the calm through the storm, the light that helped guide you through the tough times, he truly was your best friend. You’d been together now going on 5 years with no plans of ever separating from one another. He always told you that you provided just as much safety and comfort to him as he could to you.

you can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know and not invite your family, cause they never showed you love, you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up

Now you were 26 and worked at your dream job, your life was filled with so much love and so much joy sometimes you found yourself needing to take a step back and just breathe, reminding yourself your life was real. Of course you had your rough days, and after the meeting and scolding you’d gotten today, all you wanted was to get home and see Harry.

matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright, but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside

When Harry had started working on the album, he’d told you he was writing one very special song he couldn’t wait to share with you. So on the day that he sat you down and let you listen to Matilda, by the second line you were looking over at him with tears in your eyes, bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly and he was quick to pull you into his chest.

You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days

When you arrived home you dropped your work things by the front closet, kicking your heels off and dropping your shoulders in exhaustion. Harry wasn’t home yet so you allowed yourself a few minutes to get some water, your headphones and settle on the couch with a fluffy blanket.

it’s none of my business but it’s just been on my mind

On natural instinct almost, you allowed the soft melody of matilda to play through your headphones, eyes closing as you sunk into the cushions. It wasn’t as if you were trying to cower from the overwhelming feelings you had in this moment, but more or less trying to let them flow and escape from your mind

you can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know and not invite your family, cause they never showed you love, you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up

You hadn’t even noticed the tears steadily falling down your cheeks, your breathing picking up slightly as you pulled the blanket up further, attempting to wrap yourself in more warmth. It wasn’t until you felt gentle fingertips dancing across your face that you opened your eyes, Harry looking at you in concern. Pausing the song you pulled your headphones off and sent him a soft smile

“Hey m’love…”

“Hi”

Lifting the blanket up you let him cuddle in next to you, the instant comfort you felt just from being wrapped up in his arms was enough to blow the stress and pain from the day away

“You okay y/n?”

Nodding you leaned further into him

“Just had a really bad day…got yelled at and it just made me think of old stuff and I don’t know…f-felt a bit sad”

Harry placed a soft kiss against your temple

“I’m sorry today was so tough, I know it was probably hard to remember what it was like growing up too..can’t blame you for feeling upset”

His hands ran up and down your arm softly, the constant touch helping to keep you grounded and in the present moment.

“You know what I think?”

Looking up at him you furrowed your brows

“What?”

Placing a kiss on your lips he smiled

“I think you are the most beautiful soul, inside and out. Despite everything you’re still here, fighting and working hard day in and day out. You don’t ever have to feel sorry or feel bad about doing everything you’ve done on your own, and allowing yourself to love and experience love despite it all”

“H…”

He was quick to swipe a tear from your cheek before continuing

“I love you so much, you’re my now and my future. Seeing you grow and flourish into the woman you are today has been a privilege to witness and support you through. I admire you so much m’baby, you’ve never let anyone dim your light and m’so lucky to get to love you”

Anything you would have said to him in this moment was caught in your throat, so wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight was enough for him in the moment. Harry was the moon and the stars to you, he was your whole universe and he’d been helping you heal since you’d been together. You’d done the hardest work on this journey, he had just been there to support and love you through it so he says.

“I love you so much H, thank you for letting me start a new family”

“I’ll always be your family, you’re safe with me my darling, always”

Matilda was a song that would forever have its hold on you, and it was even more special knowing Harry had wrote it thinking of you, including you in his album and one of his projects he really loved. The love he’d shown you and continues to show you had only helped you come out of your shell and finally feel as if you’d found your place and purpose in this world.

Harry was your home, just as you were his.

a/n if you or someone you know is struggling with abuse please reach out to someone you know, whether it be a friend, family member or adult you trust. I’d only wished i’d done so earlier, i’m here to help and support you guys in anyway I can. You are loved, you are cherished and you are worth it.

#harry styles #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x female reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x girlfriend reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fanfiction #rueswrites #ruesanswers #ruesanons<3 #ruesasks #ruesfriends💙

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jobskingdom · 2 years

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faridabadhometutor · 9 months

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holllandtrash · 1 year

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better late than never | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 3 to better left unsaid (the better series)

the first race weekend after the break is filled with drama, tension and words that you all wished could be taken back, and you're not even referring to what happened on the track

word count: 5.1k tags: angst lmao also more social media stuff

“What if you just quit your job?” Pierre asked. You told yourself he was only joking, but when you glanced away from the computer screen to look at your propped up phone and his charming eyes on facetime, you knew he wasn’t joking.

“I’m not throwing away six years of post secondary education and thousands of dollars of tuition because you’re batting your pretty little eyes at me,” you looked back at the computer screen that held the blueprints for an upcoming gallery exhibit. As an assistant curator at an art gallery, you had a lot on your plate and you had a dozen things to catch up on before your next trip out of the city.

“You think my eyes are pretty?”

Of course that was the only part he heard.

“Pierre I can't-” you cut yourself off when someone in the background called Pierre’s name. It took a second but you recognized the female voice as one of the student engineers at Alpine. You waited until Pierre and her finished their quick conversation and he turned back to you.

Pierre smirked at how your expression dropped. Even when you forced yourself to focus on your computer screen, those forehead lines could be spotted through the bad quality facetime call.

“Ma chérie, don’t tell me you’re jealous because I’m talking to another girl,” Pierre laughed. You had half a mind to hang up on him.

If you were being honest, the female voice did speed up your heart rate a bit until you figured out who it was. Pierre was somewhere in a hotel, you weren’t sure where because his face took up most of the screen, but you knew he wasn’t alone.

And you didn’t have a right to be jealous either. You and Pierre still weren’t an item, despite what the rumour mill was saying.

You just talked everyday and he sent you flowers to your place of work and he bought your next plane ticket for you to watch the race and you were constantly thinking about how nice it would be to wake up beside him.

For fuck sakes, you liked him.

A lot.

In a matter of weeks you had fallen for him. And he hadn’t even kissed you yet. There were a few times when it came close, but the moment was never right. You weren’t going to rush into anything either, especially not with Lando being an ever lingering thought in the back of your mind that you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“I’m not the jealous type,” you told him. Lies. You liked when his eyes were on you and only you. You liked how he had treated you during the break. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Pierre didn’t seem to believe you, but he changed the topic regardless, “Did you watch qualifying today?”

“P7 baby,” you grinned, hitting send on the last email before calling it a night. “Alpine’s kicking ass in the midfield.”

“So you’ll be watching the race tomorrow?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Pierre liked knowing you’d be rooting for him. “I wish you were here now, though.”

With yours and Pierre’s relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, starting at the beginning of the summer break, you had yet to accompany him during a race weekend.

That would change next weekend. You were set to attend the Monza Grand Prix.

And for the first time, you wouldn’t be hanging out in the McLaren garage. Pierre had to pull some strings to ensure you’d be allowed access, but once he made it clear that you didn’t have any affiliation to the papaya team, he sent you the paddock pass and flight information.

Pierre really wanted you with him that weekend. He had won in Monza before, he considered it one of his lucky tracks. Plus Italy was like a second home to him, he wanted everything to be perfect and your presence was a crucial part of that.

You weren’t sure if you were ready for the fans to share their opinions online. Lando had a huge following, and because of that, most of his fans knew who you were. You could only imagine what people would be saying when you were spotted in the Alpine garage for a change.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you weren’t as strong as you wanted to be.

“Chérie,” Pierre’s voice had the ability to calm your nerves, even if it was just temporary. “If you’re having second thoughts about Monza, please let me know.”

It was insane how well he knew you. In a few short weeks, Pierre was able to recognize even the slightest change in your mannerisms when something was bothering you. He was observant and it showed.

“No,” you assured him, or maybe you were assuring yourself. “No, I want to be there with you.”

He believed you, why wouldn’t he? These last few weeks with him were otherworldly to say the least. You wanted to keep this going for as long as possible. Pierre left you feeling hopeful and optimistic and after the fallout with Lando, you needed that.

Pierre couldn’t replace Lando, not like you wanted him to, but you knew you had room in your heart for that French driver.

And you were going to see things through.

———————

pre-race press conference

The pizza had just been delivered. You poured yourself a rum and coke. You had on booty shorts and one of Pierre’s Alpine jumpers and you were ready to watch the race.

What you weren’t ready for, was a knock at your door.

“Who the fuck…” It was a Sunday, you weren’t expecting anyone. You put your drink down and headed over to the front door. You rented the bottom half of a house, it wasn’t ideal but the private entryway was nice.

You pulled the door open and was quite literally taken aback to see Max standing there. A case of beer in his hands as he sported a Quadrant sweater.

“Hi,” you said, hearing Will Buxton's voice coming from your speakers. It was only a few minutes until lights out.

“Want some company?” Max asked.

You missed him, there was no doubt about that. He had been so intertwined with Lando’s life these last few weeks that you genuinely thought he forgot about you after your phone call. You didn’t even see him in Monaco until you stopped by Lando’s place.

You weren’t going to question why he was in London. He, like you, was always flying back and forth. At least he had the decency to reach out this time.

“Always,” you stepped aside, making room for him to come in.

Max didn’t comment on your apparel. He also didn’t comment on the state of your place which was always in slight ruins. You had been travelling so much and when you were in the city, most of your time was spent at work and you just could not be arsed to hang your jackets up when you got home, or put your shoes away properly.

It was a little awkward when Max sat down. Not because he wasn’t comfortable in your home, he had been there dozens upon dozens of times before. But because you hadn’t spoken in weeks.

And now here he was with a case of beer acting as an olive branch. You were both hoping it would work, honestly. You didn’t want to have to rely on Lando to be the glue in your friendship. He didn’t own Max.

“How’s Pierre?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

You laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and sliding the box across the coffee table for him to grab one. “We’re not dating, Max.”

“Kind of seems like it,” Max chuckled as well. You shot him a look, one that basically said shut up and he held his hand up in defence. “I’m just saying, Y/N, he seems to make you happy. It’s not a bad thing. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as he opened up one of the cans he brought but the second it started foaming over the sides, he jumped up in a panic. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing at his mess and he just stared at you with wide eyes.

“For Christ sakes women, get a towel!” He tried to drink what he could but excess liquid was streaming down his chin.

You held your hand out towards the screen, “The race is about to start! I’m not cleaning up your mess!”

“I’m using the pillow as a towel then,” Max scoffed, wiping his hand on his jeans and grabbing one of the round pillows from the other couch. He did what he could to clean up the spill with the pillow, but your attention was on the screen. You could help him later.

The second the five lights went out, the drivers were off. You held your breath as the twenty cars fought to be the first to make it to that first corner, but all in all it was a pretty clean start. Pierre gained a place. Lando lost one. They were currently P6 and P5.

Why were you even watching the McLaren?

Don’t kid yourself, you still cared.

You cleared your throat, “How’s Lando?”

Max seemed surprised that you asked. So much so that he paused to make sure he actually heard you correctly, “Yeah he’s good.”

“Is he?” The question slipped out. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Max was telling the truth but you just knew there was more to it. Lando was never just good. And especially after your last conversation…part of you knew he was struggling as much as you were, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

‘See you around then, maybe.’ He said. He could have just said goodbye. He could have just stayed quiet.

Max sighed. It wasn’t a good sigh, but he kept his eyes on the race. Probably for the better. If you saw the hurt he was feeling for his friend, it would have broken you.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Max asked. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. You weren’t hot a minute ago but your mouth was dry now and your hands were clamming up. “He’s been better, that’s for damn sure. I know he regrets what he said to you and I also know he hates seeing you with Gasly. He nearly breaks his phone every time a photo of you two pops up.”

“So why hasn’t he reached out?” You weren’t under the impression Lando regretted anything. He might have missed you, but he seemed to stick by his words, as did you.

Max turned it around on you, “Why haven’t you reached out?”

“It’s not on me to fix anything.” your voice trembled. Focus on the race. Pierre was doing good. He defended one of the Aston Martin’s seamlessly. He was catching up to Lando. “Plus I-”

Nope, you didn’t need to say it. You shook your head, shoving the last bit of crust into your mouth.

“You still love him?”

And then you were choking on said crust. Max swore under his breath and grabbed your drink for you, encouraging you to take a sip and clear your airways. Water would have been better but maybe chugging the rum and coke would make this conversation a little easier.

You dabbed the corner of your eye, “No Max I don’t,” you inhaled a heavy breath, “I mean, it’s hard to say, okay? Part of me will always love Lando, but I need it to be a different type of love. I need to be content with knowing that him and I will never happen, that we were never supposed to happen. I want to be able to look at him and be his friend but not have it hurt and I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever get to that point.”

Max nodded. You could tell he was trying to understand but you were feeling way too many emotions at once and spilling that beer on his Quadrant hoodie was probably the most traumatic thing he’s had to deal with in the last month.

“So do you want him to reach out or not?” Max asked after a few minutes.

You slumped further into the corner of the couch, “I really don’t know.”

The two of you could have dived deeper into this topic. There was no one better to bounce your thoughts off of than Max. He knew you, he knew Lando. He wouldn’t purposely steer you in the wrong direction and secretly, he was rooting for the two of you to make up.

But the race suddenly got interesting.

You both saw it. Your eyes were glued to the tv throughout your conversation and while the multitasking had worked, now the only thing that mattered were the drivers.

It was only lap 10 of 72, but Lando braked early going into turn 13. Too early, like he knew Pierre’s Alpine was within DRS range behind him and wanted to purposely fuck with him before the start/finish straight.

Pierre usually had better reflexes. But Lando shouldn’t have braked when he did.

The front wing jammed into the back of the McLaren, sending both cars off the track. Lando’s tyres locked up and he spun out but Pierre went directly into the barrier. The cars behind them managed to avoid it, but there was no salvaging the damage on either car. Pierre would have to retire and the hit from the Alpine caused a sudden hydraulics issue in the McLaren.

They were lucky, honestly, it could have been a lot worse.

But you didn’t give a shit about the cars. You were watching the drama unfold on screen as a red flag was announced to pull both cars off the track.

Pierre climbed out of the car first. A marshall tried to usher him towards one of the exit holes in the gate, but he turned his attention to Lando who was also being escorted by a marshall.

Pierre pointed his finger at Lando. The cameras couldn’t pick up what they were saying but you knew it wasn’t friendly. Not by the way the marshall had now positioned himself in between the two drivers.

“He did it on purpose,” Max voiced what everyone and their dog was thinking.

“He wouldn’t,” you wanted to believe that Lando just made a mistake. “No, he wouldn’t sacrifice a race like this. Not to be petty.”

Max could argue that in a second. He had seen first hand how livid and unbearable Lando had become recently. He wouldn’t put it past his friend to pull a dirty move like this.

The camera followed the drivers getting into the separate golf carts as they were driven back to the pit lane. From body language alone you could tell how frustrated Pierre was. This wasn’t his own error that caused him to retire, it was all on Lando. There was no doubt about it.

Somewhere along the lines you had reached across the couch to grab Max’s arm. The anticipation killed both of you as you watched in silence. You didn’t know if one of the drivers would approach the other in the pit lane but you were praying they would stay in their own garages.

“I told you,” Max whispered. “Lando hates that you’re with Pierre.”

“Lando’s an idiot for screwing up his own race because of some childish jealousy,” you said through clenched teeth.

The screen was only showing Pierre now as he pulled his helmet off to speak to his engineers in the garage. His usually charismatic and inviting features were cold and hardened as he vented for anyone to hear. You wished the camera was able to pick up on what he was saying but it was for the better that it couldn’t.

He wasn’t injured, thank god. That was always a fear you had when you watched collisions. But now there was a new fear.

The media was going to have a field day over this. And because you weren’t necessarily private about hanging out with Pierre after having such a public friendship with Lando, you knew that one way or another, you’d be dragged into this.

“I have to call him,” you said, more to yourself than to Max, but he nodded in encouragement. “Before this blows up, I have to talk to him.”

"Him, who?" Max asked, wanting clarification. There were two drivers involved in that accident. Two drivers that had taken up two very different spots in your heart.

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and your mind turned on autopilot, calling the one driver that you knew you had to speak to first.

“Don’t say anything,” Amelia, Lando’s PR assistant, instructed. “Not to the media, not online, no public statements until we sort this out, do you understand?”

Lando nodded and Amelia waited until she got verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t turn this into a bigger mess before leaving the drivers room.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he huffed out. “Lips are sealed.”

“God you make my life difficult,” Amelia pulled out her phone and walked back into the motorhome, shutting his door with more force than necessary.

Lando changed out of his fireproofs, knowing he wouldn’t need them to watch the rest of the race. He slid on a McLaren polo t and a pair of black joggers. He combed his fingers through his hair and grabbed his phone off the table. He didn’t usually look at his phone much during race days, but he was dying to know what people were saying, what sort of assumptions were being thrown around.

He had just opened twitter when your name showed up on his phone screen. The image being one of the two of you a few years back. He remembered setting it as your contact photo even though you hated how your side profile looked.

Lando wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or not. He had retired early from races before and if you weren’t watching in the paddock, you wouldn’t call him until the race completed, giving him the time he always needed to cool off or collect himself.

But you were calling him now.

Lando slid his finger across the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. He didn’t even get a word in, not like he would act as this was a normal conversation anyway. You were calling because Pierre was involved. Hell you probably already called him first and talking to Lando was just additional damage control.

“What the fuck, Lando?”

He missed your voice. He didn’t miss you scolding him.

“Y/N I-”

“Tell me it wasn’t on purpose,” you demanded. He could hear it in your voice, the shakiness of your breath, the false confidence. You were mad at him, but up until recently, you were never one to paint him as the bad guy so this was completely new territory for you.

Lando sat down on the edge of the couch, foot tapping against the floor, “I didn’t intend to ruin both our races.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for and all you could do was sigh in defeat.

But that single breath into the receiver made Lando regret every single wrong action he had ever done. It didn’t matter that you weren’t in the same room, that one goddamn breath ringing in his ear had a way of hitting Lando the way no words ever could.

It reminded him of when you two were twelve and you spent a week at his place with his family and he yelled at you when you tried on one of his karting helmets. You didn’t mean anything by it, you just wanted to see if it fit. Lando yanked it off your head and lost it on you, telling you to never touch it again.

Your eyes welled up immediately. You didn’t even apologise, you couldn’t. You just inhaled and exhaled the heaviest breath your twelve year old lungs could handle and Lando knew he crossed a line more than you had. You shouldn’t have touched his helmet but he shouldn’t have raised his voice. He spent the rest of the day making sure you didn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he never wanted to hurt your feelings.

And in these last few weeks, that’s all he’s done.

Pulling that one reckless move on the track didn’t just risk hurting Pierre. Lando knew how much Pierre meant to you, for some fucking reason, and he knew that you’d be watching. He knew that move would hurt you.

“You braked early on purpose,” it wasn’t a question. Your assumptions were correct. You just needed to hear it.

“I wanted to get him off my tail,” Lando tried to defend his choices but he didn’t sound the least bit convincing. But that’s what he did when he felt as though he was backed into a corner, even if he was in the wrong, he always tried to talk himself out of whatever mess he made. “Gasly’s reaction times are off the charts, Y/N I just thought I’d mess him up a little. I didn’t think he'd crash into me.”

“God you are so full of yourself,” you spat out. “Lando, we haven't talked in weeks. I’ve been happy hanging out with Pierre, I’ve left you alone like you wanted and you go and pull this shit?”

Lando instantly became defensive, he had to. “Oh I’m full of myself? Why are you assuming this had anything to do with you?”

“I- because-” you stammered. “Lando, come on. You and Pierre have never had issues on track before.”

“He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“Since when do you bring your outside problems into the car with you?” You asked.

“He’s been getting on my nerves all weekend, Y/N,” Lando clarified. Why did he feel the need to explain himself?

Maybe because this was the longest you had spoken in weeks and even if you were arguing, he’d rather keep you on the phone and listen to you snap at him than hang up and not know when he’d hear from you next.

You paused, “What do you mean?”

“He’s been dragging my name through the mud since the press conference, did you not watch it?”

You had been at work during the press conferences, plus they weren’t always entertaining so no, you had missed it.

“Subtle jabs here and there,” Lando went on further. “He thinks because you’re his now-”

“I’m not his,” you were quick to interject. You weren’t some piece of property that the guys would fight over. You were a goddamn human being and you didn’t ask for this mess. “I also was never yours.”

That shut Lando up. It was a harsh slap to the face. The painful reality he had to accept but didn’t want to because you should have been his.

He should have worked harder to keep you in his life.

He should have realised how important you were to him before letting you slip through his fingers.

It shouldn’t have taken him seeing you with Pierre to know that he needed you.

“I know,” Lando couldn’t argue with you. You were never his. “I didn’t mean it like-” God this was harder than it should have been. “It’s just- you care about Pierre now, is all.”

You hesitated. Lando wouldn’t have been surprised if you hung up. This conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

And then your voice dropped to a whisper, like you were even debating letting the next words out of your mouth, knowing they would only add fuel to this fire.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Lando froze. Quite literally. His legs went numb, thank god he was sitting down. He counted each individual breath you took and he was asking himself why you weren’t there with him, to say this in person. He could only imagine what you were like right now.

He had no idea that you were curled up on the couch, fingers trembling as you held the phone to your ear. He had no clue that Max was staring at you, mouth agape as you said the words that could have single handedly fixed what went wrong. Lando didn’t know that you called him first and that Pierre would just have to wait to hear your voice.

You continued, “Lando we both said some hurtful things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re-” you chuckled and Lando instantly felt a weight lift from his shoulders. When was the last time he heard your laugh? “It’s not easy to throw away fifteen plus years of friendship, you idiot.”

“I guess that’s true,” he agreed, a smile forming on his own lips. Things weren’t permanently broken between you. There was damage, but it wasn’t a shattered mirror. You could put the pieces back together and not have the remnants of the incident ruin your relationship moving forward.

“I think space is needed, though” you then said. Lando’s heart sank a little further into his chest. “I don’t want to be reliant on you anymore, Lando. For so long, you were all I cared about and I can’t keep living like that.”

You needed the time to get over him.

Lando understood what you were trying to say. You didn’t want to love him anymore. You wanted a clean slate of friendship, something that wouldn’t keep you up at night, haunting your thoughts with all the what-if’s.

He could wait.

He had no choice, essentially.

You weren’t ready to let him go and he was going to do whatever he could to get you back in his life. These last few weeks were hard enough with you. He didn’t want to go the next few years without you at his side.

“Y/N I-” Lando paused, taking his lower lip between his teeth. He’d been holding onto that night in the club for so long, he had to let it go. “I’m sorry.”

If he could see you right now, he’d probably laugh at the way your forehead wrinkled as your eyebrows pinched together.

“For the braking?”

“For everything I said,” he ran his fingers through his hair. It would be so much easier if you two were in the same room. “For making you feel as though I was paying for your friendship. For cancelling your flights. For being a shitty person, you didn’t deserve any of it. Especially knowing how you feel- how you felt, I mean. I made everything worse and I'm sorry.”

This time when you let out a breath into the receiver, it sounded more hopeful, if that was even possible. It sounded like the type of breath you’d take before rolling your eyes at him.

“You couldn’t have apologised the morning after?” You asked. Your tone was finally starting to lighten up. “It took you causing an accident during a race to realise you fucked things up between us?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know.”

You were both silent. Lando didn’t want to hang up first. He wanted to keep you on the phone for the rest of the day.

But he knew he couldn’t. His team was waiting for him in the garage. There was still a race going on. He had to sit and watch and think about his mistakes. He should probably apologise to Pierre.

“Are we okay?” Lando asked.

“We will be.”

You didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t the answer Lando was hoping for. He had to be patient.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

You knew he meant it.

When you hung up, Max was waiting on the opposite end of the couch for an explanation. He only caught bits and pieces of what Lando said and he couldn’t piece together anything.

“He apologised,” you said.

The smile that spread across Max’s face was photo-worthy. He’d been waiting to hear that. He’d been telling Lando to say sorry since you ran out of the club with Pierre.

“Thank god!” Max fist bumped the air. “Does that mean we can finally all hang out again? I love Lando, I just can’t deal with him alone. He-”

“Woah, okay, slow down,” you felt bad, but you couldn’t let Max get ahead of himself. “I still need time. I can’t just hang out with him and pretend I never loved him, I need to be in a place where I’m content with just being his friend.”

Max’s face dropped, “How long is that going to take.”

You shrugged. You didn’t have an answer. All you knew was that things were going to be okay. You didn’t lose Lando like you thought you had. He was still there and he would continue to be there, waiting for you to return to his life when you were ready. When you could look at him and not see the face of the man you loved.

You then thought about what Lando said about Pierre’s comments during the press conference.

“Hey, what did Pierre say to the media?” You asked. “Did you watch the press conference?”

Max’s face said it all. He inhaled a sharp breath through clenched teeth and you regretted asking the question.

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it,” Max clarified. “He talked about the competition between himself and Lando, but the underlying tone…you could tell it wasn’t just about the points or the driver standings. Pierre was referring to you. As if you were the prize.”

That wasn’t the least bit flattering, but you made a mental note to search up the clip after the race.

At that same moment, Pierre’s face showed up in a split screen on the tv. You couldn’t put into words how mad he was that his race was over as he sat in the garage, watching the other drivers continue on without him. You knew he had a few choice words for Lando and honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

You had to talk to Pierre, about the incident, about what Lando said, about where you two stood. But after your conversation with Lando, you decided that Pierre could wait.

You were leaving for Monza on Friday anyways, which was a good thing. You were going to need those extra days to prepare for what was to come.

part 4 here read all parts here

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