#not when it's from someone i know i can't count on
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a helping hand*
in which y/n can't orgasm and harry is a helpful ex-friend with benefits.
word count: 3.3k
content warnings: mentions of depression/mental health and anti-depressants, discussions of reduced libido, smut (phone sex, mentions of sex toys, dirty talk, description of group sex and mmf threesomes)
this one goes out to all the besties on anti-depressants
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Harry sighs in frustration before crossing his arms over his chest. If he pursed his raspberry lips into a pout, he’d look more like a petulant child than the young adult Y/N’s known for the past few years. With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a healthy swig of her coke and rum. She allows herself to scan the interior of the bar — it’s just barely 6 pm on a Wednesday so she’s not surprised that it’s primarily filled with locals and teams of corporate offices decompressing after a long day.
“I could always make you come when we hooked up and I bet you I could still do it.”
“Christ, Harry, give it a rest,” Y/N replies, narrowing her eyes at the curly haired brunette. “It’s not just with partners, it’s me, too.”
He quirks an eyebrow and settles his elbows on the sticky table. She huffs when she realizes she’s only piqued his attention even more now that she’s revealed another inkling of her… problem.
“Can you just tell me what’s going on, then? You know, when I texted you for our semiannual catch up, I didn’t think we’d be getting into your sudden inability to orgasm, but—”
“Can you lower your voice?” Y/N hisses with wide eyes. “I didn’t think we would talk about this either but you’re the one who asked if I’m seeing anyone—”
“Yeah, seeing anyone, not coming for anyone—”
“Just shut up!” she mutters, nearly knocking over her almost-finished drink. “If I tell you, you have to drop it.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Harry…”
“As your ex-friend with benefits, I have no duty to keep secrets that aren’t about our bedroom-related rendezvouses.”
“There hasn’t been a ‘rendezvous’ in five years.”
“There could be.”
She sighs and presses her fingertips to her temples. This is why she and Harry never worked out. They’re total opposites — he has the energy of a rowdy golden retriever and she exudes a calm, monotone nature. (She thinks she’s borderline boring if you ask her, but that’s something she’s been saving for therapy.)
At parties in college, he was always the one working the room, chatting with everyone while she stood in the corner and clutched her solo cup for dear life.
He had a million contacts in his phone and people remembered him, even if they knew each other from something as small as working together on a project in a class three semesters ago.
Meanwhile, Y/N could spend two years straight working in the same office and someone would still ask her when she started working there because she looked “new”.
(Seriously. It happened last month, and she had to rush to the bathroom to cry.)
Despite their opposing personalities, they did work for a while, but only as friends with benefits. To begin with, Y/N never wanted anything more — when they started hooking up, they were nearing their senior year of college, and she didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything when making decisions about her future. But secretly, she knew feelings for Harry would inevitably pop up. How could they not? Although he was an annoying ball of energy sometimes, bouncing off the walls of her apartment before they even made it to her bedroom, he was kind. He had a good heart — he still does after all these years, otherwise Y/N would never bother meeting up with him without the intention of hooking up — and he was funny, and he made Y/N feel all warm and gooey inside. He was a good fuck, too, and as much as she wanted to widdle his presence down to being purely physical, she wasn’t strong enough for that.
She was grateful, albeit heartbroken, when six months after their arrangement began, Harry very sweetly told her he had a crush on a girl in his advanced sculpture class and wanted to go for it. As she swallowed a lump in her throat, she told him that was perfectly fine, that she was glad he told her, and that she hoped things worked out between him and Emily.
(They did. For two and a half years. Y/N had never been so thankful when graduation arrived and she could run as far away as possible from the couple.)
Harry tried his best to keep in touch, even after graduating while he was dating Emily — always commenting on her Instagram posts and responding to her stories, even occasionally texting her to wish her well on her birthday or major holidays. Y/N kept him at an arm’s length for as long as she could. That is, until he moved to her city last year.
The only reason why Y/N had a heads up is because of an Instagram story he posted. In his typical overly excited way, he posted a picture of his dog in his new apartment with one of those tacky, premade location tags. (She’s allowed to think they’re ugly — she’s a graphic designer.) So, it didn’t come as a surprise when a week or two later, a text popped up from an unknown number: Hey Y/N! Not sure if this is still your number or if you still have mine, but it’s Harry :) I just moved to your city and was wondering if we could get together! It would be great to see you.
Thus began the tradition of Harry and Y/N’s semiannual meetups.
It was an unsaid routine they followed — every six months or so, one of them would text the other for drinks or coffee or lunch. They only ever met up in public and they didn’t talk much outside of their scheduled hangouts, though Harry was much more prone to messaging her stupid memes and, on occasion, a picture of his dog, a husky named Fish.
Much to Y/N’s dismay, the chemistry between her and Harry was still very much there. It had been apparent from their first meetup last February. It was difficult not to flirt, especially when he brought up their past (she would happily pretend none of it ever happened if it meant Harry Styles never made her blush ever again). The thing is, though, is it was fine as long as nothing ever came of it.
Until now.
Because as Y/N sits across from Harry in the worn booth of a dive bar a block away from her apartment, she can’t believe she’s seriously considering letting him back in her bed.
“Can you just tell me what you think the problem is?” Harry asks. He slides his elbow onto the table and presses his knuckles up against his cheek, like they’re best friends giggling over some silly gossip. It makes Y/N want to elbow him in the ribs.
“It’s a biological issue,” she mutters, “Like I said, nothing you could fix. Even if I wanted you to.”
“Just spit it out, blossom.”
She narrows her eyes, though she finds it difficult to ignore the way her stomach flips at the familiar nickname. “You’re not allowed to call me that anymore.”
“Tell me what the issue is and I won’t call you that,” he replies easily. “C’mon, it’s me. Remember all the times I helped you pee when you were too drunk to sit up straight? We’ve definitely seen each other in more embarrassing situations before.”
Y/N sighs loudly. He has a point — there was a time where Harry knew her better than anyone else in the world. And frankly, she hasn’t talked to anyone about her problem.
Scooching her body forward, she attempts to close most of the gap between them. Harry leans closer and she rolls her eyes. To an outsider's perspective, they probably looked like they were performing some kind of sketchy drug deal or like little girls swapping secrets at a slumber party.
“Remember how I struggled with, um… getting pretty sad?”
Harry’s eyebrows draw together and he nods.
“Right, so it got… worse when I moved here. And I needed to find help, so I started seeing a psychiatrist who put me on antidepressants. They’ve helped a ton — I feel better, and the depression that I do feel is a lot less intense.”
“That’s great, Y/N,” he says, and she can tell he means it by the genuine tone to his voice. “What does that have to do with you not orgasming, though?”
She swallows tightly. “Well, my doctor increased my medication over the winter, and one of the side effects is…y’know. Decreased libido and whatnot.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” she snorts, leaning back against the cracked leather of the seat. “Oh, shit.”
“And you’ve tried vibrators and stuff?”
“Of course I have, I’m not an idiot.”
“So how long has it been?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip as she thinks. Even with flings that she’s had over the past few months, they all gave up at a certain point. The sex was still fun, but she was just the only one who wasn’t coming.
“Well, I can give them to myself if I… work at it,” she mumbles, folding her hands in her lap. “But with a partner? Probably… six months.”
“Six months?!”
The look on Harry’s face is dramatic and theatrical, as if she just told him she was moving halfway across the world and participating in some kind of 90 Day Fiance situation.
“Shut. Up.” she says through grit teeth, sending him a harsh look. “I don’t need a reminder of how shitty it is.”
“Who the hell are you letting in your bed?” he demands sharply.
“It can take me an hour, Harry, I don’t expect every person I sleep with to be that patient.”
“They should be, Y/N.”
With a shake of her head, she glances down at her phone on the table. Everything has always seemed so simple for Harry — he’s one of those people where things just come easily for him, no pun intended. A part of her wishes they never delved into the subject matter. Vulnerability somehow always bit her in the ass and this instance was no exception.
“I’m gonna get going,” she says, pushing her empty glass to the center of the table. “Thank you for the drink, H. It was good to see you.”
His eyes soften as she begins to scooch her way out of the booth. Quickly, he throws a few bills down on the table and gets up to follow her.
“Can I walk you out, please?” he asks, swallowing as his stomach brims with nerves. She nods, though he’s unsure if it’s a reluctant response. Silently, they leave the bar together, and he nibbles on his bottom lip as she pushes the front door open. The spring air is a welcomed breeze from the sticky interior of the establishment, and she shifts on her feet as she turns around to face him. She parts her lips as if she’s readying herself to bid him a final goodbye, but he beats her to it.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I just meant— like, you deserve better, is all. Someone who will be patient and care to learn your body.”
Y/N nods slowly. “Right. And you’re that person.”
Her tone teeters on mocking and it sends a harsh hit straight to Harry’s chest. He shrugs.
“If you wanted me to be.”
She doesn’t reply to that, but she doesn’t make a move to leave, either.
“I’ll think about it,” she finally says, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “My hand cramps up when I’ve been at it for too long. Maybe it’ll be nice to have someone else try.”
He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Just let me know and I’m there.”
. . .
A few days later, when Harry is at a friend’s house, he receives a text from Y/N: Are you free right now?
In all honesty, he’s surprised that she’s — assumingly — taking him up on his offer. Y/N remains to be one of the most stubborn people he’s ever known (one time she spent an entire week trying to put together a desk she’d purchased before asking anyone for help. The only reason why Harry was able to do it for her is because she’d called him over for a “destress fuck” and he finished it while she slept).
He swipes down on her message, his other hand occupied by some shitty IPA Lizzy’s new boyfriend had bought. He keeps asking Harry if he likes it and he has to lie about tasting the hints of citrus, even though it tastes like every other crappy beer he’s consumed.
At a friend’s house, he quickly types back, Why? Is your hand cramping?
He can basically feel her rolling her eyes as he bites back a smile, watching as the three dots appear to signal her impending response.
Yes. I was wondering if you wanted to come over.
He’s unsurprised by the casual invitation on a Friday night at 9:40 p.m. (it seems that, as far as hookups go, Y/N hasn’t changed much since college). Nibbling on his bottom lip, he uses his free hand to type a response.
I’m sorry, I would if I could. I’m trapped at this “apartment-warming” party for my friend. Apparently people host housewarmings even if they’re just renting a new place.
Y/N immediately types back: As much as I’d love to debate that with you, I’m really just looking for an orgasm. So if you’re busy, I’ll go back to buzzing at my numb clit.
Harry snorts at that before placing his beer on a coaster and excusing himself to the bathroom. Once he’s locked the door, he’s quick to pull up Y/N’s contact and press the pad of his thumb to her number.
“Hello?”
She sounds confused and frustrated when she answers and Harry smirks at that.
“Hey,” he greets, leaning back against the white porcelain sink. “I’m calling about your orgasm.”
“You’re seriously not trying to have phone sex with me right now.”
Her tone is as deadpan as it gets, and the monotone nature is enough to make a small bit of insecurity crawl into Harry’s stomach.
“Well, I was planning on talking you through it. ‘S not really phone sex if only one person’s getting off, I think.”
She lets out a noisy sigh and there’s some rustling on the other side. He waits for her response and is surprised when she agrees.
“Fine,” she huffs, and he can envision the way her eyebrow raises just slightly when she’s decided to give into something, “Let’s give it a try. Porn is getting boring anyway.”
“What were you watching?”
“Well, when you’ve been trying to come for 40 minutes, you end up in some… odd places,” she says. “I started out with lesbian porn, then found my way into threesomes, and somehow I ended up at double penetration.”
“Ah,” Harry nods, “Sounds like you’re having some sort of craving for group sex, then?”
A pause. And then: “I guess. I’ve never tried it, I just think it’s hot.”
“What’s hot about it for you?”
He thinks he hears her swallow, but he can’t be completely sure.
“I just like the idea of pleasing more than one person. I think that’s how I got to double penetration stuff.”
“Oh, I see. You want to be used.”
It’s blunt and it’s to the point, but he’s not wrong — he knows he’s not, because he slept with her for six months straight.
“I guess,” she replies non-committedly, “I guess it’s like… a fantasy of getting two people off and them feeling that way because of me. Through oral or… being inside of me, or whatever.”
“So what’s your threesome fantasy, then?” Harry pushes, though his tone teeters are near carelessness at this point, “Girl/boy? Boy/boy? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Who do you want to be between?”
Y/N exhales shakily, “I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, now you are.”
She doesn’t immediately reply, but he knows she responds well to the calloused persona he suddenly obtains. She’s always been this way — submissive and good, always looking to please him intimately. It’s too easy for him to put the pieces together and solve the puzzle.
“I guess I like the idea of being with two guys, but it doesn’t matter much to me.” she eventually decides.
“Okay. And in your deepest fantasies, what are these two men doing to you?”
Another pause, though he thinks he hears a shuttered sigh on the line. He doesn’t mention it — not yet at least.
“Maybe… maybe one’s inside of me and the other one’s in my mouth.”
“And how is he fucking you? Is he on top of you, missionary style, or are you on your hands and knees while he fucks you from behind?”
A breathy whimper departs Y/N’s lips and this time it’s loud enough for both of them to hear. He smirks at the sound of it.
“I like the idea of him behind me. A-and the other one fucking my mouth.”
Harry hums, almost as if he’s praising her. “Close your eyes and envision it, then. Think about how you’re letting two men take advantage of you and use your body, just so they can get off. One’s fucking into you from behind, spanking your ass and grabbing your hips like you’re just some kind of toy to him. And the other one is thrusting deep into your mouth, making you choke, getting you all drooly for him. You’re nothing but a set of holes for them, honey. Isn’t that sweet?”
On the other line, all Harry hears is a series of shattered moans and low curses. Even though it’s been years, he can imagine the way her muscles are all tensed up, her pussy clenching around a dildo or her fingers. He wishes he would’ve asked so he could envision it, too.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers out, and Harry palms himself through his trousers at the sound of her high-pitched mewls.
“There you go, blossom. Atta girl, just let go. ‘S easy, let it go for me,” his voice is a near coo and it makes Y/N’s eyes roll back into her skull. It’s like he knows how easy it is for her brain to ping pong to other far less sexier thoughts — like the dirty plates in the dishwasher or the unfolded laundry in the corner of her bedroom — so he continues crooning through the receiver, his low, soft voice guiding her through every bump and ridge of her impending orgasm.
When she comes, she comes hard, considering it’s been a solid two weeks since she’s been able to give herself an orgasm. It shoots through her entire body and, even with her eyes shut tight, the fantasy she created still plays through her brain — except now, it’s not two mystery men. Now, it’s just Harry fucking into her, all tan muscles and sweat pearling at his hairline.
She’s boneless and exhausted when she finishes, her throat dry from the involuntary moans she let go. She only remembers she’s still on the phone with Harry when she hears him clear his throat, followed by a call of her name.
“Hey, sorry,” she mumbles as her cheeks flush a deep red hue, “T-that was good. Thank you.”
“Yeah? You finished?”
If she had more energy, she would roll her eyes. Of course she finished. The entire neighborhood knows she finished.
“Yeah.” she mutters shortly. “Have a good time at your apartment-warming party.”
Harry huffs a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cos that’s what I’ll be thinking about for the rest of the night.”
She doesn’t have a chance to ask him what he means before he’s bidding her goodbye: “Let me know when you wanna do this again. I’m around this weekend.”
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Finally II
Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader
Hardersson x Daughter!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: You get interrupted
You gasp into Talia's mouth as she shoves you up against the door of your apartment.
She grins against your lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as one of her hands holds you by the jaw and the other tight around your hip.
"You're so hot," She whispers, leaning down to graze her teeth against your neck. She relishes in the little whimper you let out when she sucks a hickey into your skin.
You can't quite remember how you got from the bar to your apartment.
Your mind is completely consumed with Natalia as she sucks more insistenyly at your neck.
Your chest rises and falls like you've been doing sprints. You count yourself lucky that Prins has clearly gone to sleep in the spare room because you don't think you'd be able to look him in the eyes while Talia has you pinned against your own door.
Her tongue soothes the hicky she's made on your neck and you force her to unlatch by tugging at her hair, drawing her back so you can connect your lips again.
Somehow, you both end up on your sofa, you perched in her lap and Talia's hands keeping you steady.
"God," She says," Why did we wait to do this?"
You giggle, a very uncharacteristic sound coming from your lips. "Because you prefer me dumb and hot?"
Talia grins. "Oh, yeah." One hand leaves your waist to tug your head back, baring your neck to her. "That."
A frankly embarrassing whine rips from your throat as Talia tugs your hair and connects her lips to your collarbone and you're saved (or damned) by your phone ringing.
Talia disconnects from your neck with a wet pop as you scramble for your phone.
"H-Hello?"
"Why do you sound out of breath?" It's Morsa and your eyes go wide.
You stare at Talia, who just grins below you, one brow raised.
"I...er..." You're not quite sure what to say. "I was just out."
"Running in the middle of the night?" Morsa clicks her tongue. "I've told you before-"
She waffles on for a while and you let out a squeak as Talia rolls her hips under you.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"
"Pernille!" You can hear Morsa yell. "Your daughter is lying to me again! Tell her to stop lying!"
"I'm not lying!" You say quickly.
"Then let's switch to a videocall."
Your eyes go wide and Talia rolls her hips again. You shove your hand against her chest to get her to stop.
"I...er..."
"Have you got someone there with you, princesse?" It's Momma now. Her tone is teasing and you get the feeling she knows exactly who is with you.
"Er...Yeah...Me and Natalia were just at a bar," You say and Talia grins up at you.
Momma laughs over the phone. "Were you having a bit of fun?"
You groan, leading forward and planting your face in Talia's neck. "Please stop talking."
You can hear Morsa gasp over the phone.
"What?! You were having sex?!"
"Magda, it's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?! Sex?! Before marriage?!"
"Magda, we regularly have sex. We're not married yet."
"That's different! This is our baby we're talking about! She could end up pregnant!"
"Not unless Natalia has suddenly grown a dick."
There's silence for a moment before you have to tear the phone away from your ear.
"She's sleeping with Natalia?!"
You awkwardly clears your throat. "We're not sleeping together!"
Talia's grin sharpens.
"We're...er..."
"You're?" Momma teases.
"I invited her back because..."
"Because?"
"We were just out on a date, Miss Harder," Talia pipes up sweetly," Y/n invited me back for a coffee."
"Uh-huh." Momma doesn't sound like she believes her.
"I did!" You insist.
"Then why did you sound so out of breath."
"I was..." Your eyes catch movement in the hallway as Prins comes out. His tail wags furiously when he notices you and Talia, jumping up onto the sofa. "Playing around with Prins. I taught him a new trick."
"Sure." You can hear the smile in Momma's voice. "Have fun with your 'date', Princesse."
You groan. "Please stop talking."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#the big adventures universe
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Hunted
Summary: Hydra hosts a training exercise for their super soldiers. You can run, but you can't hide from the Winter Soldier.
Pairing: Dark Winter Soldier x F. Reader
Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. This is a dark fic. Non con. Death.
See my Masterlist Here
You ran as hard as your feet would carry you. You were terrified, shaking so hard you were surprised that you could even move. Footsteps approached quickly, your breath hitches as you make a decision. You could run, but the super soldier could easily catch up to you. Or you could stay where you are and pray that you are hidden well enough that he won't find you.
Last month, Hydra caught your uncle's company trying to take them down. They killed all the men that worked there and captured all the women. They brought you all to cells under their headquarters. They fed you three meals a day, stating you all would need your strength for what they had planned.
This morning, you learned what they had meant. You were all brought out to the edge of the woods. The man in charge told you that they were training their super soldiers today. They would be practicing their hunting skills. A large van pulled up, and out came ten super soldiers. You looked around, counting the women who were with you. There were twenty-three of you. A second van halted to a stop beside the other. Two large men drug out another.
He was chained up, arms behind his back, black mask almost like a muzzle covered his mouth. His dark, shoulder length hair was messy, piercing blue eyes locking on you. You felt like you were going to faint. The Winter Soldier was the most brutal of all the super soldiers. A skilled assassin, he was sent on Hydra's most important missions. He did all their dirty work.
The Hydra leader who brought you outside explained the rules to the prisoners and soldiers. They were going to give you all an hour head start. Your job was to hide from the men. If they found you, they could do whatever they wanted with you as a reward. Bile rose in your throat, turning the contents of your stomach sour. Some of you wouldn't come out of this alive. But if you were fortunate enough to make it until sunrise, you would be free.
The footsteps grow closer, you close your eyes hoping he won't notice the footprints you had left in the mud. Then you see him, the man was tall, blonde hair shaved off. He walked toward the bushes you were hiding in. Your hand flies to your mouth to hide your cries. To your dismay, one escapes anyway. The soldier's head whips toward the noise, across the way from you.
You realize it wasn't you who cried too loudly. The soldier smiles wickedly, reaching for the poor woman who just gave up her hiding spot. He flings her out of the bushes onto the hard ground. More tears fall when you notice that it's Claire, the secretary from your uncle's failed company.
The soldier begins pawing at her as she tries to fight him off. It's no use. He holds her down with one knee on her torso, as he strips off his clothes. "You're my second one today." He brags. "Let's see if you're luckier than the last one. I choked her too hard." His evil laugh echoes through the quiet forest. When he rips Claire's clothing from her shaking body, you take the opportunity to run.
He looks up when he hears you leaving your shelter. "I'll catch up to you next!" He yells after you. The sun has started setting, you take a precious minute to catch your breath. You know if you stop for too long, you'll lose your momentum, or someone could catch up to you. You hear the screams and cries of your fellow prisoners as you make your way further into the woods. You search for a new place to hide, since it would be dark soon.
They could have at least equipped you with flashlights, you think to yourself. That was the whole point of all of this, wasn't it? You weren't meant to survive. Hydra expected the super soldiers to kill most of you. The women who survived would be brought back to the prison, probably made to work for them now that their spirits had been broken.
It was almost too dark to continue, so you took shelter in a cluster of bushes, shrinking yourself as small as you could underneath it. Night fell, and you laid on the cold ground, the horrendous sounds of the others getting caught filled the air. Finally, you rested your eyes. You needed the rest if you were going to make until the morning.
You woke up, sensing someone was nearby. You silently prayed that it was just another prisoner and not a threat. You release the shaky breath you were holding when they leave the area. The dark sky turns reddish - pink and you sigh with relief. It shouldn't be long now. Sunrise was so close you could almost taste your freedom.
You close your eyes, hoping that when you opened them the next time, this torture would be over. Your few moments of peace were interrupted when the blonde super soldier from earlier reached down into the bushes, pulling you up by your hair. Your scream rips through the woods, the soldier slings you back onto the ground, kicking you. "Shut up, bitch. I told you I was coming for you. You're my sixth, and from the looks of it, my last." He gestures to the sky.
He rips your shirt from your body. You try to cover yourself, but he moves your hands away. A metal hand wraps around the soldier's neck, a sickening crunch filling your ears as The Winter Soldier snaps it with ease. The soldier slumps over, his lifeless body landing with a thud.
"Mine." The Winter Soldier states, blue eyes locked on your exposed bra. A cold metal finger slips under the bra between your breasts, tearing it from your body with no effort. "No please! I almost made it. Please don't do this!" You cry, pleading with him. His hands find your breasts, squeezing roughly. His eyes land on your peaked nipples, taking them between his fingers.
He twists and pulls too roughly. When he's finished his assault on them, he reaches for his face, removing the black mask from his mouth. He's beautiful, you think for a split second. His blue eyes and pouty, full lips seemed like they didn't belong on the same man who was trained to kill. "Like what you see?" He smirks, when he notices you staring at his face. He pushes your breasts together, face lowering toward them. He runs his tongue from one pointed nipple to the other. Chapped lips taking one between them, sucking harshly.
He bites down, pulling your nipple with his teeth. You cry out, hands on his face trying to push him away. He chuckles, as you fight him, biting down your torso to your pants. He pulls them down along with your panties, discarding them immediately. One thick finger runs through your folds, disappointment evident as it comes out dry. "You're not even wet for me? We can't have that. I won't fit if you're not ready."
You shiver at his words. You didn't want to know how big he was. You had studied the super soldier serum enough at your old job to know that the serum enhanced everything. He brings his mouth down against your core, lips brushing your clit. He swirls his tongue around it, metal arm hooking under your legs to bring you closer. His full lips tug on your clit, you can't help but moan for him.
"That's it, good girl. If you're good for me, I'll convince them to let me keep you." You spit at him, kicking your legs, to push him away. "Why would I want that?" He smiles, because Hydra's gonna kill anyone left in these woods when this is over." You gasp, you should have known. "You didn't really think they would just let you go? You know too much. They will let me keep you as my little plaything though. All I have to do is say the word."
You didn't doubt him for a second. “Stop fighting." He commands, lowering his face again. His nose brushes your clit while he works his tongue inside you. You try to fight back, but he misinterprets your movements. He thinks you're enjoying it now. "That's it." The Winter Soldier suckles your swollen clit, hot tongue lapping up every drop of arousal. You bite your lips so hard; it bleeds trying to keep a moan in.
He grabs your chin, jerking your face towards him. "Do not hold back from me, kitten." His warm tongue drags over you slowly before his plump lips suction around your clit. Your thighs close against his ears as he draws a forceful orgasm out of you, legs trembling as you flood his face. Your moan rips through your throat, earning a satisfied smile from the soldier.
He spreads your legs with one hand, his other freeing his hard cock. You were right about the size of it. You were so fortunate that he got you wet first. You'd be lucky if he didn't split you in half. He plunges inside you, you squirm from the painful way he entered you. "Hold still." He says, holding your stomach down. "I can't, it hurts too much." You whine. The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes, lifting you like a rag doll.
He sits on the ground, lowering you onto him. This position was worse for you. He hit even deeper than before. But he could hold you better this way. His metal arm snakes around your waist, holding you close. He bounces you on his cock, your arms wrap around his neck. His fingers dig into your hips as you get used to it and start to grind on him.
Your clit brushes his dark curls as you ride him. "I knew you would be worth it." He grunts. "I wanted you the moment I saw you this morning. I found you immediately. You're not great at hiding, you know. But I waited. I knew it would be better if I let you think you could escape." He chuckles, "You should have seen those other broads, they would piss themselves when they saw me. But I only wanted you, so I left them for the others."
His dark pants rub against your thighs as he fucks into you. You roll your hips, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. "You feel incredible." He moans into the crook of your neck. You scratch at his leather clad back, as the Winter Soldier's mouth latches onto the exposed skin of your neck. He sucks harshly, making sure it will leave a mark. You clench around him as he cums inside you.
His metal hand reaches between you, icy digits colliding with your heat. His thumb circles your clit, causing you to unravel. You shake in his arms, too exhausted to move as he pulls you off him. He takes his shirt off, handing it to you. "Put this on. I don't want anyone looking at my little doll." You take it, looking up at the sun coming up in the distance.
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#bucky fic#bucky imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky marvel#bucky fanfic#james bucky barnes#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky and reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#dark bucky barnes#bucky barnes and reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky fanfiction#bucky oneshot#dark bucky smut#bucky smut#dark bucky x you#bucky x yn smut#dark bucky x reader#bucky x yn#bucky x reader smut#winter soldier smut#the winter soldier#hunted
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things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton
part two
word count: 10k
warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.
A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate
It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.
Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.
Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.
Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.
Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.
Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.
Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.
Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.
She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.
She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.
She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.
Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.
She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.
That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.
Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.
When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.
Lewis 🏁
How's your date?
She shakes her head, typing out her response.
dense. how's silverstone?
Lewis 🏁
Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.
i'm sorry 😞
Lewis 🏁
I'm going to need you tonight.
Lewis, i'm on a date.
Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.
Lewis 🏁
Is he getting lucky tonight?
NO!
Lewis 🏁
So why can't I?
Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.
She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.
"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.
She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.
Lewis 🏁
My jet will be waiting for you.
That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.
When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.
It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.
"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.
He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.
"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."
"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.
"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.
Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.
She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.
After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.
She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."
"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.
Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.
Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.
Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.
He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.
Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.
"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.
She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."
"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."
His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.
"Okay."
Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.
"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.
Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?
She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.
"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.
She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.
"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"
Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."
Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.
"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"
Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."
"Why that?"
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.
-
They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.
"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.
"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."
"Come on, beautiful."
He sits up, forcing her up with him.
She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.
He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.
He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.
He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.
There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.
"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.
She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.
When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.
This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.
She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.
"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.
As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.
The screen lights up with notifications.
One catches her eye from, Natalie.
Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.
Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.
It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.
Still on for tomorrow?
At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.
"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.
She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.
He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.
Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.
But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.
She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.
Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.
-
She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.
He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.
"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"
She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.
Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.
When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.
"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.
"Hi, George, I'm Clem."
"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.
"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."
George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.
"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"
She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.
Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."
And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.
George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.
"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."
"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.
Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.
When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.
She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.
She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.
"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.
"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.
"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.
"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.
She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.
She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.
"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.
He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"
She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."
"Then get in the fucking car."
Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.
He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.
Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.
Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.
It has him hard instantly.
"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.
"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."
Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.
"I want to kiss you, but people will see."
She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.
"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.
"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.
"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."
"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.
"You like fucking with me." He declares.
Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.
"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.
He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.
Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.
He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.
He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.
Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.
When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto.
He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.
She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.
He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.
"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.
He looks stressed and zoned out.
"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.
Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.
She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."
That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."
She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."
Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.
Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."
"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.
Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.
"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.
"Time to race, Lewis."
She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.
Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.
She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.
When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.
She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.
She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.
She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.
She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.
She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.
She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.
She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.
His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.
Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.
"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.
She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.
"I can feel it in my bones."
"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.
Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"
He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.
"Well, that's me."
Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.
"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.
"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.
"Get in the car, Hamilton."
She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.
She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.
Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.
She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.
"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.
"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."
Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.
Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"
She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."
Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.
"Intense, yeah?" He questions.
"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."
"First time coming to a race?"
She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."
She laughs, "Right."
The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.
He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.
But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.
Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.
Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.
It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.
He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.
This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.
That anger got him P3.
He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.
Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.
She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.
She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.
When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.
But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.
When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.
There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.
He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.
He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.
He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.
"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."
Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.
"Can you walk?"
She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.
Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.
He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.
Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.
Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.
"I had fun," she announces.
"I'm glad."
"You got podium." She cheers lowly.
Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.
She gives up trying to talk to him after that.
The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.
When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.
As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.
Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.
"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.
"No, I don't."
"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.
"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.
"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.
"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.
Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.
"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.
She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.
He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.
"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.
He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.
She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.
He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.
Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.
He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.
Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.
She tasted so good.
Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.
Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.
He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.
He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.
"Fuck."
Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.
Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.
When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.
She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.
He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.
"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.
"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.
"I think you do."
His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.
"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.
"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"
Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.
Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.
He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.
He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.
Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.
This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.
Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.
Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.
She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.
Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.
He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.
"Woah." she pants.
Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.
Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.
"I booked you a room."
He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.
"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.
"It's just a floor below, suite 909."
Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"
Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.
"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.
Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.
"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.
Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."
She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.
She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.
Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.
"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."
Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.
She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.
And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.
She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.
The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.
She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.
For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.
It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.
Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.
It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.
-
Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.
He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.
He regrets his actions.
He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.
He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.
"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"
He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.
He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.
He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.
He never stood a chance against her charm.
He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.
-
When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.
"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.
The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.
"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."
Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.
Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.
-
Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.
Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.
Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.
"That was fun." She exhales.
He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.
This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.
He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"
He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.
"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."
Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.
He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.
It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.
He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.
Everything unchanged, nothing new.
Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.
So he tries dating.
And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.
Their eyes don't gleam like hers.
They don't understand his humor.
They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.
They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.
They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.
They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.
Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.
And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.
When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.
clemmy 🪂
I need to see you, where are you?
He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.
He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.
He'd take any sight of her he could get.
-
Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.
If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.
She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.
How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.
But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.
Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.
clementine
liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others
clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!
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feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿
clementine the coolest 😎
lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR
clementine 🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️
user no bc who did my girl like that
clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃
user builds character my ass, go beat his ass
user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???
clementine yk im filming girl 🙄
clementine
liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others
clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?
danielricciardo In your hands slaps
clementine you sir, have great taste 😘
user daniel what are you doing here 😭
user No really, weird ass crossover episode
user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen
clementine you noticing the small details >>>
justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me
clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂
user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm
feliciathegoat i love my bestie
clementine and I love u T 🥹
-
Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.
He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.
Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.
He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.
He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.
He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.
He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.
She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.
"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."
"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."
She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.
His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.
She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.
"I love you."
She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"
He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."
"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.
"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.
"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.
He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.
"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."
Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."
"But you did, " she cries.
"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."
"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.
"I promise I do, Clem."
She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."
He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."
"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."
It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.
"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.
"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."
"It's almost spring," Clem announces.
"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.
"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.
"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."
"Are we still friends?"
"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."
"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.
She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."
"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."
"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.
"Starting over, right?"
"Yeah, starting over."
Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.
Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.
"Thank you for showing up for me."
Not proofread
the album:
bad religion - frank ocean
in your hands - halle
i think- tyler, the creator
saturn- sza
broken is the man- jorja smith
everything is gonna be alright- infinity song
everything- kehlani
mine- beyonce ft drake
poison- beyonce
are we still friends- tyler, the creator
eternal sunshine- jhene aiko
<3
#black reader#lewis hamilton#f1#formula 1#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x black reader#poc reader#black female oc#lewis hamilton x black female oc#black reader friendly#things lost and things found part two
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the boy is mine
Synopsis: After your business trip, you head back to the Jujutsu High only to hear that there are newly transferred students when it hasn't been that long since Kugisaki and Itadori came. You didn't think that the new student will potentially be your rival to your boyfriend.
Word Count: 5,247
Warning: 18+ DNI, student-teacher relationship, Jealousy, possessiveness, marks, injury, tied wrists, new students.
Note: Yes you read the warning, this is a student-teacher relationship. This is like half of the smut since I'm still not confident to write it but I want to challenge myself to write smut. this story might be cringe to you though since I already find it cringe at the end T-T But I can't ditch this since I already finished making this so I hope you enjoy it!!
_____________________________________________________________
"Are there new transfer students again?" you asked nobara, who sat nearby, meticulously filing her nails while filling you in on the latest gossip from Jujutsu High during your brief absence on a recent business trip.
You were taken aback by the news of more transfers, considering it hadn't been long since Nobara and Yuji joined the school.
Nobara hummed in agreement as she blew on her nails, and you continued unpacking your things from your luggage.
"What did Sensei say about the situation?" you asked slowly.
"Oh, he's the one who introduced them to us, and, take note, he was happy while introducing them," Nobara answered.
You stood there, holding your clothes, suddenly feeling a surge of jealousy.
"What do they look like?" you quickly asked, not noticing how Nobara smirked before she answered.
"Oh, well, just a girl and a boy. I heard they were from Kyoto under Utahime's supervision, but I don't know the story behind why they were moved here," Nobara simply answered.
"They've already met Maki-san, Inukami-san, and Panda-senpai, so the only person they haven't met is you, a third-year student," Nobara added.
"So, am I meeting them later?" you asked after finishing hanging your clothes in the closet and putting away the luggage.
"I don't know, they're on a mission right now. Megumi's assisting them," Nobara answered.
"Then I guess we should head for training," you said while walking out of your room, leaving Nobara whining since you picked training instead of going shopping.
**
You and Nobara stopped training, catching your breath after some intense combat training.
Just as you were about to drink water, you heard a commotion from the training room.
The door was slightly open, revealing an annoyed Megumi before he opened it widely to let someone, or some people, through.
You were met with unfamiliar faces, their sheepish smiles suggesting a mix of nervousness and excitement.
"Nobara, it's your time to tour them," Megumi instructed her.
"What? Gojo-sensei specifically asked you to tour them!" Nobara argued back, leaving the two of them in a back-and-forth argument that made you sigh.
"Sorry about them, they're like oil and water," you apologized to the newcomers.
"It's fine," the girl replied with a reassuring smile.
"You two must be the newly transferred students, I suppose?" you asked, noticing their enthusiastic nods in response.
"I'm Riku Nakamura," the boy introduced with a toothy grin.
"And I'm Himari Takahashi," she introduced with a confident smile.
"Oh, and I'm—" You began to introduce yourself, but before you could finish, Himari cut you off.
"You must be [Reader's name]?" Himari asked, leaving you confused as to how she knew your name.
"How did you know my name?" you asked her, confused.
"Oh, the pink-haired boy told us," Himari replied casually, as you mentally facepalmed.
'Right, it had to be Yuji,' you thought to yourself.
You glanced at Nobara and Megumi, who seemed to have calmed down as you addressed them.
"I'll go and tour these two; you two go have some relaxation time," you said before gesturing for the new students to follow you out of the training room.
With a nod of agreement from Nobara and Megumi, you led Riku and Himari out, ready to show them around the school.
After walking for a while and sharing some history about a particular object you three passed by, you suddenly bumped into Satoru.
"Sensei?" you asked when you noticed him.
"[Reader's name]! I thought you were still on a business trip," Satoru exclaimed, offering you a warm smile.
"Here," Satoru added, passing you a bag filled with donuts. "I got them for you," he said with a toothy grin.
"Thanks," you replied dryly, but deep down, you were truly grateful for the gesture.
Satoru's eyes then shifted to the two new students as the conversation took a turn. "How was the first mission? Was Megumi a great help?" he asked them.
You observed the exchange, particularly focusing on Himari, who seemed to be acting differently.
"Good, Fushiguro-san was a bit annoyed, but he's a great help," Riku answered, with Himari nodding along.
"Well, I guess being stubborn still sticks with him," Satoru remarked with a chuckle.
"Oh, Riku, come with me right now. I need to talk about something, regardless of your rank," Satoru told him, prompting Riku to nod before following him.
As they were about to leave, Satoru turned to you. "I'll see you later. You know where to meet me," he specifically told you.
You nodded, already aware of what was to come.
"I will, Sensei," you replied as he smiled before he and Riku left, leaving you alone with Himari.
"You seemed close with Sensei," Himari remarked after glancing at you.
"Yeah, I've been ever since I came here," you replied casually.
"Is that so?" Himari replied, her tone neutral.
You hummed as you continued walking, with Himari following closely behind.
You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Himari possibly trying to get close to Satoru.
But deep down, you knew he was yours and yours alone.
**
After a long day, you made your way to where Satoru was, ensuring no one was following you since it was nearing midnight, and everyone should have been asleep by then.
Standing at the door, you took a deep breath before softly knocking as you waited for Satoru's permission to enter.
When you heard a “come in” from satoru, you opened the door slowly, keeping your gaze on the doorway as you closed it with your body facing the door.
Lost in thought, you remained standing there, unaware of Satoru's presence behind you until he wrapped his arm around your waist and whispered in your ear, "Is something wrong or bothering you?”
You felt your body heat up quickly from the closeness, but you managed to maintain your composure.
"Nothing," you replied softly, but Satoru wasn't convinced.
Slowly, he dipped his head down to the exposed skin of your collarbone, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine.
With his free hand, he delicately tilted your jaw towards him, his touch sending electric tingles across your skin.
His lips met yours in a sensual kiss, you felt a rush of desire wash over you, melting into the intoxicating warmth of his embrace.
Without breaking the kiss, you turned around, wrapping your arms around Satoru's neck, pulling him closer as you sought to deepen the embrace.
Sensing your urgency, Satoru pressed you against the wall, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he intensified the kiss.
Lost in the moment, you surrendered to the passion, feeling the heat between you two grow with each passing second.
After pulling away to catch your breath, Satoru's other hand moved up to the door, stopping right beside your head as he lowered his gaze to meet yours.
Despite the romantic setting, you felt a sense of intimidation wash over you.
"You sure it's nothing bothering you?" he asked again, his concern evident in his eyes.
You looked at him and nodded. "Yes," you replied, trying to reassure him, even though there was a hint of uncertainty lingering within you.
Even though Satoru was wearing his blindfold, you could feel his blue eyes staring at you with doubt.
After a moment, he sighed and pulled you into a hug.
"I missed you," he said softly. "I missed you so bad ever since you went on that business trip," he added, and you couldn't help but giggle, knowing he would sulk any moment now.
"But we video-called every night when I was away, though," you reminded him.
"Yeah, but it's much better if you're here in my presence, not on some phone," he replied, his voice tinged with longing.
"Hey," he said, making you hum in response as you continued to hug him.
"You'll tell me if anything is bothering you, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
You nodded, replying softly, "Yes, I will."
Satoru let out a deep chuckle. "Good," he said reassuringly.
Feeling like you shouldn't dwell on thoughts of Himari, you decided to let things go, focusing instead on the warmth of Satoru's embrace.
**
As you reflected on the past week, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret about your earlier reassurances.
Himari has been getting on your nerves lately.
Recalling how she constantly eyed the door from the training area while she was training with Maki, you remembered how you had been there, waiting to train with Maki after she finished with Himari.
Her eyes kept darting towards the door, anticipating Satoru's arrival with his usual sweets to interrupt the training session.
You couldn't help but feel a twitch of annoyance when you noticed how her eyes would light up upon seeing Satoru.
During one time when Satoru once again disrupted the training session and distributed his usual sweets to everyone, you were the only one who received strawberry mochi.
It was impossible for anyone not to notice, and they all seemed to understand why you were the only one with a different treat.
However, Himari, being the curious cat she was, approached you after the training session to inquire about it.
As you were gathering the used weapons, Himari struck up a conversation, catching you off guard. "Do Sensei usually do that?" she asked, referring to the different sweets he gave you.
"About what?" you replied, feigning ignorance.
"The, uhm, giving you a different sweet?" she clarified.
You paused for a moment, considering your response.
Despite your irritation towards her, you decided to entertain the conversation.
"He knew I'm allergic to those, that's why he got me strawberry mochi. That's how considerate our Sensei is," you explained.
She simply responded with an "oh" before returning to help you clean the training room.
You suddenly wanted to whack yourself for not telling the truth, especially after an incident in the classroom. You were busy taking notes when the first-years came to accompany you.
Despite their innocent intentions, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were up to something, especially with Himari present and Riku nowhere to be found.
As you were engrossed in your notes, Nobara approached your table with a smirk on her face.
"Oh, [Reader's name], could you please pass this to Sensei?" she asked, handing you a paper.
Muttering a sure, you reached out to take the paper when suddenly someone else grabbed it, causing you to flinch. You looked to see Himari holding the paper.
"I'll do it, [Reader's name] is busy with notes, so instead of making her do more work, I'll do it. You don't mind, right?" Himari explained before turning to you, awaiting your reply.
Your blood boiled as you clenched your fists, trying to calm yourself down.
"No, I'll do it, Himari. Besides, I had something to pass to Sensei—" You started to stand up, reaching for the paper, but Himari pulled it away.
"Oh no, really, you stay here and finish your notes. I'll pass this to Sensei," she insisted before swiftly leaving the classroom.
Frustrated, you grabbed the crumpled paper you had tossed aside, tightening your grip on it as Nobara tried to suppress her laughter at the situation she had just witnessed.
You quickly glanced at Nobara, who abruptly closed her mouth and averted her gaze.
"Nobara, as much as I hate to point fingers, what was that?" you asked her, frustration evident in your tone.
"What's what?" she replied innocently, pretending to be oblivious.
"What Himari did!" you finally snapped.
"She's trying to make you jealous," Megumi interjected.
"Fushiguro!" Nobara exclaimed, clearly annoyed by Megumi's interference.
"It's better to speak up than to let things escalate," Megumi calmly countered.
"I think your idea is a bad one, Kugisaki," Yuji chimed in.
"Oh, please, I just want her," Nobara said, pointing at you, "to realize that Himari could be her potential rival for Sensei's attention!" Nobara explained, her determination shining through.
"Just admit you're there for the dr—" Before Megumi could finish his sentence, Yuji quickly chimed in, "Oh well! I think it's best if you continue doing notes," he said, with a nervous laugh.
You stared at the three of them suspiciously. "Look, I'll do whatever I have to do to her since Sensei's my business now," you told them firmly.
They already knew about you and Satoru being in a relationship. Yuji and Nobara had accidentally seen Satoru's contacts, noticing the name he had saved yours under.
Megumi had been aware of it even before he joined the first year.
All they could do was sigh in response, muttering okay before returning to their tasks.
You did the same, focusing on your notes, but your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what to do about Himari.
As you sat there, pen in hand, you couldn't shake the feeling that something needed to be done about her meddling behavior.
**
You had asked Riku to accompany you to the storage room to retrieve some boxes.
"You take this one while I take those on the side," you instructed him.
He nodded in understanding and went to lift the designated box, while you grabbed another.
As you both left the storage room and headed downstairs toward the classroom, Riku spoke up. "[Reader's name]," he began.
"Yes?" you replied, curious about what he was going to say.
"Are you and Sensei, like, closer than everyone else here?" he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.
You felt a twinge of surprise at his question.
How did he already know that when even Himari seemed oblivious?
"I guess you could say that," you replied cautiously, your grip tightening around the box as you continued on your way.
"Why do you think so?" you asked him, intrigued by his observation.
"Well, every time he accompanied me on a mission, he always made sure to bring some sweets on our way back. He'd stare at the display of sweets and mutter something like, 'What does she want, hmm?' I just thought since you got the strawberry mochi last time, I guessed he was talking about you. Am I wrong?" Riku explained, his tone thoughtful.
You were surprised at how observant he was, especially since he often seemed quiet during training sessions.
"I see, you're quite observant," you told him, offering a compliment that seemed to make Riku giggle, pleased with himself.
You and Riku were so engrossed in conversation that you didn't notice the staircase ahead.
The box you were carrying blocked your view; before you knew it, you were stepping into thin air.
Panic surged through you as you began to fall, instinctively calling out Riku's name.
Riku reacted just in time, shoving the box away and reaching out to grab your arm.
Despite his efforts, both of you tumbled down the stairs, and you ended up landing on top of him, your body pressing against his chest as you both lay sprawled on the ground.
You began to panic, attempting to stand up but failing as intense pain shot through your ankle, causing you to whine in agony.
"[Reader's name]! I-I—" Riku stuttered, clearly flustered by the situation.
Suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around your waist, helping you stand and pulling you into a comforting hug.
"What happened?" a concerned voice asked, and you recognized it as Satoru's.
"S-Sen—ow," you tried to explain to Satoru, but before you could finish, you fell back into his chest again, letting out a yelp of pain.
Satoru's voice was filled with concern as he spoke to you, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. "Are you alright? What happened?" he asked, his tone worried.
As he glanced over at Riku, there was a subtle hint of jealousy in his eyes, evident to anyone who knew him well.
However, he quickly masked it with a reassuring smile, his focus returning to you as he waited for your response, ready to offer his support and assistance.
"All you could muster was, "Hurts... so bad," as you told him about the pain. Satoru let out a sigh of concern, gently lifting you into a princess-style carry.
As he carried you, his gaze flickered over to Riku, a warning look in his eyes that seemed to say, 'If I were you, I would stay away from her.'
With that silent message conveyed, Satoru hurried you to Shoko's clinic, determined to get you the care you needed.
After Shoko treated your ankle, you found that you could walk just fine again.
However, Satoru still insisted on carrying you like a princess back to your dorm.
"Sen—Satoru, I can walk," you reminded him gently as he lifted you, navigating the stairs.
"I can't help but think you're dangerous to the stairs, baby," Satoru replied with a smirk, refusing to give up his hold on you.
"Oh, come on, I fell because the box was blocking my view," you explained, feeling a hint of frustration.
"But that still doesn't help me with my jealousy," Satoru said playfully as he reached your door and finally let you down.
You sat down at the edge of your bed, letting out a sigh, while Satoru stood nearby, silently observing you.
He walked up in front of you, his presence commanding attention, and took off his blindfold, placing it on your nightstand.
Looking up at him, you noticed the intensity in his gaze, like that of a predator sizing up its prey.
"What?" you asked, curious about the purpose behind his scrutinizing stare.
He didn't give a response; instead, he leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.
You responded eagerly, your heart racing as Satoru gently pushed you onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.
He hovered over you, it became clear that his actions were fueled by the jealousy he felt earlier, a desire to declare his claim over you.
Satoru's hand caressed your waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he played with the hem of your uniform.
Pulling away slightly, he took a deep breath, his eyes locked with yours.
“I love you” he spoke with affection showing in his eyes. You suddenly felt soft as you replied. “I love you too,” you told him with a soft smile.
He smiled and suddenly you forgot about Himari, the cause of your jealousy.
**
A few days later, Satoru organized a training session for everyone, emphasizing that attendance was mandatory.
Fortunately, you hadn't been assigned to a mission yet, so you were able to attend.
Arriving at the training room in your usual workout attire, you found everyone already engaged in warm-ups.
Satoru stood at the front, observing everyone's movements with his usual keen eye, despite the blindfold.
When he noticed your presence, his smile brightened, and he waved in your direction.
Even though his eyes were hidden, you could sense the warmth in his gaze as it landed on you.
Satoru's clap echoed through the training room, effectively capturing everyone's attention.
"Now that everyone's here, we should start our training," he announced, his voice projecting clearly.
As the group gathered in front of him, forming a line from left to right, Satoru contemplated his next instruction.
"I'm thinking we should do pairing," he suggested, his tone thoughtful as he considered the most effective way to structure the training session.
"But then again, since y'all are not an even number, someone will be without a partner. I'll be their partner then," Satoru generously suggested.
The pairs were quickly formed: Maki with Panda, Inumaki with Megumi, and Nobara with Itadori.
However, this left you, Riku, and Himari without partners, as Satoru had predicted.
You were about to head over to Satoru, knowing he was your usual training partner when someone grabbed your wrist. Startled, you turned to see Riku standing there.
"[Reader's name], be my partner," he said, surprising you with his request.
"Uh, but—" you began, unsure how to respond, when Himari interjected.
"Looks like I don't have a partner, Sensei," she said, her tone sweet as she batted her eyes at Satoru, clearly vying for his attention.
“Well, I guess I don't have much choice," Satoru replied nonchalantly, leaving you staring at him with frustration.
It felt as if he were doing this on purpose, purposely pairing you with Riku instead of himself.
You and Riku moved to a spot not too far from where Satoru and Himari were standing. As you began cleaning your weapon, Riku spoke up. "I'm sorry," he started.
"About what?" you asked, looking up at him.
"That I stole you from Sensei to be my partner in training," he explained apologetically.
You sighed, feeling conflicted. "Well, I couldn't do much since it happened already," you told him, trying to brush it off.
"But really, I was just forced by Himari when Sensei said that we're doing a pairing," Riku revealed, causing you to freeze as you stared at him in disbelief.
"What?" you asked, taken aback by his confession.
"The truth is, Himari actually knew you two were together. She just can't accept that uh, you got the strongest sorcerer?" Riku explained, his words catching you off guard.
"What?" you said again, incredulous at what you were hearing.
"Her words, not mine," Riku added, emphasizing that it was Himari's perspective and not necessarily his own.
"I don't know why, but I know it had to do with her clan. It was supposed to be only me who transferred here, as I was recommended by Utahime-san to the first grade. I needed Gojo-san to accompany me on missions since you know how it is when you're being recommended," Riku explained.
You nodded along, listening attentively as he shared his insights into the situation.
There was more to Himari's behavior than initially met the eye.
"That's why I'm telling you, [Reader's name], to do something that'll make Himari know her place," Riku urged, his tone firm and determined.
"I've got an idea. Riku, I need you to hold my feet as I do push-ups," you instructed him, lying down on the ground while Riku looked on, confused.
"How would that be a good idea?" he asked, clearly skeptical.
"Just do it," you told him, deadpanned, sensing Satoru's gaze on you even though you didn't look directly at him.
Riku was about to protest, but he sighed and complied, positioning himself in front of you and holding your knees tight.
You stole a glance at Satoru and Himari, noting that they were busy with their combat training.
Despite not looking directly at them, you could feel Satoru's gaze on you, his attention never wavering.
"Don't freak out when my face gets close to you," you warned Riku, but he seemed preoccupied with glancing back and forth between you and Satoru, who was paying attention to your interaction.
"I-I don't think this is a good idea," Riku protested, but you ignored his concerns and began to do your push-ups. As you lowered yourself towards the ground, your face came dangerously close to Riku's.
Intent on making it appear as though you were kissing Riku, mimicking the style of exercise Satoru favored since it often led to affectionate moments between you two, you held the position for a moment before pushing yourself back up.
Just as you were about to complete your eighth push-up, a hand suddenly came through, blocking your face from reaching Riku. Startled, you looked up to see Satoru with an irked smile on his face.
"Is there a problem, Sensei?" you asked innocently, playing along with the situation, while Riku looked on in panic, unsure of what to make of the unexpected interruption.
"Satoru looked at Riku. "Riku, I need you to partner with Himari for now as I need to talk to [reader's name]," Satoru instructed Riku with his authoritative tone.
Riku, sensing the seriousness in Satoru's voice, stood up and left, obediently complying with his sensei's command, leaving you two alone.
Satoru's smile dropped as he looked at you, his expression serious. "You," he pointed at you, then pointed to himself.
"Me," he gestured to himself, before indicating the door.
"In my dorm. Now," he commanded firmly.
You stood up, meeting Satoru's gaze, and noticed Himari staring at the two of you with an unreadable expression.
Without hesitation, you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to follow Satoru out of the training area and towards his dorm.
**
Once inside, Satoru pushed you onto the bed after locking the door behind him.
You landed on your stomach, about to protest, when he swiftly grabbed both of your wrists and tied them together with his blindfold.
"Satoru—" you began, but he silenced you by leaning down close to your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "You're playing a dangerous game, baby," he whispered.
"What game?!" you exclaimed, trying to free your wrists from his grasp.
"That," he replied, his voice low and husky, "doing our usual exercise position with someone else. You know how much I like that." His words sent a thrill through you, despite the apprehension swirling in your mind.
"But it's not fair when you let Himari be your partner when you know we're usually partners in training!" you defended yourself, frustration evident in your voice.
"Oh, baby, I see, you were jealous, weren't you?" Satoru teased, his tone playful as he held your tied wrists.
His other hand traveled up to your shorts, teasingly grazing over your clothed pussy, eliciting a surprised gasp from you as you arched your back at the unexpected sensation.
"You were jealous too!" you pointed out, your voice tinged with accusation as you tried to suppress the moans threatening to escape.
Satoru noticed your struggle and quickened his pace, the intensity of his touch driving you closer to the edge.
Desperate to muffle the sounds of pleasure building within you, you buried your face in the sheets, trying to stifle your moans as Satoru continued to push you to the brink of ecstasy.
"So what if I am?" Satoru countered, his voice husky with desire as he continued to rub your clit, coaxing wetness to soak your panties.
"Baby, I always show everyone how I get when I'm jealous, and I was just curious about your reaction," he explained, his touch igniting waves of pleasure that coursed through your body.
"Ngh, stop, ah," was all you could manage to reply as you were overwhelmed by the pleasure Satoru was giving you.
"How about this, baby," Satoru proposed, his voice husky with desire.
"You stop playing games with Riku, and I'll stop with Himari."
You were unable to reply, too consumed by the sensations coursing through your body as you felt yourself getting closer to climax.
"Getting close, princess?" Satoru asked, his voice teasing as he noticed you slightly shaking.
"I am—ah," you replied, your words trailing off into a moan as the pleasure intensified, pushing you toward the climax.
"Promise me, princess," Satoru urged, his voice filled with longing, but you were too lost in the waves of pleasure to respond.
Sensing your lack of response, Satoru slowed down his pace, eliciting a whine of protest from you.
"I was... so close—why slow down?" you managed to utter, tears beginning to well in your eyes.
"You weren't answering me, kitten," Satoru chided gently, his voice tinged with amusement as he chuckled at the way you shivered at the pet names.
"About what—ah!" you yelped when you felt Satoru slap your butt, the sudden sting adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.
"You weren't listening to me, baby," Satoru reminded you, his tone firm yet teasing. "I asked that you promise me to stop that nonsense with Riku, and I'll stop with Himari."
"I promise! Please, let me cum," you begged desperately, the need for release consuming you.
"I will, princess," Satoru whispered into your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he fastened his pace once more, finally granting you the release you craved.
Your body convulsed in ecstasy as you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you as Satoru guided you to the peak of bliss.
Satoru removed the blindfold from your wrist and placed it over your eyes, positioning you on his lap.
"Let's continue, baby, but I want you to wear my blindfold," he chuckled, but you were still too lost in the aftermath of your climax to fully comprehend his words.
"Is there anything that my baby wants?" Satoru's voice brought you back to the present moment, and you found your voice.
"Let me mark you," you told him, a sense of possessiveness washing over you.
Even though you couldn't see him, you knew Satoru was smiling like a fool.
"I'll let you later, baby," he promised, guiding you to lay on the bed as he positioned himself on top of you, showering you with passionate kisses.
The rest of the day melted into a steamy night with Satoru, and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you felt like the ultimate winner, content in the knowledge that he was yours and yours alone.
**
You woke up to the sound of loud knocking, finding it difficult to move with Satoru spooning you from behind.
With a groan, you attempted to untangle yourself from his embrace, finally managing to slip out of bed.
You grabbed a shirt of his and hastily threw it on before making your way to the door, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
"What?" you asked, your voice groggy with sleep as you opened the door to see who was disturbing your peaceful morning.
To your shock, it was Himari standing at the door, holding a bunch of papers. "Oh," she replied, her tone smug. "Isn't your room in the other building?" she asked, her audacity irritating you.
Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "Well, it's never too bad to have a second room to sleep in."
Himari scoffed, unimpressed by your response. "Where's sensei?" she asked, her fake smile not fooling you.
"Sleeping, obviously," you replied curtly, but she wasn't satisfied. "Can you go fetch him? I need to give some important documents to him," she insisted, her tone demanding.
You had enough of her nonsense, so you snapped at her.
"Listen here, you dimwit, can't you see this?" You pointed to the mark Satoru left on your neck from the previous night.
"Isn't this enough to tell you that I'm his girlfriend? You can just give that to me instead of ordering me to fetch him for you," you angrily told her, frustration evident in your voice.
Himari was too stunned to speak, giving you the chance to snatch the papers from her hands.
"I'll let him know that you dropped this off. But if you ever try to get close to him again..." You trailed off, mimicking a neck slice gesture with your hand as you smiled sweetly at her before slamming the door shut.
You sighed, placing the papers onto the coffee table, intending to deal with them later.
You turned to head to the bathroom to cool off, but you heard Satoru's groggy voice from the bedroom. "Baby?"
"Yeah?" you replied, pausing to listen.
"Where are you? I need my morning hug," Satoru whined, his voice filled with longing.
"I'm coming," you told him, unable to suppress a giggle at his antics.
"You better be," he teased in response, his tone playful.
#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jjk#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu satoru#satoru gojo#jjk angst#gojo satoru#yuji itadori#nobara kugisaki#jjk megumi#megumi fushiguro#maki zenin#inumaki toge#panda jjk#gojo smut#satoru smut
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Cold shoulder
Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x f!reader
Summary: You are married to Feyd-Rautha, but on his birthday Margot Fenring follows him in the hallways to lure him into her chambers.
Warnings: smut, heartbreak, angst, pet names, breeding kink, manipulation (not reader)
word count: 4.6k
Author's note: English is not my first language. Feedback is very much appreciated <3
A cold breeze grazes your skin as the door to your shared chambers opens, sending a shiver down your spine. He enters with heavy steps and your breath stops for a moment when you catch a foreign feminine scent in the air. You immediately know.
"I'm back, wife," Feyd Rautha says, slowly approaching where you stand. You don't respond. A painful lump forms in your throat as your emotions are all over the place. Big hands gently grab your waist from behind. The scent of the woman still lingers on his skin. It tightens your chest and turns your stomach. You have never felt so sick before. She had her hands on him and he allowed it.
You don't want to believe your own thoughts, wishing this reality wasn't true. She had taken him from you. Your beloved husband, the person you love more than anyone else, with whom you share everything. He is the center of your world.
You turn to face him. "You're back late..." you say, your voice steady but your lower lip quivering.
For a split second, his expression wavers, confirming your suspicions. Feyd starts to speak, but you cut him off. "Don't bother lying. I can smell her on you."
His eyes widen, a hint of guilt flickering across his face, an emotion you've never seen from him before.
"I didn't want to. The witch invaded my mind," he attempts to explain. But you can't believe him. Not after this. He humiliated you, made you feel worthless.
His hand reaches for your cheek but you push it way. „Don‘t touch me.“
Oh how could he betray you like this? How could he share such an intimate moment with another woman?
„I can't believe you did this," you sway, your voice trembling with dissapointment. Tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. He's not worth your tears. Not a single one.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His words pierce your heart, shattering it into pieces.
It kills you.
The room falls into a heavy silence. His eyes plead with you, his hands twitching as if wanting to pull you close. The very thought makes you cringe.
"I never want to see you again," you say as you move past him. He reaches out for you, but you're too quick. Just before disappearing into the dark corridor, you look back at him. "It hurts - so much."
With that, you're gone.
Feyd doesn't follow. He knows he destroyed everything.
You move into a new section of the Harkonnen residence, consisting of a bedroom and a study, far away from your husband. All your belongings and clothes are brought in by your servants to help you settle into your new quarters. You hear whispers among the servants about Feyd's initial anger, refusing to let them move your belongings. Eventually, he seemed to give in and just let them continue, which was unusual for someone like him who rarely yielded so easily. But you pay it no mind, trying to forget about him. He did this to himself.
The first few nights are horrible. You struggle to sleep, feeling alone and haunted by nightmares of him. Each time you see a black veiled woman, luring him into her chambers. When you wake up, your clothes cling to your sweaty skin. You brush your hair back from your face and scan the dimly lit room. It is pretty similar to your old chambers but you've tried to make it feel different with some interior changes.
You hadn't yet discovered who the Bene Gesserit was that had been with your husband, but you were determined to find out.
With your family's influential name, you planned to write to your sister, hoping she could uncover the truth for you.
The days go by slowly, and to your relief you don't see Feyd at all. The pain of looking into his eyes would be too much to bear. Your heart was broken and would take a long time to heal.
You'd never known love before, never had any real crushes growing up. But then, you were sent to marry the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. You hadn't objected, obediently following your father's wishes. Meeting Feyd changed everything. He ignited a passion within you, made you feel enchanted and yearning for him.
Even if he was cold at first, Feyd proved to be a devoted husband. Drawn to your beautiful appearance and your kind but brave soul, it didn't take him long to warm up to you. You could tell he had fallen for you too.
The wedding night marked the peak of your feelings for him, deepening your love. You were nervous he might handle you roughly, especially since it was your first time, so you had asked him not to hurt you. „That‘s what concubines are for. I'd never hurt my wife,“ Feyd had assured you then, having already dismissed his concubines prior to the wedding.
But in the end, his words proved to be a lie. He had kept his promise until now, when he let the Bene Gesserit woman touch him.
It was hard to believe Feyd had done something like this. Loyalty and trust were values he held in high regard. He always looked down on those who lacked loyalty; it was a matter of honor to him.
And now here you are, sitting alone at the table to eat your dinner. You had instructed your servants to bring your meals to your chambers from now on, because there was no chance you'd dine with your husband. Even if he came to fetch you himself, you wouldn't budge an inch. But Feyd hasn't come. Days have passed since you left him, and he still hasn't shown his face, which you're really relieved about.
He knew you well, knew that you needed space, but this time it was different. He couldn't just apologize and gift you something to make amends. This time, there was nothing for you to forgive him for. And if the Bene Gesserit were to get pregnant before you, his actual wife, it would be unbearable.
The thought fills you with anger and jealousy. You wouldn't allow this to happen. You should be the only one to give him an heir.
As you return to your room after a brief stroll through your section, you're surprised to find several packages awaiting you. Despite your reservations, Feyd has still chosen to send gifts. Walking over to inspect them, a servant appears at your side, bowing slightly.
"Na-Baroness, the na-Baron has sent some gifts for you. He hopes you will accept them," the servant explains. Your gaze drifts over the variously sized boxes, and a sigh escapes your lips. "We will send them back. All of them," you declare after a moment. "But let me have a look first." Kneeling down, you carefully open each package, mindful not to damage anything.
Among them are dresses, exquisitely crafted and likely from your home planet. Another holds a perfume you adore, also from your planet. Then there are the traditional Harkonnen jewelry, reserved only for the Baron and his family. You can't help but chuckle at Feyd's selection.
Once you've examined everything, the servants gather the gifts along with your message: Don't ever insult me like this again
Even if this was just the beginning of his attempts to seek forgiveness, Feyd's gesture of sending mere gifts felt somewhat childish.
Days later, you decide to attend the fight held in the Harkonnen arena, knowing full well that Feyd would be present. However, you choose to sit in a secluded area, far removed from his presence.
Your attire consists of a dark red silk dress, a change from your usual colors as the na-Baroness, which typically align with the Harkonnen house's black with silver or red accents. Your jewelry, crafted from rare opal from your home planet, catches the light, accentuating your eyes and lending a radiant glow to your appearance.
Accompanied by two of your favorite servants, you make your way to a seating area. As you settle in, a pair of glasses are provided, allowing you a clearer view of the participants in the fighting circle below.
Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, observing the excitement of the people of Giedi Prime for the fight. Your gaze shifts upward, focusing on the Baron seated high above the arena, his imposing presence making you feel unease. He emanates a terrifying and volatile energy that unsettles you every time.
Continuing on, you reach the spot where the na-Baron and you usually sit. Feyd stands alone in his black suit, his gaze fixed on you. He had waited until you noticed him.
Feeling a twinge in your stomach, you deliberately drop your glasses with controlled movements, concealing the effect his presence has on you. Redirecting your attention to the fighters entering the arena, you're grateful for something to distract you.
Yet, his image replays in your mind. His eyes betray a hint of sadness, dark circles evident beneath his pale complexion. But he had brought this upon himself.
If he hadn't allowed the Bene Gesserit to touch him, you would have been there beside him as always, watching the fight unfold, with his hand possessively resting on your thigh.
Even after a week apart, the pain remains just the same.
The fight was not big spectacle, but it was enough for the crowd. You swiftly retreat to your chambers, after receiving the sign from a servant that the Baron had left. Casting one last glance at Feyd's area, you see his back turned to you. He's likely leaving as well, and you really have no desire to encounter him in the hallways
When you wake up two days later, you notice a basket of fresh fruits sitting on your table. Approaching the gift, you find a small card attached to the handle. Opening it slowly, you read Feyd's handwriting: Please accept these valuable fruits. Feyd.
You stare at the words for a moment, then shift your gaze to the basket. Inside, you see a variety of fruits, many of which are from your own planet and are your favorites —a fact Feyd surely knew. Yet, despite the apparent gesture, you still feel slighted by the simplicity of the gift.
With a dismissive gesture, you instruct the servants to take the basket away. "Share it among the others and send the same message to the na-Baron as before," you command, retreating to your bedroom.
An upcoming event required your presence as husband and wife, na-Baron and na-Baroness. Three days beforehand, you already felt nauseous and contemplated skipping it altogether. However, the Baron's potential anger left you with no choice but to attend.
As the special day approaches, you pace nervously around the room. The prospect of having to play the role of Feyd's wife again fills you with dread. Despite the difficulty, you resign yourself to the task, knowing you must suppress your true emotions and maintain a facade of affection, hiding behind a gentle smile.
In the morning, you receive a package from Feyd, containing a dress intended for the upcoming gathering. The garment, adorned in Harkonnen colors, is tailored to complement his own attire, ensuring a flawless appearance as a couple.
As the servants begin to prepare you for the event, they dress you, adorn you with jewelry, and style your hair elegantly. Avoiding the mirror as much as possible, you can't help but feel a bit of discomfort at the sight of the dress, which reminds you too much of him. The idea that it signifies your connection to him is unsettling, especially since his betrayal with another woman. Prior to that, you had cherished moments when he selected dresses for you or had jewelry crafted from your birthstone.
Once you're ready, you steal a quick glance at your reflection, observing how the dress accentuates your figure. Despite looking beautiful, the nausea persists. You so badly wish to just remain secluded in your chambers, away from him.
Two servants accompany you as you make your way to the grand halls where your husband awaits in front of the towering doors. You catch a glimpse of him, dressed in all black and feel the familiar pain in your chest. It's as if your lungs are pulling themselves together, stealing the air from you.
His gaze is sweeping over you and a faint grin tugs at his lips, but he stops himself quickly. "Good morning, wife," Feyd says, with his deep raspy voice and offers his arm to you. He seems content to see your face up close after two weeks. You halt before him, meeting his towering figure with a glare that could pierce steel. He recognizes the expression, but doesn't show any reaction. You hook your arm into his, taking a deep breath before walking into the grand hall together.
As the event unfolds, nobels from across the galaxy mingle, their voices a symphony of polite conversation. Among them stands the imposing figure of the Baron, his presence commanding attention.
You stand next to Feyd, occasionally engaging in some small talk with others. Despite the pain and betrayal that lingers in between you, you play the roles with practiced ease, upholding the appearance of a happy couple. Yet inside, you feel dull.
In a moment alone, Feyd wraps his arm around your waist. "Let's talk later, wife." He says and gazes into your eyes. You lower your head, staring at his chest and offering no response until he pulls you closer to his body. Slowly, you raise your head and to meet his gaze.
"No, I don't think so," You reply, placing a hand on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he holds firm, studying your eyes in an attempt to understand your emotions.
"There's nothing to explain, na-Baron," you hiss, putting some distance between the two of you. "I don't want to hear anything. And stop sending me gifts!"
Feyd blinks at your response and takes a step forward. "Just let me finish my sentence. Things have happened that I regret deeply, but I need you to understand why," he begins to explain, but you shake your head. Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a whimper. "No, no…" Your lips quiver as you respond with a weak voice. "Even just thinking about it hurts me too much." With those final words, you turn on your heel and walk away. Glancing briefly at the Baron to ensure he's occupied, you slip out of the grand hall and return to your chambers.
Your heart races, nearly pounding out of your chest. Feyd's scent made you dizzy, made you longing for him, but you refuse to succumb. You were not one to give in quickly, not even to his beautiful blue eyes. His lips had twitched, after you had raised your head to look at him - his love always displayed so openly for you, unlike his usual expressionless demeanor. And despite everything, you still love him too, but the thought of going back to him, fills you with disgust and pain. He's the one who made you feel this way.
It was not a good night, and the days that followed were just as bleak. The dull ache persisted, and you drift through each day like a ghost. Emptiness pervades every moment, blurring the world around you into a haze. And despite showing not a single emotion to the world, you feel the pain, longing for the warmth of connection that is lost.
After a week had passed since the event, the reply from your older sister finally arrived. You hastily open it, eager to learn whether the Bene Gesserit woman was pregnant. You understood the ways of the Bene Gesserit and didn't object to them, except in this case, where one woman dared to interfere in your marriage. It was all about control.
Since you weren't part of the sisterhood, they needed to ensure a child was born from Feyd that they could raise according to their teachings. However, if they had approached you with a deal for your own child to become a Bene Gesserit, you might not have disagreed.
But this time, you were determined to stand in their way. She wasn't worthy enough to bear your husband's child, especially considering you weren't even pregnant yourself yet.
With trembling hands, you open the scroll and begin to read the message.
Dear sister,
I am deeply troubled by the news you've shared with me. I did not expect this from the na-Baron. But don't worry too much, as I have located the Bene Gesserit. Her name is Margot Fenring, the wife of Count Fenring, the Emperor's advisor. Unfortunately, I couldn't find out why the sisterhood chose her, and I haven't received any updates on a possible pregnancy. Rest assured, I will inform you immediately once I learn more.
With all my love,
Your sister
You stare at the message, sighing heavily. Margot Fenring was a well-known figure in the galaxy, particularly admired for her beauty. Her hair was of a golden blonde with grey-green eyes and attractive figure. However, you weren't concerned about feeling inferior to her; you knew your own beauty had captivated Feyd from the moment he had laid his eyes on you.
The burning question on your mind wasn't why the revered mother had chosen her to seduce Feyd, but rather why she had to intervene at all, and whether she was now carrying his child.
The waiting was unbearable in a situation like this.
A knock sounds on your door, as you put the roll in the drawer of your desk. Curious, you turn around, wondering who could be seeking your attention. Apart from your husband and his two family members, you didn't know anyone else.
With caution, you open the door, only to be met with the sight of Feyd-Rautha. Disappointment flashes across your face, and you sigh, almost closing the door on him again. But Feyd has other plans, his hand holding the door open and making his way into your chambers. Surprised, you walk back a few steps and stare at him. "What are you doing?" you ask, confusion evident in your tone. He doesn't respond, maintaining a cold stare that sends a shiver down your spine. He appears angry or, at the very least, annoyed by your behavior.
As the back of your knees touch your bed, he stops in front of you. "This time, you will listen, wife, or I will tie you to the bed. You can't run away from me every time," Feyd says with a deep, raspy voice. You blink up at him, uncertain of what to do. Part of you wants to escape the uncomfortable situation and to avoid listening to him. But in this moment, he holds full control over you.
A cold finger grazes your jawline softly, lifting your head up. He comes closer, his breath tingling on your skin. "You better listen carefully now. I will explain everything that has happened. Alright?" he tells you, and all you can do is nod your head obediently.
"On this day while I was on my way back to you, I noticed a woman following me. I questioned her about her presence in the area, and she began to manipulate my mind. With a mere blink, I found myself in her guest room, unable to recall anything except for her whispers in my head," Feyd explains seriously, maintaining eye contact with you.
"She then used the voice on me and forced me to place my hand in a box while holding a sharp object coated with poison to my neck. After passing her test, she continued to use the voice on me throughout the whole time. I couldn't do anything else than listen to her. I tried to break free many times and every time a picture of you flashed in my mind, she redirected my attention back to her," he continues, his eyes darkening as he recounts the experience. You can see the distress he's in as he speaks.
Slowly, your hand raises to cup his cheek, offering comfort. He leans into your touch, visibly relaxing. "Do you know why she came to you?" you inquire, once his nerves are calmed. He nods vaguely. "I am the one who will inherit the title as Baron next, and since you are not a Bene Gesserit, they sent one of them to find out my weakness."
His answer sinks in, and you agree. "That's what I was thinking as well."
Feyd's hands gently cup your face as he leans closer. "I missed you so much, little mouse," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his touch, which you've missed dearly.
"What if she is pregnant?" concern creeps into your voice. Feyd meets your gaze, his eyes filled with determination. "Don't worry, my dear. She won't live to give birth to it, if we receive word that she's carrying a baby," he assures you. "You are the only woman who will give me an heir," he adds with a smirk.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I should have listened earlier. I just couldn't bear it. Nothing made sense anymore," you whisper, your lips brushing against his cheek. He hums in reply, pressing his lips to yours in a long-awaited kiss.
It turns into a heavy makeout session. With tender care, he guides you onto the bed, slowly undressing you as if savoring every moment of intimacy. As he moistens his fingers with his tongue and begins to pump them inside of you, a soft moan escapes your lips, reveling in the sensation of his touch.
Your body arches with pleasure as he prepares you for him, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. "Feels so good," you murmur, lost in the sensation. Feyd's grin widens as he leans over you, his touch both tender and tantalizing.
When he decides you're ready, he withdraws his fingers, eliciting a soft whine of longing from you. "It's alright, my little mouse. I will give you what you want," he shushes. As he frees himself from his pants, your hand instinctively reaches for him, eager to feel his hardness in your grasp.
A low groan escapes him at your touch, but he gently removes your hand, his own need evident in his impatient tone. "Not now," He says, his voice thick with lust. "I can't wait any longer to be inside you." With a sense of urgency, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you completely.
He gazes down at you with love and care. "You won’t be able to walk tomorrow," he warns with a sly grin, teasing as he lets the tip of his arousal slide between your heated folds before thrusting inside you.
Once fully sheathed within your tight walls, he leans over you, his arms caging your head to support his weight. In this position, he is able to see your face much better. "I will make you forget everything that pained you these past weeks. You are mine," he growls possessively with his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck as his hips begin to move in a rhythmic thrust.
At first, his movements are slow and deliberate, punctuated by tender kisses, until you relax completely under his touch and he increases the pace. Your legs are lifted up over his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate even deeper, luring whimpers of pleasure from you as your nails dig into the porcelain skin of his back.
"So tight. Taking me so well, little mouse," he praises softly near your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls contract around him, gripping him tighter, causing him to groan in pleasure. "Stop it, I'm not going to last if you keep tightening up like this," he warns you, his head falling back in pleasure.
But the sensation feels too good to stop, and you beg him to just come inside you with your voice hazy with desire. Feyd's eyes sparkle at your pleads. "Touch yourself," He orders, encouraging you.
It doens't take long for you to reach your climax, gripping his shoulders for support and screaming his name. He watches your face intently, praising you. "Yes that's it, good girl. Come on my cock."
Without letting you fully come down from your high, he starts to thrust deeper. “Going to fill you up now, you want that?” You whine at his words, nodding impatiently. “You'll look beautiful with my baby inside of you, all big and swollen.” His words drive you insane and with each thrust, he pushes you both closer.
With a final thrust, he releases himself inside you, bringing you to another climax as the room fills with both of your cries of pleasure.
"Afterwards, he takes good care of you, cleaning your sensitive skin with a wet cloth and ensuring you're comfortable in bed. His arms find their way around your body, pulling you closer.
"I haven't slept well since you left," he admits, nuzzling his face into your neck. You chuckle at the sensation because it tickles.
"I also slept horribly," you respond, your hand caressing the back of his neck. But tonight, you sleep better than you have in weeks, knowing your husband is right there beside you, and you never want to let go again.
Fortunately, it's only a week later when another message from your sister reaches you. As you read through it with full concentration, a lump forms in your throat due to the wave of emotions that washes over you.
"She's not pregnant," you inform Feyd, who stands before you. His eyes visibly brighten with relief and he moves closer to embrace you tightly. No words are needed, you can feel each other's emotions clearly.
"Don't worry, my dear. I'll deal with the punishment for the Bene Gesserit," Feyd assures you after a while of holding each other. His anger still simmers, just as intense as the night Margot Fenring used the voice on him. He won't let it slide easily.
You find comfort in knowing that Feyd will handle the situation, likely with the help of his uncle, the Baron. But for now, you push aside all thoughts of pain, focusing on the relief of the moment.
On the same day, after rearranging the last few items in your shared chamber, which you hastily moved back into, a gleaming blade catches your eye. Your husband possesses a collection of blades in various sizes and styles, but you recognize this one as his favorite - the one he always carries with him. You approach the desk and study the blade intently.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around your body, and you gasp quietly in surprise. "This one is for you," Feyd whispers behind you. Your eyes remain fixed on the knife, his words sinking in.
This blade holds significant importance to him, having accompanied your husband since his childhood when he first learned to fight. It's a profound gesture of trust and affection that he would gift it to you now. Despite the Harkonnen's reputation for brutality and coldness, they occasionally reveal their emotions to those they love. This blade serves as a metaphor, symbolizing Feyd's gift of his heart to you forever.
#feyd rautha#feyd smut#dune part two#feyd x you#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha x reader#dune x reader#dune imagine#feyd rautha imagine#feyd rautha fic#austin butler x reader#dune fanfic#feyd x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen imagine#feyd rautha smut#feyd-rautha x reader#kihyunsflavor
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Unwavering Presence Chapter 13
Cassian X Archeron Sister
Summary: Cassian won't leave Y/N alone in hopes she will at least talk to him, giving her the best gifts money could buy. Perhaps material things are not the way to earn her forgiveness...
Content Warnings: Low self worth
A/N: We're kicking off the 1000 Follower Celebration with a bang!! WOO HOO. I once again can't Thank you enough for your love and support!
Also, we are getting so close to a portion of the story that I have been plotting since day one and I'm so excited. Though I highly doubt you all will be when we get there.
Word Count: 4.3 K
Also thanks @prythianpages for giving me a new banner to use 😍😍
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Chapter 12
I awoke to knocking on my door fully aware of who was on the other side. Not moving I tucked the blanket closer to my chin, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping he would leave. When I didn’t answer, the doorknob began to jostle, “Princess, can we talk please?” Cassian’s voice carried through the wood. “I want to make this right.” He continued to knock on the door.
I closed my eyes and sent my emotions down my tattoo; my direct link to Rhys. Hoping he and Feyre were on their way back from the Summer Court.
Cassian’s knocking finally ceased, and I could breathe easier. Inhale…Exhale…
Angel Rhys’ voice rang out in my head, What’s wrong?
Tears prickled my eyes as Cassian’s cold stare from the night before came to the forefront of my mind, “You can barely take care of yourself.” His words rang in my ears.
Can you or Az get me? I sniffled.
Why? Did something happen to Cassian? Are you in Danger? Rhys’ voice sounded panicked.
Take a look I brought the memories from the night before for him to see.
Me or Az? Was all he asked; his voice was a lethal calm.
Az, Please.
He is on his way, Angel. I want you to know no one thinks you’re helpless. We love you.
I cracked a smile. Thanks Rhys.”
Rhys left my mind, and I closed my eyes and let sleep consumed me once more.
The sound of shouting jolted me awake. It took me a moment to distinguish the yelling. It was Azriel’s voice that carried throughout the cabin. He. Was. Angry. I slid out of bed, grabbed my robe and opened my door just enough to peek through.
“You’re not taking her!” Cassian snarled his siphons blaring. His face held a mixture of emotions I didn’t care to decipher.
Azriel’s siphons flared in response. “She asked for me. This is Rhys direct order. I’m taking her home.” Cassian swung at the Shadow Singer only for Azriel’s shadows to flair out and push him to a chair.
I stepped out of the room as shadows pinned Cassian to the chair. “Azriel.”
Both males looked over at me Cassian had a pained look on his face and opened his mouth to speak. Az’s shadows wrapped over his mouth as Azriel glared at him. “You don’t get to speak.” Cassian lunged at Azriel, and I jumped back gasping. Cassian slammed back in the trail trying to fight Azriel’s shadows and I moved closer to the Spy Master. His hand slipped through mine and Cassian glared as his hazel eyes, cold and unyielding as he watched our hands intertwine.
Always hoping someone will save you. Cassian’s words swirled in my head and when our gazes meet, I can tell that he knows what words are filtering through my head, as his gaze shifts from cold to guilty. I tried releasing Azriel’s hand, but he gripped tighter. “She is going to gather her things and we are going to leave.” Cassian dipped his head, “Rhys expects you home in three days’ time. Meaning that he does not want to see you until then. Nod if you understand, Cassian.” Cassian gave a nod. “Good.” Azriel led me to my room, and he shut the door, and I closed my eyes my heartbeat racing. My thoughts began to overtake my senses.
Weak
Pathetic
Worthless
You don’t belong with him. You don’t belong with anyone.
You. Don’t. Belong.
I choked on a sob leaning against the bed post. Shadows swirling up to my cheeks, kissing away my tears.
“Come on,” I opened my eyes as Azriel’s hands gripped my shoulders, “Let’s get your things.”
Azriel helped me pack my things, I slipped out to the door and headed back to Cassian. Hearing the chair shift as I headed toward the door the Shadow Singer in tow, calling out my name, though muffled by the shadows. Azriel opened the door, letting the sun in and I turned to look at Cassian. His hazel eyes lined with silver, there was pleading there. Don’t go, please, they said.
“Goodbye, Cassian.” A sob escaped and his shoulders began to shake violently as tears streamed down his cheeks. Something felt heavy against my chest, and I had to battle the urge to go to him and wipe his tears. Azriel guided me outside and shut the door behind him, muting the sounds of the General of the Night Court’s Army’s cries.
Wrapping my arms around Az’s neck he grips my waist my bag in his other hand, and he shot us up to the sky. “You, okay?” He asked.
“I just want to go home.” I said, fighting off my own tears. Az shadows consume the two of us as he winnows us to the streets of Velaris. He put me down but gripped my hand as he led us to the town home. The sidra glistening against the morning sun. I instinctively leaned my head against his arm, trying not to focus on the male we left behind.
We walked in silence for a couple beats before nudged me with his shoulder. “You know for what its worth. I know he is remorseful.”
I rolled my eyes, “How could you possibly know that?”
Az smirked, “He could have easily broken away from my shadows. Had them skittering back to me without blinking an eye.” I lifted my head to meet his eyes. His hazel eyes held no hint of humor. “He is one of the most powerful Illyrian, Archeron.”
We reached the town home, and I gripped his elbow halting him in his tracks. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he chose to stay in that chair.” Azriel’s shadows swirled around my wrist. “He didn’t want to frighten you.”
I crossed my arms, “That’s not good enough.”
Azriel lips pressed in a tight line for a moment. “I know. I would be disappointed in you, if it was enough for you.” He cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead, “Make him suffer, Archeron.”
I gave him a smile, “I’ll make him the Lord of Tears Shed.”
Azriel barked a laugh, “I’m stealing that.”
“Go for it.” I smiled as we headed into the house.
“Rhys, Feyre and Amren are almost back.” Az gracefully changed the subject.
“Were they successful?”
Az’s face turned grim, “Yes.”
“But?”
“But it came at a price.”
I sighed, “It always does. How bad?”
Azriel smiled, “Let’s just say Cassian isn’t the only one banned from the Summer Court anymore.”
Cassian’s POV
A fist collided with my cheek while I was at the training ring, Rhysand’s ring digging into my skin. Blood pooled in my mouth the metallic taste assaulting my taste buds. “You called her weak.” I lifted my head for Rhys to hit another blow on the opposite cheek. Blood spattered on the rock as it sprayed out of my mouth. “You called her worthless.”
I snarled, “I never called her that. I would never call her that!”
It was Azriel’s voice that spoke next, “That’s exactly how she felt though! She opened up to you about her deepest insecurities, things she hadn’t even told Feyre about! You used that insecurity and threw it back in her face.” Azriel’s flickered with anger, his shadows swirling around him clearly agitated.
“You know who also does that, Cassian?” Rhys’ voice is calm as my gaze meets him. At that moment, Rhysand was not the High Lord, or my friend. He was being a protective brother. “Nesta. She has spent most of her life with that kind of torment. I would believe that Xavier did it too.” He wound up his arm and felt the crunch of my nose. “Feyre told me that she kept to herself. That she doesn’t trust easily. She trusted you. For whatever reason, you made her feel safe.” I could hear one of my ribs cracking. “Why?”
I fell to my knees, “I was angry.” I hang my head low, blood dripping on the concrete. “Devlon got under my skin, and I was pissed.” My breathing was labored. I went straight to my room to prevent myself from lashing out, but she followed me.” The tears could fall before I could stop them. “She wanted to help.”
“And then you said she was barely able to help herself.” Rhys roared. “That she was always waiting for one of us to help her.” He knelt and gripped my face tightly. “Imagine how she feels, in a place where most fae hate her kind. Imagine how she felt when the first time she went back to the one place she should feel safe in, she was taken. She absolutely should expect us to be there for her. Because should any of our enemies get to her, she may not actually stand a chance.”
“I know.” I wheezed. “I want to make this right.”
“Go to Madja and get healed.” Rhys said, his violet eyes cold. “I still need my general to breathe.” With that he took to the skies, likely checking in on Y/N. Leaving me alone with my best friend. His face cold, no playful glint in his eyes.
Azriel stalked over to me, his face was one I’ve seen before; one he used on his for the poor souls in his dungeons. I dipped my head, blood dripping past my lips. Az gripped my hair yanking my head back to meet his gaze. His shadows swirled as his lips turned into a snarl. “Fix. It.” He tugged my hair harshly once more. “And pray to the mother that she forgives you.” His knee collided with my chest, the underlying threat clear as I collapsed to the harsh gravel, trying to regain my breath. As Azriel left me in the training ring with my thoughts.
I tried to take a deep breath the searing pain of my abdomen screamed in response. This was what I deserved. No pain would ever compare to seeing Y/N’s eyes look so broken at my words. I had a plan I just hoped she would hear me out.
Rhysand had other plans. “I’m not arguing with you about this.” My brother crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “You’re going.”
I clenched my fist. “How can I fix things if Y/N is here and I’m dealing with her insufferable sister.”
“She won’t even be in the same room as you for longer than five minutes. You can make your sad attempts at forgiveness when you return.”
I slammed my fist on his desk, “You’re a prick. You know that.”
“Watch it, brother. I could ban you from seeing her at all.” Rhys’ voice was even, his voice void of any emotion.
“You wouldn’t do that.” I whispered. “You know how much she means to me.”
Rhysand stood placing his palms on the desk in front of him eyes dark. “You want to wager on that?” I remained silent and his words softened, “As much as I want you to fix this. I need my General right now. I’m not saying this to hurt you, Brother, but she doesn’t need you right now.”
I pressed my lip in a tight line. “Fine.” I turned to walk away. I opened the door.
“Cass, she will come around you know?” I walked out the door leaving his question unanswered and took off to human lands. Though the hairs on the back of neck tingled, unease coiling in my belly, as I had the sense someone was staring at me. I wouldn’t turn to see Mor’s smug face.
I met Nesta’s cold stare with one of my own. She had let me in without so much as a glance only to lead me into the dining room. “Where’s Elain?”
“In her garden. I’m trying to limit her time with…your kind.” I may have towered over the eldest Archeron sister, but she had a gift of making people feel small with just the tilt of her head. On this day Nesta wore a beautiful blue gown, and her hair was braided in her usual style. Yet my mind kept drifting to her baby sister and how similar they look. The way they stand, the same scowl that scrunches up their nose.
“Has your brutish ways impacted your hearing as it has your brain?” My wings rustled as I returned my gaze to the eldest Archeron, “I asked how my sisters were.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re fine.”
Nesta quirked a brow, “Oh yeah, Y/N giving you a hard time?”
I stilled, “What makes you say that?”
Nesta smirked, “You have the same look most people have when she’s being difficult.”
“She’s not difficult.” I tried to focus on my breathing, remembering the vile things she said to her sister the first time we met. “If anything, I’m the one who made things difficult.”
Nesta lowered her arms and stared at me, her cold gray eyes searching my face. “You love her?” I snorted and to my surprise that took Nesta off guard. “What is loving a human such an outlandish thought to you?” her lips curled upward in a snarl.
I shook my wings and my body and eased my body and mind into something calm, thinking of Y/N’s hand in mine or who beautiful smile. “No, not outlandish for me at all. No what is outlandish to me is the fact you have spent years treating her so terribly and yet here you are asking if she’s okay and if I love her, when even if you did love her, you will never tell her as much.
I approached the woman her back pressing against the wall, “Tell me Nesta, do you know what happened that night you asked her to die?”
Nesta’s eyes widened, as if she too was recalling the memory. “You almost got your wish that day. She almost died. I found her strung up like an animal, her blood was everywhere. We barely made it in time. I could see Nesta paling as I continued. “Did you know the lover she took here got off on torturing her even assaulted her?”
“How dare you-“
“Did. You. Know.” I gritted my teeth my arms caging Nesta in so she couldn’t avoid this. “Did you know that this man had been using her as a doll for months using her job as leverage to get her to stay? Only for her to come home and want love and affection from her sisters only to find disdain and despair here.”
Nesta face looked pain only for a moment before her cool mask slipped back into place. “No, I didn’t and it’s not my place to know what type of lovers my sisters make. I’m sure if he was in high standing to help us get out of poverty, she would have made do.”
I stepped away from her. “Unbelievable. You would have subjected Y/N to a death sentence if you made her stay with him. You didn’t see the cuts on her back like I did. If you had it maybe you wouldn’t be so calm and serene about it.”
Nesta stepped away from the wall smoothing her skirts walking over to the desk in the living room. She opened the drawer to quickly shut it and turned back to me with an envelope in her hand. “They wish to meet in a weeks’ time.” Nesta eyes were glassy, but the fiery rage remained. “Be here in that time. Now. Get Out.”
I snatched the letter from her hand, “You are a disgrace. You failed in every way that counts, Nesta Archeron.” I walked past her heading for the door. I called over my shoulder, “And yet Y/N is the first person to come to your defense or speak of you as someone who needs healing. You never deserved her as your sister.” And with that I left, and I swore I heard a choked sob before I took to the skies.
Reader’s POV
Cassian had been home for a week. I had managed to avoid him by training with Azriel, studying with Rhysand and using his own brothers as shields if he got too close. Both Rhys and Az were happy to oblige in keeping me close and occupied. Then the gifts began appearing at my door.
Chocolates, Jewels, Shoes, by the end of the week the stack of Journals came to my hip. They all went unanswered. The boxes began to collect dust, the chocolates went stale, and the jewels suspiciously went missing after day two. Something tells me a short black-haired female was the culprit of that. Though nothing Cassian could buy with money would not be able to sway me to forgive him. Not after he hurt me in such a deep way.
Feyre walked into my room with a box in her hands at the start of the week, we had been able to spend more time together since the fiasco at the cabin, reading in the library, sharing meals together, walking through the streets of Velaris. It felt like the times before we lost our fortune when it was me and her against the world, I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being in her presence until we started spending more time together. “This was at your door.” She said shaking the box. She plopped on my bed dropping the box onto my lap. “Open it!”
I sighed, putting my book down, I untied the ribbon and open the lid, with a note.
Princess,
Please accept this gift as my apology to you.
I miss you.
Cassian.
Handing Feyre, the note, I began unwrapping the paper to find a gorgeous red silk gown I picked it up out of the box. Feyre smiled and nudged me, “Try it on.” Facing her I opened my mouth to protest and was met with her pushing me off the bed. “Right now.”
A few moments and I emerged from the changing partition and Feyre gasped. “Y/N… you look so beautiful.” I walked over to the mirror and turned to get a full view. The bodice of the gown, being held up by thin straps, had glittered fabric covering just enough that the swells of my breast were on display. Rich Silk overlapped meeting the sheer fabric covering my abdomen, red boning standing out against the flesh tone. The red satin draped down ruching at my hips as it cascades down a revealing slit to reveal my newly toned and muscled leg. I had to agree with Feyre.
The dress was stunning, but I recalled the note left with it and I pursed my lips.
Are you that incompetent of taking care of yourself? His voice echoed in my mind.
“He called me worthless. Did he believe that that him buying me this was going to make me fall to my knees and forgive him.” I rolled my eyes and went back to change out of the dress. “Didn’t even hand me this gift himself, had to leave it at my door like a coward.” I mumbled sliding the rich fabric off my body and back into my purple dress with light lavender tulle sleeves. I walked over to the bed to place the dress back into the box.
“What are you going to do with the dress?” Feyre questioned not seeming to have an answer for my earlier inquiries.
“Keeping it. The dress is gorgeous and fits me like a glove. The dress will not suffer because the male who gifted it, is incompetent.” I sighed and crawled into bed placing my head on my twin’s lap where she instinctively fingers through my hair. “This isn’t enough.”
Feyre hummed and we sat in silence for a moment. “What would it take for him to earn that forgiveness?” I glance up at her and her blue eyes meet mine, “Is what happened unforgivable to you?”
I thought about it. Cassian up to this point had been nothing by kind and attentive to me. What he said was said at a moment of anger and if I was honest, I pushed when I should have let him be. However, that did not give him a right to throw my past and my insecurities back in my face the way he did. “No. It’s not. Not for him anyway.This dress or the other gifts for that matter, doesn’t tell me that this won’t happen again. That he won’t lash out and hurt me. I have given my heart to cruel people too many times. I can’t risk that again.”
Feyre hummed once more. “Rhysand and I are going to the human lands.” I sat up at that and gave her a questioning look. “Yes Nesta, sent word to Cassian two days ago.” Oh, so that’s why the gifts had stopped at that point. “We are to go back in a few days.”
“Great I’ll-“
“Rhys thinks it would be best if you stayed home. I can’t say I disagree, with everything that has gone on,” and everything that happened the last time I was in the human lands, though she doesn’t say it. “I must agree. I would feel better knowing you were here.
I lay back on the bed and groan, “You are lucky that I am in no mood to fight. I’ll stay but I’ll grumble about it the whole time.”
Feyre kissed my cheek, “Thank you. Now let’s go get breakfast, I’m starved.” I laughed and followed her out the room, though I can’t get the image of Cassian taking off that dress off me from my mind.
Cassian’s POV
I was almost ready to give up by the time Feyre and Rhys were getting ready for the meeting with the human queens. I stormed into Rhys’s office with the last gifts I provided. “What kind of person destroys a stuffed toy?” I hold up the stuffed bat I got her, whose wings are now ripped apart.
Azriel and Rhys both pressed their lips in a tight line, but it was Azriel who lost his composure first. I threw the bat at him, and he caught it with ease. “She’s brilliant. I love her.” He looked to Rhys, “Can we keep her?”
I groaned plopping on the couch as Feyre came in. “I just don’t know what else to do. I have tried everything. I even wrote her a letter. She looked me in the eye as she threw it in the fire.” Her words still haunted my memories:
“How would you feel if the one person you trusted with your heart took your deepest insecurities and threw them in your face. The one person you felt safe and protected with just takes everything you are so afraid to burden people with and tells you, you are exactly that. A burden.” Then she walked away.
“Cassian did you hear me?” Feyre’s voice pulled me out of my daze. Recognizing that she caught me she smiled and gripped my hand with her own. “She doesn’t want material things or pretty words Cass. She wants security that what happened at the cabin will never happened again.” With her free hand she pressed her palm against my chest. “She would much rather you give your heart in exchange for hers than any material object.”
An idea blossomed into my mind, and I smiled looking at my girl’s twin. “My heart”. I pressed my palm over the back of her hand on my chest. I kissed her cheek, “Have I told you how brilliant you are today?”
Feyre smiled, “No, but I can see your gears turning in that mind of yours, do you have a plan?”
I nod and look to Azriel, “I do, but I need your help, Az.”
Azriel smiled, “Tell me what I need to do.”
So, I did.
Rhysand and Feyre had left for the human realm that night and I set off to go find Y/N. I started in the library and to my surprise she was there. I smiled looking at her reading, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lip tucked between her teeth. Her hair was up in a cute little bun, and she wore those knee-high socks that made my cock strain in my leathers.
“I can see you, General.” She said not bothering to look up from her book. “Something you need?”
“Get dressed.” That caught her attention. Her eyes meet mine in a challenge. “I can’t keep doing this, Princess. I miss you.”
“You should have-“
“I’m well aware of what my actions have done,” I stepped deeper into the room approaching her. “I am asking you to give me a chance to show you, just how sorry I am.”
“I can’t leave-“
“I’m not arguing with you about this. I am asking for a chance. Please.”
I could see her expression turn into contemplation. Then with a sigh she closed her book, and I fought my heart from swelling as her eyes met mine, “What should I wear?” I smiled.
It felt good to have her in my arms once more as we landed in the mountains. She was shivering as we walked a few miles from the clearing I landed in. I tucked my wing around her to prevent the wind from whipping her skin raw. Her teeth chattering told me otherwise. “We’re almost there, Sweetheart.”
“Cassian, Where are we goin-“She paused mid-sentence as the Cabin came into view. A large cabin sat here the chimney already having plumes of smoke swirling out of the top. Her mouth was slightly agape that the cabin was about the size of the town home, and she looked around the area her gaze found the one thing I was hoping she would find. Walking closer to one of the larger trees that had wildflowers blooming she looked at the frame of the woman. The portrait had faded over time and not in the best condition due to weather here, but the woman shared my eyes and it was the only good quality photo I had of her. “Cass, what is this? Who is she?”
I knelt in front of the memorial and smiled my hand grazing the picture, “This is my home, Princess.” I looked to Y/N and gave another smile, “This is a portrait of my mother.”
To Be Continued...
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In the crowd | Carlos Sainz x Reader
Genres | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.
Word count | 3.6K.
Warnings | Alcohol consumption, drugs, mentions of violence.
Summary | Reader's an engineer at Scuderia Ferrari in Maranello. While attending the season's launch party, her drink gets spiked.
Author's Note | Hi all! After the longest time, I've felt the need to come back here for some silly writing. New blog because the last one got cringe. Let me know what you think!
One might think that after two years within the scuderia, the season’s launch parties would make her less uneasy. That after two years of being apart of the engineering team, she would finally be used to attending public gatherings. That after two years, she’d be a natural at walking in the open, feeling the glances slide over her figure. She is stunningly beautiful. Perhaps that's her burden. She doesn't realize it.
When she walks across the paddock or the stands, she knows people are staring at her. She avoids meeting their gazes, feeling embarrassed. She thinks there must be something wrong with her outfit, with her gait. Why else would they stare for so long?
In Maranello, there’s a bakery at the corner of the HQ building where she stops every morning. The cashier always offers her something extra. A coffee. An additional pastry. She finds him polite, very customer-oriented. One morning, as she was freeing her croissant from the paper napkin it was wrapped in, she’d discovered a phone number scrawled in pen ink, with a hastily drawn smiley face. She’d stared at the napkin, perplexed, seated at her desk. He must have made a mistake, she thinks. It must have been meant for the customer before her. The one with the beautiful blonde curls and the Chanel perfume. She didn't call, didn't send a message. She continued to visit the bakery. The cashier never mentioned the number, proving her theory.
Someone brushing past her brings her back to earth. The party is in full swing, and she’s just not. She spots her colleagues bustling around the buffet and the bar, engrossed in lively conversations. While some don't even notice her, others wave their hands, encouraging her to join them. She forces a smiles, returns the wave. Then she tightens her grip around her clutch. Anything to make her feel like she’s in control. To make her forget that the music’s too loud, the lights too vibrant, the air too hot.
She doesn't remember ever feeling comfortable in her body. Years of growing up in an unstable family where love was doled out sparingly do that to a person.
"Hey," comes a familiar voice. She turns her head, her big eyes catching sight of Livio’s, one of her colleagues. "Are you not dancing?" he continues, a drink in hand. His whiskey breath hits her straight on. She discreetly glances at her watch, noting that it's barely nine.
"I haven't had enough to drink for that," she replies, trying to dodge the invitation.
"Let's go get you something then," Livio responds, grabbing her arm and heading towards the bar.
She's noticed that men always do that with her. Not just her colleagues, but people she doesn't know either. She's too kind, too gentle; she never raises her voice. So they grab her by the hips, the arms, the wrists. Anything is an excuse to touch her. She hates it.
"What do you want?" Livio asks.
Nothing, really, but she can't say that.
"Something sweet, please. I don't like strong alcohol," she replies. Livio seems to ponder her question for a second, his mouth pursed.
"I have something for you to try, wait," he continues, signaling to the bartender. "You're going to like it, don't worry."
A few seconds later, a glass of Plymouth is placed in front of her, and she looks up at Livio. Does he think I've never tasted gin in my life? she wonders, puzzled. She would like to refuse the drink, ask for the cherry liqueur she discovered last time indeed. But already, Livio has grabbed her glass and hands it to her with a big smile. "Salute," he exclaims, downing his own glass in one gulp.
Cries and applause suddenly echo in the large reception hall, causing her to turn her head. It takes her a few minutes to understand the reason for this sudden commotion. Until she sees them, a few meters away.
Charles and Carlos.
Her eyes can't seem to tear away from the two pilots making their way through the crowd to a small stage where a microphone is set up. It's tradition : to kick off the season in style, the entire team eagerly awaits the drivers' speeches. Everyone wants to hear their words, their encouragements, their hopes and goals for the season.
A friend once asked her if she knew Charles and Carlos personally. She can't really say yes. That would be a lie. She's exchanged words with each of the athletes before, giving them information about the race, their car, and the expected weather. These exchanges have always been brief and cordial. Professional. Nothing more.
Even though... No, she thinks, lightly shaking her head. That was nothing. But still...
It had happened just before the race in Singapore, last year.
A friend from engineering school had moved there at the beginning of the year, and they had agreed to meet for dinner at a fancy restaurant in the city. It was an opportunity to reminisce about the years spent at Polytechnique, studying (a bit), suffering (a lot), and getting drunk (a whole lot).
She had chosen a long emerald green silk dress, slit up to mid-thigh. The perfect balance between classy and sexy. She had no intention of charming her companion - notoriously attracted to men, anyway - but this meal was the perfect excuse to leave her eternal Ferrari jumpsuits for something more feminine.
In the long corridor leading to the elevator, she'd suddenly felt on a catwalk, letting herself get caught up in the moment and rolling her hips perhaps a tad too exaggeratedly. The person emerging from the corner at the far end of the corridor surprised her, but not enough to disrupt her stride, her heels clicking against the floor.
She had recognized him immediately, of course.
Dressed in a simple fitted black polo and a pair of dark jeans, his eyes had not left hers throughout their crossing. When the two had finally reached the same level, she'd breathed out a small "Good evening, Carlos," suddenly insecure about everything. Her outfit. Her gait. The messy bun revealing her neck. The cleavage leaving no room for a bra and showing the beginning of her breasts.
He had passed her, nodding in acknowledgment, and each had continued on their way. She was certain... No, almost certain, that she had dreamt the words that had followed.
"That's one lucky guy."
Yes, she was almost certain she had dreamt it. Watching the Spaniard in the distance take hold of the microphone and tap it gently to check the connections, she became increasingly convinced. There was no chance that this man, chiseled from marble, could have noticed her. Desired her.
His accent echoes throughout the room, and she instinctively closes her eyes, as if bathed in the gentle sun of Madrid. She's not listening - not really - only catching words here and there. "Truly an honor," "Very impressed by your efforts," "Promising changes." But her mind is elsewhere, between Maranello and Singapore, tethered to the memory that makes her lower abdomen tingle in the sweetest of ways.
"And now, it's time to celebrate!" Carlos says as the room erupts with joy and anticipation.
"Earth to you?" comes a much less pleasant voice than the one that has just quieted down.
"I'm sorry, what?" she says, returning her attention to Livio.
"Oh, wow, you've got to be kidding me. Is it just me, or are you completely absorbed by this guy?" Livio replies, his mouth twisted in a grimace.
"Who?" she asks, genuinely confused.
"Sainz. You were hanging on his every word."
"I just think it's nice that they're giving an encouraging speech. Both of them," she explains, avoiding the Italian's gaze.
"Yeah, okay. Should we get another drink?" he asks, taking hold of her arm again.
She wants to protest. She can still taste the gin at the back of her mouth. It can't have been more than twenty minutes since her first drink. But Livio is already almost dragging her behind him, clearly determined not to let her escape tonight. And once again, that hand locks around her arm. Firm. Not open to discussion. She feels something almost territorial in the gesture, something that strongly displeases her, so she vows to mention it to Livio. Someday. Not tonight.
This time, he doesn't even pretend to care about what she wants to drink, ordering two whiskies straight away. She hates it. The taste, the look, what this alcohol does to her mind and body. But Livio has already slipped two bills to the bartender, and a moment later, the amber liqueur lands in her right hand.
While her drinking companion is already tilting his head back, clearly unaware that this type of alcohol is to be savored and not downed in one go, she observes the glass, intrigued by the few bubbles that are forming on the surface. I had no idea whiskey could do that, she thinks before bringing the liquid to her lips.
A few minutes later, she's managed to shake off Livio by claiming she needed to use the restroom. She crosses paths with Carlos walking in the other direction, maybe three people ahead of her, but he doesn't notice her.
In front of the restroom mirror, touching up her lipstick, her focus changes as she sees a drop of sweat trickle down her temple and slide slowly onto her cheek. I'm rather cold, though, she thinks, almost suppressing a shiver. Her head suddenly feels very light. She blames the alcohol. Putting her lipstick back in her clutch and tucking a strand of hair that threatened to escape from her bun, she pushes the restroom door open again, bracing herself to face the social world once more.
Passing by the buffet, a wave of nausea washes over her, forcing her to stop for a few seconds, leaning against the table and closing her eyes.
"I thought it was you," echoes the sunny accent in her ears. With her eyes still closed, she wishes their new encounter, one that she'd admit she's dreamed about, had happened differently. At a better time. A time when she wasn't battling a fierce urge to throw up.
"Are you okay?" Carlos inquires, raising his hand as if to support her but stopping halfway.
She takes a few seconds to push the unpleasant sensations from her body as far away as possible before lifting her head, opening her eyes, and being rewarded with the exquisite sight of his luscious hair and amber eyes.
"Hi," she manages to utter in a faint voice. "Great speech," she continues, still leaning against the table.
"You look pale," the driver responds, looking concerned.
The words escape her lips before they even reach her brain. She regrets them instantly. Something inside her just give way, like a dam.
"Sorry. I must have looked better in Singapore," she says.
Carlos widens his eyes, surprised, before letting out an awkward laugh.
"Sorry for staring at you like that, that night. You were... Well, you are...," he continues, seeming to search for his words.
She would so love to hear the rest, to know what he was going to say. But dizziness seizes her, and she feels herself tipping against the table. Well, almost, because suddenly, an arm wraps around her waist, pressing her against a chest that, yes, she's also dreamed about several times. But not like this. Not in this state.
"Hey," Carlos says, his voice tinged with worry.
"I'm so sorry, this never happens to me. I must have had one drink too many, I—"
"I saw you at the bar not even ten minutes ago," the Spaniard continues. "No alcohol hits you that fast. Not even shots."
"I'm fine," she says, and the pilot understands that she's saying it not only to reassure him but herself as well. And, as if the words had commanded it, the fog in her mind dissipates a bit. Enough for her to gently detach herself from the pilot, finding her balance on her own two feet again. She'd like to take advantage of this newfound clarity to keep the Spaniard close to her. Him, that she never crosses paths with, whom she never speaks to, and yet who appeals to her so much.
But Charles arrives. He smiles at her, asks if she's okay, if she's enjoying the evening, and oh, "I'll borrow him for a moment, I'm so sorry, sponsors, you know," and oh, once again, she finds herself alone at the buffet, watching the two men walk away, Carlos still watching her as he reluctantly retreats.
"I was beginning to think he'd never leave," Livio says, leaning against the buffet, his hip brushing against hers.
She wants to scream. Oh, how badly she wants to.
Sensing that she's not going to respond, the Italian tries his luck again.
"Should we dance? You seem intoxicated enough, now."
She doesn't even have time to respond before her colleagues guides her onto the dance floor, eagerly pressing his body against hers. His breath, previously tinged with whiskey, now betrays hints of tequila. The guy never has enough, she thinks, twirling reluctantly.
And there it goes again. The nausea, the queasiness. Spinning her around like a puppet doesn't help, she tells herself. She comes to a halt, cutting off Livio's momentum, causing some dancing couples to narrowly avoid colliding with them. Feeling vulnerable, she tries to get away, to seek refuge elsewhere. But her wrist is once again trapped.
"You don't look well. Come on, let's get you some fresh air," Livio says, heading towards one of the large glass doors.
She's often been described as naive by her loved ones. She believes that the whole world means well towards her, never suspects anyone of ill intentions. She would even say about herself that she has no instincts, let alone survival instincts. No sense of danger. Yet, perhaps for the first time in her life, something deep inside her is screaming not to follow the man. Her signals are on alert. Everything is flashing red in her mind. For her, it's a first. So, without thinking, without worrying about offending her colleague, she acts.
"I don't need to go outside," she says, trying to free herself from his grasp. She's sweating. She feels the unpleasant sensation of a thin layer of dampness creeping over her neck, her back, her hands.
Her feeble resistance is no match for Livio's strength, as he pulls her outside despite her protests. The music is too loud for anyone to hear their altercation. Divided between the buffet, the bar, and the dance floor, no one pays attention to this mismatched couple, to the determined man dragging a struggling woman behind him.
The door closes heavily behind them, stifling the sounds of the party, captured on the other side. It's cold outside, she feels it because her whole body shivers. But she, who was cold just a short while ago, feels like she's boiling. She raises her hand to her forehead, wiping away another bead of sweat that's formed between her eyebrows. What's happening to me? she thinks internally, troubled. Alcohol has never put her in such a state before.
"I'm so glad I ran into you tonight," Livio begins, either oblivious or indifferent to the young woman's condition.
She doesn't respond, feeling her head spinning, leaning against the wall behind her, gasping to try to catch her breath. Trying to control the burning heat that's engulfing her body.
"You look really beautiful tonight. Quite a change from the work overalls, huh!" the man continues.
She's not exactly sure at what moment he slipped between her legs, facing her, just a few centimeters from her face. But he's there, too close, forcing her to turn her head to the side to avoid his gaze - and his alcohol-laden breath.
"I said, you look really beautiful tonight," Livio says. "Are you not going to say anything?"
"What do you expect me to say to that?" she says, jaw clenched.
"Do you find me attractive?" the man asks, meeting her gaze.
The warning signals reappear along with the nausea. She barely has time to push the man away and lean to the side before emptying her stomach inches away from his feet. The naivety stops there. The pieces of the puzzle fall into place, realization hitting her painfully.
"What did you do to me?" she asks, her knees giving way under her weight, sending her crashing to the ground. He sneers, rolling his eyes, as she crawls a few meters, trying to put some distance between them. She's now sitting on the ground, her back to the wall.
"What? What are you talking about?" the Italian replies, offended.
"Did you put something in my drink?" she asks again.
"Come on, now. I've been helping you ever since you said you weren't feeling well. What kind of monster do you think I am?"
For a moment, her colleague's wounded look makes her seriously doubt herself. Maybe it really is just the alcohol, she thinks, trying to calm her racing mind. After all, why would someone deliberately choose to harm her? Why jump to that conclusion? Livio has always been charming. A bit clingy, but charming.
"I'm sorry for implying that. I'm gonna head back inside," she says, trying to stand up.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Livio answers, pushing her back down.
"What? why?" she asks, surprised.
"It wouldn't be very wise to parade in front of your colleagues and superiors in such a poor state," the Italian begins, his tone almost mocking. "It really doesn't give a good impression of you. It's not very professional."
"I haven't done anything, just had a few drinks," she responds, annoyed. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"You're so wasted you can't even stand. At a work event. Do you want to get fired or something?"
She opens her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but no words come out. She can't seem to figure out if Livio is with her or against her anymore. His words are harsh, aggressive, but deep down, the engineer probably isn't wrong. She struggled to secure a position here, at Ferrari. Even though she believes herself to be fairly skilled at her job and puts in long hours, there are hundreds of others doing the same work as her every day. And hundreds more who could replace her if the need arose.
She's not indispensable. She's not even that good at speaking Italian, having always had more ease in English or in French, even though she spends the majority of her evenings reading books in the language. She's just a tiny cog in the machine. She thinks about Carlos, too. What would he think, seeing me stumbling in the middle of the dance floor like a mad woman?
"Let me drive you home," Livio says, extending his hand. "Spare you the embarrassment."
She hadn't realized how tired she was. The offer is rather tempting. Getting back to her apartment, her cat, her bed. Above all, escaping the crowd. Forgetting this evening. Forgetting whatever she thought there was with Carlos, too, while she's at it. As a stronger wave of sleep washes over her, she temporarily closes her eyes.
"Come on," he says. "Let's get you in the car."
After her brain, her legs refuse to cooperate too. Her body barricades itself, trying to keep her firmly sheltered. Losing patience, Livio hoists her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She wants to protest against the position she finds herself in. That's so unladylike. Her last few connected neurons grapple over strange thoughts. I hope nobody sees my underwear, she thinks before her brain disconnects once again.
She's so far gone, yet the next words sound crystal-clear in her ears.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
Sounds like Carlos, she thinks, delirious.
"What does it look like to you? I'm bringing her home. She's wasted," she hears, and she thinks it might be Livio, because she feels his body shaking with each words.
"There's no way I'm letting you leave with her. Put her down."
"Yeah? So you can have your way with her?"
"No, so I can punch you in the fucking face," the accent-thick voice shouts.
She must have passed out for good because she doesn't remember anything else. When she wakes up next, which feels like an eternity later, she's sitting against a wall, this time indoors, wrapped in a golden emergency blanket. There's no more music. Opening one eye, then the next, she's met with Carlos' brown ones. She tries to speak but her mouth feels dry. The Spaniard hands her a glass of water, helping her bring it to her lips.
"I somehow managed to look even worse," she jokes, reminiscing their earlier encounter.
"The paramedics have just arrived. They're going to take you to the hospital for a check-up," he says and she nods.
"Thank you, Carlos," she replies.
"I haven't done the half of what I would have wanted," he says, regret filling his voice.
"What do you mean?"
"This has to be the worst timing ever, but I... I actually wanted to ask you out, before Charles interrupted us and before, well... this," he says, gesturing around them.
He doesn't see it, but hidden under the blanket, she pinches her arm. Hard. Just to make sure she won't wake up a second time. Seeing that nothing changes, she lets out a little laugh.
"If you wanted me to wear that silky green dress, I'm so sorry, but I ruined it in the washer."
"You can wear a garbage bag for all I care," Carlos replies, looking at her fondly. "You'll still stand out in the crowd."
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1 imagine#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#formula1#f1 2024#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x you
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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐔𝐒 ─ AS³⁷
TRACK 4 ─── DOWN BAD
TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !
౨ৎ ─ summary | one summer, one town and the fullest love you've ever felt all to be ripped away from you. life was pointless without the love of your life, your soulmate (even if you'd only known him for three months).
─ word count | 3.4k
─ warnings | dramatic af, oh god, so so so so so much angst WITH NO HAPPY ENDING (ur gonna cry by the end of this), where do i even begin? love bombing, LYING AF, andrei being mysterious asf, mention of life being hopeless, very depressive themes and like.. babygirl is GOING THROUGH ITTTT, maybe even suicidal themes (depends on your perspective), lmk if i missed anything else?
─ ev's notes | down bad has been on repeat since friday, it's genuinely so addicting (but like... the entire album is so?)
YOU LIFE FELT ABSOLUTELY hopeless, like the color was drained from it.
How could one summer change the whole trajectory of your life, you're not sure. Your entire perspective of love had been turned upside down, each day felt like a struggle just to breathe, let alone find any semblance of meaning or joy. It was as if the universe had conspired to strip away every ounce of hope, leaving behind only an empty shell of a person.
How could you let someone con you so easily? Make you believe that you were his soulmate, only to absolutely wreck you? You couldn't help but wonder if he felt even a shred of sympathy and if he ever stopped to think about you, like you did with him?
How could you have been so naive, so blindly hopeful in the face of his deceit? The wounds he inflicted cut deeper than mere flesh and bone; they pierced straight to the core of your being, leaving behind scars that may never fully heal.
You could barely get out of bed ─ you can't even remember a time when you didn't know him, even if you'd know him a short span of time. The weight of his absence feels like a physical force, pinning you down to the bed as if gravity itself has conspired against you. How could you go on without him, when every corner of your world still echoes with his presence?
It's as if he had woven himself into the fabric of your being, leaving no thread untouched by his influence. Even the simplest of tasks feel overwhelming without his guidance, his encouragement, his love.
You try to remember a time before him, a time when your heart beat to a rhythm untouched by his melody. But the memories blur together, distorted by the prism of his existence. It's as if he had always been there, a constant presence in your life, one way or another.
──
"Are you a local?"
You turned around to face the voice that had drawn you out of your thoughts, an annoyed expression on your face. But as you looked up to meet his chocolate brown eyes, all the irritation had quickly dissipated.
First, you noticed his eyes ─ they were so big and brown, you could feel yourself get lost in them. Then your gaze fell to his lips and ultimately, his smile and his dimple. Whoa, he was gorgeous.
"Uh, yeah." You got out as you managed a smile, turning to face him completely.
His smile widened at your response, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at the sight of it. It was infectious, lighting up his face in a way that made it impossible to look away.
"Great!" he replied, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm here on vacation. Any recommendations on where to grab a bite to eat?"
His voice carried a hint of a Russian accent weaving through each word like a thread of silk. It added an extra layer of intrigue to his already captivating presence, drawing you in even further.
"Actually, there's this little café a few blocks down the street that serves amazing sandwiches," you offered, your voice betraying a hint of excitement. "I could show you, if you'd like."
God, what were you doing? You didn't even know what you were saying before the words flew out of your mouth. To your surprised, his smile widened into a grin as he nodded.
His eyes sparkled with amusement as he nodded in agreement. "I would love that," he replied, his accent lending a charming cadence to his words.
As you stood up from his seat, you took in his build; you just realized how tall he was. He towered over you, his frame exuding a quiet strength that only added to his allure. It was as if he commanded the space around him effortlessly, a gentle giant in a world full of noise.
Together, you made your way out of the café and onto the street, the sounds of the city fading into the background as you fell into step beside him. His presence was comforting, reassuring, like a steady anchor in the midst of chaos even though you'd just met the stranger.
As you walked, you found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his eyes crinkled with laughter at something you said.
Arriving at the café, you found a table by the window. As you settled in, the conversation began flowing effortlessly between you. With each passing moment, you felt yourself drawn deeper into his orbit, captivated by the way his presence seemed to fill the room with warmth.
"So, what do you do, Andrei?" You found yourself asking as he paused for a moment, taking a sip of his drink before sighing.
"I'd... I'd hoped you didn't ask that." Andrei's tone came out amusing but you could hear the sincerity, too. "I play for the Hurricanes. A hockey team."
You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at Andrei's revelation. "The Hurricanes? That's impressive,"
"It is, but it's very demanding. That's why I came here," he explained as a smile began playing on his lips. "To get away from everything, even just for summer."
"Why would you want to get away?" You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you. As you registered your words, you shook your head as you sighed. "You don't have to answer that."
Andrei's smile softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes at your understanding. "No, it's okay," he replied, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. "Sometimes, even the things we love can become overwhelming. I guess I just needed a break, a chance to clear my head and remember what's really important."
"I get that," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "Sometimes, we all need a moment to step back and breathe, to remind ourselves of who we are outside of our titles and our accomplishments."
Andrei's gaze softened, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, you felt a weird connection for a moment. He let out a small chuckle as he looked away, a tinge of redness enveloping his cheeks.
"You wanna get out of here? I still haven't seen the beach and I've been here for two days." Andrei's voice was amused as his gaze finally flickered back to you.
His chuckle was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through you at the sight of his flushed cheeks. There was something endearing about his candidness, a rawness that drew you in even closer.
"Absolutely," you replied, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.
After that, the two of you spent every moment together. You didn't know why you were so drawn to him ─ it wasn't just how abosolutely beautiful he was, that wasn't even a factor after you'd spent the whole week with him. It was something more, something raw you hadn't felt in a while ─ or maybe even ever.
In Andrei's presence, you felt as if you were seeing the world through new eyes. He showed you the beauty in the simplest of moments ─ the way sunlight danced on the water, the sound of laughter echoing through the streets of your hometown that you'd walked in a million times (somehow, it was different now with him), the warmth of a shared smile exchanged between two strangers.
But it wasn't just the external world that he illuminated for you; it was your own heart. With each conversation, each shared comfortable silence, he peeled back the layers of your soul, revealing the raw, unfiltered truth that lay beneath. In his arms, you felt safe, cherished, loved in a way you swear you'd never experienced before. It was a love that transcended the physical, a love that touched the very core of your being and left you breathless with wonder.
And as you lay beneath the stars in his arms, the night sky stretching out above you like a vast canvas waiting to be painted, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. For in Andrei's embrace, you had found something real ─ something cosmic and eternal.
──
"Do you ever wonder," he begins, his voice soft but filled with a sense of wonder, "if there's more to the universe than what we can see?"
You both gaze out of the bay window for a moment, the night sky stretching out before you like a vast canvas scattered with stars.
"It's... it's something I've thought about," you reply, your voice barely a whisper in the quiet of the night. "The universe is so vast, so incomprehensibly large. It's hard to believe that we're the only ones out here, you know?"
Andrei nods in agreement, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Exactly," he says, his gaze returning to the stars above. "I like to think that there's something out there, something greater than ourselves. Something that binds us all together, even when we're worlds apart."
"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely audible. "All the time, actually. It's... overwhelming, sometimes, to think about how big the universe is, how insignificant we are in comparison."
Andrei nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars twinkling in the night sky. "But isn't it also kind of liberating?" he mused.
"To know that we're just a small part of something so much bigger than ourselves? It makes all our worries and fears seem so... trivial, in the grand scheme of things."
"You're right," you said, a sense of wonder creeping into your voice. "It's like no matter what happens in our lives, the universe will keep on spinning, the stars will keep on shining. It's... comforting, in a way."
Andrei smiled, a warmth spreading through you at the sight of it. "Exactly," he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty.
A comfortable silence filled the air before he spoke up again. "You know... when we met, when I said I wanted a break?" A pang of uncertainty flickered within you at his words, but you nodded, inviting him to continue with a gentle tilt of your head.
Andrei's gaze softened as he reached out to take your hand, his touch grounding you in the present moment. "I didn't just mean from hockey," he confessed. "I meant from everything ─ the pressure, the expectations, the constant scrutiny. I needed a break from the world, from myself."
His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. You listened in silence, feeling the gravity of his confession settle over you like a blanket.
"I came here seeking some kind of relief from the chaos of my life," Andrei continued, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "But what I found was so much more than that. I found you."
The sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you had long kept buried beneath the surface. In that moment, you realized just how much he had come to mean to you, how integral he had become to the fabric of your existence.
You'd felt like you'd known him lifetimes but in reality, you'd only known him only a couple weeks. And yet, in those fleeting weeks, Andrei had become more than just a passing acquaintance; he had become a beacon of light in the darkness, a source of comfort in a world of uncertainty.
──
Andrei's arms wrapped around your waist as you both watched the sunset go down. His large frame practically engulfed you as he stood behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. The warm summer breeze caressed your skin, carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. You leaned back into Andrei's embrace, feeling his hands squeeze your hips.
"Let's go for a swim, yeah?" Andrei's breathe hit your neck as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine as his warm breath danced across your skin.
His suggestion brought a smile to your lips, the idea of plunging into the cool embrace of the ocean sounding utterly inviting. You turned in Andrei's arms, a playful glint in your eyes as you met his gaze.
"Are you sure?" You teased, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "The water might be colder than you think."
Andrei's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Only one way to find out,"
"Wait, Andrei-" Before you could protest more, Andrei pulled you up on his shoulders. You let out a fit of giggles as he carried you out to the deeper waters, his strong arms supporting you effortlessly as you clung to him, your laughter mingling with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
"Ready?" Andrei called over his shoulder, his voice filled with excitement.
You nodded, your heart pounding with anticipation. With a smirk, Andrei took a few more steps forward, and then, without warning, he jumped, sending you both crashing into the cool embrace of the ocean.
For a moment, you were weightless, suspended in the currents, the sound of laughter and splashing filling the air around you. And as you surfaced, gasping for breath and laughing with joy, you felt a sense of freedom wash over you ─ a freedom that only comes from letting go and embracing the spontaneity of the moment.
Andrei's laughter joined yours as he helped you to steady yourself in the water, his eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. "See? Wasn't so bad, was it?"
You grinned up at Andrei, the exhilaration of the moment coursing through your veins. "Definitely not."
Andrei grinned, his smile lighting up his face as he tugged you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
He stared into your eyes, the grin still on his red face before he grabbed your chin and pushed his lips against yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
As you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours, you knew with unwavering certainty that this was where you belonged; in his arms, consumed by love.
His touch was electric, sending sparks dancing across your skin as you lost yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his lips moving against yours. And as you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed with emotion, you found yourself lost in the depths of Andrei's gaze. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own desires, mirrored back to you with an intensity that left you breathless.
He caught his breath as he laughed, giving your cheek another kiss. "I don't know how to explain how I feel about you, it's something I don't think I've felt in a long time. Or... ever."
"I feel it too," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath of air. "Whatever it is, it's real. And that's all that matters."
Andrei's gaze softened, a smile playing on his lips as he reached out to gently caress your cheek. "I'm just glad we found each other," he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty. "And no matter what the future may hold, I'll always be by your side. You're like..."
He paused as he laughed, shaking his head with amusement. "My soulmate, or something like that."
You couldn't help but smile at his playful tone, feeling a surge of affection well up within you. "Your soulmate, huh?" you teased, "I can live with that."
Before you could fully grasp it, it had slipped away, fleeting in its passing. It was over before it even fully started. The summer had come to a close, and Andrei was talking about leaving back to Carolina.
You knew it was coming, of course it was coming. He had to go back to his home, where he worked, where his everything was. What about you? Hadn't you become his everything, just as he had become yours? Where did you fit into his world once he was gone?
And then one morning you awoke and he was gone.
It felt like something you'd seen in a movie, or read in a book. Confusion clouded your mind as you glanced around the room, searching for any sign of him. But as your gaze fell upon the empty drawers where his clothes once laid, reality came crashing down around you.
It was over.
The realization hit you like a tidal wave, sweeping away the remnants of the life you had built together over the summer. And in that moment, you felt a profound sense of loss wash over you, a hollow ache that echoed in the depths of your soul. You had known it was coming, of course. He had obligations, a life waiting for him back home. But that didn't make the pain any less palpable, the sense of abandonment any less hurtful.
Was all of it a lie? The laughter, the whispered promises, the moments shared beneath the stars – were they nothing more than empty words, hollow gestures meant to deceive?
The days following his departure, it felt hollow. It felt like you'd awoken from a daydream, something that only existed in your head. Was it really not as serious as you'd thought? Was he really not in love, as you were with him?
Life loss all of it's meaning, you never thought you'd be that girl: the girl who let a man absolutely reroot her entire life, just for him to leave. Had you really become that pathetic?
The days turned into weeks and the hollowness didn't fade, it turned into numbness then ultimately into a sense of emptiness that seemed to permeate every aspect of your being. It was as if a part of you had been hollowed out, leaving behind nothing but a void that echoed with the absence of his presence.
As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself grappling with questions that had no answers. Was it all a lie? Had he ever truly cared for you, or were you just another pawn in his game? Had you ever really known him, your Andrei? The one who held you, laughed with you, whispered promises of forever beneath the stars? Or had he been someone else entirely, a stranger acting as the love of your life?
The uncertainty gnawed at you, a relentless beast that refused to be tamed. You replayed every moment, every word, every touch, searching for clues that would unravel the mystery of his true intentions. But the more you searched, the more elusive the answers became, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.
You found yourself crying every night, every free moment you spent bawling your eyes out over a man you're sure you'd never really known, just another stranger who had walked into your life and turned it upside down.
The pain was like a physical ache, a weight pressing down on your chest until it felt like you could hardly breathe. How could someone you had cared for so deeply have caused you so much pain? How could you have been so blind to the truth of his intentions?
You needed him again, life felt meaningless ─ no, life was meaningless without him. Nothing felt worth having without him. Without him, life felt like a barren wasteland, devoid of color and purpose. Every moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, each day blending into the next in a monotonous haze.
You found yourself longing for his presence, for the sound of his laughter and the warmth of his embrace. Without him by your side, even the simplest pleasures felt empty, leaving you adrift in a sea of loneliness. What was the point of it all, you wondered, if he wasn't there to share it with you?
No one would ever make you feel like he did, no one would ever manage to love you like he once had. It was a truth that cut to the core of your being, leaving you feeling exposed in its wake.
How could you ever hope to find happiness again when the one person who had made you feel truly alive was now gone from your life?
You tried to fill the void with distractions – with work, with friends, with anything that would help numb the ache of his absence. But no matter how hard you tried, the emptiness remained, a gaping wound that refused to heal.
In the depths of your despair, you found yourself questioning everything ─ your worth, your purpose, your very existence. What was the point of it all, you wondered, if he wasn't there to share it with you?
#nhl imagine#nhl#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#hockey#nhl oneshot#hockey fic#andrei svechnikov#andrei svechnikov x reader#andrei svechnikov imagine#andrei svechnikov fic#andrei svechnikov moodboard#andrei svechnikov smut#carolina hurricanes#carolina hurricanes x you
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Sweetheart | Tommy Shelby
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x wife!reader
Request: No
Warnings: The word whore being used a few times. A threat made.
Word Count: 640
Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Tommy enters his office and is taken aback to see his wife seated behind his desk, wearing a displeased look on her face. He lights his 6th cigarette for the day and moves to stand near the windows, knowing that whatever is about to unfold cannot be good. Her eyes follow his every move as she remains quiet waiting for him to speak first.
"I suppose I should ask if everything is well, but I have a feeling it would only anger you further," he says, observing her as she stares at him. "So why don't you tell me what I've done wrong so we can sort it out?"
She continues to scowl at him, saying, "I know you are willing to do anything to get what you want, I just never thought I would have to witness it."
His expression remains stoic, revealing nothing about what he's thinking or feeling.
"Imagine now my amazement when I saw every man's favorite whore with her hands all over my husband only to see him do nothing about it. He seemed to be encouraging it."
Tommy could see the sadness and the hurt in her eyes. He didn't miss the way her voice became strained at the end. It hurt his heart to know that it was his own foolish impulsive acts that caused her feel this way. But he could see she wasn't done talking. He remains silent, knowing that trying to apologise before she finishs would only make matters worse.
"But instead of simply confronting you, I went and confronted her," she confesses.
Tommy struggles to conceal his smirk. Y/N's headstrong personality causes her to protect what belongs to her and causes her to make sure people knew where she stands and where they stood. If he could be possessive over her, than so can she when it comes to him. Tommy was hers - him being the father to her three children, her husband and the love of her life - and she wasn't about to let anyone forget it. It's one of the many things Tommy loves about her.
"Don't worry, she said you merely used her for information. That you flirted a little, got her hopes up, and that was the end of it," Her eyes never leave his while a smirk appears on her lips. She trusted him not to go any farther than flirting. It was the whores she was wary about. Her lover before Tommy was always persuaded by them . When they first started their relationship, she made it clear to Tommy that adultery would not be tolerated.
"And what did you tell her?" Tommy enquired, slightly amused by her possessiveness. Y/N didn't typically take such action, but he admires that she was willing to confront anyone who threatened their family and marriage, even if it was against a lady of the night.
"I told her, if she touches you with her filthy little hands again, I'll cut 'em off," she confidently tells him.
"Sweetheart," he said not bothering to hide the small smirk that's forming, his head shaking side to side. "After all these years, you still surprise me with your words."
"How else are those whores meant to know I won't tolerate them trying to seduce you?" She wonders aloud as he rounds the desk, standing in front of her.
He pulls her up from the chair, lifting her to sit on his desk as he stands between her legs. "What if I need information from them? I can't have them scared of me."
"Then you get someone else to do your dirty work," she tells him. "Preferably someone who isn't married."
He smiles and kisses her, knowing she's no longer angry at him. "I love you."
"I love you too," she replies pulling him closer to kiss him again.
#acewritesfics repost#peaky blinders#tommy shelby x reader#peaky blinders x reader#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby#tommy shelby
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—SWEET (S)TALKER –s.jy
₊˚⊹ pairing: idol!bf!jake x gn!reader ⭒ warnings: swearing, mentions of stalking, petnames. word count: 604. LIB! ｡⋆˚ genre: fluff, drabble, est. relationship. songs to listen while reading: Bam Yang Gang by BIBI ⤷ ˖ ֗𖦹 a/n: none!
After the whole day at college, you are currently walking to your apartment. the streets are quiet and the rain seems to have stopped, as the last drops slowly drip from the trees, the roads are slippery, faded moonlight illuminated the path up ahead. The stars seemed to have been dimmed by the grey clouds ahead and all was silent... save for the sound the grasshoppers chirring and soft footsteps on the wet sidewalks. Your heart was far from caring if someone was following you from behind. Feeling the melancholy creeping your chest, you took a long breath. Jake a.k.a the love of your life has certainly been very busy with his schedule to see you or spend some time with you. But he didn't forget to send you the good mornings and good night to his prettiest girl so far, yet you were... Well you felt greedy at this point, but you had the right anyway.
Listening to the argument between your two selves, you suddenly felt a vague presence of something, more like someone behind you... Being afraid enough to look behind, you focus on the shadow of that "someone" on the sidewalk, his reflection seemed more like oddly familiar and comforting now. Shutting your eyes close, you take some deep breaths to turn to face the presence...
Shit? Why is this guy running towards you? Without having any time to think properly, you start running towards the front direction too, are you scared? Kind of. But are you having fun? Yes.
After running in the literal street like two cat and mouse, you stop to catch on your breath, the stalker— well, shit, you can't name him anything else right? Your grip tightens on your knees as you exhale some more, and the guy is already close to approaching you—
"JAKE YOU DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER!!!" You yell at the guy, well, your boyfriend who wasn't really supposed to be the stalker, no? "Whoa whoa whoa, princess! Calm down? It's just me? Remember? The pretty boyfriend of yours?" He holds his arms up in surrender as you smack his shoulder softly enough but he was dramatic anyway, "Shut the fuck up, will ya?" You roll your eyes at the sight of him dramatically putting his hand on his chest as if he was hurt, "Shit, Princess! That hurts~ Do you know where that hurts?" Giving you the puppy eyes, he reaches for your tiny hands to his chest, "Literally here. Straight in the heart," But to his misfortune, he only gets the stink eyes back from his way-too-soft girlfriend, "Don't even try that," "try what, love?" You roll your eyes to hide the shy, bright shade of scarlet rising on your cheeks, "Try sweet talking with me, definitely not when you were some sort of stalking me as well. And to let you know, I am thinking of banning the L-word for you," "Oh my, holy shit, Y/N, don't even think of it! I don't want to know how it feels to be a monastic. And I wasn't stalking you, my love, it's not my fault if my gee eff is a half-blind Dora the Explorer, right?" He brings you closer to him while yapping— well, saying all these to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he talks, "I am NAWT half-blind Dora the Explorer, Sim Jaeyun!!!" "Not the government name, Princess. How "the love of my life" sounds?" "I am not falling for your sweet talking today." He wiggles his eyebrows with the knowing playful expression, "Wanna bet?"
Oh, this wasn't supposed to be it.
©chaewonshoney 2024, all rights reserved. Reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated <3
#jake enhypen#jake x y/n#jake sim#sim jaeyun#sim jaeyun x reader#jake x reader#enhypen soft hours#enhypen#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen drabbles#enhypen scenarios#enhypen fluff#jake fluff
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Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen
mmafigther!sukuna ryomen x femcoach!reader
Part 12. Between Us
Beginning. ← Previous |
Sypnosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him.
Contents: Fighting. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Yuuji, Choso and Sukuna are brothers.
Warnings: Cursed words, I only read it once.
Word Count: 2879 words.
Author's Note: 2 parts away to the end! I'm super excited for what is to come.
Btw I made a PLAYLIST
Dinner continued as night fell over the elegant panorama. Musicians continued to play all night long, waiters walked around the tables with trays laden with appetizers and people chatted pleasantly surrounded us. I was eating delicious food, drinking expensive champagne, and I was sitting between two super attractive men, what more could I ask for? Definitely a good night. His mother would sometimes give me uncomfortable looks, but Sukuna would scold her every time he caught her doing it. Choso would get me to talk about my plans once I stopped working for her brother. And Yuuji… I didn't want to talk to him after exposing myself like that in front of his family. I knew he was a big gossip, but I never thought he would reveal something like that to his parents.
When dinner was over, his parents said goodbye to everyone and went back to their house. Or I rather say, mansion. I had discovered that the Itadori's owned a large coffee company that was distributed internationally. Now I understood why Sukuna was so spoiled, he has always had everything he wants from the cradle. Good thing Choso and Yuuji didn't turn out like him.
“I think we are ready to leave, right, Choso?” Yuuji asked the middle brother before pulling him by the arm to the car.
“Not so fast,” Sukuna said before pulling him towards him by the hoodie's cap. Yuuji replied to the sudden movement. “We already knew you were a shitty gossip, but today you went too far,” I scolded him while forcing him to stand in front of me.
“Stop it, Sukuna!” Choso exclaimed to make me let go of his little brother.
“Shut up! You know perfectly well that what he did is not right,” Sukuna barked. “Apologize to Y/n for what you said.”
That action coming from Sukuna healed wounds in me that I didn't know were still there. I think it was the first time someone defended me like that. I was so used to always fighting for myself that I had forgotten how it felt to have someone come to my defense. I don't know if he was doing it out of wanting to discipline his younger brother or to protect me, it was still comforting to see him act so concerned about the situation. I felt safe next to him even though he could act like a monster at times.
“I'm sorry for saying what Naoya did to you in front of everyone. It won't happen again,” Yuuji apologized, avoiding my gaze, ashamed of his actions.
“You better keep your word,” I told him so. Sukuna would let him go.
After a quiet ride home, Sukuna wished me goodnight and we both headed to our respective rooms. I took off the cute little girl costume I had put on as I recalled the intimate moment I had shared with Choso and how Sukuna kept nagging his family so he could have a quiet dinner. I sighed tiredly before lying face down on the big white bed. I shoved my face between the goose down pillows as I realized I had spent the whole night fantasizing about two different men.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I scolded myself.
Tonight I confirmed that my feelings for Choso were still there, but now they coexisted with the feelings I had for Sukuna, his own brother. What I was feeling was not right, but what could I do about it? I couldn't date both of them to find out whom I liked more. I couldn't play with them like they were plastic dolls. I also didn't want to make a pros and cons list, that seems tacky to me. I looked at the clock, it was 11 o'clock at night. I was sure Nobara was still awake.
“Well, well… Finally, someone deigns to call me,” Nobara answered the video call. She had her hair up, a mask on her face and a loose-fitting sleep shirt. She was getting ready to go to sleep, he had caught her at a good time.
“I know, I've been busy,” I replied embarrassed. “But now I'm in the middle of a dilemma.”
“Oh, finally, some tea!” Nobara replied.
I told him everything that my heart wanted to let out for months. How tender, mysterious and attractive Choso was and how handsome, strong and disciplined Sukuna is. About how much I wanted to go out with Choso to coffee shops and art museums. About how much I wanted Sukuna to give me a clear sign that he liked me as a girlfriend and not as a hamster he had to protect from hawks. The mixture of love and confusion surprised Nobara with every sentence he blurted out.
“I like them both, and I have no idea what to do,” I finished my confession.
“Taylor Swift could write a song about it,” Nobara joked before pulling a cheeto out of the blue bag and eating it. “I don't understand why you're racking your brains when the answer is so obvious.”
“Is it?” I asked confused.
“Duh. I'm team Choso to death,” I answered.
“Why?”
“Do I really have to say it?” Nobara looked at me as if I was stupid. I just kept quiet. She sighed in exasperation and sat up straight to speak seriously. “Choso is the only one who likes you back, and you really like him too. Sukuna only likes you because you respect him a lot and not because you really want to go out with him,” she replied wisely.
“I see…” I whispered as I realized it was true.
When I think of Sukuna, I think of his sportswear, how great he looks boxing and how strong he looks against his opponents, but I also think of the thousands of flaws he has. He is an angry, spoiled and rude man. I could have disciplined Yuuji tonight, but he could become a thousand times worse if he set his mind to it. Even though I felt safe with him, I don't know him like I'd like to.
“Besides, Sukuna may not be like Naoya, but it sounds like he's similar,” Nobara added.
“You're right,” I sighed before closing my eyes.
Since that night, I decided to stay sentimentally away from Sukuna. Every time I saw him, I thought about him with a cold head. I saw beyond my rose-colored glasses that made me drool for him. We still trained, ate and spent time together, but I avoided him at times when we could be completely alone. As the days went by I saw him less as a perfect man and more as a cranky friend.
A month had passed since then and the big fight against Aoi Todo was just around the corner. The entire team had traveled all the way to Rio de Janeiro for the big night that awaited us. Brazil gave us a warm welcome from the moment we arrived. Paparazzi, fans, and sponsors had been bombarding us with flashing lights and posters to autograph since we arrived at the airport. Team Black had finally arrived to rule the place.
Sukuna tried to go for my face as he did every training session. I evaded him with no trouble to land a hook to the liver that knocked him back a couple of steps. After months of exhaustive training, I had already learned Sukuna's pattern of moves. He always goes for the killing blow first, then low attacks and again, tries to knock me out. It's a pattern that repeats over and over again with a variation that occasionally catches me off guard.
“Keep your guard up!” Gojo shouted at me from the side of the ring.
I put my arms up to cover my face better. Yuuji and Nanami were watching us fight with Gojo. We were waiting patiently at the UFC offices to be called for the official weigh-in. We knew perfectly well that Sukuna was at his ideal weight, but we had to find out if Aoi Todo was. Being the heavyweight champion wanting to compete for the light heavyweight title, it meant he had to lose at least 22 pounds for the fight to be held fairly.
Sukuna sent me to the corner with a single jab. I tried to recover, but he was already on top of me, busting me with punches until I reached my limit. I could only keep my guard up until he got tired and opened a door of opportunity. What I didn't count on was that I got a hook to the tit.
“Oh, son of a bitch! I screamed in pain while I pushed him to let myself rest for a second.
“I wanted to hit you in the stomach, but since you are smaller, I didn't hit you where I wanted to,” he explained with an evil smile. “That’s some bullshit,” I thought.
“Sukuna Ryomen, you can go to the office,” a UFC assistant announced.
“Saved by the bell,” Sukuna said before taking off his gloves. I flipped him off as I took off one of mine.
The entire team made their way to the office where the official judges and the referee who would be in charge of the fight were waiting for us. The process was simple. They would just weigh the fighters, recite the official rules to both of them, and we could go back to the hotel to prepare for the weigh-in. We had done this several times before, there was nothing to be surprised about.
“Hello, Sukuna,” Yuki Tsukumo greeted us with a big smile as soon as we entered the office.
Sukuna, Yuuji and I froze when we saw her next to Aoi Todo. This had to be a fucking sick joke. She was the coach of our new opponent? This only meant bad news. Sukuna completely ignored her to greet the judges, referee and Todo.
“Good to see you again, Snake,” Yuki greeted me directly while Aoi was weighed on a professional scale.
“Why didn't you tell me you were Aoi's coach?” I asked her while the judges were taking the necessary measurements for the data sample.
“Was I supposed to?” She asked pretending to be confused.
It was Sukuna's turn. He took off his shirt and shoes to weigh himself. I hated to admit it, but it was an amazing sight. Even though I had seen it several times before, I couldn't get used to it. I tried to look away so that my cupid thoughts wouldn’t take possession of my body.
“How is your brother?” Yuki asked him to obviously annoy him. Sukuna gave him a whiplash with his gaze for even having the nerve to mention his little brother.
“He's fine,” I answered for him so he wouldn't get in trouble in front of the judges. “Great, I'd say,” I said with a mischievous smile.
After the judges recited the rules and both fighters agreed, both teams left the office with a tense air following us closely. Team Black began to leave the scene to return to the hotel after an exhaustive morning training and Todo’s gym went to the gym.
“I hope we have a good fight!” Todo said to Sukuna while shaking his hand.
Todo was friendlier than I imagined. He had a nice smile all the time, was kind to everyone and had an overall good vibe, unlike his coach. Now I understood why Toji Fushiguro wanted to leave the stage, so fighters like Sukuna or Todo could shine. Todo's team continued on their way to the gym, but Yuki stayed behind.
“It's good to see you again, how long has it been since we've seen each other? 2 years?” Yuki asked him, ignoring the rest of her team to focus on Sukuna. She wanted to provoke him, I was sure of that.
“Why don't you go ahead? I have to talk to her,” I said to Sukuna as I stepped between them to distance them.
“Don't do anything stupid,” Sukuna whispered to me before walking away from us.
“I would really appreciate it if you would leave my athlete alone,” I said to Yuki once my team had left the hallway.
“I don't think it's a sin to want to say hello to him,” she said as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“You know perfectly well that he doesn't want to greet you after what you did,” I said.
“So he told you. Did you really believe him?” Yuki asked me in disbelief.
“Well, Sukuna's version makes you look like a gold digger and Choso's version makes you look like a whore, which one do you prefer?” I asked defensively.
“I thought you would understand me. You know how hard it is to enter this world as a woman. I needed that job,” Yuki explained, making it clear that Sukuna's version of the story was the truth.
I knew better than anyone that the world of mixed martial arts was complicated for a woman to navigate in. There are perverts everywhere, the other fighters don't take you seriously and the coaches are harder on you. It's a world plagued by men who only see you as a small insignificant being, just because you can't compete directly against them. Women fighters have to work twice as hard as men to secure a place in the industry.
“It's difficult but not impossible. Did you really have to pick on his brother to prove your worth? You only made yourself worse,” I asked, annoyed.
“How sad to see you've changed, Snake,” Yuki sighed. “Who knew? One day you're on top and the next you're working for an idiot like Sukuna Ryomen. Weren't you supposed to hate fighters like him?” she said before wanting to withdraw from the conversation, but she was very wrong if she thought I would let her have the last word.
“It's true that I hate fighters with massive egos like him, but I hate people like you even more,” I told him before following the path where my team had gone.
“People like me?” Yuki wondered.
“Bad and stupid,” I said without looking back. I hoped my point was clear.
I continued my way until I reached the reception. Sukuna was waiting for me in an armchair with his arms crossed while watching a TV in front of him, while the rest of the team was awaiting us at the van. “I thought he would go with the others.”
“You didn't need to do that,” he told me once I got close to him.
“It is, I can't let a piranha get in my pond,” I answered wisely.
“Did you put her on her place?” Sukuna asked me.
“I insulted her in 4 different ways, what do you think?” I joked.
“Good,” he said before getting up from the sofa. “I need a favor.”
Oh no, not again. It was the day before the fight, so I already knew what he was going to ask me. I wouldn't do it, not even if he threw me all his money. I was finally over him, I couldn't fall back into the void I worked so hard to escape from.
“I'm not going to fuck with you,” I told him directly.
“I already knew that,” he replied. My eyebrow raised at that answer.
“Yeah?”
“It's super obvious that you like Choso, and he likes you too,” he answered. I couldn't help but blush knowing that I was acting so obvious around him. “I need you to do me a favor with Yuuji.”
I hadn't packed any cute outfit for the nightlife in Brazil, so I decided to wear jeans with a black fitted t-shirt, what I was supposed to wear for when we got back home. Sukuna told me that Yuuji loves to travel to Brazil for the food. So he asked me to join him for dinner while he does his good luck ritual with a prostitute Gojo got for him.
“Are you ready to eat some good cuts of meat? I asked Yuuji coming out of the bathroom we shared.
“Of course! I hope you have prepared your stomach because we are going to gain 5 pounds after this,” He said excitedly.
We left the room to head towards the reception. While I was getting ready, he had made a list of all the restaurants he wanted to visit during the afternoon. We would start at a restaurant to eat picanha, then to an eatery to try feijoada, and finally we would look for some place that sold quindim or brigaidero.
I listened to Yuuji talk about how delicious Brazilian food is as we rode down the elevator. When the doors opened, we were both shocked to see what was on the other side. There was a girl who looked very much like me in a little red fitted dress that left almost nothing to the imagination. She was not my clone exactly, but her hair, skin tone, face shape and body type were similar. We got out of the elevator and she walked in, greeting us in Portuguese.
“She looked just like you,” Yuuji said to me, still in shock.
“Yeah…” I whispered impressed.
Masterlist.
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love song (1) | kth + pjm
After a surprise collaboration that shocked their fans, broke records, and earned them a Grammy, salacious rapper V and sweetheart idol Jimin are the duo the music industry didn't know it needed but now can't live without. Fans just have one burning question: Are V and Jimin dating?
○ Pairing: Rapper!Taehyung x Idol!Jimin
○ Rating: Explicit/18+
○ Genre: A/B/O, idols/musicians (not canon/BTS), friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, smut, fluff, light angst
○ Word Count: 7,253
○ Warnings: Suggestive language
○ Notes: This fic was written for the Omega Jimin Fest on AO3. It's inspired by Jungkook's Seven era and the way my soul left my body when I found out he was going to collab with Latto.
○ Post Date: April 29, 2024
○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost
○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist
Series Masterlist
When Seokjin asked Jimin who he wanted to have featured on “Love Song,” he gave his answer before Seokjin could even finish speaking. It was two years ago today that Jimin texted Taehyung, having received his phone number from a friend of a friend. As careful as celebrities are about keeping their contact information away from the public, it often isn’t difficult to poke around for information if you know the right circles. It’s funny how Taehyung’s contact was once saved as “V” in Jimin’s phone rather than “Baby Bear” with an array of emojis.
V was an unexpected choice as a featured artist, which is precisely why he was perfect. Korea’s greatest bad boy, V isn’t known for pushing the boundaries of acceptable behavior in a conservative society — he outright crosses them. Seokjin had been wary of agreeing to Jimin contacting Taehyung about the song only a few months after Taehyung was cleared of a rumored drug scandal ending in a short but well-publicized investigation that found Taehyung innocent of the crime. Whereas most idols’ careers would be sorely impacted by such an experience, Taehyung’s alleged bad behavior only added to his allure.
Was it a risk for Jimin to fraternize with someone like V?
Yes.
Was it worth it?
Two years of friendship and a Grammy later, Jimin knows he wouldn’t change a thing.
Jimin wonders if Taehyung remembers that it’s the second anniversary of their meeting. He shifts slightly and tilts his head to watch Taehyung from where he’s snuggled in his lap, his cheek squished against Taehyung’s upper thigh and the rest of his body curled on the couch under a heap of blankets.
Taehyung is still dressed in the outfit he wore for the final concert of fellow rapper Bibi’s first world tour: a black silk shirt with the buttons undone low enough to show off the multiple thin gold chains that rest against his chest, black skinny jeans with the knees ripped out, and black leather boots. His wavy bangs are pushed away from his forehead, exposing his strong brows and expressive eyes decorated with just a touch of makeup to accentuate his dark irises.
He’d insisted that Jimin not lie in his lap since he’s sweaty from the performance, but Jimin doesn’t mind; he can’t find any problem with Taehyung smelling more like Taehyung. Sweat and adrenaline from the performance heighten Taehyung’s strong alpha scent, an earthy, spicy combination of driftwood and bourbon that makes Jimin’s nose tingle when he breathes in deeply.
They aren’t at Jimin’s apartment because of their friendship anniversary; they’re here because Jimin is recovering from a particularly draining heat, and Seokjin has a bone to pick with Taehyung. Their argument overstimulates Jimin, who is still sensitive and achy.
Likely noticing Jimin’s subtle movements, Taehyung resumes massaging Jimin’s head with his long fingers, weaving through his hair to deeply massage his scalp. Jimin can’t help but lightly purr, the sound quiet enough that only Taehyung can hear it. Jimin knows Taehyung does because the corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a suppressed smile, and his dark eyes briefly flit down to look at Jimin before darting up again when Seokjin calls his name.
“Taehyung-ah, are you even listening to me?”
Jimin snuggles against Taehyung’s thighs and tries to ignore Seokjin’s yapping. The two men have been going at it for at least twenty minutes, though Jimin has been dozing intermittently. There’s nothing better for Jimin than to come down from a miserable, week-long heat spent alone by snuggling into his best friend’s warmth.
“Yes, hyung, I’m listening. You said I should be more responsible with Jimin’s image.” Taehyung’s literal response is harmless, but the singsongy, immature way he repeats Seokjin’s scolding sets the man off.
“As Jimin’s manager—”
“Hyung, it was a joke.”
“It is my job to protect him. You saying, in an international interview, that your joint album is going to be more explicit than ‘Love Song’—”
“Isn’t inaccurate.”
“—is unnecessary,” Seokjin clips as he crosses his arms against his chest. “People make assumptions, Taehyung, and it’s my job to control the narrative. You weren’t even supposed to say anything about the album at all. Now we have to move up the promotion schedule, which means we’re in a time crunch, and, well, look at him!”
Jimin drags his eyes from Taehyung’s smirk to Seokjin’s scowl and tries not to laugh at how ridiculous they are. They’re talking about him like he isn’t even there.
“I’m fine,” Jimin murmurs as he pushes back against Taehyung’s hand, which has fallen still, trying to coax him into playing with his hair again. “I’m just dehydrated. You don’t need to worry about me, hyung; it’s just the final symptoms of my heat wearing off. I promise I’m okay.”
No one in the music industry can say that their manager is more committed to them than Seokjin is to Jimin. They’ve been together since Jimin’s group, dreamscape, went on an indefinite hiatus three years ago. Jimin’s debut as a solo artist would have never gone as smoothly as it did without Seokjin’s support.
Of course, such care from a manager means that Jimin is fussed over constantly. Once Taehyung was added to the mix, Jimin found himself being pulled in either direction by two men who care for him dearly but don’t always think with their whole brains.
It’s cute rather than harmful, especially when Taehyung fusses. When Taehyung looks at Jimin with kind eyes brimming with affection, Jimin has to beat down the fluttering that kicks up in his chest without fail. It’s just the hormones from his heat, Jimin’s omega being needy, and Taehyung’s alpha being the closest one around. As a beta, Seokjin’s fussing does nothing but warm Jimin’s heart; as an alpha, Taehyung’s fussing makes Jimin feel things he chooses not to think about. It’s just hormones.
With a sigh, Seokjin slumps in the armchair across from the couch in Jimin’s living room. He reaches for his glass of red wine, which sits on the coffee table. Tucking his long hair behind his ear when he tilts his head back, Seokjin finishes the rest of his drink in one swallow.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” Seokjin avoids Taehyung, choosing to look at Jimin, who barely has his eyes cracked open.
“Mhmm.”
“On Monday, the three of us and Yoongi are meeting with the director to finalize the details for the ‘Hurt So Good’ music video. Taehyung,” Seokjin points his empty wine glass at him, “If Yoongi doesn’t show up on time, I swear to god I will shit a brick.”
“What about the BuzzFeed Thirst Tweets episode?” Jimin asks as he slowly rises from Taehyung’s lap to sit beside him. “That’s on Wednesday, right?”
Irritation muddles Taehyung’s scent into something biting and charred.
“I don’t know why I’m in trouble over what I said when that BuzzFeed episode is gonna be a million times worse than anything I’ve ever done,” Taehyung is whining, but he’s got a smug twinkle in his eyes when he glances at Jimin, as though checking to see if he’s paying attention.
Of course, Jimin is. When Taehyung’s in the room, it’s impossible for Jimin not to give him his undivided attention.
Seokjin eventually leaves, but not without lecturing Taehyung. He puts his shoes on and insists that Taehyung ensure Jimin is well-rested for the remainder of the weekend. It’s out of love; all three of them know this. That doesn’t make it any less amusing to Jimin and irritating to Taehyung.
Taehyung takes good care of Jimin, bad boy reputation or not.
“How was your heat?” Taehyung asks quietly after bidding Seokjin goodbye.
“Awful,” Jimin admits with a sniffle. “I wish I could take suppressants so I’d never have one ever again.”
Heats spent alone without a partner are usually miserable. Unfortunately for Jimin, he doesn’t have a partner, and he has always suffered side effects from being on suppressants. He is particularly plagued by terrible migraines and increased blood pressure, both ailments that negatively impact his career. Since his heats take up so much time, he has to plan his job around them, which is why Seokjin is so bent out of shape over Taehyung prematurely leaking their album news while Jimin is still recovering from the week.
“I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to deal with heats either,” Taehyung says with a pout, “Not getting to hang out with you for a week fucking sucks. Though I’m glad you called me this time.”
“We are never talking about that.”
“I think we should.”
Jimin glares at Taehyung’s boxy grin and the evil glint in his eyes.
During most heats, Jimin hides his phone from himself so he doesn’t do anything stupid while his brain is foggy and sex-crazed. Seokjin or Hoseok, Jimin’s former bandmate, check on him at least once a day to bring him food and ensure he isn’t wasting away, so it really isn’t a concern to not have access to his phone.
This time, though, Jimin couldn’t bear to part with his connection to the outside world — his connection to Taehyung — even though he knew he should.
“Taehyung-ah, I miss you sooo much,” Taehyung’s naturally deep voice takes on a higher pitch meant to imitate Jimin.
“Stop it! Stop it right now!”
“I wish you were here, Taehyungie!”
“Shut up!” Jimin nearly shrieks with what little energy he has while Taehyung cackles as he gathers the blankets from the couch to carry them down the hall to Jimin’s bedroom.
Jimin doesn’t know why he reached out to Taehyung during his heat. In the two years they’ve known each other, Jimin has never done something like that – in his entire life, he has never reached out to someone during his heat. He doesn’t even want to think about what that means.
“Don’t worry, Jiminie,” Taehyung bumps his shoulder with Jimin’s as he passes him in the hall, “I wish I could make you feel better.”
Jimin doesn’t know if Taehyung understands how his words sound to an omega fresh off his heat. They sit heavy on Jimin’s chest, quickening his heartbeat and making him pause for a moment, fingertips pressed to the wall to steady himself when he has to take a deep breath. As an alpha, there are many ways Taehyung could make Jimin feel better during his heat.
Not that that even matters. Jimin and Taehyung are friends, and friends don’t help each other through their heats. Everyone knows that. Jimin must have called Taehyung because he genuinely missed him and knew Taehyung could comfort him; that's all.
Shoving his muddled thoughts into the back of his mind, Jimin follows Taehyung to his bedroom and takes the lead once they’ve dealt with the blankets.
It would be embarrassing for Jimin to have an alpha who isn’t his mate in his bedroom at the end of his heat, but, as in many cases, Taehyung is the exception. He follows closely behind Jimin, stepping over dirty clothes and granola bar wrappers strewn about the floor, only stopping when he reaches Jimin’s bed. Jimin thinks Taehyung looks sweet with his hands clasped behind his back as he rocks on the balls of his feet, respectfully waiting to be let into the messy nest Jimin has created in his bed out of blankets, pillows, and clothes.
“You can sit with me,” Jimin offers with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes because he’s sleepy and a little sad, though he doesn’t know why.
“I’m gross.”
“Shower first, then sit with me.
Jimin sorts through the items arranged in a misshaped circle in his bed, eventually untangling a pair of loose cotton pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt from the pile. He has to resist the urge to lift the clothes to his face and bury his nose in them until he breathes their scent so deeply that it alters his DNA.
“Here.” Jimin tosses the clothing to Taehyung, who catches the bundle with one hand.
“Jimin-ah! I’ve been looking for these!” Taehyung complains as he slips out of the bedroom to retrieve a towel from the linen closet in the hall.
Probably half a dozen more stolen t-shirts are wrapped up in Jimin’s little nest, all of them Taehyung’s. Nothing calms Jimin’s omega quite like Taehyung’s scent. It’s not weird because it makes sense. They’re best friends. If someone’s best friend doesn’t comfort them, are they really best friends?
The bathroom is an ensuite, so Jimin can see Taehyung through the door from where he sits on his bed. He fondly watches Taehyung wiggle his butt as he skips through playlists until he finds the right one to sing along to in the shower, and Jimin decides that it wouldn’t make sense if Taehyung didn’t bring him such comfort.
The rap playlist Taehyung picks isn’t a surprise, but his silk shirt balled up and thrown in Jimin’s face is.
“Tae!”
“You were gonna ask for it anyway,” Taehyung smirks as he reaches behind his neck to unclasp his chains. “And don’t act like you weren’t ‘cause you definitely were.”
Refusing to respond to such an annoying allegation, Jimin rolls his eyes and waves Taehyung away. It isn’t until Taehyung closes the bathroom door that Jimin allows himself to slowly exhale.
Perhaps Jimin has used Taehyung’s clothing to help him through his heat in more ways than just basking in his comforting scent. But that is because of hormones and biology, and nothing more.
When Taehyung returns from the shower, he smells like vanilla. Call Jimin conceited, but he only buys vanilla-scented hygiene products to match his own vanilla scent. His excuse is that he’d prefer not to muddle his own scent with whatever scented soaps he uses, though he could solve that problem by buying unscented items like most people do. That doesn’t seem fun, though, and Jimin would prefer to enjoy life rather than sterilize it.
Lately, sleepovers with Taehyung have become a common occurrence. Preferring to shower before bed, Taehyung often walks out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, smelling like vanilla. Perhaps Jimin buys vanilla body wash, shampoo, and conditioner because he likes his scent on Taehyung.
Perhaps.
It’s a comfort thing, Jimin thinks as Taehyung crawls into his nest of blankets, sheets, and clothes. It’s a comfort thing and nothing more.
Despite typically staying up much later, the aftereffects of his heat make Jimin sleepy. He lies back on his many pillows. Like always, Taehyung follows his lead, tied together by their red string of fate — if Jimin believed in such things.
“All these clothes and stuff are clean, right?”
“I wouldn’t invite you in here if they weren’t, you sicko,” Jimin snaps with a smack to Taehyung’s arm, but all Taehyung does is grin like the little shit he is.
“Just making sure.”
It’s embarrassing, but not as much as it should be. Most alphas can’t handle heat talk; they act like it’s gross or oversexualize it—there’s rarely an in-between. Taehyung is different, though. Heats and ruts are normal, just like every other bodily function and hormonal instinct. Taehyung treats them as such.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jimin asks as he lifts his arm to let Taehyung snuggle against him to rest his cheek on his chest despite Taehyung’s damp hair wetting his shirt. “Does Bibi have another concert?”
“I’m hanging out with you. Did you already forget Seokjin hyung’s lecture?”
“Just because he said that doesn’t mean you have to listen to him…” Jimin points out with a shrug.
Taehyung is quiet. He drapes one arm over Jimin’s torso so he can reach the hem of his t-shirt. He plays with the inner seam for a while, picking at the stitches and making his fingertips brush against Jimin’s skin. The light touches make Jimin shiver, his body already hypersensitive from the hormonal overload he suffered through for the past week. He wishes his body wouldn’t react so strongly to something so innocent.
“You know I love kickin’ it with you, Chim.”
Taehyung’s voice is too soft, too low. He twists the hem of Jimin’s shirt around his long fingers and doesn’t say more.
“Okay…” Jimin nods even though Taehyung isn’t looking at him.
He can feel himself grow warm from Taehyung’s body heat and each brush of their skin, no matter how short or light. Hormones ruin everything. Jimin hates being ruled by them, even if only for a week every few months.
“Not gonna say it back?”
Whatever unusual softness that had overcome Taehyung is gone in an instant, a cheeky tone replacing what had been too gentle for Jimin’s sanity. Taehyung rolls over so he’s no longer lying on Jimin, allowing the poor omega to finally breathe.
“Go to bed,” Jimin is desperate to pull himself out of the heated bubble Taehyung has somehow created around them. He kicks away his blankets and turns on his side, giving Taehyung his back. “It’s late.”
“It’s not even midnight.”
“I’m tired.”
With a snort, Taehyung ruffles Jimin’s hair. He’s probably trying to be annoying, but it feels like a caress rather than a mussing to Jimin. Long fingers slip through his dyed strands, flopping them from side to side. It feels nice, even if Taehyung is being silly.
Jimin keeps his eyes closed, even when the bed creaks. He feels the mattress dip behind him and Taehyung’s warm breath fan across the curve of his ear.
“Night, Sleeping Beauty,” Taehyung murmurs so deeply that it rouses an ache in Jimin’s stomach. “Set an alarm, okay? We’re getting breakfast in the morning. Don’t make me have to wake you up with true love’s kiss.”
“You don’t brush your teeth first thing in the morning,” Jimin mumbles back and tries to swallow the anxiety-induced bile creeping up his throat. “Don’t put your lips anywhere near me.”
Taehyung pauses for a moment, just long enough for Jimin to hear and feel air rush from his nostrils. It’s the quiet laugh Taehyung is known for, one that’s almost mocking and makes Jimin feel both adored and humiliated when directed at him.
“Sweet dreams, Chim.”
The bed dips and creaks, and the blankets rustle. Jimin holds his breath until Taehyung is settled, then exhales quietly through his nose until he can tell Taehyung has fallen asleep.
Most nights, when Taehyung sleeps over, Jimin lies awake with a restless mind and an even more restless body. It has been two years now, but Jimin still can't meditate away the heart palpitations Taehyung gives him. Some nights, he wonders if his heart would still race if he and Taehyung were both omegas. On other nights, like tonight, he turns to face Taehyung, and wonders when his innocent thoughts about his best friend turned into a burning desire to know if his lips feel as soft as they look.
Hormones, Jimin’s mind whispers. His heart reminds him that Taehyung sleeps over more often than Jimin’s heats come.
Every night Taehyung stays over, including tonight, Jimin waits for sleep to sweep such thoughts into the ocean of his mind, losing them beneath the waves until they inevitably resurface with each new tsunami of emotions.
-
The cafe Taehyung and Jimin visit in Seorae Village is one of Taehyung’s favorites. It’s a little cafe squeezed between two larger establishments, an art gallery on one side and an ornamental furniture store on the other. Taehyung spends so much time in the French neighborhood that Jimin is surprised he isn’t fluent yet, though he doesn’t miss the opportunity to impress Jimin with his casual French speaking skills as he requests a table for two at the cafe’s outdoor patio.
“It’s so nice out,” Taehyung says, turning his face to the sky like a sunflower seeking the sun, "We should take advantage of the weather. You need a little sun, Chim, after being inside for a week.”
It’s embarrassing to allude to his heat out in the open, even if no one knows what they’re discussing. Jimin quickly looks at the waitress, who guides them out the side door leading to the patio. She doesn’t pay him any mind, likely because she’s staring at Taehyung in awe. Whether she’s admiring his good looks or she’s starstruck, Jimin can’t tell. It irritates him regardless.
The cafe’s patio borders the sidewalk in front of the cafe, separated by a short, decorative iron fence. The location is perfect for people-watching but too public for Jimin’s liking.
“Can we get a table in the corner there?” Jimin gestures to an empty table further away from the sidewalk’s edge.
Most of the patio tables are occupied; being away from the most populated side of the patio would make Jimin feel better. It isn’t that he never goes out in public, and he doesn’t worry much about going out without someone on his staff, but it still feels strange. All it takes is one cocky sasaeng to ruin what could be a relaxing opportunity to spend time with his best friend.
The waitress finally addresses Jimin when she squints at him. Her irritation is uncalled for, and Jimin is taken aback by how openly snappy she is with him.
“I’m sorry, but those tables—”
“We need to sit over there,” Taehyung interrupts the waitress in a steady and unforgiving tone.
Taehyung isn’t mean when he stands between the waitress and Jimin, but his scent spikes enough to make Jimin’s skin tingle when he inhales. If there’s one thing Taehyung is known for beyond his artistry, it’s his expressiveness. Such a quality has gotten him into more trouble than Jimin even knows.
Jimin can’t tell what the waitress is. She’s likely a beta or wearing scent blockers. Despite being petite, she holds her ground against Taehyung, even as she wordlessly beckons them toward the table Jimin wants. Outside appearances are never as reliable as scent when determining sub-genders, so Jimin tries not to make assumptions. Although he isn’t ashamed of his own status as an omega, he isn’t fond of people making assumptions about him just because he’s somewhat short. Hardly short! Very average, actually. It isn’t Jimin’s fault that he is surrounded by tall people.
“You’re being a bully today,” Jimin remarks once they’re seated. He lifts his eyes from the cardstock menu in his hands to see Taehyung grinning across the table.
“I’m an angel.”
“Hmm…”
Taehyung folds his forearms on the table and cocks his head to the side. His sunglasses are pushed on top of his head, forcing his bangs away from his face and making them stick out like a mane. He’s cute like this, all angular and bright, honey-tan skin glowing in the mid-morning sun. Meanwhile, Jimin is sure he looks like a pathetically pale dumpling. Not that it matters. Friends shouldn’t care about how each other looks.
Looking back down at the menu, Jimin picks at the corner edge and lets his eyes glaze over the nonsensical French. Despite being well-traveled and adventure-loving, he doesn’t know what most of these items are. Europe wasn’t usually on dreamscape’s tour schedules, and Jimin still hasn’t done his own world tour yet.
Jimin is just about to ask Taehyung to put him out of his misery and order something for him when Taehyung’s sudden question interrupts his thoughts.
“Are you mad at me?” Taehyung asks, a half-smirk punctuating the question. If Jimin is mad at him, he doesn’t seem exceptionally apologetic.
“No…” Jimin straightens in his chair and clasps his hands between his thighs to hold them in place. If he keeps fidgeting, he might go crazy. “Why? What did you do?”
With a shake of his head, Taehyung laughs, something airy and pretty that makes Jimin feel like he could do well to lighten up a bit, too.
“What haven’t I done?”
“Taehyung.”
“Alright,” Taehyung takes a sip of water and waves away the waitress when she approaches the table. “I thought you would’ve been upset that I spoiled our album.”
“I wasn’t mad…”
Scent spiking with something sweet, like bourbon and honey, Taehyung leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head.
“I knew it. You’re pissed.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. Taehyung is so dramatic, a true celebrity, and a typical alpha. He weasels his way into things, and suddenly, everything is about him. The worst part is that Jimin always falls for it, forever a supporting actor to Taehyung’s main character.
The interview wasn’t as bad as Seokjin makes it out to be. Jimin remembers cuddling in his bed halfway through his heat with his phone rotated and propped against one of his many pillows. He could have watched Taehyung’s interview on the TV, but his body had ached too much to sit up straight. Watching the interview helped his mood a little. It was something to pass the time while Jimin struggled to fall asleep, and he’d been genuinely curious about what had made Seokjin so pissy.
Sitting through interviews is difficult for Taehyung. Whereas Jimin thrives under the spotlight, immediately unfurling the social butterfly often cocooned inside him when he isn’t making public appearances, Taehyung struggles to keep his interest. If the questions are boring, he’s likely to skirt over them or provide answers Yoongi will scold him for later.
Taehyung’s fans enjoy the interviews, even when he gives them very little to work with. Jimin supposes fans’ opinions are all that really matter.
The interview took a hard left turn when the interviewer suddenly asked, “So, V, we heard a rumor that you’re working on a joint album with Jimin. Is that true?”
A small smirk lifted one corner of Taehyung’s mouth, and he exhaled with a quiet, short laugh just barely caught by the mic clipped to the lapel of his black leather jacket before he simply stated, “It is.”
By that reaction, Jimin knew that the rest of the interview would go downhill. Their entertainment companies had meticulously planned their album announcement and preview as part of their pre-order campaign. Taehyung effectively fucked up months of planning in a matter of two words.
“I was annoyed but unsurprised,” Jimin stares hard at Taehyung’s cocky expression. “Seokjin hyung said he nearly threw his phone at the TV when he got the call from our producers saying that you were yapping away.”
“The interview questions were leading.”
“You’ve done a million interviews, Tae. You know how to handle tricky questions when they try to back you into a corner,” Jimin rebukes.
Taehyung just shrugs.
“I’m not an idol, Chim. I don’t have extensive PR training like you.” The wide-eyed, puppy look Taehyung pulls is a mousetrap Jimin willingly flings himself into without considering why.
“What? You are an idol, Taehyung!” Jimin whispers harshly, now leaning forward with his fingers curled around the edge of the table. They shouldn’t be talking about this publicly; the other cafe patrons could easily record them and do damage much worse than Taehyung’s loose lips in interviews.
“I am not. I’m a rapper.”
“So would you say that Hobi hyung isn’t a rapper because he’s an idol?” Jimin challenges.
“All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
Shrugging, Taehyung’s eyes sparkle and remain on Jimin even when the waitress returns to their table. He gives her their food orders, mercifully choosing something for both of them and never once looks away from Jimin’s face.
“Why were you unsurprised? About me spoiling the album?” Taehyung changes the topic once the waitress leaves, and Jimin lets him because he lets Taehyung get away with everything.
“Have you met yourself?” Jimin snorts.
“I’m sorry.” The apology is cheeky and ingenuine but still as charming as anything that comes from Taehyung’s mouth.
“I’m sure you are,” Jimin grumbles between taking sips of water to give himself something to do.
Unease has crept into his bones, eating through his marrow like termites in wood, ever since he called Taehyung during his heat. It was out of character for Jimin and laced with connotations he still doesn’t want to consider. Yet here he is, staring at Taehyung with sleepy eyes and a wandering mind, just to watch how his pretty lips shape his name. It seems that even if he’s unwilling to consider what his strange behaviors mean, they aren’t going to disappear.
“Jimin-ah.”
Blinking, Jimin sets down his glass of water and runs the long sleeve of his sweatshirt over his mouth. “Y-Yeah? What did you say?”
“I asked if you’re excited,” Taehyung pouts from being ignored, “We’ve been working on this album for ages.”
Jimin’s excitement is unfathomable. Joint albums are uncommon, especially between a K-pop idol and a Korean rapper. It took them a year to complete the album — faster than Jimin had expected. It helped that they surprisingly work well together. Where Jimin is an executor, Taehyung is an innovator. Taehyung’s creative energy is boundless, but he needs Jimin to reel him in when he takes off too high in the clouds. Jimin can work a to-do list like no tomorrow, but Taehyung makes sure he sleeps at normal hours and eats regularly. Where one of them lacks, the other nurtures. Jimin doesn’t mind. He quite enjoys grabbing Taehyung by the coattails to yank him back in the right direction, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being doted on — but only sometimes, of course.
It’s the hormones, probably.
After collaborating on “Love Song,” Jimin and Taehyung played around with the idea of working together on an even bigger project. For Jimin, he’d felt something electric, sparking every frayed nerve in his body, galvanizing him in a way nothing has for a very long time. Not only was working with Taehyung exciting, but Jimin was finally stepping out of the strict rules he’d had to follow under dreamscape — rules that prevented him from showcasing the mature side of himself that his producers deemed inappropriate for Jimin’s fanbase — as if his fanbase isn’t full of adults at this point in his career.
“Are you excited?” Jimin asks with a cheeky smile to match Taehyung’s. They both giggle, and nothing more needs to be said. They’re asking each other stupid questions; of course, they’re excited.
“What is it like working with Jimin? The two of you have had such great success together in the past, obviously, ‘Love Song’ winning a Grammy for Best Pop Duo last year,” the interviewer had asked in what Seokjin now calls “Spoiler Gate.”
“Jimin is fucking amazing,” Taehyung had responded.
The grin he flashed at the camera was boxy and lopsided, so different from the cocky expression he often puts on during interviews. Millions of people had already watched the interview by the time Jimin did. Jimin still feels like Taehyung's smile had been for him.
“Honestly, he’s the reason this album will come out on time. I’m good at ideas, but I can’t commit to anything. I’ll rewrite the lyrics and rearrange song orders. It took me weeks to get my verse for ‘Love Song’ to him because I kept doing it over. Eventually, Jimin was like, ‘If you don’t send me what you have, I’m going to ask Bibi to do it instead.’”
“He threatened you!”
“He fucking did,” Taehyung had laughed, soft and low.
“Bibi on the track would have been a much different song, wouldn’t it have?”
“Ah, Hyungseo is cool. She’s way more knowledgeable about pop music than me, so the vibe of the song would have shifted.”
“Fans, particularly Jimin's fans, were pretty shocked by the explicit version of ‘Love Song.’”
The cocky look returned when Taehyung confirmed, “Our album is going to be worse.”
-
On Monday, Seokjin insists on taking one of the chauffeured company cars to meet with the music video director, citing the benefits of traveling inconspicuously. Jimin knows Seokjin just doesn’t feel like driving. Either way, Jimin doesn’t mind. The travel time is minimal, and Jimin’s private Twitter account provides him with enough entertainment for the ride. One tweet in particular catches his eye, mainly because Hoseok brings it to his attention through an abrupt text message:
Hobi hyung 🌞
Jim Jam! How was your brunch date yesterday??
Jimin
???
My what
Hobi hyung 🌞
[screenshot]
“JIMIN spotted with V leaving a cafe in Seorae Village,” the tweet reads. It boasts a candid and surprisingly high-quality paparazzi photo of Jimin and Taehyung at the little French cafe they went to for breakfast the day before.
In the photo, Taehyung stands beside Jimin, who sits at one of the cafe’s outdoor patio tables. From the angle, it looks like Taehyung is leaning into Jimin’s face with one hand pressed against the table and the other curled around Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin cringes at how terrible he looks. Still drowsy, he hadn’t bothered to dress fashionably and instead pulled on a lazy outfit of an oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans despite the warm spring weather. Complete with a beanie that hid his cotton candy blue hair and face mask, he thought he’d looked inconspicuous.
Regardless of Jimin’s outfit, it’s obvious that Taehyung was the reason anyone spotted them. He didn’t bother hiding his appearance at all. His striking visuals are enough to make anyone stop to watch him walk down the street, and his short-sleeve t-shirt exposed the recognizable tattoos that decorate both his arms and creep across his collarbones.
The Twitter account is verified, but Jimin can tell it’s a fan account rather than a news outlet or saesang-run paparazzi account. This account is dedicated to providing updates on the dreamscape members. Despite how annoying it is to live in constant surveillance, it warms Jimin’s heart to see dreamscape fans, dreamers, still showing their love for the group. Their love is emphasized by the tweet’s many replies. Curious, Jimin scrolls through the commentary. He expects to find sweet messages from dreamers wishing him a healthy day or asking questions about his album with Taehyung. Instead, what he finds makes his chest feel tight.
“VMIN CRUMBS I AM LIVING,” one Twitter account shouts at Jimin with more exclamation marks than he can count. Another account below asks, “is this them soft launching their relationship?? taehyung i need answers.”
Lightly holding the base of his throat, Jimin takes a deep breath and quickly scans the other comments, finding much of the same. Both his and Taehyung’s fans keep referencing a term Jimin isn’t sure he’s heard before.
“Hyung, what’s a soft launch?”
Seokjin looks up from his phone to frown at Jimin. Admittedly, it’s a weird question, especially to ask without providing context. Jimin isn’t interested in providing context, though. He even twists slightly in his seat to limit the likelihood that Seokjin might see the tweet opened on his phone from where he sits in the backseat with Jimin.
“A soft launch is when a company releases its product to a limited audience rather than the greater public. Remember when dreamscape released the mobile game to select Dreamers before it was made available to everyone? I believe it’s to minimize damage if things go wrong in the early stages,” Seokjin resumes, idly scrolling through his phone, “Hoseok would know more about that stuff. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing,” Jimin says with a bright, close-mouthed smile that puffs his cheeks.
Seokjin puts down his phone again and eyes him suspiciously. “Park Jimin, why do I have a bad feeling about you right now?”
This is what Jimin gets for spending little time on social media. He doesn’t even know why he felt compelled to look at Twitter today. The Buzzfeed episode recording may have something to do with this spontaneous decision, though perusing social media has always been Taehyung’s pastime. Jimin prefers to watch Netflix or play mobile games. Unfortunately, he forgot his headphones and doesn't want to bother Seokjin, who is already cranky from the anticipation of dealing with Yoongi and Taehyung simultaneously.
Clearly, everything has backfired.
“I saw something about soft launching a relationship, but I just didn't really know what that meant.”
It isn’t a lie, though Jimin isn’t above lying about most things. Being an idol provides few opportunities to enjoy a normal life if a few lies aren’t told when needed.
“Ugh, the youth,” Seokjin grumbles with a wave of his phone at Jimin. “It’s a cesspool, the internet. They’re co-opting words and turning them into phrases that don’t make sense! How do you soft launch a relationship? You’re either dating, or you’re not. Humans aren’t products to be tentatively unveiled.”
“Dating?” Heat creeps up Jimin’s neck and spreads across his cheeks. He slides his hand from the base of his throat to press against his sternum. Neither hold is comforting enough to self-soothe.
Why would their fans think Jimin and Taehyung are dating? All they did was go out to eat, something they’ve done publicly a handful of times before. From the tone of the Twitter accounts, it seems to Jimin that fans have had suspicions about his relationship with Taehyung for quite some time.
Jimin
That’s really weird…
Hobi hyung 🌞
Is it? 🤗🤩
You didn’t answer my question!! 🤔
Frowning, Jimin slips his phone into his pocket and turns toward the side of the car to look out the window, where no alarming conspiracies about himself lie, waiting to assault his mind.
Considering how many dating scandals Taehyung has had, perhaps their fans’ speculations aren’t wholly unwarranted.
Still, Jimin finds it all very strange. He can’t shake the thoughts muddling his brain, even when their car arrives at the corporate office of Kim Namjoon, one of the finest film directors in the Korean music industry. Jimin trails behind Seokjin, thankful he is willing to take over as they navigate the building’s lobby and shuffle into an elevator with Namjoon, who comes down to greet them personally.
“Jimin, it’s nice to see you again. How long has it been? Since dreamscape’s last comeback, I believe?” Namjoon’s handshake is warm like his eyes and fresh peony scent, and Jimin realizes he needs to stop floating along with his head in the clouds and get his Chelsea boots flat on the ground.
“I think so,” Jimin hopes his smile is just as warm as the fellow omega’s. He doesn’t mean to be aloof, but he hasn’t slept well the past few days. Like most things, it’s Taehyung’s fault.
“Are Taehyung and Yoongi here already?” Seokjin asks, and he doesn’t hide his disdain when Namjoon confirms that the other two men arrived a few minutes before Jimin and Seokjin did.
Although Jimin’s livelihood relies on Seokjin and Yoongi getting along, it’s a bit amusing to watch them snap at each other like an old married couple. With his odd mood, Jimin supposes a bit of entertainment could do him some good.
“I appreciate you coming down to my office. I know we covered a lot of ground with outlining and sketches over our video calls, but I think a final rundown before production is necessary to do in person,” Namjoon explains while he holds open the door to a small conference room on the twentieth floor for Jimin and Seokjin.
Namjoon is right; Jimin wouldn’t feel comfortable recording the music video without discussing it in person. Call him an old-school luddite, but Jimin isn’t particularly fond of technology, anyway.
Taehyung and Yoongi sit inside the conference room on one side of a long, rectangular table. It seems they’ve been deep in conversation, though Yoongi immediately stops talking once Seokjin enters the room. If Jimin thought Seokjin’s earlier look of irritation was over the top, the deep frown on Yoongi’s expression is laughable.
Rather than be polite, Yoongi and Seokjin give each other curt nods and don’t bother with proper greetings. Taehyung watches Jimin with bright eyes and a boxy grin, so Jimin pays little attention to whatever their snotty hyungs are doing.
“Hi, Tae,” Jimin greets, fingers twisting the sleeve of Seokjin’s buttoned dress shirt to pull him toward the opposite side of the table.
“Hi, Chim,” Taehyung beams as Jimin slips into the chair across the table from him. “You look well-rested.”
It’s hardly a compliment, more so an acknowledgment that Jimin is staying healthy, but he feels his face heat up with a blush anyway. Silly, Jimin ducks his head and mumbles, “I may have slept in too late this morning,” to which Taehyung laughs.
Jimin wonders what his fans see in Taehyung. The Taehyung that the public receives is so different than the Taehyung that Jimin spends time with. He wonders if his fans would still assume he and Taehyung are dating if they knew what they were like in private.
“So, we can approach this in a couple different ways.”
Namjoon gestures to the front of the room, where a large, flat-screen TV is mounted to the wall. His tablet’s screen is shown on the TV, and he clicks through various sketches and notes that Jimin recognizes as storyboard drafts.
“It’s my professional opinion,” Namjoon continues once he’s found the image he was looking for, “That we keep the choreography.”
“What?” Yoongi rests his forearms on the conference table and leans forward, his thin gold chain sliding across the surface like coins against metal. “I thought we established that Taehyung won’t be doing any dancing.”
Seokjin lets out a long sigh and rolls his head and eyes toward Namjoon to avoid looking at the other side of the table. In their last meeting, Yoongi made it clear that Taehyung would not do choreography in his music videos — or ever, if Yoongi had any say. Which, as Taehyung’s manager, he does, whether Seokjin likes it or not. The argument was that Taehyung has a particular image to maintain as a rapper, especially as an alpha rapper. Rappers don’t dance. Alpha rappers definitely don’t dance.
Jimin isn’t offended by Yoongi’s prejudiced mindset about sub-gender roles and art choices. He just thinks Yoongi is dumb, especially when his thick, oppressive alpha scent clouds the room from his frustration. Sometimes, Yoongi behaves like a stereotypical alpha, inconsiderate about keeping himself in check. Jimin is positive that he could never have a manager who wasn’t an omega or beta.
“Yes, but the song lends itself to choreo, particularly since we can’t shoot anything overtly about the subject of the song,” Namjoon finishes with a shrug.
“Because Jimin is so innocent,” Yoongi accuses.
“Excuse me,” Seokjin jabs his index finger at Yoongi, “The hip-hop scene may be full of grotesque misogyny, but I will not have Jimin in a music video with half-naked women engaging in various kinks just because Taehyung’s verse references fucking someone tied to a goddamn bedpost.”
Smug, Taehyung presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and smirks as he gently rocks side to side in his swivel office chair. When he notices Jimin looking at him, he winks.
Jimin isn’t one to become overwhelmed, but he desperately wants to change the topic.
“If Taehyung doesn’t want to do choreo, that’s fine. Like Namjoon hyung said, there are plenty of creative routes we can take with this,” Jimin insists with an awkward laugh. He runs his fingers through his cotton candy blue hair and avoids Taehyung’s gaze.
“Actually, I’d be down.”
“You what?” Yoongi twists in his chair to stare at Taehyung, whose smug attitude hasn’t slackened.
“It’s just dancing. It can’t be that hard, right?”
Taehyung is sorely mistaken.
Series Masterlist
Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.
All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).
#vmin#taehyung x jimin#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#vmin smut#vmin angst#vmin fluff#vmin fanfic#jai writes#gimmethatagustd#love song
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were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman
pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character
warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread
inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift
word count: 5.6k
author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!
~*~*~
When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future.
It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.
She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior.
At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise.
She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.
May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)
I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it.
I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly?
But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.
When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us.
At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.
I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.
I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?
The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right?
But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.
After two years, seven months and 12 days, I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?
When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when.
I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag.
June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck)
I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?
I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.
I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other.
Yet we still hurt each other.
This fucking hurts.
You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did.
Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional.
When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down.
Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?
I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better.
All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured.
It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.
And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.
The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.
I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for?
So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.
Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always.
So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?
I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to.
I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?
You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.
Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you.
Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?
It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.
I fucking loved you.
I wish it ended differently.
July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)
I really really fucking miss you.
I do.
I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too.
I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.
I miss having you as a friend.
I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.
Do you get the urge to do the same?
July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)
It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen.
Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.
The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now.
In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.
I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.
Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too.
October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)
It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday.
Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?
But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago.
Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered.
Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this.
But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed.
I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore.
But I did once.
You did too, right?
November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)
I hate Halloween.
Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there.
Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me.
It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond.
We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?
Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known.
Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd.
I looked for you in every crowd for years.
That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me?
I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months.
It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.
I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then.
But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that.
I hate Halloween.
November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)
I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me.
Or maybe not.
I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized.
Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.
June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)
Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack
I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.
I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.
I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best.
I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important.
I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome.
But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on.
I hope you're moving on.
And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight.
If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.
Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met.
Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up.
But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day.
Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door.
She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.
And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that.
She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.
After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.
Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles.
Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t.
Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city.
It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.
Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster.
(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)
She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city.
The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too.
She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee.
Jeremy walks into the book store.
Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red.
As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.
Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her.
The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything.
The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways.
The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with.
Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same.
“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out.
Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all.
He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence.
“I see you bought my book.”
“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”
“You’ve been watching?”
She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”
She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”
“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does.
She swallows. “I appreciate that.”
“I’ve already read it, you know.”
“Read what?”
Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”
“Oh.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”
She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”
“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..”
He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”
“Could I get a signed copy?”
“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”
He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”
“You’ve already done that.”
“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”
She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”
“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?”
“We’re just going in circles now.”
“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”
“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”
“The point, is that I still love you.”
“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”
He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”
“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”
“I do.”
“And what are you going to do about that?”
“What are you going to let me do?”
“I live in Brooklyn.”
“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”
She tries again. “It’s been five years.”
“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”
Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”
“I hurt you too.”
He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”
“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”
“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”
“Even after reading the book?”
“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”
“Try for what?”
“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”
“Why did you never text me?”
“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”
“The message?”
“You blocked me, right?”
Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”
He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”
“Who are you guys playing?”
“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”
She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.
to my first fan,
i still love you too.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
yours,
noelle
He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused.
“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”
“Oh.”
“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”
“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”
She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”
His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.
#k writes#hockey fanfiction#nhl#nhl fanfiction#nhl fanfic#nhl writing#hockey blurb#hockey writing#boston bruins#jeremy swayman#jeremy swayman blurb#jeremy swayman writing#jeremy swayman fic#jeremy swayman fanfiction#jeremy swayman x ofc#jeremy swayman x oc#jeremy swayman x reader
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𝑨 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟐
Robert Fischer (Inception) x Reader
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summary: Robert and the reader have nothing in common. He's the son of a multi millionaire and future heir to a massive energy company, she doesn't really stand out in the big city Paris. But then Robert catches her trying to steal from him. No longer able to stand the pressure from his father and his company, Robert offers her a deal.
warnings: bad father-son relationship
word count: 4,8k+
note: you don’t have to watch inception to understand this story.
"Okay, listen. The hotel has a couple of back doors for the staff. That way we can get you out of here unnoticed."
Robert just nodded silently as he packed some of his stuff into a suitcase. Then he put on a pair of black sunglasses and a grey cap that completely covered his dark hair.
YN couldn't help but laugh a bit at his outfit, but then quickly pulled herself together. She poked her head out of the room to make sure the hallway was empty. "Come on!" She hurried across the corridor and down the stairs to the ground floor with Robert in tow.
"Damn it, why can't we take the lift?" she heard his deep voice grumble behind her as he dragged the heavy suitcase along.
"Just so we're clear, if you're going to live in my two-room flat, you're going to have to do without any luxuries," she hissed in his direction.
She pulled out a key and unlocked a narrow door. The cool night air hit you as she opened the door. "Come on, let's go! We need to get to the Metro Station as soon as possible. Luckily, it's just around the corner."
Robert looked at her in disgust.
"We’re going to take the underground? Don't you have a car?"
"No, I don’t have one and now come with me or you'll be sleeping under a bridge tonight."
Roberts looked at her with a horrified expression on his face, and finally they hurried through the narrow, poorly lit side streets together.
It occurred to her that it was completely crazy to trust Fischer, since she didn't know him at all and had only met him half an hour ago. But she had got herself into this situation and there was no going back.
When they finally arrived at the Metro station, she glanced around to make sure no one was following them.
"The next train leaves in five minutes..." She exhaled exhaustedly and ran the sleeve of her jacket over her forehead.
There was comparatively little going on this late in the evening, but what frightened her a little was a greasy old man who kept staring at her. Without realising it, she moved a little closer to Robert, who put a protective hand on her shoulder. He must have looked pretty scary in his black coat, dark sunglasses and cap, because the old man looked away immediately.
She was incredibly grateful when the train finally arrived, the doors squeaked open and she quickly squeezed in with Robert and his suitcase.
She sat down on one of the old and a bit dirty looking seats and Fischer sat down next to her, wrinkling his nose and trying to avoid touching the seat. YN guessed that this was probably the first time in his life that he had used public transport, because super-rich little Robbie must have got his first chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce for his 18th birthday.
They sat there for a while, looking out of the windows into the darkness.
"It's crazy what we're doing here," she finally broke the silence.
"Yes, it is," Robert confirmed.
"If someone had told me this story... I wouldn't believe it." She began to laugh, finally eliciting a small smile from my male companion. It was a shame that the dark sunglasses and cap covered half his face. He must have looked so handsome underneath. She quickly pushed the thought aside and braced her feet against the seats in front of them.
"What happened to your shirt?" She pointed at the huge brown stain.
"Nothing. Just probably the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me," Fischer replied, lost in thought.
"Please tell me," she begged him.
Robert sighed slightly annoyed. "The secretary of my potential new client obviously can't serve coffee and spilled it all over me.
YN looked at him in confusion. "But it's not your fault. If this is the most embarrassing thing you've ever experienced, then you're really lucky. I'd rather not tell you about my school days."
"I was home schooled," Robert replied seriously.
"That explains a lot," she said as the underground came to a screeching halt. "Come on, get up. We have to get off."
***
She saw Robert frowning beside her as he looked up at the dark building, which looked more like a large grey box with windows than a house. He was dragging his suitcase behind him with one hand, making a lot of noise in the stairwell.
"Shh, are you crazy?" she whispered to him, putting a finger to her lips. "The neighbours are very noise-sensitive. Madame Dubois stands outside my door and complains if I even cough at night," she whispered in his direction. She tried to help him with the heavy suitcase and carry it up the stairs as quietly as possible.
Finally, relieved, she pushed open the door to her flat. "Come in."
He looked around the flat curiously.
"I know, I know, you're probably used to different and more luxurious things ... But…"
"It's...small... but it's nice here. I like it." Robert interrupted her.
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. She had expected anything, but not such a reaction. But he was probably so desperate in his situation that he was happy with anything.
YN led him into the living room and pointed to the sofa. "You can sleep here, I'll get you some blankets and pillows. Make yourself comfortable. Also..." she laughed briefly. "You can take off your disguise now."
She quickly drew the curtains so that no one outside could see who she was hiding in her flat.
"I need a shower first," Robert said, opening his suitcase and pulling out some clean clothes, all of which looked more expensive than YN's entire flat.
"Straight ahead, second door on the right, there's the bathroom," she told him. He thanked her and disappeared.
"There are clean towels in the cupboard under the sink," she called after him, sitting down on the sofa with a sigh. She hoped desperately that the whole thing wouldn't end in a total disaster and that Fischer would just stay with her for a few days unnoticed before disappearing again.
As the minutes passed, YN finally got up suspiciously and knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you okay? Or did you climb out the window?"
"No, I'm still here," his muffled voice came back.
"My God, you take twice as long a shower as I do. I still have to pay my water bill this month, so please don't overdo it".
"How nice that you have a millionaire's son who can pay for it," Robert shouted. YN did her best to hold back her laughter.
Finally the door opened and Robert stepped out. His hair was still a little damp, he was wearing a white shirt and wide pajama pants, only the smell that filled the room confused her a little.
"Wait, did you use my shower gel and shampoo?" she looked at him questioningly.
"Yes, I forgot mine. Now I smell like a woman. When you go shopping in the next few days, please bring me a men's shampoo. I'll give you the money for it but please not the green one they sell, it smells like an old shoe."
"Will do it", YN looked at him with amusement. He was so unbelievably spoilt and vain, but somehow still likeable.
Yawning, he sat down beside her. "You're sitting on my bed," he looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"I'm sitting on my couch," YN replied seriously.
"Just kidding." Robert laughed and patted her lightly on the shoulder.
Wordlessly, she threw an open magazine into his lap.
"What's that?" he asked, confused. "Please don't tell me you read these tabloids. It's all rubbish in there."
"But it was right that you were staying at the Ritz Hotel. They wrote about that yesterday," she told him.
He picked up the magazine and started to read the article.
Scandal around the Fischer family - multimillionaire on his deathbed, son on a spending spree!
A drama straight out of a Hollywood film is currently happening in a hospital room in Sydney: Maurice Fischer, the 64-year-old king of the energy industry and CEO of the Fischer Morrow mega-empire, is fighting for his life on his deathbed, while his 32-year-old son Robert, who grew up in luxury, is waiting impatiently for him to die - just so he can grab the family inheritance!
Growing up wealthy, Robert Fischer has never worked a day in his life. Instead of supporting his father in the most difficult and likely final weeks of his life, the young Fischer seems to have his priorities elsewhere. Rumour has it that he is currently enjoying a luxury holiday in Paris, - all at his dying father's expense!
Maurice Fischer had hoped his son would take over the family empire, but with Robert's laziness, that is now in doubt. The world is watching this drama of power and money with bated breath. Will Fischer Jr. inherit his father's legacy and run the empire, or will he simply sell it and continue to live in luxury at his father's expense even after his death? It remains exciting!
Below the article was a large photo of Robert in an elegant black suit and tie. He had his arm around the shoulder of an older man with a moustache and grey hair, who was also wearing a suit. They both were laughing, admittedly a bit contrived, into the camera.
Robert lowered the magazine with a sigh. "You don't really believe what they write, do you?"
Wordlessly, she took it from his hand. "Then why aren't you with him if he's so ill?"
"It's been going on for months. I wanted to visit him in hospital so often, but he didn’t want to see me most of the time. Besides, I'm not lazy and I don’t live at his expense. I have a university degree and I'm an external representative for the company. I’m a grown man and I earn my own money. The press think I’m a little spoiled baby and write one false article after another."
YN rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She was starting to understand that Robert was trying to hide in front of his father and the press for a few days. Even if there were certainly other options than staying with a woman he had just met.
"I'm very sorry for you, Robert," she said quietly and stood up slowly. "Good night, sleep well."
"Thank you, you too," Robert replied tiredly, lay down and pulled the soft blanket up to his neck.
She gave him one last look before turning and disappearing into her room. The fear she had earlier, that Robert might be a serial killer, had completely disappeared. He just seemed like a very stressed young man, under enormous pressure from his father and the public. You could almost feel sorry for him, despite all the money.
***
Robert opened his tired eyes and yawned softly. The sun shone through the curtains onto the beige carpet, drawing a bright line across it. He sat up slowly and looked at the clock beside him. It was half past seven, Saturday the 16th of May. His throat was incredibly dry. Groaning, he got up and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where he could hear soft sounds. Was YN awake?
Curious, he pushed open the door and jumped back, startled. There stood a woman about his father's age, staring at him confusedly as she placed apples and bananas on the kitchen table. She looked at him from head to toe, which made Robert feel very uncomfortable as his white shirt was quite see-through and his hair looked quite messy.
"Excusez-moi, monsieur?", she said, looking at him questioningly.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Robert finally asked.
The woman put down a plastic bag and came towards him, smiling. "I'm YN's mother. I go to the market every Saturday morning and bring her fresh fruit because it's a bit cheaper than in the supermarket," she explained to him, Robert having trouble understanding her with her strong French accent. "And you are..." she continued to look at him and then smiled a little more. "YN didn't tell me she had a boyfriend."
"Well... that... I..," Robert couldn't get out a single sentence.
"I understand. She doesn't make a fuss about it. But I have to admit she had no reason not to tell me about you," she winked at him with a laugh, "but she's never had an Englishman before".
Robert forced a smile, but felt his cheeks blush.
"Australian," he corrected her, "I... I'm going to the bathroom, ma'am."
As he closed the kitchen door behind him, he put his hands over his face. YN, who had just got up and walked past him, looked at him questioningly. "What's going on?"
"Shh!" he hissed at her. "Your mum saw me. She thinks I'm your new boyfriend."
She looked at him with her mouth open. "Are you completely braindead?"
"I just walked in, I couldn't have known that your mother would turn up on a Saturday morning. You could have at least warned me".
YN remained silent. "Go to the bathroom, I'll talk to her".
Without another word, she went into the kitchen and closed the door immediately. Instead of going to the bathroom as she had told him to, he stayed in the hallway and listened. Robert's French wasn't good enough to understand every word, but he picked up a few sentences.
"Is it something serious between you and him?" YN's mother asked.
"I don't think so," YN said seriously.
"Are you sure? It looks different to me," said the mother. Robert smiled a little. "He's so handsome, YN," she said. "My God, why don't you take the chance?"
Her daughter remained silent. "We are so different. He's so handsome and extroverted that he attracts all the attention. I'm the invisible one, nobody notices me.
Robert didn't understand what else they were saying except for YN‘s mother telling her daughter: "He looks so familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before."
Robert bit his lip, turned and pushed open the bathroom door. Did she suspect something?
***
Fortunately, the next few days passed without incident. Robert spent his time in YN's flat, usually relaxing in front of the television, reading the books on the shelf, looking after the cat he'd quickly grown to love, or, when YN returned from work at the hotel on Monday, cooking a fresh meal for them both.
She was amazed that he could cook so well, because she had assumed that Robert had had a housekeeper since he was a child. But Robert explained that it was his passion and that he had always done it himself.
He had turned his mobile phone off for the last few days, which meant he hadn't answered a single call from the company or his father since Friday night. He was pretty sure it would explode as soon as he turned it back on. But Robert was enjoying the silence.
YN somehow liked living with Robert. She had been alone for years and every time she came home in the evening she found a dark, empty flat. With Robert it was different. She felt that he really waited for her to tell him about her day and he always listened attentively. She really began to trust him and felt more and more attracted to him, although she would never admit it. He had also agreed to pay for the food, electricity and water she used, and even a little more, so that YN didn't have to worry about her bills this month.
When she came home from work on Wednesday evening, she pulled the latest issue of the gossip magazine out of her bag and handed it to Robert.
He quickly leafed through it until he found the article.
The Fischer scandal continues - millionaire's son suddenly vanishes without a trace
The drama surrounding the Fischer family reaches a new climax when Robert Fischer, heir to the millionaire empire, suddenly disappears. His seriously ill father, Maurice Fischer, is desperate to find his son.
Robert Fischer was last seen in Paris on Friday 15th May and has since vanished from the face of the earth. Speculations about his whereabouts are spreading like wildfire - has he gone into hiding to avoid responsibility and to live a life beyond parental control?
The Fischer family is in shock as the search for their missing son intensifies. As the world waits for answers, the suspense and mystery surrounding Robert Fischer's sudden disappearance grows. Will he be found before it's too late and his father dies, or will he remain in the dark forever?
Robert shook his head in disbelief. "Every time I think the articles can't get any weirder, I'm proven wrong."
"Do you really think they‘re looking for you?" YN wanted to know.
"I'm pretty sure they do. My father is probably worried that something has happened to me. And no, not because I'm important to him as a person and he's worried about my wellbeing, like a normal father would be. It's because he's afraid of not having an heir and having to hand over his company to a stranger when he dies.
YN was silent and reached for Robert's hand. She felt so incredibly sorry for him. It seemed he had never been truly loved.
Just in this moment the phone rang. Sighing, she got up and picked up the phone. "Bonsoir, Maman…Oui… oui…"
YN raised an eyebrow and turned up the volume on the phone. Robert listened carefully, although once again he couldn’t understand everything they said.
"No, we can't do that, we can't do that."
"But why not? He's your friend and we want to meet him too," his mother's voice came through the loudspeaker.
"I told you it's nothing serious," YN replied stubbornly.
"I saw the light in your eyes when you told me about him. It is serious, admit it."
Sighing, YN touched her forehead. "Maman, I..."
"Look, I've already told the others and they're looking forward to meeting him. There's nothing wrong with you bringing your new boyfriend to a family gathering. Or is there something wrong with him?"
The last sentence sent a shiver down Robert's spine.
"No, everything's fine. We'll be there tomorrow evening." YN hung up and looked at Robert a little desperately.
"We're coming? Are you crazy?" Robert looked at her angrily.
"What else could I do? My whole family thinks I have a new boyfriend, how embarrassing is that? And I have a feeling my mother will be sceptical if we don't come." Lost in thought, she chewed her lower lip. "Look, we'll go to this family party, pretend we're lovers, then leave unnoticed and pretend we've broken up again. My family lives under a rock and doesn't read any tabloids".
Robert rolled his eyes. "Good plan."
"Is there anything else left for us?" she wanted to know.
"No," he said. "I just don't want the whole thing to end in chaos."
Hey, thank you for reading!
I was thinking about writing the ending in chapter 3, like his father finds out that he‘s with the reader and the press will photograph them together and write false articles about an affair…
#cillian murphy#cillian#robert fischer#inception x reader#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy ff#inception fanfiction#inception#cillisn murphy fanfiction#christopher nolan#tommy shelby#oppenheimer
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Hype Boy | I.N x Reader
-> Pairing: Yang Jeongin x F1 Racer!Reader
-> Request: from @mirlisfreespace
-> Synopsis: Jeongin makes the best hype boy for his girlfriend. Part 02 to I Promise You
-> Warnings: Self-doubt. Anxiety. Negative thinking.
-> Word Count: 390
-> Requests: Open.
Stray Kids Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines
©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.
Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you.
Jeongin spent nearly five minutes searching for his girlfriend when he finds her in one of the side rooms designated for when someone needs to take a break. Her knee is bouncing anxiously, as she bites her lip, and looking as if she's mentally a million miles away.
"I've been looking for you," Jeongin says, letting her know that it's just him. "Is everything okay?"
"I don’t know why I’m even doing this," she replies, avoiding eye contact by looking down at the floor. "I'm not even that good. There are so many other racers that are better than me, faster than me, and more experienced than I am. What am I doing here? I don't deserve to be here."
"I think your full of shit," he tells her sitting next to her. She glares at him, her eyes glossing over. "You deserve to be here.” he continues, taking her hand in his and making her look at him with his free hand. “You've worked your ass off to get where you are today, and I couldn't be prouder of you. Don't let anyone make you feel or think otherwise."
"You know how competitive Formula One can get," she sighs.
"Which is testament to how hard you've worked to get here. It's proof that you deserve to be here just as much, if not more, than the others," he counters. "Now, stop doubting yourself, get in that car, and show them what you're made of. Show them why you deserve to be here."
"What would I do without you?" she asks a faint smile on her lips as she looks at him loving.
"You don't have to worry about that because I'll always be here, supporting you and reminding you of your worth," he smiled, pressing a kiss to her hand.
"I love you," she says pressing a kiss to his lips.
"I love you too," he says and stands up, her hand still in his, and leads her out of the room so she can prepare for her race.
As they walk back towards the main area, Jeongin can't help but feel a surge of pride for his girlfriend. He’s witnessed her dedication and passion for racing firsthand, and he knows that she has what it takes to succeed even further in the competitive world of Formula One racing.
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