#okay i really have to answer things here.
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✎ unconcealable
- gojo satoru x reader
your boyfriend may not show it, but the six eyes are his burden to bear. you know it firsthand when he falls into your arms for the first time
genre:
teen!gojo, fluff, hurt/comfort, flashback and fast-forward to dad!gojo later
note:
hello hello i’m alive~ i have this little thing of fluff/comfort pampering in my head throughout my vacation and it’s been a long time since i last wrote about teen!gojo so here it is :D will proofread later when i get the chance!
a part of gojo's love entries
series masterlist | oneshot masterlist
Back in 2006—
“Satoru, move away—”
“Nuh, uh! I’m staying! You’re too soft~”
“Satoru, If Yaga-sensei walks in… he’ll think we’re doing something indecent!”
“Mmm, don't care~”
This is the gym. Anyone could walk in. And yet your boyfriend of three weeks, Gojo Satoru, claimed his place by resting his head on your lap and squeezing his eyes shut so comfortably… like a cat.
You sighed, vexed and almost giving up— and then you noticed just how good-looking he was. Not that you just realized it now, but his long eyelashes, his smooth skin, white hair...
You have snagged a heartthrob. Or at least he could be if it wasn't for his questionable tendencies.
“Satoru, I’m being serious,” you griped, blinking back your pounding heart and starting to get anxious if anyone would see the two of you on the floor, with him over you. “Get up. Now.”
He knitted his brows together. “So stingy... Can’t your dashing boyfriend get five more minutes?”
“No. Up. Now.” You learnt by experience that the more you indulged Satoru, the more you would be inclined to comply as well. So before he dragged you into that hole...
“Hmph! No!”
“I’ll really flip you if you don’t move—!”
And that’s finally when he cracked his eyes open, totally pouting. “So mean! My head is hurting, you know! I just want to rest a bit!”
You were somewhat taken aback by his little outburst but he really got up this time, and then he stalked away, mumbling complaints.
"Some girlfriend you are... so not considerate..." he pursed his lips together, seemingly hurt as he made his way out.
That almost annoyed you greatly, and you were about to retort back when to your shock, he suddenly clutched his head and staggered. "Ahh—"
"Satoru!"
You sprinted to him and caught him as he wobbled, supporting his weight.
"Are you okay? What happened?!" you were so spooked that you went down with him to the floor again. And you immediately pulled him to you when he heaved a shuddering breath.
"I'm okay—" he said in a pant, pressing his eyes together so tightly. "I'm okay, I'm okay! Don't—"
"You're not, you idiot!"
Something with his eyes. It just dawned to you that he didn't wear his sunglasses today, and by instinct, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing him close to your chest.
"Is it hurting badly now?" you worriedly asked, keeping him tight in your embrace. "Do you want me to get you something?"
Contrary to your worries, what Satoru was more focused on was the exponential warmth that enveloped him. He had a migraine for a while there, but you so easily anchored him, making it somehow hurt less.
"You said Yaga-sensei will catch us and think we're having sex," he sullenly accused to hide the sudden blush spreading quickly on his face. "You didn't care about me just a minute ago."
"That's... a minute ago!" you hissed. "Now I'm worried!"
Your response made him smile despite himself. Satoru found comfort in the darkness of being squished against your boobs... perhaps way more than he thought he would.
"Then let me stay like this for a while. I'll be okay in a jiffy, 'kay?"
"Hmm," you hummed, absent-mindedly stroking his soft hair. You started to feel bad for chasing him away earlier, and squeezed him. "Does your head hurt often?"
"Whoa, it's only when I'm like this that you'll touch me so openly," he responded with a mock sigh, and you fought the urge not to roll your eyes. "Poor me."
"Poor you indeed. So answer me, does it, or does it not?"
"Nah, it's just how it is sometimes. Just some side effects of my eyes, you see."
"Why don't you wear your glasses today?"
"...Nanami broke them after I ate his last doughnut."
"You..." you almost giggled, and yet so exasperated at the same time. But the way Satoru squeezed your waist to hug you in return made you spare him.
You two stayed like that for a while, and when the bell rang to indicate the start of the next period, you asked him again. "Are you okay now?"
"Mm-hm, yeah, much better."
"Then let's go back to your class. I'll help you go there."
"Ehh..." But Satoru, ever the stubborn one, just buried his face into you, holding on tight and not letting go at all. "No."
You frowned. "Why—"
"Don't wanna move~ your boobs are just too good..."
"—? What—"
"They're soooo soft. Seems jiggly too? Ah, my pain is healed! Oh! When we get married, will I get to bite them too—"
"Satoru, you!"
Long story short, you two missed the next period just because Satoru nagged you to stay with him... and at the end of it all, the ones who opened the doors to the gym were Nanami and Haibara, who immediately went to report to Yaga and red-faced respectively.
Back to present—
"Time for your teardrops!"
Satoru squeezed the bottle of eyedrops, lining it up with the striking blue eyes of his six-year-old son, an cute little pumpkin who was a carbon copy of him in every way, as he laid his head on his lap.
"Mmngh," his son squirmed as the water made contact with his sensitive eyes, and squeezed both eyes shut as soon as his papa was done.
Having inherited his eyes, the boy had started to feel pain whenever he accidentally overused them. Satoru knew the feeling well, and as much as he tried to humor him, something inside him prickled whenever he saw him getting teary-eyed due to the pain.
"Still stings?" he asked with a frown. "Want to use blindfold cover your eyes, hmm?"
Your son mumbled, "...no."
"What do you want then?"
"...I want mama."
Satoru snorted, pinching his boy's plump cheek fondly. "Same, kiddo. I want mama too."
The little boy cracked his eyes open out of spite. "You always bother her everyday."
"It's not as if you do not but whatever." Satoru pursed his lips as he stared at his boy. "If only I can put those rotting grandpas in elderly home, your mama can be freed from missions."
The kid snuggled close to his lap, seeking comfort, and suddenly, he felt flash of warmth burst inside him, realizing that his little munchkin wanted him to make him feel better.
"Look, I'm not mama, but I can do this too—" he hoisted his son, and hugged him close, hiding his little face into his sturdy chest. "Here you go. Better?"
The little baby that forever connects him to you. Satoru loved his son as much as he loved you.
He had no one to really comfort him in the early days of misusing his eyes— they only told him that it was the price for the greatness he would possess. Until you did. You didn’t speak of power or strength. Each time he suffered from those migraines back then, you would hold him close.
And so, he'd be damned if the same thing happened to his precious son. He wouldn't let him be told that—he would do his best to soothe him, to make him feel safe.
"Tomorrow we're getting kikufuku, yeah?" he said with a smile, patting his son’s back gently. "And ice cream too."
"Mmm... 'kay..." the boy replied. "Papa... sleepy..."
"Then sleep, kid. I'll wake you when mama comes back, yeah?"
You. The baby. The two of you were always the center of his world. As he too drifted off to sleep beside his son, he thought that chasing after you was most definitely the greatest decision he made from that blue spring that would never return in his life.
Epilogue
"I'm home!"
Your mission ended with a bang as you completely obliterated the cursed spirit. You went home with a spring in your steps, thinking that your silly husband and cute son would be waiting for you in this afternoon.
But no one greeted you back, and you found yourself walking to your master bedroom, only to be floored by the sight.
Satoru had dozed off so unguardedly, but he had one protective arm over your son, who was also sleeping. They looked like a pair of twins, and the way your son curled up to your husband melted your heart so much that it brought a wide smile on your face.
Click! Click! You took several photos so you would be able to look at their sleepy state whenever you wanted. But as you marveled at the photographs, suddenly a sneaky hand yanked you—
"Whoa—!"
"Shh, you'll wake him up, mama," Satoru sleepily grinned as he smooched your face. "You took so long, I missed you."
"I finished one day early," you huffed, but then your expression softened as you gazed at your sleeping son. "Seems like both of you are getting along well while I was gone~"
"I fed him mochi and cookies, of course he'll be obedient."
"—! I told you he'll get cavities soon if you don't limit the sweets intake!"
"Oh? Then we just have to have another baby who won't get cavities just as you wish then~"
"That's not how it works! Satoru, you—!"
#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk drabbles#gojo satoru#satoru x reader#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru fluff#jjk fluff#gojo x you#satoru gojo fluff#jjk x reader fluff#gojo fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo satoru imagines#dad!gojo#jjk gojo satoru#jutusu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo
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Fortnight
pairing: Lando Norris x Reader
summary: you were never cut out to be a WAG
a/n: guys i really like this one so i hope you love it too 🤍
masterlist ttpd masterlist
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“Oh my god, we need to get you help,” your best friend, Logan, gasps, walking in on you, three beers deep. You are sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Lando’s too when he’s actually home, the curtains closed, dirty clothes scattered on the floor. What he doesn’t know is that this is your normal.
“I’m fine,” you don’t even slur. Your phone is discarded to the side, beside the latest apology flowers given -shipped- to you by your supposedly loving boyfriend. You haven’t picked up his last couple calls, so he sent your friend to check in.
“Come on, get up and shower while I clean all this, and you call Lando after,” Logan sighs, pulling you off the floor as you finish the beer.
You begrudgingly walk to the bathroom, your friend setting out a fresh change of clothes. “Just, don’t tell Lando. He’s stressed enough,” you tell him, closing the door once you get a confirmation.
Twenty minutes later, you are sitting on the edge of the sink, phone ringing.
“Babe, are you okay, you haven’t been answering?” Lando asks, his worried voice makes a pit in your stomach.
“Lan, I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all. Sorry for worrying you. Are you okay?” despite him being the reason the reason for your recent state, you don’t want him to be hurt.
You miss breaks, when he would be with you all the time, now it seems like you only see each other in passing, like good neighbors who make that corny comment about the weather.
Lando finds you in a similar position as your friend did, except this time you are crying on the floor, not drunk. He got a couple free days off and is eager to spend them with you.
“Darling, what happened?” he kneels down beside you, his voice making you cry harder. “Baby,” his voice and heart breaks as you look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks.
“I-,” you gas for air. “I love you, Lando. It’s ruining my life,” each sob breaks his heart.
“No, no. Don’t say that,” he pleads, wiping the tears from your eyes.
“Do you know the longest amount of time we’ve spent together? 14 days, a fortnight. I can’t keep doing this. The apology gifts for missed moments, the quick phone calls that are hardly passable for time spent together,” you pause to catch your breath, the tears still flowing. “I can’t do this, Lando. I miss home, I miss America,” your eyes meet his, both of you broken.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were struggling this much,” he whispers, sitting down and pulling you into him.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” you look away, the feeling of him foreign.
“I’m off the next couple days, let’s work on us,”
“Lando-,”
“And I’ll bring you to more races even though I know you find it hard to get off of work,”
“Lando-,”
“Please don’t say it,” he whispers, kissing you. Another foreign feeling.
“I’m moving back to America, tomorrow,” you tell him, feeling like you’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Lando looks around the bedroom, realizing the only thing of yours left was your packed suitcase in the corner.
“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, your eyes not able to meet his.
“I was going to visit you in Woking tonight,” the silence that falls between you is deafening. You spend the night in separate rooms, and in the morning he insists on driving you to the airport. He gets out of the car, pulling your suitcase out for you.
“Please don’t go,” he asks one last time, the both of you crying.
“I have to, Lando. It’s what’s best for both of us,” you step closer to him.
“Winter break is almost here, please, just a little longer. This isn’t what’s best for me,” Lando says, pulling you into a tight hug.
“I love you, Lan, but you deserve someone who can be with you at each race and support you more than I can,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“You are always enough for me, I love you,” he cries.
“Please, Lan, I have to put myself first,” you grab your luggage handle and take a step back.
“I won’t block your number, if you ever need anything or are in London, call me, I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,” Lando says, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the sun. His offer is a complete change to how your relationship was.
“Goodbye, Lando,” you turn around, walking into the airport. You hand covers your mouth as you sob, refusing to turn back and look at an equally distressed Lando.
You refuse to check social media, only texting your family and Logan when you land in Miami. You knew Logan from karting before you quit, and he became your closest friend. He offered his apartment in Miami to you until you buy your own.
You quickly got a job and moved to Destin, a whole 9 hours away from Miami, 11 from Austin. Florida is treating you a lot nicer, but you feel stuck in an endless February. You took the magic move on pill that is relocating, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You changed your phone number when you got back to the US, and deleted your social media apps. Lando tried calling you and DM-ing you, but never got a reply.
“I will fly you down, please just come and support me. I need you at my home race,” Logan begs, wanting you to take a two week vacation to spend time with him in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Something deep inside you agreed, so you pack your bags and hit the road, electing to drive.
You arrive the Wednesday before race week, and stay until the Wednesday after race week. It is nice because you can visit your own family too.
“I got you a paddock pass,” Logan says as you both lay on the beach the day you got in.
“Lo, I can’t go back there,” you turn your head to look at him.
“You can stay in Williams, you don’t have to go visit Oscar when I do,” Logan says, referencing the Australian who is also staying with Logan. Oscar promised he wouldn’t tell Lando you were in town.
“You know, I can get you a much nicer car than your Mercedes,” Oscar says, sitting beside you. Logan gets up to grab two waters.
“A McLaren? Not my thing, I hated driving,” you can’t even bring yourself to say his name. “Yeah, but I do love my car, I always wanted it,” you say.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Oscar leans over, bumping you with his shoulder.
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. It’s still hard. Sometimes I think about calling him, but he won’t pick up. I have a new number and he has a new girl from what Logan said,” you admit.
“He’s miserable, he will never admit it, but he is. He hasn’t been the same since you left, but you seem to be doing a lot better. You have color back in your skin and you aren’t drinking all the time,” Oscar says, knowing what state you were in when Lando called Logan to check in on you. You were a functioning alcoholic, barely functioning at that point.
“Yeah, this was the right decision. Maybe it’s best if I don’t call Lando. Even if he is miserable, it might make things worse. I can’t get back together with him, but I want him to be okay,” you tell Oscar. What you don’t know is that Lando is renting the beach house beside the one you, Logan, and Oscar are staying in for the two weeks. He is jealous about how happy you seem with his teammate and your best friend.
You figure it out when you take a midnight walk, clad in a sweater with your university’s logo on it.
“Lando, hi,” you breathe, taking him in.
“Hey, you look really good. I like the sweater,” he shifts his weight in the sand. You look healthier, happier, and it kills him.
“I, um, changed my phone number and deleted my social media apps,” you say, answering the question he didn’t want to ask.
“I tried dating again, but I broke it off, I couldn’t do it,”
“Sorry, I should’ve thought about how I would hurt you,” you say, looking at your feet in the sand.
“No, you needed to do it. I don’t blame you, I was basically abandoning you,” Lando says, silently inviting you to join him on the walk. It becomes a habit, you join him every night.
“Congrats on the win,” you hug him on night 11. It was a silent agreement that you would go your separate ways again after the two weeks.
“Where are you living now?” Lando asks on night 14, both of you sitting in the sand between the two houses.
“Destin, Florida. I bought an apartment that used to be a timeshare,” you say, watching the waves.
“That’s pretty close, right?”
“Nine hours, Lan. other side of the state,” you smile, trying not to laugh. Lando’s heart flutters at the way you say his nickname, but squashes it.
“Oh, well I’m glad you were able to come down and support Logan,” he says, yawning a little.
“Alright, I have to wake up early to drive home,” you stand up, brushing the sand off of your legs.
“Drive safe,” Lando hugs you, finally feeling healed.
“Goodbye, Lan,” you whisper.
“Goodbye,” he whispers back, capturing the look of you in his mind.
#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris imagines#logan sargeant#oscar piastri
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what are your thoughts on skz with a dumb s/o? like genuinely ditzy and little absentminded and forgetful, but you’re still such a sweetheart. makes them wonder how dumb you’ll go on their cocks.
skz + dumb s/o
MDNI(18+): suggestive, nsfw, corruption kink, dumb kink ?, finger sucking, oral, penetration.
love this ask so much, it's not something i've thought much about before but here you go ! :3
chan: oh he dotes on you sooooo much. in the beginning he thought it was just a cute quirk but as you became more serious he realized... you really are just ditzy. he can't lie that he has to hold back on the days you can't help saying "huh?" or "hmm?" to everything but it sounds so saccharine from you. he loves the duality of it though. he can dote on you with how cute your whims are then flip you into a submissive state. even more so when he decides to pin you down in the backseat of his car putting your pretty mouth to good use. chastising you with "pretty baby so cock dumb hmm? only good for sucking me off huh?" with your response being your typical "hmm?" but your mouth stuffed with cock instead. even with your whimpers to take more of him in your mouth, he's happy to oblige holding your pretty face in his hands to use your mouth.
minho: as 1/3 of paboracha, he's never minded. intially i think he would think consider them as one off moments like asking the same question twice in a 2 second span. he might look at for a solid momemt with those cat blinking stares, processing that you're serious. he finds it cute though!! maybe quietly giggling to himself before kissing you on the forehead in passing. he likes it even more so when you're too cock dumb from him making you ride him while he coos and pets you like he does a cat. after trying to tease him all day with sex and suggestive groping. he only let you ride his thigh before caving into you enough to give you his cock after you begged him so nicely. "jagiya, use your words hm? too dumb to speak now hmm?" he'll say while thrusting up into you pretending he's not paying you any attention
changbin: loves loves loves how ditzy you are. he likes playing into the idea that he's just as much brain as he is brawn to you. especially when you're so absentminded with your surroundings in public. maybe there's someone being creepy towards you in a cafe, he's clocked them in already wrapping a protective arm around. you pick up in his protectiveness and to find your answer is being stared down with daggers by binnie. you're hero, savior! you have to reward him with the best head he'll ever had so you're happily taking him in your mouth once your home. he's got you on his cock taking him all the way down his throat while he coaxes you into fitting it all in your mouth "stupid angel always needs time to come to rescue mmh rewards me so sweetly."
hyunjin: 2/3 of paboracha coming in. he'd never think you were outright dumb, ditzy ? oblivious ? yes. he himself has no room to judge, you'd probably have him questioning himself on multiple occasions. you're probably just a little more oblivious around him, which he doesn't mind one bit. he kinda finds it cute how little though you probably give to so many things. he finds it even cuter when he's able to convince you to wear an outfit he picked out for you, one that of course will give him easy access to tease you in public. it was supposed to be cute picnic in secluded area of the park, until he had you laid out on the blanket taking his cock from behind shoving strawberry in your mouth & sucking fingers to shut you up. "shhh my love, don't want people to find us okay? can't let them see how stupid you were to let me take you like this"
han: going 3 for 3 with paboracha here. another one who dotes on your ditzy nature. i could see him with a s/o that's a little more clumsy. maybe you're always scraping a knee, bumping into sharp corners, burning yourself while cooking/baking, or just straight up walking into glass doors or poles. whatever the case may be he's there holding out his arms to soothe you, giving you kisses all over your face. he finds out how easy it is to convince you to the dumbest things. like convincing you that if you let him go down on you, his headache will go away or you're sore throat from the concert last night will feel sooooo much better if you blow him. that by swallow his cum, it'll feel & tase better then honey. "that's it's, good, suck me dry baby i promise you'll feel better. we might have to try a few loads of cum for it to work, k? just focus on taking it all though." his head thrown back while shoving you further on his cock.
felix: he likes that your so absentminded and ditzy. it make its so easy for him to impress you. especially when he has you sitting like a curious cat on his bed while you watch him build his new PC. your eyes sparking with excitement as he completes each step. or even when you watch him bake his recipes from scratch. doe eyed while you sit perched on the counter making your favorite brownies! he'd take a finger coated in the batter letting you lick off his fingers which only leads to him fucking you on the counter while he makes you choke on his batter covered fingers, "doesn't your orgasm feel so much better when you have something so sweet in your mouth mm? maybe let's watch you suck me off with the batter on my cock since you like my fingers so much?"
seungmin: mean dom seung *sigh*. he loves you to death but god you make it so easy for him to tease you. you're not a quick as he is, whether it's his snarky remarks or quick reactions to things he knows. you try to learn baseball, not actually playing but you know the basic rules. you want to try to at least understand what goes in the game. you're not the best but your attempts don't go unnoticed. even when someone hits a home-run but you're shouting goal so confidently it has him falling to his knees in laughing clutching his stomach because you genuinely meant it. he calls you the nth member of paboracha but in bed you're his dumb cock slut, taking him so good you're babbling nonsense. " what was that slut ? did you say something ? aren't you too dumb for words? " he'd condescendingly say before slamming himself into you once more.
jeongin: bark. sorry i love him so badly. he takes your ditzy nature as naiveness. whether or not that's the case, he'll treat it that way. even when you try to argue over something you know already he'll talk to you so sweetly like he's done such a good job of teaching you. maybe you're trying to learn japanese and his fluency helps you but he'll tsk you if he's in a particular mood. maybe you're out in japan gawking, 'ooh'ing and 'aww'ing at each store and you're curiosity almost gets you dragged in a male host club. so jeongin decides you need a break for a few hours so he checks you into a love hotel (unbeknownst to you) where he'd spend the next 2 hours or so talking down in your ear while he plays with you between your legs. haughtily scolding you for every single thing that's led to this moment, " i thought you knew better ? you have to listen to me jagiya, there's so many people out there that just want to use you hmm. guess i'll just have to show you." all before bending you over and smooshing your face into the pillow to abuse your hole with his cock, crying out for him to let you cum. chastising you until he's felt you learned you lesson.
#skz oneshots#skz smut#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz hard thoughts#skz x you#stray kids fanfic#stray kids smut#hyunybunnywrites#hyunjin smut#bang chan smut#changbin smut#lee know smut#jeongin smut#jisung smut#felix smut#seungmin smut
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hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!
Some Profiler You Are - A.H
a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)
masterlist
‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual
wc: 2k
"Do you want to sit down?"
No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.
You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.
Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.
You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.
You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.
"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.
You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.
Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.
What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.
The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.
"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.
He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."
"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.
Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.
"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."
"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."
Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.
"Point in case."
"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.
He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.
This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.
Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.
"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."
You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.
The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.
"Shit."
You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.
Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly underestimated.
You're never going on a date again.
I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?
But there are a couple factors to consider.
Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.
Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.
And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked.
Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.
You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.
"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.
You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.
"Fuck, Hotch."
You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut.
His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"
He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.
"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet.
He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.
"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.
He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.
"I didn't say anything."
"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."
"Definitely."
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”
You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.
He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.
Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.
"How's it feel?"
You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.
"Fine."
"Yeah?"
You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.
"I couldn't sleep for three days."
"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.
"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."
You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."
"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."
"Why?"
"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"
Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.
Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."
Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.
You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.
"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."
He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."
The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.
"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."
"Hotch, I..."
He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.
"Say something."
"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"
He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"
But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."
You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.
He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."
You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."
taglist: @hotchhner @khxna
#aaron hotchner x reader#Aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x fem reader#Aaron hotchner#Hotch#criminal minds fic#Aaron hotchner fic#criminal minds#Thomas Gibson
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Fantasy
Jessie Fleming x Reader
Summary: Jessie finds out you have a kink. Turns out, she has the same one. You explore this new facet of your relationship.
Warning: Serious smut. Role playing. Impreg / breeding kink. Language. If this isn’t your thing, please don’t read. Definitely NSFW!
A/N: Okay, y'all. We are deep into kink territory here lol. Not sure how much appeal this has, but here we are! Anon - this one's for you.
"Hey, thanks for waiting," Jessie said as she came up to you after the game and gave you a quick kiss.
"Of course," you said as you distractedly received the kiss.
"You good?" Jessie asked as she pulled back with a frown.
It took a moment for you to register her question and you closed your eyes briefly as you refocused. You opened them again with a small smile.
"Yeah, everything's fine," you tried to assure her. She wasn't fooled and the frown remained fixed on her face.
"Babe..."
You sighed briefly, eyes darting around momentarily to see if anyone was within earshot. Her gaze remained trained on you and yours dropped to your feet as you fidgeted.
"I-I don't know," you said, lifting your gaze to meet hers once more. You gave a tight smile. "Can we talk about it later?"
Jessie pulled her head back slightly in confusion, but offered a small nod. "Yeah. Okay. You have me worried...but okay."
"It's nothing to worry about. I promise," you told her and you meant it. It really wasn't worth her fretting about it.
You drove back to your apartment and had dinner together. You talked easily enough, but there was a veil of unspoken tension between you even as you sat on the couch together watching a show. You could feel Jessie discretely watching you now and then out of the corner of her eye. Eventually, you sighed.
"Babe. I can feel you watching me," you told her.
She clicked her tongue and let out a short huff. "Well, I'm just curious about what was going on earlier."
"Oh my God. Not that again," you complained lightly, as if there was any question as to what was causing the friction between you today.
"You said we'd talk later," she ventured. You scratched the back of your neck and could feel the nervousness start to build within your throat.
"I'm sorry. It's nothing. Really." You tried to deflect.
"It's obviously not nothing," she countered, angling her body towards you now.
"Oh my God. Jess - this is way overblown now." You were muttering more to yourself than to her as you rubbed your face.
"Then just tell me," she implored. "You've been off since the game."
You sighed in exasperation, letting your hands fall heavily to your lap with a dull slap.
"I was just distracted and in my head," you said quickly, your tone curt.
"Okay. But why?" Jessie asked slowly.
"Oh my God," you repeated as you grew more flustered. You could feel heat starting to rise to your cheeks, much to your chagrin.
"Babe, what's going on?" Jessie asked, both confused and now intrigued by your mannerisms.
"Jesus," you breathed somewhat harshly as you rolled your eyes and swiftly turned to her, speaking very matter of fact now. "I just saw you walking out onto the pitch with that mascot and it got my mind going. Okay?"
She paused momentarily and you could see her trying to comprehend what you were getting at. She conceded. "Going about what?"
Your face burned and you averted your gaze briefly before answering. "About having a baby with you." You held your breath for a second before forging on. "And maybe even more-so the act of how that could come to be."
She frowned at you. "IVF?"
"No! Oh my God." You buried your face in your hands before pulling back with a deep breath. You could feel the confusion radiating off of Jessie. You laid your hands flat on your lap and turned to her more fully. You spoke calmly this time.
"I mean...that my mind was wandering to thoughts of how hot it would be if you," you paused for a few moments, rapidly debating if you truly wanted to finish your thought, "were to get me pregnant."
Jessie's mouth opened slightly and she stared at you with wide eyes now. "Oh." She said.
You watched in trepidation as the wheels in her head turned. She eventually cocked her head slightly and gave you a faint frown.
"I can't though," she said slowly and you released a barely audible, but enduring breath through your nose.
"I realize that," you said simply. She continued to look at you and you gave her a slight look of defeat with a slow shake of your head. "Work with me, please."
She narrowed her eyes at you before raising an eyebrow just so. It was more curious than judgmental. "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"
You bit your lip nervously. "That depends on if you're into it, too."
A beat passed.
"If I would be into pumping a baby inside of you?" She asked in a tone that didn't remotely reflect the message of her words. You gave her a visibly shocked look - completely caught off guard by her directness.
"Too much?" She asked with a look of concern.
"No!" You practically stammered. "No." You smiled now, a new blush forming across your cheeks. "That's exactly what I'm hoping for."
"So," Jessie started, voice low as she gave you a smug smirk and patiently leaned in and began laying slow kisses along your jawline. "You'd be into me pinning you down, spreading your legs for me, and letting me fuck my baby into you."
"Holy fuck," you breathed, suddenly short of breath and wetness already pooling in your underwear. You brought you hand up to run your fingers through her hair. "Yes. I would."
Jessie reached a hand down, snaking it between your thighs that were squeezed together in a vain attempt to ease your tension. She cupped your heat through your pants and nipped lightly at your neck.
"Mmm, I can already tell how much you'd like that," she teased. You opened your legs a touch to make room for her and she stroked you firmly through the fabric. "How about we give it a go now?"
You could feel yourself growing wetter and you bit back a moan. You pulled your head back a bit to look at her.
"Are you sure?"
She smirked at you, though she continued to rub you through your clothes and you had to suppress the need to gasp in pleasure.
"It's not like you're going to actually get pregnant," she said. You rolled your eyes, half in exasperation, half in pleasure.
"I know that. But still..."
She smiled tenderly at you now and gave you a kiss before leaning forward to whisper in your ear.
"I've thought about it too. There have been so many times when you orgasm under me or on top of me and I wish I was shooting inside of you. I just didn't think you'd be into it."
"Oh my God," you said, eyes shutting at her words and the visual. "That is making me so wet - you have no idea."
Jessie stood and grasped your hands to pull you up. She placed her hands on your hips and kissed your neck.
"I'd like to find out."
Jessie led you to the bedroom and soon had you naked and laid out on your back on the bed, your head on the pillow. She crawled up the bed and over you, slinking towards you like some kind of skillful predator. She nudged your legs apart, her strap resting against your hot, soaking core.
"Why do you want my babies?" She asked in a sultry voice as she began to pepper slow kisses the ridge of your ear, her powerful arms and shoulders flexing as she leaned down over you.
You let out a short, distracted laugh. "Well, they'd be really fucking cute, first off. But, I-I-," you stammered as she slowly moved her hips and her strap began to slide teasingly through your lips. "I guess it'd be a way for you to choose me. Own me, even. Picking me to carry your babies."
"Mmhm," she concurred as she continued to tease you. She drew her hips back and angled herself, when she dropped her hips back down, she slowly slipped inside of you. You threw your head back, a delayed gasp escaping your open mouth at how she began to fill you.
"You'd like that, hm?" She continued to speak slowly in your ear. "Not only do I pick you to have my cock. But I pick you to have my babies as well. I like that, too."
"Oh God, Jess," you crooned as she slowly drew back, leaving you momentarily empty before steadily surging forward to fill you once more, letting out a soft grunt as her hips made contact with yours.
"Who knows," she whispered again, "maybe even the first time is an accident. We're just so hot for each other one night that we fuck - you forgot to take your pill, we're too in the moment to grab a condom - I tell you I'm going to pull out, but it's too much for both of us." She picked up her pace, pumping into you with a slightly faster, steady rhythm. "I tell you I'm about to cum-"
"I tell you to cum inside of me." You cut her off. She released a shuddering breath in your ear, her rhythm faltering momentarily before she started thrusting into you with greater vigor, the bed now starting to shift with each stroke.
"Fuck," she breathed. You wrapped your legs around her waist. "Yes, babe. Your legs wrapping around me so I can't pull out even if I wanted to. I don't though. All I think about is how I want to cum as deep inside of you as possible. Consequences be damned."
"Jessie, oh my God. You are so fucking hot," you told her as you rotated your hips up in time with her strokes to meet her. "This feels so incredible."
Jessie grunted and reached down with one hand to grab your ass and lift your hips to meet hers with greater fervour. You moaned at the action and she panted above you, more stray hairs now falling out of her ponytail and framing her face.
"God, I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," you replied, breathless as you dug your fingers into the firm muscles of her back. "You fuck me so good, Jessie. It's better and better every single time."
Another short grunt escaped Jessie, an expression of pure focus on her face as she pumped into you harder. The sounds of her skin hitting yours filled the room amongst the sounds of her strap pistoning in and out of your wetness.
A high moan escaped you as you tucked your head against her shoulder as the pleasure was mounting. "I'm so close."
"Me too," she said. "God, I want to pump you full of my cum and give you my baby."
"Oh my God, Jessie. Yes. Please - fill me up," you begged. She pressed herself closer to you and bounced her hips against you expertly.
"I can't wait to see you swell with our baby," she said. "You'd look so beautiful. When you start to show, so round and full, everyone will know it was me who did that to you. They'll know that I'm the one you let do that to you."
"Oh fuck, Jessie." You called her name as you began to pulse around her strap. You tossed your head back, your eyes screwed shut as you dug your nails into her skin. Jessie groaned as you came around her. She held her pace steady until you started to relax and she began to slow to a stop.
She laid on top of you, holding you, for some time, laying languid, sweet kisses along your crown as you worked to catch your breath. She eventually sat up to pull out and she raised her eyebrows, looking both pleased and surprised.
"Holy shit," she said with a light laugh. You sat up and looked where she was on the mattress and immediately felt heat settling on your face.
"That's so fucking hot," she told you with a series of approving nods about the pool of arousal on the sheets. She leaned in and kissed you before you could get too self-conscious. "I think we've discovered a new go-to." She kissed you again. "I loved it. And you were so sexy."
You rolled your eyes, but was grateful for her openness.
"Jesus Christ," you said, still short of breath as you sat forward and wrapped your arms around her. "If we were straight we'd be in some serious trouble." Jessie laughed.
"Depends on your definition of trouble," she smirked. "But I agree, we'd have really, really cute kids."
#jessie fleming#jessie fleming x reader#woso x reader#jflem#woso imagine#canwnt x reader#smut fic#lesbian breeding#did you know lesbian breeding was a tag. I didn't
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We Care About You (Part VI)
The Traveler finally gets to say what they wanted to say to [Y/N].
Content Warning(s): N/A
Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader;
Word Count: 915
Previous || Next
Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3; @jellyedkazoo; @namine123; @innuwu; @agaygothicmushroom; @tired-of-life-86; @fantasyhopperhea; @sweetsourbxtch; @zenith-of-all-zeniths; @velleunv; @creativecupcake; @obsoletedeviant;
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"You're still looking stressed, [Y/N]. Are you sure you're okay?"
You looked up to see the Traveler's concerned face. "Oh, I'm fine, I guess. Sorry. I just really wasn't expecting something like this to happen."
"Paimon understands. Paimon would be scared too if she found herself summoned to another world."
You slowly nodded. You found yourself to be a lot more calm than you were roughly three minutes ago, but that didn't mean you weren't nervous. After all, you were talking with two people who are only known to exist inside of a game. Purely pixels on a screen. And yet, here you were having a genuine conversation with them.
"Speaking of which, you said you wanted to talk to me about your future journey?"
"Not mine, ours," the Traveler shook their head. "It's our future journey."
"No, it is yours," you rebutted, confidence rising within you. "I'm not the one traveling around Teyvat, you are."
"But you are with me, are you not?" the Traveler calmly refuted, crossing their arms. "You're the one who's been guiding me and all the others, right?"
Aaaaaaaaaaand your confidence is gone.
You nervously rubbed your hands together and avoided looking at the Traveler. "Is that how you see it? I'm... guiding you?"
Paimon tilted their head. "Yeah...? What, you don't see it that way?"
You hesitated for a second before you finally shook your head.
"Then what do you see it as?"
You were now very afraid. You wanted to tell them your honest thoughts, but you worried how they would react to it. Would they be angry? Would they threaten you to stop? Would they start fighting you?
... ... ...
...Would they kill you? Was this all just an act to lower your guard?
You gulped, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. "I kind of see it as..." you sighed, looking back down at the stone table.
"...Possession."
You waited for a response but received none. The worst kind of response you can get.
"I felt like I was manipulating your actions without your consent," you continued, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the night. "That's why I tried to make things better. But even then, you still fought back. I thought that you hated me. I thought that you brought me here to get rid of me..."
"...But if you see my actions as 'guiding' you..." you looked up. "...Then what does that make me in your eyes?"
Both the Traveler and Paimon had concentrated expressions on their faces. You waited for either of their expressions to change, but you were also afraid of what the new one would become. Would they be satisfied with your answer? Would they be furious? You didn't want to know. So instead, you put your arms on the table and rested your forehead on top of them.
If you didn't want to use your eyes, you'd have to use your ears, instead. You thought of all the audible reactions you would expect to hear. A slam of fists or hands, yelling and shouting, the sound of a sword being drawn.
Or worse of all, silence. You can rarely tell what a person is thinking whenever they are silent.
...That's what scares you the most.
You waited with bated breath for a response and thankfully it wasn't long before you got one. First, you heard the sound of fabric scraping against stone. Next, you heard the shifting of sand. Lastly, you heard footsteps growing louder by the step.
The Traveler was walking over to you.
At this point, you wanted to do something instead of being vulnerable to a potential threat. But deep down, you knew that it was useless. You couldn't flee because it would take the Traveler mere seconds to catch up with you. You couldn't fight because you knew that you had no shot of going against someone who has gone toe-to-toe with gods.
You are vulnerable. You are weak. You are useless. You are worthless.
...You are going to die.
Tears began to well up in your eyes, but you fought the urge to cry. You probably looked pathetic to them already.
You heard a couple of more steps before they stopped. They were standing right behind you.
Silence.
...
... ...
... … …
*SHING*
...
... ...
... … …
*WHOOSH*
...
... ...
... … …
*CLANG*
...?
...You didn't expect that noise. It came from your left.
You turned towards the noise and spotted the Traveler's dull sword.
"...Huh?"
Suddenly, you felt their arms wrap loosely around your neck.
You immediately stiffened your spine and brought your hands on top of theirs. However, before you could throw them off your body, you felt their head rest on your shoulder. Then they stopped.
... ... …
...Now you were confused. What were they doing?
... ... …
...Wait...
... ... …
...Is this... a hug...?
Sure enough, the more you thought about it, the more you believed that the Traveler was hugging you.
...But why?
"To me... in my eyes..."
... ... …
"You're my friend..."
The Traveler slightly tightened their hug.
"And I wouldn't know what to do without you..."
... ... …
You've finally relaxed.
And now that you are, there's one thing that you'd like to do.
Slowly, to not startle the Traveler, you got up from your seat and turned towards them. You could tell that they were wondering why you got up.
They stopped wondering when you went up and hugged them back. It took a while, but they wrapped your arms around your back in a friendly embrace.
"I wouldn't know what to do without you either."
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THE END
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Author's Notes: And that's the end of that! Hope everybody enjoyed the ending!
Thanks again for all who liked, reblogged, and/or commented on this little series. I appreciate each and every one of you!
#genshin impact sagau#genshin sagau#self aware genshin#genshin self aware#sagau x reader#sagau#sagau genshin#platonic genshin x reader#platonic#gn reader#gender neutral reader
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Boxer!Jay and having them meet the bat fam, maybe they're skeptical of them so Jay comforts/reassures them (it is obviously making them sad) eventually he expresses how important they are to him which leads them to getting to know them better (his s/o)
a/n: I really liked this request but in order to follow it this isn't connected to the other request where the reader already met Bruce and Dick.
boxer!Jason watched you leave the house with your head down and a bit of a pout. He hated it. He absolutely hated when people made you feel bad or less than. And he hates it that his family is the reason for your feeling that way.
So he does the only thing he can think of. He wrangles everyone into the foyer and tells them to sit down.
On the couch, is Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian, Cass, Duke, and Steph. All the people he needed to voice his concerns to. Alfred had been charming and delightful to you since you arrived.
The whole family looks at him, wondering what he's doing.
"I'm gonna need all of you to get it together, because you made the love of my life feel bad tonight and I'm not gonna tolerate it. We have been together for a while now and I knew meeting all of you wouldn't be easy but it couldn't have gone worse." Jason says.
"Wait, Jay bird, you're being serious about this?" Dick asks.
"Of course I am, I have never brought someone home before! You all are gonna make me lose the love of my life." Jason answers.
"Okay that's the second time he's said 'love of my life' he's really serious." Steph says.
"Todd, why does it matter what we think?" Damian asks.
Jason scoffs, "because you're my family and I care about your opinions. But I'm telling you know I don't care for what went down tonight."
"You're acting like we went all ready or not." Tim says.
"You finally watched it? It was good wasn't it?" Duke asks Tim not he side.
The two are about to start their own conversation when Jason shushes them. They look at him, a bit amazed.
"When they're ready to meet you again, you all better pull it together. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with them." Jason says.
"Okay, Jason. We'll try better next time." Bruce says.
"Especially you, try not to scare them off from me." Jason adds on.
"Alright." Bruce answers.
"All of you, promise me right now, swear it." Jason says.
They all give some sort of a sigh or a tuft of air from their lips. And then they all promise to treat you better than they did tonight should the time come again. Jason dismisses them after that. All of them except Cass.
He tells her to hang back.
As the last person, Bruce, leaves the foyer, Jason looks at Cass with a smile on his face.
"You know I wasn't talking about you right? You were sweet tonight." Jason says.
Cass nods.
"And I give you permission to unnerve all of them with whatever you got in your arsenal if they do this again." Jason promises.
Cass holds out her pinkie finger for him to take. Jason takes it into his own.
"Okay, I'm out of here. Gotta head to their apartment and make it up to them with some snacks and horrible jokes." Jason says, mostly to himself, and to Cass.
Cass stops him before he can start walking and pull out an unopened bag of flaming hot chips. She offers it to him. Jason thanks her and ruffles her hair very quickly as he leaves to your place.
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a very random ice skater!minghao x reader brainrot just because ^.^
"You have to let go of my hand now."
Instead of doing what he said, you gripped his hand tighter. He was already biting his lower lip, obviously amused of your current dilemma.
"I can't," you said shaking your head. You felt pathetic because it was you who asked him to teach you how to ice skate but you were actually so afraid to try because you might slip. "How come you're so good at this?"
"I trained Yn," he answered you matter-of-factly. Of course, he did. He looks so graceful whenever he skates on the ice. It's like he was born for it. "I will guide you don't worry."
"What if I slip?"
"Then I'll just have to help you stand up. Come on, you can do it."
His simple encouragement did a lot to boost your resolve.
Little by little, you let go of his hand unconsciously.
He was just smiling at you the entire time.
After a few minutes, you were already getting the hang of it. He was looking at you proudly as you make your own strides.
"It's fun isn't it?"
"It is. I should make a career out of it, what do you think?"
Like a supportive boyfriend he is, he nodded while laughing. "You really should."
However, all of a sudden, you twisted your ankle and dropped to the floor.
Minghao immediately came to your rescue, "Yn are you okay?"
"No, I'm not," you said almost crying because your butt really hurts after you fell.
"Okay. Let's get you out of here. Can you stand?"
You shook your head, "Can you just carry me on your back?"
He contemplated for a second, "No. That won't do."
And the next thing you know, you were already floating.
No.
He scooped you up gently then carried you bridal-style.
How he managed to skate from the middle of the ice rink to the benches while carrying you, you have absolutely no idea.
—♡—
#svt#seventeen#svt au#svt imagines#svt scenarios#seventeen drabbles#minghao#minghao x reader#minghao x you#minghao x y/n#minghao fluff#minghao fanfic#seventeen fluff
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UNDERSTANDING ──── echo.
summary: in the middle of the night, echo finds you, hurt and exhausted and in need of an apology.
pairing: arc trooper echo x reader
word count: 1.6k
warnings: none! just a sprinkling of angst and grief.
a/n: i love echo so much & im so glad he’s okay as of the finale!! this takes place sometime around the early seasons, but after the season 1 episode “cornered.” also, i listened to waves by chloe moriondo while writing this!
You’re not sure what to think of Echo.
Most of the time, he’s quiet. When he does speak, it’s usually to enforce a rule, remind the group of their current plan, or to keep Wrecker in check. You’ve seen his softer side, with Omega and occasionally his brothers, and it’s rare but honestly endearing.
The thing about him that most irks you, however, is that he never wants to seem to interact with you.
Officially, Hunter is the group leader; ever since Clone Force 99 accepted you into their squad, that much has been clear. You’re the only non-clone—or “natborn” as the others refer to you—living on the Marauder. It’s been several months since you saved Omega from bounty hunters on your home planet of Pantora, and now, you’re as much a part of the Bad Batch as anyone else.
Except, you’re not a batcher. Not really.
Despite how much you care for your squadmates, it’s easy to feel separated from them at times. Easy to feel different. Most of the others have picked up on this by now, and often go to great lengths to make you feel like one of them.
Not Echo, though. He seems—wary of you, almost, and you’re not sure why. Once, you brought it up to Tech, who simply waved you off with one of his shrewd, knowledge-filled comments. “You are new here, you know. Some people are simply slower to open up than others.”
You, however, know that’s not the case. You’ve seen Echo with his brothers, and with Omega. He can be kind, and funny, and even angry. But to you… to you, he’s nothing but quiet.
For some time, you tried your hardest to be yourself around him—to crack your usual sarcastic jokes at his expense, to be friendly, like you are with the others. But the constant avoidance and clipped answers leave you increasingly confused and hurt.
So you withdrew from him, too.
It still bothers you, sometimes. But you’ve learned to brush it off.
Now, you sit in the cockpit, feet resting against the control panel. A ration bar—one of the good ones—rests in your hand. Every so often, as you watch the blue glow of hyperspace streak past the viewport, you take a bite of the ration bar.
You’re on first watch. Someone has to stay in the cockpit to oversee the ship’s journey back to Ord Mantell—and, since you still can’t fall asleep in hyperspace, you keep volunteering for the job. The cockpit is mostly dark. All the lights are off, and the viewport is dimmed. Anything brighter reminds you of how sleep-deprived you are, and so you’re content to sit in the blue gloom.
Leaning your head against the headrest of the pilot’s chair, you close your eyes. Your entire body feels heavy with exhaustion, but every time you try to drift off, the rumbling of the ship’s hyperdrive jerks you awake.
The sound of footsteps startles you. You open your eyes, leaning around the back of the chair to inspect what little part of the ship’s corridor you can see. You can hear the sounds of someone moving around by the small common area, but you can’t tell who it is.
Tech’s probably experimenting again, you think wryly, and settle back into your comfortable position.
Soon, though, the footsteps grow closer. Someone enters the cockpit with a tired sigh, placing something on one of the chairs nearer to the door. It sort of sounds like Hunter, but with the similarity between everyone’s voices, you can’t be sure.
The footsteps halt suddenly. You look up to find honey-coloured eyes surveying you with apprehension. In the dim light, awash with blue, you register the glint of a cybernetic headpiece.
“Oh,” you say, blinking up at Echo, “hi.”
Echo only grunts.
You frown, looking down at your hands, at your half-eaten ration bar. “It’s late,” you say quietly. “You, um—you should get some rest.”
When Echo answers, you don’t look up. He says, voice low and gravelly with sleep, “I slept for a couple hours.”
Slowly, you nod, fiddling with the foil wrapper of the ration bar. The cockpit falls silent; you wait for Echo to leave, but he stays still, his shadow falling over your tired frame.
You want to ask why he’s still here. You want to be rude, to ask him to leave so you can have some peace and quiet. But truthfully, he isn’t saying anything, or causing any disturbances, so instead you hold up your unfinished ration bar. “You want a bite?”
Echo blinks. It seems to take him a moment to process your question. Then, to your faint surprise, he nods. “Thank you,” he says as you hand him the ration bar wordlessly.
It’s a peace offering, of sorts.
He sits in the co-pilot’s chair and takes a hesitant bite, chewing slowly. You see his expression brighten—probably at the realization that this is one of the good ration bars, the kind that Hunter always says not to hog—then return to his usual neutral one.
You watch as he swallows. He hands you back the bar, holding out his hand, but you don’t take it.
“Why… why are you here?” you ask quietly.
As soon as the words leave your mouth, Echo drops his arm and breaks eye contact, looking almost embarrassed. Or maybe even ashamed.
Still, you wait for his answer. Several long, painful seconds pass before he says anything. When he speaks, it’s like he’s forcing out the words.
“I wanted to—” he pauses. His flesh hand fiddles with his metal one. “I wanted to apologize.”
You feel your breath hitch. Staring, you try not to gape. “What?” you say, whispering without meaning to. “I don’t—”
“I’ve been horrible to you,” Echo continues, voice steadier. “I didn’t mean to be so… withdrawn. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I… I hope you can forgive me.”
Instead of acknowledging his apology, you bite the inside of your cheek with uncertainty, then cross your arms over your chest. One of the others must have put him up to this. Probably Omega, or perhaps Hunter. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “Who sent you?”
“No one!” Echo replies hurriedly, then presses his lips into a thin line. “I mean, Hunter told me that you—he said that—” He sighs. “I didn’t realize it on my own. But I came because I wanted to.”
You blink, cursing yourself when you feel your eyes sting. With a start, you realize that this is the most Echo has said to you since you joined the squad.
Taking in a breath, you wring your hands anxiously. “I just… I just don’t understand why.” You shrug. “You’re not the same with me. Not like how you are with the others.”
Echo swallows. “It’s not—”
“I just want to know what I did wrong.”
At that, Echo falls silent. Guilt permeates the air, enough that you can feel it.
“Hey,” Echo says, kinder than you’ve ever heard him. “Look at me.”
You do. His eyes, like lava, or maybe liquid gold, bore into you. It almost hurts to look.
“This,” he continues, gesturing to the space between you, “is not your fault.”
Against your will, a lone tear slips down your cheek. “So whose fault is it?” you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the ship’s engine
It’s obvious from the look on Echo’s face that he’s thinking of something—or someone—specific. Despite how much you want to, you don’t push.
You just wait.
“It’s my brother,” Echo finally murmurs, and you raise your eyebrows, quickly cycling through the rest of your squad. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech… maybe Crosshair? You can’t think what any of them, even the one who’s no longer a member of your group, have to do with you.
“Your... brother,” you repeat dumbly.
“Yes.” Echo nods. “Fives.”
Oh. A fellow soldier, then. Probably from before the war ended… and probably long dead.
Drawing in a shaky breath, you hastily wipe your cheek with your sleeve. “What—what about him?”
“You…” Echo shakes his head, then lets out a humourless chuckle as he turns to look at the viewport, at the swirling blues and whites and greys of hyperspace. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You remind me of him.”
You blink.
Truthfully, you have no idea what to say to that. Luckily, Echo continues, saving you from having to come up with an answer.
“Your sense of humour, I mean. The sarcasm, the jokes.” He shrugs, and the light from the viewport catches on his cybernetic headpiece, glinting in the otherwise dim cockpit. “And… and the way you know people.”
“‘Know people’?” you echo, confused. “I’m not following.”
“You understand people,” Echo says, and finally looks at you again, eyes impossibly sad. “Somehow, without ever having experienced what others have gone through, you understand their pain—and you feel it with them.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again. “Fives used to do that too.”
And suddenly, as though a switch inside you has been flipped, it all makes sense. “And that’s why you’ve been avoiding me,” you realize, and Echo winces. “Because I remind you of him.”
“See?” The barest hint of a smile graces his lips. “You’re doing it now. And you’re not even trying.”
“I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“I’m sorry for everything,” Echo says. “I am. It just…”
“Hurts,” you finish, and Echo blinks, surprised. You smile softly. “I know you too, you know.” Reaching out, you take his flesh hand, gently prying it open and taking the ration bar. As Echo watches, you split the remaining piece in half and hand one to him. “And for what it’s worth—I forgive you.”
The shadows colouring Echo’s face suddenly seem lighter. He smiles, then—really smiles.
You take a bite of the ration bar and smile back.
Taglist | Navigation
TAGS | @sweetsunflowerkisses @sarasxe @buckethead-over-heels @frietiemeloen @leotatombs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hoeneyhoeney @idoubleswearimawriter @burningfieldof-clover @captain-rexs-babygirl @living-that-best-life @readeity @itspauvr @my-own-oracle @xlovingheartsx @seriowan @leotatombs @blueberry-9-pancakes @lucyysthings @idoubleswearimawriter @burningfieldof-clover @captain-rexs-babygirl
#star wars#tbb echo#tbb echo x reader#tbb echo x you#arc trooper echo#bad batch echo#the bad batch#the bad batch x reader#star wars the clone wars#arc trooper echo x reader#arc trooper fives#sw tcw#sw tbb
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https://x.com/CorenLaVolpe/status/1787971755027612092
As much as a Greek enjoyed the Hades game having people literally taking for granted the designs of the gods as legit is problematic.
No Hermes isn't Asian coded. He's Greek like every God. Literally what does the word Greek next to Greek gods mean to them? An accessory? Give me a break
I got a few asks like this, so I will try to answer them here. This is the post the asks are referring to, and this is the post that started the whole discussion afaik:
This is a whole phenomenon that has lasted for decades in the US, first with USians presenting the gods as North Europeans and now as "everything but" North Europeans to combat the previous racist trend. However, they are still completely tone-deaf, self-absorbed, and privileged because while they do this "correction" they're ignoring actual Greeks, and Greek depictions (and depictions of Greek gods in various areas in the past). Westerners might not be aware of this, because they don't know how badly the Greeks have been treated by powerful countries in the past (including their US, thank you for the Junta and our recent fighters' deaths, honey) but the protests about the gods' design are anti-colonialist.
I want you to imagine this trend with whatever pantheon you want from Africa, Asia, South America etc. Imagine that for centuries they are presented as super White North Europeans by certain powerful nations. Now the same nation who did this racist shit in the past comes around and does more racist shit, by NOT presenting these ancient gods as their people view/viewed them but they present them as everything BUT the appearance they had in all their depictions by the locals. All the while NEVER listening to what the people of this culture tell them, all the while comparing the locals to these gods and finding them uglier and savage. Why would this be acceptable? And why are people so comfortable to forget their cultural sensitivities when it comes to Greece?
(I am aware the US racism also expanded to other pantheons but it didn't happen in this exact way so all I'm asking is to walk in our shoes for a bit, to experience a different flavour of colonialism)
This blog stands for absolute equality and it's heavily anti-racist and anti-fascist, with various resources and support links for minorities in Greece. Everyone is welcome here. This blog believes that if you are of Chinese, Pakistani, Nigerian, Roma descent in Greece you must have the same rights as everybody else and the way you look is not "lesser" than anybody else. I just ask people to consider - especially if you are an immigrant - how you, your parents, your grandparents would feel when seeing your important cultural figures treated like this by the US.
As you have understood by now, changing the depiction is not suddenly okay when the Greek gods now have the palest skin with blue eyes and blond hair. No, that's still racist, and Greeks have been repeatedly told that they are lesser for not looking like the beauty ideals these northern countries projected onto our gods.
Asking for accurate god depictions is a matter of wanting your culture to be treated like.... not a prop, for once. Everyone is free to interact and relate with the Greek culture but when you take the Greek culture and its depictions out of the equation, then the whole thing becomes "playing with dolls", and a fandom (as is the case already for the US).
The Greek gods have been used by Westerners in the past to promote White supremacy, and today they are used by Westerners to combat it; but it still happens in the most divorced sense from the Greek culture. USians are still sooo hesitant to REALLY look at another culture that they'd rather lose common sense (aka, depict gods as the locals see them for millennia) than not white-knight for their fellow Westerners. It's actually infuriating that progressives in the US still miss the mark when it comes to combating US neo-colonialism, and whatever elements left in their culture from colonizing European countries.
And how can we tell the Greek gods are used as props in this US political climate? Simple. They themselves will tell you "It's okay to depict those gods however you like because 1. They can transform 2. They have been worshipped by people of different appearances 3. Greeks can have more than one appearance 4. They are not real. " Then, you tell them "Then why don't you depict Chinese, Indian, Nigerian pantheons whoever you like today? These pantheons all have the above four conditions apply. (No. 4 depending on your beliefs)" And when you strip those first layers, they tell you the actual root cause: "But Chinese, Indian and Nigerian people are still oppressed. Plus, non-white people need to see themselves in media, so here is the chance!"
So, they admit that their only guide for how disrespectful they will be to one's heritage figures is actually the oppression status of that minority (just!) in the US. (Which shows they still don't give a shit about Greeks, cause otherwise they'd still know that Greeks still face bigotry in the US for how they look, how their names are, their customs) . To POC in the US: The moment your oppressors believe your oppression is gone, expect your pop culture to forget (again) all respect for your ancient gods and treat them like cool "new" products for their capitalist game.
And the above discussion paints the Greek culture and Greek figures as a culture-less empty slate, that can be made to represent every person in the whole world. It's US culture, even! But Greek culture is hideous actually, and the Greeks are racist brutes who get in our hair the whole time. Fuck the Greek people and their ancestors' depictions. Greek mythology is a product of no culture, actually, and we can treat the gods like self-inserts in our favorite fanfic. And this is totally not a colonialist mindset! Greeks are not robbed and genocided anymore, and we gave them "white" status in our country a few decades ago (but these ethnic hairy people are still not the same as us, obviously!), and the strings we pull to control Greece are not visible anymore to our own people, so we're good 😊
And, just to be clear: Greek gods are ethnically Greek, as every other [insert cultural descriptor] gods are from that certain culture. The Greek people consider themselves literal progeny of those gods. The first Greeks were born of the gods. Even today we call ourselves Hellenes because one of the first Greeks, the man Hellen, who was born of the gods. If the Greek gods don't express Greek cultural norms, and POVs, and ways of thinking about the world, and are not part of Greek history, what the hell are part of?? Cantonese culture? Do they represent Scandinavian ancient values perhaps....? Do they follow the philosophy of a First Nations tribe?? (This is more a matter of culture, not appearance since various people can be part of a culture. However, it needs to be said, because Westerners are willfully blind to common sense at this point.)
See this video from a Greek Canadian on Greek gods being ethnically Greek
To address one last thing: One person said "why didn't you say anything about how the gods were designed in the first game?" Well, I had made a post about it but some told me "noo they didn't change their race, they just have different colors like green, blue, pink, dark brown, and grey for an artistic touch". I was like "whatever, nobody knows, I have a life to live" so I deleted that post and didn't dwell too much on it. But the anti-colonialist message was the same as in this post, so that's another chance to highlight it.
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Evan Buckley Week 2024
The prompts for Evan Buckley Week 2024 are here!
This event celebrating our very own Evan "Buck" Buckley from 9-1-1 will be held from the 12th until the 18th of August 2024.
You don't need to sign up to participate, just make sure that when you post your work here on Tumblr, you use the tag #buckweek2024. Since tags can get a bit finicky here on Tumblr, you can choose to let us know you posted by also tagging @evanbuckleyweek in your post. Fics posted to ao3 can be added to the Evan Buckley Week 2024 collection.
We've provided prompts for edits as well as fanfiction and art. However, you don't have to stick to one specific list. We encourage you to choose from whichever one sparks joy, as long as you make sure to post on the corresponding day the prompt belongs to!
Edits
For edits, we have some prompts for you where you can pick your Buck-related favorites to make an edit with. All kinds of edits are welcome! Show us your gifs, image-edits and collages!
Day 1: Buck + favorite rescue
Day 2: Buck + favorite line
Day 3: Buck + favorite near death experience
Day 4: Buck + hugs
Day 5: Buck + bi disaster moments
Day 6: Buck + love language
Day 7: favorite headcanon or free choice
Fic & art
For fics and art we're giving you a few prompts to choose from every day. You can choose only one of these, or choose to combine two or all three of them! Every day consists of a line, a theme and a feeling.
Every part of the prompts is completely open to your interpretation. Surprise us with your creativity! We look forward to your fics and all variations of art and other creative works!
Day 1: “Why did you do that?” | reckless behavior | fear
Day 2: “This is my home” | catharsis | hope
Day 3: “Stop lying” | walking away | anger
Day 4: "I really don't like thunderstorms" | late night conversations | anxiety
Day 5: “I wonder what it would have been like if I had known sooner” | bi pride | acceptance
Day 6: "that's why I love you" | love languages | joy
Day 7: favorite headcanon or free choice
Some last things before you go and create your masterpieces:
Please make sure that your fics on ao3 are tagged with the proper ratings and warnings.
We want to ask you to refrain from submitting any of the following: works with character bashing or ship bashing as well as works containing explicit rape/non-con, pedophilia and incest (exploring the aftermath or trauma of these things is okay). Fics that do contain any of these will not be accepted into the ao3 collection and posts will not be reblogged to the Evan Buckley Week blog.
If you have a question, check our FAQ page to see if the answer is there or drop an ask in our inbox!
#evan buck buckley#evan buckley#buckweek2024#911 on abc#9-1-1#911 abc#911 fox#Evan Buckley Week 2024
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karma in the shape of a god
pairing: bang chan x fem reader
genre: smut with feelings
word count: ~4.7k
synopsis: a night with the boys leads to a confession from you, which leads to some fun
warnings: drinking, reader is insecure about her body, oral (f.receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, choking, chan is called daddy, pet names for reader include: baby, honey, princess, good girl etc. i think that’s all?
an: been feeling uninspired recently, unable to write anything really. so.. here’s something that’s been in my drafts for a while. is it kinda cringe? yeah, absolutely. but that’s part of its charm. 💕
masterlist
your relationship with chan was still pretty new. you had only been together for a couple months now and things seemed to be going great. you really felt like you were falling for him but didn’t understand how he could possibly feel the same way about you. you looked at yourself in the mirror, having just finished your makeup and you took a deep breath. he likes you, or else he wouldn’t be in this relationship. right? that’s what you told yourself.
"baby are you ready?" he called from the kitchen of your apartment. his voice felt cleansing to your doubts, like rain is cleansing to the earth. he had been waiting on you for only a moment, having come to pick you up.
"yeah, im coming!" you called back. tonight you were going to a get together with all of his closest friends. you had met the guys once or twice, but never had spent too much time with them. they were always so busy, chan included. you bounded down the hallway, your eyes growing wide as they landed on him. wow he looked good. he always did, but tonight he was wearing jeans, which is rare for him, and a loose fitting white t-shirt. you felt like you might start drooling. you double checked to make sure your mouth wasn’t hanging wide open.
"you look so pretty." he said, approaching you. "so cute." he booped your nose with the tip of his index finger. your cheeks turned red and he let out a little giggle. he placed his hand on your hip and pulled you close, his mouth landing on yours for a quick peck. no matter how quick the kiss, you felt it send a jolt straight to your core. fuck it was going to be a long night. even though your relationship was new, you had already had sex with chan. you couldn’t resist, but it was pretty basic vanilla sex. it was sort of a mess of limbs as you tried to get to know each others likes and dislikes. you could tell he was being timid and careful so as not to hurt you or scare you off, and to be honest, you were too shy to tell him what you really want. you felt like your desires were normal, and you weren’t ashamed of them, but you had never told anyone about them. and you really didn’t think you would be able to tell chan. especially since you had only been together a couple of months. so, it was safe to say that the sex was okay, you both achieved climax, but it also left you both wanting. this was still on your mind, and you were cursing yourself for being so damn shy, when he led you out of the apartment and down to his car.
he opened the door for you and helped you in, leaning across you to buckle your seatbelt. you loved this about chan, he always took such good care of you. he carefully closed the door and walked around the front of the car to the drivers side. he buckled himself and started the engine. you couldn’t help but notice his hands gripping the steering wheel, veins sticking out as he turned the wheel to pull away from the curb.
"yn? hello?" he said with a chuckle.
"what?" you answered, confused. "did you say something?"
he reached over and put his hand on your thigh. you looked down at it, feeling that tingle in your core again, trying your hardest to focus on what he was saying to you.
"are you okay? you seem off." he said.
you swallowed and looked up at him. "no, I’m fine. just a little nervous is all." you tell him. which, is true. social gatherings always made you nervous, no matter how nice the people are. so you weren’t lying, you just left out the part about how you’ve been fantasizing about him since he picked you up. maybe it’s a lie by omission but you didn’t care.
"there’s no reason to be nervous." he said. "the guys love you. and we’re just going to have some drinks and hang out. no big deal." he smiled over at you and squeezed your thigh lightly. "and I’ll be right there with you the whole time. we can leave if you get too uncomfortable."
you smiled and nodded at him. the next couple minutes were filled with comfortable silence as you approached your destination. he parked the car and you got out.
"baby, I’ll always get the car door for you." he said, disappointed that you opened it and got out before he had the chance to do it for you.
"that’s okay, channie. you can do it on the way home, okay?"
this seemed to appease him and he took your hand and led you inside. before the door was even open, you could hear the ruckus inside. loud voices shouting at each other. they were all gathered around, shouting at the tv screen. you recognized hyunjin, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin seated on the couch. han and minho were on the little loveseat to the right, and felix was sat on the floor. one heck of a game of mario kart was happening and it seemed han was in the lead. he was focused, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. minho wasn’t playing, but instead was staring at han, a small smile on his lips and complete admiration in his eyes. hyunjin also wasn’t playing, but instead was trying to sabotage seungmin. he kept giggling and reaching for the controller, pushing random buttons. at the last second, jeongin managed to hit han (or rather, baby princess peach) with a shell and sent him spiraling. jeongin crossed the finish line coming in first place. they all threw their controllers down in defeat, as jeongin cheered.
you let out a small giggle at the scene. felix looked up from the floor and smiled. "hi yn." he waved. you waved back and with his hand on the small of your back, chan led you further into the room. changbin quickly got up and offered you his seat next to hyunjin, as there was no where else to sit. you thanked him with a small bow and took a seat.
"baby, you want a drink?" chan asked. you nodded and he returned a moment later with a cup.
———
the next couple hours were filled with drinks and laughs as more mario kart was played.
mario kart turned into truth or dare, which turned into some drinking game that changbin had made up, and by the end of it you were feeling pretty drunk. chan doesn’t drink, so he was just having fun watching you. at some point, you went to the bathroom and returned to find chan in your seat. you looked at him and he patted his lap, offering it to you. with all the dirty thoughts running through your brain tonight, you weren’t sure if sitting on his lap was the best decision, but liquid courage can do a lot for you. you were, admittedly, a lightweight. all the guys had been drinking the same as you and they were a little buzzed, but you were downright drunk. after spilling it on your shirt, chan took your cup away and placed it on the table.
"baby I think your drunk." he laughed, his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly to his chest.
you looked up at his beautiful face. "I th-think your right." you hiccuped. this caused everyone to giggle.
"how about we get you home, yeah?" he stood up, lifting you off his lap in the process and placing you on your feet. you swayed a little when he tried to let go, so you clung to his arm. after exchanging goodbyes, he carefully led you out to the car and buckled you in. you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or not, but you thought he looked even more handsome than he did before. you also thought that wasn’t possible. he climbed into the drivers side and your attention again fell to his hands on the steering wheel. god, I want those wrapped around my neck, you thought.
"what was that, baby?" chan asked, a clear smile on his face.
"did I say that out loud?"
"yes you did." he laughed. he reached over to place his hand on your thigh again, like before.
"oh don’t do that.." you mumbled.
"don’t do what?" he pulled his hand away. "do you not like me touching you there?"
you threw your head back against the seat dramatically, before turning your head to face him. "th-that’s not it." you stuttered. "I like it when you touch me there. or anywhere really. I like it soooo much. too much. you’re driving me crazy. I want you to do so many things to me." you confessed with a sigh.
"oh yeah?" he had a smirk on his face. "like what?"
you shook your head. "mm can’t tell you that."
"sure you can, baby. you can tell me anything." he had his hand back on your thigh now, his thumb rubbing soft strokes into your skin.
you stared at that beautiful hand. "wanna be your good girl." the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even stop them. the shock of what you just said slowly settling in. the car was quiet for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds.
"but you’re already my good girl." he said, his fingers digging into your skin. you could tell that your words changed his mood, his eyes now dark and filled with desire.
he pulled up to your apartment and parked the car. this time you waited, so he could open the door for you, but also so you could have an extra second to collect your thoughts. you can’t believe you had said that. how embarrassing.
he opened the door and helped you out of the car and back into your apartment.
you stumbled inside, kicking your shoes off at the door and started fumbling with your clothes.
"let’s get you to bed, yeah?"
"yes please, take me to bed channie." you practically moaned. you really were embarrassing yourself tonight, huh?
he laughed. "I’ll go get you some pajamas." and he headed towards your room.
oh, he really meant go to bed. like to sleep. you really felt like an idiot now. but god he looked so good. and the alcohol was fueling your need for him. you were needy before, but now it’s tenfold. you shakily followed him into your bedroom. he was digging around in your dresser for some sleep clothes for you. you slipped your shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. then you fumbled with the button of your shorts for a minute before successfully undoing them and letting them fall to the floor as well. you had just unclasped your bra and dropped it with the rest of the clothes as chan found what he needed.
"this should work just fi—" he froze at the sight of you topless in front of him.
you approached him slowly. "thank you for taking such good care of me channie." you said sweetly, resting your palms on his chest. you let your hands explore his body, feeling his muscles under your fingertips. you couldn’t believe he was yours. you looked up at him. "kiss me." you said.
"baby girl, you’re drunk." he replied, grabbing your wrists with one hand and holding out the pajamas in the other. the sight of his strong hand wrapped around both of your wrists was definitely arousing and not helping his case at all.
"I want you. I want to be your good girl channie." you looked up at him with your best puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. "please? im so needy." you couldn’t believe you were actually saying these things to him. you were definitely drunk.
he took a deep breath. "fuck. princess, I want to. but you’re so drunk."
hmm princess, he had never called you that before, but you loved it.
"if you want to be a good girl for me, you’ll go to bed and we can talk about this tomorrow when you’re sober."
you pouted some more, but gave in, sensing he wasn’t going to budge on this. he slipped the t-shirt over your head and helped you into bed. he leaned down and kissed your forehead. "goodnight baby. I’ll let myself out and call you tomorrow, yeah?" he whispered.
you clung to him. "no channie, don’t go. stay with me, please."
he caressed your cheek, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth. "how can I say no to you when you’re so sweet?" he said. he removed his jeans and crawled into bed beside you, pulling you close to him, your head resting on his chest. "I’ll stay, but we’re just sleeping, got it?"
you sleepily nodded. "yes daddy." you said.
"I’m daddy now? fuck, baby. you’re not making this easy." he reached down to readjust his boxers before you drifted off to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
———
the next morning, you awoke to an empty bed. your head was pounding and your mouth felt like the desert. you sat up slowly, your ears ringing. you brought your hand to your head with a small whimper.
"oh, you’re awake." you looked up to see chan in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand and 2 small headache pills. "I figured you probably wouldn’t be feeling the best this morning," he laughed.
"you would be right." you said quietly.
"here baby, take this." he helped you take the medicine and placed the water glass on your bedside table. he crawled back into bed next to you and pulled you down to lay on his chest. he smelled so nice and he was so warm. you already felt a little better. he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, placing a small kiss on the top of your head.
"so do you want to talk about last night?" he asked.
last night? what about last night? you tried to think back and realized you don’t really remember anything after the truth or dare game. you don’t remember going back to your apartment. suddenly embarrassed you ask: "what about last night? did I do something bad?"
he chuckled. "you mean you don’t remember what you said to me?"
panic was starting to set in. this is why drinking is bad kids, don’t do it. what the heck did you say to him last night? your mind was blank, a black void where memories should be. "no, I don’t remember." you tell him. "but I’m sorry for whatever I said. channie I was pretty drunk, im sure I didn’t mean it."
he was outright laughing now. the full on chan laugh that you loved so much, the one with the little squeak in the middle. you looked at him, confused.
he composed himself before he said, "so you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to be a good girl for me?" he was smirking at you and you could no longer look him in the eye. your cheeks were hot with embarrassment. you buried your face in his chest, groaning. "you didn’t mean it when you called me daddy? that’s a shame, I really liked that." he said, quieter this time, a husky whisper.
You froze. No way you said that to him last night.. did you? You groaned again, gripping his shirt in your fists.
"Baby girl, look at me." He said. You shook your head no against his chest, unable to overcome the embarrassment. "No?" He questioned. "But I thought you were my good girl. I know you are baby, look at me." You felt his words in between your legs, a dull throb starting to form. You swallowed, and took a deep breath before shyly looking up and meeting his dark gaze. "There she is." He said quietly, tucking your hair behind your ear. "There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby." He tells you before he leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips. The kiss only lasts a second before he pulls away, but not far. He’s only a couple inches away from your face, his breath mingling with yours. He looks into your eyes for a moment, before kissing you again. This kiss is more intense, you can feel his desire for you. One of his large hands comes up to the back of your neck, holding you in place. You melt into the kiss and grip his shirt tighter. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, asking for entry. You part your lips slightly and his tongue finds yours. You whimpered into his mouth.
He rolls you onto your back then, never breaking the kiss. His hands are all over you, rubbing up and down your body. His lips move from your mouth, to your neck and he begins to softly suck on the tender skin there. You’re out of breath, trying to compose yourself but your lost in him. "Chan" you breathe out.
He makes a sound of disapproval against your neck. "Nuh uh baby. I’m not Chan, what am I?" He says before biting your neck.
You let out a small moan at the bite. Your brain is frazzled.
"I’m waiting, baby. You can do it." He encourages. His kissing is moving farther down, he’s at your collarbones now, his hands snaking their way up your shirt. His strong hands glide smoothly over the skin of your tummy.
"Da-daddy.." you choke out.
"Mmm." He slides your shirt up revealing your breasts, nipples hard with the cold air. "That’s my good girl." He says, before taking your left nipple into his mouth. You thought you might combust. Your body was hot, and your panties were soaked. his tongue felt amazing against the sensitive skin of your breast. you brought your hands up to tangle in his mess of dark curls, holding him to you chest, not wanting him to ever stop.
“so beautiful.” he mumbled against your chest before using his hand to guide your other nipple into his mouth. you arch into him, needing to be closer. needing him. you whimper, a pretty pathetic sound you must admit, but it slips out. he pulls away from your breast to look into your eyes. his thumb still works back and forth across your nipple, but his eyes are on you. his pupils are wide with lust, his cheeks slightly pink, his lips wet and swollen. “what’s the matter, baby? why so whiney?” he asks.
his intense eye contact makes you nervous. this is nothing new, chan loves eye contact, especially in bed. it was nice in the sense that you always felt seen, you always felt appreciated. but at the same time, it made you shy. it made you want to turn your head and bury your face in your hands. maybe that’s why he does it, because he loves to see you squirm under him. loves to see you blushing and oh so shy because of him. “need you.” you manage to say, proudly still making eye contact with him, even if your cheeks are on fire.
he hums, returning his wet kisses to the skin of your chest. “tell me about it.” he says in between kisses.
you whine again, your head so cloudy with nothing but him, words long forgotten. he pinches your nipple between his fingers, roughly, causing you to wince. “ah ah,” he tuts. “be good, baby. tell daddy what you want.”
his wet kisses and messy licks are moving further down your torso now, his hands squeezing at the soft flesh of your sides. you tried to breathe deep, tried to focus. he nibbled at your skin on the way down, until he was running his tongue all the way across the elastic band of your panties. you gasped at the feeling, your body covered in goosebumps. “you better answer me baby, or i’m going to stop.” he looks up at you through his long beautiful eye lashes, his lips still pressed to your skin but he was completely still.
“need you.” you say again. “inside me.”
he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and pulls them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. “inside you?” he pushed your legs apart, revealing your most sensitive parts. you felt so exposed. you tugged your shirt down, covering your breasts and what you could of your stomach. his eyes tore away from your dampness and flashed up to your face. he pushed your shirt back up. “don’t cover yourself baby, let daddy see your beautiful body, yeah?” you weakly nodded, not feeling beautiful at all, but doing as your told. he kisses his way back up your body to your face. he cups your cheek in one hand, the other supporting his weight as he hovers over you. his thumb rubs soothing strokes across your cheek. “you don’t have to be shy around me.” he kissed your forehead gently. “you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.” he whispers against your skin. “i’m so lucky to have you, baby. i’m such a lucky daddy, aren’t i? to have you all naked and spread out, your sweet pussy leaking onto the sheets.” you could feel his erection pressing against your thigh. he kissed your lips. “can i show you how beautiful you are? can i make you feel good, baby? are you okay?” you nod at him, you heart so full of love you felt it might burst.
he positioned himself in between your thighs, his face inches from your core. “so wet, honey.” he said gruffly. “you want me inside you? hmm?” you nodded vigorously, lifting your hips to his face. he chuckled at your eagerness. “my fingers?” he asks, bringing his fingers to gather the wetness, running his index and middle fingers up through your folds. you moan, squirming, needing relief. “be still, baby.” he says, before sliding his middle finger into your opening, slowly sinking it as far as he could. you gripped the sheets in your fists, your breathing erratic. he slowly started to pump his finger in and out of you, and then he leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit. he hummed at the taste of you, filling the room with the sounds of your wetness and the sound of his tongue drinking it up. you could feel your release building, the tension inside you about to snap.
“daddy-“ you moaned. “daddy- i’m close.”
he continued his ministrations, his eyes locked on your face, not wanting to miss a second of the pleasure your about to have. with one particularly harsh lick against your clit, your orgasm washes over you. you vision goes black, your body tenses, and you cum. you cum harder than you ever have before, your release coating his tongue, lips and chin. “fuck, baby. you’re so pretty when you’re cumming for me.” he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you. “my perfect girl.”
he straightens up, kneeling on the bed in front of you. he pulls his shirt up and over his head, before leaning back to rest his weight on his heels. he palms his erection through his boxers, sighing and staring down at you. he looked godly, absolutely ethereal, his chiseled body flexing, his face still wet with your cum, his chest heaving as he pants. your mouth watered. “think you can take my cock, princess?” he asks, pulling his boxers down, setting his cock free. it slaps against his stomach, red and leaking precum. he stroked himself, slowly, circling his leaking head with his thumb, spreading his precum. you were sure there was drool running down your chin at this point. this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex with chan, but you were always amazed at the sight of him. you always questioned what you did to deserve him. how was this man yours? how was he currently naked in front of you, having just given you the best orgasm of your life? what good deeds had you done to receive this karma? karma in the shape of a god.
“please-“ you whimpered.
“mmm. i like that.” chan moaned, rubbing his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. “beg for it, princess.”
“please, daddy please.” you begged. “need you so bad. fuck me, please. i’m a good girl. i’ve been good, daddy. i promise. please.”
he let out a sound that reminded you of a growl, a deep rumbling sound in his chest, before he slowly pushed himself inside of you. he gradually pushed himself all the way, until he couldn’t go any further. he remained still for a moment, letting you adjust to him. he leaned down and kissed you, sweetly. “i love you baby.” he whispered against your lips. he slowly pulled out and pushed back in. “fuck.” he moaned. he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “i love you so much. love this pussy.” he was thrusting faster now. your hands found their way to his back, his muscles flexing with each thrust. he kissed across your jaw to your ear. “you take me so well, princess. my perfect girl,” he panted. your pussy clenched at the praise, squeezing his cock. “that’s it baby, you gonna be good and cum for me?”
“yes, daddy. wanna cum for you.”
“fuck.” he moaned again, kissing down to your shoulder. his fingertips ran up your thigh, over your hip, up your torso, across your breast, coming to rest at the base of your throat. “do you remember what you said in the car?” he asked, his thrusts getting sloppy. you shook your head no. “you said you wanted my hands around your throat.” his fingertips grazed across your neck, down across your collarbones, and back up. he gently wrapped his hand around your throat, applying the slightest pressure to the sides. “like this, baby? is this what you want?”
“oh my god.” you moaned, pussy fluttering around him.
“mmm. you feel so good squeezing my cock. you’re gonna make me cum, princess. need you to cum first.”
you gripped his waist, feeling your high quickly approaching. he’s so good. you’re so full of him. his moaning in your ear turns to whines and you know he’s close. the thought of him about to loose control and come undone all because of you, is what finally sends you over the edge.
“channie.. thank you.” you moan, your pussy convulsing around him. “thank you. thank you.” you cry.
when a final moan of your name falls from his lips, you feel him release inside of you. so much that it leaks out around his cock, staining the sheets. his thrusts slow until they stop completely. he gently pulls out of you, and collapses on his back beside you, panting. you roll on your side, draping an arm across his stomach, placing a couple kisses across his chiseled jaw. he looks down at you, a look filled with adoration. he brings his hand to your head, smoothing your hair. “i love you.” he says, smiling sleepily before kissing your forehead.
“i love you too.” you tell him, burying your face in his neck, suddenly sleepy.
“we need to get you cleaned up, baby. we made a mess.” he chuckles.
“but i’m so sleepy.” you mumble into his skin.
“me too.” he admits. “are you okay?” he asks, rubbing your back in long, slow strokes. “was that.. okay?”
you snuggle closer to him. “channie, it was perfect.” you answer, before falling asleep, your head resting on his chest, his strong arms around you, his cum leaking out of you, forever loved and safe.
an: admittedly, not my best work. but i love that scene of the boys playing mario kart? i can vividly see it in my mind and it’s so cute.
🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕
#always on my daddy chan bs#stray kids#bang chan#stray kids x reader#bang chan stray kids#bang chan x reader#stray kids bang chan#stray kids smut#bang chan smut#hyunjins orange slice too
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Omega Adam x Alpha Lucifer
What if:
What if Adam made his mask to help surpassed his heat cycles. It worked up until the fight when Lucifer broke it which caused his heat to start up.
I guess you could say someones fucked lol
Smut under the cut
Adam crawled out of the skylight, grunting from the pain he felt from the impact. "Okay, how many more of you freaks do I have to fight!?" He paused when he noticed his mask was broken, half of it missing from his face.
Oh no.
Maybe it would be okay? The half that was still there seemed to be working, the LEDs still glowing.
But the beginning of a cramp in his lower abdomen told him that no, it was not going to work. Adam wore his mask all of the time and hadn't had a heat cycle in years.
No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! NOT NOW! Not with HIM here, this fucking close!
"Oh I'm the only one that matters. You see, you mess with my daughter and now..." The wind blew a gust in Lucifer's direction and a sweet smell filled his nostrils. A smell he hadn't known for a very long time. "I'm going to fuck you!"
Everyone was silent as they looked at him confused and in horror.
"It's fuck you up, dad."
Another wave of that beautiful scent assaulted Lucifer's senses and yeah, he knew. "No sweetie, I mean that literally." Lucifer admitted his own power scent, as an alpha it was sure to make Adam stand down.
Adam could smell it and had to swallow a whimper. He forgot how good the devil smelled. "Stay away from me asshole!" He backed up when Lucifer got closer, another cramp hitting him. Adam knew he didn't have much time before basic instinct would take him over, it has been way too long since he's slept with an alpha.
Since earth with Eve.
Adam nearly moaned when Lucifer grabbed his wrist. They were gone in a flash of magic.
Charlie couldn't believe her eyes. "What the fuck just happened?"
Angel smirked. "Someone's getting a baby sibling!"
-
Adam was pinned to the bed, his mask fully gone now. All he could smell or feel was Lucifer on top of him, the devil licked at his neck over his sensitive scent glands making him shiver. "Fuck off!"
"Sweetheart, your mouth says one thing but your body..." Lucifer pressed his erection against the wetness of Adams clothed opening. "Says it missed me. I can make it good for you like I did in Eden." He rolled his hips making Adam squirm.
Fuck, Eden. The last time they fucked was right before Adam and Eve got kicked out of the garden.
"Do you want me to knot you again, darling? I could pump you so full of my seed I give you another baby. Would you like that? To have another child of mine?" He was referring to Cain, Cain was Adam and Lucifer's son.
Too far gone in his need and natural instinct, Adam's mind blanked out. That was all he heard.
Baby, baby, baby, he wants to give me a baby!
"Yes! Knot me Luci.~" He was practically vibrating and drooling with need.
Lucifer growled, liking the answer. Under a normal circumstance he'd tease Adam more, but it's been a long time since he himself got laid and he really wants to be inside of him again after all these fucking years.
He removed the tights that Adam wore under his robe and unzipped his own pants shoving them down. Lucifer didn't waste any time sinking himself into the awaiting wet heat.
They both moaned at the long awaited feeling. "How long has it been since you've been properly fucked through a heat, darling? Long time I'm betting."
"Ahhh! L-long time!" Adam withered and moaned like the bitch in heat he was, his senses getting overloaded with pleasure that only his alpha could give him.
"Did you ever try? Did you ever want to seek me out? I bet you would have fantasies about me." Because Lucifer certainly had fantasies about Adam.
Adam couldn't even think straight enough to answer, the cramps having died down all he could say was 'yes' wanting the knot that was so close to filling him. He'd say anything to get it in that moment.
"This time I get to keep you." Was all Lucifer said before he came deeply inside of Adam, knotting him. He placed a hand on Adam's lower belly, oh how he hoped he got pregnant. He'd never let him go this time.
Adam felt the relief that came with his own orgasm and the feeling of being filled with the king's release. Oh how he missed it.
They could deal with the consequences of their actions in the morning.
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Heyo!
Since I'm definitely a fan of your writings and this tinkling feeling of requesting you something has been irking me, can I request something like an arranged marriage with Pierre?
Angsty and maybe a happy ending. That's upto you.
Love your works. Hoping for more great pieces.❤️
Happy New Year 🎊
(At the end of the fic I'll leave a note about this request ❤️)
Navigation || Masterlist
If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.
pairing: pierre gasly x female!reader (feat. esteban ocon x female!reader and charles leclerc as reader's bestfriend)
genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff and comfort
!tw!: swearing, mention of s*x (not graphic), cheating, violence
word count: 18.6k
plot: you loved him, he loved you, and neither knew. Will an arranged marriage, an old love triangle and a special friend be enough to finally make you confess your true feelings?
Walking down the aisle, a bouquet clumsily held by trembling fingers, your whole chest was filled with quick butterflies batting wings, desperate to spread free.
He was perfect.
An astonishingly crafted smirk plastered on his face, ready for the flashes of the cameras to be captured, the suit slid on his athletic body without creases.
You reckoned yourself inadequate in that white, plain dress: feeling pins pulling your hair left and right after hours of work by the hairdresser, the steady arm of your dad was the only anchor to the present moment.
He never strayed his stare away from you, removing your veil in a slow, tantalizing motion.
There were no vows to be exchanged and get mistaken in anxiety, no rings to be put through the wrong finger: you were and had always been his since forever, without he even had to ask.
You peeked behind Pierre’s shoulder and saw Charles showing you an encouraging smile, which you tried to reciprocate despite sweating cold. You remembered his huge grin when Pierre had handed him the invitation: dimples on full display, Charles had flicked his eyes between the two of you and had been stoked ever since he was told he’d be best man. He’d been happier than Pierre himself had been about the news of the engagement with you and, consequently, about the wedding.
>>♥<<
«Okay, cool.»
That had been his answer to you two fathers’ decision.
They had grown best friends over the years, and they both didn’t like Pierre’s womanizer lifestyle, which was quite detrimental to his reputation. So your dad had decided to offer his own daughter to the Gasly’s like a sacrificial victim, knowing you had always had sympathy for the youngster and sure he would simply love you back with time.
Of course, you were painfully aware of Pierre’s usual behavior around girls and, even though befriending him in teenage had made you helplessly fall in love with him, getting married felt like the cruelest assault to your dignity.
For sure you would love him.
And for sure he would not.
Sitting on a couch right in front of each other, your parents discussing a couple of meters away, he simply bore his eyes into yours while drinking a glass of juice, legs spread out.
«We’re going to have fun the first night together or…?»
Your eyes threw a dagger to him, hit in your pride for the insensitive comment; Pierre wasn’t known for being delicate and considerate, when you used to hang out in group with him.
After all, his humor was one of the things that had you capitulate before his feet.
«Okay, I see. No jokes.»
You squeezed your fingers into fists, uptight, dissatisfaction cursing through your blood.
«Not on such things, Pierre.»
«Like what? Sex?» he raised a brow.
«My wedding.» you sighed.
«Our wedding, you mean.»
«Doesn’t seem as pivoting to you. Nothing will really change for you.»
«We’re both going to wear a ring, y/n. Never seen a marriage without the groom or the bride.»
He downed the last sip of the juice and placed the glass on the coffee table.
You knew from the start it wouldn’t be a fairytale.
>>♥<<
«Don’t think a bride should stand on her own and look so sad.»
Charles’ words whispered in your ear made you roll eyes and brought an immediate smile to your face.
«Don’t think a best man should bother the bride with stupid remarks.»
«Do you think it’s stupid?» he asked, raising his brow to insinuate doubt. «Pierre is having a blast and you… well, you’re here listening to the stupid remarks of the best man.»
The small stem glass of champagne you still held had dried out of bubbles, but seemed interesting enough to draw your eyes down; Charles, genuinely sorry to witness your let down expression, wetted his lips and briefly glanced back at Pierre, laughing and dancing with the other guests.
«Let’s go dance.»
Caught by surprise, you tilted your head back up, wide eyes.
«C’mon, don’t pretend you didn’t hear!» Charles chuckled, holding both your hands.
«We’re going to make fools of ourselves…»
«But that’s what we do the best when we’re together!»
You let yourself be dragged in the middle of the dance floor set up under an outdoor gazebo: Charles’ ridiculous moves made a visceral laugh emerge from the depths of your fears, as he tried to involve you in his bubbly fun, despite the dress not helping the flow of your groove.
«Geez, I feel so awkward!» you let out, head leaning backwards, invested by a childish happiness.
«Just dance it out, we’re doing amazing!»
The sun setting down at the horizon threw an orange gold ray cut through the air, hitting Charles’ profile, getting both enlightened and obscured in two poetic halves which danced relentless and made you twirl around without a single thought.
Out of notice, the guests had gathered around the two of you, enjoying the show you had put up; and when the music faded out to a slower tune, catching your breath in Charles’ arms, hands resting on his heaving chest, your sight found Pierre’s blue eyes, filled with an unreadable expression.
As slower notes filled the air, he walked over to you, confident in each firm step, putting Charles’ luminous smile in defeat: when Pierre was around, there was no chance for you to look at any other person.
He simply took your hands, implicitly warning Charles to move away and make room for him, tenderly joining the swinging fabric of your dress.
Too affected by his presence and by racing thoughts about the future you would share with him from that moment on, you placed your burning cheek upon his chest, right above his heart.
«Why didn’t you ask me to dance?»
His question breached your overthinking silence.
«You were too busy entertaining the guests.»
You didn’t mean for your words to sound as veiled of sadness and resigned as they did, but you felt somehow content in letting Pierre know how you felt about the whole situation.
He had you wrapped around his finger; his ring one. You were engraved in the inner circle of gold touching his skin, kissing it tenderly, vowing love to him any second.
«I thought I’d make you uncomfortable giving you all my attention. You dropped a glass during lunch because of it, and I don’t want you to get hurt.»
His smirk disseminated deep, red shame on your cheeks; why did you put blush on earlier that morning if Pierre was managing to do all the work by himself?
An unerasable pang of hurt chained your feet to the ground, unable to sink deeper into Pierre’s gentle hands holding you throughout the dance: you told yourself it wouldn’t shatter you completely if you thought he didn’t mean any of the things he did, he said.
Holding you closer, cheek resting on his white, unbuttoned shirt, he left an unexpected and unseen peck on the top of your head, as you both still lulled to the beat. He then leaned on a side, dropping whispered words into your ear.
«Want to see a smile on my wife’s face. It’s our wedding, after all, not our funeral.»
As much as you wanted to feel hatred, you let Pierre’s jokingly voice sink, unconsciously obliging to his request right away.
You felt young, drunk, foolish.
You’d enjoy every bit of attention he’d spare you.
Every single scramble.
>>♥<<
Pierre had insisted on picking you up before entering your newly bought apartment, to stick to the tradition; between giggles and laughs, you had admired you two’s mothers astonishing work of petals and candles signaling the way over to the bedroom.
The dim lights enchanted your sight, as you stood speechless before the bed.
Pierre’s hands caressing your forearms and slowly making their way up to your shoulders awoke you and froze you at once.
The tip of his nose brushing your neck, you didn’t dare move nor speak as Pierre pressed soft kisses all over.
Were you ready?
Pierre encircled your waist with his arm, both relieving and accentuating the knot forming in your stomach.
Would you ever be ready?
You hadn’t talked about that moment, you hadn’t considered there’d be the need to.
You thought he wouldn’t even touch you, once everybody’s eyes would be out of sight.
So why was he taking all his time carefully unbuttoning the back of your dress, leaving open mouthed kisses on the bare skin he had available?
«Pierre…»
You soon realized your moan had been an incentive to Pierre when an airy chérie was whispered upon your shivering skin.
«Pierre, I don’t know if we should…»
«It’s our first night married, y/n. This is exactly what we should do.»
His voice was warm, slightly raspy, perfectly calm and collected, concealing a burning desire underneath.
Pierre tucked a lock of your neat hair behind your ear, leaving your neck shivering at the touch.
«I know this probably isn’t how you hoped your wedding to be… But now I’m your husband, and I’m willing to do everything I’m supposed to. I’m not backing down.»
«Will you ever love me?» you asked, suspended.
Pierre tucked another strand of hair in the same spot.
«I can’t promise that.»
Of course, how would he?
«But I’m always going to respect you, no matter what. I swore it and I’ll stand by it.»
You slowly turned around to face him, picking up the gown of your dress and pressing a hand to your chest so that it wouldn’t slip off due to the strings being loosened.
«Please, don’t… Please, promise you won’t hurt me, Pierre.»
The pleading tone of your voice unexpectedly pulled a string inside Pierre’s chest.
«Do you really think I’d do that on purpose? Y/n, we’ve been… we’ve known each other for so many years.»
«That’s what scares me.»
You diverted your gaze, staring at your own reflection on the window: you were now gripping at Pierre’s shirt, the bodice dangerously threatening to slip down, eyes brimming with tears.
How could you be more miserable than asking your husband not to hurt you?
«Y/n, I’m not a teen anymore. And I’m kind of offended that you think I’m what other people say and what the media want to make everybody believe.»
«I wouldn’t have agreed to the wedding, if I believed all the things they said about you.» you whispered.
«Then trust the words I said at the altar.»
Pierre delicately cupped your cheek, leaving a slow, tender kiss on the opposite temple.
«For better and for worse…» he said, boring his eyes into yours.
«For richer and for poorer…» he carried on, swiftly freeing your arms from the dress’ sleeves.
«In sickness and in health…» Pierre breathed upon your lips, grabbing the dress fallen down to your hips.
«Until death do us part.»
Gripping tight Pierre’s arms, you let him take your breath away with his sloppy kiss, shivering, despite your face feeling warm and flushed in heat.
«I will love you, y/n.» Pierre tucked yet another strand of hair behind your ear. «Maybe not like a charming prince, but I will love you as much as I can.»
His fingers pressed on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit on the edge of the bed, to which you obliged without even thinking twice. The air was thick in pleasant tension: Pierre had let his jacket shuffling its way to the floor, staring at you as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt; on your side, you had joined his intentions fidgeting with the buttons crossing his chest and abs, fully focusing on the slow, tantalizing task, instead of searching the force to bear his magnetic eyes.
The golden shade casted over your cheeks, blending with the natural reddish shade of feelings spreading over your skin, left Pierre with an unexplainable tug inside the chest, pushing him to bend down and trap you on the mattress with yet another kiss, suddenly impatient. His shirt long forgotten on the floor upon the jacket and his tie, Pierre’s roaming hands dragged your dress down, making sure you’d slip completely out of it, so that you’d be bare for him to avidly see, touch and savor.
Senses overwhelmed by his presence, helplessly amazed at how he could enchant your limbs and make them so reactive and sensitive to his touch, your fingers searched for relief on his body, between his brownish locks of hair, on his muscled neck and upper arms. Anything, to release the growing yearning he was masterfully building and lighting up inside of you.
Pierre stopped all of the sudden, one elbow keeping him up, eyes lost in focus, as the fingers of his free hand traced an imaginary line from your sternum, down your chest.
Before you could swallow hard at the gesture, he placed a lewd kiss right where his pointer finger had stopped. Again, uncontrolled, a soft moan escaped your already opened lips, tugging at his hair as to both pull him away and push him deeper into your soul.
He raised his eyes to look at you hungrily, lips still stained with your skin.
«I will honor you all the days of my life, y/n.»
Pierre read the soft stare you gave him and the lovingly caress of your hand on his head as an invitation to drag his mouth upon your tender breast, finally free from the white cloth he had wished to tear apart since he had seen you walking down the aisle, swearing to himself he’d not be satisfied until he’d heard you scream his name from the top of your lungs, with his own hands, eyes and heart full of you.
The wedding being held in Italy at the beginning of September, right after Monza’s race weekend, you both had spent only a couple of days in the new house in Milan, in the attempt of building the sense of affectionate routine you would inevitably lose after taking the flight for Azerbaijan, following Pierre in the double-header awaiting him.
The media had called it “racing-moon”.
It was no ordinary honeymoon, travelling across the globe to support your husband, watching him with a pair of headphones and staring at him from a screen inside Alpine’s box, shying away from paparazzi’s cameras ready to capture glimpses of intimacy you didn’t even know how to spark yourself.
A night of love wasn’t enough to erase the helpless feeling of distance and separation around Pierre: you were friends, sure, but your heavy crush on him had always prevented the relationship from growing further as it had happened with Charles. Daydreaming about him laying down your bed, earphones plugged, you had known every single detail about the things he liked while being in your early teens; now, looking at him packing his suitcase, standing at the doorframe you realized you either had never known him before or you had forgotten anything at the altar once he had kissed you alive.
«Do you need help?» you asked, closing and releasing your fingers from a fist, feeling useless.
«Oh, didn’t notice you were there.» he quickly peeked at you. «No, thanks! I don’t know how, but it took half the time.»
You raised a brow, leaning against the frame with arms crossed.
«Maybe… it was the perfectly organized wardrobe I spent two days filling up with all your clothes?»
«Mmh, I’m not really sure… Maybe I’ve just got quick with packing, since I’ve been doing it every other week for years now.»
His smirk triggered an eye roll in you, so noticeable that Pierre turned to you, taking the suitcase off the bed and letting it roll on the floor.
Not kind of expecting him to get that close to you after only stopping by the room, suddenly aware of how his stare could get your whole body drawn to him, succumbed to him, enchanted and gravitating around his brightness, you let yourself be courted by Pierre’s teasing fingers running up your arms.
«I’m done now, so…» he said.
«So?»
«The bed is clear.»
Throwing him an amused glance, about to laugh at how lewd his voice had sounded while hinting at the endless list of things you could do there, you pretended not to get his point.
«Well, good job! We have somewhere to sleep tonight then.»
«There’s no way, right?» Pierre squinted his eyes, hands still warming your skin caressed by the hot Italian wind blowing from the window.
«Way to do what?» you asked, faking innocence once again.
«I think you perfectly know.»
September’s heat had paired up with the warmth creeping up your ears while Pierre encircled your waist and inched over, causing butterflies inside your chest to awake your heart, moving past your thoughts to put them to sleep, as an overwhelming flow of love made you crave that heavenly attention and touch every second more.
Pierre seemed to stop in his relentless chase of a kiss: he stood still, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, with your arms enclosed around his neck.
There was no rush.
The house was hollow and silent; only your breaths could be heard, mixed with the distant chatter coming from the street.
Maybe that was the happiest and most peaceful corner of life he would ever know.
Maybe holding your waist knowing that you were his wife, that he had settled his forever home, maybe spending his life with you was happiness.
He struggled forming deep rooted love feelings towards you, yet could picture the two of you having kids so easily, travelling together, filling that empty house with memories.
Maybe it was the fondest look in your eyes making every fantasy so incredibly near and easy.
There was something, though, that Pierre didn’t find hard to spark at all.
«Changed your mind?» you whispered, teasingly but soft.
Attraction.
Pierre was so desperately enamored with your body; to be fair, he had always quite been. Untouched by innocence, back at the time you would hang out in group, he would see you utterly oblivious to how other guys glanced at you and wonder if you had ever had sex before. The night of your first time together – the wedding’s – he had both been unfazed and surprised about noticing you weren’t a virgin: it totally made sense for someone as beautiful as you to have been with a guy, but at the same time he had no clue of who you had appointed as the one, and it was weird, because you used to hang out with the same people.
He had always thought you had been in his universe, like a satellite, and had always taken your presence for granted, without ever considering he could be the planet on the margin of a totally different galaxy you shined in.
Pierre was so intimately envious of a past you didn’t allow him in, and his only way to cope was making sure he could be your only future.
«Not at all.»
The fastest flicker of his eyes down to your lips was the warning, which you took in with delight: and Pierre was all over you, dragging you into his lighthearted desires and plans, igniting a shy flattering shade beneath your cheeks.
Pierre had insisted on entering the paddock hand in hand; in return, you had insisted on giving your right hand, standing on his left side.
He had frowned just enough for you to capture it, not able to understand your request.
«As you wish.»
But you knew why: and your thumb gently stroking his wedding ring knew as well.
Unexplainable excitement was the first feeling which had insinuated in you as you put foot past the turnstiles: Pierre had reminded you quite a few cameras would be following you in a bee line right around you.
You were too happy to care, in your first outing as a married woman.
As a married couple.
«Oh, hello to the royal couple!»
You couldn’t stop yourself from eye-rolling at Charles’ comment, drinking Pierre’s laugh like a shot of bliss.
«What, are you jealous?»
They laughed and joked around, giving friendly pats to each other, while you watched them with a grin plastered on your face, enjoying the luck of spending time with people you loved.
So many things had changed, but it still felt like you were still sixteen, walking without destination in group, young and careless, emptying your pockets full of dreams and using them as currency of exchange between each other.
«Catch up with you later, I’ve got a meeting now!»
«See you later!» you waved at Charles, as Pierre greeted him.
Entering Alpine’s hospitality you squeezed Pierre’s hand in fright: out of the blue, a deafening clapping concert made your heart fly across the room, as mechanics, engineers and other people from the staff celebrated you two.
Pierre looked down at you, curious to see your reaction, still infected by the serene and uplifted atmosphere, swimming in delight as soon as your eyes clicked with his and saw you flattered. There was a bit of pride in showing you off like a trophy, proving everybody wrong with the assumption he’d never settle down and never find the one.
Well, he didn’t really choose you out of love.
But nobody was meant to know that.
«Congratulations, mate.»
The voice reaching from behind your back made you turn, despite it being directed at Pierre.
Your eyes flew high to Esteban’s face, enlarging in surprise: he wasn’t looking down at you, caught in the weirdly friendly interaction with your husband. But as soon as Pierre was dragged into pats and hugs by team members, you were left with a whole bag of memories and discarded feelings coming back to the surface, standing still next to someone you once knew.
«It’s like the old times, isn’t it?» he casually said, as you both stared at the packed room, side by side.
«No, Esteban. Everything changed.»
Bittersweetly shoving your left hand before his face to make a definite statement, he carefully grabbed it and brushed your ring with the thumb, taking a close look.
«I don’t believe so.» he let go of your hand, smiling politely.
«What are you talking about?» you asked, kind of annoyed.
«You still think you have Pierre all to yourself when we know nobody does.»
«Don’t… don’t you dare talk crap about him in my presence. You know nothing.»
Staring into the void, you tried to stay calm and collected, swallowing the phantoms of the past.
«I respect that. But I just wanted to remind you of when you were the one talking crap about him in my presence.»
«That was years ag-»
«And I was there to listen to you.»
You dropped the accusatory finger you had brought dangerously near his chest, mind invaded by guilt and yellowed pages of life.
«I’ll still be here for you when Pierre messes up again.»
«He won’t, Este.»
«We’ll see.» he shrugged, glancing back at the room. «But I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have, and I know he is no easy character.»
«I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re trying to do.» you raised a brow, skeptical.
«I simply wanted to wish you good luck.»
Esteban’s impassive tone left you with the urge of replying: as much as you were filled with doubts and fears, you somehow trusted Pierre and his promises and wouldn’t bear anyone implying stuff.
Especially Esteban.
Because, to a degree, he knew the situation better than any other.
His eyes, that despicable spark of mischief, anger and regret inside of them told you things you didn’t want to hear.
«The staff would like to get to know my wife if only my teammate would let her be.»
Pierre’s amused interruption startled you, almost feeling caught red-handed with the most terrible crime: talking to a guy he trusted and had grown to hate over time.
«Sorry, Pierre! My fault. I was… keeping up with the Gasly’s.»
The awkwardness and the tension of the moment didn’t go unnoticed to any of you, and you mentally thanked Pierre’s hand resting on your waist, slowly guiding you away from Esteban, who still stared at you with a small courtesy smile.
«We’ll have to bear his presence, I know. Trust me, if I could, I’d rather have him on the other side of the planet.»
Pierre sighed defeated while whispering those apologies laced with hatred in your ear and a pang of nostalgia, guilt, sorrow pushed you a little closer to him.
«He’s not a problem, Pierre. We know how to be civil.»
He looked at you, faking amazement at your reply, nodding his head with raised brows.
«You’re more mature than I thought.»
«More mature than you are? For sure.»
You expected him to laugh; instead, he grinned in silence, a strange sparkle wobbling in his irises. A part of you clung onto it, wishing it was a veil of tenderness, affection, or anything like it towards you.
For a moment, you held the hope in your hands, and you carefully caressed it, cherished it, making room in your heart to plant it and nurture it there, as if that single twinkle could ever be the seed of love.
>>♥<<
Baku’s street didn’t seem as bumpy to Pierre, now that he was walking on it with a small group of engineers; the main straight heading to the finishing line seemed unnecessarily long, especially since he had just travelled the entire track and had the pitlane as destination.
Left with nothing else to discuss with his team, he enjoyed the sun setting and painting the city gold, taking it easy and slow.
«Pierre!»
The Frenchman turned around and immediately grinned wide, waving to Charles jogging to him.
«Track walk? Thought I’d see you speeding riding a bike.»
Charles chuckled, adjusting his jingling bracelets.
«I wanted to enjoy the atmosphere better.»
«Yeah, me too.»
They strolled pensive, no rush to be drowned by the buzzing life of the paddock.
«I can’t believe it.»
Pierre looked at his friend, who had a pleased grin painted and hung by his dimples.
«What?»
«This is your first race weekend married. And I was your best man. Isn’t it crazy?»
«Time flies, Charles.» Pierre scoffed with a smile.
«I saw you celebrated in the hospitality, earlier.»
As Pierre narrated the small party the team had organized to Charles’ ecstatic eyes, his thoughts lingered on you, on the myriads of unexpected congratulations he had received for choosing such a kind and fine woman and making her his. Though, there were moments he felt like he was just above an acquaintance to you.
Pierre sighed.
«What was that?» Charles asked.
«Sometimes I think I don’t really know y/n. Not as much as I should, I mean.»
«You do know her, though. You’ve been hanging out together since high school.»
«Charles, I don’t even know who her first boyfriend was.»
Pierre’s pinch of helplessness caught Charles by surprise, reciprocating his sudden stare with bewilderment.
«Did- I didn’t even know she’s had a boyfriend.» the Monegasque stuttered.
Pierre looked down at the asphalt.
«Hoped you did. But you see? We don’t really know her.»
«Well… You’re married now. You have all your life to get to know her.»
Charles put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging look.
«Yep. That’s my best man right there!»
Pierre reciprocated the grab and smiled as the two of them walked down into the pitlane, serving friendly smiles and beautiful shots to the photographers buzzing around the garages.
>>♥<<
«Hello?»
«Uhm, am I disturbing you?»
«Yes, absolutely. But I’m going to be the nicest just for you.»
«Thanks for the usual teasing, Charles.»
«What’s up?»
«I… I’m deeply embarrassed, but I think I’m lost. I can’t find the way to the track.»
«Never heard of Google Maps?»
«I’ve tried, but I ended up exactly back at the hotel.»
«Ooof. There’s actually someone out there who’s worse than me then.»
«Ah, I wouldn’t have called you if Pierre wasn’t busy.»
«Can’t I be busy as well?»
«Cha’…»
«I’m just joking. Are you at the hotel?»
«Yep.»
«’M on my way.»
The bubbly air of that Saturday morning brushed your bare arms, anticipating the warmth falling onto the grey asphalt, as you walked quickly alongside Charles, trying not to get stopped by fans too many times.
«Why didn’t you come to the track with him?»
«I think he tried to wake me up, but I… uhm… fell asleep.»
«It’s incurable, right?»
You both chuckled, still marching towards the paddock.
«How is it going?»
«Uh?»
«With Pierre.»
A horn startled you, while Charles waved towards the Tifosi on the other side of the street and smiled under his Rayban’s.
«Good! I mean, way better than I thought.»
Charles studied your expression, letting your own statement sink in.
«You know, I talked with him yesterday. He asked me if I knew who your first boyfriend was.»
«Did you tell him?!» you gasped.
«Of course not, I’m not that mad.» he looked straight ahead. «But he seemed somehow disappointed. He really wants to know you on a deeper level.»
«And tell him about my hookups as he did with us? No, thanks.»
«Not necessarily about past relationships. There are so many things you could rediscover now as a couple, and he’d like to. He… he cares. Pierre isn’t the asshole you believe him to be.»
«You know my reasons, Charles.»
«I do, y/n. But I also know Pierre, and I’ve never seen him as determined and serious in any other relationship before.»
A doubtful glance at him turned into an amused snort, as you saw Charles’ dimples already exposed for you to admire.
«I should give him a chance, uh?» you joked, kicking a pebble.
«Yeah, you definitely should.»
«I hate you.»
«What’s that for?» Charles chuckled.
«You’re too convincing.»
«Maybe you only wanted to hear someone else’s confirmation.»
You took a moment to reflect, still looking at his green eyes, letting the sentence resonate inside of you.
Perhaps you had only been waiting for a sensible reasoning to justify the senseless, self-destructive and visceral need of trying to build a stronger relationship with Pierre.
>>♥<<
Crossing the room, hands intertwined with yours, Pierre felt alert, almost knowing something about bringing you along to that small reception organized for commercial reasons only was intrinsically wrong.
Until he spotted a pair of brown eyes lingering way too long on the fine straps grazing your shoulders’ skin.
Esteban’s.
Despite the years, despite trying, despite the countless shots he had given to their relationship, Pierre couldn’t let go of hatred: the memories of the three of you in the same couple of meters, in the same suffocating room were still a fresh wound which had reopened once more.
Unaware of anything, you reciprocated with a reassuring smile Pierre’s tighter hold on your hand, an enquiring look on your face. He expected you to stiffen at Ocon’s mere sight; instead, you stood like a fragile yet flexible flower against the blowing wind, only caring about being… as marvellous as you were.
Pierre had been learning it to his disadvantage each day a tiny bit more, trying not to read too much into your rosy cheeks and your fond, unmistakable stares.
The delicacy and the grace you would use with others any time you got the chance to talk with people from the team, the paddock, the entire world, really, hit him in an unknown spot of the soul.
Probably as hard as Ocon approaching the two of you with a champagne glass in hand did on his nerves.
«Didn’t expect to see you here.» Esteban said, only addressing you.
Chewing a lump of awkwardness, you threw the quickest glance over to Pierre to check his reaction after being deliberately ignored by his teammate.
«Here I am.» you whispered, pressing your lips together with an embarrassed smile.
«Wasn’t I clear enough when I told you to stay away from her?»
A lightning struck the room.
The bitterness in Pierre’s tone triggered a light-hearted laugh from Esteban, theatrically opening the arm and letting the small wave of champagne wash the resentments of the past away.
«Come on, Pierre! How many years passed? We aren’t teenagers anymore.»
His fingers grabbed your hand tighter, restraining himself from spitting words of fire against his former teammate once again: the bottled-up anger, though, had resurfaced much to Pierre’s surprise, and to yours as well, pressing the button “play” on the reruns of the day their entire relationship crumbled.
No matter what you could’ve done to avoid it, Pierre and Esteban were born to disagree. Nobody could stop that tickling bomb hiding in both their chests as soon as they would spend enough time together to let it explode. Even without you, they would’ve nurtured antipathy for each other; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it.
Nestling against Pierre’s loving arms draping you all, you stared at an indefinite point of the packed, but still empty, room.
«Do you think it’s my fault?»
Pierre placed his chin on your shoulder to listen to your whispered rumbling, joining you in the contemplation of the void.
«No, I don’t. He was a douchebag even before treating you the way he did.»
It didn’t seem like he was lying, to be fair.
You knew very little about the stormy past between the two, since you had met Esteban way later than you had befriended Pierre; he had never told you a thing about a terrible kid who grew up with like a brother and then discarded him due to insane competitiveness.
Esteban was dead to him.
A Mr. Nobody existing without any string to his life but hate and resentment’s.
Unspoken truth, they both liked you and cared for you in very different ways, so it was only natural for them to notice each other’s evident preference for you and clash because of it; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it, deep deep down.
«Can we please forget about him?»
The careful urge of the sentence was paired with a swift brush of his hands taking yours, silently asking you to dance to the music now blasting through some speakers in the room.
Maybe lightness was all you both needed to be happy.
Singapore’s humidity clung onto your lungs like a suffocating net, twirled around your trachea, squeezing it tight.
With an invisible layer of sweat all over your skin, heat as well as worries and doubts made you melt before the evidence, before reality.
Two weeks and you had already become a ghost.
Imprisoned in the highest tower of the lies’ castle, your honeymoon had turned into a tour around the globe inside a golden cage: everybody saw you as the “trophy-wife”, a peculiar and exotic animal stupid enough to bear Pierre’s company, showed left and right, avidly and superficially looked at, never considered as a real person.
Any time Pierre would come home from unbelievably long training sessions and meetings of all sorts, you didn’t even have the strength to start an argument and cry your loneliness out.
He’d absent-mindedly kiss your cheek, go take a shower and leave you to your unfinished essay draft sitting in the dust of your laptop’s memory.
Eating some take-out he’d leave you choosing in religious silence, punctuated with brief chat, you’d often watch a movie on the couch: staring blankly at the screen, you’d focus on how foreign the touch of his arm around your shoulder would feel.
An afterthought, quick enough to disturb the turbulence of your headspace.
I simply wanted to wish you good luck.
Luck.
It would’ve never been out of love, but out of pure chance.
As if Pierre could never learn to love anyone.
Still, admitting to yourself Esteban was right would’ve been an unnecessary added humiliation.
«We’re too slow in the middle sector, I’m understeering everywhere…»
It was a secret you wanted to keep buried in your chest.
«But you gain in the last sector, you see? Our top speed is good.»
Not being reciprocated.
An ineffable hurt.
You miserably looked at your husband debriefing intensely with his performance engineer, standing at the back of the garage so that you wouldn’t be in the way of the many mechanics working around the car.
Envious, you fixed your gaze upon the fan Pierre held in his hand, still busy talking and pointing at data on the screen. The air felt too thick to be breathed in, too dense to slide down your lungs and swoop your dark thoughts away.
You had agreed to be his wife, due to the endless love you had.
But what if he let that love slowly wither and die?
What if you could grow out of love? What if finally having him was enough for you to become indifferent?
What if neither of you could remain loyal to the promises you vowed?
Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes shooing the sudden dizziness away; and at the very same time, you felt a gentle weight lingering on your right shoulder, asking quietly for permission.
You opened your eyes, obliged to wide them as soon as you saw it was Esteban.
«Here, drink this.»
A water bottle was handed to you, still struck by the soft eyes and the attention being addressed to you.
«It’s electrolytes. With this weather I always make sure to keep hydrated, since it’s easy to lose liquids and mineral salts as well.»
A thousand questions ran through your mind, to the point Esteban could almost see them being scattered from one pupil to the other. He invited you to drink once again, poking pride sitting in his chest as he had noticed you being in discomfort first.
First than… him.
The quick glance Pierre gave the two of you was enough to stir up even stronger satisfaction, a lovely victory in the endless mind-war they fought.
«Thank you.»
It came out stifled, high-pitched, a bit squeaky, but somehow filled with unexpected sadness.
Pierre crossed the garage in a couple of strides, wearing a mask of concern you couldn’t read the authenticity of, shielding you with his body from the unwanted attention Esteban had provided you with.
«Are you okay? You could’ve told me you were thirsty.»
«Pierre, I’m fine.» you told him off, almost whispering.
He darted a glance at his teammate once again as soon as his hand reached yours to grab the water bottle back, willing to take off the hideous smile he wore on his face.
Lots of eyes inside the garage had observed the scene in silence, still glancing over you, as Pierre’s attentions and barely noticeable physical touch felt all too much to bear at once.
You would’ve died for it, only a couple of months earlier.
If only the wedding weren’t a well-thought plan, a pact between family friends, a tie nobody but you craved intimately and deeply because of the loving, totally disregarding the real practical reasons behind it.
Ocon’s silhouette being drowned in his side of the garage made your mind slip back into the past, unboxing a metallic box of memories you had buried six feet underground.
Disappointed.
The disapproval you had read in Pierre’s face right as you showed up to the club next to the “new friend” you wanted to be joining your historical trio had your heart shattering like a glass of wine from a polished tablecloth, painting the floor in red diamonds.
Pierre had dragged you in the middle of the dancing crowd, leaving Esteban hanging at the entrance before a confused Charles.
«Why did you bring him here?!»
«He’s… I wanted to introduce him to you and Cha’!» you yelled, in order to be heard amidst the chaos.
«I know him already, and he’s an asshole. Now tell him to leave! I don’t want him anywhere near me!»
«You can’t force anyone to leave a public place! And… And I want to spend time with all of you.»
He bored his eyes into yours, letting the blasting music take over your thoughts.
«I’m not hanging out with you if you buzz around him.»
It was definitive.
«Call me when you’re done wasting time with that piece of shit.»
Giving you his back, you saw him dive into the sea of people, to find and rapidly grab the waist of the brunette who had accompanied him to the party; he didn’t even bother to be far enough so that you wouldn’t see him shove his tongue down her throat, a tangle of hands messily roaming, touching, squeezing yearning skin.
Este’s hand softly intertwining yours guided you towards a quiet table, to which Charles sat waiting, with drinks for the three of you; and as much as you would’ve liked to be grateful for Charles’ delighted stare, for Esteban’s soothing words, your heart still drowned in bubbles at the bottom of your cocktail.
He’s my boyfriend.
Those were the words you were about to say at the door of the club, to Pierre. You had already anticipated the sweetness of the moment, the satisfaction in proving you weren’t his little puppy, a slave rebelled to the master showing him the jingling keys which had freed him.
The mere need to prove him anything was the undeniable sign of slavery.
You’d never be free.
>>☆<<
«Are you sure?»
«Yeah…»
«Here? Don’t you want to go-»
You shut Esteban up pressing your lips on his, carrying on the messy make out session you had started in the club’s bathroom.
«Y/n, are you really sure?»
The kiss was interrupted once again, leaving you with an unbearable, unsatisfied yearn making your heart swell and explode in ashes of frustration.
«Don’t you love me, Este?» you whined, your fingertip dragging his bottom lip down in the drunken attempt to seduce him even further.
Of course he loved you.
He had agreed to take your virginity away as you leaned your back onto a bathroom’s door, during the most boring and miserable of nights out, accepting to be humiliated by Pierre in front of you, his own girlfriend, and dancing awkwardly in the crowd before you dragged him there to pour out the unexplainable need of getting your brain fucked out.
Esteban loved you purely, too purely, to be fair: he felt like a noob and inexpert, an amateur he was not, while listening to your heavenly choir of whimpers and profanities, with his fingers gripping tight your hips, as not to lose you. Deep down he knew he should’ve been satisfied and content, he should’ve enjoyed that piece of pleasure and love – but was it love to you? Esteban wasn’t quite sure – because he had managed to snatch you away from Pierre’s clutch, he had laid his hand onto someone he hadn’t had already: he had won where Pierre had lost.
Still, thrusting into you as waves of pleasure rocked your body and transfigured your expression, Esteban only felt like he had lost you, indeed, like he had never truly had you, not even physically. And when your warm hand caressed his cheek, he got the confirmation: you pitied him, because no matter how bold the “boyfriend” tag could be, your heart could only crave, think of and wish Pierre.
The break-up was, nonetheless, harmful.
After damning yourself, considering how nice and kind Esteban was to you, how sweet some of the moments you had spent together had been, you had come to the conclusion that no other feeling in the world could replace or overshadow the consuming love you felt for Pierre.
You didn’t need it to be easy and satisfying; as hurtful as it could be, you only needed him.
And to his own dismay, Esteban knew it.
«Can you drop me off at that bar over there?» you pointed at the end of the street.
«Why?»
«I simply need to hand this to Pie-»
«Oh, no, just save it. I should’ve known.»
You frowned, looking at his tensed arms.
«Is there something wrong?»
He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel ‘til his knuckles turned white.
«Absolutely not! My girlfriend only runs after another guy who also happens to be a moron and doesn’t give a shit about her while I’m being the third wheeler to my own relationship!»
Esteban harshly braked in front of the bar.
«Y/n, we’re done.»
«What?» you gaped, still stunned by the whole conversation.
«I don’t want to be with you anymore. Now get out of the car.»
Beyond bewildered, you searched for sincerity and honesty in the brown chocolate eyes you had often lost yourself into, stung by hurt as you found them.
«Are you seriously breaking up with me for this? I just need to return this hoodie to him!»
Esteban’s eyes bore yours outraged, almost incredulous to your words.
«Can’t you see the problem? Can’t you notice how you’re chasing after him and are not willing to treat me nearly the same as you treat him? You share clothes with him and you’ve never even asked once for my hoodies!»
«Did you want me to?»
«That’s not the point, y/n! The fact is it seems like I never cross your mind, whereas Pierre is always in your thoughts. Sorry, but I can’t bear to see you love him more than you love me. I can’t do this anymore.»
Gasping for air and for words, you found none: you witnessed helpless as Esteban got out of his seat and reached to your side to open the car door and invite you once again to get out.
«Y/n, don’t force me to be drastic. Come on.»
«You’re being nonsense! Este, please, you can’t do this!»
Watching your first relationship crumble under the weight of painful lies, you desperately held onto the car door, despite Esteban’s hand trapping your wrist, firm.
«Y/n, I told you to get out.»
As you pleaded him, whispering “sorry”s like prayers, few tears pricked your eyes, which seemed to sort the opposite effect of what you had hoped for.
Esteban, blinded by hurt and rejection, pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to drag you out the car, and as an unconditional reflex you cried out to him, a tear cutting through your cheek.
«Este, please… Please, don’t do this to me!»
«You didn’t care about hurting me, why should I care about hurting you?»
As he spitted out these words, scornful, he managed to pull you out the car with a jerk, eliciting a chain of heavy tears to reach the ground, which blurred your vision.
Esteban was still talking to you, wrist aching to be freed underneath his hold of steel, but your mind refused to make sense of any of the insults directed at you, as much as your eyes couldn’t clearly distinguish his angry face. You had stopped fighting him, though, surrendered to the sad truth he had unveiled despite you trying to cover it up.
A truth made of lies.
Exposed to your own blade, humiliated and full of regret, you stood still, frozen, incapable to react.
And it was then that you saw Esteban’s body being crashed violently onto the chassis of his car with a loud thud.
Your wrist was suddenly snatched from the grab, and you swiped some tears to witness clearly the scene unfolding before you.
Pierre holding Esteban by the collar.
Pierre was shouting onto his face, unleashing his fury, barking his disgust and hatred; and though you and him both expected some sort of reaction from Esteban, you both watched him stay silent at the accusations.
«Don’t ever touch her again! Don’t you even try to show up again, understood? Go fuck yourself and stay away from us!» Pierre shouted, putting a protective arm around your neck and bringing you close. But he couldn’t protect you from those brown eyes, which swallowed down the secrets you weren’t ready to share with Pierre. Esteban judged you in the harshest way possible: leaving you to your own conscience.
«It’s okay, now. You don’t have to cry anymore.»
Pierre wiped your face off, pulling your head to him for his chin to rest upon, rubbing your back with his hand, as you watched Esteban get back in the car and disappear in a cloud of smoke.
«He won’t bother us anymore, I promise. You’re safe, with me.»
What a paradox: safe in your captor’s arms.
You let yourself be cradled by Pierre’s honey-laced reassurances, trying to digest the shock of the whole situation bit by bit, failing not to feel sorry for having deceived Esteban and yourself.
You had believed you loved him; which wasn’t and could never be true.
And the awareness weighed on your chest even heavier while being held in Pierre’s arms.
HOT NEWS: Alpine’s driver Pierre Gasly is told to had been seen very intimately close to another woman during a formal gathering with top sponsors of the team. Has the recent marriage with y/n cracked already?
𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.
>> 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 “𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕”. 𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕... N𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖’𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜… 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎.
𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐?
𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍: 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢? 𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎’𝚜.
Paralyzed on the spot, you let the phone gently thud against the kitchen counter.
It was nothing you didn’t expect to happen to you; you had lived through it even before whispering with soft eyes “I do” at the altar, when you used to scroll his Instagram picture-perfect shots with his girlfriends, but the timing he had chosen was way off your forecast.
The thunderstorm had darkened your sky too early. You hadn’t seen it coming, you hadn’t heard a single roar of the wind in the distance.
Nothing.
Pierre had given you nothing either to hate or to love.
Somehow, a small part of you felt sickly relief in knowing you could finally turn your eternal suspicion into hatred: you wished you could mold it in shape, form sentences to dagger him with, cries to let out your throat with violence.
Nothing came.
Nothing.
You stood by the counter as you let the bloody red liquid boil into the pan; staring at it, you absentmindedly kept stirring the sauce, not able to do anything else.
Your ringtone blasted through the empty kitchen and it pierced your ears unexpected, instilling in your nerves a hit of anxiety which caused your hand to hit the pan; it dropped inevitably off the stove, collapsed to the ground, poured its vermilion content on the luminous tiles.
Dodging quickly enough not to have the pan falling on your feet, still hearing your phone ringing, your chest benched inward with a deep, exasperated sob, sharply taking in air to fill your shaky body with.
Waves of tears ran down your eyes, arms still half-hanging in the void, as if you waited for someone to pick you up and nail you to a cross, to cease your unsubduable sense of betrayal. It all crushed down on you, eyes closed, stilling liquid sadness, which ricocheted between the walls of the emptiest and loneliest flat in the world.
The phone stopped ringing.
It seemed to calm you down at first; the silence left you with curiosity to see if the nightmare was over, opening your eyes back to the disastrous sauce on the floor, which was supposed to be ready for dinner.
With caution, your trembling fingers grabbed the phone from the marble counter, and you jumped on your feet as it started buzzing and ringing against your skin once again.
A name appeared, impressed on your retina.
You couldn’t help but suffocate a sob: the grab on the phone tightened together with the clench wrenching your heart, making it as small as a crumble.
>>♥<<
«Charles…»
He didn’t hesitate to take in your wandering hands, flinging towards him and holding onto his shirt.
Right as he had read the news, he had reached out to you: for he had witnessed you breaking down because of Pierre too many times not to know you would, eventually, need a leaning shoulder.
He wore the friend’s armor with the usual embarrassment of being both friend to you and to Pierre; he was used to balancing between two sides, trying not to pick one, working as a bridge to keep you walking in the same direction. Charles always felt helpless before your broken heart: he knew Pierre and how he would’ve never done anything to hurt you, but still, he had, undoubtedly, and there was no defense Charles himself could put up.
Especially if he had you weeping and sobbing in his arms, so painfully close to his heart.
«I can’t do this anymore, Charles.»
«I know, y/n. I know.»
He swallowed hard, caressing your hair, searching for comforting words even though he was damn aware there were none.
«W-why? Where did I go wrong?»
Charles’s heart panged at your words: he immediately took your face in his hands, wiped tears off it with both thumbs and silently hoped to find an answer.
The truth is he hadn’t a single one of them.
Glancing at you, Charles wished he hadn’t been excited and bubbly about the marriage as he had been; he had nurtured so much joy, watching the relationship timidly sail the month before the wedding. He had pictured you and Pierre being the couple everyone would envy, perhaps even building a family together.
He had got enamored with the way your wedding dress fitted you, how the golden ring adorning your hand had lit up your smile and your complexion even more, how every piece seemed to be finally falling into place.
In a few weeks’ time, he had witnessed the cast away of hopes.
Charles wanted to tell you Pierre would’ve never done anything like it, he would’ve sworn it, if only facts didn’t force him to question everything he presumed to be sure of.
«I know you’ll hate me for it, but…» he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear, «…we should know exactly what happened before judging him so harshly.»
«Charles! Do you think I really want to know the details?» your chin twitched. «I don’t need to know where… how… and since when they started fucking.»
Shaking your head while picturing the atrocious scenes in your head, you put a hand on your forehead, face dropping down, incapable of tolerating Charles’ eyes boring into yours with an awful mixture of pity and sorrow.
«It disgusts me.» you said, even feeling your stomach upset.
Charles watched you spit out hatred as he rubbed a hand on your upper arm, slightly squeezing it in reassurance. He was friend with both of you and wasn’t keen on the idea of losing either, nor choosing where to stand.
Somehow, he couldn’t pick a side.
«Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve to be loved?»
Charles looked at you sternly, almost scolding you for such a question.
«No doubts you do.» he said, definitive. «But Pierre knows that too. Before being his wife, you’re his friend.»
He placed his firm hands on both your arms, searching for eye contact as he kept addressing you with a gentle tone.
«He’s always loved you and respected you, even if it might have been hard to notice.»
«He’s never going to love me… He never will.»
You both stood in the hall of Charles’ suite: the silence wrapping the luxury furniture was punctuated by your quiet sobs, your shaking breath, the strenuous beating of your heart. The air was warm; it flushed your cheeks and Charles’ as well. After a more attentive look, his green eyes seemed dull and tired.
The night was already projecting its dark shadow onto the sky, and it was the sign which put your soul into a state of guilt: right after Charles had called you, you had run to him without a single worry of disturbing him.
You had left a mess in the kitchen.
You hadn’t prepared the dinner Pierre had asked you for, like the perfect lovely wife you had been up until that moment would request you to.
As much as you could try to hate him, a solid and unbreakable part of you held onto the hopeless love of him, never ending source of suffering, yet inevitable.
At the thought of your condemnation, you sobbed and cried a little louder, pulling Charles’s shirt near you, defeated, exhausted, distraught.
>>♥<<
The quiet sound of clinking metal timidly reached you and awoke you; you stirred, onto the couch, feeling a bit sore from sleeping all night in the same position, cranked.
The sun filtered through the curtains, lighting your cheek right as you got seated.
The room seemed to wheel ‘round you, on and on: thoughts started racing the new circuit of your mind, lap after lap, causing you to shut your eyes and block the incessant flow which was making you dizzy.
Putting memories in order, you recalled the events.
You had spent the night at Charles’ place: he had offered you to sleep in his bed, but you had decided not to profit of his generosity. In the quiet darkness of the suite, you had thrown your phone on the carpet, nestling against the squared pillow, shying away any thought concerning Pierre.
But you had failed and wondered, haunted, if he might have been searched for you.
After all, you weren’t home, when he clearly expected you to be there.
He might have noticed.
Or maybe not. Perhaps he had been taken care of by that daddy’s girl; maybe he had left you a text saying he wasn’t coming home either, leaving you wasted and rotten together with your nicely cooked dinner.
If only there was a dinner to see rotting ; the red liquid crusting on the kitchen tiles printed on your mind like a crime scene you wanted to forget.
The idea of your house being empty crashed your insides and twisted them in helpless disappointment.
Still sitting, you eyed the phone, lying backwards on the floor, turned off since last night.
What was the point of switching it back only to be flooded with more rumors you would never be ready to face?
You then finally stood up in the middle of the living area, looking around you like a stranger, and followed the noise coming from the small kitchen.
There you found Charles, jogging around the counters, attempting to cook.
You checked the time on the clock hung up on the wall: Monday, 1:12 p.m.
«Oh, finally! Good morning!» Charles chirped, interrupting the trance status you had swamped into.
«Good morning. Are you cooking lunch?» you asked, getting closer to the stove.
«Yep! Some pasta with pesto for lunch!»
You gulped at the mention of food.
«I just woke up, Charles… I don’t know if I want to eat so much for breakfast.»
«I’m sure you’re going to be hungry as soon as you see my delicious plate.» he chuckled, right before quickly removing the lid to the pan which was about to overflow in white bubbles.
Done with stirring up the water, he turned towards you, who were already seated at the table, and leaned his palms onto the marble behind him.
«How do you feel?» he asked.
You rubbed your temple.
«Tired.»
Charles sighed.
«You should’ve slept in my bed and let me take the couch as I-»
«I’m not tired physically, Cha’. I slept quite good.»
He nodded to himself in silence, looking down.
«I see.»
You drowned in the white noise of the pan boiling and the kitchen fan filling the otherwise dead silence, mentally visualizing the blurry picture you had been shocked by. The dizziness grew stronger and a large, deep pit in your stomach opened like a black hole swallowing your feelings.
«I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I see him.»
You heard Charles’ voice, but didn’t listen, as the cooking water roaring against the steel was the sound you had tuned into, and it grew louder and louder, almost unbearable to your focused hearing.
With a quick glance, you saw the white foam resurfacing behind Charle’s silhouette.
«Charles, the pan!» you urged.
«Oh, fuck!»
>>♥<<
You stared at the plate, keeping it at a distance ahead of you with your fingertips, listening to Charles’ chewing, which never seemed that loud.
The chewing stopped, together with his fork clinking against the ceramic, and you felt his eyes fixed upon you.
«You need to eat something, y/n.»
«Sorry, Charles, I have a messed-up stomach… After all the things I read…»
«I know, but please, just have a few bites.» Charles gently pushed the plate back near you. «I can’t see you like this.»
It was meant to be an unheard thought, just above a whisper, but the kitchen was so silent you could listen to his breathing.
The shining fork on the tablecloth, a small piece of penne pierced; half a bite.
Eyes closed, and Pierre was still there.
Maybe he hadn’t even texted you: he hadn’t wondered about you at all, but left without warning, completely indifferent to your absence.
The invisible wall built brick after brick in the last two weeks suddenly turned gray and heavy, painfully present.
Pierre would never love you.
The fork crashed against the plate, hand covering your mouth; Charles raised his eyes and stopped his every movement to observe you once again. He saw you hesitantly get up from the chair, quite unsure about what was going on, until the air punched your stomach and caused it to fling upwards, together with all its content. With no time to reach the bathroom, panic building in your chest, you abruptly turned towards the sink behind you, fingers unable to stop the wave climbing up your throat.
Charles got up, as you intended hearing his chair screeching. Not quite sure about what was happening, he first let his arms raise up a bit only to be lowered back down, helpless, indecisive, confused; then he got near you, pulling your hair out of the way, trying not to feel grossed out by the scene.
«’m sorry…» you mumbled, breathing through your nausea, hoping the worst had passed.
«Are you okay?» he rushed.
You shook your head in denial.
«Y/n, what’s up?»
Your marriage was in shambles after a couple of weeks only and an insufferable urge of hiding from the entire world pulsed like a drill in your head.
«I don’t know, but I’ve kind of been feeling sick the last couple of days.»
«Are you ill?» Charles sighed, sorry.
To think he was lying in somebody’s arms, cuddling in someone else’s warm touch, careless enough to forget about your existence and your feelings, your ego so easily, paired up with the sudden shock and horror of throwing up in front of Charles, put you in the worst state of anxiety and despair.
Then, the realization.
A sly thought, slithering tantalizingly amidst your scattered mind.
What if…?
You gripped the counter so hard your knuckles turned pale, washed out, eyes wide opened and bewildered, in fright and disbelief. Your heart ran wild, as your thoughts did, while a sigh of hysteria and awareness triggered your cry.
Charles, who had opened the tap in the meantime and had handed you a piece of paper towel to clean yourself up, slowly put down his hand and frowned, disturbed by how exasperated you sounded.
«Please, please, it cannot be… It can’t be true.» you chanted low and quick, but slow and high enough in tone for Charles to understand your words.
«What can’t be?» Charles asked, searching for your attention and your eyes through your erratic movements: you rinsed your mouth with water, closed the tap and swiftly dried your face with the piece of paper he was still holding.
You stared at him intensely, as much as he did: he immediately read the fear overwhelming you, but still failed to see the reason, which you hoped to be able to communicate without giving it form with words.
A couple of seconds were shared in that exchange of terrified glances; and before he was able to say anything else, Charles looked at you pacing quickly to the couch, raising all the pillows in search of something.
«Where’s my purse?» you asked, frenzy.
«I- I don’t know!»
«Did you see my wallet at least?!»
You picked up your phone from the ground and pressed in hurry the switching on button, cursing as it took an insufferable amount of time to turn on.
Charles stepped right behind you, glancing left and right, pondering your request quickly.
«What do you need money for?» Charles shouted, set in panic by your erratic behaviour.
With a swift turn, you stared at him once more, eaten alive by anxiety.
«A pregnancy test.»
You could hear his soundless breath of surprise as he left his mouth ajar, as well as his brain’s gears in motion, getting a grip of the situation.
«You… You two…»
You gave Charles a regretful and desperate stare, pleading him with your eyes not to judge you harshly for falling into Pierre’s trap, chin twitching, tears pricking your eyes.
«It was our wedding night. I just… I just wanted to be happy.»
You broke down in tears before you could end the sentence, covering the face and the shame it displayed with your hands.
Charles froze, trying to clear his mind and think of the next step he should take; your cries, though, only distracted him from doing so.
«Y/n, hey, come here.»
He carefully engulfed you in a hug, shushing you, in an attempt to calm you down.
«I’m going to buy a test now, okay? Stay here, sit on the couch and relax. I’ll come back in a second.»
The lightweight kiss he pressed onto your head as you plopped down onto the sofa, spent, felt distant and muffled, as much as the door closing shut behind his hurried figure.
You stared into the void, replaying the night of the forbidden love over and over again, in search of any possible mistake you two made, to no avail: you had been so enchanted by Pierre and buzzed in bliss that the rerun became fader and fader, the memory even more distant, as if it were a mere fruit of imagination, as if you and Pierre had never been happy together.
Before you could realize it, Charles was already flinging the door back open, pouring the content of the whitish plastic bag onto the table, unwrapping the test and placing it in your hand, closing your fingers shut around it.
«Okay, so… It says to hold the stick downwards, so maybe it’s better if we use a cup or something.»
Charles opened a cabinet of the bathroom and took out a plastic cup, which he handed to you.
«"If testing early, use first urine of the day"… Well, that’s perfect, because you’ve just woken up! “Don’t drink lots of liquid”, done as well… I think we’re good to go.»
Sniffing, you stared at Charles, in wait.
«W-why are you looking at me like that?» he nervously chuckled.
«I need to pee.»
«Right!»
He immediately rushed out of the bathroom, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.
He leaned against the door, impatiently waiting for you to signal to him to enter back again, which you didn’t.
After a couple of minutes, Charles knocked, not able to bear any more silence.
«Y/n? Can I come in now?»
No answer.
Charles put his ear against the varnished wood, trying to capture any sound, knocking once again.
He got startled by a sudden yelp echoing from inside the bathroom.
«Y/n?»
Charles was about to put his hand on the knob, when he heard the lock being sealed under his helplessly slow fingers, which vainly tested the knob in a rush, too late.
«Y/n? Please, open the door!»
As if it weren’t enough, his phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket: moving a couple of steps away from the door with a loud sigh, he was struck by the caller.
«Pierre?»
His name pierced your ears like the tick of a bomb: the pregnancy test in your trembling fingers, you bore your stare into the bright lines signalling the positivity of it.
A child.
Pierre had just cheated on you and, of all the moments, the pregnancy news had sprung at the most inconvenient time.
«Have you heard from y/n? Do you know where she is? I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she doesn’t answer.»
«Yes, she is…» Charles swallowed hard and glanced at the wooden door, still perfectly closed and sealed. «She’s here with me, at my place.»
«Oh, thank God. How is she?»
«What?» Charles almost choked at Pierre’s enquiry.
The thought of your benching figure throwing up in his sink was still vivid and his shirt was somehow slightly damp and stretched.
Pierre sighed.
«She trusted the news, I suppose…»
Charles’ end fell silent for seconds, in which he stared at the door opening and showing your silhouette marked with tears, emotionless, holding the pregnancy test upwards so that he saw the result right as you stepped close to him.
«I’m coming over. Don’t let her go, okay? See you soon.» Pierre concluded, impatient.
«Bye.»
You both stood in silence, thoughts taking over the room.
«How can I raise a baby without a father?»
The sudden question melted Charles’ heart.
«Y/n, it’s going to have a father: Pierre would never leave you alone, even if you two weren’t married and the child weren’t his.»
«But I don’t need him as an uncle, I need him as a father and a husband who’s present and loves us both!»
To that, Charles couldn’t answer anything: he couldn’t swear Pierre’s love for you, it wasn’t in his power, though he would’ve liked to reassure you in any way possible. He hugged you for the umpteenth time, cradling your never-ending weeping self, mentally uncovering the weight of tragedy: not only you might be hurt by Pierre refusing your affection, but preferring someone else’s physical, carnal company. Discarded, thrown away like a valueless thing, having to face one of the biggest challenges of a woman’s life without the certainty of support from the man you loved.
Charles noticed a swelling point near his heart, tormented by the whole situation, which soon turned into utter panic as you twisted abruptly into his arms, startled by a loud knocking on the door.
«Who’s that?» you asked, holding the pregnancy test to your chest and looking around, trembling and confused.
Some other knocks thundering through the suite.
«Charles! Open the door!»
You daggered your eyes to the Monegasque, torn between utter terror and betrayal: why had he made him come over when he was supposed to keep you safe from the whole world, especially from Pierre’s cruelty?
Charles stared at you, motionless, waiting for you to make the first move and implicitly give him the consent to unlock the door.
«He cannot know.» you stated, attempting to sound firm, and failing to conceal panic.
«But-»
«You owe me this, for allowing him to come here in the first place. Don’t you dare to say a word about it.»
Charles shook his head, eyes full of disapproval yet showing pity; then, without adding any other word, he watched you fiddle with the pregnancy test to hide it beneath your shirt and approached the door to let Pierre in.
«Where is she?» Pierre urged, hurried.
Your sitting silhouette towered on the couch right in front of him: your profile contrasted the long curtains of the living room and the pale, greyish tones of the weather outside casted on your skin a livid, gloomy shadow. He knelt down before you, trying to get your eyes to look at his, but he was met with the deadliest still stare he had ever seen: your glossy irises worked as a push for his hand to reach and stroke your cheek, but you shied away his touch.
«Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Charles?»
The Monegasque mumbled a “Sure” under his breath, drained by the whole situation.
Pierre never stopped observing you with attention, which cost you a lot of effort into not locking gaze with him; and when you finally did, a clench of rage shut your jaw, annoyed by his behaviour.
«Aren’t you tired?»
«Tired of what?» you spitted out.
«Of consuming yourself after a false accusation.»
You reluctantly strayed away your eyes from him once again, unluckily charmed by his proximity.
«But you’re not consumed, right? You expected it from me, you were waiting for me to make a mistake, weren’t you?» he sarcastically added. «You swore you would love me and trust me until the end of your life, but you didn’t hesitate to buy into whatever lie someone spread to ruin my reputation once again!»
«Your reputation! Always your fucking reputation first! And what about mine? Don’t you care about how people will think of me from now on?»
«I’m not saying I don’t care, I want to point out the fact that some bastard sold the news on purpose to damage me!»
«I don’t give a shit about who did that, you cheated on me!»
«I DID NOT! For fuck’s sake, this is what I’m trying to tell you! Someone took an out-of-context picture at a dinner where photographers weren’t allowed to try to ruin me and our relationship as well! Are you so stupid to fall for it too?»
At this point, you were crying without containing anymore; after the heated altercation, you stopped and felt your chest sting with hurt pride and feelings.
«I’m stupid for having fallen in love with you since the day I met you.»
Your words seemed to stun Pierre: his lips had parted in surprise at your confession, as much as his eyelids had uncovered completely the majestic blue eyes now bored into yours.
The silence which followed your unwanted declaration made you curl into a ball, sobbing loudly to yourself.
As soon as you felt a pair of arms embracing you, you fought back to avoid them with little whines and cries, only to be defeated by its comforting warmth: you let Pierre seal your bubble of despair, like a shield.
«I’ll prove to you I did nothing, y/n, I promise. Nobody should’ve dared to write about us the way they did.»
What Pierre reckoned to be soothing words weren’t reassuring to your ears at all: the missed reaction to your hopeless love for him fuelled your fears concerning the buried, but growing life in your womb.
How could a child live without love?
How could you?
A sudden wave of nausea made you break the embrace Pierre had engulfed you in, bringing a hand over your mouth yet another time, eyes shut.
«Don’t you feel good? What’s wrong?» he unconsciously put his hand on your thigh, affectionately squeezing it, as he asked.
«I cooked some pasta and it tasted awful. My fault.»
You quickly glanced at Charles, who had rejoined the room, getting near the couch. His stare on you was stern and tender at the same time, communicating both his blame and his will to help you cover up the pregnancy, for the moment, at least.
«You’ll never learn how to cook, right?» Pierre snorted.
«Probably not.» Charles huffed a smile, happy to have brightened the mood of the room a tiny bit.
«I’m a bit hungry, though. Got anything in the pantries?» Pierre asked.
«I’ll go check!»
While Charles walked away and left you alone once more, you sniffed and dried your cheeks, gazing down, looking away from Pierre’s burning and suddenly careful stare.
«I called you a thousand times yesterday.» he spoke low, as not to be heard.
You shook your head, smally.
«I think you know why my phone was switched off.»
«I came back home and I saw the mess in the kitchen.» he ignored your words.
«What? Were you disappointed about not having dinner served?»
Pierre pressed his lips together, holding back the quick answer rolling off his tongue.
And then he decided to let it out.
«I was worried about you.»
No, he wasn’t, you told yourself. He’s trying to fool me.
Still, the heartfelt tone he used to deliver the sentence rose a commotion deep in your soul: the gentle chords of golden love vibrating for him only were put in restless motion at the sound of the confession. It was just so small, but your entire feelings could feast with it for months, for years, after bearing starvation for as long.
«I’ve already talked with my lawyer to sue the journalists and the source of the rumour for defamation.» he caressed your cheek, slowly, as not to startle you with the touch. «I won’t let anyone come between us. Soon it’ll be again just you and me, only us.»
As much as you would’ve liked to trust his whispered words, soft as you had never heard him talk ever before, your choked lie laid untold and yet high like a wall in the room.
Pierre leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, fingers still lingering over your face. Flushing your eyelids down, you recalled the same tenderness being offered to you on other occasions, too short to your liking, too faintly impressed in the memory’s film, too brutally in contrast with the bittersweet tumult raging inside of you.
«I need you by my side.»
Maybe you had imagined it, as it left Pierre’s lips lighter than a whisper; or, maybe, it was the first time you had witnessed some kind of fragility and sweetness in him, just so that you could fall for him even deeper and harder.
The following days, the tension you anticipated to lay between you and Pierre was replaced by a layer of anguish and plainness, wrapping you like a wet, cold cover: the pregnancy test you had hidden carefully haunted your thoughts throughout the day, making you insensitive to Pierre’s attempts at building back again a sense of familiarity, and kept you awake at night, gripping the sheets tight, shaking away the loneliness of the present and of the future.
You knew you didn’t have much time before being forced to tell Pierre: but you had never been as scared to lose him as you were, walking side by side into the paddock, sitting on a stool in the garage, avoiding your husband’s stare while he kissed your cheek, gentle.
The weight of your mind drew your gaze down, to the floor.
«It’s so cold in here, isn’t it?»
You peeked upward at Esteban entering the garage, rubbing his arms as to shake them up from coldness; to be fair, Texas’ air was far from cold, and you struggled interpreting his sardonic smile.
Pierre turned around to throw an annoyed look at him, as he gathered the upper part of the suit higher to zip it up.
Having gained both of your attention, Esteban fixed his eyes on you, in mischief.
«It’s so sad to see a couple being so distant and cold to each other…»
You frowned, surprised by the unusual tone of his voice and the sparkle of malice shimmering on his features.
Esteban tilted his head, still looking at you, his expression now turning to an unbearable shade of pity, masked by a sinister grin.
«Poor y/n… I had told you Pierre would mess up.»
«It’s none of your business, you don’t know a fuck!» Pierre shouted, crossing the garage to face him directly. «And stop addressing her like you’ve known her forever.» he added in a lower tone, threatening.
Esteban glanced at you back again, letting out an amused scoff.
«Didn’t you ever tell him?»
«Stop talking to her! Take it out on me and leave her out of this!»
The increasing tone of Pierre’s voice, as well as Esteban’s cornering words, made you stand up from the seat and left your mouth dry like the desert, no chance to reply.
«Pierre, she can decide on her own if she wants to talk with me or not, you don’t control her. Is he always acting like that with people getting close to you?»
Pierre, of course, anticipated your reactionless self.
«No, only with dickheads like you! Fuck yourself and don’t get near to her!»
«Isn’t it a bit pretentious for someone who cheated on his wife?»
The sentence sorted the effect Esteban clearly was expecting: Pierre’s fingers gripped his suit tight, pushing him a few steps backwards due to the threatening force he used.
«IT WAS YOU! You made the picture, you were there!»
«Pierre, please…» your voice, shaky and feeble, made Esteban laugh.
«Stop fucking laughing! Who gave you the right to ruin both our lives?!»
«Oh, trust me, Pierre, if I wanted to ruin her, I had a far more interesting story… Which I think you should hear.»
With one, fierce shrug, he got rid of Pierre’s tight grab, pointing his eyes back at you.
«I was her boyfriend, back in high school, when you used to hang all out together with Charles.»
You stood lifeless, dreading the moment Pierre would turn to give you a disappointed or maybe even mad look; but he didn’t.
Esteban kept going.
«You’ve always had her on your tail, but you never noticed she was in love with you… I’ve never seen anyone more pathetic.» he let out a snort. «She had so little self-respect to let me take her virginity away in a club’s bathroom… She used me like a fuck-toy and then discarded me. This is the girl you married.»
The whole garage fell silent, since nobody dared to interrupt the helpless flow of words.
An involuntary yell escaped your lips as Pierre ferociously crashed Esteban’s back onto the back wall, finally getting a reaction from the mechanics and engineers, trying to get in between the two to separate them.
Pierre was screaming in French, at the top of his lungs, defending you – unbeknownst to you; Esteban simply stood without reacting much, as he had done years earlier at the same physical attack he had experienced, but this time his revenge was consumed.
He knew he had won after hearing Pierre shouting it was over; seeing him approaching you with big strides and hugging you, leaving the box without uttering any other word.
Reading your expression on the verge of crying, a sick pleasure overtook him.
He had won the war.
«Cheers, les gars!»
«Cheers!»
Amongst the choir of glasses jingling, toasting in delight, you raised yours without being able to reach everyone’s cup, then obliged to set your eyes on the non-alcoholic beverage you had ordered.
You had received numerous side-eyed glances and mocking exclamations for even daring to ask for a banal juice on the celebration night of Pierre’s new contract with Aston Martin, which came after the unexpected departure of Lance.
«Someone will have to drive us home tonight, and I don’t think Pierre is going to spare himself…» you half-joked, as an excuse.
Everyone bought it with a loud chuckle, except for Charles, who didn’t miss any of your movements, bearing the incommensurable weight of truth on his chest.
He had been texting you quite a lot in the last few days: you had informed him of the explosive moments lived inside Alpine’s garage, ultimately leading to Pierre signing with Aston for next year; he had asked you, in turn, how things were now going with Pierre, if you trusted his version of the story.
A few nights earlier, while reading Charles’ texts, you had looked down at Pierre, who was peacefully heaving against your chest. You couldn’t tell whether he had fallen asleep to the soothing head scratches you had been giving him since you had snuggled on the bed, as silence and quietness lingered in the air.
“Did you tell him?”
Pierre’s arm encircled your waist, radiating warmth all throughout your core: it served as another subtle reminder of the news yet to be shared. Though, you had never felt more terrified: it was the first time in years that you perceived Pierre’s affection being that close.
Announcing the pregnancy might have taken away the precious blossom of his love, which you now couldn’t live without.
Charles knew your fear, he could read it well between the lines, and he hoped you would soon rely on Pierre to get the support you’d need.
Drinking plain juice didn’t prevent you from joining friends on the dance floor, gripping handfuls of hair and shaking it to the thick, hot air of the club.
Standing still at the edge of the crowd, sipping on a cocktail with eyes fixed on the group – on you, mainly – Charles and Pierre talked, undisturbed.
«What are you looking at?» the Monegasque asked with a smirk.
Pierre didn’t answer, he didn’t stray his irises from your dancing silhouette, drowning and resurfacing in the crowd.
«She’s beautiful.»
«As if you haven’t been telling me this for the past ten years, Pierre.» Charles chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink.
«It’s different, now.»
«How so?»
Pierre hesitated before answering, gathering the right words to express his muted feelings.
«Last Monday, when I came back home and I couldn’t find her, I freaked out as I’ve never done before. I called her twenty-five times, left a fucking voicemail – who does that anymore? I just didn’t know what to do, I was panicking. I slept on the couch thinking she’d wake me up after coming back at night.»
«I should’ve warned you she was with me, sorry.»
Pierre lightly shook his head.
«No, I think I deserved that, for all the times I treated her bad.»
After a small pause, Charles, frowning, prompted another question.
«So what’s changed?»
«I… I’m falling in love with her.» he breathed out in realization, enchanted by your vision, watching you move like a fairy amongst the large group of his friends enjoying the blasting music.
Charles couldn’t stop himself from snorting and laughing.
«What?»
«That’s a lie.»
Pierre looked at him puzzled; Charles took another sip, smiling in delight and amusement.
«You’ve always loved her; but you didn’t know what love was yet.»
«Said the philosopher!»
Their laughter was so bright and loud that you turned your head towards the two of them patting each other friendly. Pierre’s features were painted in deep, rich warm tones, under the dim lights of the club; the sudden need to refuge in his arms and rest your lips on his draw your eyes to him like an undefeatable magnet, whose force he seemed to feel as well.
«I think I know now.» Pierre said, gaze turned back again on you.
>>♥<<
Exiting the bathroom, you saw Charles waiting right near the door frame, arms crossed, distressed expression, wetting his dry lips as soon as you got near him.
«Is it all good?» he asked.
«Jeez, Charles! Can’t I just go to the bathroom now?»
«You ran away at the speed of light! Pierre was confused and I had to stop him from following you.»
Sighing, you quickly rubbed your temples.
«Listen… I don’t like lying to Pierre. You need to tell him, y/n, he has to know.»
His pleading voice twisted your stomach in a pang of regret and fear.
«I want to see a doctor first… And I need to come back home for that.»
«Why don’t you try with a clinic here?»
You darted your eyes at Charles, half in disbelief, half surprised at the idea.
«I can help you find one, I’ve got some contacts. Plus, I think you should check as soon as possible if everything’s okay with…»
«With me, yes.» you breathed out, feeling Pierre’s heavy stare on you both.
Before you knew it, he was making his way amidst the crowd with a frown, seeing you and Charles confabulate away from indiscreet ears.
«He’s coming.» you whispered.
Charles, visibly frustrated and failing to hide it, huffed and waited for the storm to run over both of you.
And it came. Pierre’s body was burning a few centimeters away from you, igniting shame and terror, knowing you were putting the newfound trust on the line, like a fool.
But it isn’t your fault, a part of you said.
«Why did you stop? I want to hear about the State affair too.»
Not willing to test Charles’ trust for the umpteenth time, you jumped in before he could add anything to his deadly stare directed towards Pierre.
«I was telling him I’m tired and I’d like to go home, but he thinks we should stay here a bit more since we’re celebrating you.»
A soft caress of his palm was enough to melt the hurried tension entangling your muscles, sure he had bought into the lie after seeing a veil of fondness cover his blue eyes.
«Oh, don’t worry, I was thinking of calling it a day too. We can always party more than once, after all.»
>>♥<<
The shirts had slipped away swiftly in a matter of seconds, as your shivering skin warned your senses. You kissed in passion, somehow already accustomed to each other’s pace, yet so new and undiscovered beneath the physical layer of quickened breaths, intense heartbeats and roaming hands.
Pierre dragged your head up with his long lasting, tantalizing kiss, trapping both your wrists with a smirk which spread further blush on your cheeks.
«So that piece of douchebag was your first time?»
He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, as he leaned down to your neck, tasting your skin open-mouthed. You simply moaned, incapable of uttering a word.
It was the first time he enquired you about the awful talk you had had in the garage with Esteban and, noticing the unexpected silence on the topic for days, you had simply guessed he would never tackle it again.
Still, getting drunk had probably loosen him up more than he would ever admit.
«Pierre…»
«What? I’m just curious.»
«I don’t want to be reminded of that day.» you whined, already out of breath.
Mischief gleamed in Pierre’s blue irises, pupils enlarged to take in as much of you as they could. You were able to interpret his intentions a few seconds after his stare: he buried his face behind your earlobe, teasing your skin with his teeth, just enough to gather a shot of blood cursing pleasure and electricity with its flow right where he was leaving kisses.
«Is it because you don’t feel… proud of yourself?» he murmured against your neck.
Guilt tangled in the middle of your chest, words and acts painfully reminding you of the infamous night. Only after years, you could realize how despicable and poor your choice had been; though, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame it.
After all, it had led you to embracing Pierre as close as you would’ve never even imagined in your wildest fantasies.
«Is it because you think you acted selfishly?»
A sweet yet poisonous bite was left just above your collarbone, another soft breath escaping your control.
«Because you hurt people around you?»
Now Pierre looked hungrily at you, halting just a few centimeters from your parted lips, letting your focus drift towards his quick hands unbuttoning your jeans, as if they didn’t know any better. The stormy meaning hidden behind those words seemed senseless to you, impossible: and still his irises showed turmoil… Hurt.
You were almost about to mouth a question, something along the lines of “What do you mean?”, maybe you even did; but you couldn’t tell, because Pierre thrusted his body upon yours all of a sudden, diluting your thoughts in a stain of useless reasoning, moans and whimpers the only incoherent reactions.
«Is it because… you wished you were with someone else?»
The floodgate of your heart crushed open: it rocked your body in such an intense wave that you had to hold onto Pierre, gripping his shoulders tight, while he kissed down on your neck once again, lavishly, anywhere he could print his love on you.
Overwhelm of senses almost ended up in a gracious state of numbness, in which Pierre seemed to be the only actor: he handled you with ease and carefulness, though intoxicated by the physical contact, and before you had realized, the night was consumed, the abatjour casting a gentle warm shade on your bare, entangled bodies.
Drunk in love, you chuckled in silence, warmed by Pierre’s touch.
«What’s that?» he asked.
«I… When I’m with you, I feel both anxious and so happy I could die.»
«Why is it funny?»
«Because it’s childish. I’m still crushing on you like a kid, I only know extremes.»
He hummed, pausing for a few seconds.
«Why do I make you nervous?» he then enquired, again.
«Because I’m scared to lose you.»
It sounded so fragile that Pierre involuntarily tightened his arms around you, drawing you nearer. And deep in thought, he stared at the void.
«I think I know how you feel.»
«What?» you turned your head around to look at him, as if you hadn’t paid attention to his words.
«I’ve felt this way too, since… forever.»
>>♥<<
The faint sound of fingers typing filled the kitchen, otherwise silent.
You had woken up early, after rolling in the sheets for hours, not sleeping much; you had had a little bit of breakfast – as much as your upset stomach would allow you to – while you scrolled the online page of one of the clinics Charles had suggested you, searching for a cell phone number.
You stopped, engraving the digits in your mind.
If you had dialed, a spiral of appointments’ calls, check-ups and exams would follow, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it from tumbling and assaulting you.
Pierre would know soon.
The mere thought scared you to death.
As you saw Pierre's ruffled hair and creased eyes peeked out inside the kitchen area only to direct the slow and unsteady steps towards the bathroom, you bolted as fast as a lighting.
«No, the bathroom is mine!»
You stomped the door in front of his face, preventing him from stealing the precious space and time to clean yourself.
Pierre quickly eyed the laptop on the marble counter, figuring out you must've been up for quite a while; a stained mug and tiny crumbles were other signals of your silent presence, lingering around his numbed senses through the waking.
He had missed the warmth of your body, the securing hold of his arms around your waist, the sweet scent cursing through him while resting his head close to yours, near enough to perceive the undeniable pull drawing him like a magnet.
«You're lucky I love you!» he yelled, in order for you to drink in his amused tone.
You wished you didn't.
That only sentence made your guts twist and horribly enhanced the dizziness, obliging you to grip the sink tight.
You had waited so many years for those words to have a meaning and now you might have it.
Still, you found yourself to dread them.
You were about to ruin everything.
He had not intended to; he had tried, vainly, to stop himself from looking at the screen of your laptop, but the gaze dropped involuntarily, fast, the quickest glance, while placing the mug on the counter.
And the first words he read only invited him to linger on the page further.
A clinic.
A phone number written in bold cyphers.
«Y/n?»
Resurfacing from the trance status you had fallen into while lazily brushing your teeth, you answered with a whine.
«Can you come here for a sec?»
You deeply inhaled in annoyance, sure it was either to pull a prank on you or to get some help with the absurdly expensive coffee machine Pierre had asked for in the suite - and didn't quite know how to use yet.
The puzzled look on his face told you right away all you needed, as much as his fingers brushing the laptop’s pointer pad.
«Why were you searching-»
«Why are you going through my stuff!?»
You flung yourself onto the pc, pulling it away from his touch and his sight, hoping that could be enough to erase the content from his thoughts.
As you imagined, it didn't.
«What's that for? You left it spread open, how was I supposed not to see it?»
Pierre followed your gushing figure placing the laptop back in the bedroom, closing the door after you two.
«Can you please stop a second and explain to me what's going on?»
Your body seemed to slip under Pierre's touch, then ultimately gave in, anxiety paralyzing all movements but trembling. Immediately noticing your distress, he stroked your hair in reassurance, trying to calm himself down as well through the action.
«Y/n, I'm not asking again. What's the clinic for?»
You avoided his stare as much as answering.
«Did something happen? I need to know, y/n.» he wetted his lips, visibly frustrated. «It isn't just you, now. It's both of us. We're in this together.»
After minutes spent crafting the most realistic lie, painfully witnessing Pierre being tender and caring only to be fooled by you, you were finally ready to utter a word.
«I had booked a routine appointment with a gynecologist before I knew about the trip, but we aren't getting home soon, and I didn't want to miss it.»
Pierre's forehead distended like a folded sheet laid spread and fresh onto the mattress, irises still concealing a hint of doubt.
«Why didn't you tell me?»
«I thought it'd be embarrassing… for both.»
«It isn't to me.» he said, softly. «And you can talk to me about anything, you know that.»
You rested your cheek upon his palm, enjoying the caress with eyes closed, quietly accepting the lie still holding up the invisible wall of miscommunication you purposely built.
«Especially when the topic is dear to me.»
Pierre's smug tone lifted a stone from your shoulders, as well as dropping it in your chest, heart swimming in a lake of mixed emotions.
You would’ve liked to cast a spell and stop the flow of time, because bittersweet guilt and happiness were the telltale signs a fairytale was possible, after all, almost within reach.
And you had ruined it.
>>♥<<
A thought had been flying around his mind all day: jogging lightly before free practice, revising the track with his performance engineer, laughing and joking around with other drivers ahead of media duties. It hadn't bothered him, it hadn't shown; not even when he came back to the hotel and didn't find you there as he expected. It slipped from his consciousness even while drifting into sleep, your scent dazzling and lulling him.
It harboured beneath the surface, though, and its stealth presence made itself evident - yet misunderstood - on Saturday morning.
«Where's my shirt?» Pierre asked abruptly, entering the bedroom in a hurry.
Despite him trying to get you to get up multiple times as he got ready, you were still lying in bed, sick to the core, unwilling to admit it, exhausted already by the day.
«Y/n, c'mon, we need to go!» Pierre huffed, poorly concealing the annoyance.
You whined, weakly raising the duvet in order to get seated. Before Pierre could snort again and feel even more dissatisfied with the sudden lack of energy you showed, he hesitated on your dark eyebags, on the slow movement you dragged your limbs with, on the aura of fatigue encircling you.
He stepped closer, taking your arms and lifting you up, guiding you to the kitchen steadily, but still rather quickly.
As you took a seat, he placed before you an amount of food – for breakfast – which you would've always considered sufficient and that now seemed exaggerated.
«If you're not hungry, drink at least. You need to keep hydrated.»
Pierre's demanding voice partially saved you from the impasse of refusing food, so you obligingly sipped the cup of coffee he had pushed towards you without adding a word.
From that moment onwards, Pierre eyed you with a carefulness unknown before.
He only realized now how sluggish and overall low-key you had been behaving: though, the restless rhythm of flights, hotel check-ins, suits packing and racing sessions were draining enough to present themselves as valid reasons for your lack of verve.
Taking your purse underarm in a hurry, you crossed eyes with Pierre’s.
«I’m ready, let’s go.»
Dumbfounded by his sudden aplomb, you stood in silence, hair barely brushed, shirt carelessly half untucked in your jeans; you didn’t stray your stare from Pierre’s while he slowly took your hands in his, a strange thoughtfulness guiding the movement.
The silence said more than you two were capable of.
It seemed to be thrown back in time to those longing, perusing stares you studied each other with, always analyzing expressions and reactions, never sure of getting it right yet desperately needy of the other.
You both swam comfortably in that tacit conversation, exchanging fears, doubts, loving care; but Pierre knew it was time to go – it had been for a while, already – and couldn’t restrain himself from clearing his throat.
«Yep, I told you. Let’s go.» you whispered.
>>♥<<
It had been Charles' idea, to have a brunch all together inside the paddock: he had found a small sort of restaurant, right in front of Pirelli's backdoor, unfrequented by VIPs and paparazzi.
If you didn't know Charles well enough, you would've guessed he simply wanted to check on you; but him craving some good old company and wanting to shy away from the crowd of the track was the most likely scenario.
Hanging out together, the three of you, felt like a fever dream, every single time: the memories would merge, the jokes and the laughs would crack on their own with such a flow and an ease unexplainable to anybody else.
Sitting next to the most important people of your life was a luck you would never take for granted.
«…should buy one. What do you think?»
«I think that’s awesome, really.»
You became self-conscious of the wedding ring pressing Pierre’s name onto your skin as an endless kiss, recalling the ebbing moments of the day you became one.
«Y/n?»
Again.
The wave knocking at the pit of your stomach, the sudden harmony of smells emanated by your dishes was quick to stir your quiescent sickness.
«Y/n? Did you hear the question?»
Charles’ voice obliged you to answer.
«Uh? Yeah, yes, I did.» you composed yourself as quickly as you could. «I think it’s a beautiful opportunity for you.»
«We’ll help you, if we can do anything for it. Like, if you need taste testers, we’re more than happy!» Pierre chuckled.
You forced a smile too, in order not to contrast your husband’s bright expression.
However, it all spiraled when a pile of used tires – the F3 free practice had finished less than a half an hour earlier, you reasoned – was dragged in a small interstice near Pirelli's building, leaving an unbearable smell of burned rubber. You felt yet again nauseous, making it blatantly obvious clasping your mouth and nose, focusing on your breathing, eyes closed.
Pierre and Charles' stares laid on you in a single motion, both catching on what was happening (with different awareness, clearly).
Pierre couldn't let the memory of your missed breakfast fade into nothing, and his racing mind quickly figured you must be ill; he trapped your free hand in a grab which you immediately complied, he got up and kneeled next to you, seeing you didn't give any signs of the clench in your stomach loosening.
In the meantime, Charles quietly and politely asked you if you needed a glass of water, if you'd want to go to the restroom, to which your silence only fueled his helplessness and sly embarrassment.
«I'm okay, guys.» you breathed out, finally removing your fingers from your lips, but still too scared to open your eyelids and be attacked by their sharp stares.
«No, you're not, y/n. You've been sick for at least a week.»
Pierre's statement worked as a tymbal clang to both you and Charles, so that you looked at each other briefly but intensely, wondering whether the ticking bomb laying untold amongst you three had just exploded without you noticing.
“Tell him” was painted in capital letters, bold, inside Charles' green irises.
Internalizing the truth impossible to fool, you let Pierre's fingertips gently move your chin towards him, since you had enchanted in reflection on Charles. Suddenly confronting your husband's – yes, because he was your husband – unexplainable beauty like it was the first time you really saw him, the news seemed to brim out your lips, overflowing with contrasting emotions you weren't able to conciliate.
Gathering all your courage despite the trembling of your chin, you reciprocated the hold of Pierre's hands: it was building up, from your chest up to the throat, bypassing the rationality check.
«I need to tell you something.»
It was nothing but a whisper; Charles, unknowing to either you or Pierre, slowly got up from his chair, standing near you and placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort.
Pierre waited in silence for your words, pupils scattered all around your features trying to get the smallest hint of which nature the news was.
The tears pricked your eyes as soon as the thought hit your synapsis.
«I'm pregnant, Pierre.»
Releasing the pent-up distress, finally relieved by the burden of secrecy, you cried freely, ready to face the consequences of the news.
A part of you expected an endless chain of angry sentences and despair, complaints, immaturity. And the part of you who didn't expect such a reaction, or at least hoped for a better outcome without much conviction, still managed to astonish before the taken aback but sweet curve of Pierre's eyebrows, unbelievably moved by your words.
«Really? Are you sure?»
His mistrust annoyed you slightly and made you scoff through tears. But before you could answer with a snappy remark, he was all over you, hugging your sadness away, melting in an embrace that swiped bad omens, that dissolved the clouds of doubt in a sparkling, bubbly dust of relief.
Pierre left a long peck on your forehead, which only freed tears from running ceaselessly.
«I can't believe it…» he whispered out of an uncontainable smile.
Your body and soul, both in shock from experiencing the most releasing happiness, trembled like leaves under the wind of Pierre's affection. He glanced at Charles, looking for confirmation, which he found expressed through the dimples of his best friend; then focused back again on you, whose reaction Pierre couldn't quite make out.
«You're happy, right?» he asked, almost fearful of the answer.
Sobbing a laugh, you leaned against his hand cupping your cheek and enveloped it with yours, fond.
«Of course I am.»
He paused, taking a full look at you in excitement and amazement, letting the thought settle in his heart.
«When did you find out?» he asked, cupping your cheek as a fragile corolla of petals.
Your mouth dried out, your throat was still knotted; thankfully Charles beat you on time in answering.
«Almost two weeks ago.»
You waited for it, you anticipated the hatred and the – righteous – disappointment in getting to know that his best friend had witnessed and received the news first. Fear invested you once again, through sobs and hiccups.
«Y/n… Look at me.»
It all seemed to down on you at once: sat in your weakness, you had disclosed all your cards and were now the most vulnerable you’d ever been with him. Not even when you had promised in front of your families to love him for the rest of your life, not even lying in his embrace and cuddling with him after breathing out affection and pleasure on top of each other’s skin; no rejection could hurt you more than now, while carrying two lives inside of one body, two souls, doubling the sorrow. His serious demeanour only spiked up your anxiety, as you realized you weren’t ready at all, neither emotionally nor mentally, to face him yet.
He shut his eyes closed, he prepared himself to talk; you braced yourself for the impact of the cruel reality.
It had been fun, until it had lasted.
This is no fairytale, you chanted to yourself, lulling your crying soul.
«I love you.»
You looked at him dumbfounded, waiting for the answer to be completed with a "like a friend", or something of the sort which would've stabbed your heart with pain as he would always do; but a peaceful silence followed his words, and the longer you stared at each other, the deeper the realization would set in your heart.
The promise you had been waiting for since the day you had met Pierre, which you expected to hear at the altar, was now vowed to you, him still kneeled down.
«When…?» you involuntarily voiced your reasoning, not able to make sense of it, caught by total surprise.
«Since forever. It just took me a while to realize…», he then glanced at Charles. «… and the help of a friend.»
Spontaneously, you flung your arms around him, heart aching in joy and bliss. You watered and creased Pierre’s shirt, feeling life flourish just by listening to his words; to seal them, he plastered a kiss on your reddish, smooth lips, and heaven reached earth.
«A baby, uh?» Pierre said almost to himself, placing his spread hands on your belly.
You couldn’t help but have eyes brimming with emotion, gently brushing with your fingers his: was there anything which could make you happier and more strongly bonded together?
«Charles… I think we’ll need plenty of your ice-cream in the near future.»
«Hey!» you patted Pierre’s shoulder, amusingly offended.
«Oh, for sure. I’ll make you a discount, since you’ll buy it in large quantity.»
«Guys!» you laughed, trying to stop their endless flow of jokes.
With your left hand still pressed onto Pierre’s, you gazed down at your wedding ring, shining and glimmering under the sunlight.
Maybe, no matter how unhoped and unplanned, yours was truly a fairytale.
to @gaslysainz: Thanks again for the request! I really hope you’ll like it…I’m not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I couldn’t work on it any further 😂 I’d be glad to know what you think 🥹❤️
AND TO ALL OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND FOR BEING PATIENT!
I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO!
HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧
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#f1 fic#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#pierre gasly x reader#pierre gasly x y/n#pierre gasly x you#pierre gasly fic#esteban ocon x reader#esteban ocon x y/n#esteban ocon x you#f1 x reader#f1 fluff#f1 angst#formula 1 x reader#golden post
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👀
What is this about you say? Stay tuned!
Thanks to @trumpets0ng and @ladybugsimblr for letting me use your sims' credentials lol. Walker Pearson from Jett Studios (trumpet) was the photographer, and Alex Greene (LB) was the author. He also wrote Bailey Kay's article.
(transcript under the cut)
A well-dressed man walked into the studio, swaggy and confident, with more drip than a coffee pot. His perfectly tailored suit glimmered under the stage lights, looking just as expensive as one would imagine it to be. My initial thought upon seeing this cat with a larger than life personality was, “Oh, great. Here comes another industry brat.” Then, he walked up to my assistant, smiled, extended his hand, and said, “Hi! I’m Orange.” That’s when I knew I’d been completely wrong about him.
I started off slow.
ALEX: How’ve you been? How’s life treating you?
ORANGE: Life is wonderful, thanks for asking.
I’m excited about my baby sister being back on the west coast! She wanted to spread her wings and moved east; that’s where she met and married her guy. But she’s a mom now, and my parents are getting old, so she’s back. I can’t wait to spend time with my nephew and get to know my brother-in-law better.
ALEX: Wow, okay. It’s always nice to have the family close. So where have you been all this time, my man?
He leaned back into the sofa with a huge sigh and a smile.
ORANGE: Where have I been… I’ve been everywhere, man!
ALEX: Oh word?
ORANGE: Yeah, man. I pride myself on not being a prideful person…which is probably the most proud thing I could say.
He laughs at his own joke, wiping fake sweat away from his brow. And all at once, he had me. I was sucked into his energy.
ORANGE: I appreciate everything my parents did for me, but I was never interested in following in their footsteps.
ALEX: Never?
ORANGE: Not really. I was kinda artsy as a kid. I can sing, but I never had a passion for it. Don’t get me wrong…I’m a gregarious kind of guy, so I wanted to be in the public. Just not doing what my parents did.
ALEX: So what did you do?
ORANGE: Whatever I could. I didn’t want it said of me that my life was handed to me, so I moved out, got a crappy apartment, and worked as a barista for a while. People told me I was funny, so I started writing sketches and going to the comedy clubs.
ALEX: And then sim.TV called.
Laughter erupts, startling everyone on set. It’s loud and hearty and sounds like that uncle at the family barbeque.
ORANGE: It didn’t exactly happen that way, but yes…eventually. I honestly don’t know what happened. I’m guessing someone just happened to be at one of my shows and thought I would be a good fit for this new talk show they were planning.
ALEX: What does this mean for you?
ORANGE: Wow… This means… It’s so validating. I’m middle-aged now, and all my peers are off doing so many amazing things. It was really hard to resist the urge to go to my parents and ask for help. But the thing that kept me going was this moment right here. I knew that if I stayed the course, eventually something would happen, and I would have an immense feeling of pride. And I do.
ALEX: That’s so dope. So, tell us about the show.
ORANGE: It’s called “The Pulse,” and it’s all about keeping you entertained and informed about what’s going on in the entertainment world.
ALEX: So you’re keeping your finger on the pulse of the industry.
ORANGE: You get it. I’m so grateful for the opportunity because it’s so perfect for me. I grew up around it. I know all dirty secrets, but I also recognize and respect the beauty in it.
ALEX: So from your interviews, should we expect to get a different perspective of celebrity life?
ORANGE: I hope so. I don’t want to be just another talk show host, asking the same tired questions. One thing I want to do differently is get the audience involved. Everyone watching has their own reasons for being interested in someone, so if there’s something they want to know, I’d like to give them the answers.
ALEX: Okay! I like that. Kinda like, power to the people.
ORANGE: Exactly.
ALEX: So, why Nick?
ORANGE: Why not Nick? He’s the hottest thing smoking right now, and he’s not even working. I’m trying to get on his level! But seriously though, I think we’d vibe well. We’re similar in our values and ways of working, and I don’t think he’s ever done a TV interview before, so I think it’s fitting that he be my first guest.
ALEX: Best of luck to you, man. Thanks for sitting down with us.
#ts4 story#sims 4 story#sims story#Piersons and Friends#the piersons#orange bailey moon#nick wilkinson#the pulse
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Spotless: Furia
Chapter Twenty Three
Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela
Other characters: Isaac/Tamara,
Word Count: 1780
Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, the thing is they hurt each other a lot, most of the time without meaning to.
A/N: We pick up right where we left off. Trouble tries to get ready to go out on tour, Dean sets off alarms.
Series Masterlist
It wasn’t fair, you were not being fair. But that didn’t change that sick feeling crawling up your throat. Face burning, you looked at Dean who was pointedly not looking at you. You counted the deep breaths he took, his nostrils flared less the longer you sat in suffocating silence.
You should have said something.
You had no idea how to take it back. It wasn’t even what you said, it was how you said it, so derisively.
You wanted to disappear.
The traffic on the freeway only seemed to get worse the longer you sat. It had been a good day, even with Dean’s snippiness over the Rolling Stone article. Why did you have to open your big mouth?!
You bit the inside of your cheek, you were not going to cry. You knew how guys felt about girls crying, it’s a cop out, or a pathetic ‘get out of jail free’ card. Despite knowing girls usually cried out of frustration rather than actual sadness. You didn’t want to come off as pandering or fucking weak.
“Look—- I don’t want to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with. But, we’ve all seen how well the press and the fans have responded to you two. Is this something I need to put the brakes on? Because I need to know before we start touring.”
Dean huffed. “It’s fine—- it’s not about Bela, okay? It was just an honest question.”
You waited because it felt like he had more to say. You owed it to him to let him say his piece.
He let out a self deprecating chuckle. “You really think it’s just because I’m a horndog, I’d want out?”
“Dean— I didn’t mean it like that, I—”
“No, you did. You were very clear. I just gotta know, Y/N, is there no other reason you can think of for me to want out than some easy lay?”
He wasn’t even pretending to keep his eyes on the road anymore. His jaw was tight and his eyes were dark and glossy and every hope you’d ever had fluttered in your stomach.
You were supposed to say something back.
But you had already said too much.
You couldn’t lose him over something as avoidable as a misunderstanding.
“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t— nu-uh, that’s not what I asked. I don’t want your apology, here, okay? Just—- tell me there’s something else that could get me out of this without being the bad guy.”
It hurt to look at him.
But God was it even harder to look away.
“I can talk to Crowley— work out a timeline if you want?”
Dean shook his head, looked to the ceiling of the impala, and exhaled deeply. “No—- we’re good. But if you ever think of an answer. I want to hear you say it.”
You looked down at your lap, your phone case biting into your palm where you squeezed it.
“I don’t know what you’re fishing for, Dean. I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologize, but I feel like I can’t help but put my foot in my mouth tonight.”
“It’s okay, Trouble. No hard feelings. Promise.”
You looked up to make sure he wasn’t still pissed.
“Seriously?”
Dean’s mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. “Seriously.”
It wasn’t until you were safe and distracted with drinks and everyone else at Elizabeth’s that you realized Dean had called you by your real name. You couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
No one really talks about the non-glamourous tasks required before going on tour. Especially not the ones that have nothing to do with the music and everything to do with leaving your home for months on end. Your personal to-do list always fell by the wayside when it came to the band, but you were running out of time on it now. In less than 48 hours, the opening act would take the stage.
And three days after that you would officially be on the road, for nearly six months straight.
You shoved a quart of half-eaten fried rice into a garbage bag and moved onto the vegetable drawer. Cleaning out the fridge didn’t take very long, but going through your pantry was a nightmare. When did you even buy half of this shit?! The cans would last, but a lot of the boxed stuff was already halfway to expiring so you set them aside to drop off somewhere over the next couple of days.
Then you wiped everything down.
By the time the kitchen surfaces were done, you were sweaty and gross. But you had too much momentum to stop there. You swept and mopped the floor. You took a breath and pushed on. Later that evening while taking out the trash, your neighbor, Isaac, waved at you over the half-fence.
“Getting ready to get back on the road then?” His accent was pleasant as ever.
You sighed and blew a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. “Getting there. I never understand how much I need to clean with it just being me. But here I am, like usual.”
He poked at some meat on the grill as he made conversation. “Tam said we’re due over tomorrow to go over things before you leave?”
You nodded your head. “Yeah, anytime after you both get home from work is fine, I’ll just be forcing myself to actually pack at that point. I really appreciate you guys looking over the place.”
“It’s nothing really. Plus you more than compensate us for it, love.”
“I know, but still.” You looked down at your dust streaked tshirt and ratty sweats and decided you had been out in the world long enough looking like that. “Alright, I better get back inside. See you tomorrow, Isaac.”
“TTFN!”
You smiled to yourself as you stepped back inside through the side door. You were so lucky to have good neighbors, especially with the way your job worked. Dean had told you all about Tamara and Isaac before you moved in, making sure you knew everything from the seriousness of not asking about kids to the humor of not insulting classic Doctor Who.
When Dean remembered, he’d still meet Isaac at one of the few English style pubs for a football match every now and again.
And they didn’t seem to mind housesitting for you whenever you needed.
The smell of the dry rub from Isaac’s grill haunted you as you went back into your clean, yet emptied out kitchen. It just meant another night of delivery was in your future.
You woke up grumpy from an incessant buzzing coming from your phone. The first notification was from Twitter and you opened it without checking anything else.
Ugh, okay, fine. Dean dropped Bela off late last night. You weren’t too worried about it. So you tried to go back to sleep. But a nagging feeling in the back of your mind kept prodding the possibilities into your thoughts.
Before jumping to any conclusions, you got out of bed and started a pot of coffee.
There had been a lot of little things you had to ignore in the day-to-day of being the band’s publicist, and even more you had to try and bury as their friend. Cas’ penchant for banging journalists was one of the ongoing thorns in your side. And of course all of Lee and Pamela’s on-again-off-again nonsense came up more than was even happening. But Dean knew how to leave a hook up. He also knew when he was being tailed.
This entire headline smelled fishy.
You bit your lip and opened your contacts. It was still too early for a business call, especially since you knew he was out until after bar close, but you couldn’t wait any longer for answers.
The phone rang in your ear and you silently begged your coffee pot to brew faster. Dean answered just before it would have sent you to his voicemail.
“I’m up— where’s the fire?” Dean mumbled into the microphone.
Without any preamble, you started in on the questions. “Have you seen the latest? People are up in arms over you squealing out of Bela’s driveway this morning. What happened?”
“Uh, hold on,” Dean must have moved the phone or covered the mouthpiece because you could hear his voice rumbling, but couldn’t make out a single thing he said. Then came a bunch of muted background noises and a door opening and closing. “Okay, wanna run that past me again? Slower and without the accusatory tone— it’s not even fucking nine am, Trouble.”
Your suspicions continued to rise. “Where are you?”
“In a hallway.”
Not ‘the’ hallway, not ‘my’ hallway, an unspecified singular hallway.
“Dean—”
“Look. The paps were fucking vultures last night, I caught one of them trying to lowjack Baby. So, I ditched her, and Sam got her back home safe. I circled back after I knew they’d scattered and I stayed put. There’s nothing to worry about. Just people trying to make me look bad for being too smart for their slimy ways.”
Your brain hissed like a television left between channels, not a signal coming or going in either direction.
“You’re at Bela’s.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yep.”
Your business brain rebooted, slowly.
“Trouble?”
You called him, you should have said something already. “Okay, so, uh, I guess just make sure to leave publicly. Or go out for breakfast or something. Just don’t leave it how they’re spinning it.”
Dean huffed. “Makes sense. Anything else?”
“Tomorrow is the morning show interview, you said you’d pick me up? Is that still gonna happen or should I just get an Uber? I’ll just call an Uber.”
“I mean, yeah, gotta be home to drag Sam with anyway. So you don’t gotta. We’ll be there with bells on right at five.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I should go—”
“Right, of course. Bye.”
“Talk to you later.”
You hung up and your coffee pot finally whistled, signaling it had completed brewing.
You moved through your morning routine in a fog. Even when Bela posted a gorgeous fruit plate between matching mimosas sometime before noon, you only gave it a heart and moved on to folding your next load of laundry. Once you let yourself look at what was happening, you gave into the anger. You screamed into an old hoodie until you were hoarse.
Dean was actually sleeping with Bela.
Your two best friends were fucking.
The same best friends you had set up to help make your job easier.
What the fuck was your life?
And how the hell were you supposed to pretend any of this was okay?!
Tagging:
@deans-spinster-witch
@mrswhozeewhatsis
@cosicas-cuquis
@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like
@suckitands33
@ladysparkles78
@deans-baby-momma
@stoneyggirl2
@sassy-pelican
@leigh70
@globetrotter28
@winharry
@lastactiontricia
@rockhoochie
@brightlilith
@coldhearted93
@djs8891
#spotless series#dean winchester fanfiction#dean/reader#dean/bela#slow burn#rockstar au#fake dating#but is it even fake anymore#dean angst
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