#all I want to do is listen to one (1) song on repeat that I heard tonight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

viennakarma · 1 month

Text

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips.

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head.

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed.

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you.

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party.

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered,

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you.

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

904 notes · View notes

miraclewoozi · 3 months

Text

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

��Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

One.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

1K notes · View notes

daisynik7 · 7 months

Note

imma hit you with a twofer: extra smooth by aaliyah with geto...and gimme more by brittany spears with kishibe

Extra Smooth

Pairing: Suguru Geto x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.0k

cw: next-door neighbor Geto who is kind of an asshole, shy reader, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), cunnilingus, sex without a condom, sex toy use

Summary: Your next-door neighbor is loud, inconsiderate, and unfortunately, very hot. No matter how many times you bang on his door with another new noise complaint, he’ll continue to repeat his offenses nearly every weekend. You’re too timid to submit a formal complaint to the landlord, so you shrug it off, hoping that one day, he’ll suddenly become nice. That day comes sooner than you think, when he unexpectedly makes a visit to your apartment, discovering the real reason you need your peace and quiet.

Author’s Note: @demonwoman Mephisto! I LOVE this song and Aaliyah, honestly this was so perfect for Geto. Thank you for requesting a two-fer for the y2k karaoke party! I’ll post the Kishibe one soon. Had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciating, thank you for reading! MDNI divider by @/cafekitsune.

part 1 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

Even with your headphones in, music on high, you can still hear the loud bass reverberating through the shared wall of your apartment. You remove one of the buds in your ear to press it to the plaster, listening carefully to your neighbor having another party next door. Rolling your eyes, you save the document on your screen before shutting your laptop closed, quickly putting on a pair of mismatched sweatpants and sweater. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to go over to Suguru Geto’s apartment to ask him to lower the volume. You did it last weekend, and the one before that, even twice last month. It isn’t fun for you to be that person, but the intense bass that rattles your bedroom walls really is distracting. You thought that after the first two times you complained, he would be more conscious of it. Nope, still noisy and obnoxious as ever. The problem is you’re too chicken shit to make a formal complaint to your landlord. Of course he isn’t taking it seriously, not from his timid, home-body neighbor next door. Why should he when it’s only you that it’s bothering?

You slide into your fuzzy slippers and make your way out into the hallway, closing the door shut behind you. A few steps and you’re in front of Geto’s, knocking three times. You can hear people chatting and laughing from inside, not responding. You wait another couple of seconds before forcefully pounding on the door with your fist, finally getting a reaction. The chatter hushes and soon, he reveals himself, answering the door with a tight grin on his face, clearly annoyed. “What can I do for you, neighbor?” he grits through his teeth, still maintaining a forced smile.

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly insecure in his presence. There’s no denying it; he’s an attractive man, tall and lean beneath tight-fitting clothes. Long, black hair drapes down his back, a portion of it wrapped in a loose bun, loose strands falling before his handsome face. And sure, maybe sometimes he crosses your mind while you’re in your bedroom, playing with the toys you have currently hidden away in your nightstand. But that’s as far as it goes: fantasy. In reality, your next-door neighbor is an asshole.

“Could you please lower the volume of your music? It’s really loud.” You decide not to bring up the other incidents from the past, not wanting to aggravate the situation any further.

He grins at you, disingenuous, definitely irritated, but trying not to show it. “Sure. I can do that. Anything else?”

You shake your head, muttering a quiet, “Thanks.” You glance at the people inside, who stare at you, snickering to each other.

“Nice slippers, by the way,” he taunts, before slamming the door shut. There’s an uproar of laughter from inside, and you retreat back into your home, irked by his attitude. It’s not that hard to be considerate of others, right? So why is he making this so much more difficult than it needs to, making you feel like the asshole? You shake it off, trying not to let it bother you. He actually does lower the volume, so you’re satisfied, despite the unnecessary insults you hear from the other side. God she’s so lame. She’s home alone on a Friday night, what do you expect?

With another roll of your eyes, you open your laptop, resuming where you left off. Your fingers type away at the keys fluidly, your concentration regained, hating yourself a little bit for what you’re about to type, especially after what just happened:

Yeah, you want this cock, don’t you?

Been hungry for it this entire time, huh?

[clothing rustling]

Well, go ahead. Come get it. Use me like you’ve always wanted to.

[spits into hand, starts stroking his cock]

I’ll be a good neighbor to you from now on. The very best.

~~~

You finish the script past midnight, falling asleep before you get a chance to proofread and edit it. There’s no title yet, though you have a vague idea of what you want it to be. Saturdays, you’re usually out with friends throughout the day, so you decide to finish the rest of it once you’re back home from dinner tonight. Before you leave, you type a quick title at the top of the page: [M4F] Your Hot Asshole Neighbor Finally Decides to Be Nice to You.

This isn’t the first script you’ve written. Last month, you tried your hand at it and it got picked by one of your favorite nsfw voice actors. The thrill of hearing their deep voice moaning the words you wrote motivated you enough to work on another. The commission payment is an added bonus. With your full-time job occupying your week, weekends are the only free time you have to write, especially Friday nights. That’s why you need your concentration; and that’s why Geto’s loud music bothers you so much. You can’t completely hate him, though. After all, he’s the inspiration behind this latest piece, though you will never admit that to him. Ever. In fact, this entire gig you’re doing is a secret only for you to harbor. Not even your closest friends are aware that you’re doing this as a hobby.

The document sits temporarily forgotten on your laptop while you galivant with your besties throughout the day. After a delicious dinner together, they drop you off to your apartment, where pour yourself a glass of white wine to sip on in your pajamas while you edit your naughty script at the dining table.

You’ve read it twice through, starting from the top for a third review when there’s a knock on your door. You check your phone, searching for a text from a friend who might be stopping by, but you see none. Confused, you tip toe in your fuzzy slippers to look through the peephole, surprised to see Geto standing on the other side.

You open the door, greeting him hesitantly. “Um, hi.”

He nods, hands in his pockets, giving you a quick scan before speaking. “Hey. I, uh, locked myself out. The landlord isn’t going to be back until an hour or so and I’m too cheap to call a locksmith right now. Is it cool if I just hang out in here while I wait?”

You consider this carefully, still in disbelief that this happening. You can’t just kick him to the curb and refuse, especially when it’ll only be for a short while. Deciding to let bygones be bygones, you agree to help him, opening the door wider to let him through.

“Thank you,” he mutters, stepping inside. “Do you want me to take my shoes off?”

“Yes. I think I have some slippers for you. I’ll be right back.” You rush to your bedroom, searching for a pair of slides that he can use in the meantime. It takes a while to find them, buried under a pile of junk in your closet. Before you head out to meet him, you quickly put a bra on, acutely aware that he might have caught sight of your nipples peeking through the thin layer of your shirt. It doesn’t matter, though; he doesn’t think of you in like that anyways. You’re just his lame, lonely neighbor next door, right?

You return, looking towards the couch, expecting to see him sitting there. To your horror, you catch him at the dining table, seated where you previously were before he arrived, staring at your laptop screen.

“Hey!” You hustle towards him, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the table.

He glances at you, cheeks red, an odd expression on his face. “What was that?” he asks, pointing to the computer.

You snatch it away, storing it in one of the kitchen drawers, desperate to hide it as if the damage hasn’t already been done. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He stands up, lips parted, trying to find the words to say. “That was…I’m pretty sure it said…Is that about me?”

Your skin is sweltering now, beyond freaked out and unsure how to fix this mess. Is it better to lie and try to chalk it up as one big joke? Or should you be honest and hope he’s understanding about it? Either way, there’s no turning the clock back. He’s already read something, and it’s not going to be leaving his mind anytime soon.

You decide to tell him the truth, as best as you can explain it. “Okay, I know it’s weird, but I write these types of scripts for voice actors to perform. It’s just a little part-time hobby I have, and I even get paid for it. Sure, it’s a little risqué, but it’s nothing illegal, okay?” He continues to stare at you, expression relaxing just the slightest bit.

“Also, it’s not about you. Maybe it’s a little bit inspired by you, but it’s definitely not about you. Not exactly,” you add, uncertainty laced in your voice. This is even more mortifying than you expected it to be. Is it too late to break the lease on your rent and move across town?

It’s quiet for what seems like forever. He doesn’t respond, contemplating your explanation silently to himself. Eventually, he takes a couple steps towards you, reaching behind to slide the drawer open, pulling your laptop out. You’re frozen, stunned by his close proximity, anticipating his next move. Finally, he says, “I want to read the rest of it.”

“What?”

He smirks, tension easing from his shoulders as he sits down, taking a swig from your wine glass. “I want to finish it. It was getting good before you stopped me.” He opens your laptop screen, the document appearing exactly where he left off.

You bury your face in your hands, taking the seat beside him, groaning. “I can’t believe this is happening right now.” You refill your glass almost to the brim with wine, taking a large gulp of it before passing it to him.

“Did you really think you could keep something like this a secret? This is pretty wild,” he chuckles, tipping it into his mouth, at the same spot where you did.

“I didn’t think you’d be the first person to find out, though.” You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever is about to unravel from this.

“Fair enough.” He scans the words, reading each one meticulously. “So are these lines supposed to be, like, what the voice actor says? It’s just them talking?”

“Yup.”

He giggles, blushing. “Okay, so, we’re pretending that I’m the asshole neighbor. Got it. Are you sure this isn’t about me?”

“It’s inspired by you. Inspired,” you reiterate, swallowing a large gulp of alcohol.

He bites his lip, hiding his smile. “Okay. Um, so it says here in the bracket that there’s knocking.”

“That’s the cue for sound effects.”

“Got it. So,” Geto knocks thrice on the surface of the dining table, reading, “What can I do for you, neighbor? Oh, you want me to turn the volume down? Is it too loud for you again? This is totally about me!”

You can’t help but laugh, shrugging. “Maybe it’s a little bit about you.”

He hides his smile behind his hand, swearing under his breath. “Shit, okay.” He clears his throat before continuing. “I’m sorry for being so noisy these past few weeks. Do you think you could ever forgive me? Do people really get off on lines like this?”

“Just keep reading it!” you yell at him, playfully kicking him beneath the table.

“Okay, okay! Ahem. I think I know exactly what I can do to make it up to you. I know you like me, even though I’m such an asshole. Think you can forgive me for just one night?”

You clench your thighs together, concealing the arousal growing between your legs. You’ve always thought he had a sexy voice but paired with the script and knowing what’s about to come, it’s hard to control your desires.

His voice is hushed now, low and sultry. “Yeah? That’s what I thought. You want this cock, don’t you?” Geto swallows thickly, pausing to catch his breath. “Been hungry for it this entire time, huh?” There’s a blush in his cheeks again. He shifts in his seat, hands down at his lap. “Well, go ahead. Come get it. Use me like you’ve always wanted to. Whoa, okay, this is…this is getting a little crazy now,” he chuckles nervously, avoiding your gaze.

Unable to resist your curiosity, you glimpse at his crotch, an obvious bulge protruding from his sweatpants, stunned that he’s hard right now. Without thinking, you scoot closer to him, placing your hand on his knee. He meets your gaze, eyes wide, lips parted.

“If you want to, we can stop,” you whisper, fingers trailing his inner thigh delicately. You can’t deny it any longer. You want him. You’ve always wanted him. And if he didn’t feel the same, he would have already been gone by now, too weirded out by your strange hobby to stick around. Yet, here he is, playing along with it, playing along with you.

You wait for his answer, resting your hand dangerously near his erection strained in his pants. “I don’t want to stop,” he says, spreading his legs wider for you. “l want to be a good neighbor to you from now on. The very best.”

~~~

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he pants, stripping his clothes off hastily as you watch him, already naked on your bed. When he’s finished, he hovers over you, relishing the sight of you beneath him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss, tongues swirling around each other’s sloppily. “You’re sure you want to keep going?” you ask between smooches.

He laughs, sucking on your bottom lip. “I’m not stopping this for anything. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

You nod at him, guiding his hands to your breasts. “Absolutely.”

He pinches your nipples until they’re perky and you’re whining in ecstasy, rutting your hips against him, desperate for friction. He slides down, leaving a trail of kisses along your body until he’s at your arousal, tongue lapping at your clit. You squeeze his head between your thighs, his mouth pressed firmly to your cunt, slurping at your juices. “Fuck, Geto. Feels so good.”

“Suguru,” he muffles, lips latched to your swelling bud. “Call me Suguru.”

You run your fingers through his hair as he eats you out, tugging at the strands when you reach your first orgasm, gushing all over his face. He licks you slowly as you come down from your high, flicking the tip of his tongue on your sensitive bud. He reaches down to stroke his cock, stiff in his fist and leaking with precum. “Fuck, you taste amazing. So fucking pretty when I eat out this sloppy cunt. Can I fuck you now, sweetheart? I want to make you come around my cock.”

You roll over in bed, spreading your ass cheeks for him. “Yeah, fuck me, Suguru. Fuck this wet cunt.”

He wipes the sweat beading on his forehead, jerking his cock feverishly in his other hand. “Fuck, I knew you were a slut, I just knew it,” he huffs, slapping his dick on your ass, rubbing it slowly between the soft flesh of your cheeks. He guides himself inside you, stretching you out little by little until you swallow him up completely. He starts thrusting, his motions extra smooth from your previous orgasm. “All those nights, I listened to you touch yourself with those vibrators. I’d stroke my cock with you, come whenever you did. Your little whimpers are so fucking sexy, especially when you try to hide them. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You’re too fucked out to process his confession, throwing your ass in tandem with his thrusts. His grip is tight on your waist, fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. Suddenly, he pulls out, pussy fluttering around nothing, eager to be stuffed gain. You whine, craning your neck to glare at him while he gives you a naughty smirk, reaching for your nightstand. “Are they in here? Your toys?” He searches it blindly, retrieving one of your favorites, clicking the button to activate it, buzzing in his hold. “Use it while you use me.”

You obey his request without question, holding the vibrator against your sensitive clit as he pushes himself back inside you, pounding away at your cunt. You climax twice more around him, completely spent now, brain like mush, letting the toy fall off the bed, slippery with your cum. He laughs at your docile expression, pulling out to bury his face back into your pussy, licking off all the cum smeared over you, determined to make you come again. When you do, he crawls up the bed, a satisfied smile on his face, straddling you while he pumps his cock in his fist. After a couple strokes, he shoots onto your tits, covering them in his pearly cum, moaning your name.

He helps you clean it off, grabbing several tissues from the nightstand, wiping your chest dry. You scoot closer to the wall to make room for him, snuggling beside you with his mouth grazing your forehead, giving you a smooch.

Thinking logically again, you recall his confession from earlier. “Can you really hear me through these walls?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. But only if I’m listening really carefully.”

“And did you really…?”

“Yeah. I did,” he admits, blushing. “Sorry. I guess I’m kind of a pervert.”

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest. “Well, what does that make me then? Who’s the one who wrote filthy scenarios about you?”

“I thought you said it was only inspired by me?” he teases, cuddling you closer.

“It was totally about you, okay? I just never thought it’d actually happen.”

He massages your back lovingly. “Aren’t you glad it did?”

You peer up to smile at him. “Yeah. I am.”

~~~

The following weekend, there’s another noise complaint. This time, however, it’s you receiving it from your neighbor on the other side, complaining about how loud you and Geto are while having sex.

#geto suguru #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

1K notes · View notes

homeofthelonelywriter · 1 month

Text

Drawn to you | Pt. 1

(A/N) My first Alastor fanfiction. Let me know if you want another part!

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: fluff, talk about death, mentions of Alastors human life activities (iykyk)

Synopsis: Alastor had never felt the need for friends, or something even deeper. But now that you're here...what is that feeling in his chest?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Everyone was gathered in the hotel lobby as Charlie was going through a new trust exercise. Angel had tuned out a long time ago and Husk didn’t even come out from behind his bar. The only ones actively listening were Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious. Alastor, similarly to Angel was physically there but not paying any attention.

Instead, his mind was focused on his radio broadcast comeback. What would he talk about? Who’s screams would he share with the other sinners?

A timid knock brought him back to there and then, as his eyes met Charlie’s. Hers were bright and sparkling, anticipation clear.

“A new guest, a new guest, a new guest.”

The words left her in a sing-song manner as she started to skip towards the front door. But Alastor held out his cane to stop the princess.

“Please, don’t let this interrupt this very important exercise. I will gladly see to whoever is at the door. As is my job, of course.”

His signature smile widened, almost in a desperate way. Anything to get out of this group therapy.

“Ah, of course, Alastor. Thank you.”

With that, Charlie turned back towards the rest of the group and continued to talk, but not without glancing back a few times, to watch what was going on.

As soon as the princess agreed to let Alastor handle the newcomer, he used his shadows to teleport himself over to the door, before energetically swinging it open. His mouth opened to speak his practiced welcome, but no words came out.

His eyes landed on you and he felt his mouth dry up. You were…cute.

“H-Hi. I hope I’m not bothering anyone, I…I heard about the hotel and w-wanted to ask if I-I could help?”

The demon in front of you kept staring without uttering a single word and you started to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe they didn’t need any more people working here. Maybe they didn’t even want anyone else working here. Maybe this is all just a huge front for something really sinister. Maybe…

Alastor blinked, once, twice, three times before something pulled him out of his stupor. His eyes snapped to the top of your head, where your long ears had started to twitch while you were overthinking.

“Ahm…”

Alastor started but was quickly cut off when Charlie appeared beside him.

“Hi! We’d love your help! Come in, come in!”

The princess quickly grabbed your hands and pulled you inside, leaving the stunned overlord at the door. You smiled at her energetic display, but couldn’t help but glance back at the sinner, dressed in red, still standing at the door. By now he was slowly closing it before he turned to look at you.

Being caught staring, you quickly averted your gaze and instead focused on what the demon beside you was saying. She introduced you to the others, before she whisked you away, to show you around. Alastor was left in the lobby, mulling over what had just happened.

“Looks like someone left you speechless, huh Smiles?”

It was almost terrifying how quickly Alastor whipped around to glare at the spider demon.

“Would you like to repeat that, Angel?”

Loud static filled the lobby and Angel shrunk in on himself, muttering a quick apology before running to his room. Alastor sighed and fixed his bowtie, asking himself what had gotten him so worked up. His mind only answered with a single image. You, at the door, looking at him, hope in your eyes.

With a quiet growl, Alastor teleported himself to his radio tower. At least there he would be able to find some peace. Or so he thought. He had barely sat down when he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

“And this is Alastor’s radio tower. Do you see this light? When this is on, he’s in the middle of a broadcast and you really shouldn’t disturb him. Just in general, if he’s in here, only disturb him if really necessary. Honestly, I think that’s something that applies to him in general.”

The last sentence had Alastor up on his feet and in front of the door in a split second. He swung it open, his signature grin wide.

“Ah, the newbie.”

He grinned down at you, his grin faltering slightly as he watched you shrink away. Still, he carried on.

“Would you like a tour of my studio? It’s small, but it is mighty.”

Had Alastor spared Charlie a look, he would’ve noticed how her eyes lit up and she started nodding.

“I think that would be wonderful!”

Charlie gently shoved you towards the door.

“I have to get back to the others. Would you finish the tour after the…tour? Just show her to her room, that’s all that’s left.”

Alastor nodded, before placing his hand on the small of your back and gently ushering you inside.

“Of course, consider it done.”

Charlie thanked him, before hurrying back to the lobby.

Once Charlie was gone, Alastor closed the door and turned to look at you. He was about to say something, but the moment he noticed the amazement in your eyes, he lost the words he was about to speak. Instead, he let you look around, walk up to his console, and trail your fingers over the buttons and levers.

This was his holy space. Somewhere where not even the princess of Hell was allowed to enter. But you being here? That just felt right. He continued to watch you, and for the first time in his life, both on Earth and here, he felt something like…love.

“Do you like it?”

His voice was soft, the static almost completely gone. You turned to look at him and after a moment of hesitation, you nodded.

“When I was alive, I used to work in a radio station. I wasn’t a host, but I wrote scripts and corresponded with listeners. I loved it.”

Alastor’s smile turned genuine as he slowly walked toward you.

“May I ask where you worked? In which city?”

You chuckled and turned back to the controls.

“New Orleans.”

Alastor halted in his movements, staring at you with wide eyes.

“A-And when did you die?”

His hands were shaking. What if…?

“Not too long ago. I think one, maybe two years ago.”

Your response caused him to release a breath of relief. If you had died closer to his lifetime, there would’ve been a good chance you knew of his doings and for some reason…he didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you to fear him, to think of him with disgust in your heart.”

“Well, it seems we’re connected in some ways. I too worked in a radio station in New Orleans! However, I did pass quite some time before you have.”

You look at him, a soft smile on your face.

“That’s too bad. I would love to have met you on Earth.”

He grinned and stepped closer to you.

“Well, you’ve met me now.”

With practiced grace, he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, ghosting a kiss onto your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture and quickly tried to change the topic.

“So you still have a radio broadcast down here?”

Alastor chuckled at your reaction before straightening to his full height again.

“I sure do. Although I did have to take a break. I’m currently working on my comeback if you’d like to help me.”

You nodded, excited at the prospect of working in radio again.

The two of you sat down together and started working, not noticing how late it was getting. By the time either of you realized what time it was, it was well past midnight and both your bellies were grumbling with hunger.

“My oh my, we truly got a lot done. How about some well-deserved dinner, my dear?”

You nodded and accepted Alastor’s hand, and before you knew it, you were standing in a different room. Half of it looked like a standard hotel room with a couch and table, but the other half looked like a forest. A forest you knew all too well.

“Couturie Forest.”

Alastor chuckled beside you.

“You are right. That forest was one of my favorite places when I was alive. I couldn’t resist the urge to bring it here as well.”

You smile at him.

“It’s beautiful.”

With a genuine grin on his face, Alastor offered you his hand, before leading you to the small dinner table that stood inside the forest. He pulled out your chair, before pushing it back in.

“What are you in the mood for, cher?”

You thought for a while before you named one of your favorite dishes. And with a snap of his fingers, it stood in front of you. Your eyes went wide as the smell invaded your nose.

“How…?”

“Well, let’s just say this is a part of my powers?”

You chuckled, before taking a bite, and an almost pornographic moan left your lips.

“Alastor, this is so good!”

His grin widened as he sat down opposite from you, also taking a bite.

The two of you made small talk while you ate, mostly talking about New Orleans and what had changed since Alastor had died. Even after both of you were done with the food, you continued to talk until you could no longer keep the yawns at bay.

Alastor chuckled and snapped, and the dirty dishes disappeared.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

He gently helped you to your feet and with his hand on your lower back, he led you out of his room and across the hall, where an empty room waited for a guest.

“There you go, cher. This is your room, to do with as you please.”

He opened the door and gently ushered you inside.

“But for now, you should go to sleep.”

Once again, he captured your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, before looking up at you.

“Good night, dear.”

You smile at him sleepily.

“Good night, Alastor.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #alastor love

418 notes · View notes

fangirl-dot-com · 2 months

Text

Chapter 23 - The Dutch Anthem on Repeat

Guys, I think I can finally upload on a regular basis if I can do every Friday and Wednesday? If that's ok? I'm hoping that it will work well for everyone!

This chapter made me laugh, and I remember someone asking for more Grandpa Nando so he makes a good appearance in this one!

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Please enjoy!

Max, along with everyone, was used to hearing the Dutch National Anthem. Sure, everyone joked that it was the Formula 1 outro, but that was life. It wasn’t Max’s fault that he kept winning. Everyone just needed a new and better car to keep up. As he walked into the garage, he knew he was expecting to possibly hear it at the very end of Sunday.

What he didn’t expect was when his foot hit the concrete, the song started blasting through the speaker. The mechanics were trying to hid giggles behind their hands as they watched the confused driver try to find where the sound was coming from. When it suddenly stopped, he got even more confused.

He looked at the mechanics.

“Have you seen the kid anywhere?”

Henry, one of the men that worked on your car, responded, “She’s been in her room since she got here this morning.”

Max let out a tight “thanks” before heading that way. He expected you to be hiding something, but you were peacefully taking a nap with your headphones on. The gag gift that he got you, a blanket with his face all over it, was curled up in your hands. His eyes softened as he walked over to gently wake you up. You did promise him lunch for that day.

He rocked you a bit until you woke up.

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up. “Hey Max.”

A yawn escaped your lips.

“Kid, you don’t have anything to do with the fact that the Dutch anthem played when I walked in?”

“Huh?” you questioned, still really sleepy.

Max just let it go. You seemed like you didn’t know what was going on. You quickly got ready, placing your race suit at your hips.

When Max’s foot hit the concrete again, the anthem started to play. A groan left his lips as you looked around.

The Dutchman looked down at you. “You had nothing to do with this?”

You looked up at the older driver. “Nico took my boombox privileges away when I scared him last week.”

You seemed pretty dejected at the thought of losing your boombox.

Max just quickly kept walking out of the garage with you on his tail. The two of you conversed as you made your way to hospitality. You knew that Max had the priority for this race. It was his second home and you knew he wanted a win after what happened in Belgium.

“So I’m thinking of holding a party after Monza at the house. What do you thing?”

Max thought for a moment.

“That’s a good idea. You going to take a car to the circuit.”

You beamed at him. “Thinking of bringing the spaceship. What do you think?”

Max opened the door to the hospitality, and before he could answer, the Dutch anthem started to play once again. He stopped dead in his tracks, causing you to thud into his back.

You snorted as you heard the song play, causing Max to whip around.

His eyebrow arched. “Sure you don’t have anything to do with this?”

You only shook your head before pushing past him, wanting to get lunch as quickly as possible. Max followed, suspiciously glaring at anyone who looked guilty.

Lando was sitting in the corner, animatedly telling a story to Oscar, who looked dead inside (but was politely listening).

In the middle, Lewis, Charles, and Carlos were all playing on their phones, empty plates sitting in front of him.

Max’s eyes looked back up to see you talking to Fernando. Your eyes were wide as you talked to the Spaniard. He made his way over to the line and grabbed a tray. With each step he took, he was nervous about setting off something that would start the song. When he walked to the table, he just looked at the chair.

“Everything all right Max?” Lando asked from the corner, making everyone look at the Dutchman. His cheeks reddened under everyone’s gaze.

You bit into your sandwich. “Each time he’s walked into or out of a building, the Dutch national anthem plays.”

“Sure it does,” Charles said, finally looking up from his phone.

Now annoyed, Max sat down. Surprisingly nothing happened. He let out a content hum before biting into his food.

However, the moment he took a bite, it stated to play again. Rounds of laughter fell from everyone’s lips as he sat there, looking sad with a bite of food in his mouth.

Not wanting to sit anymore, he stood up abruptly and walked out with the tray. Yet, the song started over once he opened the door. A loud huff left his lips, which made everyone start laughing again.

What he failed to notice was a camera set up in the corner of the room. You turned and looked at it, giving it a thumbs up.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “Aw man, now he’s going to be mad.” You looked at one of the media personelle who was standing in the corner. He took the camera and just gave you a smile.

“He’ll be mad at us, not at you.”

You crossed your arms, not convinced in the slightest. Fernando gave you an upside down smile.

“Come on niña, I’ll take you to Max.”

He stood from the table, waiting for you to follow. Yet, you shook your head.

“Nando, he’s going to be mad and all grumpy and I’m going to be at the receiving end of it in the car. He’s taken Charles out too many times.”

“Hey!”

Your eyebrows pinched as you looked up at the green-clad driver. Your eyes then looked back down at your food.

Fernando sighed, knowing you weren’t going to budge. He turned around and walked out, without the Dutch national anthem playing. He stalked toward the Red Bull garage and was able to walk in.

Every loved Fernando and had great respect for him.

“Anyone know where I can find Max?”

Christian spoke up from the corner. “He’s in his room. Is everything ok?”

Fernando sighed as he rubbed his head. “For a prank, they got someone to play the Dutch National anthem every time Max did something. He got tired of it, so he stormed out. Now the kid thinks that he’s going to be mad at her all weekend. I’m just here to explain because she’s a bit nervous.”

Christian had a sympathetic look on his face. He was sad that you thought that Max would ever be mad at you for something so trivial.

The Briton nodded his head in the direction of Max’s driver room. “Second door on the left.”

Fernando thanked him, before heading that way. He knocked once before the door swung open, sadly causing the anthem to play once again.

Max deadpanned as he waited for the song to stop.

“Is everything ok Fernando?” the Dutchman asked, trying to look around to see if you were there as well. His heart sank a bit when you weren’t seen.

The elder sighed. “So your team thought it’d be a good video to play the anthem every time you did something.”

Max winced. “Oh I know.”

Fernando looked at him weirdly.

“You don’t think I saw the dude with the camera in the corner of the garage or hospitality?”

The Spaniard nodded. He knew a thing or two for spotting cameras on him. You get used to it after being in the field for so long.

“Well, the kid thinks you were going to be mad if you knew that she was in on it.”

Max’s eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. “Oh no no no. Doesn’t she know when I can tell that she’s not sleeping? She’s taken so many naps around me, that I know when she’s actually asleep.”

Max had known from the beginning, since you never woke up so quickly. It always took a few nudges, not just one. And your headphones were off and you barely flinched when he approached you. He was actually amused that you had gone through all the trouble to seem innocent.

Fernando let out a long sigh. “I told her that you wouldn’t be angry or frustrated.”

Max had a determined look. “Let’s go find her. She’s probably either in the Ferrari garage or McLaren.”

“She’s in the Williams garage.”

Max turned around. “How do you know this?”

“It was supposed to be a joke, but she put me on her Life360. Said I was getting old and was at a higher risk of crashing outside of work.”

Max let out a deep laugh at the imagination of you downloading Life360 onto Fernando’s phone.

The two walked out of the garage (this time the anthem did not play) and toward Williams. The two got to catch up on something before they arrived.

They saw the Thai driver first.

“Alex have you see Y/n anywhere?” Max questioned, catching him off guard.

He said nothing, but subtly tilted his head toward the back where Logan was awkwardly standing behind a box. Max’s eyes lit up at he looked at the American, who had a nervous look on his face.

Max put a finger to his lips and saw Logan barely nod. He gingerly crossed the room and looked down. Behind said box, you were clinging to Logan’s leg, playing a game.

He heard you snicker to yourself. “Max will never find me here.”

“Sure kid.”

He could have sworn he saw your soul leave your body as you jumped off of Logan’s leg. The American rolled his eyes before lifting you off the ground and placing you in front of the Dutch driver.

“I think this belongs to you.”

All in the back, Fernando and Alex stood laughing behind their hands.

You looked back at Logan. “Traitor.”

“Come on kid.”

Max gently led you back to the Red Bull garage, but not without thanking Fernando for his help. The Spaniard only patted his back before returning to his own garage. Max watched as you begrudgingly walking in front of him. He quickened his steps to be right beside you.

“I can hear your grumpiness from over here,” he tried to joke, yet stopped when he saw barely there tears in your lash line.

He cooed as he tried to not let you cry.

“Kid I thought it was funny.”

“Are you sure? You looked super unhappy after lunch.” You looked down and kicked a stone.

“Y/n.”

Oh, he said the name (and not the nickname).

You sheepishly looked up at him.

“I’m not mad. And if I was, I’d take it out on the media team and not you.”

You smiled just a bit. “Promise?”

“Promise. Now, let’s go kick some ass so we can listen to the Dutch National Anthem on the podium.”

Race Results:

Max Verstappen – 25 points

Y/n L/n – 18 points

Charles Leclerc – 16 points (fastest lap)

Lewis Hamilton – 12 points

Oscar Piastri – 11 points

Alex Albon – 8 points

George Russell – 6 points

Logan Sargeant – 4 points

Lance Stroll – 2 points

Lando Norris – 1 point

Fernando Alonso

Niko Hulkenberg

Kevin Magnussen

Daniel Ricciardo

Pierre Gasly

Yuki Tsunoda

Esteban Ocon

Valtteri Bottas

Zhou Guanyu

Carlos Sainz – DNF (engine failure)

Champions Standings

Max Verstappen – 309 points

Charles Leclerc – 268 points

Lando Norris – 190 points

Y/n L/n – 181 points

Carlos Sainz – 130 points

Oscar Piastri – 118 points

Lewis Hamilton – 105 points

Alex Albon – 56 point

George Russell – 54 points

Fernando Alonso – 45 points

Logan Sargeant – 36 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 23 points

Lance Stroll – 17 points

Pierre Gasly - 12 points

Valtteri Bottas – 13 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 8 points

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point

Nico Hulkenberg

Kevin Magnussen

Esteban Ocon

Constructors Championship

Red Bull – 490 points

Ferrari – 398 points

McLaren – 308 points

Mercedes – 159 points

Williams – 92 points

Aston Martin – 62 points

Alpha Tauri – 31 points

Alpha Romeo – 14 points

Alpine – 12 points

Haas – 0 points

The cool wind of the Netherlands brushed up against your face as you stood on the second step. If your math was correct, you were still behind Lando in the championship by only 9 points. You’d make it up as long as you didn’t DNF for the rest of the season.

You smiled as you heard the Dutch National Anthem for the umpteenth time that day. Your shoulders started to shake as it continued playing, which made Charles look at you and start laughing as well. Max watched with a grin on his face as you couldn’t contain yourself.

To the people down below, it looked like you were crying since you were wiping tears away (which you were, but the tears were from laughing too hard). Their hearts ached as you were on the second step once again, and not the top one.

But, you were having the time of your life, spraying Max and Charles with loads of champagne. You were on a high right now, and nothing would stop it. You knew that later that night, you’d stay awake going over data and sim times.

Because that second step was sweet, but the top step would be even sweeter.

And you needed the win.

You were starving.

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing no broken trophies this year - orange army you were good to us

liked by y/n.nation, dutch4max, orangearmynation, and 390,204 others

maxmaxmax_super DUTCH ANTHEM YASSSSS

maxie&kid best 1-2 honestly

lastlap_lando NOT THE BROKEN TROPHIES COMMENT

landonorris how many times do I have to apologize?

y/n.89 give it a few years, he still hasn't forgiven me for accidentally eating his stroopwaffle maxverstappen1 BECAUSE IT WAS THE LAST ONE y/n.89 YOUR NAME WASN'T ON IT

y/n&co when are RB going to give her a win?? for real???

best_rookie ROOKIE WIN ROOKIE WIN ROOKIE WIN

y/n.nation WE NEED A WIN?? ADMIN? AUTHOR?? author CALL DOWN - LET ME COOK

autodromonazionale_monza a presto! Viaggi sicuri!

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

630 notes · View notes

amberlynnmurdock · 4 months

Text

Here

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt saves his wife from being held hostage by Fisk's men and helps her with the PTSD that comes from it.

From this request from an anon named melted butter!

I hope you like it, anon friend!

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, hostage situation, PTSD symptoms, heavy angst in the beginning

Words: 2.7k

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t associate that song with blood, torture, and darkness.

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t remember the cloth wrapped around her eyes that felt like sandpaper on her skin and the way her head pounded from the tightness of the blindfold. She could still feel it sometimes—unprompted moments of weakness when she would put on a hat or earmuffs in the winter and the feeling of something being wrapped around her head transported her to that awful night. She’d rather leave the beanie and earmuffs at home and risk her head getting cold than be reminded of that torture.

It was the way she hesitated to put on gloves because if her wrists felt too constricted she would be reminded of the way the rope burned her skin so badly it left scars. She’d leave those at home too, and risk dry and cold hands.

“Sweetheart,” Matt said earnestly, wrapping his hands around her cold ones. “Your hands are so cold. Why didn’t you put on gloves?”

She didn’t reply—she just let Matt continue to warm her hands with his. She preferred it that way. She preferred him to feel the scars around her wrists than her to look at them.

Ever since that night, she took the coldest showers. Every shower was an ice-cold one. The place they had her held hostage in was stuffy—hot. She remembers her own sweat dripping down her face and the salt burning her eyes even under the blindfold. She can’t feel too hot anymore or else she will again be transported back to that traumatizing night.

And the song—that fucking song.

She wasn’t sure if it was a torture tactic or if the Kingpin had requested it be played. The only thing that mattered was that they kept it on repeat, at a loud volume—so loud she could hardly hear her voice when they would ask her a question about Daredevil.

“I don’t know,” she cried behind her blindfold. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I—“

SLAP!

The violins started to feel like her head was being woven in torturous ways. The sound filled her senses similarly to how cough syrup fills one's senses—bitterness from the smell to the taste on the tip of her tongue. It was nauseating to listen to the song over, and over, and over, and over again. Nauseating to be in a situation like she had just two months ago: alone, in pain, and scared. So very scared that she may not make it.

Until he found her. He told her he would always find her.

She didn’t know he was there until the music finally stopped playing, and the lights in the warehouse went out. She was blindfolded but the way the men started yelling about the lights told her everything she needed to know. She was shaking against the wall, sweating, trying to find that relief she should feel that Daredevil had come to her rescue—but even that couldn’t shake off her fear.

“If you ever get taken from me,” Matt had whispered to her one night in bed as he fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, “know I will find you. And when you know I’m there, I want you to whisper to me like I am now. Because I’ll hear you and I’ll come to you.”

She whispered to him as soon as she heard the music stop and Fisk’s men were shouting at each other.

“Matthew,” she hushed even lower than a whisper, “Matthew. Matt…”

Matt has dealt with a lot of dark situations as Daredevil, even before he donned the name and had a red suit. Years ago, he saved a little boy from a Russian gang. He saved a group of young girls from trafficking. He has dealt with the worst criminals in this city and it never got easier. All he could do was save people. He just never bet on the fact that one day he would have to save her.

It was something they talked about before deciding to get married. After months of convincing himself he could never have a life like that, she told him that God didn’t put him on this earth to only bear other people’s burdens. God meant for him to have a life like everyone else—a life that included love and marriage. He agreed on one condition: that it be an intimate small wedding at Clinton Church. And by intimate, only Foggy, Karen, and Marci were invited.

He never wanted to prepare for a situation like this. He never wanted this day to come. He never pondered on what protocols to teach her if someone were to take her—but after months of avoiding the subject, he thought that was still important in case the situation ever did come. And unfortunately, it finally did come.

He remembers how still the apartment was when he came home—how silent and cold it was. She hadn’t been home since the morning, he could tell. Icicles started to form on the back of his neck when he realized he hadn’t received a call from her since she left work—which was over an hour ago. Matt felt weak in the knees suddenly. He had to support himself on the kitchen counter as he focused his senses on noises outside of the apartment.

“Dear God,” Matt whispered, “please keep her safe until I find her. Please help me find her.”

The whispers didn’t last long, nor the prayers—soon, Matt was throwing a rage in the apartment. Shattered glass was on the floor. Broken plates. Matt’s agonizing scream when reality finally settled in him that she was taken from him—by who? There was only one possibility.

In no time he changed into his Daredevil gear and was prowling the streets, rooftop to rooftop, to find where they had been keeping her hostage.

A warehouse by the pier. He could hear the classical music playing at an incredible volume, enough to hurt her ears and get in her head. As soon as Matt found the source of the music, he shut it off, along with the power.

And then he let the devil out.

He thought with his fists before using logic to fight these cronies—throwing punches and brutally throwing men over his shoulders, hitting them relentlessly with whatever weapon he found near him. His billy club wires wrapped around someone's neck so tight it made them pass out, using the metal billy club to throw right in another man’s face. Matt moved recklessly in the dark. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs so loudly it would feel like his chest was ripping apart but he didn’t because he knew she had experienced enough yelling on this night.

And then, he heard her.

“Matthew,” she whispered so quietly, it almost missed Matt’s senses. “Matthew… Matt…”

As soon as he made sure all of the men were out, he rushed to her side. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, he was shaking from it. He knelt before her and took off his gloves.

“Hey,” he cooed, “it’s okay. I’m here. I found you,” and Matt’s voice was wobbly in his throat, tears threatening his eyes but no—he needed to be strong for her. He didn’t know what she endured—quite frankly, didn’t want to know—but he knew it had been a lot on her mentally. She was sobbing. He’d never heard her like this. The blindfold was wrapped so tightly around her eyes. Matt gently untied it and slid it off. He then smelt something metallic in the air—salty. It was blood. Her blood was around her wrists. Matt choked a sob in his chest as he untied her wrists. He could sense the tight friction of a bruise forming on her cheek.

“I found you,” Matt’s voice cracked—he couldn’t help it. He was a wreck inside to find her like this. In pain, scared, alone. No—not alone anymore, he was here. “It’s okay now.” He gathered her delicate frame in his arms, holding her against his body tightly but not crushing her, and ran his hands through her hair, hushing her cries. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I have you now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.”

Matt wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing for him—finding her in that situation or hearing her cries after, and the months that would follow.

It made him question if marrying her was the right decision.

Despite these small things bringing her back to that dreadful night, there was one positive thing that she would never forget either: the feeling when she saw Daredevil—Matt—kneeling before her and gently pulling her blindfold off. The warm wash of relief that spread in her chest was so unexplainable, she could only feel it again if she really put her mind to it. It was like a warm, safe embrace when she knew Matt had found her like he said he would. She could describe the sensation as putting on a weighted blanket.

The image of his red Daredevil helmet is ingrained in her mind: it was him against that dark warehouse. It was the glow of the red mask that brought so much comfort to her. She was safe. He had finally come—finally found her. God knows how hard it was to locate her. She was so relieved, that all she could do was sob into his embrace.

It didn’t get easier when they finally made it home, it only got harder.

She lay in his bed with tear-stained cheeks. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. She could only whisper. Matt was still in his Daredevil suit, helmet off. He paced the room anxiously, wondering how this could’ve happened, how he could have let this happen. He was thinking of every possibility and what he was going to do next—

“Matthew,” she wheezed as she watched him pace the room. “Matthew.”

He stopped instantly, bringing his attention to her. She was in so much pain, he could sense it from where he stood. It brought a strange heaviness on his shoulders. He knelt again beside the bed and took her hands in his, kissing each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispered, tears falling down his cheeks—tears of sadness, tears of rage. “I’m so sorry—“

“Shh,” she hushed him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She didn’t think she had any left. “Just be here with me. I need to feel you here with me.”

Matt took off his Daredevil suit and silently crawled into bed next to her. He carefully brought her close to him so she was snug against his chest. Safe in his arms, nothing could hurt her now.

Months have passed. It’s a bright cold day.

She and Matt are on their way to their favorite coffee spot uptown. They hardly ever leave Hell’s Kitchen, but she was in the mood for a specific hazelnut latte that only Rosie’s could make. And if it would make her happy to travel almost twenty minutes uptown for a cup of coffee, well, Matt wasn’t going to argue.

He never brought up that night unless she did. So when she opted to wear a beanie and put on gloves, Matt couldn’t help but feel lighter in his step from the happiness he felt: she was on her way to healing from that experience. He felt like he could forgive himself now.

“Ready?” She asked at the door, clearly too excited to get this cup. Matt laughed and kissed her before answering. He was so incredibly happy that she seemed to be happy again.

“Ready.”

The coffee shop had wooden floors and matching wooden tables. In the back was a small bookstore, and on the side the place had a coffee counter. Soft jazz music was playing. Some people were already settled in: a man had his headphones on and was typing aggressively on his laptop, and a young college girl was studying her books. Matt sensed his surroundings everywhere they went to make sure there were no threats.

“Why don’t you go look at the books while I order our coffee,” Matt suggested lightly, untying the gray scarf around his neck.

“Okay,” she smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go and exploring the back of the cafe.

Matt waited in line at the coffee counter and sighed contently.

She immediately was drawn to the fantasy books section. She took off her gloves and placed them in the pocket of her coat. Scanning each title, she picked one out that piqued her interest and frowned when the summary wasn’t what she expected. Another title made her laugh, but she didn’t bother to read the back. She found herself in a different section—romance. She smiled as she glazed over each book spine with her fingers. Romance books always reminded her of Matt. She often imagined what their story would look like in a romance novel.

And then she heard it.

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

The violins sounded like nails on a chalkboard, bloody fingertips leaving a trail. It sounded like a screech against the pavement.

It suddenly felt like she no longer was standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Instead, her body was being pulled and sucked into a black hole behind her. Everything around her felt overwhelmingly large and she was small, like she was Alice. Fear crept over her heart like a spider weaving its web. She felt hot in her jacket. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest like a punching bag.

The song got louder. And louder. And louder.

“No,” she whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. But closing her eyes and seeing darkness only made it worse. “No…” she opened her eyes and felt like she had tunnel vision.

Matt was standing in line when he heard something pounding loudly in his ears. It only took him a second to hear the song that was playing, and he was immediately looking around for her. The pounding was coming from her—from her heart.

In no time Matt was by her side, wrapping his arms around her and quickly walking her outside the cafe—away from the lingering glances, away from that horrible song. Removing her from the triggering situation, knowing she was spiraling.

She was breathing fast now from panic. Matt brought her into a quiet alley and wrapped her in a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. Her hair covered his face as he turned to breathe in her scent. He took a deep breath, and at the same time, motioned for her to breathe with him.

“I’m here,” he said into her ear softly, “I have you. Breathe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she managed to say between breaths, feeling like her own air was choking her. She breathed with Matt and closed her eyes, his touch and warm hug bringing her back to reality.

“Listen to my voice,” Matt guided, “I’m here. I have you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt’s voice was always soothing to her, but especially at a moment like this. His voice sounded like how velvet felt.

Eventually, just standing in his arms holding her tightly, her breathing returned to normal and that song was out of her head, as were her memories of that night. A few silent moments passed. Matt kissed her head softly and held her longer. He’d hold her for as long as she needed. When she was finally okay, she pulled back and reached her lips to kiss Matt’s. He kissed her in return and placed his hands on her face.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Matt whispered.

Matt went inside to get their coffee while she waited for him outside. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, finishing the last of their drinks and sitting on the couch. She rested her head in his lap and Matt drew circles in her hair, counting the breaths it took for her to fall asleep. He’d of course be there when she woke up.

#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #marvel #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #request #here #matt murdock angst

543 notes · View notes

universalitgirlsblog2 · 3 months

Text

👛🖤SELF-CONCEPT👛🖤

CONTENTS OF THE POST

- MEANING OF SELF CONCEPT

- IS IT NECESSARY TO MANIFEST ?

- HOW TO IMPROVE IT ?

- SELF CONCEPT AFFIRMATIONS

- QUOTES ON SELF CONCEPT BY NEVILLE GODDARD

👛MEANING OF SELF CONCEPT

The way we perceive ourselves and the ideas we hold about our competencies and attributes is called self-concept. ( This definition is from my psychology textbook but it described self concept really well )

🖤IS IT NECESSARY TO MANIFEST ?

Self concept is not necessary when it comes to manifesting but it is very helpful and it does make manifesting more simple and easy.

👛HOW TO IMPROVE IT ?

💞Affirm !! Affirm and saturate your mind with those affirmations. The best way to reprogram your subconscious is through REPETITION. The more you repeat a thought / affirmation , the more dominant it will become.

👡Never underestimate the power of music. If you go on a spotify , just search self concept or confidence or that girl playlist & you will find so many songs which are filled with powerful and positive affirmations. Artists like Nicki Minaj , Le sserafim , Ariana Grande always include powerful affirmations in their songs. Listening to their songs enhanced my self concept.

💞Find a role model! Refer to my post on self concept icons , there are three parts in total . Click here - 1, 2 , 3. Suppose you want a self concept like Blair Waldorf , you can use her effect affirmations and a playlist dedicated to Blair and her vibes. Or maybe your self concept icon is Song Jia ? Then use affirmations based on her and listen to playlists dedicated to her. I have made affirmations for Jia too !! Your self concept icon can be anyone !!!! If you go on spotify and just search Blair , Regina, Song Jia or Thewizardliz etc you will find alot of playlists dedicated to them.

👡Create an alter ego and start acting like her . YOU ARE HER NOW !!! STOP IDENTIFYING WITH YOUR OLD SELF WHO HAD POOR SELFCONCEPT. THAT VERSION DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE.

💞Already assume that you have a perfect self concept . Don't give the old story any attention or don't waste your energy on your old self. Stop affirming how you have a " bad " self concept and need to work on it. Just assume that you have a perfect self concept already.

👡Mental diet can do wonders. Whenever you have a thought that doesn't align with your perfect self concept. Ask yourself , "Does this thought align with my perfect self concept?" . If the answer is no , then reject it. Become aware of your thoughts and only entertain productive and useful thoughts. Have a positive SELF TALK

💞Realize how powerful you are. You control your reality. You tell your reality/ 3D what to do. Your circumstances , 3D or reality doesn't control you, you control them. Your inner world creates the outer world. Stop victimizing yourself. You are the main character and director of your life. Start acting like it.

Self concept work is supposed to be easy and fun . Don't complicate it.

🖤SELF CONCEPT AFFIRMATIONS

I have a strong and empowering self concept .

I am the creator of my reality

I control how my life unfolds

Everything always works out to my advantage

Circumstances and things are always rigged in my favor

I deserve the best in every area of my life

I am the girl who has it all

I am the It girl of my reality

Nothing is impossible in my world

I am good at everything

I am a master manifestor

I am the best

I am loved and valued

I am wanted by everyone

I am the prize

The world is my oyster

I am successful at everything I do

I have Lucky girl/ boy syndrome

I am the universe’s favorite child, so all my needs and wants are always met, instantaneously

I am powerful beyond limits

I am fearless, unstoppable , invincible and antifragile

I am the one with all the health, wealth, and happiness in the world.

I have a perfect self concept

I can maintain a good mental diet easily.

I am aware of my thoughts

I only think useful and productive thoughts

I am completely in love with myself

I always get what I want

I don't chase , i attract

I am a priority , queen / king , and chosen.

👛QUOTES ON SELF CONCEPT BY NEVILLE GODDARD

"Your opinion of yourself is your most important viewpoint. You are infinitely greater than you think you are.”

“Change your conception of yourself and you will automatically change the world in which you live. Do not try to change people; they are only messengers telling you who you are. Revalue yourself and they will confirm the change.”

“Stop trying to change the world since it is only the mirror. Man’s attempt to change the world by force is as fruitless as breaking a mirror in the hope of changing his face. Leave the mirror and change your face. Leave the world alone and change your conceptions of yourself. The reflection then will be satisfactory.”

“To reach a higher level of being, you must assume a higher concept of yourself."

“I AM wealthy, poor, healthy, sick, free, confined were first of all impressions or conditions felt before they became visible expressions. Your world is your consciousness objectified. Waste no time trying to change the outside; change the within or the impression; and the without or expression will take care of itself. When the truth of this statement dawns upon you, you will know that you have found the lost word or the key to every door. I AM (your consciousness) is the magical lost word which was made flesh in the likeness of that which you are conscious of being.”

"Everything depends upon our attitude towards ourselves. That which we will not affirm as true of ourselves cannot develop in our life.”

"Our present mental conversations do not recede into the past, they advance into the future to confront us as wasted or invested words.”

"The individual’s inner speech and actions attract the conditions of his life.”

“Nothing is impossible to you.”

“Live your life in a sublime spirit of confidence and determination.”

“The world cannot change until you change your conception of it. 'As within so without'.”

"" The part you play on the world's stage is determined by your conception of yourself ."

471 notes · View notes

cozycottagetarot · 3 months

Text

What Do They Daydream About You?

How To Pick A Pile:

Everyone has their own technique for choosing a 'pile'. My recommendation is to clear your mind and focus on each image for a few seconds. The image you find yourself coming back to even when you focus on the other images is the pile for you.

Quick notes on this reading:

I'm experimenting with a different style. -- I've been working on shorter, less structured, formal pacs (and some longer ones). I'm not sure how I feel about it but I'd like to hear your thoughts too!

I apologise for any errors. -- My immune system and I have literally been at war for weeks, so know if there are any errors, I probably missed it while wincing in pain. 😅

It's purely for entertainment purposes. -- Don't think I need to explain more. Take what resonates be it all of it, some of it or none at all.

PILE 1

14:44 as I pulled the last card, maybe 444 is of importance to you at the moment. Knight in shining armour vibes. Noble acts or intentions of just sweeping you off your feet. Introducing you to their friends and or family. Daydreams of big celebrations of being with you, internally and externally. For some, they daydream about celebrating the news of having a child with you. Finding peace after long struggles... starting anew with you. Domestic bliss, as in chilling at home with someone you love, not doing much of anything. Or simply enjoying the mundane tasks together. Going for walks. Having a cup of tea or coffee together. Peppering your skin with kisses... maybe physical touch is their love language. The ghost of their fingertips on your skin. Heart-to-heart conversations. Falling into a routine with you. The magic of embarking on new beginnings with you.

PILE 2

North Star Vibes. Holding out hope that they make it to you. Trying to make life better so they can show up for you. They daydream about how you make them stronger, about you being a good influence on them. It's like the thought of you soothes them when they're struggling. Dreaming that happiness is coming in the form of you. Lots of fiery energy. You're a symbol of hope. Rediscovering what they had lost with you. Feels like someone who has been through a lot. Playfulness. Daydreaming about you is embodying those feelings that seem long forgotten. I know I keep repeating the same thing over and over, but I'm not getting anything more than that (even when I go back to the literal meaning of the cards) so I pulled some love messages. There's the cards 'twin flame', 'finding myself' and 'still listening'. My interpretation is that daydreaming about you holds a mirror up to themselves which inspires them to look deeper within and figure out what they want and who they want to be. They could also find solace in music, they may have a song or playlist that makes them feel more connected to you.

PILE 3

If you were drawn to pile 2, consider checking out that pile as well too. 333. The number 3 could hold some sort of significance.

Dreaming of an equal. Someone to keep them balanced and bring a new perspective. They could feel as though (or know) some kind of scrutiny is possible, but they spend their time dreaming of overcoming it. There could be cultural differences or for some it's a matter of being in a same-sex relationship or anything that goes against what may be more commonly accepted. If it's of any significance, the red string of fate (two different decks mention it). Power couple vibes. Being able to maintain a sense of youthfulness in the relationship. Someone who won't try to take advantage of them, who'll push them to be better and vice versa, who'll look out for them. Someone to heal with and understand that they are still healing. They could dream of having a child with you or starting a family in whatever format that may look like to both of you. Daydreams of warmth & protection. Giving and receiving. You could possibly meet at a concert or connect over music.

PILE 4

I did a repull to make sure I was reading the cards right (it was stormy) and the same cards came out after reshuffling (minus one card). I feel like this person has been reborn. Who they were is not who they are now (or when you meet them). They could daydream of being divinely guided towards you. Someone spiritual or religious. At the very least finding a connection with something (a concept) greater than them. Daydreams of being guided towards happiness. They had a teardown and rebuild of who they are. They could be from a different location, you could meet when travelling across a large body of water. It feels like they're dreaming of coming in hot. They're paving the way for their happy ending. Take it as you will, but instead of a 'damsel in distress' (regardless of gender, it's just women on the cards depicting forging on) type of story, it's one of those ones where it's like "you know what, I'll save myself and I'll chase after my happy ending". Actually, I get a-spec vibes as well and that this person could be a platonic love or a strong platonic bond. It could even be you respectively. But the energy is one of being inspired and ever-lasting bonds. A new resolve, coming home to oneself, resting in the knowledge that the future is going to be good because you'll make it so.

#quick pick #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #tarot reading #cozycottagetarot

426 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

Text

Used to be Young || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader Summary: Being the life of the party isn't all it's cracked up to be but you manage to turn over a new leaf and start afresh after being dumped by your first love. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, mentions of drugs and alcohol, angst, hurt/comfort WC: 2.5k

A few years earlier… You barely registered the words coming out of Charles’ mouth, the arrogance of youth numbing you to what you were about to lose. You had a career that had exploded overnight, an album in the top charts, more money than you knew what to do with. How could you lose anything after everything you had achieved? You were invincible.

“It’s over, I can’t do this anymore,” Charles repeated over the loud music filling the open bar. He cast his eyes over you from the skimpy dress that left little to the imagination to your red eyes from the joint you had shared with your back up dancers. “I don’t even recognise you.”

“Where are you going?” You grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop as you pressed your lips to his cheek. You kissed your way across his jaw before nipping his ear and laughing. “We’re just having fun! Lighten up, Charles.”

“No, you’re having fun,” he said as he peeled your fingers off his shirt. “If you want to go wild, then go wild, but I’m not going to stick around to watch this shit.”

You let him go. You watched him leave as the healing skin behind your ear began to itch with your latest tattoo. You turned away before the crowd swallowed him whole, your fingers already reaching for another shot of liquor.

Winter Break - Music Award Show Charles would recognise your voice anywhere, no matter how much time passed he could still locate it in a crowd. It was as if the frequency of your voice was one he was attuned to and it called to him when he was meant to be focusing on the interviewer before him.

It had been a year since you last toured, a year since you last released a song. Charles knew, because he still listened to your albums and watched every music video- much like how you still followed his Formula 1 career. He waited for any news about you, but the last year had been silent. Your social media was deleted, paparazzi photos few and far between but what he had seen had made his heart ache. You had changed, no longer the carefree spirit he fell in love with in a whirlwind romance swimming in alcohol and snapshot decisions.

Charles couldn’t help but wonder what you had been doing in your absence. Had you met someone like he had? Had you fallen in love and then fallen out of love like he had? He wanted to know if you were happy.

Charles was in a daze as he took his seat. His invitation to the award show had come thanks to the rising popularity of his sport mixed with his music and he scanned the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He knew you were there, he knew it with every fibre of his being, he just needed to see you.

The lights dimmed and goosebumps prickled beneath the suit he wore as your voice caressed his ear. He could have sworn you were sitting behind him, serenading him and only him, but there you were - right where you belonged.

The truth is bulletproof, there's no foolin' you I don't dress the same Me and who you say I was yesterday Have gone our separate ways

Charles could barely breathe as the soft lighting warmed your skin, setting you in a glow that was somehow both powerful and ethereal. There was no need for any theatrics when your voice was emotive enough to outperform any dancers or pyrotechnics. All you needed was a stage and a microphone.

Left my livin' fast somewhere in the past 'Cause that's for racin' cars Turns out open bars lead to broken hearts And goin' way too far

Your eyes were closed, brows pinched, as if the memory of that night hurt even now. The huge screens around the room were filled with the image and Charles swallowed the lump in his throat as regret filled him for his role in it all.

I know I used to be crazy I know I used to be fun You say I used to be wild I say I used to be young

Charles closed his eyes as they began to burn, but still your voice infiltrated his soul and reverberated with the truth.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'causе I used to be young

Charles forced himself to watch the stranger he loved flourish before his eyes. He had seen you grow from a teenager into a young adult, thinking the flower that blossomed was the final product. Like the dandelions you had blown to the breeze and wished upon with him years ago, you had shed the petals of immaturity and become a woman commanding the wind to carry her higher.

You hated how the spotlight burned your skin and you told yourself it was the lamp that made your eyes water as you screwed them shut.

The words you had penned on the back of a scrap of paper had come to you on a Sunday afternoon. You weren’t the religious type, but Sunday was a holy day in your house and your worship began at lights out. Words had failed you when the partying stopped. You wondered who you were without the late nights and endless faces that enabled you to lose your values, your friends, your love. You thought your music had died with your younger self.

But on that Sunday, something had changed. On that Sunday, you saw a man at his lowest and heard the heartache in his voice. On that Sunday, you watched a man carry more burden than any shoulders could bear and somehow, somehow, he smiled. Thousands of miles away in Brazil, Charles had taught you a lesson in letting go, of hope and resilience and maturity.

The words had come easily after that.

Take onе, pour it out, it's not worth cryin' 'bout The things you can't erase Like tattoos and regrets, words I never meant And ones that got away

You didn’t plan to open your eyes until the song was over, you didn’t want to see what the audience thought of the performance that was so unlike how you used to sound, but you did it anyway. The spotlight blinded you for a moment before your eyes adjusted and time seemed to freeze when you found Charles staring back.

Time had changed him too, his jawline had sharpened and the suit fitted his filled out body so much better than they ever did. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and changed his entire face so that he could never be mistaken as anything but a man who was comfortable in his own skin.

He used to say you completed him but now you knew you had only filled the piece of his heart that was missing after his father died. You couldn’t complete a boy who was still growing into a man, it was impossible when you were both too young to know what complete even meant. Complete didn’t mean whole, it was just the acceptance of who you are and forgiving who you were.

You weren’t in some grandiose ballgown or shock-inspiring barely-there outfit, you wore what you felt comfortable in. Charles smiled, his dimple appearing as you slipped the microphone from the stand and walked to the edge of the stage. His eyes never left yours as you took a seat facing him and swung your feet in the open air, returning the smile.

I know I used to be crazy Messed up, but, God, was it fun I know I used to be wild That's 'cause I used to be young

You may have been the one singing but you heard him loud and clear when his hand rose up above his head.

Those wasted nights are not wasted I remember every one I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

You heard him loud and clear when he made no move to wipe the tears on his cheeks.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

There were no words that passed between you as you left the stage, but when he rose to his feet you heard him loud and clear.

The loud knock on your door echoed around the temporary dressing room but the voice that followed was softer. Your fingers rested on the door handle until you took a deep breath and turned it. The air left your lungs as you were struck by the image of him standing in your doorway, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other in his hair as he wondered if he was making a mistake.

Up close, he looked even more handsome but it was his cologne that took you deep into the past. The intensity of the CK bottle used to be overpowering on the senses when he would douse himself in the stuff, but now he wore a complex, rich scent that invited you to lean closer and inhale. His finer tastes had matured along with the rest of him.

“Hey,” he said as he looked into your room, taking in the details from the water bottles to the ambient sounds you relaxed to. A smile transformed his face and he stepped inside when you opened the door wider in invitation. “Is this my music?”

“It helps me to relax,” you admitted as you closed the door behind him.

“Your song is…” he shook his head as he trailed off, like he was struggling to articulate what he wanted to say and he had to settle for something less because he couldn’t quite grasp the word, “beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You smiled shyly at your feet and fiddled with your hair that had been styled up for the red carpet walk.

Charles’ eyes followed your hand and widened before he grabbed it. The warmth of his skin on yours was something you had never been able to replicate, there was no man or woman whose touch could come close to his. You knew because you had tried and tried before resigning yourself the hard fact that you had lost the best thing you had.

“Is that…my number?” His fingertips turned your head to see the tattoo tucked behind your ear.

You laughed as you remembered how you were going to surprise him once it healed, but he had already gone by then. “Yeah, it is. And I don’t regret it, before you ask.”

“I’m glad.” The corners of his lips curled up as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I have so many questions, but I think they would take all night. How have you…what have you…god, I don’t even know where to start.”

“As it happens, I have no plans,” you said as you took a seat on the couch and patted the space beside you.

“No after party?”

You shook your head as he sat down and you grabbed your bottle of water from the coffee table. “That’s not my scene anymore.”

Charles draped his arm across the couch as he tucked one leg up and settled so he could face you. “What were you going to do after the show tonight then?”

“Honestly?” You chuckled at the question and picked at the label on the bottle. “I was going to go home, order a pizza and watch the new season of Drive to Survive.”

Charles bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh,” you feigned annoyance as you slapped his hand. “I’m missing the races so it will have to do until next month. Are you excited?”

He caught your hand before you could take it back and he traced his fingers over the splatterings of new tattoos you had collected throughout the years. “Hmm, I’m optimistic.”

“Always were,” you murmured as you let your hand relax in his. “But what about the car?”

“Why don’t you come to testing and find out?” He seemed to come to his senses as he dropped your hand. “You’re probably busy and we’re practically strangers now. Shit, you probably have a boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Charles, shut up,” you laughed as you caught his face in your palms and felt the texture of the short beard he now sported. “I know you too well that we could never really be strangers.”

“We’ve both changed.” His head lowered into your hands and you watched his green eyes search your face for the wild child he used to know.

“We’ve grown up, there’s a difference.”

His breath whispered across your wrists as he looked down at the distance closing between your bodies. “So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a boyfriend.”

You smiled sadly. “I could never have a boyfriend. It wouldn’t be fair when my heart always belonged to someone else.”

Charles started to lean towards you, his eyes on your lips as if he could already taste him, but you pulled away. Hurt flashed in those eyes and you wanted to erase it immediately, it took every ounce of control you had not to pull him back into a kiss.

“We’re not strangers, Charles,” you said softly as you took his hand and tried to get him to look at you again, “but we aren’t those people any more.”

“Okay,” he nodded as he understood what went unsaid, “then we’ll get to know each other again. When did you become the sensible one?”

“After my stupidity cost me you, I suppose.”

The rest of the award show didn’t hold any interest after the conversation in your dressing room so you had both disappeared. The evening had been mild with the worst of the winter weather already passing, so you had enjoyed the quieter streets that had been closed for the night. Charles had kept you company and you both went unrecognised as you walked arm in arm to the pizzeria you promised was the best around. For a man who worked a lot of the time in Italy that was going to be tested when you got home.

It was midnight by the time you reached your apartment, the tower clock across the street tolling for the start of a new day. You would look back on that moment and realise it was then that the slate was cleaned. Whatever conversations that happened or didn’t happen were obsolete, whatever mistakes made before that moment were gone.

In the early hours on a Sunday of all days, you stepped inside your home with Charles at your side. Neither of you knew what the future held but by the same token neither of you were ready for this to be the end. After all, this was a new beginning.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf

609 notes · View notes

rikigai · 14 days

Text

so american ༻¨*:·.

[GUTS series]

pairing: non-idol!ni-ki x fem!reader genre(s): childhood friends to lovers, fluff content/warning: cursing, kissing, skinship, reader is called cutie & pretty, small caps intended, mentions of food.

word count: 2.0k

author's note: hii! welcome to my first work under the GUTS series. i'd recommend listening to the song while reading this hihi. please look forward to future releases! (this is not proofread)

drivin on the right-side road, he says i'm pretty wearin his clothes

you and riki were taking a drive down malibu beach and it had just been the 3rd day of riki's visit to california. his hand was rested on the steering wheel as he gazed upon the sunset with you by his side, snuggled into his black graphic tee which seemed to be a little over 3 sizes too big for you. "cutie" riki said under his breath as he glanced over the sight of you staring at the horizon by the sea. "what was that?" you said with a smile plastered on your face, looking him in the eye. "CUTIE, i said cutie" riki repeated with a tint of bright red on his cheeks. "who's a cutie??" you questioned, knowing he meant you. all you wanted really was for him to say it to your face.

and he's got hands that make hell seem cold

"YOU ARE. okay leave me alonee" responded riki as he poked you on your tickle spot right by your waist. the both of you giggled and laughed.

feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem i wish i wrote

you carefully watched over riki as he made swift turns along the way, driving at just the right pace, and checking the mirrors every once in a while. you didn't really know what had gotten into you. it's not like this was the first time you've seen someone drive, right? it was simply just you and riki killing time together on the road along malibu.

looking back at it, riki was always someone you'd love bonding with. ever since you two were in elementary school, you two were inseparable. at every school event, community gathering or function, you'd play around and talk, talk, talk. riki's parents even gave you the nickname "thing 1" and "thing 2" because of how close you two were.

going to elementary school in japan was a memory you cherished. being woken up by the irritating sound of your alarm, sliding into your school uniform, kissing your parents goodbye before heading over to the campus were things you missed when you moved halfway across the world to study uni in the states. but you knew it wasn't any of those things you missed the most, it was riki.

you two made a deal that every year, either one of you would fly all the way to each other. and this year, it was riki's turn to visit you, 10,144 kilometers away.

"hey its getting late, do you wanna head back home?" riki asked. you nodded "うん" (un = yes). he takes the next left turn to go back to your apartment. on the way there, you see a flickering sign on top of a truck that read 'ice cream'. "can we stop over for ice cream, pleaaaseee??" you asked riki as the car drove closer to it. "alright kiddo" "WHAT." "I'M KIDDING PLEASE DON'T KILL ME" the two of you bickered as riki pulled over right in front of the ice cream truck.

“good evening, maam, sir! what would you like to get tonight?” asked one of the staff as you and riki approached the counter. “i’ll get two scoops of vanilla aaand she’ll have two scoops of chocolate with a mix-in of cookie dough.” riki replied. you smiled and looked up at riki, snuggling into him as he wrapped his warm arms around you. the night fell and the air started to cool down and you started feeling chilly. “cone or cup?” the staff asked, scooping the chosen ice cream flavors. “cone, please” said riki. they placed riki’s plain vanilla ice cream onto his cone and handed it to him. likewise, they gave you yours but they mixed in the bits of cookie dough beforehand. “we’ll pay by card” riki said, pulling his wallet out of his baggy chrome hearts jeans that hung low around his waist. “no, wait. riki i’ll pay” you said watching him as he took his card out of his wallet. he put his card near the card reader, ignoring what you said. “riki i said i’ll payyy” you repeat, quickly reaching for your card that was slid into the magnetic wallet on the back of your phone. “here take my card” you told the staff. “no y/n, let me pay” riki said. “no, i swear this one’s on me” you insisted, playfully pushing riki away from the card reader. “L/N Y/N I SAID I’LL PAYYY” said riki as he pushed you aside while you took a lick of your ice cream, shoving the scoop onto your nose. he laughed at the sight as he tapped his card, paying for the both of you. the two of you walked back to the car that was parked near. buckled in, riki started the car, looking at the rear-view mirror and at you before heading back onto the road. he caught himself staring at you as you fastened your seatbelt, putting your feet onto his dashboard while you ate your ice cream. "hey, you got some on your-" riki said as he wiped the ice cream off your nose. "笑, とてもきれい" (hehe, totemo kirei = hehe, so pretty). "thank you" you said as you felt your cheeks heating up.

the car drive home was silent, but you both knew you simply enjoyed each others presence. the radio played the week's top songs and you hummed along to them. "why do you always get vanilla? don't you wanna try anything else? you can try mine" you said, placing your cone before riki's mouth while he drove. he ate some ice cream and took a bite out of your cone. "i think i'll stick to my vanilla" riki said. "hey! are you saying my order doesn't taste good- wait, how'd you even know this was my order earlier at the truck?.." you stopped in your tracks. "秘密" (himitsu = secret) he responded with a chuckle and a smirk. "i may or may not have seen your insta stories" he added. "かわいいね" (kawai ne = how cute) you said and hummed in response.

when he laughs at all my jokes

you reach the parking lot of your apartment complex. riki parked the car as the two of you step out. the moment riki had stepped out, he hit his head on the roof of the car. “what was that sound?” you asked after hearing the loud thud riki made. raising his head, riki rubbed the spot on his head that he had hit. “HAHA BIG FOOT HIT HIS HEAD ON THE CAR” you called out, laughing at riki while you hit his shoulder playfully. “SHUT THE FUCK UP MISS FIVE FOOT SEVEN” riki responded, giving you a nudge to push you off of him. he laughs at the joke you made. he couldn’t lie, it was funny, maybe to him.

there was always a height comparison between the two of you ever since you were little. riki was obviously tall, growing up to be around 6'1. you were relatively tall too, constantly being the same height as riki, not until you stopped growing at around eighth grade.

"can't even reach me LMAO" riki said. you looked him in the eye, grabbing him by the hair. "LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK MAN" he responded as you tugged his hair. you giggled at how offended riki looked.

you unlocked the door to your apartment and went in. you went straight to your bed, plopping onto it. riki quickly followed and tucked in right beside you. he looked around your room, as if he hadn't been sleeping in it for the past two nights. he stared at pictures of yourself you'd hung up on your wall, right by your desk, the pictures you had stuck onto your vanity of you and riki, along with your families. he adored the sight. he felt at home being around the person he knew would bring comfort in a world where things may never go his way, but one thing did go his way, and it was finding you.

time passed as you two stared at the ceiling. you laid on top of riki's chest, hearing his heart beat while you two talked. you found solace in spending time with him, even if you knew it would only last a week or two. talking about how life went for the both of you, how different life was without each other, it brought you to the realization of how much you’ve outgrown your old self, the y/n who’s lived in japan her whole life, the y/n you used to be before being punched by the reality you had to face once you moved to the states, away from everyone you’ve ever known. yet somehow riki still knew who you were deep inside. he unlocked a part of you you never knew still existed.

and he says i’m so american. oh god it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much

“do you know how much i’ve missed you, riki?” you ask him, tightening your arms around his torso, positioning your body closer to him. “judging by the way you’re cuddling me, yes” he said as he chuckled. “i miss living in japan. i miss going to school in those cute lil uniforms and 祖母の家に焼きそばを食べに行ったのが懐かしい (sobo noie ni yakisoba o tabe ni itta no ga natsukashi = i miss going to grandma’s house to eat yakisoba)” you told riki before he cut you off. “DID YOU REALLY JUST USE JAPANESE AND ENGLISH IN THE SAME SENTENCE?? that’s literally so american of you, y/n. HAHSJAHHS” riki exclaimed in shock, laughing at you. he’s never heard you speak both languages in one sentence, considering the fact that you wouldn’t even need to be doing so in the first place. “oh my days, shut the fuck up, riki. it’s not that deep, i swear” you said with a pout on your face as you began to sulk after riki teased you for the third billionth time just today. you genuinely thought it was funny though, hearing both japanese and english come out of your mouth at once. you rolled out of bed and sat down. “NO NO NO i’m sorry, i’m sorry 戻ってきて” (modotte kite = come back) he said when he saw you sulking. he dragged you onto the bed, making you lie down. he trapped you with his long limbs, clinging onto you and hugging you. you both giggled and laughed. riki had his arms around you as you tickled him, trying to get him off of you.

the two of you were eventually worn off and tired from all the tickling and laughing. you stopped at a position wherein your face was just beside his, looking at him as he tried catching his breath from whatever happened earlier. riki planted a kiss on your soft, bright pink lips before kissing your forehead too. he flipped through his natural black hair, revealing the undercut that laid below his grown hair then plopped back onto his pillow. his eyes shut close, falling asleep beside you. “good night, big foot” you said, caressing his cheek. “hey, i heard that” riki said, eyes closed with a smile. “shhh i thought you were asleep” you replied. “good night, cutie” he drifted off into sleep as you watched him carefully, thinking of how much he actually meant to you. life was just better with him. maybe it wasn’t uni, or the lifestyle here, or being away from japan that made life a lot harder. maybe it was riki’s absence that made everything a challenge for you to overcome alone.

i apologize if it’s a little too much, just a little too soon, but if the conversation were ever to come up, i don’t wanna assume this stuff

but ain’t it love?

you laid there as the silence of your bedroom got louder, with only riki’s breathing finding its way to your ears. soon, you decided to drift off too, snuggled into the comforting warmth of his body next to you, with thoughts of him wandering in that head of yours. he took over your brain and maybe, just maybe, your heart as well.

i think i’m in love.

202 notes · View notes

nepobaby08 · 9 months

Text

music and mishaps | T.C.

summary: you adored music. so much to the point where it had you clouded, and you never paid attention to where you were going. at all. in the course of bumping into millions of people, you bump into a certain person that both changes you and herself.

warnings : tara’s a little stingy. but its okay she’ll warm up to you.

|word count: 1.4k|

part i || part ii

Walking down the cold stone path to Blackmore University was your favorite thing to do. Only because that gave you a free pass to blast music on your way there.

You’d like to think you were the only one walking. That’s the way you put it at least. Music was your escape, and your awakening. There had not been a day where you had not listened to your “glorifying” playlist, as you told people. It had many songs that fit your criteria, and that’s the way you liked it.

Only thing was, you liked to keep certain songs, and artists to yourself so you could only be the one to listen to them. You knew it was a weird thing to do, but you didn’t care. You felt like music was your best friend.

But the thing about you was you never paid attention to your surroundings. And by never.. you mean never. You were clumsy like that. A klutz even. You often found yourself tripping over things, and bumping into people. A thing that you knew you needed to fix. But whatever, right?

“omph!” you said, once again, you bumped into someone. But it wasn’t a side push, or a light jab, it was right in your torso. The force was hard, but not hard enough for anything to ache.

You opened your eyes and saw that you knocked a girl over, or maybe she knocked herself over, because you knew that you weren’t in a rush to go anywhere. I mean - it was only 8:00, and classes didn’t start until nine.

“Shit, i’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You apologized to the girl who now you took note of was very much shorter than you. You yourself standing at 5′5, and the girl 5′1.

It was cute. You thought.

“S’okay.” She said, dusting herself off, “It was me who wasn’t paying any attention.” She smiled at you. Not a full smile. It was more of a smile that was forced. Clearly she didn’t want to talk.

But you couldn’t really hear her because of the music that was playing in your ears.

Of course you forgot about that.

You hurriedly took your phone out of your pocket, and hit pause, and then you took the black headphones off of your head, resting them on your neck.

“I’m sorry?” You said. “I couldn’t hear what you just said. It was.. the music.” You gestured to the headphones around your neck.

The girl’s facial expression fell. She really seemed like she didn’t want to repeat herself.

“I said I'm sorry, and that I didn’t mean to bump into you?”

“Oh, right!” You said quickly. “No biggie, happens to me all the time.” You said reassuringly.

“Yeah, clearly.” She mumbled.

“What was that?” You asked.

“I said I'm leaving!” She said, and rushed past you, her steps quickening by the second. You turned to look at her leave, with a confused look on your face.

“Weirdo.” You mumbled, and looked down at your phone and hit play, and continued your usual walk to your class. English was first. Your favorite. Your teacher was the nicest in the world, you felt like. She reminded you of “Ms. Honey” from Matilda. Such a sweet soul.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The bell finally rang, which meant classes were done for the day. At least for you. You were kinda a smart aleck. Not really one you weren’t annoying and kept to yourself when it came to work, if anyone needed notes for anything you would gladly hand them over cause you knew what it was like to struggle.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, exiting out of the classroom. You let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding, very glad to be going back to your dorm. You put your headphones over your head and began your daily stroll back.

You enjoyed the college life. You finally felt independent. You didn’t have to hear your siblings’ nagging in your ears, as well as your mother’s. You felt free. Free to yourself. And you hoped that it would last long until the winter break arrived.

You shared a dorm with a girl named Anika. She was such a sweetheart too. You didn’t know how anyone could hurt her soul. She had a girlfriend Mindy who would often come over. She was nice as well, but she didn’t like you around very much. You knew why. She thought you were bad news because she might’ve had the idea that you were messing around with Anika. But that was definitely not the case. Anika reassured you a lot that that was just how Mindy was, and you said it was fine. You didn’t care that much.

You finally made it up to your building, and swung the door open to enter. Taking your hands out of your pockets, you cracked your knuckles as they were pretty cramped from writing and typing all day. You loved doing that. Writing. That was another hobby of yours. You had many drafts of drabbles and thought’s in your notes, and your little brown notebook with a etch of a tree in it. Amazing, wasn’t it?

As you turned the corner you bumped into yet, another person. You sighed.

Not again.

It was the same girl from earlier, and you wished she was the last person you would see on the day to day basis. Seems like this was a regular now.

As she looked up at you her facial expression dropped just the same as yours did.

“You again, really? You seem to not like to pay attention.” She said.

You were taken aback by this.

“Me? Me? I’m pretty sure I was paying the fullest attention to where I was going this time.” You could hear yourself and her pretty clearly this time because your music wasn’t as loud.

“Yeah, sure you were.” She said, crossing her arms and sighing. “Where are you going anyway? I’ve never seen you around here.”

“To... my dorm?” You said obviously, “And probably because I live on the other side of the building..” You trailed off, pretty curious now.

“What’s your name?” You looked down at the shorter girl, her brown eyes looking into yours.

“Tara, you?”

“Y/N.” You smiled. “Say.. we’ve bumped into each other twice today, and in my eyes, I set that as a world record. You think we could get to know each other more?”

“No. Nope, absolutely not.” She said quickly. Now trying to get past you. You stopped her with your free hand, touching her chest, pushing her back in front of you.

That made her flushed.

“I’m not a bad person, I swear! And you seem like the type who needs to loosen up a bit. What, do you have trust issues or something?”

“Yes. That’s exactly the case. And if my sister saw me talking to you right now she might just murder you.”

“Wow... super intimidating, Tara, I'll give you that one.” You started, “One sec.” You pulled out a black marker from the side of your backpack, and grabbed her arm.

“What are you do-”

“Shut up.” You laughed.

You wrote your number on her forearm and sighed, “There. Now you have my number, and.. I can show you how much of a trustworthy person I am.” You smiled in triumph.

She stared at you with a bored look.

“Why do you wanna get to know me so bad, huh Y/N? I don’t even know you and have only bumped into you twice. If anything, you could be a psychopath.”

“I can be a little psycho.” You said, then you saw her face shift. “I’m kidding of course!” You put your hands up in defense.

“But I think I may know one of your friends.” You said.

“Who?”

“Uh.. Mindy, is it? Yeah! She comes over to see her girlfriend, my roommate, a lot. Maybe even too much.”

“You know Mindy?” She looked at you in a way that screamed she just didn’t believe you one bit.

“Yes.. Well - no? She kinda hates me.”

“Yeah, I'm kinda starting to hate you too.” Tara added.

“Whatever, Tara.” You chuckled. “Just - text me okay? I can show you how much of a great person I am, and I sure as hell can get you out of whatever shell you’re trapped in.”

“.....Fine.” She said,

“Great, I'll see you!” You walked off, “And don’t bump into me again tomorrow or there will be consequences!” You yelled back.

Tara stopped in her tracks as she walked off at the same time you did, “I thought that’s what you wanted to happen!” She yelled.

“I guess we’ll never know, Carpenter!”

She sighed, and turned to walk her way back to her own dorm.

Wait.

How did you know her last name?

so that was a little something i whipped up while listening to music myself. thinking of turning this into a series!

- aur

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter x fem reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader

588 notes · View notes

gg-pedro · 3 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 2) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 2: navigating joel’s heart is a bittersweet thing. mostly sweet, though.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, implied age gap, fingering, unprotected piv (don't do that tho), fairly tame aside from that, brief descriptions of an injury, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, angst, weird feelings (and there's more where that came from!)

words: 2.5k

a/n: I wrote the majority of this while listening to clocks by coldplay. hope this helps. (also thank you for the love on chapter 1! glad I'm not the only ooey gooey joel miller lover.)

Joel, yes. Joel, yes. Joel, please.

Repeating his name like a metronome, a 2/4 time signature, the beginnings of a beautiful song coming from your lips and melting against the warm skin of his bare shoulder.

Your clothes had vanished somewhere in between the hall at the top of the stairs and the entrance of your bedroom. Joel grabbed you, nudging you back against your own creamy bedsheets. He took you in, all of you. He was between your thighs in an instant, head bowed between your parted legs like he was praying at the base of an altar.

“You’ve done this before, right, baby?” He pulled you by your hips, his big hands settling perfectly into the indentation of your waist.

You rolled your eyes and brought a hand up to cup his scruffy cheek. The answer was yes, you’d had sex before, but this? No, you had never been so wildly attracted to someone, so soaked from the start, so certain that your partner’s touch was the closest you were ever going to get to God.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

“‘M gonna be gentle with you, darlin’. Tell me to stop and I will, alright? I will, you don’t feel bad about nothin’ here.” He bowed down to kiss you again, sloppy and warm, his fingertips ghosting the length of your torso. He made you shudder and gasp against his open mouth.

He found your slick entrance, teasing you with two calloused fingers whose grooves made your back arch and your mouth fill with saliva. You reached down to stimulate your aching clit as he pumped his middle and ring finger in and out of you, speeding up, slowing down, testing your reaction from the strangled sounds of pleasure escaping your lips.

You fell right into it, your form turning to putty underneath him. His fingers curled and hit that ribbed edge inside of you until your hand on his shoulder blades turned into a pleading vice grip, begging for more.

“Joel… Joel, I–”

He stopped immediately, unsure if your mumblings were that of pleasure or uncertainty. He hovered over you, his lips ghosting across your jawline. “Say it, baby. What do you want?”

“You,” you said without hesitation. You wanted to come undone with his dick inside of you. Just him, pure and raw and carnal.

His belt had already been undone, and he forced down his worn jeans and boxers to reveal his stiffened cock. You licked your fingers, bringing your hand around to stroke up and down the frontside of his length. It was a biblical sight: throbbing veins clearly visible, looking almost too oversized for you to take properly.

He grabbed your middle and pulled you upright against his body, legs bent and slightly parted on the bed. You fit perfectly between him, wrapping the two of you together as your lips found each other’s in another desperate fervor. You sank down onto his cock, your walls clenching around him immediately and involuntarily. Twin moans sounded from both of your throats, and Joel didn’t give you more than a few seconds before he was thrusting upwards into you.

The two of you shared the work, with him setting a sweet pace and you grinding your hips to meet it. Your bodies were both slick with sweat, faces reddenned; two burning silhouettes against a backdrop of patchy orange light.

Joel was gentle and balanced at first, his motions coordinated and purposeful. In your warm, tight walls, you knew he was unraveling. When his thrusts grew jerky, he forced you back onto the bed, nipping and biting at the skin across your neck and collarbone while you clawed at his back.

Joel. Fuck, yes. Please, I’m–

There it was again, that chorus you couldn’t sweat out.

“I’m here, baby, I got you. Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall with those little sounds.”

You couldn’t hold out any longer. Tears fought their way out of your eyes as you muffled uncontrolled moans into his shoulder. You saw white, and then things were fuzzy until the black faded from the corners of your vision. He’d fucked you blind, you were afraid.

That sent him tumbling over the edge after you, his entire body slowing and twitching as he gave the last few thrusts into your over-sensitive, aching hole. When he pulled out of you he cupped your cheek with one of his hands, swiping away the trail of tears with the pad of his thumb.

He kissed you again, and again, kissing you breathless and dizzy. He rolled over to the other side of you with a low grunt and pulled your body in close to him.

“Y’alright? Didn’t hurt you or nothin’?” He propped himself up to take another good look at your face. He was cataloging it– memorizing you.

You smiled and gazed up at him in the warm light. “No. You’re perfect. Stop worrying.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He smiled. It was a real smile, one you hadn’t seen before.

You both tended to yourselves in the bathroom afterwards before collapsing back into bed together. You slept for the first time in months. It didn’t matter how many nights had passed with you curled up in a warm bed in Jackson, away from the bitter wilderness or outside threats, you never could shake that nagging feeling that you were one wrong move away from death. You slept restlessly everywhere, waking up drowning in your quilted comforter and drenched in sweat in the still morning.

But this time, when you were startled awake from a restful sleep, sunlight dripping through the curtains–

He was awake, too. He cracked a grin as your fingers found their way into his unkempt hair.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he whispered.

He pulled you close to his chest, hand placed protectively on the back of your head until it trailed down to your neck and shoulders, nails raking lightly over chilled skin.

Yeah. This was going to kill you. Both of you, more likely than not.

You slept anyway.

Joel came to you. Often.

The two of you had improvised a system. Of course you had, you were having sex with Joel Miller. You would leave your bedroom light on after curfew if he was free to come. It worked out well. Clearly, because he was sharing a bed with you more nights out of the week than not.

He would come in, a little more than tired, and melt right into your arms like liquid mercury. He wouldn’t say much at first, just mumbling that he missed you and couldn’t stop thinking about you while he was gone. Wanted to make sure you were alright. He’d pull back for a moment, scanning your features and any exposed skin on your body.

“I’m fine, Joel. Stop worrying about me.”

Tucking his head into the space where your neck met your shoulder, he sighed. “I know, I know. I can’t.”

That was true, you knew it was. And it was sweet. And it was reason enough to keep him wrapped in your arms all night.

Sometimes he fucked you, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes, though, he fucked you raw and shaky and teary-eyed. It was always a surprise, but a welcome surprise, something that you could look forward to throughout the days in Jackson that tended to bleed together.

On one particular night, a few minutes past 10 o’clock, the front door knob turned, opened, and clicked shut in one swift motion. You came down the stairs to meet him, unbuttoning the cardigan you had thrown on over clothes. The expression on his face gave you pause for a moment. He was holding his left arm in an unnatural way, a little stiffened and sort of awkward. He looked exhausted and there was a pinch between his eyebrows.

You smoothed a hand over his bearded face and took the arm gently into your hand to examine it. His jacket had a slash through it and a mixture of dried and fresh blood had seeped into the fabric of his flannel beneath it. He pushed you away, instead curling his good arm around your lower back and pulling you in.

“What happened?”

He looked away from you, inhaling sharply as you twisted out of his embrace to examine his arm again. “Fucked around too much with an old hunter’s trap. Clipped me good. I’m fine.”

You smacked his shoulder before turning to gather supplies from the kitchen. A wet washcloth, soap, and a stash of bandages you took from the clinic. Look, these were hard times, and you had yourself to think of, too.

“You’re an idiot,” you said from the other room. “I thought you could’ve been bit. Why didn’t you go to the clinic? Someone should’ve been on staff. Who were you with?”

He came to take a seat at the kitchen table, a shuddery little sound escaping his throat as he shed his jacket and rolled up one sleeve. Ignoring all of your questions, he said, “Bit? I wouldn’t fuckin’ come here if that happened.”

You thought about that scenario and what it would entail for a brief moment before shutting it out of your mind. Joel was here, with you, mostly in one piece.

“You’re still an idiot.”

You sat down in the chair next to him and brought his arm up so that it was flush with the table. It wasn’t so bad, just a few punctures. The part that concerned you was where he had evidently pulled it out from the metal and the skin had snagged.

The moment you started dabbing at it with soapy water, he flinched and pulled back. “You don’t have to do this. I ain’t asking you to do this,” he clarified.

Ignoring him this time, you situated yourself to access the wound again, dabbing away the dried blood around his arm. “Well here I am, Joel. If you aren’t gonna take care of yourself, I’m happy to do it. Tommy would. Ellie would. You don’t go to them, though.”

You go to me.

You cleansed the jagged tears with fresh water and patted it dry. “What did you think was going to happen? You come here, I ignore the gaping hole in your arm, we fuck and then you leave?”

He sat back and his eyes were glued to the ceiling. “No. I don’t fuckin’ know, alright? Ellie’s a kid, and Tommy… I don’t know what I thought.”

He raised his voice and you stared at him. When he met your eyes again, they were tired and glassy.

“‘M sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I just–” He brought his good hand up to your face, his thumb gliding back and forth against your skin. “I ain’t gonna be a burden on you. You’re too young, y’shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

Shaking your head and fighting back tears, you unwound a long strip of bandages. “Shut up. What’s gotten into you? You can’t just say shit like that.”

“–if somethin’ happened to me, I wouldn’t want you to–”

“Jesus fucking christ, Joel, I said shut up.”

If something happened to Joel, you were pretty sure the world would stop. Nowadays, yours was so small to begin with. You couldn’t just forget about him. Pretend like none of this had ever happened. You couldn’t unfeel the way he touched you, or unhear his voice, or unsee his silhouette reflected in the constellations as he laid next to you at night.

Joel’s face faltered. “Hey. Hey, shh, c’mere.” He pulled you into him, disregarding the sting as he held you in his arms. “I’m just worn out, sweetheart. It ain’t you, It’s me.”

You just nodded. Your breathing synced up with his, and for a second, everything didn’t feel so heavy.

“I’m sorry.” You said into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t say sorry.” He rubbed his wide hand up and down your back. “You’ll still finish fixin’ me up?”

And you did. Of course you did. You wrapped the gash up in 20 year old gauze, kissed his forehead and made him promise he’d get it checked out in the morning. You both knew he wouldn’t, but he smiled and promised you anyway.

Such was the way of your promises to each other. You couldn’t guarantee anything, but you could pretend. At least while you were in each other's arms.

Joel could hear piano music pouring out from every edge and crack of your home when he came by to walk Ellie to dinner. It almost made him smile– there was a distinct shift between Ellie’s playing and your demonstration to her.

He listened for a while before finally knocking hard on the door. He heard Ellie shifting around, and then flinging the door open to greet him. “Hey, Joel, have you ever seen Star Wars? The music is super cool.”

He could see the sheet music entitled ‘Princess Leia’s Theme’ resting on the stand. Something twisted in his heart, something mournful and nostalgic, and he had to push it back down before it started hurting.

“Thanks for the lesson! Can I come tomorrow, too? I’ll forget all that by next week,” Ellie said, turning to face you once her shoes and coat had been tugged on.

You smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Sure, as long as Joel doesn’t mind me stealing you away again.”

Joel kept his eyes on Ellie. “It’s fine.”

Joel kept it curt with you, especially around her. You didn’t need to try to argue with his reasoning. A part of it hurt a little, if you were being honest. Your relationship was harmless. It would be even more harmless if the two of you weren’t sneaking around after dark like two teeagers. But you understood, as much as one could possibly understand Joel Miller.

“Good. See you then.”

Ellie still noticed. While the two of them walked away from your house after a successful session, she posed the question to Joel.

“Did something happen between you guys?” She kicked some snow up off the ground with the toe of her boot.

“No,” Joel replied.

“Then why’d you barely say anything to each other?”

He gave her a look, one that would signal to any other person to fuck off and stop prying, but she ignored it. “Don’t have to. You got a problem with that?”

“Yeah. I mean, it just seems like… pretty weird that you didn’t even say bye.” She went silent for a moment, mulling something over. “Does this have to do with that time you didn’t get me from Tommy’s? Or when I couldn’t find you at the stables? Or when–”

“–Stop yourself right there, Ellie, I’ve already answered too fuckin’ many of your questions,” he interjected.

That only made her grin. She laughed a little and smacked him in the shoulder. “Oh, man. Oh, this is good. You’re fucked. I totally know.”

“You don’t know anything,” and then, under his breath, “little shit.”

“Defensive and quiet? Fuckin’ hell, dude, you suck at this,” she said, laughing. “She’s too cool for you, man.”

Joel, trying his absolute best to fend off the smile at the corner of his lips, just shook his head.

“Shut up.”

239 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 11 months

Text

day 07: free space a happy ending

Wakefulness embraces him so slowly and gently that Steve’s not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming when he sees Eddie lying next to him, watching him with an easy smile as his fingers tap out a slow beat on his pillow. Steve looks at him, blinking away the remnants of sleep, not quite daring to do anything more than that for fear of it being a dream after all, scared that Eddie would disappear if Steve reached out to touch.

But then Eddie’s smile widens. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Steve gasps a little and moves his hand to Eddie’s cheek, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear, his breath hitching when Eddie leans into the touch.

“You’re here,” he whispers, his gaze wandering over Eddie’s features, taking it all in and looking for any indication that this is a dream.

Eddie hums. “And you’re pretty.”

It hits him out of nowhere, the open sincerity in Eddie’s voice, the fondness in his eyes, the honesty in everything about him. The love, open and free now — or getting there, at least. It’s still so raw, though, so new, that Steve doesn’t know how to handle it yet.

“Shut up,” he huffs once he’s caught his breath, rolling over to hide his face and the way his cheeks are heating up. He rolls right into Eddie's chest, though, and he's so warm, so close, smells so good that Steve wants nothing more than to bury his face in his neck and stay there for the rest of the morning. Or maybe the rest of his life.

The reflex to pull away is there. The urge to run and hide, to laugh it off, to freeze up and find something else to do, something to occupy his hands and stop them from reaching for Eddie. Years and years of muscle memory telling Steve to leave.

But Eddie's arms come around him, holding him close and pulling him even closer. And Steve breathes him in, remembering that it can be okay. Remembering that they get a chance now.

Remembering the words.

What are you doing?

Changing the world.

So he tries that, too. Changing the world. He tries by winding his arms around Eddie, too, and breathing in again and again, learning that Eddie won't disappear if he does.

Slowly, he dares to move his arms, stroking along Eddie's back in slow, gentle patterns, lulling himself into a safety he hasn't felt in a while. Maybe ever. At some point Eddie begins to hum, and Steve thinks that it's just another one of his audible smiles, inviting Steve and the rest of the world to join in if they're so inclined. But then he detects a familiar melody in the vibrations of Eddie's neck against his skin, and he holds his breath to find out what it is.

His heart jumps when he recognises the song as one he used to listen to on repeat like a lovesick fool around the time his feelings for Eddie turned into something more, something better, something infinitely worse.

It skips and he forgets how to breathe as he lets his hands travel over Eddie's back, slowly and tentatively daring to slip underneath his shirt and touch his skin.

Eddie begins to sing, then, and Steve wonders if he's even been in love with him before, because nothing of what he's ever felt compares to Eddie's gentle, hoarse, sleep-rough voice as he sings Somebody to Steve, to their little bubble, or to the world outside.

"I want somebody to share, share the rest of my lifeShare my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details."

He closes his eyes as he listens, focusing on the vibrations, on the warmth, on the closeness, on how this moment is everything he's never even dared to want. Everything so perfect that he couldn't even dream it up.

Everything. You're everything.

He needs to be closer still, so be buries his nose in Eddie's neck and breathes him in, tangling their legs, filled with a breathless kind of joyful bliss when Eddie's breath hitches, too, and he stumbles over the words of the second verse as Steve tries to climb into his skin.

"I want somebody who cares for me passionatelyWith every thought and with every breath."

You have me, Steve thinks, pressing his lips to Eddie's pulse point. It's not a kiss, not quite. It's something deeper. It's a promise.

Eddie's hands come up to hold him there even as his voice carries through the drumbeat of Steve's heart in his throat, running fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, making him purr along to the melody.

"But when I'm asleep I want somebodyWho will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderlyThough things like this make me sickIn a case like this, I'll get away with it."

When the song ends, Eddie's words faded out, replaced once again by the gentlest silence, Steve feels raw. Vulnerable. Open and exposed. But he also feels safe, and loved, buried in Eddie's skin and held there, as though Eddie is just as scared of fading away as Steve is.

He lifts his head just slightly, enough to meet Eddie's eyes – only to find that they're closed, an expression so serene like Steve has never seen before. Mesmerised and overflowing with affection, he reaches out to trace the line of his brows, down to his cheeks and all the way to his lips, where his eyes are glued for a second.

The thought of kissing Eddie is right there. The opportunity is, too. But he doesn't. He barely dares to move as it is. But he does roll them over the rest of the way until he lies comfortably on top of Eddie, and tucks his head underneath his chin, finding one of his hands and lacing their fingers.

"You've got him," he breathes eventually. "That somebody. If you—“

"Yes," Eddie says, his other hand finding its way to the nape of Steve's neck to play with his hair again. "I want."

"Good." It's lame; far from what he wants to say. From what he has already said last night. It feels like they're doing this backwards, starting with the I love you and catching up with the slow build-up afterwards. "Good. Me, too."

"Good," Eddie hums, and there's that smile again that Steve can't help but mirror.

They fall asleep again like that even though it’s already late in the morning; cuddling and holding and cradling each other, still trembling slightly. Maybe that's what changing the world will do to you. Maybe that's the bravery more than the love.

Or maybe it's just Steve and Eddie. Steve and Eddie. SteveandEddie.

I love you.

~*~

It takes a bit for Steve to relearn loving Eddie. To not associate it with tragedy and sadness and a bone-deep loneliness that'll leave him breathless even on the best of days.

It takes a while for Steve to learn a whole new kind of breathlessness, a whole new kind of aching when it comes to Eddie.

And Eddie's not much better than Steve, pulling away when Steve wants him closer, swallowing his words and needing a second, third, fourth try until he learns that he gets to love Steve now.

Years of unrequited love, or feelings unreturned, of words put out into the universe with no one to receive them, are not easily or quickly unwritten. But every time Steve's breath gets lodged in his throat and he wants to run away, Eddie is right there to remind him of what they can have now. Every time Steve tries to be a little less of who he really is, Eddie is right there to coax him out of his head with gentle touch and a lot of hugs.

Every time Eddie starts to doubt himself and all the ways he makes Steve the happiest person on the planet, Steve is right there with the words he only has for Eddie. Words that don't get stuck anymore. Words that finally get a recipient.

~*~

Their first kiss, the first real kiss, doesn't happen that first morning. They spend the first week only holding each other, barely wanting to let go, hiding their vulnerabilities within each other.

Steve is worried about it at first, seeing Eddie so quiet, so reverent, lacking his usual cheer, his energy and snarky comments. He asks about it one night, ready to prove right that he isn't and can never be enough for him, that all he will do is steal the things that make him Eddie.

Eddie stops then, lifting Steve's chin with a finger when he's too scared, too ashamed, too vulnerable to meet his eyes on his own accord.

"Stevie," Eddie says, his voice so gentle that Steve immediately feels stupid for doubting. "I have loved you for ten years. I've had you for three days. Let me bask in it. Let me be unable to be myself with how absolutely and utterly overcome I am with the knowledge that I have you now. That I get to hold you. That I get to kiss you and keep you and... God. I'm not unhappy. I'm so much the opposite of that that I'm not sure there's a word for it. Other than devoted. Smitten. Bewitched, body and soul."

Steve wants to kiss him then. Almost does, with the way they're just staring at each other, breathing the same air —air that smells like Eddie now. In the end, Eddie just holds him, brushing a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his temple, and whispers, "Let me bask in it."

And so they do.

Wayne called Eddie not long after with the words, "Chrissy just told me the wedding's off. Please tell me that means what I think it means."

Eddie just blushed, reaching for Steve, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Yeah, I, uh. I finally talked to Steve."

There was a very loud cheer on the other end that made Steve laugh, falling into Eddie's side, holding him tight, a weight falling off his shoulders knowing that Wayne was okay with them.

You know, I always figured it would be you.

No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me.

It made his eyes sting again, but he basked in the moment and in the knowledge that Wayne was on their side. Always has been, always will be.

"You better come here on Sunday, and bring Robin and Chrissy, too."

"Robs and Chrissy?" Eddie asked.

"Oh, you're in for a treat. I'll see your asses on Sunday, boys."

And with that, he hung up. Steve immediately went to call Robin, hopeful and giddy with Wayne's implication, knowing that Chrissy was Robin's person just like Eddie was his.

"She loves me," Robin said, on the verge of tears, and Steve joined here right then and there. "She's– Steve. She's so– She... God!"

"Yeah," Steve laughed at the ceiling above his bed, grinning because Robin sounded so happy, not even caring that she didn't have the right words for it, because he could hear Chrissy laughing in the background, too. Laughing and saying hi to him and interrupting Robin's ramblings and groans and giggles with kisses that always left her dumbstruck for a good two seconds each time.

When the call ended, he went right back to the living room, where he and Eddie started watching Pride and Prejudice before, and fell right on top of him with a happy, happy smile.

~*~

It happens at Wayne's, exactly one week after Eddie showed up at Steve's in the middle of the night. One week after the phone call. One week after I love you.

It happens in the soft glow of the fairy lights Steve and Eddie helped him put up years ago. I happens after Wayne hugged him tight once more, after he pulled Chrissy to the side and promised her that she's still his kid, that he still loves her, and that he's happy to see her smile like that. After he promised the same to Robin.

It happens when Wayne's inside to refill their drinks and Chrissy and Robin are caught up in each other that they're blind and deaf to the rest of the world. When Steve turns to find Eddie looking at him with the softest, gentlest expression.

"Eddie," he whispers, leaning in to rest their heads together, lacing their fingers and stroking his thumb along Eddie's palm.

"Yeah, baby?"

Baby. It fills him with butterflies, with the urge to scream, to shout from all the rooftops that he loves Eddie, and more importantly, that Eddie loves him back! Baby. Baby.

"I love you."

"Hmm. I love you more."

No, you don't. Just longer. "Can I kiss you?"

He can feel Eddie's little gasp before he leans in even closer, rubbing their noses together, cradling Steve's face with his free hand. "Please," he whispers.

And Steve does. He captures Eddie's lips, pouring into it everything he feels and more. Sealing the promises he's made and all the ones he's yet to make. The promises to love and cherish Eddie. To be brave. To be there. To stay and keep and bask.

It's nothing like their first kiss all those years ago. There is no question behind it this time. Only declarations, only promises, only the beginning of a shared future.

And there are many, many more after this one.

🌷🤍🌷 THE END 🌷🤍🌷

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript @hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar @phirex22 @littlemsterious @captaingigglyguinea @animecookie95 @sharingisntkaren @haluton @littlemsterious @animecookie95 @suddenlyinlove @bisexual-bilingual-biped @jinx-nanami @makewavesandwar @scheodingers-muppet @morcantinon @hexdbog @homosexualhomocide13

god i can't believe it's over. i thank you, every one of you, who cheered for me, cried with me, screamed and yelled at me, and stayed with me throughout this past week. i have no words right now other than thank you 🤍🌷 and i hope this is okay

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieweek2023 #steddie week fic #i feel like this one's a bit disjointed but i kinda like that about it?? little snippets that make a happy ending you know??#idk i hope you like it too (i always get anxious about endings tbh catch me vibrating out of my skin)#dio words #i cannot believe it is done. i cannot believe what a ride it's been. i'll find the words for it later i think. first we read. and we bask 🤍#morcantinon i am ENDLESSLY sorry i forgot to tag you even after you sent that wonderful ask please forgive me 😭🤍#i also forget a bunch of people who asked in the reblogs but dear god i hope you find this anyway i am all over the place #i will edit this and work in more chrissy/robin when i post it to ao3. but this is steddie week. and these are 15k words of an au #that happened spontaneously and within 2h each night of me flying by the seat of my pants. xD

995 notes · View notes

justlemmeadoreyou · 3 months

Text

melancholia | (mechanic!harry part 3)

Summary: Part 1 Part 2 The date with Niall, and picking your car up after it's done. But it gets more complicated than that.

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Cursing, brief mention of abuse

i will be working on your car this evening, would you like to hang out?

You had saved Niall's number as soon as you had gotten in the car with Mia, and he was really putting it to good use.

You had been in your office, a pen between your teeth as you read the agendas for the upcoming projects that had been assigned for your team. Your phone vibrated, and you saw Niall's text pop up. You immediately swiped up, opening his chat.

You smiled, in awe of how subtly he had asked you out.

sure! would love to. at what time should i come?

His response was spontaneous too.

as soon as you get off work. when do you get off work?

You calculated a bit in your head. If you got off work ealy, and reached the garage by the bus, Mia could pick you up after you were done. Or, she could drop you at the garage and then you would have to take the bus home.

The previous idea was better. That would mean you would get off work at 5, and Mia would be around 6-6:30? Perfect.

just a little before 5. can reach the garage by 5:15

Niall typed quickly, before getting back ro work so Harry wouldn't kick his ass.

that's perfect. will see you at 5:15. have a great day at work! :)

You smiled, keeping your phone down and focusing back to th me task in hand. You were going to be on a date in a garage. With Harry nearby.

He definitely wouldn't like that.

. . .

You reached the garage at a little over 5:15, and as you walked from the bus, you could feel your heart beating loudly. It had been ages since you had dated and gone on dates. Most of them would be dinner, or a coffee place, or a movie. But a garage? Never.

Niall was nowhere to be seen outside, so you went in, looking for him. Harry was sitting by the tiny reception they had, and vigorously scribbling something on a paper while his one hand was on his forehead. The computer in front of him was on, and you could see he had the brightness up too much, the light was shining on his face so prominently.

You decided to go to say hi.

You walked nervously to him, mentally preparing yourself to be scolded or cursed at by him. He was not in a good mood, and he would definitely not appreciate you troubling him, or you and NIall having a date here instead of working. You wondered if he told him that too.

You reached his table, and stood in front of him. He was still engrossed in his work.

“Hi” you murmured softly, and he shot his eyes up. His face was still the same: anger, frustration, grumpiness, that was always there.

“What?”

“Hi” you repeat yourself, but softly this time. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking at you up and down, and then got back to his paperwork.

“What?” he said a minute later.

“I-I just came by to say hi”

He looked up at you again, this time with more frustration.

“Hi. Are you done?”

Your lips frowned, and you quickly answered, “Yeah. Sorry for-for bothering you”

“You should be”

Turning around, you went back, and saw Niall sitting at a chair.

“Hey, I was waiting for you, it’s almost 5:25”

“Yeah-I-went in to say hi to Harry”

“You didn’t say hi to me” he smiled, and you walked over to him, sitting at the other chair he had placed nearby.

“You were nowhere to be seen, and-I thought he might know and-I now regret going in in the first place”

“That’s alright, I was just doing a coffee run. Fancy some?”

You smiled, “Yeah, sure”

He made you decaf, which you insisted on after telling him that you had to be up all night doing some work. He was quite cool, talking to you about your day, even letting you rant about your work and how life had been shit lately after you had moved out.

He was a good listener. But you wanted to get to know him too.

'So, what do you do for fun besides fixing cars?'

'Well, I love to play guitar and write songs and stuff,' Niall replied, a hint of shyness in his voice.

'Really? That's so cool! I've always wanted to learn how to play an instrument,' you exclaimed.

Niall smiled, 'I could teach you if you'd like. Maybe we could even write a song together.'

Your heart skipped a beat at his offer. You couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to him and how he didn’t judge you or immediately dislike you just because you talked more than him. He just sat there all cute, with a smile on his face listening to whatever you told him.

“You know, you're not like any other mechanic I've met. You're so kind and respectful. You really love what you do, don't you?” you asked, looking at him with admiration.

“I do. I've loved cars since I was a kid. It's my passion,” Niall replied with a smile.

It was refreshing to meet someone who truly loved their work.

As the sun began to set, you realized it was time to head home, Mia would be here to pick you up soon.

“I had an amazing time today, Niall. Thank you for everything,” you smiled up at him.

“It was my pleasure. I had a great time too,” Niall replied, his blue eyes sparkling.

As she rode the car home, you couldn't stop smiling. You had gone on a date in a garage, were picked up by your friend like it was a playdate, and still had one of the best dates in a while. He promised you a next one too, and you were looking forward to that.

. . .

(A week later)

Niall had called you, telling you your car was done. You were happy, but then Mia told you her roommate was going to be back today.

With a long face, you took a cab to the garage. You kept your checkbook,and also some spare change with you.

On the ride, your mind was a mess. You would have to move back in your car, but what if you asked Niall to let you live with him? He told you he had two roommates he lived with, and you just needed a week before your paycheck would come in, and you would pay back your previous landlord, move back into your old apartment.,

Fingers crossed, you were hoping he would say yes.

At the garage, you wrote the check waiting for one of them to come out, and when no one did, you went in to find Harry.

"I'm not having this fucking conversation. I came to you 6 months ago and settled it all, didn’t I? I did that so I don’t have to do this shit on the phone with you. You understand? You fucking moron-”

Harry stopped yelling as soon as he saw you, a shocked expression on your face at his words. Your body had gotten tense and scared, the way he just yelled, making you shiver.

“What?” he spat, still pent up and frustrated from his conversation on the phone.

You stammered, still shocked by his demeanor, “I-I, nothing” you said quickly, turning around and running away from him.

Niall caught you on your way out, just the man you were looking for.

“Hey, Niall! What’s up?” standing in front of him, you said in a high-pitched voice, and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“What’s up? Really?”

You slumped down, gulping down as you said, “Sorry. I-went inside to ask Harry where you were and he was all yelling and screaming and I-I got scared”

“Oh, he’s always like that on the phone. Don’t worry, you get used to it” he shrugged it off, but you were still pretty shaken. The way there was a nerve bulging on his forehead, his jaw clenching, the death grip he had on the phone…ooph.

“Anyways here’s my bill, and I was wondering if-you know, if you’re free, we could have dinner tomorrow”

His eyes lit up, taking the cheque from you,and he asked, “Oh yeah? What’s tomorrow”

“It’s-it’s thanksgiving” you said with a smile on your face, hoping he would say yes.

On the contrary, his smile disappeared as soon as you mentioned thanksgiving, and he put his hands on his waist.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Y/n, But-I have to go home tomorrow. Holiday with my family and all” he scratched his forehead, and the awkwardness began to grow.

“Oh-oh. It’s alright” you quickly brushed it off, not wanting to make him feel guilty for spending time with his family.

He took your hand in his, an apologetic look on his face, “I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am. I-it slipped off my mind completely. I have to book tickets now too. Or my mum will kill me” he chuckled,trying to lighten the mood, and you put a smile on your face.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Besides, you should go home once in a while. Don’t have to be stuck with that yelling boss all day”

“Yeah”

You both fell silent, and after a minute, he spoke up.

“So, do you need anything else?” he asked.

“No, no it’s fine. You go home”

He nodded, going to pick up his stuff and change his clothes.

“I’ll give this to Harry,” he said, mentioning the cheque. You nodded, and he left.

You sighed. Mia’s roommate was back, and you would have to move out tomorrow. Couldn’t she have just stayed there one more day?

You picked up your purse, and the car keys. If you had gone out with him tomorrow, you would’ve asked him to let you stay at his house for a week or so, after which you would get your salary, pay your landlord,, just so he would let you move in.

Now, it was all down the drain, and you were back to living in your car.

Walking to the car, you opened the driver’s seat, getting in. Your stuff was to be picked up from Mia’s, and then you would have to drive to a safe place to park your car.

Putting the keys in the ignition, you turned it, and your eyes went to the fuel indicator.

It was almost empty.

You got out of the car, hoping that Niall wouldn’t have left, so you could buy a bottle of fuel.

Sadly, he had.

His stuff was gone, and you would have to ask Harry. You didn’t even want to see him after the way he treated you before

You knocked on the tin nearby, getting his attention before you walked to his table. He looked up, and he seemed at ease. So much better than the angry bird he was before.

“What?”

“I wanted to buy a bottle of fuel.”

He sighed, closing the book he was writing on and got up. You followed him as he walked back to the shop, fetching a 3 liter bottle for you.

“This?”

“Yeah”

You paid him, taking it from him and keeping it beside you.. He didn’t seem to have any plans for thanksgiving, and you assumed his family didn’t live here. So, why wasn’t he going back home?

“So, you got any plans for thanksgiving?” you asked, and his face stiffened. He seemed angry, and you regretted asking him immediately.

“Why?” he asked with a stern voice.

“Coz-you don’t seem to have any plans for tomorrow, and-I think your family doesn’t live here, so why-”

“Just stop right there, okay?”

His voice was harsh, and he was ready to yell at you once again.

“Why do you have to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong? Huh? What I do-” he spat, taking a step towards you, pointing at himself, “-is none of your damn business. If I go, if I don’t, if I have a family, or I don’t-that is none of your fucking business, okay? So just take your broken car, and get the hell out of here”

You were shivering by now, heavy breaths falling in small puffs as you took a step back, your legs stiffened and shivering. It had been years since you had been yelled at like this by a man.

“I’m sorry,-” you mumbled, turning around and running back as fast as you could. Tears were falling out of your eyes, and you had to practically tell your legs to move as fast as they could. Once inside, you quickly turned the keys, turning on the ignition, and speeding away as fast as you could. To your best luck, it started raining.

The rain was pouring down relentlessly, and you could barely see through the windshield. But your mind was in a frenzy, replaying the scene over and over again. You couldn’t believe that he had yelled at you like that, and the harsh words he had said stung like a knife. Why did you even bother trying to talk to him? Why did you always have to interfere in other people’s lives? You knew it would only end up hurting you in the end.

Your heart was racing, and you could feel your chest tightening with every breath. As you drove, your mind kept going back to that moment when he had pointed at himself, telling you that his life was none of your business.

You knew that, you did very well. You thought maybe, just maybe, talking about his family would get him to be softer, sweeter, but you were wrong. He was always the pent-up asshole, and nothing was going to change him.

After a mile or two, the rain had started to slow down, and you saw where you were going. It seemed like a highway, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to get away from him.

You took a quick look at the fuel indicator, and that was when it all came crashing down once again.

The fuel had run out.

You had dropped the bottle beside you in the garage, and in his fit of rage, he didn’t even care that you left it there. You just ran to your car, not caring about the fuel and just drove off. Now, you would have to stay inside your car, in the middle of nowhere, and then call someone tomorrow morning.

You turned off the engine and leaned back into the seat, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn’t know what to do now. You were stranded, alone, and afraid.

You were so cold and wet, your teeth chattering as you huddled in the backseat. You locked all the doors and windows, hoping that would keep you safe. But deep down, you knew it probably wouldn’t.

Tears streamed down your face, and you curled up into a ball, trying to keep warm as you fell into a fitful sleep. The rain continued to pour outside, and you could feel yourself getting sicker by the minute. It was so so cold, the cool air blowing outside, and all you were wearing was one layer of thin clothes.

Meanwhile, Harry had finished his work and realized that you had left without taking the fuel. He grabbed his hair in frustration, angry at himself for letting you go like that. He knew he should have stopped you, but his emotions had gotten the best of him.

He couldn’t believe how out of control he had become. He had never acted like that before, and he knew he needed to find you and make things right. He quickly grabbed his keys and headed out in search of you. He didn’t know where you could have gone, but he was determined to find you. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you because of his actions.

It was about an hour later when you heard a knock on the window. You jumped, your heart racing as you saw Harry’s face peering in. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I-I ran out of fuel,” you stammered, wiping away your tears. Harry’s expression softened, and you quickly unlocked the door. Hehelped you out of the car. “You’re freezing,” he said, wrapping his jacket around you. “Come on, let’s get you inside and warmed up.” He led you to his car and drove you to his home. You didn’t even have the energy to protest or ask questions. You just wanted to be warm and safe.

As you sat in front of the fireplace, Harry made you some hot tea and brought you a blanket. He sat next to you, looking at you with a mix of anger and guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “I should have known better than to let you leave in that state. I’m such an idiot. I-I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I’m sorry”

“No, it’s not your fault,” you said, your voice weak. “I should have been more careful.” Harry shook his head. “I’m the one who fixed your car. I should have checked everything before letting you go.” The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the crackling of the fire.

“You can stay here for the night,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll take care of the car tomorrow and make sure it’s all fixed up. You can have it back then. This time, I’ll fill up the fuel tank too.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Harry gave you a small smile before getting up and heading to the kitchen. You couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago, you were so afraid of him, and now he was taking care of you in his own home. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all just a dream.

But, Harry’s thoughts were far from a dream. He couldn’t stop staring at your peaceful face, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. All the events of the day ran through his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he had made the right decision in bringing you here.

He noticed a single strand of hair resting on your cheek, and he couldn’t resist the urge to brush it away. He reached out and gently slid it off your face, careful not to wake you. But as his fingers grazed your skin, he felt a spark of electricity. He knew it was wrong, you and Niall had a thing going on, and it would be disrespectful of him to even think about you in that way. But as he looked at you, he couldn’t deny the feelings that were bubbling up inside of him. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling guilty for his actions. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

But you were fast asleep, and didn’t hear his words. And he definitely didn’t feel wrong for what he did.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! you can tip me here

please like, comment or reblog if you like this, i really appreciate every note 🥺🥺

taglist: @freedomfireflies@gurugirl@thechaoticjoy@styleslover-1994@gem1712@ellaorchard@bxbyysstuff@opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@drewrry@babyiamperfectforyou@me-undiscovered @tbsloneely@whoreonmondays@kathb59@avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge@mypolicemanharryyy@theendx888 @ladscarlett @whotfisade @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @hisparentsgallerryy @storyschanging @selluequestrian @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran

mechanic!harry taglist: @mema10

193 notes · View notes