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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

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Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up.

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?"

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows.

"Use your words," he demanded.

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes.

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut #olderbf!mike

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golden-cherry · 5 months

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deal - cl16 (19/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's so much going on in Charles' brain, but having to come clean with his feelings is the hardest.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of fingering, masturbating), angst, swear words, Lando being a little shit

Word Count: 3.4k

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A/N: sorry. and happy season finale. let’s hope for a better 2024.

Charles has never been so happy about a pot of plants.

After you slammed the door in his face, he barely made it to the street before throwing up in the nearest plant pot. His fingers clawed around the hard ceramic edges as his body struggled against the nasty words he spat at you.

He doesn't even know why he was so mean to you.

Was it because you had a wonderful evening last night? Because you two got so close that you both almost kissed? Because you fell asleep next to each other and he slept incredibly well? Or because Lando texted him in the middle of the night and asked what your favorite food was so that he could do everything right on your date?

Maybe he does know why he was so mean to you.

"Charles? Concentrate, please," he is snapped out of his thoughts and Charles sits up a little straighter in his chair. He can feel something crack in his spine.

The meeting has been going on for hours. So long, in fact, that the private chefs in Maranello have already had to bring food to the room four times, with the last meal being dinner. Charles has eaten so much pasta and bruschetta that he feels sick just looking at the leftovers on the table in front of him. And the water with the slice of lemon in the glass in front of him no longer tastes very refreshing.

No matter what he eats or drinks, he can't get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth.

He wonders if your "I hate you" is as heavy on your stomach as the nasty words are on his. He would love to take back everything he spat in your face. Turn back time and undo everything. But he can't do that. Unfortunately.

He'd love to bang his head on the tabletop.

In fact, he can barely remember what he said. It's as if his brain short circuited, has had some kind of blackout, or as if a bomb has gone off and wiped everything out. Which doesn't excuse any of it. But from your hurt look, the tears in your eyes and your venomous response, it was so unacceptable that he'd like to slap himself for it.

It wasn't the first time Lando had asked Charles for dating help and they are actually such good friends that Charles has always been happy to help him. But the fact that the Brit asked for help so that he could take you out nicely - that doesn't sit right with him. Which is complete nonsense, because he has no reason to. He has no claim of ownership over you. And besides, he didn't want to kiss you in the bookstore.

Although that's not entirely true either.

He did want to kiss you. Desperately. And you'd been so close all day, you'd shown him your favorite place and everything had pointed to you wanting to make the move to something more - and then you gave him that look when he asked you for a dance. And he can understand why you didn't want to. After all, it's your place, your favorite place, and never would Charles do anything to tarnish that place in any way. Create a memory that you would later regret.

The Petit Mondes is your safe haven. And as much as Charles wants you - and he definitely does - he wouldn't cross that line.

Since you've known each other, Charles has had to fight every waking - and to be honest, every sleeping - moment not to jump you. He can't stop thinking about you standing in front of him half-naked in a towel. Or how you turned around just a few steps away from him before dinner with his friends to show him your outfit. How you slept next to him and dreamt - dreamt of him. A moment he will never forget.

Although he is actually a late riser, Charles woke up early that morning. Not because he had slept in, but because he was warm. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't because of the comforter or the heating, but because you were lying half on top of him. Your head was resting against his shirt-clad chest, one of your legs was draped over his hip, while your arm was wrapped around his middle.

At first, he didn't understand what was going on at all. He wanted to lift his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes, but he was met with resistance in the form of a lightly clad, sleeping beauty. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand was a little too high on your ribs to pass for being friendly, and by God - he hadn't felt this comfortable in ages.

Feeling your closeness had triggered something in him that confused him, but at the same time made him incredibly relaxed. He had pulled you closer to him, pressed you against him and enjoyed your warmth. For a moment, he had even considered whether he should just pull you all over him so that he could be as close to you as possible.

Before he could think about how wrong that would be and how many boundaries he would be crossing, you had turned in his arms so that your back was against his chest. Your body molded perfectly against his, your warmth engulfing him, but nothing could have prepared him for the fact that you were going to move your butt a little in his direction, right up against his crotch.

Charles had been awake in a flash and while you continued to sleep soundly, all the blood from his brain had rushed to his dick. Embarrassed, he'd squinted and focused on something else - Ferrari strategies, Joris last Christmas with the Leclercs, anything - and had scooted back a few inches to stick his hand down his pants so he could fix his raging boner.

But alas, you'd followed him like a magnet, squirming against him like you knew exactly what you were doing, so that his cock was wedged between your ass cheeks. Your body had been so warm, so soft against his hard one, that he had to stifle a moan.

Something you hadn't been able to do. If you hadn't been so close to him, he would have missed your soft gasp of his name. That's when he blew a fuse.

He would have loved to wake you up with kisses along your neck, let his fingers wander slowly over your skin until they finally disappeared into your panties. He would have let them glide through your folds and collect your wetness before gently rubbing your bundle of nerves. You would have turned to him and moaned into his mouth as he slid one of his fingers into your tight walls.

He'd never escaped his bedroom so quickly and quietly and jumped into the freezing cold shower.

The water felt like fine pinpricks as it splashed down on his burning hot skin, but no matter how cold he turned it on - his cock stood angry and proud. He put his head back in despair, his brain vehemently refusing to see his friend in this light, to desire you like this. But before he could do anything about it, his fingers had wrapped themselves around his aching cock. His imagination ran away with him, too many images popped up in his mind's eye as he squeezed it twice in the hope of relieving some tension. But the only thing it triggered was the feeling of a moment ago, when his cock was against your ass.

He was almost ashamed of how quickly he came.

He just hoped you didn't notice when he came back into the bedroom and woke you up with it. He had thought about lying back next to you, but had decided on the foot of the bed to create some distance.

The fact that you were dreaming about him threw him off course. And he'd really wanted to kiss you - by God, he'd wanted to do even kinkier things to you - but the timing never seemed right.

And then Lando's message came.

The vibration in his pocket brings him back to the present. Charles takes a quick look around to make sure he's not the center of the conversation, then glances at his phone.

Lando: You need to come home now.

He looks at the screen, confused. Why the hell is Lando texting him? Lando of all people? Did you tell him all the things Charles threw at you? How badly he treated you?

Charles: I'm in Maranello.

If you really did confide in Lando, his answer sounds pathetic. Why else would Lando text him? His friend certainly knows that Charles screwed up. And also that you want to move out of the apartment. But does the Brit really believe that Charles could change your mind when he's the reason you're moving out?

Lando's answer comes immediately.

Lando: I don't care. Get your ass over here.

The Monegasque turns on the keypad lock on his cell phone and places it on the table in front of him. It wouldn't make any difference if he went home now and tried to change your mind. What could happen is that his presence would only strengthen your decision to move out. Besides, he doesn't know how he's ever going to face you again.

Before he can think about it, his cell phone starts ringing. The eyes of his co-workers land on him and he apologizes with a quiet "mi dispiace" before leaving the meeting, phone in hand. Out in the corridor, he doesn't even need to look at the screen to know who is calling.

"If you don't go back to Monaco immediately, I'll come to Italy myself to get you," Lando snaps at him and Charles has to hold the receiver away from his ear to stop his eardrums from bursting.

"Hi, Lando."

"Don't give me 'Hi, Lando'. Get your fucking ass over here."

Charles rubs his forehead before running his whole hand over his face. "I can't just leave here."

"Don't talk shit like that. We both know you're not up for the meeting," the Brit replies bitchily. "Don't act like you don't have a choice."

The Monegasque rolls his eyes. "What do you want to hear from me now, Lando?"

The answer comes like a shot from a gun. "I want to know what you've been up to! Are you completely stupid?"

Charles would like to know the answer too.

"You go home right now, explain your shitty behaviour and apologize."

"And you're interfering because...?" His tone is cold.

"Because I was in your apartment all evening and had to watch how devastated Y/N was. I'd love to kill you for it."

"Go ahead and do it. She sure as hell wouldn't mind."

He swears he hears Lando take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

"I'm going to tell you this once. Just once, Charles. And I'm saying this for her sake, because I still have hope that you're the person I was praising to her."

Praising? If you've told Lando everything, then you've certainly told Charles everything about the Brit. That he just wants to get you into bed. So why would Lando want to help him?

"What you did was absolute bullshit, Charles. Totally below the belt and you've never acted as fucking shit as you just did."

Charles rolls his eyes. "Is there anything positive coming?"

"Shut up, you idiot. I don't know what you've done in the few days you've known each other to make her so crazy about you, but I don't have to. Any blind man can see there's something between you. Something good. So go home now and save what can be saved before she really decides to leave the country."

Charles, who had just been leaning against the wall, stands up straight. "The country? I thought she just wanted to move out."

"She's been thinking about it, asshole. United States, Australia. Something really far away from you."

"But she has her job here, at that one magazine. There's no way she'd leave like that."

"She got fired, motherfucker. Before you made your weird deal. Nothing's keeping her here anymore. So get your ass over here now before she really decides to take off."

How could Charles be so blind? He knows the magazine, his mom reads it occasionally and he actually knows that a new issue comes out every week. You've known each other for five days - five days that you've spent entirely with him. Something that would definitely not be possible with such a full-time job.

"And what do you want from me now? That I drop everything to go home even though she doesn't want to see me?"

"I've never seen anyone as stupid as you."

"Can you stop with the insults?" Charles snaps through the phone.

"You have nothing to say to me, you arsehole. She told me what you said about me. You owe it to us to go off and try to make things right."

Charles can't help but laugh. "Us? So you two are already an us?" He doesn't know why he's talking to one of his closest friends like this. Especially when the latter only wants to help put things right that Charles has messed up. The Monegasque has no reason to be angry. But the disgusting taste in his mouth, which he hasn't been able to get rid of for hours, is not anger. Unfortunately, he only realizes it now.

He's fucking jealous. And he can't do anything about it.

"We're friends, but apparently you don't know what the word stands for," Lando replies snippily. "Go home, explain to her why you behaved so badly and apologize to her." His voice softens, warmer than it has been throughout the phone call. "Charles, I know you're being careful because you're afraid of getting hurt again. And I can understand that, I really can." He takes a deep breath. "But it's Y/N we're talking about here. Sit down and talk to each other, be honest, and then it'll all work out."

Charles' gaze wanders to the huge Ferrari logo hanging on the wall next to him and his bad guilt returns. You don't even know who he is. To you, he's Charles, the roommate who shows you beautiful places, introduces you to his friends and with whom you share a bed. You are the only person who knows him as Charles and not as Charles Leclerc.

What would you think of him if the cat was out of the bag? When you see who he really is, including the spotlight? What happens if you like Charles, but not Charles Leclerc? He doesn't know if he could handle it. His job is his life, he's on the road all year round and what little time he has he has to divide between friends and family.

That's why his relationship with Annika failed. She was right about what she threw at him. That you always have to wait for him and that it's not fair. And she knew what she was getting into from the start. But you don't. You would be thrown in at the deep end if you decided to go for it. If you chose him.

"I don't think it's that easy," Charles says quietly, and he has to suppress the tremor in his voice. "She - she doesn't deserve this life. This risk. She - she," he takes a deep breath and has to wipe away the tear running down his cheek. "She's too good for me. She deserves someone great."

"How strange," Lando replies. "That's exactly what she says about you. So get in the car and apologize. I'm sure you'll be able to sort it out. And if you say shit like that about me again, I'll drive you into the wall in Bahrain next year."

Charles curls his mouth into a thin smile. "I'm truly sorry, Lando. And thank you for everything."

"I'm just absolutely the best." Charles can almost hear his grin before the Brit hangs up.

When the Monegasque re-enters the meeting room, all eyes are on him. With deliberate steps, he walks to his chair and grabs his jacket before looking at his team boss. "I'm going home."

His boss crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You can't just leave like that, Charles. We need to talk about next season and everything that's gone wrong this year."

"I can tell you exactly what happened," the brunette replies as he zips up his jacket. "The strategies this year were all for the trash, you screwed me over and you cost me the title." He grabs his wallet and car keys from the table in front of him. "Make sure things go better next year. After all, it doesn't get any shittier than this. See you next year. Have a good holiday."

He knows that his Ferrari can drive fast. And he also knows that he shouldn't drive that fast. But the roads home are empty and he wants to get to you as quickly as possible, in the hope that you haven't left the apartment yet. The accelerator pedal is almost stuck to the floor and he would certainly have to pay a heavy fine if the police caught him speeding. But apparently luck is on his side and it takes him just over three hours to turn onto the streets of Monaco.

The closer he gets to your apartment, the faster his heart beats and he can feel himself starting to sweat. What's the best way to start the apology?

I'm sorry I was so shitty to you, but it was because -

I behaved like crap, but it was only because -

I'm sorry I was such a bad friend, but you should have -

Wow. It actually all sounds like shit.

Maybe Lando is right. Maybe the most reasonable thing would be for Charles to just be honest, even if it means destroying everything between you. But you deserve the truth.

I'm sorry I said those bad things to you and I'm sorry I hurt you. Of course, apologizing can't undo any of it, but if you gave me the chance, I could explain myself to you. I was jealous because we had such a nice evening and then I find out you planned a date with one of my friends. I wanted to kiss you in the bookstore, I've wanted you ever since we met. You've been messing with my head from the beginning, taking over my heart and I can't think straight when you're with me. Maybe it's crazy because we've only known each other for five days, but I've never felt about someone the way I feel about you. I'm in lo-

His train of thought stops abruptly as he turns into the street. A green Nissan is parked on the sidewalk in front of your apartment, the driver's door is open and the hazard lights illuminate the walls of the house.

Charles worriedly parks at the next opportunity before jumping out of the car and dashing to the front door, which is wide open. He can already hear angry voices from outside, a male voice that almost shouts the whole house awake.

And your voice, angry and rough and shaky, as if you were at the end of your tether.

Charles sprints up the few steps to your apartment and stops like a flash on the top step when he sees you. You're wearing your pyjamas, your hair is disheveled, as if you've run your hand through it several times, and when you see him, you snap your eyes open as if you've seen a ghost.

But it's not the sight of you that makes Charles' blood boil.

It's Raphael's, who follows your gaze and takes a step back when he realizes who he's facing. "Your roommate is Charles Leclerc?"

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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starsxblazing · 2 months

Text

Die Of A Broken Heart

Ask and you shall receive. Here is some pure heartbreaking angst to feed us masochists.

Summary: Azriel goes on a mission that should have been simple only for it to end in one of the worst ways possible.

Azriel x Reader

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You just got back last night and you’re exhausted.”

You watched your husband as he continued to get ready for his mission. It wasn’t really a mission at all unless one thought of the Hewn City that way. There were many that would call it such but to each their own. Azriel stopped his task of lacing his buckles together to give you a smile but when that didn’t seem to satisfy you, he pulled you into his arms in a tight embrace.

“As soon as Cassian and I return, you will have me all to yourself,” he assured gently, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Try not to worry so much, love.”

You both admired and hated his work ethic. He was so loving, loyal, and devoted that he spread himself so thin but he was slowly making progress. Very, very slow progress but progress, nonetheless. The two of you had only been married for a few decades and it was as blissful as it could possibly be.

There had been an internal war within you when he had first started courting you. It was no secret that he wanted a mate, that all of the males wanted a mate. You had been hesitant in giving your heart to him because you knew that he had someone wonderful out there that the Mother had made just for him.

What you hadn’t expected was a one sided mating bond. You had known since the night of your wedding but hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell him. Azriel was always so loving and devoted to you that you didn’t have to question him. He assured you more times than you could count that even if his mate did miraculously appear, that he would still choose you. Since you knew that he was your mate, all of those worries had left your mind.

“But you still have to train your new spy for Spring Court,” you huffed, earning a quiet chuckle from him as he continued preparing.

“I have already told Rhys that it will have to wait.” He shot you a playful grin. “You are my priority. The female will still be there in another two weeks.”

“You, the amazing spymaster, are going to take an entire two weeks off?” you asked skeptically. “You are going to go insane with that much time off of work.”

“Actually,” he began, his voice dropping into that delicious seductiveness while he pushed you back into the wall. “I had every intention of keeping myself occupied in much more pleasurable ways.”

The hard length of him pressed into you, earning him a playful giggle. He simply pulled you into a deep kiss that left you both breathless only to do it again before he finally left with one last ‘I love you.’ You always hated to watch him go but knowing that he would be back later that night made it better. It also helped that you had a day planned with Nesta at the bookstore.

“Did Cassian let anything slip about what they’re supposed to be doing?” you asked the female as you walked down the street.

“He was able to withstand my questioning, surprisingly,” Nesta huffed. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“Probably not,” you agreed.

You simply followed your friend throughout the stores, grabbing a few items for yourself before making your way to a nearby cafe. Nesta was relentless in getting you back into training so to appease her, you agreed. It was mostly because you missed the three females that you had made friends with but also because it would keep your mind busy once Azriel left again to train his new spy.

It was hours past time when your husband had promised that he would be home and it had you pacing a hole in the floor of your sitting room. This was the absolute worst part of being committed to someone with such an important job. Each time he was away from you, you prayed for his safety. That was exactly why you fell into a panicked frenzy when Rhys entered your mind to let you know that you were needed at Madja’s.

“What happened?” you demanded breathlessly, bursting into one of the healing rooms only to see a grumbling Azriel sitting up in the bed and holding his head.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Cassian waved it off dismissively despite the serious worry in his eyes. “He just took a hit to the head.”

“The culprit will have a fitting punishment,” Rhys assured when you went to open your mouth. “Take him home and watch over him.”

And so you did. It didn’t help that your husband was grumpier than usual, fussing and ensuring you that he could take care of himself. You weren’t convinced due to his slight stumble and how he continued to hold his bandage wrapped head. He all but fell face first into the bed and there was no way that you could leave him alone.

You awoke the next morning only to find Azriel’s side of the bed cold. It caused a deep frown to form on your face because he should be there. He was injured on top of promising to stay home. The very least that you had expected was for him to still be cuddled up to you since the sun could barely be seen in the sky. Even after searching the entire house, he was nowhere to be seen and not even his scent lingered in the air.

In a sigh of defeat, you made your way to the House of Wind in hopes to find some answers. It was also empty up until you made it up to the training ring. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were already there and beginning their warmups for the session.

“Finally come back to join us?” Cassian asked in a teasing voice but his eyes were wary.

“I was actually hoping to find my husband.” You almost tripped over the last word, almost revealing the secret that nobody else knew. “He promised that he would be home for the next two weeks.”

“He said something came up and training that new female was extremely important.”

You eyed Cassian skeptically, noting that the general appeared uneasy with the topic of conversation. Something wasn’t right and your hand instinctively rubbed against your heart as if the bond was trying to tell you something. It was always there, always lingering and glowing brightly within you but it was dim today. Nesta, who seemed extremely in tune with you, pulled you into the ring with them, insisting that training would help but that dim light wouldn’t change your worry. There was something wrong if the strange new tug was any indication of it.

With nothing better to do, you relented and after warmups, you had a sword in hand. All three females had been training hard and it was a task to keep up with the high spirited Gwyn. You had always loved the priestess and the upbeat, determined energy that always buzzed around her.

You felt it just as soon as you blocked Gwyn’s attack. There was pain that tugged at your heart that caused you to stumble, earning a nice cut on your arm as you hit your knees. You were certain that a scream of pain, one that didn’t come from the new physical injury, left you but you were unaware of anything but the pain in your chest. It was sharp, as if a thousand daggers were piercing you all at once.

A blinding heat then enveloped that same pain that had your head swimming. The bond that was there slowly dimmed further and you could almost see it. You could almost see the cord rip and shred, the feeling going straight into your chest. The burning paired with the sharpness continued until you could feel it through every fibre of your being where it settled into your very soul. It raged with an intensity that you knew had never been experienced by the world before.

Your heart stopped just as the last pieces of the bond shredded and broke before the blissful darkness took you.

Even in unconsciousness the pain didn’t stop. It felt like being tied to a spit and being turned over an open, blazing fire. The extreme heat didn’t stop and even after your mind began to clear, you were unable to open your eyes. It felt like you were dying from the inside out but muffled voices hit your ears, thankfully giving you something else to focus on.

“So you are telling me that your new spy is your mate?”

Rhys. That voice that was unmistakable and laced with frustration.

“It just happened, Rhys.”

Your husband. The one that was your mate that somehow had another mate. You searched inside of you and all that was left of the one sided bond were shredding sharp threads blowing in an openness of an unfamiliar void. Your mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. You couldn’t understand.

“What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Those three whispered words felt like another knife to the heart, continuing to slice into your already shredded soul.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You have a wife that loves you! A wife that you have been happily in love with for decades!”

The quiet words of the High Lord were nearly a growl, obviously angry with his spymaster.

“She’s my mate, Rhys!”

Your husband was attempting to defend himself as if the mating bond had finally taken over him completely.

“You just met this female. She is supposed to be your apprentice. Your student. Nothing more.”

Azriel truly had left you, while he was injured, only to find his mate. You wanted to cry but the pain, the heat, kept you from doing anything.

“Well that’s not what happened.”

“What is more, your wife fell in training and has been unconscious for days while in a pain that none of us can figure out while you have refused to come back because you have been with your mate!”

It was all that you needed to hear. Your worst fears that had been present before the bond had happened. He had been spending time with his mate all while you had been unconscious and in immense pain and hadn’t bothered to answer his High Lord’s attempts to reach him. You must have finally been able to move because you heard quick footsteps just before a familiar set of hands were wrapped around yours.

“Y/n.” Azriel’s pleading voice barely registered in your mind. “Please look at me.”

It felt wrong to do so but you did. You loved him with all that you were and it was now your downfall. There was such worry on his face and his eyes went wide at whatever he found or didn’t find on your face. Even through the blazing haze, you barely registered the deep concern and made you wondered why he cared all of a sudden.

“Are you alright?” It was Rhysand’s voice this time as he pushed the shadowsinger away from you. “How can I help?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rasped, your throat raw as if you had been screaming.

“You have been screaming,” Rhys confirmed in a gentle but quiet voice. “Let me help you.”

A growl came from behind you but you focused on those violet eyes that made you feel just the tiniest bit better.

“I just need my bed and some time.”

He nodded, seemingly determined to give you whatever you wanted.

It took two weeks for you to pull yourself together enough to present yourself somewhat normally. Azriel had stayed with you for a week before leaving for his next mission, leaving you at the House with Nesta and Cassian. You knew that it wasn’t a mission. They didn’t know that you had overheard the conversation and knew that your husband had a mate that wasn’t you.

By the time that the third week had passed, Azriel came into your room and watched you cautiously. It had taken you that long since the bond broke to act like your normal self but the pain, the burning of your soul never stopped. The broken threads cut into you over and over with no way to stop it. You were sure that you were going mad and you only allowed yourself to succumb to it whenever you knew that you would be alone for a while.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He sat on the edge of the bed but didn’t move closer. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” you asked as casually as you could even though a piece of you knew what was coming.

“I found my mate,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

This time it came out as a broken whisper, your fear only fueling the flame inside of you. Your heart picked up a rapid pace in your chest and you were sure that it was going to explode if it didn’t stop.

“I need-” He swallowed hard, his eyes lining with tears. “I need to at least get to know her.”

“You promised me, Azriel,” you croaked. “Please.”

“Just give me three weeks, y/n. Please.”

“Az…” Your voice trailed off and you realized that there was no point in arguing. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Despite his voice sounding thick and desperate, he simply brushed a light kiss against your lips. Your heart continued to race in panic and that pain raged blindingly until it was dark once again.

Azriel felt horrible for leaving you because he had promised you for decades that he would never leave you. He promised that he would love you and only you for the rest of eternity and even though that would always be true, he had to be sure. No sooner than he was in the sky after leaping off of the balcony on the House of Wind, a pair of hands were around him and he was suddenly in his dungeon.

“What the hell, Rhysand?” he growled, frustrated and annoyed and Cassian and the two fae in the chairs barely caught his eye.

“I came back here with Cassian to continue the work that you should have done after being attacked and learned a great deal of information.”

“Like what?” he snapped, his feet shifting while he debated on winnowing away.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” the High Lord growled. “As it turns out, that blast of power that sent you flying into the wall and causing your concussion cursed you.”

That caused him a pause and he eyed the two males that he had met with.

“Your ‘mating bond’ is fake.”

“But-”

“Tell him,” Rhysand ordered the males, refusing to let him speak.

“The female- your wife- is your mate,” one bit out. “You are holding us back in this horrid place so we cursed you to be chained to another female so that you would move courts.”

Because he would. If his mate didn’t want to live in Night Court, he would follow her. He looked between his brothers who didn’t appear to have the first bit of sympathy for him. Rhysand obviously knew that he had just left you for his mate and didn’t care about his wishes any longer.

In his desperation to get back to you, to right his wrong and beg for your forgiveness, he began his methods. It didn’t take much to get them to break and the curse cured. In an instant, he no longer felt that fake mating bond but when he looked to his High Lord, he was pale and frozen in place.

“Let’s go.”

Rhysand grabbed both him and Cassian, winnowing them back into the House. They sprinted towards your room only to find Madja hovering over you, her face pale and grave when she looked at them.

“What’s happening?” he asked in a panic, running to your side and pulling your freezing cold hand into his.

“She’s dying.” Madja’s voice was just as grave as her face. “Her body is shutting down.”

“Y/n!” Azriel yelled, shaking you as much as he dared to try to get you to open your eyes.

Madja’s hand was over your heart, looking as if she was focusing extra hard on it.

“Her heart is beating too fast,” the female murmured. “I have no way to slow it.”

Panic overtook him entirely and he continued to shake you in desperation. Your lips had turned blue and there was no color to your face even though your chest rose and fell in an unhealthy rhythm. Finally, finally, you opened your eyes. There was no life there and the quick flicker of recognition was all that it took. A dim light simmered within him, a light wrapped around a simple thread that should have been tied to you.

He followed it to the end only to find an endless void. That quick flicker of remembering him only lasted a second before your eyes closed again.

Just as you closed your eyes and your chest came to a stop, the thin thread within him shredded apart.

He thought he heard himself scream, a scream of desperation and pain, as he felt like he had been set on fire. It was a heat that far surpassed the flames that had ruined the hands that you loved so much and he didn’t know if he could handle it. His wife, his mate, his true mate was gone and left shattered threads blowing in a new void in its wake. He couldn’t breathe as it felt like his heart was being shredded into pieces and it picked up its pace in his chest. It felt like he was about to implode.

And as the darkness pulled him closer, he realized what had been your fate and what would now be his. He realized what it was like to die of a broken heart.

Tag List:

@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain @nighttimemoonlover

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

Text

your heart, a sonnet

Author!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you discover there’s more to your boyfriend than you realize

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, surprise hidden identity reveal, grumpy but soft!Joel who has a secret love language of writing and love letters, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s), light discussion of reader and Joel’s insecurities, reader is addressed as darlin/honey/baby, a few spicy moments where Joel gets handsy

word count: 5.3k

a/n: I know, I know… this doesn’t seem like the typical Joel fic but i blame Pedro’s look at the Hollywood star walk of fame ceremony because it immediately made me think ‘oh that’s Joel’ and now here we are lol I couldn’t have done this without my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you and i can’t thank her enough along with @ahauntedcowboy for always letting me scream about all my wild ideas, and now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You first met Joel at a bookstore.

The weekend after your birthday you went in to treat yourself and wandered into the records section of the store. As you flipped through the selections, the sudden sight of a Fleetwood Mac album had you inhaling sharply in surprise.

“S’good one.” That’s when the sudden smooth drawl of a southern accent floated out to you.

A few steps beside you stood an absolutely gorgeous man. The evergreen plaid button up shirt he wore flattered him as if it was made to be only worn by him. Rugged and distinguished, he seemed like a romance hero plucked straight out from one of the books among the shelves. You even blinked a few times wondering if he was real.

“If you don’t take it, might have to fight ya for it.” Even with his gruff low voice, an underlying teasing nature radiated friendly and light.

Now, many months later, a piece of you believes you might have fallen for him right then and there.

Joel is a rare beautiful soul of a man. He’s strong and a bit rough around the edges. He used to work as a contractor, even managed to build a very reputable business with his brother. His hard work remains effortlessly etched into his hands that now type editing books, his current job. He’s kind, so deeply loyal and loves fiercely.

With a yawn, you slip out of bed to pull on his cozy Texas longhorn shirt.

Heading downstairs, you walk among the clouds.

Instead of working at his office desk, Joel sits at the dining table typing away. Just seeing him wear his reading glasses sends a delicious desire trickling through you like a soft rain.

His dark earth eyes flicker up over the edge of his laptop and his gaze softens.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna wake up.” His wonderfully smooth as molasses voice makes you want to get caught up in its sticky sweetness.

“It’s not even that late. You’re one who woke up wanting to get work done on a Saturday.” You scoff playfully yet press your lips to his, a soft good morning greeting.

“Besides…who’s the reason I slept in so soundly, hm?” You smile against Joel’s lips that now twitch with a smirk.

His large warm hand slowly creeps up against your bare leg and rubs soft against your skin. After a few sleepy kisses, Joel’s tongue smoothly slips into your mouth trying to now consume you with a syrupy heat.

Joel pulls you down onto his lap. Your hands run up his chest to his cherub curly gray hair. His lips leave yours to start nipping at your jaw.

“What happened to working, cowboy?” You sigh softly.

“Come keep me company, darlin’.” He breathes out and any hope of maybe making breakfast is happily forgotten.

The rest of the morning unfolds at a nebulous pace you bask in.

When a late brunch is finished and you start cleaning up the kitchen, Joel’s warm solid hands map out your hips with other plans in mind. He slides behind you, a towering comfort that you lean back against.

“You’re extra handsy today Mr. Miller.” You tease.

“I can stop?” Joel offers while his scruffy beard scrapes a path against your skin. Against you, his broad shoulders, his wonderfully built frame, wraps you in his protective cover.

You hum a content no and move your hands over his now.

“Just wanna enjoy being with ya before I get busy.” Joel mutters while his hand slides down your cozy lounge shorts.

You had forgotten about his upcoming work plans.

You already want to mourn the impending weekend without him, but that can wait for another day. Especially when his thick fingers delicately, so sinfully, run up and down your underwear playfully touching you.

But then that weekend arrives and it brings a hollowness.

Lounging on the couch back at the apartment you share with your best friend, you force yourself not to text Joel again. He’s busy and you know this. So you vow to hold all your yearning and longing chained inside like a Jane Austen heroine.

“Are you done sulking?” Your best friend teases from the kitchen and you glare at her from the couch.

“I get it, being awake from your hunky handsome older boyfriend is hard. What will you ever do?” She snickers playfully. You’re tempted to throw the nearby couch pillows at her.

“What did you say his job was?” She asks.

“He used to be a contractor, but now he’s a book editor.” You answer.

“A hardworking hot Texas cowboy who reads and is a good man? Yeah, keep him locked up.” Your best snorts and you understand exactly what she means.

Fanged temptation claws at you more to text him again. Joel promised he would call you tonight and you don’t doubt him. But you didn’t realize how badly you’d missed him.

“Alright,” your best friend declares. “No more moping! I’m dragging you out with me to that book signing I’ve been talking about.”

She’s been obsessed with this apocalyptic novel series for so long. You happily tag along and even perk up when you see how excited she gets.

“And the author is finally doing a book tour! He’s kept his identity hidden this entire time so I wanna get a chance to maybe just even see him!” Your best friend gushes the entire time she drives you both to the bookstore the signing would be held.

Just so happens it’s the same bookstore where you first met Joel. A deep surge of affection swallows you whole and you float on blissful lovesick nostalgia.

Then the impressive line already waiting outside the front doors stuns you.

“I told you! It’s a big deal! Plus the series is so good.” Your best friend exclaims. She has been trying to get you into the series for a while.

The core of it focuses on two young girls who manage to survive an apocalyptic fungal zombie outbreak. The series follows the girls growing up, the journey to live with each other, and how it slowly bonds them as sisters.

“I heard they’re trying to make a Netflix series on it.” Your friend adds hopeful.

You can’t help but snag your best friend’s book copy she also hopes will get signed. Flipping through the front pages you land to the dedication page.

“To my baby girls, this will always be for you two.”

The author must have based the series on their daughters. That’s adorable.

Now curious, you flip to the first chapter.

“After seeing the end of the world, after witnessing the carnage of life consume itself, Ellie thinks she’s seen it all.”

Your best friend's sudden excited laugh pulls you out of the book. She’s talking with the other fans in line and you decide to join in.

Everyone discusses how worth the wait will be and how most of them even purchased the newest released book to make sure they reserved a slot for the signing.

“So why’s the author finally doing a face reveal?” You ask quietly not wanting to seem too out of place.

“So apparently,” your best friend begins in her hush about to spill the good gossip voice. “Some random ass moron on Twitter came out and said they were the true author. It became a whole messy issue of who it really was.”

Your best friend goes into more detail about how even a couple of online sites had articles on it.

“That’s awful.” You sympathize with the author. It must’ve been a headache trying to enjoy the peace of anonymity only for it becoming something used against them. You can only imagine how heartbreaking it was to see others steal and take credit for your work.

Like a surprise strike of lightning, an electric excitement suddenly breaks through the air.

Glancing up, you watch the line rapidly move towards the front doors. Time to go in.

Unfortunately, the main seating for the reading and q&a fills up fast. The bookstore though manages to wrangle the remainder of the crowd that can fit on the first floor towards a section where they can watch. It’s more than enough for your best friend who’s about to burst with anticipation. The buoyant commotion in the room even pulls you into its current and you get excited to see the new surprise author.

Soon a chic handsome older looking man, the moderator of the event, scurries to the front of the gathered group.

Warmly he begins the introduction to the writer.

First, writing sweet children’s books, stories for his daughters, those works became the author’s first publications. After that he navigated apocalyptic writing and his hit series has earned critical acclaim.

“Simply known as the anonymous writer J Miller. I’ve had the greatest pleasure to know this man as both his friend and now agent and I’m beyond proud to introduce him to you. Everyone please help me in welcoming J Miller!”

The thunderous applause and screams of excitement galvanize the entire room.

Then Joel walks out from the side.

Your heart instantly leaves your body.

For a moment you think your lovesick yearning heart has you slightly projecting Joel in any man you might see.

But the minute you focus, truly watch him slide into the chair, you see him.

Soft gray grown out curls, a strong beautiful nose, the patchy beard with the spots you love to kiss, and his reading glasses - the ones he’s so self conscious about because of how they make him look “so good damn old,” yet you love how they distinguish and elevate his appearance. You even remember the first time Joel wore them while he read waiting for you.

Truth makes its way into your heart.

It’s Joel.

The famous mystery author is your Joel.

“Thanks Frank.” And when he takes the mic, thanking his agent, his slick southern sunset voice melts the crowd.

“So, uh he’s gorgeous?!” Someone behind you squeals.

“Who would’ve thought he’d be this hot?!” Someone adds.

The whispers and mummers swarm like wasps buzzing all around you and you want to swat at them.

You can’t wrap your mind around this or the amount of emotions rushing through you. You feel separated from your body, floating detached from the scene and trying to gather yourself back.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Did he not trust you?

Joel suddenly laughs at something Frank says, that gruff wonderful laugh you hear after you show him a ridiculous video or his daughters tease him. It snaps you back into awareness.

“He’s about to read a section!” Your friend giddily whispers under her breath

Now you fully focus on this man, this almost stranger.

He’s so handsome it isn’t fair. He looks like a distinguished professor and your throat tightens seeing how broad his shoulders look in the dark casual suit jacket he wears.

“One of my favorite parts.” He admits quietly. “It’s when Ellie and Sarah realize they can make it outta Pittsburgh together.”

His daughters. He named his characters after them.

Joel clears his throat and begins.

He reads the passage with a magnetic cadence. The words slip from him like the smooth drink of whiskey that lingers on your tongue. When he finishes, an ache twists in your chest.

The applause he gets is shatteringly loud. The smallest bit of pride does float through you. But confusion drowns it out.

The floor now opens to quick questions. Some are about the book itself and the certain decisions made writing wise. Others are obviously about why he stayed hidden for so long.

That one perks you up quickly.

In such typical Joel fashion, he shrugs.

“Just couldn’t figure out Twitter, s’all.”

Everyone laughs at his playful reply and you do as well, but it sounds hollow and watery.

Soon enough the last question arrives.

“Do you ever see yourself writing for any other genres? I mean, we’ve seen horror and some moments of romance in the series. So I’m just curious if you’d write anything else?!” The lady asks brightly and now you simply settle your thoughts aside to listen.

Joel chuckes, a bit breathless and his gaze drops. This entire time he’s teetered between a sly southern charm that’s hypnotized you, to being guarded almost a bit nervous.

But now a boyishly hesitant grin falls over him and it’s so familiar.

”Uh, guess romance would be the next I’d maybe try.” He answers low, bashful.

The crowd erupts into fangirl like shrieks.

“Right?! I keep saying he doesn’t know the potential he has if he became a romance writer!” Frank, who has such a bright and lovely personality, adds.

Too many emotions clash in you.

You wonder if he wants to explore romance writing because of you?

Or a much harsher voice creeps out from the back of your mind whispering maybe you’re just being used for source material.

You quickly stomp those thoughts away.

The rest of the event shifts to the signing and you walk in a sort of guided daze.

“You okay?” Your best friend asks gently, noticing your slight mood change.

You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth yet. This was something she had been looking forward to and you didn’t want to ruin her excitement or experience. So you wearily just smile and tell her your head simply started hurting.

She sympathetically nods.

“Thankfully we won’t be waiting too long.” She adds and explains how the signing would be called by groups.

“We might not have gotten seats, but we did manage to sneak into group A for the signing.” She grins proud and it lifts your spirits.

The line curls against the sides of the bookshelves blocking your view of Joel. It becomes both a blessing and a curse.

Maybe you should wait in the car for his and your sake?

However, something inside you slightly bitter, raw and wanting answers, decides to stay. Besides you, your dear friend tries to keep herself calm but you can sense her bubbling nervous energy.

“I’d be calmer if he wasn’t so damn attractive.” She hisses and a jealous flare gently rises in you.

“Just think,” you reassure her. “He’s probably just as nervous as you.”

The relieved comforted grin she gives you makes staying worth it. But then all of that flies out the window the closer and closer you get to Joel.

Petrified dread claws its way in when you realize your best friend is next in line.

“He looks kinda familiar now that we’re closer.” The casual comment your friend says makes your heart sink.

“Maybe.” You mutter.

The times Joel has been to your place your roommate, your best friend, has been either at work or sleeping. You can only think of the first instant you introduce Joel to her when he picked you up on a date.

Your eyes flicker straight to Joel.

His hair seems so perfectly curled and his dark jacket highlights his wonderful grays.

Thankfully, any discussion of who he might look like gets squashed because your best friend gets called next in line. She turns to you squeaking excitedly and you beam back bright.

Joel lifts his eyes up, like a true southern gentleman wanting to give someone his full attention.

You wait on the side and watch the interaction unfold. Joel chuckles at something your best friend says and you’re glad she’s enjoying herself.

The book signing is done so fast. In a blink, it’s finished. With her newly signed book, your friend turns to you. She makes a slightly embarrassing but endearing noise of excitement that has you laughing.

That’s when your eyes flicker over to Joel and your gaze locks with his.

Instantly, Joel’s handsome face drops. His gorgeous earth eyes widen as he immediately recognizes you. His mouth falls open slightly and a flash of something close to fear fills the depths of his eyes.

He breathes out your name on a shaky exhale.

Everything seems to slow and stop. You don’t know what to say. So all you do is weakly smile.

The fleeting moment fades. The next group in line already giggles moving towards the table.

Time’s up. Turning on your heels to leave with your friend, Joel calls out to you, calls your name.

“Wait!”

You freeze.

Glancing back at him, Joel’s eyes pin you on the spot. An unspoken heaviness hangs in his deep eyes while he stares intently at you.

“It’s okay, we’ll talk later.” By some strange possession of slight bravery, or maybe delusion, you manage to speak.

But it’s all you can say and it’s all you can do before Frank, Joel’s agent, slides in to whisper something to him.

The moment again shatters.

Your best friend however grills you the rest of the day

That’s when you pull out your phone. You show her a photo you secretly took of Joel. It’s one where he’s adorably glaring at his ipad while he tried ordering take out for dinner.

Your best friend shrieks. “He’s your boyfriend?!”

He is.

Your boyfriend, Joel, is a writer, a very famous best selling author.

And that weight yanks you under a dangerous current you can’t seem to swim against.

Even after lunch, even getting back to your apartment and trying to settle your thoughts, your emotions are still so tangled.

You mindlessly scroll through your phone for the rest of the day and a blink, you notice it’s already early evening. Your plan to stay sulking is ruined when your phone starts ringing so loud.

It’s Joel.

“Hello?” You answer as composed as you can.

“Darlin?” His beautiful rich voice sounds hesitant and guarded.

“Hi.” You reply back quietly.

“Can we talk?” He asks just as low.

You agree, expecting to have the discussion on the phone. Except a knock taps on your apartment door and scares you right out of your body.

Ever proactive, ever the man who takes action, Joel stands waiting for you when you open the door.

You’re thankful more than ever that your best friend went to the gym for the evening.

“Wanna sit outside for a bit? Maybe get some air? S’really nice outside today.” He offers gentle.

He’s breaking up with you. That’s what your mind jumps to.

At least the weather is surprisingly kind this early evening.

You’ve sat out here on your apartment’s decent sized balcony with Joel before. But now the energy between you and him shifts strangely.

The sky stretches above a soft sherbet orange. A breeze comes, thankfully not too cold, but you think about maybe heading in to grab a blanket.

Joel however quickly slings off his jacket and drapes it over you. Always the gentleman.

The smell of his cologne, so comforting and masculine, wraps around you like a cloud.

You thank him with a soft small smile and Joel nods. Then he sighs and leans forward on the folding chair.

“Always loved the outdoors.” He begins, a small olive branch of a conversation to break the tension. “The girls and I love hiking the trails out by the lake. You ever been?”

You shake your head no.

“Maybe one day we can all go together.” The comment holds hope, a delicate thread of it. Yet you catch the hesitation.

Your eyes flicker to him, confused and cautious.

“Wait, you aren’t breaking up with me?” You blurt out, maybe just wanting to get it over with. You hate the way your voice cracks slightly.

Joel, with his beautiful concerned wide eyes, snaps his face to you.

“What? Honey no. Thought maybe you’d be the one maybe tryin’ to break up with me.” Joel, who Sarah jokes about how some of their neighbors question if he’s perpetually grumpy, stares at you with a tenderness that melts you to your core.

You can’t help but laugh watery.

“Why d’ya think I’d want to end things with you?” He asks patiently.

You can think of so many.

He’s a famous writer who’s about to maybe become an online sensation. He’s older than you, wiser and seasoned. He’s a full on father with young teenage daughters.

So you reveal your heart to him and all the fears that dwell in its shadows. You wipe away a few tears that manage to spill out.

Joel moves to hold your hands in his, a guarded warmth and protection keeping you stable.

With a heavy sigh, Joel’s attention fully focused on you.

“Honey…I’m so sorry for not telling you about my work, about me, sooner.” He earnestly apologizes and his words drip with comforing earnesty.

Now his gaze drops down to where your hand sits in his.

“Didn’t want it complicatin’ things with us. I knew I had to tell you eventually. But really…I was worried you’d see me differently once you knew. I know I don’t seem like the writin’ type anyway.” He mutters and you miss the hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

You squeeze his hands.

This could never make you look at Joel in a negative light. If anything, you now feel proud knowing he’s a writer. You do explain your worries though and the ache you felt knowing he kept his from you.

“I know darlin’ and I promise,” he squeezes your hands now. “No more secrets between us.”

“You…us…means more to me than you’ll know.” He adds and you draw his hands up to your mouth.

You kiss his worn hands, his hard working beautiful hands that now move to hold your face so tenderly in their grasp. His thumb strokes your bottom lip delicately as if you’ll disappear from his sight.

“Can I kiss ya baby?”

You nod and in that same breath Joel pulls you towards him. He kisses you light, delicate enough that you feel so precious and treasured within his hold.

It seems like such a simple small kiss but it soaks into your bones.

You have so many questions. And as much as you’d like to make out with your boyfriend on the balcony, you’d like answers.

So you pull away and stand up.

Joel looks adorable as confusion paints his face.

“Don’t worry I’m just getting us a blanket.” You grin at him as you sling on his jacket claiming it as your own.

Blanket in hand you now curl up with him in the lawn chair, thankful for its sturdiness and cozy size. Your heart soars at how quickly Joel pulls you into his arms and basically onto his lap.

It feels like it’s been months since you’ve last been with him, or maybe that’s just how exhausting today was.

Joel sighs content and pleased once you fully rest against him. Hesitantly you ask if it’s okay if you can talk about him, about his work.

“Ask away honey. I’ll tell ya everything n’ anything.” He says firm.

You grin and your thumb starts stroking the back of his hand.

“So what made you decide to reveal yourself now? I heard there was an issue about someone saying they were you?” You ask, thinking of the discussions earlier with your best friend.

“Yeah..” Joel now sighs tired with an ancient weariness that settles over his handsome face.

“Sarah was the one who saw it first on Twitter or wherever it was.” He adds with a grumble.

Your heart aches knowing one of the girls saw it first.

“Didn’t help either that I ain’t online. So it became a whole fuckin’ mess we had to deal with it a couple months back.”

A light bulb goes off inside your brain.

“Was that when you said you had to visit a family friend out of town?” You connect the dots.

“Yup.” Joel nods. “Went to visit Frank, my agent, to try and figure this shit out. Could’ve let it all maybe die down but… ya know.” He huffs and you understand completely.

Joel is too stubborn, a bit too prideful. You almost snort amused just over the thought of him trying to let the situation blow over.

“Frank wants to meet ya by the way.” Now his voice dips with a bashful tone while his hands begin softly stroking your thighs.

“I’d love to meet him too.” You truthfully tell Joel.

“So, are you going to be online now? Should I start making secret accounts to follow you?” You now tease and Joel barks a beautiful amused laugh.

“Baby, I’m over 50. The only apps I need on my phone are candy crush and ESPN. Ain’t got the time or patience for social medias.”

Now you’re the one laughing.

It feels freeing, blissful, like this is the first moment you’re spending time with him all over again. Yet, there’s a deeper sacred connection that settles.

You can’t help but kiss him again and Joel eagerly welcomes you on his lips.

Now his lips move fervently, almost possessively, against yours, licking and trying to consume you. A small moan squeaks out of you.

“Come on baby,” he mutters, shifting you against his lap so that you fully feel his hardness straining against his pants. “Wanna taste ya.”

You’re thankful you manage to drag him back inside because you can’t imagine getting intimate with Joel on the balcony. Well, at least not yet. But that was a thought for another day.

Now in the afterglow’s soft relaxing peace you wish for more time with him.

But Joel must sense that ache too.

“S’late honey. Come back home with me. Even if it’s just for the night.” He mutters against your lips and you can’t deny him. You don’t want to deny him or the aching tug pulling you to him.

That night you fully embrace every inch of the man Joel Miller is and let a dizzying adoration for him swallow you whole.

The next morning, in the soft early still dark shade of his room, Joel wakes you with a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gotta go meet with Frank for the day. I’ll see ya later, honey.” He mutters against your cozy heated skin.

You hum a soft agreement and sleepily wish him a goodbye before falling back to sleep. After that, you wake up later to a colder and empty bed.

Tugging on another one of Joel’s shirts you head downstairs already missing his presence.

And when you get downstairs, there on the table sits the most gorgeous floral arrangement. Its beautiful vibrant blooms make your heart flutter so fast against its cage.

A folded paper sits beside the flowers. Your name is written on the front in Joel’s slightly chicken scratch like handwriting.

You scramble fast to grab it.

A letter, he’s written you a letter.

“Honey,

I know I’ve already apologized and you’ve forgiven my old undeserving ass.”

You snort at that line but continue on.

“But I just wanted to fully apologize to you again. Might take me a while until I stop, but just be patient with my old bones yeah?”

You would. Your heart would and will always wait for him.

“Doesn’t seem like it but, I aint that good at talking about things, about my feelings. Shocker right?”

You smirk. You know he isn’t good with words - that’s why it almost feels ironic and a bit unreal that he’s an author.

You’ve discovered Joel shows his affection through his actions.

He spent an entire day rearranging a business scheduling conflict just so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about it. Joel never missed a single one of Ellie’s basketball games. Sarah only prefers a certain type of orange juice and Joel never fails to only get that one.

The first few weeks you started dating Joel you got sick with a nasty cold. He dropped off a whole bag of various items like tissues and cough drops. It was then you knew his heart shines through his actions.

He sometimes surprises you with an order from your favorite take out spot. He never lets you touch a door, always opening them for you instead. He’s the most generous lover and never fails to remind you of how tender, how consuming, his passion can be.

Joel does grumble, sometimes even seems grouchy, but he loves fiercely.

And now here he is showing you this side of him, this form of himself as a writer.

So you return to reading his letter.

“I got into writing because it helped me process all my emotions, my thoughts, the good and bad days - everything. And sharing my writing with others, especially with someone as important as you, still makes me feel so vulnerable. Funny how that worked out though huh? Guess fate wanted to drag my ass and make me face my fears and vulnerability and whatnot.”

Someone as important as you - The line makes your heart flutter.

“I know I told you the reasons why I didn’t tell you. But another reason was because I was afraid.

I was afraid of how much you mean to me. Telling you about this part of me would be taking a bigger step. And it scared me shitless. Cause darlin’ I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. Like, as Ellie loves to say, in such a long time that ‘dinosaurs weren’t even fossils.’

That makes you laugh a bit watery but you let his words carry you again.

“You make my damn heart race when you smile. I get so worked up just seeing you walk around my house as if you were always meant to be here. And I didn't want to lose that either. I still don’t.

You feel like a bright future, like waking up after a cloudy week and the sun greets you so nicely. And I just wanna stay in that warmth, your warmth.

Yeah sorry, that line might be too romance novel writer for my league…but like I said I’m thinking about it. And it’s because of you.

We said no more secrets yeah?

So I’m not lying when I say you’ve become so god damn important to me. And I wanna see more days with you, as many as you’ll have with me.

Fuck. This damn letter already feels too long and I hate my old ass for rambling and maybe not making sense. But I adore you honey. Plain in simple.

And I’m just gonna leave it at that.

Don’t miss me too much and I’ll see you soon.

P.S I picked that bookstore as the tour’s first stop here because it’s where I met you… and I’ll always be grateful for that

-Joel”

You now fight back an absolute ocean’s worth of adoration for this man.

Tears clog your throat and you try not letting them flood your vision, but it’s so hard. So hard when you’re this head over heels.

You don’t want to say it yet, and you don’t know if he’s even ready to say it, but the emotion filling you like a newborn star feels like love.

You barely manage to send out a text thanking him and hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

Joel, ever the endearing man he is, replies back with a simple heart emoji and you laugh.

You really might love this man.

And you hope, you so brightly hope, that he maybe loves you too.

You think of his book series, of how he became a writer simply wanting to tell his daughters stories. Those stories grew out of his love for them and now he gets to crystallize that among his pages.

You realize how writing truly is its own form of love.

After all, what better way for a writer to show their love, their heart, than to capture you in their words?

You think that’s where writers must live now, in the heart. Or maybe - your maybe gruff handsome one just does. And you happily welcome Joel’s place in yours and hope he resides there forever like a love poem etched into your very soul.

#hello hi if you read this know me and author Joel are writing you a love letter #Joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #author!joel miller #Joel miller fic #Joel 🤎

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stylesloveclub · 2 years

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Pleasing

In which y/n is a broke waitress, and Harry thinks she’s cuter than a puppy. (part 1)

˙· .° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °. · ˙ ‧̍̊

Y/n didn’t really want to be a waitress.

She doesn’t suppose anyone does, really. It certainly wasn’t the most flattering title― having to wait on other people, or deal with the nasty attitudes of the entitled celebrities and CEO’s that chose to eat at Pleasing― the high class restaurant that she worked at. But, it was what she had to do. College wasn’t cheap, and y/n needed some form of income to help pay her way through.

She’d worked a lot of jobs to support herself before she ended up at Pleasing― she’d been a barista at the campus coffee shop, a receptionist at the bookstore, and had even tried becoming a tour guide for the little high schoolers that came for campus tours! But... the managers on campus expected far too much from their full-time student employees. Y/n swears they purposefully gave her the shifts that ended 10 minutes before her classes started so that she’d have to run all the way from one end of campus to the other. And, they didn’t even pay well! With the amount she was paying for tuition, she expected that her school would’ve at least been able to pay their employees more than just minimum wage!

That’s why, after quitting her last attempt at a campus job, y/n decided to go job hunting in the nice part of town. Sure, it was a bit far from the one bedroom college apartment she lived in… but in her opinion, the 30 minute walk was entirely worth it.

The buildings downtown were a completely different world from the university buildings she had initially limited herself to. All the venues were high class, with chandeliers and marble floors and air conditioning. 20 floor tall corporate buildings painted the sky, bustling with men wearing $50,000 watches and women in pantsuits that probably cost more than y/n’s entire wardrobe. Across the street from those skyscrapers were shopping centers with department stores that had that same high-class, expensive look to them. They were the kind of designer stores that served their shoppers champagne while they looked at luxury bags and expensive shoes― the kind of stores that laughed at y/n when she stumbled in with her tote bag and tattered shoes, asking for job openings.

She knew that she wasn’t the type of person who belonged in that area. She was a broke college student― the most expensive thing she had in her closet was a pair of boots that she’d splurged on after she soaked her only pair of sneakers while walking to class in the rain. But her brokenness was the precise reason that she needed a job in the part of the city where it was a social norm to tip more than 20%.

She considers herself superbly lucky that she’d mustered up the courage to go into Pleasing after an entire day of being laughed out of stores due to her “lack of elegance and sophistication” or whatever the fuck they managed to criticize her for. Somehow, she’d stumbled into the restaurant on the very same night that one of the other waitresses had been fired! (If she thinks hard enough, she vaguely remembers a girl wearing an apron running out of the restaurant crying, but she hadn’t paid any mind to it at the time as she was too distracted by the glittering chandelier that hung from the sitting room ceiling.)

Pleasing’s staff manager (an older, balding man named Alfredo, who had a mustache that twisted up at the ends and carried a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his forehead every five minutes), had been so frantic at the fact that they were yet another waitress short, that y/n had nearly been hired on the spot. She only received a brief interview that consisted of a few questions about her past experience in the service industry and a quick briefing on the importance of maintaining a high class appearance and treating their customers with the utmost respect. Y/n blindly agreed to all of this, and even hummed her agreement a few times just to butter Alfredo up, figuring that it wouldn’t be too hard to maintain a classy facade while dealing with these high-class customers. If it paid the bills, then she could pretend to be anything.

Her job offer was a quick, “You’re cute enough. Be here tomorrow at 6, your uniform will be provided― hair must be up, shoes must be black, and smile must always be on!” …and that was how she started.

She had somewhat of an idea of how expensive a restaurant Pleasing actually was from the general atmosphere of the place― but when she saw the menu… that’s when she truly realized that she was in the world of the upper-class. Each plate was $70, at minimum, and there was always a bottle of $200 wine to accompany the meal. The food was served on the most expensive fine china y/n had ever seen, with the kind of silver cutlery that she thinks you could only find in Buckingham Palace. The patrons had an unspoken dress code, with the men dressed in well pressed suits and button downs, and the ladies in cocktail dresses and sparkling diamonds. There was no sign of children anywhere, and she wondered if that was just because the rich people who ate at Pleasing were too busy making money to make babies… or if it was just a child-free restaurant.

When she showed up for her first day (with her hair twisted into a bun, a pair of black ballet flats that she got in the clearance bins of one of the department stores nearby, and an anxious smile plastered on her face!) Alfredo assigned her to spend the entire shift shadowing one of the other waitresses (Grace) to ensure that she knew exactly what kind of hospitality was expected towards the people they served. As they walked from table to table, she gave y/n the rundown of how Pleasing worked. Apparently, the restaurant was owned by this millionaire chef who rarely ever actually cooked at the restaurant. He had four Michelin stars (y/n doesn’t really know what that means but she guesses it means he’s a good cook) and usually was traveling around the world, cooking for royals and politicians and all sorts of important people.

Occasionally, he would have special nights where he would come back for “In-Chef Nights” as they called it, nights where people were willing to pay nearly a thousand dollars just to have their food cooked by Chef Styles― the world-renowned, multi-millionaire, gourmet chef. Those were the busiest nights of the year at Pleasing, according to Grace, but they only happened maybe once a month. Even on the nights Chef Styles wasn’t there, however, having the Styles name tied to the restaurant was enough for people to want a table at the restaurant to try his famous recipes and quality service.

“He’s kind of a big deal,” Grace had whispered to y/n while grabbing a saffron and lobster Risotto from the counter to take out to a couple seated on the restaurant balcony. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s super intimidating. Kinda mean too, he fires people all the time if they aren’t up to his standards.”

From that night when she was hired, all the way into about a month of working at Pleasing, y/n had never had an encounter with Mr. Styles either. She’d been allowed to start waiting on tables by herself starting her second night there, and quickly came to learn that the customers that she served were… not ordinary.

Simply put, the people who ate at Pleasing were all… pompous, rich assholes with no decency or basic manners. They barely acknowledged y/n when she was serving them, gave her nasty side-eyes when she smiled at them, and made her feel downright awful from the way they looked down on her.

There was always some douchebag who would try to sweet talk y/n in exchange for a free cocktail, or a middle-aged woman who would complain about everything and demand that her food be sent back to the kitchen. They’d make up some bullshit about how they had asked for no sesame seeds on their curry, when y/n knew damn well that they hadn’t mentioned anything about any sort of seeds when she had taken their order. Old men would blatantly stare at her chest, while their younger, model dates would make snarky comments about how y/n’s ballet flats were so last season while she walked away from their tables. She didn’t even know that there was a season for shoes, but it still hurt her feelings!

Now normally, y/n was able to put up a strong front and just ignore the rude customers. She’d force a smile and a polite “I’m sorry to hear that miss, let me get you a new plate right away,” and just imagine punching those people in the face to help herself calm down.

But tonight… it all just got to be too much. She’d already had a shitty day at school― she’d slept through her alarm and was late to her morning class, had a physics midterm that she’s pretty sure she failed, and accidentally left her calculus notebook at her apartment, which meant she had to take her calculus notes in her physics notebook instead (and she really hates when her notes get mixed up because she honestly has no idea what's going on in either class anyway so it just becomes extra confusing!!!).

So when one of her customers with graying hair and obvious anger issues threw his drink on y/n and called her an ‘incompetent, stupid girl’ after he decided that his merlot hadn’t been chilled properly… well y/n really couldn’t hold back the tears for much longer.

She managed to politely tell the man that she’d send someone to clean up and help him resolve the issues with his meal, before scurrying to the kitchen to find Grace.

“Oh, what’s wrong sweetheart!” Grace coos as soon as she sees y/n’s tear glazed eyes and stained shirt.

“H-he threw his drink on me,” she blubbers out, her hands rubbing furiously at her eyes as if she could just erase the tears threatening to spill.

Grace gasps, “He didn’t! Oh, I’ll go out there n’give him a piece of my mind right now, bubbles. You need a second to get yourself together?”

Y/n nods, sniffling harshly and letting out a shaky breath.

“M’kay,” Grace pulls her in for a hug, “you go and sit outside for however long y’need, ‘n I’ll cover the rest of your tables until you’re ready, ‘kay? I’ll try n’find you a shirt too sweetie, don’t worry about anything, just go n’get some fresh air.”

Y/n bleats out a small (but gracious) thank you, before running out of the back entrance to the employee parking lot behind the restaurant. She just needs a little bit of time for herself, a second to let all the tears out and to cry her troubles away. A moment to just privately recollect herself so that she could go back to work with a fresh mind.

She’s startled when she finds that the parking lot isn't empty the way she’d expected. Instead, she steps out and sees two guys. One of them she recognizes as Kevin – an assistant chef who works in the kitchen― but the other one is facing away from her, just an intimidating figure in the dark. The mystery man stands a few inches taller than Kevin, dressed in a dark, well-pressed suit that seems as though it’s been tailored to fit him perfectly. The jacket compliments his broad shoulders and lean waist, cutting off right above his hips to show the way his pants hug his thighs. They flare out at the bottom elegantly to reveal a pair of sleek, black boots with a small heel on them.

Y/n is so intrigued by the mystery man, that she doesn’t even realize that she’s walked in on a heated discussion between the two of them. “You could’ve fuckin’ killed a customer!” the man yells at Kevin, “Cos’ your head was up y’fuckin ass! You’re lucky they noticed there were peanuts in the lady’s meal or else we would’ve had to call a fucking ambulance n’ it would’ve been on your ass!”

Y/n thinks they might be talking about the one customer that came in tonight with a severe nut allergy, but she’s not entirely sure.

Kevin holds his poofy little chef hat in his hands as he pipes up, “I was just―”

“You were what? Too busy texting y’pals to pay attention to the notes on the order? There’s a fucking rule against having your phone in the kitchen for a reason you idiot!” The man shakes his head exasperatedly and lets out a disbelieving sigh, “Get out of here, you’re fired. Don’t even think about puttin’ this restaurant on your references because m’not gonna say anything nice.”

As Kevin stomps away angrily, the man turns on his heel and heads back towards the restaurant, finally allowing y/n to see his face. He’s not someone she’s ever seen around the restaurant before, but considering how he just fired someone, she assumes he must be important. Despite the way his green eyes glimmer prettily in the outdoor lighting, the man is terribly intimidating, with furrowed eyebrows and a hard glare. When those hard eyes flicker up to look at y/n, who’s still standing in the doorway, she feels her heart skip a beat.

“What are you doing out here?” the man asks her, a harsh bite to his tone. Y/n flinches, not ready to face yet another dickhead that might make her cry.

“Um,” she sniffles, wiping away her tears and stuttering out in the most put-together voice she can muster, “A-a customer spilled their wine on me so I’m just, um, quickly cleaning up.”

He steps closer to her, now standing directly in front of her and looking down. He’s a head taller than her, his heeled boots giving him an extra inch that just adds to his intimidating demeanor.

He had immediately recognized the waitressing uniform that she was wearing, and had been incredibly irritated at the thought of another one of his employees slacking off on such a busy night. But when he hears her shaky voice and sees her tear-stained cheeks… he lets a little bit of the sternness in his voice fade away, eyes softening just the slightest bit. Not too much (he couldn’t have one of his employees thinking he was a big softie…), but just enough so that he maybe wouldn’t make her feel worse than she already seemed to.

“Come with me,” he orders, brushing past her and trusting that she’d follow behind him. Knowing that this guy must be important, she doesn’t hesitate one bit, her head down as she trails after him like a lost puppy, trying to hide her puffy eyes and sniffly nose from the rest of the staff. He leads her into a room that she’s never been in, some sort of office with plaques hanging on the walls and a big, professional desk covered in paperwork.

He pulls out a chair and gestures towards it. “Sit.”

She plops down obediently, and a soft smirk dimples his cheek.

“Good,” he says. “Now stay.”

She nods.

With that, he steps out of his office and closes the door behind him. He hadn’t expected to be cooking at all tonight, but with the hurt little puppy sitting in his office, he really felt as though he had no choice!

“Evening Mr. Styles,” one of the chefs in the kitchen greets him, “Everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you Teddy,” Harry responds pleasantly, Teddy being one of his first and favorite chefs to come work for him at Pleasing, “Can y’get one of the stove tops ready for me? Need to make something really quickly.”

“Of course, sir,” Teddy wipes his hands dry, “I’m assuming Kevin won’t be coming back?”

Harry shakes his head in confirmation, the furrow in his brow returning at the thought of the ignorant chef. He’d need to have a talk with Alfredo about the recent hires – his business was better than someone as careless as Kevin.

“Y’can take his station then,” Teddy offers. “S’still hot, pots all cleaned too.”

Taking off his suit and rolling up the sleeves of his button down, he decides to make her a little bit of mac n cheese― a classic comfort food, right? Except, because he’s Harry Styles (aka one of the best chefs in the nation), he takes it to the next level. The pasta is fresh and handmade in their kitchen, parmesan grated from a gigantic sphere that was imported from France, with truffle oil and Italian basil to top it all off. He doesn’t even bother trying it; if he made it, then he knows it’s good.

Plating the dish is second nature to him, easily displaying the pasta and putting decorative herbs and dollops of Béchamel sauce around the main meal. With a single fork in hand, he grabs the plate and takes it back to his office.

The waitress jumps up in her seat when Harry pushes the door open, startled by his entrance and generally just intimidated by his sharp jawline and gorgeous face. Her eyes widen at the sight of the food in his hand, glimmering with excitement that she fails to conceal. It’s cute, Harry admits to himself, the way she perks up like an excited little puppy at the sight of a gourmet meal. He puts the plate in front of her and sticks the fork in her hand.

She looks up at him with wide eyes, and doesn’t make a move to start eating until Harry tells her to “try it,” as if she had been waiting for his permission to dig in. “Mm!” her eyes flutter shut as she chews the creamy pasta, “I didn’t even know we had this on the menu, it’s so good!”

It actually wasn’t on the menu, but he wasn’t going to ruin her fun.

“Have you tried some of this? S’so yummy, you have to try some!” she tells him, sticking a forkful out for him to try. He wants to tell her that he already knows it’s good because he made it, but– just to humor her– he wraps his lips around the fork and eats it straight from her hand. He tries not to visibly show how pleased he is with the reaction he gets from her― her mouth falls slightly ajar and her eyes stare at his plump, pink lips as they pull off of the fork.

“Mm,” Harry hums, a slight teasing lilt to his words, “oh yeah, that is really good.” He lets her praise the food a little bit more before casually asking, “I put a little truffle oil on there, could you tell?”

She pauses mid-chew and asks slowly, “Y-you made this?” He nods smugly, a smirk plastered on his face.

She had assumed a chef in the kitchen had just randomly put this together… not for this man to go out in his fancy clothes to make her a plate of the best mac n cheese she’s ever had. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize you were one of the chefs here,” she stutters out. “m’kind of new at the restaurant… the pasta was really good, I like the kind of earthy, garlic-y taste, is that the truffle oil― “

She’s cut off by a knock on the door and a concerned looking Grace stumbling in saying, “Y/n, are you in here― oh!” Grace’s eyes widen and her jaw drops a bit before she splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry for interrupting Mr. Styles.”

“What is it?” he asks, not so nicely.

Grace’s eyes flicker to y/n, “I― um, just brought an extra shirt for y/n, sir. Since her other uniform got ruined.” She places the shirt on the table right next to the door, “I’ll just leave it right here, excuse me sir.”

With a nod, Harry gives Grace permission to leave the room and shut the door behind her, the blonde waitresses scurrying out of the room as quickly as she can. When his head turns back to y/n, her eyes are wide and surprised.

This was Mr. Styles? As in, the world famous, Michelin star chef? As in the owner of this multi-million dollar restaurant? As in her literal boss?

She was just casually sitting here, eating a plate of gourmet mac-n-cheese with a guy who just so happened to be her boss, when she was supposed to be out there working?

Her demeanor immediately changes, and Harry can see that y/n is finally connecting all the dots in her head. That smug smirk of his spreads on his lips once more, an amused dimple in his cheek as he props his chin in his hand and watches the way y/n puts the fork down and sits up straighter.

“Um― thank you for the meal Mr. Styles,” she stammers, slowly rising from her seat, “I suppose I should get back to work now…”

“Nonsense,” he says. She sits back down immediately. “You’ll stay here and finish your food. Someone else will cover your tables for you.”

“Yes sir,” she squeaks politely. Harry’s beyond amused by how she suddenly turned into this polite little girl as soon as she realized who he was, and thinks he could get used to the words sir and Mr. Styles falling from her heart shaped lips.

He asks her a bunch of questions while she’s eating, and y/n briefly worries if that’s his way of trying to decide if he should fire her or not. She’s really trying to be on her best behavior, using her most polite voice and etiquette when talking to him ― but things are kind of slipping because Harry’s eyes are flickering all over her face and he’s so put together and intimidating and hot and it’s making her nervous!!! She’s stumbling over her words and forgetting the answers to simple questions because she’s so distracted by his sharp jawline, and honestly… Harry loves it. He loves how shy and polite she is, and loves seeing the way he can get her all flustered. That’s honestly the only reason he keeps interrogating her ― just to hear her cute little yes sir and no sir and to see how she nervously bites her lips between each question.

When she’s finished with her food and the redness of her eyes has died down, Harry cleans up her plate for her and throws her the shirt that Grace had brought. “Take the rest of the night off,” he says, opening his office door to step out and give her a bit of privacy so she can change. “Next time I won’t be so easy on you, okay?”

She stands up, alert and still buzzing with nerves and peeps out a final “Yes sir!” before Harry closes the door, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

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Grace really wasn’t kidding when she warned y/n about how busy Pleasing could get when Chef Styles was cooking.

From the moment she arrived to the moment the very last table finished dining, y/n was on her feet. She’d barely managed to put her stuff down in the staff room before Alfredo was pushing her out into the dining hall, muttering something about “Chef Styles” and “is going to kill me.” They had back to back reservations, a waitlist with nearly a three hour delay, and a bustling kitchen packed with chefs. The waiters were buzzing between tables like little bees, constantly checking on customers and rushing to the back counter to pick up meals and deliver them to tables. Laughter and conversation rang throughout the entire restaurant, echoing on the high ceilings and glass chandeliers, chaotically harmonizing with the sizzling of vegetables and clatter of pots that came from the kitchen.

Mr. Styles worked gracefully despite all the chaos ensuing around him. He always made sure that everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing before any customers arrived to ensure that there would be no screw ups or accidents, and nobody dared stray away from the job Chef Styles assigned them. Dressed in his white chef’s suit with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, he prepped each meal in the blink of an eye and moved on to the next dish immediately – quick, efficient, and absolutely delicious.

By the end of the night, his feet are pounding from standing up for seven hours straight and his fingers (which are normally quite nimble and flexible) feel stiff and just about ready to fall off. He supervises the staff as they close the restaurant for the night, helping them do the dishes and wrap cutlery in preparation for opening tomorrow, and waits in his office until he’s the last one in the restaurant. Sometime between the time the last customer left and the time that he’s about to leave the restaurant it starts to rain outside. So, before shutting off the lights, he grabs an umbrella, and finally leaves his office at about 2:30 in the morning.

The sound of his boots clicking against the polished tile floor is all that can be heard as he walks through the foyer, his head down as he types out a message on his phone – that is, until he hears a tiny, kitten-like sneeze.

He stops in his tracks, looking up, and stares hard into the darkness. He takes a few, cautious steps closer towards the door, until he can make out a faint silhouette. It’s y/n – bundled up in a cute little hoodie with what he presumes is her university’s logo embroidered on the front, and her bag clutched tightly to her chest.

“Y/n,” he calls out. “What are you still doing here?”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, her shoulders tense as she timidly walks out of the corner she’d seemingly been hiding in. “Oh, I’m just waiting for the rain to lighten up a little bit before I walk home, Mr. Styles. Promise I’ll leave soon!”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head – walk home? At this time of night? He strides over to where she’s standing, “Have y’not got a car? Or a metro pass, at least?”

“No, no car…” she explains with a small frown on her face, “N’the metro near my school doesn’t come up towards downtown. S’too fancy around here for a sketchy little metro.”

He looks down at the way she’s hugging herself tightly, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweatshirt in an effort to keep warm. She’ll freeze to death if she tries to walk home, he thinks to himself. Even wrapped in his expensive Burberry coat, the thought of walking in that rainy weather sends a chill down his spine.

He sighs. “Come on,” he says, “M’not letting you walk home in the rain.”

He opens the restaurant doors and sticks his umbrella out first, opening it and stepping under seamlessly so that not even a drop of rain stains his suit. She blinks at him dumbfounded. Still holding the door, he gestures for y/n to follow him, “Come on pup, haven’t got all day.”

She scurries under the umbrella with him, standing close as he locks the door behind them. The rain is pounding down hard and his umbrella isn’t very large, so he wraps an arm around her waist and hastily guides her to his car.

Now, y/n’s no expert on cars, but the large, black range rover that her boss unlocks the doors to seems like a pretty fancy car! She struggles to climb into the passengers side when Mr. Styles opens the door for her, so he holds a hand out to help her up into the seat and shuts the door behind her. As she buckles herself in, he quickly runs over to the driver’s seat, shaking his umbrella off outside and carelessly throwing it in the backseats.

He notices that y/n’s arms are still wrapped around herself super tightly, trying to hide that her whole body is shivering from the cold, so as soon as he turns the car on, he leans over to her side and turns the heat up for her. That – along with the press of a few more buttons on the center console that turns on the heated seating – has y/n sighing blissfully as she sinks back into the comfy leather seats.

“Thank you so much Mr. Styles,” she says, wiggling her fingers happily in front of the blasting hot air.

“You would’ve frozen to death if you walked home in this weather,” he grumbles, pulling out his phone and handing it to her. “Put in y’address.”

She does as he says obediently, her numb fingers making her fumble a little bit when she tries to type on his phone – the latest iphone, she notices from the extra two cameras on the back.

He glances briefly at the location she’s typed in, before flicking on his windshield wipers and reversing out of his reserved parking spot.

His speakers automatically started playing some soft classical music, creating a gentle atmosphere in the otherwise silent car. As he’s driving, he can see her fidgeting around nervously in her seat. Her fingers twist anxiously in her lap, the inside of her cheek being assaulted by her nervous chewing, and she keeps looking over at Harry, burning holes in the side of his head.

“Have I got something on my face?” he asks abruptly.

“W-what?”

“Y’keep staring,” he explains, glancing over at her when they stop at a red light. To no surprise, he catches her… staring at him. She quickly turns away, opting to stare at her hands instead.

“Sorry,” she says, “I was just… watching you drive.”

He snorts. “Watching me drive?”

She fumbles over her words, struggling to explain herself. “Yeah, you’re just– like you… you just drive really cool.” She only realizes how stupid she sounds once the words come out of her mouth.

“I drive cool?”

She grimaces and turns to him slowly, “M’sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”

His expression is entirely amused, a smirk on his face that he’s trying to cover with his hand. “Please, explain it to me then,” he begs with a teasing tone.

“You’re just like, driving with one hand on the wheel and listening to this fancy music in your fancy car… it just looks like you’re from a movie or something.” Not to mention how sharp his jawline looked from the side. Or how attractive the furrow in his brow was. Or how his white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his strong, tattooed forearms. But she wasn’t about to say all that to him. She needs to stop talking before she embarrasses herself any further! “It’s stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll stop staring.”

“Didn’t say I minded it,” he says simply. With a teasing smirk still planted on his face, he pulls up in front of y/n’s apartment complex. Despite the fact that it’s pouring outside, Harry still offers to walk her up to her door.

“Oh no, I couldn’t make you do that!” He’d already gone out of his way to drive her home, she thinks making him get out of his car just to walk her up would be asking way too much of her boss.

“At least take the umbrella then,” he says, grabbing it from the back and giving it to her. She opens her mouth to protest, but he gives her this look that makes her just shut up and take it.

“Thanks, Mr. Styles. I really appreciate it.”

He rolls his eyes, “Just don’t forget it next time it’s scheduled to rain.”

He watches as she opens the apartment door, and only pulls away after she’s turned back, waved at him, and closes the door behind her.

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When y/n walks to the restaurant the next day, it’s raining once again. She takes Mr. Styles’ umbrella with her to shield her from the drizzle, and arrives at the restaurant a bit breathless, but nonetheless dry.

As she’s clocking in, Harry happens to walk past. He sees his umbrella in her hand, droplets dripping onto the floor, and smiles to himself.

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Harry’s grown some sort of… fondness towards y/n.

How could he not? The first time he’d met her she’d been crying, looking up at him with her puppy dog eyes and tear stained cheeks. She’d complimented his cooking, and been all sweet and polite while he talked to her, calling him sir and Mr. Styles with her pouty lips.

And then when he’d driven her home… she looked so pretty sitting in the front seat of his car, rambling on and on about his cool driving and fancy car. It made him soft! She was young and innocent and just the cutest little thing. He loves how flustered she gets when he teases her, how she fumbles over her words when she doesn’t know what to say. So you really can’t blame him for keeping his eye on her.

Whenever he’s in his office, he’ll keep his ears open in hopes of hearing her pretty voice ringing through the halls, escorting guests or calling out orders to the chefs. He loves listening to her chat with the cooks, and finds himself laughing silently at some of her silly remarks. (“Guys help!!! Where are the oysters from? Like are they local? I know it’s a stupid question but one of the customers wants to know! Should I lie and say they’re imported from the Caribbean? Like… how would they know that I’m lying? Okay, fine whatever I’ll just say they’re caught locally every morning! Thanks bye!!!”)

With this newfound fondness, he’s also grown quite… protective of her. He often talks with Alfredo to see if y/n’s been getting along with the other waiters, and discretely checks that she hasn’t encountered any other rude or disrespectful customers. He figures that he’d prefer to kick some snobby lady out of his restaurant rather than see y/n all teary eyed again.

These smushy feelings are all new to Harry, and he doesn’t really know what they meant just yet… all he knows is that he had a soft spot for y/n. And he’ll be damned if he didn’t show a bit of favoritism towards her.

Sitting in his office, working on some paperwork for the building, he hears her shuffling down towards the kitchen. (Yes, with how attentive he’s been recently, he’s learned to distinguish the sounds of her footsteps from the rest of the waiters.)

“‘Scuse me Edgar!” she calls out to one of the cooks, “Y’know the cod that you’re working on for table 67? She just asked for the romesco to be put on the side instead. D’ya think you could change that real quick?”

“Man, are you kidding me y/n! I already put it on there!”

“I know, I know I’m sorry!” she whines embarrassedly, cheeks heating at the bite in Edgar’s voice, “she just stopped me right now and asked for it!”

Edgar gives y/n an exasperated sigh, “Great, m’gonna have to make a new one! And we’re so fuckin’ busy tonight, this is fuckin’ brilliant–”

“Hey!” Harry’s assertive voice booms through the kitchen, cutting Edgar off mid-rant. “S’not her fault that the lady changed her order, is it?” His stern gaze is burning on Edgar, making his cheeks turn red.

“No sir,” the chef responds apologetically.

“Apologize to y/n.”

Edgar turns to her, “Sorry y/n. Wasn’t your fault, m’just being hot headed for no reason.”

“S’okay, I get it. It’s frustrating,” she says softly, shocked at the fact that Mr. Styles was making one of the chefs apologize to her! She’s just a silly little waitress! She was used to being belittled by the older, more established staff.

“Good. Don’t want t’hear any complaining from anyone, or else you’re getting fired. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes sir” echoes around the kitchen.

Y/n stands there, speechless at the fact that Mr. Styles had made such a bold move to defend her. When he catches her staring, he simply winks, giving her that cocky smirk of his and turning on his heel, back into his office as if nothing had happened.

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During her 15 minute break, y/n tiptoes to Mr. Styles’ office and quietly knocks at the door, entering cautiously when she hears him grunt out a less than welcoming “come in.”

“Um, Mr. Styles?” she announces nervously. The furrow in his brow immediately disappears when he recognizes that it’s y/n. “I-I just wanted to say thanks for, um, sticking up for me today? Or- I mean… just thanks for getting the chefs to go easier on me, I guess.” Her fingers twist nervously behind her back, and it’s taking everything in her to look Mr. Styles in the eye when she’s talking to him. His gaze is just so intense, and she has no idea what he’s thinking… it makes her nervous!

He’s quiet for a second, deliberating what she’s just said, before cracking a smile and shaking his head. “You don’t have t’thank me, pet. M’not gonna let the chefs be dicks to m’favorite waitress.”

Her heart jumps out of her chest at that, cheeks flushing in a way that she really hopes Mr. Styles can’t see. With this flattery, she can’t help but drop her gaze to her feet, contemplating the floor as she mumbles out, “I– well, still. Thanks.”

Harry laughs to himself, dragging a hand down his face. She’s so… cute when she’s all flustered like this! It makes him want to tease her all the time. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushes it off playfully, “now get back t’work.”

She twirls on her heels, ready to run out of the room and freak out about this encounter in the privacy of the employee bathroom.

“Oh, y/n?” Harry calls out just before she walks out the door. She looks back at him with those eager puppy eyes. “M’gonna drive you home tonight as well. Come to my office when you’ve finished your shift and we’ll leave together.”

The smile that lights up her face is one of a giddy school girl with a playground crush.

“M’kay,” she says casually. But on the inside, she is Freaking. The Fuck. Out.

Yay!!!!

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This time, once the restaurant closes and all the employees and staff have left, y/n doesn’t head out into the darkness for her usual 30 minute walk home.

No, this time she heads towards Mr. Styles’ office, clutching her trusty tote bag to her chest to try and mute the feeling of the butterflies swarming her entire body. She has no idea why Mr. Styles might’ve offered her another ride home. Perhaps he felt bad that she’d been scolded in front of the kitchen today by Edgar, or maybe he just pitied her.

Whatever the case was, she wasn’t going to question it too much. She’d developed an itty bitty crush on Mr. Styles, so even if he was just giving her a ride home because he felt bad… well, then at least it meant she got to spend some more time with him!

She knocks on his door and waits for his muffled “come in” before she walks in. A pair of reading glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, reflecting the light of the laptop screen he’s staring at intently. He doesn’t look away from his laptop as he says, “m’almost done.” He gestures mindlessly at the seats in front of his desk when she hovers awkwardly in front of the door. “Sit.”

Her quiet obedience makes him smile as he finishes the last of the emails he wanted to send that night, and with a final press of a button he shuts his laptop. He takes the reading glasses off and stands up, and y/n tries to stare discreetly at his thighs (which are being hugged deliciously by his slacks) as he packs up his things.

She’s not as discreet as she thinks she is, because Harry has to call her name three times before she snaps out of her daydreams. “Where’s your head at, puppy?” he taunts, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. Her cheeks turn warm, and she’s thankful that she doesn’t have to explain herself as she follows him to his car.

This was gonna be a long ride.

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Y/n doesn’t know how it happened, but she and Mr. Styles have created some sort of arrangement.

Anytime he’s been in the office for the past two weeks, he’s given her a ride home. She’s tried to tell him that he really doesn’t have to and that the walk home really isn’t that bad (she feels bad for making him drive all the way to her apartment!), but for some reason, he insists!

Secretly, she’s really happy that he’s always offering to drive her home. She gets to spend an extra 15 minutes with him every night, talking to him, looking at him, and getting teased by him. Yes, he has a knack for embarrassing her… but in a way, she actually kind of enjoys it.

Like all the other nights, she meets him in his office and they walk out together. He holds all the doors open for her, his hand lightly placed on the small of her back as they walk outside. And again, like all the other nights, he opens the passenger’s side door for her and holds a hand out to help her into his car.

There is one thing that happens differently tonight though. When Harry gets behind the wheel, her stomach lets out the loudest grumble she’s ever heard.

She shuts her eyes in embarrassment. Of course this would happen. She can only hope that Mr. Styles didn’t hear it.

Unfortunately for her, he chuckles softly, “Are you hungry?”

“A bit,” she replies sheepishly.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She hesitates, “Um… I had a granola bar right before my physics lecture.”

He pauses. “And when was this lecture?”

“At 1.”

“So you’re telling me,” Harry glances at the time in disbelief, which reads 10:47 PM, “That you haven’t eaten since 1 in the afternoon?”

“Well… I mean, usually I have some food before coming to work! But I went to a study session after class and I lost track of time, so I didn’t have time to eat anything.”

“Tha’s not enough, puppy. You need to bring something to eat during your break or else you’ll pass out.” He puts his hand on the back of her seat and looks behind him to back out of his parking spot. “And, if you don’t have time to eat anything, then I’ll cook something for you.”

“You don’t have to do that Mr. Styles,” she politely refuses. “M’not even that hungry right now.”

The growl her stomach lets out says otherwise. “Not hungry?” he taunts.

“Okay, maybe a little bit… m’too tired to cook anything though so I’ll probably just have a pop tart or something and call it a night.”

He scoffs, “a pop tart?”

“Yeah, you know those little pastry things? They usually come in that foil packaging and have–”

“I know what a pop-tart is.” A bunch of processed sugars and artificial jam stuffed in a horribly dry crust that spills crumbs everywhere? The thought of eating one absolutely repulses him. “They’re disgusting.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” y/n whines defensively. “M’on a student budget! And I’m not that good at cooking, not all of us are gourmet chefs like you.”

He thinks for a second then says, “Well then…how about I take you to mine and cook you a gourmet dinner?”

“What– like, right now?” she bleats. When he nods, she asks, “you would cook me dinner right now?”

“Why s’that so hard to believe?”

Well, first of all he’s her hot boss who is notoriously known for being a hot asshole. Second of all, she has a stupid crush on her hot boss, and can’t actually believe that he’d invite her over to his home. And third of all, and the one she settles for, “Isn’t it a bit late?”

He looks over at her. “Is it past your bedtime?” he asks playfully. She shakes her head no bashfully, face heating at his teasing as he continues, “If it’s not late for you, then it’s not late for me.”

She sits there and thinks. Obviously she wants to go over to his apartment and spend more time with him! But… gosh, she feels bad! Making him not only drive her home, but also cook her dinner was just asking for too much!

“Y/n,” he interrupts, as if he could read her mind, “stop overthinking it. I want to cook for you, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t. Will y’let me?”

“I’d really like that,” she admits shyly.

He smiles at her, “My house it is, then.”

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Mr. Styles is rich. Like… super rich.

His luxury car was only a preview to his luxurious lifestyle. He drives them not far from the restaurant, to a tall, shiny building. He parks his car in the garage and takes y/n through the lobby, his heeled boots clicking against the shiny tiled floors. An elevator takes them up to the 16th floor, and opens to a dark penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows provide a view of the city, the lights of downtown flashing up in a kaleidoscope of colors. The floors are wooden with a cool undertone that complimented the grey walls, and the furniture is all sleek and dark. He leads them to his luxury kitchen and tells her to sit at the highchairs in front of the island.

“What shall I make you?” he asks.

“Um… a grilled cheese?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “You’ve got one of the world’s best chefs in front of you, and you want me to make you a grilled cheese?”

She shrugs, “That’s what I would’ve made myself if I wasn’t so lazy.”

“How about I surprise you with something… a little more special.”

“I feel bad making you cook this late when you’re not even supposed to be working,” she admits as Harry ruffles through his fridge.

“Darling,” he scoffs, “making you a meal is nothing for me. I could do this in my sleep.”

“I dunno, cooking is always such a hassle for me. Y’gotta get all the ingredients right, and make sure nothing burns, and then all the dishes… s’too much work.”

“But finding all the right ingredients and watching over y’food is exactly why I love cooking,” he explains passionately. “S’like… even the slightest thing could change the flavor of your dish, and take it to the next level. It’s so much fun.” He pulls out a pot and fills it with water. “The dishes are a headache though,” he adds teasingly.

As he waits for the water to boil, he goes to his wine cooler and pulls a bottle out. “Do you like this wine? It’s Chianti 1982, from Montespertoli.”

“Um…” she looks at him helplessly. “I don’t really know much about wine.”

He hums, and pours himself a glass. Then he sits on the stool next to hers. He hooks his foot into the leg of her chair and pulls her stool to him, close enough so that their knees were touching and that she could see the stubble right above his lips.

He holds up the wine glass as if he were offering a sip, but as soon as her hands come up to steady the glass to her lips, he pulls it away. “Ah ah,” he tuts, “You’ve gotta smell it first.”

He swirls the wine around under her nose. “What do you smell?” he murmurs.

She takes a deep breath and contemplates it deeply. “...grapes?”

He snickers, “nice try.” He pulls the wine under his own nose and says, “It smells fruity… notes of cherry… plum… oak…” He takes a sip of it. “Mm… it’s light. Smooth.”

Y/n watches him with wide eyes as he swirls the wine around in the glass and brings it up to his mouth, hyper fixating on his lips. His thick fingers, decorated with a multitude of sparkly rings, delicately wrap around the stem of the glass. And his lips, plump and pink, pucker softly against the rim as he takes another sip.

His wine-stained tongue peaks out to lick his lips, and her own lips part open with want.

He takes another enticing sip. “You want some, puppy?” he asks.

She nods her head, looking up at him with her round eyes and parted mouth. He gives her a taste, opting to hold the glass up to her lips as she drinks instead of having her take it from his hands and do it herself. When he feels that she’s had enough, he pulls it away. “What do y’think?”

“S’good,” she says, the tart taste of the wine drying out her tongue. It makes her want more. She looks at Harry with her eager eyes, and he feeds her another sip. This time though, she’s a bit too excited. When he pulls the glass away from her, a little bit of it dribbles down her chin.

He tsks. “Messy girl,” he murmurs. His thumb comes up to swipe at the mess, collecting it and teasing at her bottom lip. He lingers there for a second, before he pushes in, her supple lips parting easily as he slides his finger into her mouth. It rests heavily on her tongue, the acidic flavor of the wine lingering on his finger. She sucks, and his eyes darken.

“Good girl.” His voice is low and gruff, eyes focused on her lips wrapped around his thumb. He pulls it out slowly, her bottom lip tugging downwards as he does it, and he watches it bounce back into place.

He drags his eyes away from her lips and back up to her eyes, which are looking at him, wide and curious. Unlike Harry, who can’t stop his eyes from flickering down to her lips, her eyes are glued on him, frozen and waiting for his next move. When he moves the slightest bit closer, her breath catches in her throat. She’s not well versed in all this stuff, but she supposes if he keeps looking at her lips and leaning in, that probably means he wants to kiss her, right? She inches forward to test her theory. He reciprocates. Both of their eyes flutter shut.

His nose brushes against hers ever so lightly, nudging it to the side, and she lets out a shaky breath when his lips graze hers. With one final tilt of her head, their lips slot together, as if they were two opposite charges connected by a magnetic force. He encases her lips in a soft kiss, her supple bottom lip trapped between his for a second, and his hand comes up to cup her jaw. He doesn’t do anything more than gently kiss her lips – no hot tongue in her mouth, no heavy breathing, nothing that he thinks might overwhelm her. Just a simple kiss, that he pulls away with a soft click.

Her eyelashes flutter open to reveal her moony eyes, looking up at him like an eager puppy. They flicker between his eyes with a mixture of want, confusion, and excitement hidden in her irises.

He grins down at her. “Let me go check on the water.”

˙· .° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡ ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °. · ˙ ‧̍̊

Part 2 is already up on my patreon!!!! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK!!!! LOVE U GUYS

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princessofmarvel · 1 year

Text

Wonderland

summary | renfield sees a woman that catches his eye and knows that he shouldn’t speak to her, but he finds that he just can’t help himself.

pairing | robert montague renfield x fem!reader

wc | 1.2k

warnings! | none! maybe some cursing and not really proof read but it’s just fluff lol

genre | fluff!

author's note! | I saw renfield on sunday and just knew that I needed to write for him lol, especially since there are only a few fics on here about him, most of them are written by the amazing @youlightmeupfinn so definitely go check those out! this is a part of my “swift series” (where I write fics based on taylor swift songs) so if you have any requests for the swift series (or for just something that you would like for me to write) please send them in! I would be happy to write about them! and as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, but I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. and let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!

Renfield was taking a stroll down the streets of New Orleans, he tells himself that it is to relax and to clear his head but in reality he was trying to figure out what to bring his master to eat that night. He didn’t want to bring him anyone innocent like he so desperately wanted, that's why he joined the support group in the first place, to bring those people's monsters to him. To bring people that he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for. But, his boss didn’t like the taste of those people too much.

He spotted a coffee shop that doubled as a bookstore a few paces down and decided to slip in to sit and think about this. That was when he spotted her. Someone he knew his master would actually praise him for bringing back to the lair. She was the most stunning beauty he had ever seen. Sat in the back corner with a latte and what appeared to be a new romance novel that she was on the last few pages of. She was perfect.

Renfield ordered some tea and took a seat not too far from her, but not so close that he would seem weird. He knew he couldn’t bring her to him. No matter how much his master would appreciate it. No matter how much praise he would get for doing such a good job, he just couldn’t do it, it couldn’t, wouldn’t be her.

He wanted to speak to her, he knew he shouldn’t though. He knew that he should never involve someone like her in his life. But, he also knew that if he had the chance to, that he would regret for the rest of his life if he didn’t

The girl then got up and moved towards the bookshelf. He watched her as she spotted something on the very top shelf that she wanted. He watched as she frowned to herself and huffed and she tried to reach for it but couldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t do this, that this one simple and kind gesture would end up leading him down a rabbit hole, but his feet thought for him as he stood up and made his way to the bookshelf and reached up and grabbed the book she wanted and handed it to her.

“Thank you so much! I wish these things weren’t so tall.” She said as she looked up at him. Her voice just added to her appeal, it was soft and you could tell she was kind just from the sound of it.

“I agree, It’s like the person who invented them just wanted a cruel laugh.” He said before he could stop himself.

“Yes! Exactly! Oh I’m (Y/n) by the way.” She said as she put her hand out to him, his body taking over his mind and shaking it.

“Robert Montague Renfield” He said as he shook her soft hand.

“That’s a nice name, sounds fancy.” She said which earned a chuckle from him. “I noticed you’re alone, would you like some company Robert?” She asked. He could tell she was nervous to ask, but seemed like she wasn’t asking out of pity, but out of genuine interest in talking to him. He found himself saying yes and following her back to her table in the corner.

The two spoke for hours, she asked about where he was from, which led to him talking about how hard it is to find good tea in america. He asked about the new book she had picked up, which was ‘Alice in wonderland’, which led to her talking about her love for the 1951 animated movie (He made a mental note to watch it later). They just laughed and talked for hours. Then the conversation led to work. He found himself telling her about having a narcissistic boss that worked him to the bone. And, it never seemed like he really Appreciated it. Then he accidentally let it slip that his boss made him feel like he was undeserving of happiness. He regretted it immediately because he saw how sad it made the girl look.

“Oh Robert, that's just not true. Everyone is deserving of happiness.” She held up her hand to keep him from interrupting and stopping her. “I know it seems like sometimes you don’t, maybe because you’ve done some things that you regret, but as long as you make peace with those things and accept those things, to know that they were the wrong things to do. And, you work to better yourself from them. Then there is no reason why you should not deserve happiness.” She said to him with a smile.

Then he realized that her hand was laying on top of his from across the table. She must have realized that she had done that because she pulled her hand away and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Thank you, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” he said while looking at her. He felt like he needed to change the subject, in fear of making things awkward. “So, what do you do for work?”

“Oh, I uh, work here actually.” she said finally looking back at him after feeling embarrassed. “Oh god i seem pathetic, I swear I have a life and friends, I just like to come here when I have some time to relax.” She said while letting out a small laugh.

“You don’t seem pathetic, I would do the same if my work place was as relaxing as here.” Renfield said while giving her a soft smile.

“I actually go in later, wait what time is it?” She checked her phone and jumped up out of her seat when she saw the time. “Oh my god I was supposed to start an hour ago, and I’m here, Linda why didn’t you say anything?” She said turning around towards the older woman working the register. Who in return gave her a wink and a smile before tending to the customer now in line, the first in hours.

“I’m so sorry Robert, I have to go.” She said as she gathered her things. He knew he shouldn’t, but he needed to see her again.

“Perhaps we could do this again sometime?” he said, folding his jacket over his arms.

“I would love to, you could give me your number and we could plan something.” The girl said with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t have a phone.” He said, which he immediately regretted since he knew in this day and age was weird. “I broke it yesterday, I was going to replace it tomorrow.” He said quickly thinking of something. “But, I can pick you up here this weekend, if you would be interested.”

“That sounds great, what time?”

“I was thinking maybe around 1:00? I hear the weather will be nice on Saturday, so I thought maybe we could have a picnic.” He said, knowing that doing something during the day would mean that his boss could not interrupt it,

“That sounds wonderful, It’s a date.” She said while making her way to the registrar. “I’ll see you then Robert.”

He smiled and said goodbye as he made his way out the door and onto the street, the sun starting to go down. He had realized what exactly he had done. He knew that he couldn’t let his boss find out about her, and he also knew how hard that would be to do. But, knowing that he would get to be with her, made how hard this would be worth it.

“Oh fuck me.” he said making his way back to his boss, but with a smile on his face, something that hadn’t truly been there in a long time.

#renfield #renfield imagine #renfield fanfic #renfield x reader #renfield fluff #robert montague renfield #r.m. renfield #renfield fic #renfield movie #nicholas hoult #nicholas cage #ben shwartz #awkwafina

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yeonkimintakecare · 4 months

Text

Bus Stop Meet Cute

Pairing: Jin X Reader; Fluff

Summary: You're known for always having your head in the clouds, dreaming yourself a better life. One day you try to make your dreams a reality by doing something extremely out of character.

Author's Note: This is my personal favorites of all of my old writings, I also think this is the only one of the old ones that I wrote sober, so that checks out.

Warnings: I don't think any? Let me know if you think there should be. It's mainly just fluff?

Love Story by Suran plays in your headphones while you stare out the window. You watch all the people pass by as you smile. This was your favorite part of the day. You had just gotten off of work at the cafe you work at, and now you get to people watch on the bus ride home.

You often look at the people who are passing by and create little stories of their lives. Your mother always told you that it wasn’t healthy how much you daydream. Maybe she’s right, but it was your escape. You wanted to be a writer, but until you finish your novel, you need to continue to pay your bills. Working a full time job makes it hard to write, so you have to find time when you can.

You see a woman in a beautiful pale blue dress and you start writing a story in your head about how she is about to go on a date with the man of her dreams. You imagine how they met, what may have kept them apart, and how they finally got together. You smile at the nice ending that you gave the stranger, but soon frown, you feel a longing to have your own love story. These things don’t really happen in real life.

You search for your next stranger, when your eyes fall on him. A tall and handsome man sitting at the bus stop. He has headphones in and is reading a book. You note his great sense of fashion, he is wearing a deep greet turtleneck with a houndstooth coat and dark wash jeans. He has hair hangs in his face a little bit, but you can still see that he is extremely attractive.

You feel the bus coming to a stop and your window stops right in front of him. He looks up and makes eye contact with you. He gives a small smile and a nod and continues to stare at you. Your stomach fills with butterflies and your knees feel weak. You give him a wave with a slight smile. He gives a small laugh, goodness, you would pay to hear that laugh. But it doesn’t seem that he is necessarily getting on at this stop. You decide to do something a little risky.

You open your window.

He looks at you and you both take out one of your ear buds.

‘Is this your bus?” You ask him with a nervous smile.

“It can be.” He replies with a raised eyebrow and a grin. He then walks away from the pole he was leaning against and gets on the bus. As he walks towards your seat you begin to feel your heartbeat faster. You put your things away in your bag and make room on the seat next to you. He sits down next to you and you can smell his cologne. He turns to you and holds out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Kim Seokjin, but you can just call me Jin.” He states.

“Hello, I’m ____. Very nice to meet you.” You blush as you shake his hand. It’s very warm and it lights your soul. This isn’t some made up story in your head. This is real. This is happening.

“So where are we headed?” He asks with a small chuckle.

“We are going to a book store actually, then maybe dinner?” You say with a small question mark at the end.

Wow, where is this confidence is suddenly coming from? you ask yourself.

“Sounds great.” He says as he continues to look at you with a smile. You both continue to make conversation. You learn that he runs a publishing company, and he was actually just heading to a book store himself. It was almost like it was fate. You loved the way he laughed, while others may find it weird, you found it cute.

When you both reached the stop you continued on to the bookstore.

You show him your favorite novel, and he shows you a poetry book. You guys could’ve spent hours in that store, getting to know each other and talking about books and stories. He had so many cute little quirks, like when he got really passionate about something he talked quicker. Eventually you guys check out and he surprises you by paying for your books. You thank him and you let him pick the place to eat.

He picked a restaurant that served naengmyeon. You guys eat and talk. You can’t stop smiling. He really is a dream. You have to pinch yourself to tell your self this is real.

“Are you ok?” He asks afterwards.

“Yeah, of course. I just am convincing myself that all of this is real.” You say with a small laugh.

“Do you often find yourself imagining things?” He said poking fun at you. You laugh.

“Well no and yes. I don’t hallucinate or anything, but I do often enjoy creating scenarios in my head. My mom has always told me that my overactive imagination would be bad for me and one day I would begin to believe my stories are real. I guess all of this seems too good to be true… You seem too good to be true.” You say while fiddling with your hands. He rests his hands on yours and you look up at him.

“I can promise you I am as real as it gets.” He says with a comforting smile. You smile back to him and hold his hand. Hoping that this lasts forever.

~ time jump - 5 years later ~

You stand on the podium looking out to the sea of people staring back at you. You begin to read the pages from your book.

“Soft love songs play in her headphones while she lazily daydreams out of the window. She quietly envies the people that pass by. She longed for a life with interest. She longed to shed her tedious job at the cafe. She longed to have romance in her life.

As if she spoke it into the universe her eyes landed on the most handsome man she had ever seen. A man that radiated the confidence she had longed for. While the bus comes to a stop their eyes meet. They can feel the chemistry grow as they continue to stare at each other. Almost as if she had absorbed some of him through this limited contact, she opens the window.

‘Is this your bus?’ She asks with a nervous smile and a tight chest. He looks up at her with a smirk.

‘It can be.’ He replies before getting onto the bus.” You close the book while the crowd claps.

“I want to thank you all for supporting me. This is my third book, and I have been thankful everyday that you guys have enjoyed my stories. They have always been my comfort, my escape from a dull life. Although you may not know, that my most recent novel isn’t just a story. It’s something that happened to me. This novel was inspired by the meeting of my very own partner and publisher, Kim Seokjin.” You say while holding your arm out to the back corner of your room. You make eye contact with your husband, Jin. He smiles and gives small bows as people turn to look at him and clap.

“Of course there are differences, but I had to write a story about how we met. My life changed from dull to exciting the day our eyes connected on that bus. His company was small, and I was an unknown writer, but people were, thankfully, drawn to my novel. I wouldn’t have had the strength to finish that story without him. He has kept me going for so long, and I owe everything I have to him. I love you my darling.” You say with tears welling in your eyes.

He gives you a heartfelt nod and mouths an ‘I Love You’ back. You continue to talk about your book. You take some questions and sometimes making eye contact with Jin and feeling a burst of warmth shoot through your veins.

After the book reading, you were talking one on one with your fans. You feel a hand snake around your waist and look up to see your beautiful husband.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but we have a very important meeting to get to.” Your husband says as you both take your leave.

You sit in the car as he drives. You stare at him as you hear a familiar song by Suran play. He rests a hand on your leg facing up, a request for you to hold his hand. You accept of course.

You guys pull up to the very same noodle place you had come to the night you had met. You enjoy a nice bowl of naengmyeon with your husband as you both talk about the current books you are reading. You will always thank fate for that day you had two met at the bus. You will always thank the universe for giving you the courage to open your window and talk to him. You will always thank Kim Seokjin for getting on that bus and never leaving your side since.

“Happy anniversary baby 💕”

#bts x reader #bts fic #bts #bts fanfic #kim seokjin #bts jin #jin #seokjin #bts seokjin #jin x reader #jin fluff #bts fluff #kim seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin x reader #bts jin x reader #bts jin fanfic #bts jin fluff

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fang-and-feather · 5 months

Text

Ikemen Vampire - Isaac x MC - Modern Setting, Reincarnation AU

For Week II of Ikemen Prompts at @ikemenprompts

Also a continuation of Lost Stars

Previous Chapter / IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Love carried on, but human life was fragile like glass.

Building something for yourself in a place as a vampire was equally fragile. How many times had Isaac moved, struggling through his insecurities to get a new job—he didn’t always have the comfort of living with Comte, and he knew his love would have wanted for him to face the world and his problems instead of hiding again—only to have to move because he didn’t look one day older from the day he woke up in the mansion, and at some point humans would get suspicious?

Isaac missed stability.

And, through years and places, there was no sign of her ever returning to him. Sometimes, to the point it was hard to keep up hope, especially when his usually logical brain started to point out all the ways in which it was impossible.

But he had chosen to hope, and he wouldn’t give up even if it seemed hopeless.

These kinds of thoughts were constantly in his head whenever he wasn’t busy. And the memories of the time he’d spent with her.

Such distant memories, that would have faded if they weren’t so precious to him. But on the hardest nights to bear the weight of that lost love, Isaac caught himself wishing they would just fade. At least he could go back to the life he had before meeting her.

Now was not one of these times. It was one of these moments where Isaac looked around and found things he wished he could share with her. Things he knew she would like.

But what if she actually came back and was a very different person from the one he fell in love with?

Still, he couldn’t help but notice things she would have liked, such as the small cafe down the street from where he was working, that looked like a nice place for a date, or the park a few blocks from his apartment.

That meant he got used to walking home, as long as it was close enough, and that led to him being caught in a sudden downpour and having to take refuge in a nearby building.

It was a new shopping mall, quite busy in the afternoon. Although Isaac wasn’t fond of chaotic places like that, the rain was so strong that it was difficult even to get a taxi without getting drenched, so he decided to stay a little to see if it would change soon.

He bought a drink and went to explore the place. It wasn’t his idea of pastime, exactly, but there wasn’t a quiet place for him to sit, anyway.

So he wandered through the hallways, occasionally stopping at a shop when something caught his eye. Usually something he thought she would like.

He stopped at the bookstore, where he browsed for something of interest. But something else kept stealing his attention.

The space a little behind the counter was dark, only illuminated by the stars cast on the wall and ceiling. These projections came from a glass sphere decorated with these images and with a light placed underneath.

He could distinguish the Orion constellation, and the way the other stars were positioned around it made it look like a sort of map. Isaac thought he had seen a flash of something inside, and his attention fell on the attendant at the counter.

She had been reading a book, but her eyes discretely followed him as Isaac moved towards another shelf. Then their eyes met and Isaac froze, heart racing. These were the eyes that had been haunting him for years; eyes he had been longing to see again.

But it wasn’t the long fated reunion he’d been waiting for. Beyond the familiar appearance was a stranger, who looked at him with curiosity and confusion, but no trace of recognition.

Under that realization, Isaac looked away, heat rushing to his face at the way this woman, who knew nothing about him, was still staring as if he was a puzzle she was trying to make sense of.

Isaac turned his attention back to the books, now feeling like leaving, but the euphoria at meeting her again, even if she didn’t know him, battled with that urge. He was drawn to her, despite all logic saying he shouldn’t.

He dared a new glance at her, but she was looking back at the sphere, then she turned again, looking at him with a shy smile, before speaking, in what sounded like a poor attempt at being professional.

“Do you need help, sir?”

Isaac shook his head and turned back to the shelves. He couldn’t keep loitering around. He would find a better place to think instead. If she worked at this shop, he could come back when he made up his mind.

The storm was still roaring outside, not much different from the way his heart was still racing. He picked up a puzzle book to pass time and headed for the counter in what felt like slow motion, afraid he would do or say the wrong thing if he got too close to her.

“Do you come here often?” She asked, attempting to sound casual, but she still looked flustered and was avoiding looking at him again.

“It is my first time.”

“Funny. I could swear we had met before. You look so familiar, but… that can’t be. I would remember you.”

Isaac only stared at her, surprised at the words.

So a part of her ‘did’ remember him! Not the moat conscious part, though, and she was struggling to put these pieces together.

Should he help? But he didn’t want to push her. She was a new person, with a new life. He had no proof she didn’t already have someone special in this life. Or, even if she didn’t, that they could rebuild their relationship. That she would accept him.

What if she did, though? Even if she didn’t remember, there was a chance they could begin again. Build a new relationship as new people.

If he was being sincere, that was not what he wanted. But if that was what it took to be close to her again.

Isaac did his best to push all his fears and insecurities aside, like she always pushed him to do.

“What is that?” Isaac shifted his attention to the sphere. Both cursing himself for his inability to be direct, and hoping this way it would be less nerve-wracking for him, or strange for her.

“The clerk at the shop I bought it said it was a treasure sphere. It supposedly helps people find their soulmates. I’m not aure it works, but I think I saw something when I found it, so I bought it.” She walked to the little sphere and picked it up. “I have been having strange dream ever since.”

She was getting out from behind the counter to show the object to him, when a louder thunder resonated and the lights flickered off. Isaac heard her screen and grab into his arm, followed by a loud crash.

The light returned quickly as the generators activated, but she was still holding him, face hidden on his arm, her body warm and trembling against his. Isaac blushed at the contact, but tentatively wrapped his other arm around her.

“It’s okay. Everything is back to normal now.” He rubbed her back, until she calmed down and released him.

“Sorry.” She practically lept away. “I haven’t been quite myself in the dark after I bought the sphere either. It’s like something bad happened, but I don’t remember it.”

She knelt down, reaching to pick the shards of the sphere she’d lost her grip on in her fear.

“Don’t!” Isaac acted before he could think, crouching and grabbing her hand before she could touch the glass. The memories of the night he met her and the accident jumped to the front of his mind, making him shiver. He would rather not witness something like that again.

“Isaac?” She asked, hesitantly, looking up at him.

Did she just…

“What did you call me?”

“Oh, sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I just felt like that was right, somehow.” She looked away, sheepishly, gently tugging her arm away from him and Isaac releases her. “What is your name, anyway? If you don’t mind.”

“Let me do this.” Isaac started picking the glass shards, carefully. “And… I was surprised because Isaac is actually my name. For a moment I thought…”

He thought she had remembered, but of course she didn’t. Why did he almost tell her?

“Thought what?”

“It’s nothing. If you’re okay now, I… I will throw this away and I think I will be going.”

Isaac turned to leave, but she held his arm again.

“Wait!” Isaac gulped. The more time he spent with her, the more it was hard to hold back his urge of hugging and kissing her, and the burning bloodlust. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He followed her gaze to the counter, and the book he’d been attempting to buy earlier. But her actions were not of someone worried with a possible lost sale. She was still holding him tight and there was a hint of sorrow in her eyes.

“Of course.” Isaac picked his wallet and started counting his money when she spoke again.

“And… Can I get your number? I feel like, if I let you go, I’ll never see you again and… for some reason, the idea makes me so sad.”

Isaac could barely contain himself anymore. Her soul did remember, even if her mind didn’t, and he wanted to do something to help her remember. Even if he failed and it hurt him. He couldn’t keep running away.

“Do you… believe in reincarnation? That we could have met in your past life?”

“Sounds like a fairy tale, but I think I do. After today… I want to believe. I want to believe the treasure sphere broke because it served its purpose. So, can we talk about it this weekend?”

“I would love that.”

They exchanged numbers and Isaac parted ways with her, his heart feeling much lighter.

He had finally found his lost star after years of search. His treasure hunt ending by sheer coincidence, brought in by the rain.

She had really been reincarnated, and no matter what happened between them, she was fine. Happy.

He still longed for her, but the future of their relationship was looking bright. Isaac felt so excited and nervous, but he would treasure every moment of this second chance to be with the one he loved. A new chance to be loved.

The thunder outside sounded like a roar of triumph now, instead of a cry of sorrow, now that his own storm had quieted.

Isaac smiled as he saw a message on his phone. An address, to where this new page of his story would begin. And he sent a message back.

I can’t wait.

Tag List: @tele86

If you want to be tagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #reincarnation au #ikevamp #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

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waklman · 1 year

Text

Double Take

Chapter three: The Chase

synopsis: the hard-deck believes their prized solo artist needs to boost her social presence before a long awaited album release, with the help of a manager (babysitter). yet, you manage to ditch or chase away every artist manager that gets assigned to help you. as a last resort, the label contacts the only manager who was able to tie you down, the now retired Pete Maverick Mitchell, asking for a referral. lucky for you, the one person that comes to his mind is Bradley Bradshaw—who’s in need of a new job.

warnings: no use of y/n, mature themes 18+, explicit language, reader is 21 and bradley is 23.

word count: 3.4k.

previous chapter | next chapter | double take masterlist.

Maybe you should’ve tried harder when it came to your efforts towards evading Bradley. Or maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated his determination in the first place. He was brung up by Maverick, after all. And the old man wasn’t exactly known for being a quitter—nor does he raise them.

It was three weeks ago when you first ditched Bradley, abandoning him at some after party you can barely recall. And it took him less than five minutes to track you down—tucked away in a corner of a nearby coffee shop.

Since then, you were met with many more failed attempts at shaking him off. Whenever you thought you had finally escaped him, he would appear right behind you like a second shadow.

You make a run for the library to avoid a public dinner appearance? He’s waiting between two hard cover books—until you skim through that shelf. You think you successfully slipped past him during a promotional event? Yeah, no he’s already standing by the exit with a grin on his face.

There was nothing you could do without him already being one step ahead of you. He even stalked you enough to learn about your special spot. The Miller’s Bookshop.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Mrs. Miller, softly calls out for you by her spot at the register, knowing you’re not too far off.

“..Yeah..” you answer absentmindedly, nose stuffed deep into a poetry book.

“Your handsome friend is here looking for you again,” she chuckles, amused by the little cat and mouse game you two have been playing at.

It seems like everyone finds this situation funny—but you. Like it’s some fool-proof joke that you’re left in the dark about—doomed to never grasp understanding of.

You toss your head back against the wall, closing your eyes in defeat. Handsome friend? No one else comes to mind. “I’m back here, Bradshaw.”

“Anyone in the mood for breakfast?” He sings loudly, shaking the bag of food for you to hear—trying to beckon your interest.

Bradley offers Mrs. Miller a polite smile, before making his way to you—turning his body to fit through the narrowly spread bookshelves. He ducks his head, dodging the paper cranes that hang from the ceiling, knowing how to maneuver around the place from being here so often.

He assumes it’s just part of your creative procedure, to stow yourself away in here until you’re able to pump out song lyrics.

You recently entered the process of songwriting, after finally getting back to Javy about his project files. And with that, you’ve been quietly sneaking out of your apartment and into the bookshop before Bradley could even stir in bed.

If anything—it worked out in his favor, because Bradley’s slowly starting to catch up on sleep—and he knew exactly where to find you in the mornings.

It was a dingy little bookstore—small, cluttered, and tightly tucked between two trendy cafes that wildly outshined it. Yet you were always there—sitting quietly in one of the reading cubbies–a private space for customers to look through their books after a purchase.

His eyes skim over all the little nooks, spotting the toes of your sneakers peeking out from one of the occupied cubbies. “Mind if I join?” He asks, pulling back the worn out curtain that hid you away.

“I mind very much, actually,” you reply, not bothered enough to look away from your book. Opposite to your word, you’re already scooting over to let Bradley sit besides you. His determination lets him squeeze his big frame into the cozy compartment with you.

“Ouch–watch it,” you scold, finally snapping your eyes to him. “Are you trying to sit next to me or sit on top of me?” Bradley lightly laughs, lifting his butt so you could pull your loose pant-leg from under him.

Bradley sits back down. “You know,” he starts, leaning the opening of the bag towards you “..girls don’t typically complain when I’m on top.”

“Why? Because they’re too busy rethinking their life choices?” You mockingly remark, reaching inside to grab your bagel. You skim a hand through the rest of the bag, there’s nothing else inside there but napkins. “Where’s yours?” You ask, withdrawing your hand.

“Ate it on my way over,” he shrugs, extracting the item of food from you. He carefully peels back the wrapping paper, uncovering enough for you to take a bite. You hum, taking it back from him.

Then it falls quiet again, with you taking slow bites of your toasted bagel, waiting for inspiration to strike while Bradley flips through the book for you—closely waiting for you to nod, a signal for him to turn the page.

It’s oddly intimate—the routine you two fell into. Bradley started to pick up your regime faster than you expected him to, adjusting himself seamlessly into your daily life.

Graham even pointed out that Bradley’s outlasted all your previous managers, with the exception of Maverick—and he was right. Bradley’s already learning how to deal with you.

Finishing the page you’re on, you nod for Bradley to detect the motion. But he doesn’t move, leaving you to stare at the same text.

Again, you nod your head, waiting for him to flip to the next page. His reaction is delayed—swiping to a fresh page for you, one full minute after you signaled him to. “..My bad.” he mutters the apology, with a yawn following right after.

“Take a nap,” you mutter the command, with a mouth full of food–plucking the book from his hands.

Bradley’s cheeks fills with air, holding back a second yawn. “Why? So you could sneak out while I’m knocked?” He asks, finally pushing the sign of tiredness away.

It was a joke, yet you provide him with a serious answer. “No—I’ll be here awhile, since they’re closed for the next few days. The Millers are taking off to celebrate their anniversary,” you reply, adjusting the book in your lap.

“What about your book? I always hold it for you.”

“Just sleep. I can read on my own–been doing it long before you came around.” You’re only half paying attention to what you’re saying, too busy reading over a line of poetry that brews an idea.

Bradley purses his lips, seeing that you’re already set on it. “Whatever you say boss.”

“You’re funny if you think I’m letting you sit like that, Move in,” he scoffs, reaching backwards to pat the empty space between you two.

When you guys finally left the bookshop, you expected to leave in his Ford Bronco–not a brand new Harley.

“How’d you convince Ms. Benjamin into buying a company motorcycle?” You question, leaning over to check out the side of the bike. It’s not as sweet as Maverick’s ride, but you can’t deny that it’s definitely a looker.

Bradley grins under his helmet, knocking back the kickstand with his heel. “Told her it’s better for your image. I figured you have car sickness. You can’t keep showing up to events lookin’ like you’re about to hurl.”

“How'd you figure that one out?” You ask without thinking, grabbing his shoulders as he balances you two.

“Are you kidding me? The image of you hanging out the side of my car like a paper doll lives rent free in my head,” he reminds you, slightly offended that you forgot about that whole fiasco.

“Hm, forgot about that,” you brush him off, with a shrug of your shoulders.

Bradley’s tongue presses flat against his teeth. “Lack of lyrics clogging up your brain?”

“Horrible jokes clogging up yours?” You plainly throw back at him.

“You just love rewording my jokes, don’t you?”

“Yeah, cause I make them funnier,” you answer flatly, with an empty expression sitting under your own helmet.

“Right. Now hold on tight, dollface,” he pats the side of your thigh.

You listen to his instruction, scooting forward to lightly press your front onto his back—until you fully catch what he said. “What did you just call me?”

“What? Isn’t that what Mav calls you when he drives you around?” He inquires, revving the engine—letting it roar back at him.

“I was one of his clients–not one of his flings,” you correct him.

“What is it then? My girl? My sweet litt–”

“Don’t make this conversation weird, freak,” you cut him off coldly.

Bradley’s tongue pokes his cheek at the insult. Freak?

He stretches his jaw, annoyed. “I was told by Mav growing up that if little girls are mean to me, it means they have a crush on me,” he says, mockingly.

“Well, I was told by Mav that if your helmet is on too tight, you can’t think properly,” you start to fire back. “So maybe you should loosen that thing on your big head before you say anything stupid. Oh wait—it’s already too late for that.” It’s like getting repeatedly shot by a gun after already being killed. For once, he would rather you turn to physical violence instead of using your words.

Bradley bites his tongue, knowing this is only getting messy since you’re both just spurred on by hunger. It’s been hours since you both had breakfast—and a small one at that.

He lets out a sigh, willing himself to ignore the blow to his ego. “…Wanna try to get those poke bowls again?”

You puff your cheeks, embarrassed by the burst of anger. “…I want spicy salmon in mine.”

If Bradley learned one thing from his babysitting days, it was that—playing with a toddler til they drop was the best way to tire them out.

But in this case, you weren’t a toddler—just a restless girl who can’t keep her hands off that stupid book you brought home.

“I’m never touching that copy again,” you voice your annoyance, turning your back to him.

“Good, cause you’re addicted to it,” he sternly replies, fluffing the pillow under your head.

The only way Bradley could keep your paws off the damn book was to finally stuff it down his pants after wearing you down in a fight for it.

Before reaching that conclusion—he managed to snatch the book from you, holding it up in the air, leaving you to jump on your tippy toes—trying to reach for it, for almost an hour as insults came flying out your mouth. It was like watching a toddler discover what curse words are.

After successfully wearing you out, Bradley’s now crouched next to your bedside, watching your shoulders relax under the sheets.

“What’s in that damn thing that’s got you so hooked anyway?” He whispers. Bradley doesn’t think of any consequences when reaching out a hand to stroke your head next. And to his surprise, you let him do it.

In some ways, you remind him of the untamed puppy he had as a child. You were stubborn and grouchy in every way possible—but for some reason Bradley wasn’t willing to give up on you. Maybe he just liked having a challenge. Just maybe.

“Reading helps me write all my hit songs…I’m nothing without it,” you mumble tiredly, unsure if you’re imagining the comforting strokes or not.

His pinky slightly brushes over the shell of your ear at your confession. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen you write down one line, Taylor Swift.”

You’re starting to doze off, but you still catch his lame joke. “That better not be an insult to Taylor…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare Mousey, not with you around,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair back.

You don’t answer him.

As carefully as he can, Bradley leans in to hover over your still body. A small smile tugs his lips, seeing that this the first time you’ve fallen asleep before he has.

That hard expression you’re always wearing is long gone—and your lips are just barely parted as you let out calm breaths. You look cute.

For someone who was so adamant on you getting to bed, Bradley’s pulling you right out of it.

“What.” you grumble—pulling the door open to see him fully awake—not one part of him screams tired.

The grin plastered on his face, just sets your annoyance to sink in even deeper. Was this why everyone called him Rooster? For waking up at criminally insane hours? You would ask, but your reluctance to be out of bed right now overweighs the curiosity.

Bradley’s purpose for appearing at your front door slips his brain for a moment, and his eyes shamelessly rake over your sleepy appearance. The oversized shirt you had on is wrinkled from sleep and he could barely make out if you’re wearing anything under there or not. Were you one of those people who strip in their sleep or something?

As if on cue, Maverick’s stern face appears in Bradley’s head like an unwanted pop up ad–reminding him that he should make a better effort to be professional.

“Hello?” you make a face at him, weirded out by his silence.

Bradley clears his throat. “Your stylist told me she needs you to try on these archives. We’re uh-we’re attending a big movie premiere tomorrow,” he reports awkwardly, lifting the stack of black garment bags into your line of sight—attempting to distract you from his stuttering.

Your brows knit together, wondering where his kiddish demeanor wandered off to.

Bradley remains motionless, letting you scan him up and down with an unimpressed look in your eye.

He probably hit the gym before knocking at your door. Bradley’s sporting athletic wear—he has on a pair of running shorts—probably as short as yours, riding up his lower thigh with a navy blue long sleeve clung tightly on his upper half, revealing his progress at the gym.

Without saying a word, you turn around to let him follow you inside.

He carefully picks out his next words, trying to find the best way to bring up his following request without sounding predatory, afraid he might tick you off. “She also asked me for videos of you in the outfits, you know—to see how they fit.” He sets down the bags onto your couch for you to grab.

“Do you have your phone on you?” You reach down for the garments.

“Um. Yeah.”

You leave him unanswered, dragging your heavy feet over to your bedroom–with the racks of clothes thrown over your shoulder.

“Bradshaw?” you call out for him, hesitantly. “Are you sure this doesn’t belong to someone else?”

You’ve finished changing into the first outfit, speaking to him from inside your room while he waits for you on the couch. “Can you come look? I don’t think this is mine.”

Bradley throws his phone off to the side, pulling himself up from your cushions. “Are you sure? Your name was labeled on the bags and everything Mouse,” he assures you, walking towards your bedroom.

He patiently stands in front of your door, watching the knob jiggle as you work to unlock it.

Slowly, the door is pulled open, revealing the outfit that's causing you so much uncertainty. “This is…I don’t think I put this on right,” you mutter, awkwardly stretching out your arms for him to see.

Bradley blinks.

He’s not even sure what you have on. It looks like you have a scarf wrapped around your body, covering only bits and pieces of you that make him nervous to even acknowledge.

It doesn’t help that the fabric is dangerously thin and looks like bandage wrappings.

Bradley begins to sweat. You’re starting to resemble that sexy nurse out of that bad 70s porno he and Jake watched one time—as a joke. The woman wore nothing but bandages.

Bradley licks his lips, trying his best to appear put together with a serious look on his face—but you start to turn—to show him your backside. “..Like the back is even worse, Bradshaw. Here, look,” you tell him, unaware that his beads of sweat had spawned from looking at you—and not from his previous visit to the gym.

And all it takes is one peak at the sparkly thin band of your underwear to get him to snap his head to the door frame beside him. Why the hell did you own so many cute pairs of underwear? He took you for a girl who wore those unflattering granny panties. You preferred comfort over looks, didn’t you?

“Christ. Stay still, you’re gonna fucking flash me,” he warns, turning you back around so your front is facing him again—as if that even helped his case.

“Maybe we should ask her to pick out something different for me. This won’t capture well on camera,” you conclude, stiffly looking down at your outfit.

Depends on what kind of camera, actually. There’s a dreadfully long list of willing participants who would love to see you in this get up.

He clears his throat, dismissing his awful imagination–hesitantly dropping his gaze back on you. “I’ll have to agree with you on that Mouse. We shouldn’t let paparazzi see you in this.” He scans you one last time.

“When I make this hand gesture, you guys can step up for your pictures.” The man with the clipboard makes a signal with his hands, showing Bradley what he means.

“Got it. Thanks man.” Bradley gives the staff member an understanding nod.

As the worker walks off, Bradley looks over to you, checking if you paid attention to the directions. But you look like you’re on the brink of fainting, staring at the swarm of men juggling their heavy cameras behind the velvet ropes, repeatedly clicking their shutter buttons.

His curious eyes drop down to your neckline, noticing that you’ve been anxiously twisting the pendant on your necklace.

Bradley cups his hand over yours—prying your fingers off the expensive piece of jewelry.

He sighs to himself. Your stylist would kill him if he returned the necklace damaged. He was sure the french woman already had his name on her hit-list the moment he came back with your outfits in hand, asking for a new set of clothes.

The crowd of fans camping behind the horde of paparazzi collectively awe at Bradley’s seemingly romantic gesture–yelling over each other to catch your attention, waving their cd copy of your last album over their heads–paying no mind to the well-known actress who’s currently posing on the red carpet.

Bradley drops his hold on your hand, to protectively move his body in front of you–shielding you from the next set of rapid flashing lights, as the actress strikes a new pose for the cameras. You look up at him, surprised by his sudden mannerism.

Bradley’s hazel eyes finally meet your nervous ones. The stress of being next in line for photos is clear as day on your face.

This is the first time you’re ever officially appearing with someone on a red carpet. If this didn’t poke at the flame of your dating rumors with him, you wouldn’t know what will.

It’s perfect for what Penny wants for you. If Bradley wanted to keep his income steady, he wouldn’t ever let you walk out on this.

For fuck sake, Bradley can practically imagine the praise he’d get for this—leading you in front of the cameras, holding onto the small of your back as he gives you a loving look as instructed.

You spend the next minute staring up at him, tuning out the layered shouting and deafening chatter swirling the air around you two. This is it. You can’t run from this.

Bradley’s determination starts dwindling the more he looks into your eyes. It tugs at his chest, leaving him unbelievably weak.

Bradley lets out a breath, not believing what he’s about to do.

“Let’s ditch this place. We didn’t get to eat lunch yet,” he casually offers with a shrug.

What?

Confusion washes over you, as he tilts his head towards the exit, the one you both marked upon arrival.

“But Penny–”

“Won’t fire me. If we just say you ran off again,” he proposes, raising an eyebrow at you. “I technically have to chase after you if you slip past me.” He steps aside, hinting at you to go.

You look over at the exit, then back at him with an unsure look on your face.

He nods, giving you the go ahead.

You finally give in, lips pulling into smile. Bradley falters at the unfamiliar sight. You’re smiling at him for the first time.

“You think you can catch me Bradshaw?” You tease.

He loosens his tie, with a grin. “Oh, I will,” he answers, playing along. “Preferably outside? Where my bike is parked?”

“I mean, where else would I run off to?”

note: ahh this took me a second to get out..but!! mouse and bradley finally being friends?? who would’ve thought..! but that only means trouble will start to truly stir soon

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softxsuki · 1 year

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Hello, I’m.. new to this. But reading your works have comforted me … I know you have a lot on your plate, and I hope all is going well for you!! If you,,have the chance,, I’ve kind of.. not been doing well. At all. Haha,, I’ve been extremely suicidal.. for at least the past year. Everything has since fell apart. I’m not sure if this counts, but..it feels urgent, to me..?

My grandmother died, I lost my job due to my health declining so rapidly I physically could not manage. I’ve since applied to so many jobs.. absolutely no luck and.. I even lost my home. Im living with someone else’s parents, and I’m a child scared to leave their room all over again. I can’t eat unless food is in front of me, none of my friends are… good, at comforting, to say the least… I have well over 1K due for medical bills, and no one will even take me for an interview, so I can’t even pay off little by little. Lol..I pretty much moved out at 17 and have been surviving by myself for 6 years now.

Im so tired of surviving.

If.. if you don’t mind.. honestly I don’t even know what kind of scenario this would count as…. Baji has been my biggest comfort character as of late, and I.. well, would you mind,, possibly writing a scenario.. of reader who’s spiraled so far into these thoughts, and in the midst of a panic attack, attempts to.. stop surviving, if you catch my drift..

I know this is very personal, and I’m sorry to dump on you.. if you’re unable, all is well! Thank u for taking time to read my pity story haha.. <3

Baji Helps Suicidal Reader

****Please proceed with caution if mentions of suicide will be more harmful to you than beneficial.*****

Pairing: Baji x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of hopelessness, suicide attempt, crying, not being able to find a job, losing your home

Genre: Hurt Comfort

Post-Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: In which Baji shows up as soon as you attempt to take your own life.

[A/N: Hi darling, I'm so glad you found my blog and for feeling comfortable enough to bring your urgent request to me! I'm so sorry to hear what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine how you must be feeling. Though I've felt similarly about the the whole job thing. Places these days won't even give people a chance to show what they could do. I graduated from College and couldn't find work immediately. I'm still struggling to find a job in my field even now. I have a job at a bookstore atm, but it took a long time for me to get it. I think when they timing is right though, things will work out for us. We really just need to wait for things to happen and keep working for them! But you're also going through a lot of other situations as well, so my words probably aren't that helpful, so I'll leave that to Baji. I'm here if you ever need anyone to talk to though. I've been through moments of hopelessness and feeling like leaving this world was my only option, but I'm proof that things will change. There will always be times when we fall, but we can always get back up again! Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read. I hope it provides you with even just a tiny bit of comfort <3 i love you, hopefully we can talk again soon, you sound very sweet!

Side note: I wasn’t sure if you wanted something platonic or if you wanted to be Baji’s s/o so I left that kinda ambiguous. You could read it either way!

Baji impatiently taps his foot, sitting on his bike outside your place. Where were you?

You had texted him earlier asking him to pick you up since the people you were living with weren’t home and you just needed to get out for a while. He came rushing over as soon as he had a chance and texted you upon arriving, but you weren’t answering his texts–you weren’t even reading them.

He knew all about your situation in life and had tried his best to be by your side and show you the support that you deserved to have. He wasn’t perfect though, at times it was hard for Baji to truly put himself in your shoes and understand what you were going through.

Now though, he was worried. Why had you texted so desperately that you needed to get out of the house? Why weren’t you answering his texts now?

He turns his engine off and hops off the bike, walking briskly to your front door.

“Y/N! I’m here,” He bangs on the door, hoping you were just distracted and forgot to check your phone to see his texts.

But he’s met with silence.

“Y/N!” He tries again, panic settling in the pit of his stomach and he bangs harder on the door–something wasn’t right.

He brings his ear to the door hoping to hear any sign of life and that’s when he hears it, the running of water and sobs from the other side. Gathering whatever adrenaline had been building up in him, he rams into the door, which luckily flies open from the impact. The sound of your sobs grows louder the closer he gets to you. You were in the bathroom.

The door is only a crack open, but he races toward the noise, slamming the door fully open and takes in your state; puffy eyes as tears run from them not that he could distinguish your tears from the hot water that was pouring on you from the shower-head. You were sitting in the tub, soaking wet with a bottle of pills in your hands.

Your breathing was erratic as you struggled to open the bottle, but Baji is quick to act. He’s in the shower with you in a second, the burning water scalding his body even through his jacket, but he doesn’t care since it’s now not hitting you anymore. He snatches the pills from your hands, throwing them out the bathroom door and into the hallway where you can’t see them. In your state of panic, you start to flail around, seeing that bottle as your only escape from the mental pain you were experiencing. He finally turns the water off and hoists you up, your attempts to push him away and hit him futile. His adrenaline is still high as he lifts you from the tub with ease and onto the bathroom floor where he plops down next to you, out of breath.

You can’t seem to calm your breathing down as you clutch your chest, searching all around you with wild eyes, looking for a way out. Anything to end your suffering–anything. But then you feel strong arms wrap around you in a hug. You beat down on his back, trying your best to shake him off you. Let go of me, you think to yourself. Maybe you meant it in a different way, Let me go. Let me be free from this pain. But deep down, you wanted him to continue to hold you in place.

“Y/N please-” His voice cracks, making you go still in his arms. What were you doing?

“Please, I’m here. You’re not alone, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” he cries, “So don’t leave me.”

The man who had nerves of steel was breaking right in front of you.

He held you tight, as if he was scared you’d just vanish between his fingers.

What feels like hours passes by with you both still soaking wet on the floor, clinging to each other, but you slowly manage to calm your breathing and sobs thanks to Baji’s help.

He had been silent the whole time, focusing on just making sure you wouldn’t try anything else while he was around.

“I’m sorry…” you finally say, resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

He finally loosens his grip on you, but continues to hold you close, caressing your still damp hair, “Why?”

That was a great question. One you couldn’t answer in only a few minutes. Baji knew the basics of what you’d been through, but he didn’t know the turmoil of what you were going through internally–only externally.

“I’m just…tired. Tired of surviving, tired of suffering. I’m barely scraping by. Is this what life’s supposed to be like? I look around at all the happy faces. Everyone seems to be living the ideal life and I’m just here, so why should I bother to exist if I don’t matter.”

He takes in your words, thinking them over, probably repeating them over and over in his head.

“You matter,” he decides to say, “You matter so much. Even if you only matter to one person, isn’t that enough to keep trying? One person can eventually grow into two, and three, and so on.”

“Baji…you don’t know what it’s like. I’ve already tried for so long. It’s been six long years. I’ve tried to see the good in my situation for six years, and yet I only keep getting pushed farther and farther past my limit. I can’t find a job, and because I can’t find a job, I can’t pay off my debt. I’m living in a house that isn’t mine with people who aren’t my family. I’m alone,” you cry out.

By now you had freed yourself from Baji’s arms, but he reaches over and grabs your hand, squeezing it reassuringly, scared that you’d run away from him.

“But if you leave now how do you know that tomorrow won’t be the day that things change?” He asks you, “Look, I know I can’t ever fully understand what goes on through your mind or what you’ve been through up till this point, but you can’t know what your life will be like a few months from now–hell, not even a few days from now. Everything can change in a second, you just need to be around to experience it.”

He brings your hands to his lips, peppering tiny kisses to your knuckles.

“I love you, a lot Y/N. Too much to just let you leave like this. Let’s try focusing on today. Each day has its own troubles, so why should we think about the future and worry ourselves even more for problems we haven’t reached yet? We’ll cross those valleys when we get to them. Right now, I just want you to focus on yourself, getting back on your feet and in a better state of mind,” he tries to console you.

His words definitely reached you. Truth be told, you knew things could maybe change, but it was hard to move forward with such uncertainty. Why couldn’t you know what would happen with your life five years from now?

“But what if things don’t change. I don’t want to live like this forever. I don’t want to suffer anymore,” you confess, hot tears running down your face.

Baji turns to face you, gently wiping your tears away.

“But what if they do? Don’t you want to stick around to find that out for yourself?” He asks.

You stop and think it over for a moment; a life where things finally turned around–you finally getting called in for an interview and getting a job, receiving an income and finally getting to pay your debts off. Having your own place where you felt comfortable and maybe starting a family of your own…yeah, that did sound nice. As impossible as that future sounded, it was something you craved.

“I guess I do,” you sigh, “Though I wish it could happen now.”

“I know. I wish it could happen now for you as well. I hate to see you suffer so much, but you’re not alone in this. I have your back. So let’s keep fighting okay? Together, let’s see it through till the end when things finally turn around for you.”

“Baji, you know I can’t just feel better overnight. I think I’ll be okay for today, but who’s to tell when I’ll spiral like this again.”

“Then I’ll be here to get you through it again.”

A wave of gratitude flew through you. You don’t know why Baji arrived on time when you were fully ready to leave this world a few minutes ago, but now you were thankful that he had stopped you. You didn’t want to hurt him or leave him alone, but you found a little ball of hope appearing in your heart. Though tiny, it was still present and you hoped it would continue to grow and become reality one day.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Then shall we go? You said you wanted out of here for the day, right?” He goes right back to treating you like he usually would–something you were grateful for. You didn’t want him to walk on eggshells around you after witnessing you at your lowest moment.

“But we’re still wet,” you point-out, looking at his clothes that were still clinging to his body.

“The wind will dry us,” he heaves himself off the floor and holds a hand out to you, “Let’s go.”

You give him your hand as he helps you off the floor. What did you have to lose? At this point you didn’t care, you just needed to get your mind off everything.

Baji leads you out of the house, grabbing the bottle of pills on his way out and throwing them in his jacket pocket, making a mental note to discard them later. You walk past the open door with a lock that was now busted off the wall. You’d have to explain that to the people you lived with, but you’d face that problem when you got to it–just like Baji said.

You hop on behind him on his motorbike as he passes you his helmet, making sure it’s securely on your head before he drives off.

For just a moment, the wind seems to blow all the worries from your mind. With your arms wrapped tightly around Baji’s torso, you close your eyes and think of those better days he had spoken about.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see if they could really happen…

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 2/15/2023

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