#whats your drag race trope

[gamermattsgf]

Tokyo drifters // drag racer Chris

Warnings: car sex / tit fuck / cum kink / fingering / cunnalingus / size kink / spit kink / enemies to lovers trope / dangerous driving ig (?) / mentions of smoking and brief mentions of alcohol / praise kink

Summary: what do you get when you cross a competitive drag racer with an equally as competitive opponent? Smoke, engine oil and a whole lot of sexual tension, that’s what.

Author’s notes: and so let the obsession with racer fics begin, but with a Chris flavoured twist. Chris strikes me as the illegal, reckless driver type, hence my modern twist on something very fast and furious-esque. Chris x drag racing actually makes me wet u guys I fucking love it, like- imagine him drifting around in a red Nissan Skyline gtr with his black and white leather jacket on, UGH it really just gets me going…

“We could do whatever you want, you could fuck me in the back of your car” - HER, Chase Atlantic

The black asphalt glimmers with a coat of wetness and a pattern of oil spillage slicked over the top of it, the technicolour rainbow greased and worming in the fluorescent lights of the street as the heavy hum of revved engines purr in your ears and echo across the emptied roads.

Beer bottles and cans splash here and there on the dripping concrete with discarded cigarette cases and lighters balanced on top of littered leather jackets.

Illegal drag racing. Bets. Stacks of money shoved into the pockets of the driver that is triumphant at the end of the night.

You’re here because this place is rife with the best of the best. The ones who really soak their hands in the leather of their steering wheels, who breathe the musk of their seats, and who burn the rubber marks of their legacies into the very streets that they rocket through each early A.M.

At present you stand to the side of the pavement, smelling the stench of broiling petrol mingled with the scent of flavoured cigarette smoke.

Your eyes survey the various Suzukis, Mustangs and Toyota drifters, all in different colours and all with different painted decals to signify each of the driver’s unique personality, wrinkling your nose at the lack of female drivers leaning against their own cars.

There are plenty of people here.

The rules are simple, you bet on the driver you wager is going to win and then whatever number of votes the driver receives determines their starting position at the beginning of the race.

As your eyes pass over the mingling people chatting in heaped groups with different drivers, you dismally notice the one person who you most definitely did not want to run into tonight. The only other person who can match your speed.

Great. Well that’s just fucking fantastic.

He is on his own. His lanky figure leaning against his electric red Nissan drifter with sleek black wheels and windows, his raven brown hair dusting his face in waving curls as his hands tuck themselves into his black and white leather racer jacket.

A long white cigarette lies perched in between his lips, smoke lazily oozing out from the lit cherry before dispersing into the cool night air in front of him.

He makes no effort to smoke it properly, simply lets it rest in between the purse of his lips whilst he too, observes his competition.

That is, until his eyes trail their way over to you. Now you’re both looking at each other, and he finds it within himself to cockily smirk, your silent rivalry unnoticed by the rest of the bustling audience here to simply bet and watch the race.

You scoff quietly, pushing your feet into a walk, you’ve got to go and talk to him now.

You gradually make your way across the sopping wet tarmac road, heading straight in the direction of the one man who always knows how to rub you the wrong way.

As you go, you fish one of your own cigarettes out of your cigarette case, and then light it. It sparks, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly whilst waiting for you to reach him.

When you do, you stop and nod at him in greeting, mumbling a curt ‘Chris’ after whipping your cigarette from out of your mouth and resting it within your pointer and middle finger.

To contrast your cold behaviour, your arch nemesis tilts his head playfully, his smugness practically oozing from his figure as he retorts with a ‘hey sugar… ready to lose tonight?’. Your nostrils flare.

The only reason you came tonight to race is because you didn’t think Chris would be here.

You fucking hate racing him, in fact, you hate even being within a close proximity to him. He drives you up the wall, irritates you to no end and most importantly- absolutely chokes you with conflicted feelings.

Because how can someone that you hate this much also be someone you feel so irresistibly attracted to?

Chris always finds the most painful of ways to dig under your skin and clamp his claws around you until you’re gasping for air and practically begging to be let free.

Free from the inescapable prison that coaxes you into constantly thinking about him, even when he’s not around.

‘You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you win tonight, that money is mine’ you spit a laugh, before feeding your cigarette into your mouth and inhaling it to calm your nerves. He makes your fingers twitch, and sometimes you’re not sure if it’s because you want to wrap them around his throat or use them to pull his neck down into a kiss.

He raises his eyebrows and starts to once again use the mocking lilt to his tone that you know oh-so-well. ‘Oh really? Because last time I checked I’m pretty sure that money had my name on it’. He readjusts his lean on his red Nissan to make himself seem taller, and you grit your teeth at his teasing antics.

You don’t answer, and instead open you mouth. Chris watches the smoke that you had been holding in your lungs come seductively curling out, and he swallows nervously. It mingles between you two like a barrier of attraction before melting away into the damp air above you as you resume your usual grilling.

‘How’d you even find out about this race anyway? Thought you stayed on the South side?’

Chris shrugs and basks in the obvious annoyance your voice contains. He knows he’s in dangerous territory, this is your side of town, and you know the roads way better than him over here. But then again, when has Chris ever backed down from a challenge?

Plus, he fucking loves teasing you. He gets such a rise out of it every single time, in which case it’s worth hauling his ass all the way over to the other side town just for a race.

Just to see you.

He can’t help it, he just can’t keep himself away.

‘Friend of a friend’ he responds vaguely, before deciding to pluck the almost burnt out cigarette from his lips so that he can thrust it to the floor and crush it underneath his sneaker.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t believe that Chris managed to weasel his way into this race, because it’s definitely going to ruin your chances of going home with that prize money. To say Chris is a reckless driver is an understatement, he’s fucking good, but he also takes risks, risks that bargain with his life and the lives of others, so naturally, when people see his notorious red car pull up to races they panic and stay far behind him.

Not you though.

‘You best count your fucking days Chris because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you win this time…’.

Chris chuckles, his eyes narrowing in a siren-like way before reaching up to your mouth and slowly pulling your cigarette from out of your lips. ‘Yeah…? Well we’ll see about that, won’t we baby cakes?’ he chides, before fully stealing your cigarette and putting it into his own mouth without hesitation.

Your blood boils at his persistence and you spin around in a rage, wishing you could just run him over with your car. At least that would stop the heartbeat from pulsing in between your legs at his weirdly sexual action.

After watching you whisk away, Chris quickly gets into his car and slams his red door closed, satisfied with how flustered you had looked. Revving his engine with a humongous effort to get the race going, he knuckles his leather steering wheel before pulling away from the crowd to let them know that the race will shortly commence.

He is definitely eager to prove you wrong as he observes the way the heavy crowd of people disperse from the middle of the road and let the competitors and their cars through to their designated spots for the countdown.

Engines throttle and rev, starting up and growling like hungry beasts whilst you get into your own car. You then drive to your own assigned spot which had been conveniently placed somewhere in the middle for tonight’s race.

Suddenly, you spot a flash of red roaring up from behind you in your rear view mirror and you resist the roll of your eyes at Chris’ boy racer behaviour.

Chris’ car comes creeping up to level with yours. Slowly, the driver’s window is rolled down and you are faced with his attractive side profile, his nose delicately curving and his jawline popped. Except, now his hair is pulled back by a red bandana, leaving his earrings to glint in the fluorescent artificial light.

He faces forward, but then turns with another smirk plastered to his lips.

You roll your own window down, your engine also screaming to go, but instead of a red colour, your car exudes a violet purple hue, your front and rear lights tinted indigo with plastic filters that make the car in front of you glow a hazy pink.

‘May the best driver win, sugar’

The devil’s smile is concocted between his own teeth, the cheeky glint in his eye echoing the way he mockingly puts his pointer and middle finger up to his forehead to salute you before putting his foot on the gas pedal and roaring ahead to take his privileged place at the front of the line.

᧔♡᧓

Engines growl, their exhaust pipes spitting out puffs of gasoline scented smoke whilst each of the multicoloured cars creep into their places.

An orange car motors past you on your right, and a grey and blue one slides past your left, leaving you in the wet spray that their scuffed tyres kick up, but you’re not paying attention to them.

Craning your neck, your eyes narrow and your jaw grits at the back bumper tail of Chris’ neon red vehicle, the red brake lights glowing like the eyes of a demon as he simply sits stationary.

The city lights glow from the skyscrapers and illuminate the starting route of your racetrack, the wet asphalt making the reflections of the luminescent lampposts shine and bounce about the technicolour array of cars on display.

Chris thinks he’s better than you? Well, you’re just going to have to put that theory to the test then.

You hope that his heart beats just as competitively as yours, his eyes constantly checking for your pink headlights in his rearview mirror.

Finally, reaching into your glove compartment to slide on your black tinted sunglasses, you shut it back up again to listen to the heavily increased revs of car engines. The muffled cheers from the audience provide white background noise whilst the drivers’ exhausts rattle and their pipes growl.

A woman in sky-high stilettos then comes walking into view with a white flag raised above her head.

The crowd suddenly silences, all on the edges of their seats with anticipation.

Without another moment to lose, she quickly swipes down the flag, the white fabric fluttering as she goes before engines shriek and cars jerk forward, each driver putting the pedal to the floor. This forceful way of starting roars the inner workings of their cars whilst they frantically try to switch gears.

Coloured machines weave in and out of each other as the gods of drag racing look down upon the fast-paced urgency of the race, drivers testing one another and pushing their bodies to the limits as they zip and swerve about the road.

You keep your eyes locked upon Chris’ monster of a car though, because it easily pulls out in front and his drive forward quickly clears of any other cars. They just can’t keep up with his intricate drift work and very readily fall behind him.

You’ll admit, his turn of the wheel is masterful and his eye for the surroundings is impeccable as he nearly just shaves around corners and obstacles whilst keeping a steady track of the pathway ahead. However, this only increases your desire to win more.

You find your foot gently feathering upon the accelerator, your car rattling within your ears as the wind from your open window beats against your face and whips your hair around your neck.

You have already overtaken a handful of cars by now, with tyres screeching and smoke exuding from the rubber.

The eyes of every racer competing constantly zip about, just to check for lurking police cruises whilst traveling down the racer’s route through the nearly abandoned city road.

Your beasts for machines rocket past alleyways, giving homeless people a show as your paint jobs flash by their eyes in a juvenile blur.

Gears click as both yourself and Chris constantly press down on the clutch to drift around tight corners, your teeth gritting as you realise that you are now only a few competitive cars behind him.

Chris, meanwhile, frantically looks through his wing mirror to count how many cars lie between yourself and him.

But, then he widens his eyes and has to adjust it in confusion at the infuriating sight of your purple car hightailing it up the road to try and catch him. Already?

This always fucking happens whenever he gets a head start.

He rolls his eyes, stepping on his gas pedal even more to makes his car groan and jerk away on in front once again.

His bandana stays secured onto his head whilst he chews irritably against a fresh toothpick selected from out of his own glove compartment that also contains random junk such as cherry cigarette packets and condoms.

‘Fuckin’ woman’ He spits underneath his breath before aggressively jerking his wheel to the side and rounding another corner perfectly. His car skids and his wheels screech over the asphalt, centimetres away from hitting the curb before he’s straightening his steering wheel up again.

This time though, he can see the finish line in the distance, the small crowd of spectators gathering like little observant ants, watching as his car comes racing towards them from the mist of the city horizon.

However, you come in straight behind him with your engine roaring and your gasoline bubbles popping. Soon, your window reaches his, and you look to your left to see his side profile.

His jaw is clenched with his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows sitting in a glared furrow. His pupils then quickly flit to your car, and you pass each other a challenging look, hate spiralling within your gazes.

And everything is passive between the two of you, that is, until Chris decides to fight dirty.

His lips purse and he yanks his neck to face forward once again, before turning his wheel aggressively. His drifter then swerves near your wheels, nearly knocking you off to the side and sending you skidding into the curb. You frantically have to straighten back up again after only narrowly avoiding the crunch of his front bonnet.

That fucker.

‘HEY!?’

You yell to him with your window down, but he puts his own one up in response, his lips twitching up into a mischievous smile as he tries to tango with you upon the stretch of your own battlefield containing engine oil and concrete road strips.

He goes in for another direct hit, your tyres dangerously close to each other’s as his machinery tries to ram into yours.

Worryingly, you realise that Chris probably isn’t going to stop this dangerous teasing because of his determination to win. So, through your better judgement, you slow yourself and defeatedly allow his cocky red bumper to cut in front of your bonnet.

Chris beats you by a second, his wheels screeching over the pathetic make-shift line drawn in squiggly black graffiti.

You’re practically seething at this point.

After you angrily jerk your steering wheel, your car drifts to the side and it expels hot smoke from the grind it has against your back tyres before coming to a sideways halt.

You put your car in park, take off your seatbelt and speedily open your car door.

As you step out, you see that Chris has also stopped and gotten out himself, his sneakers crunching against the wet tarmac and his leather jacket squeaking whilst he slams his own car door shut behind him.

You clock eyes with each other and immediately find yourself storming up to his victorious figure that yet again leans against his car door suavely.

Whilst making your way over, someone sidles up to him and hands him a thick wad of cash that he stuffs right into his conniving little pockets with a mean smile of his face, aimed directly at you.

As you reach him, you just can’t help yourself, and before you know it you’re knuckling your fists into his leather jacket and yanking him right down to your face. His breath hitches in shock as he sees your lips close enough to claim that you are practically kissing.

Instead of actually kissing him however, you spit out a ‘what the fuck are you playing at?’ with your eyes narrowed and glinting frostily in the city lights.

They travel over his face, scanning him with scepticism whilst little strands of his raven brown hair curl out from the hold of his red bandana, no longer combing the shorter ones back and just letting them freely swish about his eyes in the wind.

‘Listen honey if you want me to pay for any scratches I gave to your paint job no can do, told you that money was mine…-‘ he cheekily retorts, using one of his ridiculously irritating nicknames for you to further worsen your drumming heart beat.

You didn’t realise you had pulled him this close until now.

This makes your nostrils flare with anger and you quickly release him, seemingly in denial of your own feelings as you listening to the way the zips of his leather jacket jingle at the force of your strength.

You scoff, sticking your nose up and further voicing your discontent at him.

‘Chris- you fucking cheated?!’ You shout with a small laugh in disbelief, your arms crossed over your chest as you refer to his illegal drag collision.

‘No proof? Didn’t happen, sweetheart’ he sassily bites back at you, which makes you falter, but your glare only harshens after he immaturely pokes the centre of your chest.

Does this man just make it his mission to piss you off as much as humanly possible?

Both of you maintain tense eye contact, your chest heaving whilst Chris’ eyes subtly flick downwards to soak in the look of your body.

As more coloured drifters cruise past the finish line, the silence gets awkward, awkward enough for you to spontaneously shouts a shaky ‘I want a fucking rematch!’, not really sure what provoked you to voice this random request. Usually, you couldn’t bear to be around Chris for more than 5 seconds at a time.

So why did you all of a sudden have the urge to be alone with him?

The way you look at him prompts Chris to suspect that this request probably isn’t just about having a rematch, that in fact it’s something much deeper… what that is, he doesn’t know yet, but he’s prepared to find out.

Clearing his throat, he slips a box of cherry scented cigarettes from out of his leather jacket whilst looking around wearily. You swallow, and watch him in silence as he puts one into his mouth and flicks on his lighter. Holding it up to the cherry, it sparks, and a small wisp of smoke puffs out from his pursed mouth.

He opens the door of his Nissan once again before sliding inside.

The scent of maraschino cherries diffuses across his ride and melts into the white leather seats as he shuts his door before using his hand to turn on the ignition. Then, he rolls down his window to thankfully still see you standing there expectantly and waiting for an answer.

Chris simply sits back in his seat, watching the wind comb through your hair as sickly sweet cherry flavoured smoke finds its way up into your nose.

‘Well?’ You raise your eyebrows and snap at him, your hip cocking sassily. But even though your exterior front looks confident, your insides panic and your mouth becomes dry at the very much tangible sexual tension within the air.

Chris looks forward for a second, leaving the both of you in silence once again so that you can take in the far away laughs and clinks of beer bottles from the left over straggling gamblers that are now only talking about Chris.

He squints his eyes with his cigarette still in his mouth, deep in thought, before crinkling his nose and sniffing, reaching his hand out to twist the keys of his car in the ignition properly. His car rumbles to life as he takes out his cigarette, resting it in between his two fingertips.

That arm decides to leans itself on the car door as his wrist and hand dangle out of the window.

‘Meet me at Carolina Point at 3am’

He mumbles to you, as if not wanting anyone else to know about this secret little rendezvous before he’s pushing down the handbrake of his car and it’s lunging forward.

He motors away with a singular hand gripping the steering wheel, turning it smoothly and leaving you with the remnants of his car exhaust fumes, his cherry cigarette butts and the smell of his black and white leather jacket.

᧔♡᧓

It’s 3am.

And music quietly hums from your radio as you pull up next to Chris’ parked car, the glittering red paint job a flashy eyesore when matched with the dark background of the skyline.

Carolina point overlooks a section of the city that is well known by racers like him and yourself and so it provides a nice backdrop for the strange meeting that you two are about to have. Chris sits on the bonnet of his car, looking down to the veins of his city before twisting his neck to observe the way you get out of your own car.

A small smile ticks at the side of his lips before he quickly wipes it away and stands up from his bonnet, the machinery creaking and the suspension bouncing upwards after being released from his weight.

‘Surprised you came’ he muses, before spitting the old toothpick from in between his lips into the long grass.

You roll your eyes and meet him halfway, already nervous about being alone with him in such a close proximity, especially after what had already unfolded between you two beforehand.

‘Course I did, you cheated’ you muse spitefully, and stop right in front of his taller frame. But Chris edges a little bit closer after you had come to a halt, which makes your palms sweat.

You try to keep your composure, fully intent on getting on with the business of the rematch you had wanted, until you fail when you physically watch the way Chris’ eyes dilated at the sight of you.

It makes you nervous to see his body react to you in such a way, and that nervousness only gets worse after he intentionally lowers his voice to purr a quiet ‘oh yeah? An’ how are we gonna fix that hm?’. His head tilts and his tone is as smooth as caramel, the tease almost belittling in manner.

Your chest expands with a stuttering deep breath, the smell of cherries tart on his tongue and overwhelming as the scent stains his jacket too.

Your heart quickens in pace the closer Chris’ head gets to yours, but you don’t move back, even though every siren in your body imaginable screams that this is so terribly fucking wrong.

You blink up at him, almost forgetting why you’re supposed to be here before dumbly stuttering ‘b-by having a rematch…’.

Chris looks at you so hungrily… so primally, and you hardly even get the time to finish your sentence before your mouth is being engulfed by his. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and neither do you.

His lips are soft and buttery as they rub against yours, your whole entire body stiff and your eyes wide, before you ever so slowly melt into his embrace.

Chris utters a quiet whimper of content and the noise almost makes you squeeze your thighs together. You didn’t even realise Chris was capable of making a noise like that.

Your lips smack together after Chris pulls away, saliva wetting the moist pink skin.

You’re trapped within a daze, utterly stunned and drunk on the taste of his mouth. Chris’ eyelashes feather, and he bites his lip in nervousness, testing the waters of what he’s just done to you. But you look as though you’re absolutely enamoured by it and so he grins in satisfaction.

He goes back again, this time more aggressively, to suck and pull on your lips, and you freely let him, not a single thought behind your eyes apart from the way his teeth pull on your flesh.

‘I- I want a rematch’

Chris pulls away just once for you to voice this timid defiance, however his only thought is concerned with how deliciously red and juicy your lips look. He acknowledges you only by dipping back in and pressing another soft kiss to your peachy pillows, humming a little ‘mhm’ in agreement but also not really listening to you as his face twists and his nose brushes against yours.

The wet sound of his lips sucking your plumper ones into his mouth makes your panties dampen.

‘What if I wanna make it up to you in some other way?’ He daringly mumbles against your lips which wets the skin even around them with his saliva. The arch of your back is subtle, but it’s still fully there as you weight up the pros and cons of this situation. But really… are there any cons aside from the afterthought of knowing that you let your sworn enemy touch your body in the most intimate of places?

At the present, it seems like such a small price to pay within the delusion of your lust. And Chris’ hands already feel just so magical when their big impressions carve their way down your waistline, sliding over the bumps of your hips.

Fuck they’re huge in comparison to yours. And that thought alone makes you wet, your folds becoming even slicker at the motion of Chris using his hands to force you up against the hard side of his car.

The metal and glass behind your back makes you shiver and the machinery is freezing cold in the already frosted mountainous air of Carolina point.

This cold suddenly brings you clarity, and for a second you have to fully stop and pull away from his intoxicating tongue, just so you can voice a stupid ‘wait- what are we doing…?’.

Your mind goes reeling and your eyes look like saucers when remembering just who you are kissing… and who is pushing you up against his car.

Your chest heaves and your voice sounds fully strangled, the vision of making out with Chris plaguing your mind and turning it rotten.

But Chris only gazes at you, understanding how weird this must feel, because it feels weird to him too. However he can’t help it, one taste was enough for him and now he’s hooked.

He pushes back into you with haste, his thick hips greedily pinning you to the side of his car as he groans an ‘ugh- fuck it, who even cares anymore?’.

It’s almost like he’s jointly voicing this to his own self control, because he then allows himself to messily paw at the side of his vehicle, frantically looking for the door handle to his back seat whilst fully enthralling himself within your kissing lips.

Your tongues twist, and it’s messy, but you love it just the same. Especially after feeling Chris beneath his baggy black jeans, thick and throbbing for you when he moans in approval at the touch of the door handle.

He curls his fingers into it and yanks it open, the suctioning sound of the door making your heart gallop tenfold because of the connotations that come with Chris forcefully pushing you into the backseat of his car.

Are you two really about to do this? What even happened to get you to this stage?

It all seems like such a blur now, the spontaneity of your actions helping to numb the idea of regret. An idea that you know you’re defintely going to feel in the morning.

But not tonight… tonight is about wandering hands and careless affections, between two people who just so happen to supposedly ‘hate’ each other.

He grabs you with a growled laugh of ‘c’mere’, his large palms splaying underneath your thighs as he hoists you into his arms and walks you around the sharp edges of his red door.

Practically throwing you inside, he’s eager to clamber in himself and restart his torturous decent of your luscious neck skin.

So he does, and he slams the door behind him whilst doing so.

Meanwhile, you spread your legs to let him into you, your ass sinking into the plush white leather of his seats as your back comes to rest against the opposite side door.

Now you’re seeing a completely different Chris, that hovers over you and gives you that toe curling gaze he’s perfected over the many months of first competing with you.

The gaze is reminiscent of the first time you two ever raced together, with a hint of attraction and chemistry there, until you started to hate each other as soon as it became more of a competition to see which one was better.

This Chris is so astronomically different in comparison to the one you had grown to absolutely despise, the two of you stuck in this viciously competitive cycle of building up tension after tension until all of it just burst and ended up with Chris’ head right in between your legs.

He yanks off every single article of clothing wrapped around your lower half, trying to resist the urge of snapping open your underwear and making a mess of the delicate red lace as soon as he sees it.

Fuck. You’re even wearing his racing colours.

‘These for me?’ He teases and raises his eyebrows whilst simultaneously slipping off your panties and lifting them to the side of his face.

Without knowing any better, you smirk and nod, guessing that it’ll drive his narcissism absolutely crazy. And you’re right. Because soon after, he scrunches up the soaked panties into his fist and throws them up to the front of the car. They messily then land on the dashboard.

He smirks down at your shining red cunt, wet stickiness practically drooling from out of your hole already.

‘Imma drive with your panties on the dashboard all the way home so that anyone who seems them will know how good I fucked this pretty little pussy…’

You swallow a pant at his crude language, not being able to help the shake of your hands or the blink of your eyes. ‘Do it… for me?’ You coquettishly breathe back, and it only drives Chris up the wall further. With this being said, he obeys and darts his head down to your centre, wasting no time in peppering small suctioned kisses against your inner thighs.

They quiver as soon as his face gets closer to your centre, and you know he’s just about to put his tongue on you because he smirks, gearing up to say another filthy thing.

‘M’sorry I cheated baby’ he pouts boyishly, before giving your clit an open-mouthed kiss.

You whine and buck your hips up into the firm hold of his rough hands, that have slid around to force you down and keep you from squirming away at his stimulation. ‘Forgive me?’ He speaks with his head tilted. Then a thick globule of spit comes tumbling from his mouth to plink onto your throbbing heat.

It greedily rolls down your pinkness and Chris goes in for another heavy kiss, this time closing his eyes to eat you like his life depended on it, licking around you clit and even dipping himself into your hole. He’s not sure when he’ll next get the chance to fuck you like this and so savours it with as much fever as he possibly can.

All the while, you lie with your back propped up against the opposite door, looking down at him with your calves smoothly slung around his shoulders.

You hypnotically watch how your thighs twitch at every opportunity Chris gives you, his tongue rolling over several pleasure points in an effort to get you to come.

‘Mmm-okay’ you moan before bitting your hand and mumbling through your teeth ‘I forgive you, please- please just let me cum’.

He had been savouring this for a while now, leisurely dipping his tongue in and out of you whenever he felt like it as he pressed his other palm over the thick bulge in his jeans, trying to suppress its ache by kneading it downwards and squeezing himself.

He struggles not to openly thrust his hips into his hand at the tiny whimpers you make, because you sound so pretty trying to reach your high.

He sighs before giving you one last rolling kiss. ‘I guess that’s only fair, alright I’ll let you cum sweetheart’.

Straight after he says this you let out a heaved ‘Jesus Christ!’, your cry brandishing tears within your eyes as one of Chris’ long fingers unexpectedly slide right up into your throbbing cunt, your precome already acting as natural lubricant to coat his skin.

It’s almost mouthwatering how good it feels, for both you and Chris. His finger seems to fit in there perfectly, and so he adds another, stroking your walls and curling them upwards delicately.

‘Can you fit three in there baby…? Please let me put three in… you look pretty when you’re drooling for my fingers’ he whines, his voice high pitched and begging for you to allow him the pleasure of three.

‘Fuck- yes, please, please put three in. I can handle it!’ You moan in desperation, not really knowing what to do with your hands, so one feeds itself into his luscious brown locks whilst the other one curls around the white leather headrest of the back seat you’re sitting on.

You white knuckle it when Chris effortlessly coos ‘there’s a good girl… gonna make you feel so good’ whilst inserting his third finger, its length making your back arch and the windows of the car fog up.

‘Look at you… fucking up the back of my car, needy girl’ Chris muses whilst observing the way some of your wetness leaks out and blobs onto his nice white leather seats, the condensation of your horny breath staining the windows and your hand practically clawing at his headrest whilst his fingers work inside of you.

‘S-shut up. You wreck the outside of my car, I’ll wreck the inside of yours’ you bite back sassily, your whole entire chin tipping back in ecstasy as you feel your orgasm clawing beneath the lining of your gut.

Chris’ fingers speed their pace at this, and the squelch of them working past your screaming orgasm nearly makes him cum all over himself within his pants, especially after hearing your continuous moan at the motion his harsh fingertip thrusts.

After you calm, you careen forward to grip onto the wrist of his hand, tapping out immediately in overstimulation. He pulls his sopping wet fingers from out of your core and then lollipops them into his mouth.

As you sit there and regain your breath, your cheeks redden impossibly further at Chris’ quipped demand of ‘take off your top’, still with his fingers bitten in between his teeth.

You do as he says, watching him pull his hand back out of his mouth with hooded eyes as you peel off the tight fabric.

He doesn’t even have to tell you to take off your bra either, you just do it, giving him the gorgeous sight of your tits resting on your chest.

‘This good enough for you?’ you tease, letting one of the straps from your bra slide down your pointer finger before tossing it next to your already discarded panties that sit upon his dashboard.

Chris blinks at your devilish action in shock, before putting a smirk back onto his handsome face.

‘Oh I am going to fuckin’ destroy you’ he cackles playfully, before curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and pulling your body to lay down horizontally.

You gulp as you tilt your chin upwards, watching the way he pulls his jeans and his underwear down with his gleaming cock springing up to hit his lower abdomen.

Licking your lips, you have to squeeze your thighs together at the sight of it as he then turns towards you and advances forward, with his lower half bare and his racer jacket and black t-shirt still in tact over his top half.

His pulsing cock stands on end, and he bites his bottom lip whilst clambering over your thighs to get to your stomach, much to your utter confusion.

That is, until you realise why he asked you to take your top off in the first place.

Planting his knees on either side of your underarms, they sink into his plush leather as he towers over you, grinning at your heaving chest. From his height advantage, he gathers a jewel of spit into his mouth and tips his head forward, allowing it to ooze outwards and splash against the valley in between your tits.

You swallow at this, watching as he then shuffles downwards and leans the head of his dripping prick onto the puddle of saliva he had created.

‘Push your pretty tits together sugar’.

Now when using this nickname, it sounds sickly sweet instead of full of malice, coated with a thin layer of cherry sauce as his cheeky grin perfectly mirrors the cheeky action of him using his hands to help you squeeze the sides of your tits together.

Your skin feels sticky with Chris’ spit and Chris lets out the ungodliest of groans when pushing his tip forcefully into the crack between them.

You hiss in pain at the feeling of Chris’ cock wedged against your tits, but bite your lip and ignore it in favour of watching the way he fucks his hips into them.

His pink head disappears in and out of the top opening and he has to fall forward and grip his hands onto the door to keep himself steady. He ruts himself faster with the added security and his car begins to shake at the aggressive motion.

He had done the majority of building up his orgasm whilst eating you out, so now all he had to do was finish it off, and what better way to do that than with his cock buried in between your tits?

‘Fuck Chris-’ you mumble with your mouth dropped open and your eyes glued to the way small drips of precum already leak out from his cock onto the flushed skin of your chest.

‘Ugh- I’m… I’m cumming- fuck- open your m-mouth’ Chris moans into the air, squeezing his eyes shut as the elastic band of his orgasm snaps and forces cum to come squirting out of his head, some of the sticky white liquid coating your chest, but the other half of it finding its way into your open mouth.

You wait for Chris to milk himself dry, your tongue still out expectantly, until he sees that you’re wanting permission to swallow it.

To help you, he reaches out one of his tremouring fingertips to gather up the cum smeared over your chin, then he slides them into your mouth.

You suck on them, swallowing all of what he has to give you with a tired but appreciative hum as he looks down at you with glassy eyes of complacency.

What the fuck just happened between you two… and why did he feel like he wanted to do it all over again?

᧔♡᧓

‘You still really not gonna pay for any of the scrapes you gave my car huh?’ You speak up into the awkward silence as Chris shuts the back door of his Nissan, leaving the smell of sex to permeate within his car.

He lights one of his cigarettes and snorts, trudging his way around to the front of his car before yanking the door open, your bra and panties still resting on the dashboard and yourself still very much naked underneath your regular clothes.

‘In your dreams sugar’.

There’s another silence as the two of you just look at each other, not knowing if whether or not you’ll ever see each other in that kind of vulnerable light again.

One thing is for sure though, no one can ever know about what happened here tonight.

Chris looks almost hesitant to go with his face softening and smoke tumbling from out of the red cherry of his cigarette. He blinks to snap himself out of it though.

‘Cya at the next race baby…’

He tips his head and then slides down into his car as you look at him wantonly.

‘Yeah… cya’.

᧔♡᧓

Author’s notes p.2: hot. RIVAL RACERS AND ENEMIES TO LOVERS TROPE OH YEAHHH. This is defintely the longest fucking thing I’ve done so I apologise for that lol. And I’m also equally sorry for the ridiculously long wait omg, I’ve been hyping this up too much so I’m sorry if it’s not that great bc most of it was written on major sleep deprivation haha. Also guysss exciting stuff is happening as I’m almost at 2,000 followers and me and @luv4kozume have got something really fun planned for us both hitting 2k!!

Taglist: @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @stursweet @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @thesturniolos @sturniolosreads @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @nicksmainbitch @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattswifey00 @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @mattestrella @hearts4chriss @orangeypepsi

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

hiii, i love your works so much!! i enjoy them so much and im so thankful that you share it with us 🫶if it’s possible i have a request please - maybe something with lando and the trope “she fell first, he fell harder” 🥹🤍

Get A Hold Of Yourself - LN

I don't think this is a trope I've ever written, like even in stuff that I've not published, it might end up being long but I kind of love this trope so...let's see how it goes.

Also got kind of the whole grid giving the reader some love and support (not mentioned by name or like interacting w her) at one point, nothing romantic between her and other drivers but yeah just as part of the plot.

"Jesus, can you put your tongue back in your mouth? You'll be dragging it around the paddock soon." Y/f/n scolds while they sit in the paddock. She's an Aston Martin marketing assistant while y/n works in the F1 marketing team, in charge of running the Instagram with a couple other people.

"It's not fair." Y/n sighs shaking her head.

Y/n actually started working as an intern the same year Lando started as a rookie and she may or may not been the leading person behind drawing attention to all the rookies that year. But she's always found herself drawn to Lando.

But it's 2023 and 100 races later, she's still not found it in herself to ever get beyond a singular conversation with the McLaren driver.

"Maybe if you actually made a move."

"You're insane. We all remember Lando's poor girlfriend last year." Y/n sighs shaking her head. "Anyway, I'm hardly his type."

"Y/n!" Y/n's very grumpy boss, Sandra exclaims looking at her in completely and utter hatred. Apparently she's to impressed to see that she made her employee jump. "Oh I'm sorry, did I scare you while you give yourself a break?"

"Sorry." Y/n murmurs standing up while y/f/n's rolls her eyes, she thinks the F1 social media manager is an absolute bitch and actually so does the rest of the paddock.

They're all secretly hoping that y/n will be promoted to take her job soon enough. Little does y/n know that a few of the drivers saw the mistreatment and they're not going to be standing for it.

-

By the time of the next race weekend, y/n is completely unaware of the drivers having all managed to group together to go to the F1 media manager about the behaviour of the social media manager and treatment towards y/n.

"Hey, y/n." Lando greets as she walks through the paddock just heading towards the line up for the driver's parade.

"O-Oh, hi Lando." Y/n smiles flushing pretty hard, as she always does with him interacting with her. "What can I help you with?"

"Maybe I just want to catch up with you. Do I need to have any other reason?" Lando shrugs making her face nearly explode. Maybe she's just spontaneously combust.

Get a hold of yourself. Lando is a nice guy and he's just being nice to you like everyone else is. Do not let your crush make you that delusional.

"That's nice of you." Y/n finally murmurs as they begin to walk in to where the rest of the driver's are await for the driver's parade.

Truth be told, Lando is biting his tongue of the news that all the drivers have had it confirmed to them that y/n would be finding relief of the position of her manager and while it wasn't confirmed she'd be trusted with the newly open position. They're almost certain that's what's happening.

They get up onto the open trailer on a truck since they're not going with the vintage cars that they sometimes use for the driver's parade and have primarily favoured this year.

Lando sucks to y/n the whole time to the point that she can't escape him and continues to get flustered as she tries to actually go her job. Though the rest of the drivers do notice Lando trying to constantly have the young woman's attention.

"Hey, Lando. Leave the poor girl alone." Carlos laughs clamping his hands down on Lando's shoulders to force him still. "She's trying to work."

-

"I think Lando might have a think for you." Y/f/n states making y/n look up from her lunch with a frown. "I'm not playing with you."

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not. How many times has Lando been coming back around and speaking to you?"

"Not that much." Y/n denies though even she has to admit that Lando seems to be getting more and more present around her. "Don't even get my hopes up. Everyone knows he's been spotted with a few different girls through the year."

"Stop being dramatic. You've hooked up with members of the teams. even a McLaren mechanic."

"You promised not to mention that...I never should've let you take me out while I had a cold. Thanks for telling me afterwards that medication made alcohol practically send someone sides way." Y/n grumbles before she grimaces at the memory. "I hope he doesn't know that-oh god what if he thinks I'm just going to hook up with him?"

"He's not thinking that. Trust me, no one is thinking that."

Y/n nearly whines feeling the anxiety build just over the idea.

"You're an idiot." Y/f/n sighs shaking her head before the media manager for F1 comes up to them.

"Y/f/n, do you mind giving y/n and I a moment?"

There's a brief moment of high tension silence before y/f/n jumps up rambling a yes before her spot is taken by the media manager.

"Don't worry you're not in trouble, y/n. Stop looking so terrified of me." Vinnie chuckles before sighing and looking almost guilty. "Y/n, a couple weeks ago. A few of the drivers and other members of staff reported to me that Sandra has been bullying you and treating you very harshly. I want you to know that I understand how concerned people have to be to group together and report it and I don't tolerate that work atmosphere. So she is leaving the team."

"I...don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. This is what should be done. But I would like for you to take the open job. You have been with us for 4 years now, I think you do an amazing job. It comes with a raise. What is there to stop you? So would you be happy to take the job?"

"I...yes."

"Ok, good. And make sure to thank Lando too. He seemed to be the leading force behind getting everyone to speak up about Sandra."

"He was?"

"Yeah."

He's being nice. He's a nice guy. A nice guy that your dumbass has just fallen harder for than you realised you could.

"Well we'll sort out contracts later. Thank you for the talk."

"Thank you. For...for all of it." Y/n swallows before Vinnie stands up and walks away while she grins, nearly beaming to herself before she gets up deciding she's got a boost in confidence and intends to use it even if she doesn't feel like it'll last long.

She manages to track down Lando who is at the pit wall with his race engineer Will. But he spots her and stops the conversation.

"Lando...I..." A choke up really?

"You..." Lando teases making her face burn up, or at least that's how it feels. Is she actually on fire? "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I uhhh just Vinnie told me that I should thank you."

"No need to thank me. You don't deserve to be humiliated like that." Lando shrugs then reaching forward to push some hair out the way that had blown into her face. "Come with me, I was just about to head off anyway."

"O-Ok." Y/n nods while looking at Will who waves at the two before the expression on her face reads easily.

They walk for a bit with Lando checking his phone which begins to let the doubt set in but he shoves it into his pocket and looks up at her.

"I uhh...Vinnie actually promoted me too. So I'll have Sandra's job. Guess I really owe you a lot." Y/n rambles while Lando smirks a little.

"Do that mean I'm going to get some posts on the F1 page that compliment me and my amazing talent?" Lando questions making her sigh a little before she looks at him. "You want to grab some lunch together?"

"I could eat." She nods trying not to let her internal excitement over the idea of getting lunch with him. It's no big deal.

They spend quite a while eating, certainly longer than Lando is supposed to be spending eating. Y/n is almost certain of that. The driver's schedules usually have some structure, but the way he is looking at her right now is making her not want to speak up on the matter.

But eventually he's called away by someone from his own media team and the young woman looks unimpressed to see y/n sitting there with the driver.

"Hey, this is...my number, text me and we'll arrange to go golfing." Lando states as if that had been the point of the conversation at any point during the conversation. "See you later."

"I-Yeah, see you later." Y/n nods looking down at the napkin which has his number written on it.

A lot of the F1 team doesn't have close enough friendships to have the numbers of any of the drivers. Many of them want their privacy respected so they just keep their numbers to themselves.

Y/n is almost in shock as she is sort of escorted out of the McLaren unit and when she steps out she feels. There’s must’ve been some sort of universe swap in the past few days where Lando has gone from somewhat acknowledging her as an acquaintance to actually sitting down and talking to her. She actually feels like a rogue fan.

-

Y/n didn't text Lando. In fact with the next weekend being a race weekend means that she's got y/f/n there to help support her in her panic over the fact it's been days and she hasn't texted Lando.

“Maybe it’s some sort of prank. Oh got what if i’m a dare?”

“Lando is a bit old to be playing the of I dare you to date that girl or pretend you like her kind of game." Y/f/n states while y/n sighs nearly in distress. "Here just let me message him, since you are panicking like a moron."

"Such kind words." Y/n murmurs before handing her phone over with a sigh. "Don't make it cringy. I hate when messages are cringey."

"Me too." A voice comments as a body sits down next to her. "Who you messaging?"

"No one." "You."

The look y/f/n gets from y/n might actually have been enough to make her heart still for a moment.

"Me?" Lando smirks making y/n snatch her phone back.

"Moron." Y/n grumbles as y/f/n winks at her then stands up and leaves. "Don't listen to her."

"So she was texting someone else on your phone?" Lando questions looking not quite as playful as she thinks he means to sounds. "Quite few guys around the paddock have a bit of a crush on you. It'd be no surprise if-"

"I'm sorry?" Y/n chokes out just completely unfamiliar with the whole idea of people having a crush on her. "People have crushes on me?"

"Everyone makes it so obvious." Lando scoffs making her frown in confusion as to why he'd be annoyed about it.

"Well I don't like them back." Y/n murmurs making him turn to look at her but she's already refocused her gaze on her own hands. "I should go."

"No, y/n wait." Lando rushes out before then making her stop. "I'm sorry. I just...Can we go on a date?"

"Y-Yes."

"Perfect." Lando smiles then smirking a little. "No need to message me any cringy messages then."

Y/n grimaces trying to maintain her composure which is not easy.

-

Lando managed to arrange a date to a restaurant, always finding that the simple dates do seem to allow him to really got to know someone. But he also knows that y/n, while initially shy (at least around him), is actually a talker and he may have a had a few tips after a conversation with y/f/n who told him she can ramble for hours and if he listens then he'll know more about y/n than she knows about herself.

As he waits for her to arrive, he sighs trying not to overthink like he has every second since he realised he may have really started to catch feels for her.

He'd always noticed her, they came into F1 the same year. Her as an intern, him as a driver, so slightly different in that aspect. But she's been there every day that he has and when he saw her being so harshly spoken to (not for the first time) by Sandra, there was something that boils in his blood and he nearly instantly went to Vinnie with a complaint.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. stupid traffic." Y/n breathes, rushing past him and landing in the seat with such force she nearly tips it over and definitely has a split moment that she has to steady herself using the table.

She looks a little windswept and Lando can't even hide his smile when she shifts to look at the menu, clearly rushing to choose something to eat since she is running late.

"You're not late." Lando states making her look up, her body relaxing at the sight of seeing him so genuinely happy to see she's there at all. She did catch a glimpse of him before her saw her and he looked almost annoyed and since she is 5 minutes late to the time she was supposed to be there she feared it was her.

"I am a little. You weren't waiting long were you?"

"No. I mean I actually only sat down a couple minutes ago. We were both late a little." Lando smiles making her settle a bit more and for some reason that brings some more comfort to Lando. As if he being comfortable around him because he's the actively doing something to make her relax.

Y/n ends up ordering chicken alfredo and Lando gets katsu curry. Once they've ordered, that's when y/n begins to ramble trying to fill the silence. Clearly y/f/n wasn't lying when she said that y/n can't allow for comfortable silence to ever have a chance to exist. She'd rather talk till someone joins in to actually make it a conversation or talk till she's out of breath.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Y/n asks once their meals are placed down.

"Just...it's nice hearing you talk." Lando shrugs almost being too honestly and suddenly wondering if maybe he was too honest there. "You always seem to go quiet when I come talk to you in the paddock."

"I do?" Oh I know I do.

"Yeah, but this is nice." Lando shrugs making her nod a little, seeming to go quiet again. "No, don't go quiet again. I really like hearing you talk about...anything."

"I just don't know what to talk about now." Y/n laughs nervously before she swallows thickly. "Why did you ask me out?"

Why did he ask her out? It's good question. Just not one he was prepared for.

"I stopped being stupid." Lando shrugs watching her look at him with some wide eyes. "What?"

"I just didn't expect that answer." Y/n murmurs before swallowing thickly, her body looking a little tense again before she slumps a little and wrinkles her nose a little before picking up her cutlery. "Are you looking forward to the race?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing you have to post about my highlights and amazing performance. You do always seem to give me some extra nice praise." Lando smirks then watching her shovel an impressive amount of pasta into her mouth to keep herself quiet. "You can't eat forever, you have to finish that meal."

Y/n chews almost looking at him stubbornly as she struggles to swallow the mouthful that was far too much for her to actually chew.

"I post the most complimentary stuff about Max and Yuki.'

Lando rolls his eyes at that. Max being posted about positively is a given, he's unstoppable. Yuki being posted about positively, well everyone loves Yuki. Anyone that doesn't like him is just being an asshole.

"But maybe...I post nice things about you when I can-but you've been performing really well this year, so I think I have good reason."

Did Lando's heart just melt so quickly it might've been burned a hole through his chest? Yes. Was it because she said he was performing well? No, though under normal circumstances that would've been an ego boost. It was her nervous smile at the end of her rambling.

Y/n spend the rest of the date rambling between trying to eat and Lando...well Lando realises that what he thought was him ignoring her very obvious and apparent crush on her all these years was a mistake. He didn't take the time to get to know her or spend time with her, when other drivers would say she was the sweetest person in the F1 media team, he sort of shrugged it off. It's not that he didn't agree or even disagree, but he just didn't think about her that much.

Then suddenly things sort of changed at the start of this season, but he just figured that maybe he was spending more time with her just randomly. He always sort of knew she had a crush on him, but she's not the only one in the paddock. That's not him being cocky either, that's the case for a lot of the drivers with others who work in the teams.

Her friend y/f/n notoriously has a crush on Lewis and fumbles any time the living legend even shoots her a smile of acknowledgement.

"I'm not complaining, I just think you should know that I noticed and I think it's nice." Lando states trying to ease the very obvious nerves that look like they're about to be the reason her pasta might reappear in the least graceful way.

-

It took a few more races and a couple more days for things to progress into something a little less nervous from y/n. Lando, in that time, had completely fell hard for her. He had went from a slow interest and endearment to face-planting into the ground over her.

Admittedly, he never expected to really fall in love with this girl. Especially when he was so certain after last year's failed relationship that maybe he's just too young for such a serious relationship. But maybe it was just that he hadn't met the right person.

Y/n is impossible to hate. When F1 fans realised she was promoted to being in charge of the entire social media of F1. They were so excited to see how she would change the F1 social medias. Not that the instagram would change but she's changed the twitter (sorry X), TikTok, Facebook and she's still working on changing the rest. Youtube requires a bit more effort since a lot of content is complications, highlights or pre-recorded videos.

The relationship has slowly been getting picked up on by fans capturing some sweet moments of Lando rushing to hug her, goofing around with her and often just bugging her when she is actually trying to work.

For example, right now.

"Lando...I'm trying to make an upload schedule." Y/n laughs before hissing when Lando nips her thigh with his teeth and nudges up her skirt only for her to use one hand to try and stop any further movements. "Behave."

"Most women wouldn't turn down attention from their boyfriends." Lando hums before placing a kiss on the skin he'd bitten, smiling when he feels her hand push through his hair. "Can you hurry up with the schedule? I don't want to waste the small amount of free time we have before we have to be at the paddock."

"We? I have to be there before you. And free time? I'm working right now."

"You wouldn't be if you let me get my way."

Y/n sighs typing for another minute before tossing her phone away and it;'s the only green light Lando needs to shift upwards. Not being able to hide his smile when her hands cup his face when he finally gets high enough to kiss her.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando norris imagines #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #ln4 one shot #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #mclaren f1 #mclaren #mclaren formula 1 #ln4 fanfic #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Protector

Paring: Simon Ghost Riley x f!reader

Warnings: torture, canon typical violence, protective ghost, mentions of past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 6.5k words

Synopsis: You and Ghost were captured and tortured...

This is based on this post that I made a while ago. Basically "touch her and I'll kill you" trope.

EDIT: Here's part 2

“…Get up!”

“…Fucking get up!”

The voice seemed familiar. It was rough, low and resonated in your head. Furious but hidden beneath it was a desperate plea.

Searing hot pain resonated from the back of your head and though your eyes were open you couldn't see a thing through the bright light that burned into your eyes. Something hot rolled down your face and the back of your neck as you stared into the blurry light trying to discern what was going on.

You couldn’t move a muscle, not even your fingers as an intense coppery taste fell into your mouth. It hurt to breathe against the cold floor, your chest and sides collapsing into you causing you to wheeze.

You blinked almost in slow motion. Unable to let your eyes shut despite the pulling weight you felt as if you were going to sink into the floor and fall asleep. You were tired and so cold yet you couldn’t even shiver without feeling pain electrocute you.

“You hear him?” A gruff voice, almost muffled but cold and condescending, called out to you as you felt a nudge on your side. You winced but that’s all you could do as you stared up at the shadow in front of you. “He wants you to get up."

Another voice just as cold said something in a different language you couldn't comprehend in your state. They argued back and forth while you tried to find the familiar person.

You squinted through the light to try to discern who was in front of you. Your vision was too blurry from pain and tears but no matter how many times you blinked them away you couldn't see. It made your heart race but the heavy beating hurt against your chest more than it should.

A swift kick to your gut knocked the wind out of you before you could cry out in pain. You gasped for air as tears ran down your face and more blood filled your mouth. The kick left sharp pains inside your abdomen and every moment you couldn't take in a breath, the more it hurt.

Hands grabbed onto your arms and yanked you off the ground, ignoring the cries you let out as they dragged you across the floor. You were thrown onto a chair and winced when you felt your restraints dig into your sore wrists and ankles as they tightened them around you again.

A hand grabbed you jaw and squeezed, causing you to wince again as you were forced to look ahead of you.

“She’s up now.” The man snickered and your attention moved in front of you. “This is what you wanted, yes?”

Your captor was talking to a man who was tied to a chair in front of you. Now that the light was partially out of your eyes and gravity allowed your tears to be blinked away, you could see.

The man across from you looked unfamiliar. His blond hair was stained with red and his face was bruised with blood as well. Despite that he seemed to have much more strength than you did since he was able to sit up straight when you couldn’t even hold your own head up.

Your eyes widened when you realized that was your lieutenant. That was Ghost.

You were seeing Ghost without his mask.

“Just tell us what we want and you can stop this.” Your captor gestured to your face.

Ghost glared at the man who held your face but said nothing. You couldn’t see how angry he was, how much hatred there was in his eyes and if looks could kill then both of you would’ve been free by now.

Blood dripped from your mouth and your captor let go of you by shoving your head away. He growled something under his breath as he walked away from you. You wanted to see what he was going to do but you didn’t have enough strength to lift your head up. You were glad for that however because almost immediately you could hear the man beating Ghost.

You wished you could tune out the sounds but you couldn’t. Every grunt and labored breath hit your ears, threatening you with an experience you had just been through.

You gathered all the strength you could muster and tried to struggle against your restraints but it wasn’t even enough to make them dig into your skin. You wheezed again and when those few seconds of fighting left you, you were hit with intense exhaustion.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you passed out.

~

Ghost’s chest heaved up and down as fresh blood ran down his face. He wasn’t sure how long his face had been used as a punching bag but he preferred it over being used as a cutting board instead. He would prefer to be anywhere else but in a concrete room, in a building that Price was struggling to find, however that was the risk that came with the job.

A simple recon mission had turned into getting captured by Russian weapons dealers. They weren’t exactly the hospitable type considering his nose was broken and he was missing a few fingernails.

He wasn’t new to torture but this had to be the worst torture method he had been through.

Ghost looked up at you and felt his entire world shatter.

If he hadn’t seen your eyes searching for him, he would’ve thought you were dead. You were covered in blood and bruises of all colors. Your clothes were tattered from having knives carved into your skin and he could see a few burn marks that would surely leave nasty scars. You had lost so much blood he was surprised you were still alive but so grateful you were holding on.

You weren’t supposed to be in here with him and there was no denying that it was his fault you were.

You both had been captured at the same time, a mistake from you both but he took the sole blame for it as your lieutenant. You were separated and Ghost assumed that they were at least keeping you locked up without touching you while they tried their hardest to get information out of him.

He assumed they were just going to keep trying, they were going to continue to beat the living hell out of him and he was going to say nothing to them. But he was proved wrong when they quickly realized they were getting nowhere with him so they brought you in to try to beat it out of you too. And then Ghost made the stupid mistake by opening his mouth and telling them to stop.

It took one word from him to seal your fate. One word and you became their favorite toy to beat, cut and harm in every possible way just to get Ghost to talk.

You were being used against him and as much as he wanted to deny it, to say he was an operative who knew how to handle these situations and was disciplined beyond the nines, it was working.

Every scream, every cry you let out broke down his defenses and it became harder for Ghost to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to tell them everything and that was scary for more than one reason which made him feel sick.

Scary because if they got the right info out of him, he could jeopardize the lives of many and become even more of a failure than he already was in this moment. Scary because if he was willing to break to end your suffering for the sake of both of you, he had to come to terms with how he truly felt about you.

And right now he couldn’t.

Ghost stopped himself by telling himself that once he gave them the info they needed, both of you were going to die. It was enough to keep his mouth shut until the next round of torture came.

All of the torture and pain for you was going to end soon. There was a spot on his restraints that was hidden from the weapons dealers that he had been working on since he had been strapped down. He could feel it start to become loose enough he could break his hand free, he just had to wait for the right moment.

“Sergeant.” He called out to your limp form with a raspy voice before he spit blood onto the floor.

You didn’t respond. You were out cold and his chest hurt more if it was even possible.

This past round of torture had been especially cruel and long. The weapons dealers had been relentless in their beatings, going so far as to toss you on the ground to kick you as hard as they could until you were coughing up blood.

“You better not fucking die on me.” He tugged on his restraint and never looked away from you. “That’s an order.”

It was a feeble attempt to make himself feel better. He worked against his restraint, staring at the bruises on your skin and the blood dripping from your face onto your clothes.

He thought about how you were going to be so much more damaged after this. Your smile was going to be absent from your beautiful face, your laughter would no longer grace his soul, you probably wouldn’t even give him those little touches he thought he hated. They had hurt you so much more than he ever wanted to think about and that made him pissed.

Ghost broke through it with ease. Adrenaline and rage coursed through his veins as he wasted no time ripping the rest of his restraints off. When he was finally free he shot up from his chair and nearly collapsed on the floor.

He was in worse shape than he wanted to believe.

Black spots dotted his vision and his aching muscles weighed him down enough that he had to hold onto the chair to keep himself from falling. His head pounded furiously which made it difficult to even blink as he found himself short of breath even though he had only stood up from the chair.

Everything hurt but he couldn’t let that stop him. He needed to be strong for you. He could rest when you were safe.

He pushed off the chair and kneeled in front of you. His eyes jumped all over you, trying to make sure you weren’t actively bleeding out before he gently cupped your face with shaky hands.

“Sergeant.” His voice was softer than usual as he held your face. “Come on, wake up.”

When Ghost moved your head ever so slightly you woke up with a slight jump. You immediately began to breathe quicker, thinking that a new round of torture was going to start before he spoke.

“It’s me.” He assured you and watched your eyes finally open. He always thought he was blessed by the universe when you looked at him but now he truly felt like the luckiest man to see them after all you both had been through. “It’s Ghost.”

“Ghost…” You rasped out, wincing from the pain as you relaxed now that he was in front of you.

“I’m here.”

He kept a hand on your cheek as he began to undo your restraints, one of his fingers pressed against your weak pulse. You weren’t bleeding out but a few more beatings like the one you had just endured and you’d be gone from him. He had to be quick and extremely careful when breaking out of here.

“I’m getting us out of here.” He explained in a low tone as your wrists became free but you didn’t move to get up. “We’ll have to move quick. I can’t fight and carry you at the same time, think you can walk for me?”

Ghost was prepared to have to carry you if you said you couldn’t. He’d come up with another plan instead of fighting his way out of there.The idea of moving sounded horrible to you, he could see it in your eyes, but you nodded as you gripped the chair tightly to prepare yourself to stand up.

He grabbed your arms as gently as he could and was going to help you up when he heard movement outside of the room.

“Fuck.” He gently set you back down in the chair and held your face so you were looking at him. “Stay.”

He moved away from you, and took position beside the door and listened to the approaching footsteps with bated breath. The silence in his ears was only broken by the loud beating of his heart as he braced himself for a fight he was determined to win.

When the door opened, his eyes narrowed. All of the torture he endured turned into anger but all of the torture you endured turned into blinding hot rage. He barely had enough self control to wait for the man to even enter the room before he began swinging.

The man let out a shocked yelp as Ghost’s fist connected with his face. He had no time to react when he grabbed the man by the shirt and flung him in the wall, pinning him against it as he rammed his fist into his face relentlessly.

Ghost was seeing red. He kneed the man in the stomach and caught his arm when he tried to fight back, ignoring the loud crack that came from it when twisted it as hard as he could. He didn’t care when the man screamed in pain, in fact he almost relished in it before he managed to wrap his arms around the man's neck and started to choke him.

He easily could’ve snapped it. The fight would’ve been over but he didn’t want it to end that quick. He wanted this man to suffer for putting his hands on you, almost wishing he could return the damage but there was no time for that.

The man went limp and Ghost threw him on the ground. He was breathing heavily as he snatched the knife he had from his back pocket.

The man deserved worse.

“Still with me, sergeant?” He rushed back over to you and when you nodded he carefully wrapped his arms around you. “We gotta go.”

You tried not to scream, but a groan left your throat as pain flushed over you when he pulled you up. Your chest heaved up and down as your vision went black, and you fell against Ghost. You felt his protective arms hold you up and close to him as you waited for your vision to come back. You could hardly stand on your own but you gripped his forearms for dear life while you forced yourself to stay strong.

“I’m okay.” You didn’t sound convincing as you tried to push away from him but he wouldn’t let go.

“No.” He bent down and wrapped his arm under your knees before you picked up with ease despite the screaming pain in his muscles. “I’ve got you.”

You were unnaturally cold in his arms. He held you close to his chest to try to warm you up. His heart skipped a beat when you wrapped your arms around him and hid your face in the crook of his neck. He adjusted his hold on you, trying his best not to hurt you as he did, and made his way towards the door.

He hoped that no one had heard the struggle and when he glanced at the body on the ground, it took a lot of self control not to kick it.

“Your mask…” Your weak voice was close to his ear and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine.”

He hadn’t even thought about his face being exposed. He didn’t care if anyone saw his face at this moment, the only thing on his mind was getting you out of there.

Ghost peered out of the door down the dimly lit hall. He wasn’t sure how big the building was but luckily for the both of you no one seemed to be around. That didn’t make him feel any less on edge, in fact he was more on edge since he didn’t know the layout of the building or the routine any of its inhabitants had. For all he knew, someone could be coming around the corner and you’d both be screwed.

He stepped out in the hallway, keeping his attention on both sides as he stayed close to the wall. He moved close to the ground, trying to keep his footsteps quiet.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered as he turned around a corner.

“Stop.” He interrupted and felt more anger rise in him “I don’t want to hear any of that. Not now or when we get out of here.”

“Sorry…”

Noise from down the hall made him stop. His heart started to race and he quickly raced back to the corner, hiding behind it as he listened to the approaching chatter of two guards.

His eyes frantically searched for a room to hide in before he noticed what looked to be like a supply closet. He swung the door open and stepped inside, struggling to shut the door before they rounded the corner. He got it to close to a crack before he heard their voices closer than ever.

He stilled and held you closer to him. He felt your arms wrap just a little bit tighter around his shoulders as you both tried to breathe quieter. In the silence of the supply closet he could hear just how bad your wheezing was and it only gave him more motivation to get out of there as fast as he could.

He hoped neither one of your lungs were going to collapse before you made it out.

The chatter from the guards slowly began to disappear but he waited. He didn’t move a muscle even after the guards were long gone from the hallway. He wanted to be sure that no one else was going to show but for the first time since he had been subjected to torture he was able to catch his breath.

The pitch black closet and the silence within gave him a sense of security. He was fine with listening to your breathing in his ear as he shut his eyes for just a moment, just to find some peace.

You must’ve felt the same since your hold around him loosened and your breathing had gone steady. He held you closer to him, making sure you were still secure in his arms.

“They hurt you.” You whispered, causing him to open his eyes.

You were pointing out the obvious but he could hear the worry in your voice especially when your thumb caressed a cut on his neck.

“I’ve been through worse, don’t worry about me.” Ghost assured you as he pushed the closet door open with his foot. “You should see yourself.”

You grunted maybe out of pain or exhaustion when you were reminded of the serious state you were in. Your eyes were barely able to stay open as he maneuvered through the halls again.

“Thought you were dead.”

“Hurts too much for that.”

Ghost clenched his jaw tightly, making a mental note that when you both got out here to find the fuckers. He would request a solo mission when he got off leave just for the purpose of finding the other weapons dealer. They may have been able to capture him this one time but they made the mistake of not killing him before he got out.

He quickened his pace down the hall, hoping to find some sort of indication of where he was going. There were no signs, the walls were so empty that he wondered if maybe he was going in circles. He huffed and hoped that wasn’t the case.

A yell echoed off the walls, not too far from where he stood, and he instinctively tightened his grip on you. You winced and he wanted to apologize but he was now on high alert as he listened to the angry voices that were impossible to tell where they were coming from.

He was an expert at this. It was his job to sweep the halls and be prepared for everything, to know when someone could be next or when he was approaching an enemy. His hyper awareness of his surroundings was second nature and yet he had gotten into this situation and he was struggling to put those skills back into use.

He was distracted by his aching muscles and screaming wounds that stained his dirty clothes. His mind raced with trying to keep track of where he was and keeping you safe.

You were taking up most of his mind too. He was trying to not hurt you, to jostle you around and make your wounds worse while trying to hightail it out of there so you could get the help that you needed. He was being too kind to your wounds in a situation like this, his military training of just getting the person out and dealing with the aftermath completely gone from his mind.

There were too many things on his mind and he wasn’t able to control it like he usually did.

It was going to get you both killed, but he couldn’t do it and that’s how he knew he needed to get out there quick. He wasn’t in any shape to be doing this yet if he had waited any longer then you both could’ve died as well. Overall, the situation you both were in was the worst case scenario that no one wanted to be in while working this job.

“Need you to hold onto me and not let go.” Ghost told you and though you had been doing that already, he wanted to make sure you were going to do it when he would need to run away.

“Okay.” You said through gritted teeth as his fingers dug into a particularly sore spot on your side.

Once you tightened your hold around him, enough to where it made him flinch from the pain, he began to jog down the hallway. Despite his quick movements and being as massive as he was, his footsteps were still light enough that it would be difficult to hear him.

He hoped that at some point he would come across a window or a room he could stop in to look for information. He couldn’t keep going around the base full of enemies who would most likely kill on sight blind. Every moment he spent wandering through the halls he was taking a gamble with death.

His ears heard it before he could register it.

Footsteps from around the corner, fast ones that came up onto him far too quickly for him to turn and run the other direction. He barely had time to react when three men rounded the corner.

One of the men didn’t hesitate to slam his fist into Ghost's jaw even after they were startled by seeing him. Ghost stumbled back and tried to hold onto you but the man practically ripped you out of his arms to throw you on the ground.

He was pushed back into the wall, becoming disoriented by the barrage of punches to his sore head, unable to throw any punches back himself.

You were trying your best to fight one of the other guards who had trapped you on the floor underneath as he laid waste to you but your injuries made it extremely difficult to do anything, all the while the other man carefully watched.

Ghost managed to get one good punch to the man jugular before he pulled the knife out of his pocket. He stabbed it through the man’s neck, jamming in it as far as he could while he choked on his blood, before he threw him on the ground.

He didn’t hesitate to throw the knife at the man on top of you, hitting him right in the neck.

With the last of your strength you pushed the guard off you and sliced the knife across his throat.

“Y/n!” Ghost called out to you when he watched you go limp before he turned his attention on the other man.

He saw red again when he realized it was the other weapons dealer. He clenched his fists and charged towards the weapons dealer. He noticed the gun that was pointed at him but he was too focused on the hidden look of fear in the man's eyes as he sprinted towards him.

The weapons dealer pulled the trigger and hit Ghost in the thigh, but that didn’t stop him. Nothing but a bullet to the head was going to stop him from his determination to kill the man in front of him.

Ghost grabbed the man by the wrist to twist it and the gun went off in his ear. He wasted no time to punch him as hard as he could, the ringing in his ears spurring him on. He slammed his fist into his face as hard as he could, feeling his knuckles crack from the force.

He lifted his good leg and kicked the man’s knee cap in, causing them both to fall to the floor. The weapons dealer tried to roll out from under him but Ghost grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the concrete repeatedly to stop him.

He was feral, blinded by rage, harming the man in front of him not out of survival but out of passionate revenge. Memories of your screams made him go crazy as he wrapped his hands around the weapons dealer neck. Every cry replayed in his mind along with the image of your damaged body causing him to squeeze hard while the man struggled underneath him.

If Ghost could see himself he would be unrecognizable. Your pain had resurfaced an old evil within him that hadn’t seen the light of day since he adopted his new name. It brought the monster that was obsessed with violence and the death of anyone who dared to lay a harmful hand on him or the one he loved.

There was a reason why this side of him had been put out of commission. He hated the scalding hotness that raced through his veins, the tightness in his throat, and the way he felt out of control. It was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

The weapons dealer’s body went limp. It took a moment for Ghost to realize he was dead but when he saw that he was no longer writhing underneath him, he released his hands.

Ghost was breathing heavily as he stared down at the dead body underneath him. His vision blackened and whitened, hot liquid running down his leg and staining his dirty pants with fresh blood. He felt dizzy from the blows to his head and the rapid blood loss which made it hard for him to get up from the floor.

He clenched his teeth, almost breaking them as he crawled his way to you. He bit back any groans as he came up to you, placing his fingers on your pulse.

It was weak, almost non-existent, but still there. That was enough to keep him going.

He cradled your head with hands that had just committed atrocities so gently. He stared down at the blood pouring out of your nose and the new bruises that were already forming. He hoped for your sake that your face wasn’t broken.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He assured you even though you were unconscious. He carefully pulled you into his arms again and held onto you securely. “Gonna get you out of here. Gonna patch you up, make you okay.”

His words were slurred and he was blabbering. The blood loss was getting to him and he knew if he didn’t try to move now, both of you were going to die.

Ghost braced himself, taking a deep breath and stood up on shaky legs. He couldn’t hold back the groan of pain that ripped through his throat. He took shallow breaths, his skin getting sweaty and cold before he resumed down the hall as if nothing had happened.

He limped down the cold, ugly hallways and left a trail of blood in his wake. Every step felt like the bullet wound grew bigger, ripping his skin apart until there was nothing left.

He didn’t care. The only thing on his mind was you.

You. Just you.

Your poor state. Your conscious body as it hung limp in his arms, covered in dirt, blood, grime. Hours, days worth of pain that would never go away that would forever soil your mind and body with scars. You could be dead in his arms, having bled out internally and he wouldn’t know until he got out of there.

“You’re okay.” He mumbled to push those thoughts away. “You’re okay…”

Ghost kept repeating it to himself like a mantra. It helped him keep the little amount of strength he had to keep you in his arms when he heard rapid footsteps echo off the halls again.

He was prepared to run or try to at least. He was prepared to fight until he was shot through if it meant you would somehow survive.

“Simon!”

He knew that voice. The rough, commanding voice belonged to Price and he had never been happier to hear him bark out his name. He felt like he could breathe again as he stopped in his tracks.

He was lucky that Price had finally found them and he wondered if maybe that’s what spurred on the sudden yelling from the base. Honestly he didn’t care at the moment. You were getting out of that hell hole and neither of you had to ever step foot back in it. He nearly collapsed as he heard his team’s footsteps get closer but he held on as he swallowed thickly.

He blinked the blurriness from his eyes and looked ahead of him seeing the rest of the task force armed to the teeth rushing towards him.

“Take her.” That was the first thing he said to them as they approached him and he held you out.

Gaz quickly took you from his arm, holding you close to him before he raced down the hall following behind Price who was already commanding a plan to get out of there.

Ghost watched after them, missing the comforting weight of you in his arms and finding himself much lighter without you. He wished he had the strength to carry you himself but he could hardly walk forward without stumbling which prompted Soap to wrap his arm around his shoulder.

Soap took most of his weight as they both walked down the hall.

“Johnny.” He weakly said as his vision began to spin, his fingers digging into his shirt.

“I got you L.t.” Soap assured him as he pushed forward.

Ghost suddenly felt too heavy to walk anymore. All of his strength was gone now that he didn’t have to worry about you. You were safe and now he could finally go to sleep. His vision went spotted with black dots before his knees buckled underneath him.

“Ghost!”

~

Ghost woke up with a start. The first thing he noticed was the dull ache he felt all over his body, the brunt of it taken away by what he could only assume were heavy pain meds.

“Morning.” He looked to his right to see Soap sitting on a chair next to his bed with a small smile. “How you feelin’ L.t?”

“Ask me later.” His voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy, causing Soap to hand him a glass of water with a chuckle.

He drank the water, finding that as soon as it touched his mouth he was incredibly thirsty. He chugged it, finding that even though it wasn’t cold it was the most refreshing thing he had in months.

When he was finished Soap took the glass from him and refilled it from a pitcher that sat on a table next to his bed. He handed the glass back to him and watched with slight worry as he began to chug it again. While he did he looked at the room around them..

He was lying in a hospital bed. The usual hard mattress and uncomfortable blankets were anything but that as he felt himself sink deep into them, finding a safe warmth in them. He was connected to various machines that beeped in tandem with his heart while his body was covered in stitches and sterile white bandages.

His hand was already in a cast and his leg was propped up on a fluffy pillow.

He was in the infirmary back on base. He was safe from harm.

“You're a beast, you know that?” Soap said as he took the glass back when he was finished. “Breakin’ out and running through the base with a bullet in your leg.”

“Had to. If I didn’t, we might’ve died-”

His heart stopped. His eyes searched around the infirmary frantically as he attempted to get out of bed to go look for you but Soap put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Easy. She’s okay.” He assured him before he jutted his chin across from him.

Ghost looked over and his gaze softened immediately.

You were sleeping in the bed next to him. You were hooked up to the same machines as him but you were bandaged up a lot more. He watched your chest rise from your steady breathing, finding himself mimicking it as his shoulders relaxed. You looked peaceful and deep in sleep, most likely from copious amounts of pain meds the doctor gave you.

He laid back on the bed, his eyes never leaving you.

“She was in worse condition than you.” Soap began as he eyed you both. “Broken ribs, other bones, major concussion, internal bleeding. Been sleeping ever since we picked you both up.”

Ghost swallowed thickly. He couldn’t even begin to describe the pit that formed in his stomach as he watched you. As much as he wanted to rationalize that the guilt he felt wasn’t warranted, his mind wouldn’t let him get rid of it.

He had almost indirectly killed you. He wouldn’t forgive himself if that had happened.

“How long?” He mumbled and heard Soap let out a deep sigh.

“About a week.” Soap said and he shook his head.

“Fucking hell…”

It had certainly felt longer than a week. Those long hours of torture and the short periods of recuperation between them had felt like an eternity. He remembered how every hour that passed by had been a month. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Soap had told him that, but knowing that so much damage had been inflicted on you both in a matter of a week made the pit in his stomach worse.

He couldn’t imagine how long it felt for you.

The physical toll this was going to take on you would hopefully clear up and not become long term but he knew your mental would most likely take the biggest hit.

“Price is puttin’ both you on leave for a while.” Soap caught his attention and he looked back at him. “He won’t admit it out loud, but he’s worried.”

“Guess that’s expected.” Ghost huffed and shut his eyes for a moment. Even though he knew it was the right call, considering the extent of the injuries you both had suffered, he absolutely hated the idea of having to stay on base, or worse, go back home. He would be forced to take it easy, to not do anything strenuous which meant he would be stuck doing absolutely nothing. It was the perfect opportunity for him to think too much.

He couldn’t hide himself in his work like he normally did. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be able to hide himself in any of the hobbies he had that he rarely participated in.

A heavy sigh left his chest and he rubbed his eyes. He would have to deal with the hell he was going to put himself through, he was used to it, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

“Here.” Soap tossed one of Ghost’s spare masks on his lap. “Figured you might want it.”

Ghost picked up the mask and looked at the black material. It was just one of his simple balaclavas and in any other moment he would’ve put it on so at least he felt some sense of security in the midst of all of this. However when he glanced at you, something in him told him to wait.

“Thanks, Johnny.” He watched as his friend gave him a small smile and patted him on the shoulder.

“Get some rest, L.t.” Soap stood up and pushed the chair out of the way.

Ghost watched him leave before he turned his attention back to you. You were the only thing he really wanted to look at in the infirmary, finding that you distracted him from the annoying beeps of the machines and the sterile walls that surrounded you both.

This wasn’t the first time that Ghost had found himself watching you as you slept.

Most of the time his attention was elsewhere when you both were on missions. He always took first watch on missions that spanned more than one day since he struggled to fall asleep as quickly as you. His eyes would wander to you when nothing in particular was happening and he was immensely intrigued by your ability to seemingly sleep peacefully no matter the situation.

He almost envied you. It took a while for him to take control of his thoughts when he laid down to sleep and yet the moment you shut your eyes you were gone.

Even now you seemed to be the most comfortable he had seen you in a week or even a month.

It was most likely the meds, but that didn’t stop the sense of comfort he felt as your chest rose and fell slowly.

Ghost toyed with the mask in his hand. His eyes bounced around your relaxed face and he let out a soft sigh that made him sink further into the mattress. He wanted to be awake when you woke up, but his eyelids started to get too heavy for him to keep open.

You had that effect on him and you didn’t even know.

In his sick, twisted mind he hoped he had the same effect on you. He hoped that he gave you a similar comfort and safety that you gave him despite the fact that he was a ruthless killer. Even after all he’d done in the enemy’s base, the cold blood murders he committed, he hoped that somehow you were happy to have him around you.

He was sure the moment you woke up he would too. And when he did he would make sure that you knew you were safe.

He always would.

A/N: Part 2? Also this is way longer than I had expected lol

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2

[thisonehere]

The Lin Kuei boys get jealous after you get flowers from another man

Mk1 Headkanons

C/w: Yandere tropes, jealousy, toxic relationship, G/n reader, mentions of violence, stalking, these men being unreasonable and irrational lol

Bi-Han

The Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei has never been affectionate, especially when it came to you. But while saying that, he hated the idea of someone else showing you affection or even making you happy. The idea of another (especially a man) putting a smile on your face, giving you a warm feeling inside, even making you laugh, burned him.

So when someone (Maybe some member of the Lin Kuei or even Johnny Cage) works up the courage to give you a nice bouquet, he rages.

You can feel his eyes burn a hole into the back of your head as you graciously receive the gift and thank the man.

You smile and giggle causing Bi-Han to shake with rage. The final straw was when he saw your face, or what was on your face. Blush, you were blushing. Bi-Han's mind begins to race. Why are you blushing? Does he make you happy? Happier than when you are with him? Did you prefer this man to him?

Without even thinking anymore he attacks the man, punching him so hard that his teeth are scattered all over the floor. He pummels him with no mercy and not a single sign of stopping. It takes you and a few other Lin Kuei to finally rip him off the poor man.

You drag him home but this isn't the end of it. "What is wrong with you?" "YOU and you whoring ways." before you know it, you're arguing, neither of you shows any sign of relenting. Soon the arguing turns into a screaming match, and things get so heated to the point that Bi-Han punches a wall leaving a massive dent.

Tears stream down your face as you yell at him to get out. For a moment his eyes soften and grow wide with hurt and shock, but immediately harden as he turns and slams the door behind him, basically breaking the door and the wall. Leaving you there alone crying.

Time passes, minutes become hours, hours become days, days, become weeks, and you and Bi-han haven't talked to each other. Whenever you see each other you quickly look away, refusing to even make eye contact with the man. You don't see it, but Bi-Han is hurt by this, but he buries it down and puts on his usually stern face.

Finally, it all ends one night when you hear someone knocking at your door. You open it to find Bi-Han, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are puffy and red, he's trying his best to keep it together but it's obvious that he'll break at any second.

"I'm... Sorry." He forces out his mouth, this is something hard for him to do. He'd rather be fighting Liu Kang than be facing you right about now. "You mean so much to me, I don't want to lose you..." he admits.

He then gets onto his knees and prostrates himself before you. After a few moments, you sigh and let him back inside.

Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang has never hidden his love for you, he'd show it every chance he got. He'd buy you gifts and send you poems spouting his eternal devotion to you, and more stuff like that. He feels confident in this relationship and your feelings for him.

So when that man comes up to you and gives you flowers, he isn't the least bit jealous... well, that's what he wants to believe.

It bothers him the way you smile at receiving the gift, you laugh and even blush. What are you doing, he thinks to himself. Why are you acting like this? Does his gifts make you act this way? Aren't you happy with him? Isn't he enough for you?

He forces a smile onto his face and tries to retain his composure. He then finds the opportunity and interjects, saying something like you need to go because of an emergency.

Afterwards, he will do everything in his power to make you happy. Do you want flowers? Fine, he'll find the most beautiful and exotic ones the realms could offer. He'll make multiple gestures to display his affection, hoping that you'll return it.

But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter how many times you tell him you love him, he will see that bouquet of flowers that you still keep and jealousy and insecurity consume him.

One day, he'll see the flowers in the pot you specifically chose for it and just stare at them. Before he can even top and think, he grabs the pot and throws it to the ground. He stomps at it and even uses his power to burn it to ashes.

Of course, all this ruckus gets your attention and you rush in and find Kuai Liang hitting the ground where the flowers were. Its ground is broken and charged by his spontaneous and reckless actions.

"What are you doing?!" You shout, both confused and even scared by this. Kuai's head shoots up realizing you're in the room. "Y/n, I didn't...You...I... I'm sorry." He turns and rushes out of the room.

For the next few weeks, Kuai will avoid you at all costs. Too ashamed of himself to face you after what he did. Every time you try to talk to him he quickly gets away. You don't understand why he's acting like this, did you do something? Does he hate you?

Finally, you can corner him. You try to talk to him, ask him what's wrong. Kuai rushes past you and attempts to quickly get away from you, but he stops when he hears a sniffling noise. He turns and sees you crying. It was then he finally realised how much he was hurting you. He hated himself even more now, he was so busy thinking about himself that he didn't even stop to think about how his actions were affecting you.

He walks back up to you and holds you. "I-I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Those flowers... they...it doesn't matter anymore. I love you." He says as he pulls you in and tightly holds you.

Tomas Vrbada

Tomas was and always has been insecure about the relationship. He's constantly scared that you'll one day leave him. You were the most beautiful and wonderful thing to happen to him, how could he not worry that things were too good to be true. It didn't help that he knew about all the others that desired you. He already lost his family, he couldn't lose you as well.

When you are offered flowers by that man, Tomas does everything he can to maintain his composure as you smile and laugh as you happily receive the gift. He watches as you continue your conversation with the man, he feels strange urges come over him. The urge to rip the flowers from out your hands and stomp them to pieces, the urge to beat the man to a bloody pulp, the urge to...what was happening to him?

Quickly he interjects into the conversation and insists that you have to go. You leave and Tomas tries to stop thinking about what just happened. But the way you are smiling at the bouquet so fondly it makes him go mad.

For the next few weeks nothing happens, Tomas seems off though. You ask what's wrong but he insists that everything is fine. So you don't think much about it, if Tomas wants to talk to you about it he will. And continue on with your daily routines...unaware that Tomas is following you.

Everywhere you go, he's too far behind. He keeps to the shadows, using powers to help him hide from you. He has to see everything you do, everywhere you go, every person you talk to. He loves you, but he can't seem to trust you for the life of him.

You realize something's wrong when Kuai comes to you and reveals that Tomas hasn't been fulfilling his tasks and duties. You immediately start to get concerned. He's been very distant lately, does this have anything to do with it? Why was he acting strange? Why won't he talk to you about it? You try to catch him before he leaves and talk to him. But seems to avoid you like the black plague and rushes out of the house.

You sigh and go on with the rest of your day. But since Kuai told you this news, you've seemed to become on edge for no reason. You become paranoid that someone is following you. As you make your way through your daily routine, you see the very same man who gave you the flowers and happily go to him and have a conversation.

Tomas watches you two talk and he feels an anger rise up in him. The way you two chatted so happily like you were in love, Tomas couldn't take it any more and spring from the shadows and confront you. "I-I can't believe you, was nothing we had special?!"

You didn't understand what was happening, Tomas suddenly appeared and he was yelling at you. Screaming at the man and chasing him away. He admits to following you and is grateful that he did, seeing how familiar you are with other men.

"Y-You were stalking me?" You suddenly yelled back. Hearing you say, Tomas realizes quickly how insane he was acting. His cheeks flush as his once confident form shrinks into an awkward one. "Oh gods, Y/n, I'm so sorry. I-" but before he can finish, you turn your back on him and you walk away, leaving him there all alone.

Weeks go by as you avoid him, you don't come home, and you don't speak Kuai either, it's like you disappeared off the face of the planet. These were some of the loneliest weeks Tomas has ever experienced in his life, he couldn't eat he could sleep, and he couldn't even build up the strength to get out of bed. What was even the point? Without you, life didn't have much meaning.

You finally build up the courage and come back home, hoping for some closure and to settle things. Tomas immediately swings open the door and ushers you inside. He is quick to start apologizing, he is in a desperate state. He even starts to break down and cry.

This pathetic display moves you, you admit that you missed him. You embrace each other and cry in each other's arms. "I'm so sorry, please don't leave me," he begs.

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk x reader #mk x y/n #mk fanfic #mortal kombat 1 #bi han #bi han sub zero #bi han x reader #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang #mk scorpion #kuai liang scorpion #mk tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada #smoke mk #mk smoke #lin kuei #mk fanfiction #mk fandom #taking requests #requests open #requests are open #jealousy #soft yandere #male yandere #tw yandere #afab nonbinary #afab reader

[alastorslittledoe]

Hazbin Hotel Men with a Crush on You

|| HeadCanon ||

Pairing: Alastor, Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Adam, Vox (x reader)

Tags: Fluff, slight smut, pining, flirting, kissing

Alastor’s method of flirting is similar to him hunting his victims. In fact, the only discernible difference is that he isn’t trying to kill you. Would be an enemies to lovers trope, for sure. He’d constantly do shit to freak you out (like waiting around the corner in his giant ass demon form) just to get your heart racing and then pull you close. Alastor probably wouldn’t even realise he liked you until he pulled you on his lap to apologise and you ended up in his bedroom. He just thought he liked playing with you, just a little bit more than everyone else.

Nicknames include: darling, my dear, little doe, sweetheart

Vox is literally obsessed with you from the minute he meets you. That man watches you everywhere, it would be creepy if you weren’t aware and didn’t give him a show every night in your bed. He insists you come and stay with him just to keep a ‘better eye on you’ and ‘keep you safe’. And while all of that is true, it’s also so he can jack off to you while you prance about the screen for him. Eventually you’d sneak in the room during one of his broadcasts to show him just how much you enjoyed him watching you as an under the table favour. He considers you ‘his’ from that moment on, and his obsessive tendencies don’t waver. In fact, they get worse, if possible.

Nicknames include: doll, dollface, sweetheart

Lucifer is such a sweetheart, he wants to talk to you about EVERYTHING, anything, literally you could talk about stale bread to the man and he would watch you with heart eyes. However, if anyone tried to point his affection out, he’d firstly deny it, and then quickly threaten death on anyone who attempted to tell you. Because that was his moment. If anyone in hell attempted to fuck with you, he’d be there immediately. This man can flirt, too. You might as well be walking around with ‘horny’ tattooed on your forehead. You’d probably be the one to kiss him first, and he’d be mad and insist you stole his moment, before quickly dragging you to bed and showing you exactly why Lilith left Adam.

Nicknames include: my love, sweetheart, pretty baby, honey

Angel Dust would immediately catch on to your feelings. He’d constantly tease you about the fact that you liked him (because he has the insane hots for you too) and HARDCORE flirt with you any chance he got. You’d have to earn your place as one of his best friends before anything happened, though. He’d be happy for one night stands but it takes you a while to convince him that you want more than that and you weren’t going to hurt him (‘: But once you did he’d literally be all over you, in front of anyone and everyone. Which you’re more than happy to oblige to, of course.

Nicknames Include: Sugar, doll, baby, babycakes, slut (with extra affection), sexy

Husk is literally the most oblivious man on the planet. You could get naked in front of him and, while he’d definitely get turned on, he’d just ask you where your clothes are. But, he’d do little acts of service, giving you the last shot, ensuring you ended up in bed after a long night, letting you stroke his ears and even teaching you how to mix drinks when you’d shown an interest. And Husk never let anyone behind the bar. His crushes are definitely more lowkey, he’d be more concerned that Alastor would do something to you. But with a little coaxing, he’d be absolute putty in your hands and admit he’d been feeling this way for months.

Nicknames include: babe, beautiful, hot stuff, love

Sir Pentious…oh boy. He’ll follow you around like a little puppy, trying to do everything for you ‘did you need that jar opening, my love? what? no, i never called you anything!’. Acts of service are his thing. He’s literally the sweetest though and if you ever complained about anything he’d try and fix it immediately, or just get into his death machine and kill it. You’d lost many outfits to him misunderstanding the frustration of not being able to find something to wear. Overall, he’d kiss you absolutely wasted because that would be the only time he’d work up the courage to do it. You’d quickly drag him into a sex room to see what those two dicks are really about.

Nicknames include: you think this man has the confidence to call you nicknames without calling EVERYONE the same nickname for a year? You’re wrong. (the occasional ‘my love’, ‘my heart’, ‘babe’ does slip out though)

Adam will literally kill himself before admitting anything to you. He’ll tease, taunt, fuck, and lie to get you to admit that you love him before he even comes close to admitting he likes you just a little bit. But when you finally do, he slowly makes small changes. Stops flirting with all the angels, strictly has sex with you and would accidentally call you his girlfriend one day to Lute. Of course you’d happen to be standing in earshot and he’d immediately deny anything ever happened. But from then on you’d refer to him as your boyfriend and he doesn’t stop you. Plus, the sex gets really good when he thinks he owns you.

Nicknames include: babe, sugartits, bitch, slut, whore (all in good fun…you think), and when he’s rarely feeling sentimental ‘princess’

#hazbin smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel vox smut #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel headcanon

[aloesarchives]

Popular Boy (JJK One-Shot)

TW/Warnings: Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, Angst with Fluff ending, Profanity, Smoking from Shoko and Suguru, Highkey Miscommunication Trope, Cheesy cliches, this one-shot being way too long than it's supposed to be, a little OOC Satoru and Suguru

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

AU: Modern/High School AU!

Pronouns: She/Her(any gal could read this, but Reader is slightly coded to be introverted, good at drawing and crafts, and a nerd)

Word Count: 10.2k words

Summary: You weren't supposed to fall in love with your best friend Satoru Gojo. But you did anyway. It doesn't help that he is the most popular guy in your school.

(A/N): This is my longest one-shot to date. I went off the rails and wrote this out of this idea and brain dump I had. Un top of being sick, I didn't post for like 2 weeks because I was working on this and having little motivation. But I'm back!

[!!!Unedited and not proofread!!! 1/24/2024 4:27pm CST]

Having a crush on your best friend is the absolute worst. You promised yourself you wouldn’t. But after reviewing your symptoms, you concluded that you are, indeed, in love with your best friend, Satoru Gojo. It's too bad he’s the most popular guy in the school. Suguru is second to him but doesn’t bask in the attention like his friend does.

It all started when you became friends with them in your first year of high school. Shoko was in your class, and you two became best friends instantly. You’d usually eat alone somewhere during break or lunch because the cafeteria was always rowdy, making it overstimulating. One day, your usual spot was taken over. Though it bummed you out your little spot was discovered, it wasn’t yours in the first place, so you went on a search for a new one. After a few minutes of searching, you spotted Shoko smoking in a hidden spot behind the school. She hears you from how your feet crunch on the dirt and asks you to join her. Though you didn’t smoke, you stayed with her. After talking briefly, Shoko asked if you were free after school, taking a long drag out of her cigarette.

You never stayed too long after school, only for your respective clubs, but that’s it. You also had no friends, so maybe this is your chance to get closer to Shoko. Upon agreeing, she smiles before taking her last drag out and extinguishing her smoke in a nearby ashtray. As the two of you returned to class, she told you that her other two friends were coming. Hinting that they were quite the handful. Your expression lightens upon hearing the two new people joining your hangout with Shoko. Perhaps this could be what you needed to step outside of your comfort zone to have a social experience like everyone else your age.

 After getting off the train with Shoko, she pulled you along the busy crowd and met the two boys at the subway station entrance. You didn’t, however, expect Shoko’s mystery friends to be Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto—the most well-known boys in the entire school and possibly the whole district. Shoko was making your introduction to them as you grew shy under their gaze. Nervous was an understatement; anxiety was brewing in you like rain clouds forming a storm. What if they scoff at you? Mock you? Purposely pick on you for fun? Each thought raced against each other across your mind that you didn’t notice Satoru placing his hand on your shoulder. It snapped you back to reality as you looked up to avoid being rude.

 You’ve heard the rumors and the hushed whispers from every corner of the school about how Satoru Gojo was among the most good-looking guys. How he had blue eyes that matched the sky and hair like snow. You only caught glimpses of him throughout the campus but never saw him up close. But now that you are, you can confirm it for yourself. To you, he looked more ethereal, if anything. His blue eyes were like the endless cerulean sky above, his white hair lightly tousled in the wind; he was beautiful to you.

“Hey, you don’t have to stiffen up around me. I don’t want you to go all shy on me (Y/N). Satoru Gojo, at your service~.”

Extend his hand to shake yours; you return the gesture, albeit clumsily. Satoru chuckles before he unexpectedly brings your hand to his lips. He kissed your fingers ever so gently, feather-like almost. Your body most certainly would have erupted in a blaze by his actions. But it didn’t; you were more caught off-guard. You wondered if he did this to every girl he came across. He just smiled afterward but gets bonked on the head by Suguru, who went to introduce himself to you.

“Satoru, you’re going to scare her off. Sorry (Y/N), he’s always like that. I’m Suguru Geto, and I hope you’re not uncomfortable because of him.”

You quickly dismissed it, trying to ease Suguru’s concerns. After hanging out with them, you knew you found people you would call friends. You never had that much fun until you hung out with them. Going to arcades, eating out together, and wandering the city of Tokyo filled you with non-replicable happiness. After that hangout, the rest was history. Since then, you have always hung out with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. You all stuck together like glue every time possible. You never guessed their popularity rubbed off as well. You became known on campus as a well-known upperclassman and now a senior. 

But you noticed you spent more time with Satoru than with Shoko or Suguru. You could credit it to his goofy, childish personality that matched your vibe even more. He loved discussing Digimon and was happy you shared the same interest. You two would indulge in each other’s interests and hobbies. It became more evident that both of you had grown closer from when Shoko adopted you into their group. Yet, you told yourself time and time again not to fall for Satoru. In fear of losing what you have with each other because you caught “feelings.” In addition, Satoru had many, many, MANY admirers—girls across the school, district, and the Tokyo Metropolitan area. Many come from prominent backgrounds, blessed with being gifted, or simply beautiful in every way. While you didn’t mean to self-sabotage yourself, you were beautiful and brilliant in your own right; you were being realistic. How could someone like Satoru Gojo, from a wealthy and prominent family for centuries, go for someone like you? It was wishful thinking at that point, but it was stretching itself thin even then.

Anyhow, this brings you to the present. It’s December 1st, six days before Satoru’s birthday. You were in your dorm, conjuring up what to get him. It was more complicated than because the man was loaded. He had the money to buy anything and everything he wanted. So what can you get for him that wasn’t already bought? After some time, you had the genius idea to make something for him. You decided on making a bracelet and a framed sketch of him from one of your sketchbooks you occasionally draw in.

While working on your gifts, you were on the receiving end of teasing from Suguru and Shoko, specifically from Suguru. I mean, he was the first one to catch on to your feelings for his friend. Shoko had her suspicions but never mentioned them in case she was delusional. But once Suguru brought it up, she instantly joined in the teasing. It was harmless fun, yet you couldn’t help but rethink your crush on Satoru. Your feelings for him shouldn’t exist, yet you can’t help it. You felt alive, but most of all, you felt comfortable and safe with Satoru. You never hid your lovely personality or felt ashamed of your interests. Satoru was always supportive and was a part of your shenanigans too. As cheesy as it was to admit, it felt like you’ve found your soulmate, your other half. You always relished your moments with Satoru, no matter how short or dumb they were. Sure, you loved your moments with the gang, but it hits differently when it’s only Satoru and you. It was as if your life changed when he came into it. 

During the day before Satoru’s birthday, Shoko and Suguru hunched over your desk as you finished the page you were doodling. The smears from the graphite and erased pencil markings showed the fine details to capture Satoru’s features. 

“Wow, those look exactly like him. If he were animated, he'd be drawn like this. May I, (Y/N)?” Suguru asked.

You nodded, and Suguru picked up the sketchbook to inspect the page further. Shoko peered over his shoulder to also get a look.

“I think Gojo would love this. Don’t you think so, Suguru?”

“I would think so too, Shoko. It’s a well-thought-out gift (Y/N). Satoru would love it.”

“Wait, (Y/N)! Show Suguru what else you made him!”

Suguru raises a brow at the brunette as you pull up a photo on your phone to show to Suguru. Suguru squinted his eyes a bit to see the picture a bit more clearly.

“You made that bracelet for Satoru? It’s pretty nice. Where’s our (Y/N)?”

“I have them back in my room, Suguru! I just. . . You know. . .”

“So you’re implying we’re not as special as your beloved Blue Eyes White Dragon?”

“SHOKO, you’re not helping!!! OfcourseImadeitmorespecialforhimbecausehereallylikesdigimonandhisbirthdayiscomingup–”

“(Y/N)! I was just joking! Geez, calm down before you pop a blood vessel.”

As you catch yourself from any further rambling, you are about to explain the bracelet to Suguru before Satoru slides the classroom door open. You think it’s him but can’t tell through the mountain of gifts and bags in his arms. But seeing a wisp of his white hair gave you all the more reason that it was Satoru. Satoru plops the pile on his desk as his arms cave in, some gifts falling off the edge and onto the floor. One fell near your desk, so you picked it up and placed it back on his desk.

“Is it Valentine’s Day? What’s with the gifts, Satoru?”

“*sighs* These are from numerous girls all over the school from varying grades. My birthday is tomorrow, so I guess I'll get the early gifts. Though, I don’t know how to return all this to my dorm. You guys wanna help me open them up back in my room?”

You all replied yes and helped Satoru with his pile of gifts. As you put on your sketchbook, you felt a breath tickle your ear.

“Hey, whatcha drawing, (Y/N)? Drawing (favorite Digimon/Pokemon) again? Let me see!”

You caught a whiff of his surprisingly minty, fresh breath. Usually, it comes in hot with the number of sweets he’s been eating, so this was a pleasant surprise to you.

“I’ll show you later when we open your gifts in your room, ‘Toru. You gotta be patient.”

You chided while swatting his all too-close face away from you. Little did you know, a sickly sweet smile flashed on his face upon hearing his nickname. Once the last bell rang, you four headed straight for Satoru’s dorm to open all the gifts he received from the day. Once dumping them into a pile, you each read the note attached to the gifts and opened them up. Some were cool, homemade gifts, others were basic and generic. Most were sweets or baked goods since he is widely known to have a sweet tooth. You all were open and chatty when Suguru grabbed a neatly wrapped velvet box.

“Hey, Satoru, isn’t this from your ex?”

“Which one?”

“Don’t know, let me see the tag. . . From Satomi. . .”

“Oh, her! Let me see, Suguru!”

You cringed hard hearing Satoru talk about his numerous “girlfriends.” As much as you didn’t want to say it, Satoru’s playboy attitude was your least favorite thing about him. All the girls he saw shared one common trait: they never stayed too long with him. Satoru would cycle through many girls every few weeks to maybe a month. He never bothered to introduce them into the friend group, let alone bring them to your shared hangouts. Now that you think about it, he never talks about them when you or the others are present. He never calls them his girlfriends or partners, just sugar-coated words and nicknames meant to sweeten a non-existent fruit that never grew in the first place. You wondered if he would treat you the same if you dated him. But you were thinking too deeply, FOCUS GIRL!!! It’s now or never. Well, not really, but you have the perfect chance to give Satoru his birthday gift! You can make it work for just the two of you! Find him by himself, steal him away to deliver your gift, and possibly confess. 

Satoru's birthday gifts from his fans dwindled to only small boxes and clear bags. Shoko and Suguru categorized his gifts as apparel, food, trinkets, etc., while Satoru plopped beside you. You were munching away at some candy, deciding to take a break from opening the cookie cutter-esk presents as your vision became spotty. It was silent for a moment, only the sounds of your other two friends' voices bickering about which pile a gift should go. Satoru shifts his attention towards you, mindlessly popping the candy into your mouth before dramatically yawning, spreading his limbs across his bed. His legs would stretch over your lap. You popped the last candy before throwing the empty bag at him.

“What’s wrong, Satoru? You've grown tired of your gifts or what?”

“That and feeling sore from sitting on the floor. . . Hey! Will you show me your drawing from earlier (Y/N)?”

“Uh. . . I dunno, Satoru–”

“Pleaseeeeeeee?! I promise I won’t crease the pages like last time! Come on (Y/N)!”

Satoru juts out his lip and gives his puppy eyes with praying hands. You glance at Suguru and Shoko, who snickered at your little predicament. You sighed deeply and pulled out your sketchbook for him to see. He was giving you his full attention, asking questions, and complimenting the fine details of your latest creation. You two were smiling and giggling along as you turned the pages. However, you were getting nervous because you didn’t want Satoru to see his page. You hoped he got bored or distracted so you didn’t have to flip through more from your book. Suguru has a sixth sense because he called Satoru’s attention before you flipped to the next page, which would’ve been his. 

“Okay, man, we sorted your gifts into these four separate piles, which one should be obvious. . . Look at the time; it’s almost curfew for the girls. I’ll walk them to their dorms, Satoru.”

Before Satoru could protest and tag along, Suguru snatched you and Shoko away and out of the dorm. Satoru stood up perplexed, before shrugging it off and storing his gifts away. Suguru dragged you two to the skywalk and looked dead into your eyes, startling you from his sudden closeness.

“You have to do it tomorrow, (Y/N).”

“Uh, do what, Suguru?”

Shoko and Suguru gave each other a face before looking back at you.

“You gotta confess to Satoru, (Y/N). Do it tomorrow when you give him your gift on his birthday. And before you ask, we knew about your feelings for him way before. It’s painfully obvious, (Y/N).”

Shoko just nods her head in agreement. You knew Suguru had a point; it’s now or never. But you didn’t want to make things awkward for Satoru, let alone pressure him to say yes because he feels terrible for rejecting. Overthinking started kicking into high gear, and you started thinking about every possible scenario Satoru could react to. None of them were of him reciprocating your feelings. Unfortunately, Suguru had to say the dread words no one wants to hear when trying to confess to their crush.

“The worst thing he could say is no, (Y/N).”

Shoko elbows him while you wince at his words. You knew he meant to comfort you, but it didn’t help ease your nerves. Suguru, observant as ever, picked up on it, and from Shoko’s reaction, he knew his words were a miss.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll come with you for support, so it won’t be as stressful going alone.”

Suguru gives you a comforting smile, and you give on in return. Shoko said she couldn’t come because she volunteered to tutor some underclassmen for some Visa gift cards. So she says good luck to you before walking across the skyway and into the building of the girls' dormitory. You gained some confidence and bid Suguru goodnight to finalize your gifts. You framed Satoru’s page in a sleek dark blue frame and knotted Satoru’s bracelet. The marble beads of the bracelet were white, cerulean blue, and black. Complementing each with a small interchange charm in the middle where an Agumon charm dangled freely. You wrapped up both gifts and placed them in a mildly used paper bag you had from when you went shopping.

As the next day rolled in, you were surprisingly giddy to give your gift. You just had to catch Satoru alone and give yourself a good ten minutes to slip in your confession. The problem was you hadn’t seen Satoru at all. Sure, today was a half-day, but Satoru was barely in class. When he was, though, he was flooded by many girls telling him happy birthday or giving more gifts. Since it was a Friday, Satoru didn’t do much after school and would wander Tokyo for the remainder of the day. You knew you were losing time, so doing it right after school was best.

Once the last bell rang, you packed your bag and held your present tightly to find Satoru. However, he was gone from his seat when you looked at his desk. While you tried to find him, Suguru texted you. He said he saw Satoru go behind the school. He also said he would wait for you at the front gate to hear about your results. As you go to the back, you are smiling so hard that it would make your teeth rot. But as you got closer, your sweet smile instantly dropped when you heard a girl’s voice and another voice you made out to be Satoru’s. Your heartbeat repeatedly drummed in your ears as you hid yourself to not be noticed. Trying to even out your breath, you slowly peek your head in a slow, agonizing manner to get a better look. Unfortunately, your curiosity kills your heart as it confirms your worst fear.

Satoru stood smiling, and another girl giggled like a classic school girl in a high-school rom-com movie. You recognized her as she was in the same grade but from a different class. You’ve seen her around but never been a part of Satoru’s unofficial fan club. Yet you could never have guessed she liked him too. You knew you should look away, already seeing what was needed. But the naive sliver of hope forced you to continue watching, hoping it was a delusion your mind conjured up. Although you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you knew the other girl beat you to him as she held Satoru’s hand and smiled up at him. Satoru places a hand on her cheek and probably says something you can make out ‘I love you' before dipping his head to meet hers. A chill washes over your body as your grip on Satoru’s present stiffens, further crimping the paper bag. Shakily, you pulled out your phone and took a picture before turning on your heels and going anywhere but here.

Suguru was ever so patiently waiting on the outcome. He was blissfully smiling. Hoping all is going well and in your favor. He was distracted by his phone when he recognized the sound of your footsteps. He pockets it as he sees your figure walk towards the gates. He cheerfully called out for you but was met with silence. When you walked past him, your head hung low; Suguru knew something was wrong. Concerned, he quickly went after you while calling for you. When nothing works, he steps in front of you to hold your shoulders still to prevent any more movement. Shaking your shoulders, he firmly asks what’s wrong.

A wretched look contorted on his face when he saw your face. Your eyes are shiny from glossy tears on the verge of overflowing from the edges. Lips in a tight quiver, trying to not let a sob escape from within the depths of your hurt soul. You were trying your best to stay together, but Suguru saw you were hanging on by a thread. He gives you a comforting, tight hug as you begin to cry into him. Letting it all out and providing comforting pats on your back. As you start to calm down, Suguru gently takes you to a nearby cafe where some of your group hangouts and study sessions happen. Considering your current state, he keeps you from paying for your drink. Once he got them and sat down, you told him what you saw that caused this. Suguru chokes on his drink in disbelief upon hearing about Satoru’s doings.

“He what?! Are you sure, (Y/N)?”

You nodded as you pulled up the picture on your phone to show Suguru. His eyes widen even further as he stares at the picture. Returning back your phone, he takes a big sip of his drink.

“So, what are you going with your gift then, (Y/N)? Are you still going to give it to Satoru?”

“I... I. . . Don’t know, Suguru. . . I did make it for him, but I don’t think he’ll care.”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t, (Y/N)?”

“You know what I mean, Suguru. Satoru doesn’t really hold onto any gifts he gets. Unless it’s sweets or something he thinks is cool, he’ll donate, give, or throw it away. My present would collect dust in his room and be forgotten. We literally sorted out his fan mail yesterday.”

You glance over at your initial present for Satoru. The bag has deep creases and wrinkles from death gripping it in your disassociated state. You delicately bring it to your lap, blankly staring at the two dedicated gifts inside. Sighing in defeat, you slowly fold the top of the bag before setting it back in its previous place. You gave Suguru a tired smile, saying how wishful thinking blinded you from reality. Suguru couldn’t help but feel pity. It hurts him to see you like this and blame yourself for dreaming about something he knew would become a reality. But he was thrown in for a loop because he was sure his best friend was hopelessly in love with you. The glances, the consistency of bringing up your name, the extra care he gave when it came to you, IT WAS ALL RIGHT THERE! Was Satoru leading everyone on, you included? Suguru was going to get to the bottom of this. He escorts you back and asks Shoko to stay with you until nighttime. 

After filling Shoko in, you looked at the crippled bag sitting alone on the floor. Taunting, making a mockery of you, and constantly reminding you how you really let your feelings get out of hand to let you believe a fantasy. How foolish you are, little stupid fool you were, you think. Getting off your bed, you go over to the bane that reminds you of your naivete as a hopeless romantic. You were tempted to throw the whole bag away; consider burning it all.

Despite thinking of wiping the existence of those gifts from this world, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. They were drawings of Satoru and a handmade bracelet with his favorite Digimon, and you were proud of how they turned out. The time and dedication you put into it really showed how much this man had a chokehold on your life no matter what. Crush, friend, it didn’t matter. He really changed your life; you would be forever grateful for that. Even if that meant you always stayed friends. It was a better fate than being strangers altogether. So you decide to store the bag in an empty drawer for miscellaneous items, not wanting to see it anymore. Shoko was surprised by your actions. Though she would understand you destroying them, she didn’t expect you to keep your gifts. You just shrugged, saying destroying it wouldn’t do you any good. No amount of satisfaction or fulfillment would come from it. Shoko just gives you a hug as you lean into it.

Ever since that day, you slowly stopped talking to Satoru. He didn’t notice it because you would make excuses or leave immediately before he could catch up. He thought you were busy with homework and school. It was brought to his attention when you wouldn’t hang out with him. Whenever he texted you to hang out, you would say you were busy or not feeling good. It got worse when you didn’t attend your group hangouts with Suguru and Shoko. It was always the four of you. Without you, it felt incomplete, and Satoru started to miss you and the vibe you brought. Even when he asked Suguru or Shoko where you were, they would give the same answer you did. And it was starting to frustrate him. Did he say or do something to distance yourself from him? Did he accidentally hurt without realizing it? Why did you suddenly not want to talk to him anymore? He sees you talking to your other friends and classmates without a care in the world. Your lovely lips always curled upwards, and how your cheeks and eyes molded to highlight your face, you were absolute divinity in his eyes. Had you always looked so beautiful to him? Yes, but he didn’t realize that until now since his only way of looking at you is from a distance. 

Every time he would try to make his way over to you, you gave a quick side glance in his direction before wrapping up any conversation and leaving. This honestly began to hurt Satoru. He had never dealt something like this with anyone else. Maybe when he had severe fights with Suguru, but they would make up in the end since he knew it was mostly his fault. But this is different because he was in the dark of your avoidance. It was like he was the bubonic plague, and you were straight-up social distancing yourself from him. It didn’t matter when or where; as soon as he entered within a 12-foot radius, you were going in the other direction. This had been going on for almost two weeks! It was now the 21st, the last school day before winter break. Nothing significant was happening today besides the classic winter break assembly. He needed to talk to you so you two could somehow talk it out and make it. It’s ironic how oblivious he was to the circumstances he was in. The roles are now reversed because now he’s pining after you like you had been for him for the past few years. You usually would sit with them during these events, but since you’re distancing, you opted to sit with your peers. When you did sit with them, you would be the furthest away from Satoru. 

Satoru should’ve been paying attention to the assembly. But his only focus was you, who was on the other side of the gymnasium. You were sitting on opposite bleachers with one of your underclassmen, Riko Amanai. Satoru wished he could teleport himself to you, pick you up, and go to a quiet place to talk. But he knew he had to be patient to make his move, something Suguru had to remind him constantly. Once the assembly was over, Satoru by-lined to where you were. However, the sea of students eager to leave school is challenging, even for the 6’3 boy. He saw glimpses of you with Riko as you pulled her along and weaved through the crowd out of the school. The resistance he met trying to reach you became so aggravating he was shoving anyone who got in his way. It got to the point where students made room for him to pass through, fearing the wrath of Satoru Gojo in a bad mood.

Alas, once he exited the school, you had already gone off campus to who knows where with Riko and Kuroi, her caretaker. Satoru tightened his fists, and his face bore a scowl as you slipped away again. He would have punched the school’s concrete fence if Suguru didn’t pop up in front of him. Satoru was slightly calmed when he saw his friend, but a twinge of unease settled in when he saw Suguru’s strained smile. To a regular person, it seemed like a genuine smile. But Satoru knew Suguru enough to know when he gave these smiles. This one meant he was in deep trouble. Suguru said he needed to talk to Satoru about something over a bucket of KFC with one of the Visa gift cards Shoko gave them. Satoru followed it, knowing there was more to Suguru’s unidentified mood. However, Suguru just stops in front of the KFC, idly standing with his back to him. Seeing his standoffish behavior, Satoru becomes confused and finally breaks their tense silence.

“Look, Suguru, I know this isn’t the best time. But we need to talk about (Y/N).”

“What is there to talk about her, Satoru?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Suguru. You noticed how (Y/N) has barely been hanging out with us. Giving excuses to not hang out. I don’t understand why this happened so fast. Two weeks ago, (Y/N) was fine. She was laughing with us and being a part of our stupid antics. Then, after my birthday, she slowly stopped replying to my texts and avoided me altogether. Suguru, you got to know something. I don’t want to be left in the dark anymore. I need to know what I did to make her stop talking to me.”

Oh, Suguru knew the reason why you were doing this. You told him yourself. You admitted to Suguru you didn’t know how to act around Satoru anymore, in fear of spilling your confession and making a fool out of yourself. You knew how cowardly it was to do this. Not correctly communicating your emotions and actions to Satoru was self-sabotage, and your relationship with him would suffer severely. You tried to ride out your feelings to the best of your abilities. But you learned that those feelings for Satoru wouldn’t go away no matter what you did. So, you thought the best option was to slowly distance yourself from Satoru to heal your broken heart and save your dignity. Suguru was against this at first. But he let it slide since it was only Satoru and not him or Shoko.

What he didn’t let slide was how he saw his best friend paraded around his latest girlfriend. He knew that relationship wouldn’t last at all because there was one thing he knew about his best friend. Satoru Gojo is a lonely person. No amount of fan girls or guys dick-riding him would fill the void of loneliness Satoru faced in his life. He always was told that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was talented and good at anything and everything he did. But with that, people only saw him from afar, never really caring to realize Satoru was like anyone else besides his wealth. Suguru knew you made Satoru feel seen and let him dwell on his antics so he could be a teen, not some high, mighty God people were willing to kiss his feet. Satoru fell in love with you but doesn’t want to admit it. Seemingly taken you for granted. Suguru doesn’t blame you for trying to lose feelings for him. He would, too, if the person he liked gave mixed signals and had a cycle through partners like daily outfits even though they heavily implied to their best friend they wanted you but never cared to tell.

You would have made the first move. But with many rejections, some harsher than others, you decide to wait for the other person to say something first or drop an obvious hint. You aren’t going to drive through a red light, only green ones. You often hear the phrase, ‘Girls who make the first move on a guy get the relationship.’ That is a blatant lie and bullshit because it only works if the guy doesn’t care, the girl asking is conventionally pretty, or the guy already liked or was interested in the girl. You experienced so much rejection that you might as well give up on telling your feelings so as not to be seen as pathetic. You thought it would be different for Satoru because of your powerful chemistry together. But he sent many mixed signals, being flirtatious and teasing you, genuinely looking out for you simultaneously, all the while still never giving a break to dating and having a long line of girlfriends at his beak and call. It was too complicated for you. Then, with the incident, you knew you had no chance with him because it seemed he would never feel the same.

“Do you like (Y/N), Satoru?”

Satoru gave his best friend a bewildered look, his face recoiling.

“Yeah, of course, I like (Y/N), Suguru. What kind of question is that—”

“That’s not what I’m asking you, Satoru. Do you love (Y/N)? Yes or No, simple as that.”

“What are you trying to get at, Suguru?”

Suguru visibly groans at the Satoru’s density. This was annoying Suguru at this point.

“Satoru, be honest with yourself. Admit it, you’re in love with (Y/N). How you look out for her, care for her, and constantly bring her up in conversations every chance you get, the longing gaze you give her when she isn’t looking, always staring at her instead of anyone else in the room. The list goes on and on, Satoru. Stop denying it. Do you love her, or are you just saying that because you want to joke about someone’s feelings?”

Satoru’s voice was caught in his throat; he had his answer, but his body wasn’t giving him a chance to say it. It was like Suguru hitting the nail every time, making Satoru feel cornered. Suguru sighed frustratedly at the silence of his best friend, who usually would have his answers ready in the queue.

“So you never really loved (Y/N) then, Satoru.”

“What! No! I do love (Y/N), Suguru—”

“Then why the fuck do you still indulge in your playboy personality? You and I both know that won’t get you anywhere, Satoru. It’s doing you more damage than good, yet you continue feeding into it! Maybe if you gave a break from your causal flings, (Y/N) would have confessed to you, and the two of you would have been dating by now. God, You’re just a headache, Satoru…” Suguru doesn’t shout, but his sharp tone is on the edge of becoming angry.

Wait, what?

You were going to confess to him?

You like him too?

Satoru blinks owlishly while trying to process this mind-breaking information. You liked Satoru, so the feeling was mutual, right? Then why is Suguru getting mad at him for feeling the same way?

“Wait… Suguru...(Y/N) likes me too? Why didn’t she say anything in the first place? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because you already had a girlfriend, Satoru. (Y/N)’s not a home wrecker.”

“Yeah, okay. But I was single for two weeks! She knew that! Why didn’t she confess to me then?!”

“I don’t know, Satoru… Maybe because she was more focused on making your birthday gifts than her confession towards you. How much of her time was dedicated to making them? She was going to confess to you but decided not to.”

“When, Suguru?!”

“ . . .Your birthday. . . (Y/N) was going to give your gifts and confess on your birthday, but you decided to fuck yourself over.”

“ ‘Fuck myself over? What do you mean, Suguru?” Satoru said in a hushed but shocked whisper.

Suguru pulls out his phone, pulls up the picture you took, and shows it to Satoru. Satoru’s eyes widen like saucers, surprised by Suguru’s possession of a photograph that captured his private moment. He grabs Suguru’s phone to take a closer look before looking back up at him, face still bearing the same expression.

“Wait, that happened on my birthday. How did you take this? 

“I didn’t take it, Satoru. . .”

“Huh? Then who—”

Oh. . .Oh. . .

Oh no. . .

It all was starting to click for Satoru. Suguru looked unamused as he saw his friend’s gears moving in his head.

“Suguru, I—”

“So, do you love (Y/N), Satoru? Yes or no?”

Satoru stays silent with no motions to verbalize an answer.

“*sighs* Then tell me, Satoru. Do you love (Y/N) because she is beautiful? Or is she beautiful because you love her?”

Suguru left a defeated and devastated Satoru in the streets to be alone with his thoughts. In doing so, he hoped his friend would connect the dots himself. Satoru stood frozen in front of the KFC, finally understanding it. The distance, the consistent decline in hangouts, the short conversations, being ‘happy’ around others but never near him, how your smile droops at the mention of his name, and the solemn expression your eyes wore ever since his birthday all added up. It was all because of him. Sure, it’s both parties at play here.

On the other hand, your actions were just reactions to his own, especially when his loneliness caused him to become desperate in seeking out the attention of multiple girls he would ‘date.’ Consequently, it signaled he was looking for something casual with no strings attached, making you believe giving a confession would be useless to someone like him. But that’s far from the truth.

 He couldn’t believe he had done you dirty for so long. You were always in front of him, waiting for him this whole time. You were the one to give him warmth and fill in the void of loneliness that has plagued his soul for so long. But he never gave you a chance because he never cared to ask or consider it. He took you for granted because he knew you would always be there for him through everything and anything; you were his ride or die. Oh, how irresponsible of him that not truly appreciating your presence would lead to your eventual withdrawal.

Now he realized his love for you was real and profound as it was tiered above anything else. The way he flexed his bicep when you linked arms with him to stay close in big crowds, the stars your eyes have when talking about your favorite topic made him have this dumb love-sick look, or your smile that always filled him with love and joy when it’s directed at him, he still wanted to experience these things with you but as more as friends. And yet, he was on the verge of losing it all forever. Three years of friendship/pining would be wiped away in three weeks. All because he was scared to admit his fragile vulnerability behind his pompous attitude. He had to do something; he needed to. Or the only thing he will have of you is the memories you two created. Satoru booked it and ran through Tokyo for ideas on what to do. He didn’t care if he looked absurd. All that mattered to him was finding a way to mend things. The only thing on his mind was you.

Because he knew it was you.

It always has been you.

And he had to pull off miracles to save your relationship with him.

It was the next day; Satoru was carrying a big shopping bag around Tokyo, hoping to find you. After spending the rest of his afternoon and night finding some ideas, he made you what he dubs his ‘I’m sorry’ present, which was also your Christmas present. It contained a 15-inch plushie of (Your favorite Animal/Digimon/Pokemon/Character), a jacket you told him you wanted but was too expensive a while back, and (earrings/necklace/bracelets/rings/any sort of wearable jewelry) in your favorite color as you stared at it longingly when at the mall with the gang, Satoru always made a note of that.

Now, the hard part giving them to you in hopes of talking with him. It would have to be a  miracle to cross paths with you. Satoru couldn’t text you since you stopped responding to his attempts at communication. In a vast city being hectic in the upcoming days of the holidays, he needed all the luck he had just to spot you in the crowd. But even if he knew your schedule by heart, there was no sign of you in Tokyo. He could visit your home, but he assumes he’s an unwelcome guest since you lived with your (sibling(s)/guardian/parent(s)/loved one), and you confide in them frequently. As time never stops, he’s losing time. His precious time with you is slipping away, never to return. Both and forth, the wind chill nipped and whipped at his exposed skin. Satoru’s cheeks, nose, and knuckles were rosy as his body worked overtime to keep warm. The puffs from his mouth fogged up his glasses as he forced himself to continue searching just to have a chance to run into you.

Satoru is not religious, nor does he believe in a god. And yet, in those moments, Satoru started to pray. He was praying, begging, pleading for any divinity to hear his desperate cries to come across you. Just a chance, anything, he’ll do anything to see a wisp of (hair color) hair walking along the streets. His strides slowed; every step he took was heavy. Until they eventually came to a stop; his chest puffed in and out after wandering aimlessly along the bustling streets of Tokyo. He exhausted himself to the point that he was unaware he was in front of the school’s gates. He didn’t even notice the gates were wide open, and a familiar figure approached them along the adjacent side. His hands were on his knees, hunched over where a shadow loomed over him. Then he hears a voice so angelic and heavenly that he believes he was hallucinating at first.

“Satoru? Satoru, are you okay?”

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, seeing you are bundled up well. You wear a slightly troubled face while holding an umbrella over his head. 

“What brings you here, Satoru? I thought you had stayed home today since it was forecasted to snow.”

Once pointed out, Satoru noticed white specks falling in front of him. He stands up at full length, making you adjust your umbrella's height on him. Though his signature grin is on his glossy lips, internally, he is screaming and celebrating that his prayers have been answered. After hours of aimlessly trying to find you throughout the city, you were finally in front of him in the most ironic place. He chuckles at your gesture before gingerly taking your umbrella and hovering it above you two.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, (Y/N).” He gives a warm smile at you.

“The school left the campus and dormitories open so students could grab their things to take home. I forgot some stuff at my dorm, so I came today to get them. Would you like to accompany me, Satoru?” You said, adjusting your empty canvas tote bag on your shoulders.

With no hesitation or thinking, Satoru immediately said yes. He smiled as he walked the two of you to your dorm.  But you couldn’t help but glance down at the big shopping bag he was holding. ‘It must be a Christmas present for his girlfriend… she is so lucky.’ you thought. Not a single peep came out of you two throughout the trip to your dorm, even with no words, tension building up in the air surrounding you. Neither one of you wanted to make the first move. It was childish to continue like this. There was no bad blood between the two of you at all. But you were persistent in embarrassing yourself in front of Satoru. Before all this, you were never afraid to have banter or say the most off-the-record stuff with Satoru. But it was different when it was unrequited thoughts and feelings, as you didn’t want to further humiliate your pathetic self. Once you got to your dorm, you said you wouldn’t take long. Closing your door, Satoru leans against the back of it. He watches silently as you diligently gather your needed items and place them inside your bag. Each item is packed into your bag, and he has less time to make his move. He knows he needs to say something because he sought after you for a reason. 

Likewise, you were in the same boat. You can feel the tension blanket your body as you retrieve your things. Avoid direct eye contact with Satoru for fear of breaking your facade and folding. While trying to focus on anything that wasn’t him, your eyes kept glancing at the massive bag beside Satoru’s feet. It was a decently sized bag spaced out from the items it contained. By the looks of it, you assumed Satoru went out splurging on his latest girlfriend for Christmas.

‘Wish that was me receiving that bag. . .’ You thought to yourself as you arranged the items to avoid ruining your bag.

Satoru snapped out of his trance when the sound of your shuffling stopped. Your head slightly hung low as you stared at the bag with flat palms. You sighed with your head shaking side to side. You decided to break the silence to ease the tense air in your room.

“I didn’t know you did last-minute shopping, Satoru. Guessing how full that bag is, it’s your Christmas present to your girlfriend. You love spoiling your girlfriends with endless money to burn. Keep doing that, and you’ll go broke, dude. . . Lucky her. . .” You slipped the last part out under your breath. Your smile dropped briefly before returning, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru.

However, you remembered Satoru had excellent hearing. He could pick out of the faintest of whispers. When you realize that, you panicked and faced him. From how his brows were raised, you knew he definitely heard it. Your brain scrambled to find a way to cover the creaks in your walls from your slip-up, causing you to speak up. What you didn’t expect was Satoru doing the same.

“Sorry, Satoru, I didn’t mean that–”

“(Y/N), I need to–”

After catching each other’s words, you both abruptly stop to give space for the other to talk. Satoru gestures for you to go first. Gentleman as every. Feeling the anxiety and embarrassment weighing on you, you didn’t dare to look at him when talking, so your head focused back on your bag.

“Look, Satoru. . . I know how immature this is, but I want to apologize for the sudden change in my behavior and distance over the last few weeks. It was uncalled for, and you deserved a proper answer.–”

“No.”

“It’s because– huh?”

Prompting you to look up at Satoru, to which he had an unreadable expression. His glasses were blocking the creases of his eyes to indicate any of his emotions. A chill of uneasiness ran up your spine when you saw the serious look on Satoru’s face. He walks over to you with his hands in his pockets as he stares down, his expression unchanged.

“No, I need you to hear me out.”

Satoru cut off any chance for you to speak because he and you would be done if you did. He knew if he didn’t find you before Christmas Eve, what you two had would cease to exist. Once winter break ends and school resumes, he and you would be in two separate worlds. Ultimately becoming strangers who once knew each other. The thought of it made him nauseous and clammy to the core. You were the sun that shined in his endless cerulean sky. The moon and stars that gave illuminated his night sky. You gave light to the vast numbness he’d endured for all he could remember. You were the light he had been longing for years. And he was going to lose it all because he was a coward who didn’t have the balls to admit it and used dating as a coping mechanism to fill the hole in his heart.  So it’s now or never for him to be vulnerable to you because he feared this was his last chance.

“I know you didn’t mean to distance yourself from me at all. I know you still cared about me and didn’t want to push me away for fear of humiliating yourself. Being me, I didn’t notice at first that you were hurting until you uprooted yourself from my life, and it’s been god-awful without you. . . I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

The genuine sincerity in his eyes as they bore into yours. You noticed that. It came straight out of Satoru Gojo, not from the egotistical, pompous, popular senior, but from your best friend. So you decided to up your ears to what he has to say. When you gave him your undivided attention, Satoru knew this was it, so he spilled it out.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t really appreciated your presence. I took you for granted because I thought you would always be with me, with no chance of leaving me. That bit me in the ass once you slowly stopped being with me. But I know there’s more: the mixed signals I gave off, the playboy attitude, and the lack of self-awareness I had for myself. It was a way for me to not confront the crimpling loneliness and numbness I’ve been having. I indulge in my fangirls and causal relationships, hoping it would fix it. But it was just a temporary solution to a long-term problem. I saw the girls as a means to get my mind away from it, and the girls get to be with the famous Satoru Gojo. . . I’ve done this song and dance for so long that it was a part of my routine. . .”

“Oh, Toru. . .”

God, he missed that nickname you gave him. The way it rolls off your tongue in any tone, it’s seared into his memory and mind. When people, especially his ‘girlfriends,’ try to use that same nickname on him, it fills him with unexplainable rage. That name was for you to use on him, not them. They didn’t have a place in his heart like you do, so he always corrected them to minimize the usage of that nickname. But when you said it, it was soft and tender like the snow falling outside. He knew he was getting to you, and it was working. He relaxes as he closes his eyes, only to open them when your hand gently holds his cheek. Thumb swiping it in a comforting manner. You wanted to say something so Satoru didn’t have to do all the work. For him to admit, he took down all his walls so you could see all of him. To you, it was a privilege and honor to see such vulnerability coming from an individual who was charismatic and oozing with unspeakable rizz. So you continue to listen patiently to see what point your famous friend is making.

“But you disrupted the routine, (Y/N). . . When you came, it felt like I didn’t have to do that anymore. You made me feel free and alive. Allowing me to be my authentic self around our group or just the two of us. But most of all, you made me savor each moment I shared with Suguru, Shoko, and you. I always cherished what I had with them. I cherish what I have had with you over the time I’ve known you. I always did. Maybe that’s why the moon and stars shine brighter when I tell them about you. They know how brightly you shine in the endless sea of regular people. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to admit you already had my heart. . . And in doing so, I hurt you in ways I couldn’t have imagined. . . I am so sorry I had to make you wait so long, (Y/N).”

You hadn’t realized your tears were cascading down the curves of your cheeks. Was this really happening? Did Satoru just confess to you? You think this is all too good to be true, a scenario you conjured up to cope with hopeless romantic delusions. But his voice was full of raw fondness. His face had this lovesick expression, and his eyes bore sheer devotion as his tears were caught in his eyelashes. He really did feel the same way after all. He would’ve resumed pouring his heart and soul out if you hadn’t firmly pulled him into a tight hug.

Though caught off guard by the gesture, he warmly welcomed it as he returned the action. Tears wet his shirt as you clung to his chest. Satoru lightly kissed your head before cradling it like it was the most fragile thing in the universe. The once-thick tension disappeared, and a comforting warmth blanketed the two of you in its place. You two dared not to pull away, taking in the moment that has caused mental gymnastics for both of you. Eventually, someone had to pull away, and it would be you. You smiled so warmly at him with love-filled eyes. You wipe away Satoru’s tears that continue to fall and hit his glasses.

“. . . I love you too, Satoru. I should also apologize because I didn’t communicate my feelings to you. I was scared of how you would react to my confession. I didn’t want to lose what we had, nor did I want to pressure you into saying yes to spare me the heartache. I also didn’t know how to act when I was with you, and I feared I would look stupid. I shouldn’t have thought the only solution was to cut myself out of your life. Though these are my explanations, they don’t justify my excuses. Please forgive me, Satoru.”

“All is forgiven, Sweetheart. Will you forgive me, too?”

“Of course, Satoru. . .” 

Satoru starts to dip his head as you both smile at each other. You were going to let it happen, but a thought came across your mind as you softly stopped Satoru’s head. With a pout, Satoru would ask what was wrong before he was faced with a panicked look.

“Satoru! What about your girlfriend?!”

Satoru blankly stares at you before he starts to chuckle quietly. You were truly a kind person.

“Satoru! I’m being serious! Stop laughing!”

“Oh my dear, (Y/N). You truly have a kind and caring heart. I promise you I’m not cheating on her, nor are you homewrecking. She texted me she found someone else and ghosted me right after. I’m all yours, baby~.” 

Satoru waves his hand as he pulls out his phone to show you the proof, as you have always been skeptical of his words. Once you visibly relax, your gaze returns to the big shopping bag Satoru carried around. He already knew what you were going to ask and had an answer.

“Why don’t you take a look and open it yourself, (Y/N)? You did say the bag was my Christmas present for my girlfriend~.”

Your face heats up as Satoru retrieves your Christmas present. He holds it out, and you slowly take it from him. His grin becomes a soft smile at the reaction to the gifts in the bag. You squealed at the massively cute plushie as you gave it a happy squeeze. You gasped and were awed when you pulled out the jacket/sweater, gleefully trying it on.

“Give me a twirl, Love.” On command, you spin yourself so he can see how it captures your figure. Anything does look good on you in his eyes.

“I thought this was sold out, Toru! How did you get your hands on this?!”

“I have my ways. Now open your last gift.”

You go to open your last gift, and how your mouth was opened reassured Satoru that he was the best gift giver in the world. Fingers delicately hold up (favorite jewelry), observing the glow and reflection it gave off. It was gorgeous and unique as it had (favorite gemstone) being the main centerpiece. Only the best for you.

“Satoru, you still remember this?”

“Of course I did!”

“But that was over three months ago. . .”

“I know, (Y/N). But the way your eyes lingered on it when we went to the mall, I always noted it. Plus, I thought it suited you the best, so I had to buy it.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Satoru. Thank you for the Christmas present. I really love them.” 

After returning your gifts to their bag, you walked to your dresser to fish something out. Satoru watches curiously as you pull out a crumpled paper bag. Satoru eyes widened as you handed the bag to him.

“ While they are Christmas gifts, they are technically your birthday gifts. I would’ve given them on your birthday but chickened out when I found out you had a girlfriend. So Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Satoru. They may not be as good as your gifts, but it’s something, right?”

You offer a smile as Satoru opens his gifts. You giggled at his extravagant reactions, praising and adoring his Agumon bracelet that he instantly wore on his wrist proudly. He pulls out the other gift and is shocked to see the drawings of him. The frame fits in his hands as he analyzes each sketch of himself. The detail and precision that went into each told Satoru you took the time and energy to draw him. But it also made him giddy as he looked extremely handsome and good-looking in each of the drawings. It caused him to blush when he realized this was how you see him through your eyes. As he was looking at your drawing page, he noticed the frame’s stand was attached to its sides.

Turning it around, he saw another drawing on the other side. But this sketch made Satoru’s heart beat out of his chest. The page contains only one illustration of two people walking with smiles. However, those two were him and you walking, smiling at each other, and holding each other’s hands. Satoru’s silence did concern you for a bit, but it was shattered when Satoru went in steadfastly to seal the gap between your lips. Your initial shock wore off before you let him reciprocate his kiss. You can feel his soft and smooth lips; he needs to give you his lip care routine. After parting, Satoru leans his head against yours, his arms not unraveling from you. 

“No, they are wonderful gifts. Thank you, (Y/N). I love them. . . and I love you.”

“I love you too, Satoru~.”

Basking in each other’s warmth, eliminating the cold and gloomy atmosphere from outside. As much as you wanted to stay together a little longer, the campus would close soon for the rest of the break, and you must leave quickly. You didn’t want to leave Satoru yet, so you tried to extend it as much as possible.

“Hey, Satoru? Can you walk me home? The forecast said the snow will pick up tonight, and I don’t want to go home alone.” 

Satoru gives his classic grin before kissing your forehead sweetly. 

“I would love to, Sweetheart. I’ll carry your bags while you can hold the umbrella.”

The snow continues to softly fall as the two of you walk along the bustling streets of Tokyo. Although the white puff clouds appeared every time someone spoke and the tips of Satoru’s face were bright red, Satoru never paid attention to the frigid temperatures. Even in this cold white winter, he can see that your bright aura always gave a comforting warmth he yearned for. Making you stand out amongst the sea of passersby, the bright neon lights of Tokyo, and the white dots that continue to cover the city.

The light that shines and gives light to his dull Cerulean sky. Satoru’s world wasn’t grey anymore as he had finally found his light, you.

Bonus:

—A few days later—

“You think they made up, Sugs?”

“Honestly, I hope they do. If not, we’re fucked, Shoko.”

It had been a few days since Shoko and Suguru had last heard from you and Satoru. Neither has responded to your texts as often as usual, making the two nervous. Then Suguru proposed a hangout before New Year's Eve. He didn’t add it in the group chat because he was unaware of the situation. Opting to ask you two individually instead. Even though you two responded, he was unsure if the storm between you two passed over or was still raging on. 

However, his initial worries would be meaningless soon enough. As Shoko and Suguru were taking a drag at the meet-up spot, they spotted two figures approaching them. Squinting their eyes to get a better look, they recognized that it was you and Satoru. Their eyes traveled down a bit to see both your hands intertwine. The love that came from Satoru’s smile and your eyes told them everything.

Though the two smiled and high-fived each other, Suguru grinned ear to ear, which earned a frustrated sigh from Shoko. She then reaches into her coat to fish out her wallet. 

“I guess I win, Shoko. Hand over that $25 Visa gift card, please?”

#x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen #shoko ieiri #satoru gojo #reader insert #fem reader #x female reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk x you #jjk #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #x y/n #reader x character #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime x female reader #x reader oneshot

[anadiasmount]

not what you think - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: a club filled with many girls but the one he wants is standing in the dance floor, his best friends little sister. he shouldn’t be thinking the way he does, but something about seeing you doing something he never thought and imagined has his mind racing with thoughts that were forbidden…

wc: 2.1k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: another brothers bsf trope after a anon requested!! mostly will be jude’s pov being jealous and protective *winks* this is slowly becoming one of my fav tropes ngl :PPP but nothing will beat enemies to lovers🤞🏻 like always, hope you enjoy! 🤍

“didn’t know johnny’s little sis could move like that,” jude’s friend snickered, sipping on his drink as he stared out at you. jude twisted his head at him in confusion failing to comprehend his words before following his gaze to you. throwing your head back laughing as you moved your hips in circles going down.  

jude’s jaw locked in place, scoffing as he watched you come back being faced with your back. “yeah i always knew she wasn’t so innocent… there’s no way a pretty girl like her doesn’t have something besides her good grades,” jude’s other friend said, turning his head to the side as he watched you continue dancing with a sly smile on his lips. 

“if she wasn’t johnny’s sister, i would’ve probably already tapped that ass… i mean look at the way she’s doing that,” jude’s friend to the right said, gulping as you threw your ass back to your friend and rolled your hips back up. jude gripped his glass tightly, downing his drink in one go as he fought to urge to say something he shouldn’t. “so fucking sexy…”

“guys… she’s johnnys sister for god's sake. if he found out you were talking about her like this, he would have your head…” jude remarked, filling his glass once again still entranced as you danced with your friends, not caring about anyone else or anything around you. just your seductive and powerful moves. “johnny’s not here though, wonder if he knows she's here?”

jude’s throat ran dry, biting the urge to drag you out of the damn club and take you home, where you should’ve been. not here where every man in the room had their eyes on you, including him. watching the way you were dancing, laughing, being a careless y/n like he knew. 

you wore a short black dress that hugged your figure like a glove, drawing and tracing out your curves, ass, and boobs perky, legs longer as you wore high black valentino pumps, and hair perfectly silky straight. jude swore he died on the spot when he saw your red lip and lashes behind the smoky eye look. 

he grew up with you. knew when you got upset and happy. the y/n he knew who always said a quiet hello to him with a shy smile and wave. avoided him and his friends when they showed up to your home, quickly running up to your room. the quiet y/n who was always focused on her studies with glasses on and laid on her stomach with her legs crossed as she read. 

the quiet y/n who listened to music as she drew in her notebook. his y/n, the one he stole glances at when she wore small shirts and shorts wasn’t the one on the dance floor. the y/n who helped her mum in the kitchen and teased her brother to embarrass him when she wanted to be the annoying little sis she was. 

his y/n who couldn’t keep eye contact when he spoke to her, cheeks flushed as she stuttered over her words. his y/n always made sure everyone was happy before anyone else. his y/n the one who helped him and his friends come home after being left stranded wasn’t nothing like the one he stared at now. 

his y/n? when had that changed? his feelings for you? 

when did all of a sudden did he feel the urge to claim you as his? the need to hear your angelic voice? why did he feel a wave of anger and jealousy build inside him as you moved your hips slowly down like a pro? why did he want to punch his friends for saying they wanted you? when did all of a sudden had you grown up into a woman? had he missed something? where was his y/n, the one he fell for?

jude was anything but a saint, he unfortunately had a reputation that he could give less than a shit about, the only girl he wanted all along was here in the same club as him. he found you endearing, left wondering with forbidden thoughts of his best friend's little sister. how you would taste on his lips, if the act of innocence was just an act and not real, if you thought of him as he did with you. if there was more to this side you had, sexy and careless that he began to love. 

jude pinched the middle of his brows, sighing as you finally stopped dancing and now hyped your other friends up. it was killing him, everything you were doing was killing him. you were beyond perfect and deserved so much more than the men in this club. someone to treat you with love and tenderness, with love and respect. jude knew he could offer you that, he was left conflicted because you never showed an ounce of feelings for him. 

jude licked his teeth scoffing in denial, watching you move in slow motion again, hands roaming your sides seductively as you brought them up in the air continuing to move your hips and ass. he managed to look away and scratch his jaw when your friends cheered you on, giving you a shot of tequila and downing it in one go like he did as well not to long ago. 

jude almost jumped out of his seat as a tall man approached you, someone way older trying to get your attention. the man was obviously gawking at you, leaning down to your level to whisper into your ear, you shook your head displeased, hugging your friend and sticking with her. jude smugged cockily, downing his final glass before going over to you. 

“i'm gonna get her home you guys stay here,” jude said, picking up his wallet and leaving some change as part of the tab. his friends stared at him confused, stopping him by patting his chest and pushing him back. “are you crazy? she's here with friends just let her be, she’s fine,” one of his friends spoke. “it's not our problem to deal with,” his other friend reminded him. 

“it will be once johnny finds out she was here, especially if he knew we were here and we didn’t do anything about it,” jude said with irritation. he had to pull the “angry brother, looking out for his best bro’s little sis” card, knowing how much you hated being treated like a child. johnny could be so overprotective about anything, boys and your life, you sometimes resented him for that. jude knew this, but all he wanted was to get you away from here to your home because he was mad and jealous. 

he looked between both of his friends at you once more, who finally went and stood by the bar ordering a drink with your friends. he said his goodbyes again, charging between all the sweaty bodies to the front of the bar where your back faced him. with you much closer now he could finally see you face to face. your friend had stood up straighter almost choking on her drink when she saw jude approach you, standing white as a ghost, “uh oh”. 

you crinkled your brows in bewilderment, looking to your left where you saw jude looking down at you. “tired?” he humorously asked leaning down to whisper in your ear. “what?” you asked softly, hugging yourself at the thought of getting scolded by your brothers best friend. “i’ve been watching you for the past hour, dancing and drinking, does johnny know you're here?”

your face filled with mortification at jude’s words, knowing you were dancing and watched by him. how had you not noticed him? had he been here the whole time you were? “what he doesn't know won't kill him. plus, i asked my mom for permission, he’s not my father let alone anyone to control my life,” you clarified. 

jude gave you a knowing smile, shaking his head in amusement, still his innocent and feisty y/n. “we both know if that he was here, he would’ve dragged you out the minute he saw you,” jude challenges watching your eyes roll back in annoyance. “did you need something? or are you going to stand here and be annoying like him?” you ask with a small frown on your face. 

“we’re going home.”

“says who?” you fired back, it could be the tequila shots but right now jude was being like johnny and you hated him for that. you just wanted a night out with your girls and he was ruining that. “says me. are we going to do this the easy or hard way, y/n?” jude crossed his arms copying you, veins prominently guiding all along his forearms and hands. 

the way he said your name had your heart racing nervously. you hated being treated like a kid, you were an adult and jude was reminding you a whole lot of your older brother. he was his best friend, your brother’s hot best friend. there was no need for all this drama, why was he so bothered by the fact you being here? so you questioned him just that, “are you bugged by me being here or something?”

jude couldn't find the words to reply, watching your doe eyes look down and up at him. “this isn't a place for you to be at, how would your mom feel at you drinking?” he quickly lied, hiding the real reason. “i'm drinking responsibly jude. i'm not a kid anymore, i know what i’m doing,” you declare. “if me being here bothers you, then we can just find another club, easier said than done.” you grab your bag and prepare to walk out but jude grips your wrist.

you’d never had a problem with jude, but he was starting to give you the reason. there was many times your brother and his friends left you out, even in your own home. then as you grew up, you knew they were just boys being boys. with jude it was always different, wanting to include you, and make you feel engaged. even offering to hang out with you so you wouldn’t be lonely. 

where was this unexpected attitude and nagging coming from? you expected him to at least let you stay, wave you off with a ‘be careful’, and go on with his night. the jude you knew, who was charming and a gentleman, wasn't the one who stared right into your eyes currently. his brown eyes filled with not anger but almost jealousy? was he jealous or trying to look out for you because you were his best friend's little sister?

jude didn’t want you to go anywhere. he wanted to keep you safe along his side for the rest of the night. he knew you were pissed at him, but that would pass because he knew you couldn't stay mad for a long time. jude could see the anger rise in your eyes even with the club lighting. he could also see the hesitation and resistance in you, debating whether or not to go or stay. “we’re going home, y/n,” he remarks again. “i can take care of myself,” you say again with now a less confident voice. “really?” jude dares, scoffing and letting out a chuckle, pointing to the man who approached what seemed an eternity ago. 

“if you knew how to take care of yourself, you would know that man has been eyeing you,” jude's eyes roamed you up and down, watching how you crossed one leg in front of the other, “and your drink for the past half hour. who knows what his intentions are, but if you really knew how to take care of yourself you’d know better…” 

you looked down in humiliation, your thumb stroking your exposed skin in an attempt to comfort yourself. “i’m just trying to look out for you,” jude said softly his eyes drawn in trying to read you. “i know you are, but why does part of me feel like that isn't the only reason? that you're here for other intentions as well…” 

bingo. you caught him. jude stood up straighter, clearing his throat and clenching his jaw, tense. “good night, jude,” you smiled as if you’d won a trophy for the best detective in the city. you paid for the drink, almost returning to your friends when you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you into their chest. you could feel jude lean down and leave your body with goosebumps. 

“we’re leaving now. if you’re a good girl, i’ll tell you exactly what you want to know…” 

#jude bellingham #judey thoughts 5️⃣ #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #football x reader #football fanfic #footballer #football x you #football imagine

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x oc #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #daemon fanfic #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen fluff

[dilemmaontwolegs]

What do you think about a wolff reader being engaged to Charles. And a "Who did this to you" trope, so.etjing bad happened to the reader, or she was mugged or harrased a hurt. We also get protective Charles, Toto and Lewis

All That Matters || CL 16

Warnings: 18+ only, violence, blood, reader injuries, medical procedures WC: 5.7k

F1 Masterlist

The line to the ladies room was longer than you expected when you told your step-mother that you would catch up. Susie had given you a quick wave, not wanting to miss out on the qualifying races, and departed without you. While you waited, you had pulled out your phone and busied yourself with a few replies of well-wishes from friends before going on Instagram and liking all the photos of Charles that you had missed earlier. 

One particular photo brought a smile to your face as you knew exactly who he was looking at off camera. You were wearing Mercedes merch for quali and planning to wear Ferrari for race day, so his team had avoided taking photos of the two of you until tomorrow. That didn’t mean your own camera roll wasn’t bursting with pictures of the contrasting black and red team colours. You were so consumed in the pictures of your fiancé that you didn’t hear the door open behind you. 

A shoulder bumped into you and your phone clattered to the ground before a heel quickly stomped on it, shattering the screen. What you had thought was an accident suddenly turned into an attack and the other women waiting in line screamed at the man and pushed each other away to reach the door. 

You couldn’t comprehend what was happening as you were thrown to the ground, pain lacerating your stomach from the kick you received as you went down. You tried to crawl away but a boot planted down on your back pinning you in place as you screamed for help despite the pain it caused. 

You reached out, your fingers clawing the dirty floor as you tried to grab your phone before the man stood on your wrist. His joyous laugh sent a wave of nausea through you and he bent down to grab your hand that you fisted tightly.

“No, no, please don’t,” you begged as he pried your fingers open. “I’ll give you anything, I have money, please.”

You screamed as your engagement ring was torn from your finger and you raked his arms with your nails trying to get it back before he closed his fist and sent stars exploding across your vision. Blood smeared across the linoleum floor as you tried to drag yourself after him, the pain of the door closing on your fingers no longer registering in your senseless state. No amount of money could replace what the ring meant to you and you couldn’t just let it go. You were a Wolff, and Wolff’s never give up - your father had instilled the value into you since you were a child.

Pulling yourself up the door, you gasped at the pain in your ribs and clutched the aching bones as you chased after the stranger running through the paddock. The determination was there in your heart and your mind, but it was your body that was failing you as your vision faded and the distance grew. The man was going to get away with taking your prized possession and there was nothing you could do as you crumpled to the concrete and let the darkness take you.

Toto gave his wife a distracted wave as he listened to the engineers discussing the weather with his drivers and he leaned back looking for you behind her. 

“She’s on her way,” Susie said, knowing her husband well as she reached him and massaged his tense shoulders. 

The qualifying round soon ended and Toto laid his headset down with a smile at the decent result. “Where is she?” he asked when he looked around the garage and noticed you still hadn’t arrived.

“She probably stopped in to see Charles, he could do with some cheering up.”

Toto shook his head feeling sorry for the man who would soon be his son-in-law before standing up and stretching his legs while Lewis and George finished the warm down lap and returned to the garage. “Maybe he’ll finally be ready to leave them if they keep ignoring his wise opinion.”

“Hello Toto, Susie,” Charles greeted politely as he walked through the garage, his bright red racing suit standing out among the black and white uniforms. He stopped to shake Toto’s hand and kiss Susie’s cheeks before looking around. “Have you seen Y/N? She’s not answering her phone.”

“I thought she was with you,” your father frowned, pulling his phone out to call you. “Voicemail. Hi sweetheart, give me a call when you get this.”

“Toto, it’s the stewards,” his engineer interrupted with a frown as he held Toto’s headset up for him.

“What do they want?” he growled as he took them and pulled them over his ears. 

“I don’t know, they only mentioned your daughter.”

Charles grabbed the spare headset that Susie usually wore and caught the end of the news. His stomach dropped and his heart beat so loud he could only hear pieces of information. Assault. Unconscious. Hospital. Hurry. He couldn’t stop hearing the words as he tore the headset off and saw the horror and fear reflected in Toto’s eyes. While Toto’s fear stemmed from the love of a father, Charles was that of a soulmate, the one person above all else in the world who he entrusted his heart to. 

“Go,” Toto ordered, knowing Charles was the faster man with youth on his side. “Run!”

Charles broke into a sprint, weaving through the crowds as they left. Stunned fans watched the man who usually stopped to sign autographs and take photos push his way to the exit with tears in his eyes. 

He didn’t stop, not when his breath was raspy or his legs turned weak. He pushed on, fear driving him to run as fast as he could through the city he called home. 

Every slap of his shoes on the pavement jolted through his body and he didn’t even have to think about the route to the hospital as his feet carried him along the familiar streets. He was in a world of his own, trapped in his mind thinking through his afternoon. 

He had sat in his car while it was wheeled into the garage, taking a few minutes to calm himself down after the shit show he had endured. He had bit his tongue and listened to the excuses his engineer waffled on with, preparing his own argument in silence in the meeting room. He wondered if those precious moments of waiting had cost him everything. If only he had got out of the car, if only he had been more assertive, he could’ve found you first.

“Monsieur Leclerc!” a nurse called out the moment he stepped foot in the hospital. For once he was glad almost everyone in the city knew who he was as he was quickly ushered into the emergency room where he heard your soft whimper. 

Harsh lights welcome you back to the land of consciousness and you tried to shade your eyes but the movement caused a bolt of pain to streak up your arm. Your head spun with stars dotting your periphery as you rolled your head to the side weakly to see your wrist hanging limply, the angle making your stomach turn as a whimper passed your lips.

“Mon amour.”

The voice of an angel, that’s what you heard before the privacy curtain was brushed aside and Charles froze as he saw the state of you. You had no idea how bad you looked, everywhere ached, you could taste blood in your mouth and the same red liquid seeped through the gauze that wrapped your hand that was naked of the engagement ring that had split your skin as it was stolen. 

The memory brought tears to your eyes and your lips trembled with a sob that spurred him into action, crossing the room and gingerly taking your right hand. He pressed his lips to your knuckles and the tears he had been holding back broke away, streaking their way down his cheeks.

“Who did this to you?” Anguish tortured his voice, emotion choking his throat as he dropped his head and clutched your hand to his lips like a prayer. “They won’t get away with this, I swear.”

You nodded but the pounding in your head was only exacerbated and you fell back to the pillow with a groan as the nurse finally returned with a team of doctors. You understood why everything hurt as they clipped x-rays to the lightboard and even from the bed you could see bones snapped like twigs. Charles' hand clamped over his mouth with a choked sound and he looked at your stomach as if he could see the broken ribs hidden beneath the bruised skin. 

You were grateful the nurse was there, promising to make you feel better with pain relief, but she took your hand from Charles’ and you missed the warmth of his touch as she prepared the site for an IV. A cool rush ran up your arm as she flushed the line before the dose of morphine left you feeling weightless and you could finally relax as the pain retreated. 

“He stole my ring,” you slurred like you did after too many drinks. “I tried to stop him but he was too strong. I really did, Charles, you have to believe me.”

“I know you did, mon amour, and I’ll get you another one,” he promised as he gently wiped your tears away. “All that matters is you. You are my everything and I love you with or without that ring.”

You smiled as he cupped your face tenderly and gave you the softest of kisses before you whispered against his lips, “I love you too.”

The doctors circled your bed as Charles took a seat beside your head, his fingers softly brushing your cheek as they spoke, but their jargon went in one ear and out the other as you stared at your fiancé. The fluorescent light caught the rarely seen dark red undertones in his hair and the shadows made his jaw even more defined. He really was your angel and when he looked back at you, you got lost in his beautiful eyes.

“Please, do whatever you need to,” he said, but you couldn’t remember what it was about.

You felt like you did when you went scuba diving with Charles in St Tropez, like you were underwater and your body was growing heavier with each passing second as the pressure squeezed your head. The more you tried to focus, the worse you felt and you barely heard Charles call out to the doctors as he saw your eyes starting to close and your jaw falling slack as you slipped out of consciousness again. 

–

Charles hadn’t moved from where he had been told to wait. His elbows had left dents in his knees where he sat forward, ready to spring to his feet at the first sign of news coming from the surgical rooms. The hot sweat from running across the city had long turned cold but he didn’t feel the damp chill from his fireproofs he still wore, all he could feel was the suffocating hopelessness of waiting.

“Where is my daughter?”

Charles jumped at your father’s voice breaking the oppressive silence and he jogged to the administration area at the end of the hall just as the receptionist pointed him to the waiting room. There was nothing Charles could say to ease the suffering in Toto’s eyes as they walked towards each other so the older man just wrapped his arms around him and held him for a moment. 

“Thank you,” Toto said as he pulled back and squeezed Charles' shoulders. “We got here as fast as we could but with the roads closed…any update?”

Charles shook his head. “Not since she went in.”

Charles had called Toto in a panic after you had passed out and the doctors noticed the trickle of blood running down the diamond earrings he had given you for your anniversary. The nurse had escorted him from the room and he had been forced to watch as you were wheeled away from him. He had feared he would never see your smile or hear you tell him you loved him ever again. 

He still feared that.

“They took her for a CT scan before surgery but that’s all they said.” Charles brushed a hand through his hair as more voices filled the hall and he saw Susie arriving with Jack, Lewis, Enzo and Arthur behind her. “Please tell me they found the bastard who did this.”

Toto’s jaw clenched as he shook his head. “Not yet, but there’s a million CCTV cameras - it’s only a matter of time. We’ll get him, son.”

Jack had run along the corridor after seeing his dad and Toto scooped the boy up and closed his eyes as he held him close. Leaving the father and son, Charles met his brothers and accepted the hugs they offered, following Toto’s lead and holding them tighter after being reminded how precious and uncertain each moment was. 

“I brought you some clothes,” Enzo said as opened the bag slung over his back. “Thought you might want to look half decent for her when she wakes up.”

Charles nodded his gratitude and took the bag to the bathroom, locking the door behind him before taking a moment to centre himself like he did at the end of a bad race; inhale, hold, exhale. 

It was as if his body recognised that he wasn’t alone, that his brothers were there when he needed them most and he didn’t have to pretend to be strong anymore. He didn’t even realise tears were freely falling down his cheeks until he saw his reflection in the mirror, eyes red and hair a mess. He was falling apart and he needed you to put him back together.

One minute. Sixty seconds. That was all he allowed himself to cry before he turned the tap to cold and washed away the sweat and tears. Dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt with a clean face, he returned to the waiting room and found Joris had also arrived. 

“I don’t understand how this happened, man,” Lewis sighed, his tattooed hand cupping his chin as he stared at a poster on the wall while deep in thought. “It was inside the paddock. She should have been safe. Where was the security? Was it random or did someone target her?”

No one had the answers but they hoped time would tell.

The hours ticked away and Jack eventually fell asleep on Toto’s lap. Other groups of families came and went, Charles’ hopes being dashed each time the doors opened only to find the news wasn’t for them. 

“Maman’s on her way,” Arthur whispered, though there wasn’t a sign to keep quiet, it only seemed appropriate. “Is there anything you need?” Charles looked at his brother, giving him a glimpse into his broken soul that needed good news. “Besides that.”

“Maybe coffee and food?” 

Arthur nodded and went to reply but the doors suddenly opened and there was no other group in the waiting room. 

Jack startled awake as Toto rose to his feet, passing the boy over to Susie before clapping Charles back and leading him forward to meet the doctor half way. 

“Family of Miss Wolff?”

Toto nodded and cleared his throat after hours of tortured silence. “How is she?”

“She’s not out of the woods but she’s strong. The next 24 hours will be critical in her recovery,” the doctor said as everyone gathered around. “We repaired her broken wrist with pins and screws but a broken rib punctured her lung causing it to collapse so she has a chest drain that will remain in place for the next few days. It would appear the same blunt force trauma that broke her ribs also ruptured her spleen so we removed it to stop any further internal bleeding.”

Enzo curled his arm around Charles to stabilise him as he swayed on his feet with the news. But still the doctor wasn’t finished and his already sombre mood turned morose.

“What we are most concerned about is the bleed in her brain and the swelling. We released the pressure but will monitor her closely in the ICU. Miss Wolff is on her way to the ward now so you can see her shortly.” 

“Thank you,” Charles managed to choke out but it was a miracle the nausea he felt didn’t spill all over the doctors shoes. “You have our gratitude.”

He pursed his lips together and nodded with a sad smile. “I‘ll come by in a few hours to check up on her, just head up to the ICU when you’re ready.”

Visiting hours were wrapping up as the group took the elevator to the next floor in silence, they were all consumed by their own thoughts. Their hearts fluttered with hope while prudence choked it back and no one dared to say a word as they entered the quiet ward. Even Jack, the chatterbox, didn’t make a peep as they entered your room.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Toto broke the silence as he fell into the seat beside you and his hand trembled when he couldn’t immediately find a way to hold you. 

Charles could clearly remember the shock of seeing you but this was somehow both better and worse. Though you had been cleaned up and were no longer in blood stained clothes that had been cut away from your body, now thick bandages covered your head and you were littered with wires and tubes connected to beeping machines. 

“Papa’s here,” Toto murmured as he settled his hand on your elbow to miss the cast below and the blood pressure cuff above. 

Charles swallowed down the lump in his throat and took Jack’s hand, leading him quietly out of the room as Susie placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder that shook with silent sobs. He could feel the looks of pity he received as he leaned against the corridor wall and slipped down to the floor with an exhausted sigh.

“She’s gonna pull through, mate,” Lewis said as he took a seat beside him. “She’s a Wolff and they are fighters.”

“For now,” Charles corrected. “She’s only a Wolff for now.”

Lewis huffed a short laugh. “Leclerc’s are pretty good fighters too, I guess. She won’t lose that when she loses the name.”

The room was silent except for the reassuring beeps of the monitors showing your steady heartbeat. 

Everyone had reluctantly left throughout the evening until only Charles and Toto remained. Neither man was willing to close their eyes for a moment, no matter how exhausted they were. The coffee Pascale had brought initially helped but now it was a matter of surviving on the packets of instant coffee and long-life milk from the refreshment station down the hall.

Toto cleared his hoarse throat and broke the silence as he stared at your face that still held the same resemblance to that baby faced girl he had raised and was thinking of. “When she was five, there was this boy at school who tried to take her doll. He was a few years older, and at least a foot taller, but she was so determined to stop him that the toy broke in half. She was so mad, she threw it at his head and the Headmaster called me because she refused to apologise to the boy.”

“What happened?” Charles asked curiously as he heard the story for the first time.

“I took her out for a hot chocolate, bought her a new doll and told her how proud I was. We don’t let people bully us, and we don’t give up on what matters.” Toto’s eyes were full of guilt as he looked at the man he already considered to be a part of his family. “What if this is my fault?”

Your father hung his head in shame as he remembered the information the police had managed to gather from the witnesses. They had all said the same thing; you had fought back and refused to give him your engagement ring.

“He was younger than me, and shorter,” you rasped as you blinked your dry eyes and let them adjust to the dimly lit room.

“Y/N,” Charles breathed a sigh of relief that ended in a sob and you squeezed his hand that held yours before it slipped away to hit the call button.

“He always gets the story wrong.” You smiled at Charles as he placed his hand back in yours before seeing your father’s red eyes and well up with tears. “It’s not your fault, papa.”

Toto nodded but you could see it was only for your benefit. “I’m just glad you’re awake, meine liebe Tochter."

“It must be bad,” you huffed a laugh but it froze as your ribs burned at the sudden expansion. “You haven’t called me that since I was a child.”

“Doesn’t matter how old you get, you’ll always be my little girl. How are you feeling?”

“Got a killer headache,” you admitted as you tried to reach for it but Charles tightened his hold and shook his head.

“Careful, mon amour, you’ve been through so much. They had to…” he choked on his words and you wondered what had happened before you woke but the doors opened and the doctors arrived.

You had been moved out of ICU after the doctors were happy with the results of the CT scan and the chest drain was removed, but it would be a few more days before you were able to return home. In the meantime, they had found you a quiet room that overlooked the city and you could see all the way to the Nouvelle Chicane where labourers were working hard to dismantle the track and grandstands so Monte-Carlo could return to normality.

Normality. No one knew what that would mean for you. 

Though you could remember your anniversary and Charles' phone number by heart, you would suddenly find yourself struggling to recall the name for what colour the sky was. It was frustrating to know exactly what you meant but you just couldn’t seem to articulate it. 

When it wasn’t your brain causing you grief, it was any movement from the neck down. The pain relief could only do so much without leaving you in a drug haze and you would rather be in pain and lucid when Charles returned. 

“Good news, I get to break you out of here for an hour,” he said as he arrived in a fresh pair of clothes, pushing a wheelchair to the side of your bed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes drifted back to the window you had spent three days staring out of. “It’s almost gone.”

“What?” He gingerly took a seat on the edge of the bed and tried to see what you saw. “The track?”

“You could’ve won, Charles. You should’ve won.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But if I had to choose between you and a race, I will always pick you.” He leaned back and draped his arm over the back of your pillow, careful not to touch the stitches on your head. “I could be content never racing again as long as I have you by my side. You are all that matters to me. That’s why I can’t wait to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Even if I can’t even remember how to sign my name?”

“Then we’ll make a new one, it is going to be changing soon anyway. Y/N Leclerc,” he mused as he pulled a marker pen out of his pocket that he always carried around. “We can start practising after you’ve had some fresh air.”

Your teeth clenched as you swallowed the pained groan down but it quickly passed once you were settled into the wheelchair. “I’m sorry,” he apologised as he saw your brows pinched and he eased his arms out after carrying you to the chair.

“I’m okay, babe,” you reassured him as he gently pushed you down the hall to the elevator. “It doesn’t hurt as much today.”

It was a lie but you weren’t going to tell him that you had been declining the pain relief offered every few hours.

“Where are we going? Do you have a getaway car ready?”

“Not quite,” he chuckled as the elevator doors closed and he bent down to give you a quick kiss. “I thought you might be sick of hospital food.”

If Charles noticed your reservations he didn’t mention it, filling the silence along the corridors with updates and gossip for you instead. It was amazing that he found the time to catch up on news when he spent almost every minute by your side, only leaving to get fresh clothes and even then he tried to wait until you had another visitor so you were never alone.

He had tried to get you to talk about the nightmares that haunted your sleep but you weren’t ready to face that demon yet. The sleepless nights didn’t just affect you and you could see the dark circles around Charles’ eyes from staying up with you, holding your hand and wiping away the tears that regularly found their way down your cheeks.

“I love you.”

He paused the story he had been recalling and put the brake on the wheelchair as he pointed it to a bench at the front of the busy hospital. Sitting down in front of you, he took your hand. “I love you too.”

“I want you to go home.”

“Just a few more days and we’ll go home,” he said with a sigh, looking down the road as if he could see your apartment on the waterfront. “I know it’s hard, but please be patient a little longer, mon amour.”

You squeezed his hand and your eyes closed as flashes of light danced across your vision, the migraines a recurrence thanks to the concussion. “No, I want you to go home. Go rest and sleep in a proper bed, see your friends, your team. I don’t want you missing out on anymore because of me.”

“You stubborn woman, beautiful, stubborn woman.” Charles leaned closer and tucked some of your hair behind your ear, your hair that was missing a patch at the back where it had been shaved for surgery. “What is it going to take for you to get it? I’m not missing out on anything. I’m right where I am meant to be, with you.”

You opened your eyes to see the sincerity on his face and your argument faded away with his kiss.

“I’m sorry for being stubborn,” you murmured against his lips. “I guess you could say I have a thick skull.”

“Ma chérie,” he groaned and pulled back to laugh softly. “That’s not funny.”

“I beg to diff-” your words froze as the doors up ahead opened and panic contracted your chest.

“Y/N?” Charles asked, his hand cupping your cheek as your lips parted with rapid breaths before he followed your fixed gaze. “What is it?”

Charles saw you staring at a newcomer in reception. He was asking to see a doctor as he held his arm that was streaked with angry red and weeping cuts that were clearly infected and in need of antibiotics.

Charles’ head snapped back to you and saw the fear written on your face along with the cold sweat that broke on your forehead. You were terrified of the stranger, terrified he would recognise you like you had recognised him.

The man glanced over his shoulder and you looked down at your hands. It was as if you could still feel the skin that you had raked your nails down and feel the blood that had coated them.

“Charles,” you stammered as your hands began to tremble. “It’s him. He did this to me.”

Charles was on his feet in an instant and crossing the room, his shoulders back so he stood at his full height when he faced the person who assaulted you. Your sweet, gentle fiancé was gone and the man who stood in his place was one you didn’t recognise. There was no warmth in those green eyes, no smile on those lips. You had seen him furious after races ended badly but nothing came close to the rage that simmered close to the surface. 

“You,” Charles growled as he stepped toe to toe with the man who blanched back in realisation. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your fingers dug into the vinyl padding along the armrest as you watched the man turn and try to flee, but Charles was faster. You were too stunned to do or say anything when the receptionist screamed for security and Charles tackled the man around the waist, taking him to the floor with a heavy thud.

Sanity returned as quick as it left when Charles’ fist connected with the man’s jaw and security burst into the building. “Shit, Charles!” you screamed as thick arms curled under him and dragged him away. 

“I promise you,” Charles growled angrily, his eyes wild as they narrowed on the man cradling his jaw. “You’re gonna pay for what you did.”

He shook the arms off him and brushed a hand through his hair before pointing to the man. “Will someone call the fucking police? This bastard assaulted my wife!”

You should have been focused on what was unfolding but your heart fluttered at the words that rolled so naturally off his tongue and a small smile tipped your lips up. 

Your attack had been widely publicised by the major news outlets, and there were plenty of grainy CCTV images of his face, so when Charles pointed his finger at the man responsible the security guards quickly turned their attention to him.

“Charles,” you called softly, his hair bouncing as he rushed back to your side. “Are you alright?”

You took his hand, gently unfurling his trembling fist as you saw the reddening skin across his knuckles. He slipped his hand out of your grasp and shook it out with a wince.

“Hurt more than I thought it would,” he admitted as he stared at the hand that had struck violence before dropping to the bench seat and hanging his head in shame. “I didn’t mean to scare you, mon amour.”

“You didn’t scare me, Charles. You could never scare me,” you assured him as you lifted his head so you could see the eyes you had fallen in love with. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” he admitted. “Something just flipped and I was so angry I couldn’t control it.”

You saw his eyes start to drift away but you brought him back with a soft kiss. “You called me your wife.”

“I did, didn’t I?” His eyes widened before crinkling with a smile. “You’re already my everything, mi alma, ma cœur, mia amata. Marry me.”

“That’s the plan.”

“No, now, as soon as we can. Marry me, please.”

The thought of waiting six months suddenly felt like a lifetime and you were already nodding your head, the doors crashing open as police swarmed the reception. “Okay, yes, of course,” you said with a beaming smile as cuffs were slapped on the strangers wrists.

“Yeah?” Charles seemed shocked you actually agreed but when your smile widened and you nodded he blessed you with a smile you hadn’t seen since you saw him before the qualifiers, the one that defined his dimples. “I’ll call your father now. I, ah, should probably update him about that too.”

You looked over to see the man receiving some treatment and heard the police officer remind the doctor to keep it to ‘just the basics’ so he could be transported to the station.

You nodded numbly, in a state of shock, as he pulled his phone out. The last ten minutes had been a roller coaster of emotions and you ran a hand down your face to find your cheeks wet once more. This time they were tears of joy and relief.

“I’m getting married,” you whispered to yourself before a surprise giggle bubbled in your chest. Despite the terror and pain you had survived, your dreams were about to come true and if anyone could manage to organise last minute nuptials in Monte-Carlo it was Charles. The man had connections everywhere.

“Your father is on his way,” Charles said as he returned, tapping his phone against his thigh in his nervous habit. “I hope that bastard is taken away before he gets here or it might be Toto that ends up behind bars.”

“He’s all bark, no bite. I think he’s safe.”

“Don’t underestimate what a father would do for his child,” Charles said softly. “If we had children I know there is nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”

You swallowed at the sincerity in his voice and placed your hand on his. “You’ll make a great father, Charles.”

He leaned forward and captured your lips in a searing kiss before resting his forehead on yours. “But first I have to be a great husband, and to do that I have some favours to call in.”

“Who?”

Charles just smiled but you saw the name on the screen before he hit the call button. Prince Albert of Monaco.

“You’re hoping to use your favour with the Prince on this!”

“I can’t think of a better use,” he said with a wink as the line trilled. “All that matters is by the end of the day you are mine and I am yours in every sense. Ah, hi, hello, it’s Charles Leclerc, I was hoping to speak with the Prince…”

You watched Charles pace as he spoke, his free hand fidgeting with his rings and his hair until it dropped to his side and his jaw fell slack. You feared the Prince wasn’t going to be able to help with fast tracking the legal side of the marriage but then Charles fist punched the air and his laugh reached you. “Thank you, your highness, thank you.”

He ended the call and smiled brighter than the times he had stood on the centre podium. “We’re getting married!”

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 rpf

[ethrlst]

reciprocated sentiment

⌞ sypnosis ⌝ - being acquainted with one out of the two current scuderia ferrari drivers have it’s pros and cons. the adrenaline of being able to support your childhood friend through each and every one of his races in person is one of the perks, and his teammate being the biggest only con.

⌞ wordcount & tags ⌝ - 1.2k+ / enemies to lovers! sexual tension! slight!angst fluff! google translated spanish!

⌞ a/n ⌝ - as promised, i would upload this today, perhaps.. just a few hours later than i said. this might be one of my favorite tropes to write so far (tension). let me know what you think and who should i write for next? happy reading! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

the sweaty bodies of guests dancing to whatever song the speakers were playing from the norris’ manor distracted you from your thoughts. it was nearing midnight, a few more clicks of the watch’s hand and it’ll be the next day. both charles and lando had done a great job at occupying your attention for a while, not until oscar came and asked lando to dj with him, leaving you and charles alone with the rest of the group. the red cup filled with your drink has slowly started tasting less and less like liquor and more watery due to the ice melting.

‘do you want another drink?’ charles had offered, noticing your sour face after taking a sip. you smiled and shook your head, you’d rather sip some watered down liquor, than seek the risk of possibly bumping into his God-forsaken annoying cunt of a teammate, as you’d describe carlos. charles laughs at that, aware of your little rivalry with his teammate and finding it amusing.

‘you seem distracted, love. anything bothering you?’ he wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your shoulders, genuinely worried for his childhood friend. ‘i’m quite alright, cha.’ to which you respond, feeling a bit guilty lying to your friend. he hums, rubbing your hands on his thighs as a sign of reassurance. you both stay in that exact position for a while, cuddling each other whilst laughing at how silly it was when max had an argument with daniel regarding who would win in an arm wrestling battle between the two just a few hours prior.

your peace was interrupted when one of charles’ friend invites him to take a few rounds of shots with the rest of the group, you took this opportunity to make your way back to your room and call it a night. nearing your destination, a hand pulls at your arm and drags you to a secluded hallway. it was quiet and the lights were dim, if it wasn’t from the feeling of his coarse yet soft hands, as well as the strong smell of whiskey paired with his jasmine infused perfume, you wouldn’t recognize him. ‘where do you think you’re going, miss desperate?’, he whispers to your face, chuckling when he notices your irritated expression.

‘get off of me! desperate? god, you’re delusional, carlos.’ you laugh at his face, spitting out ‘you still bitter about cha’s p1 today?’, he slams you against the wall. slowly, his face lower to yours and you feel his eyes’ intense stare. chest heaving faster, you physically feel him bury his face to your neck just before whispering, ‘you are as breathtaking as charles described you to be, pero mi dios, you get on my nerves.’ you’re quick to return his stare with a glare. ‘you’re just as infuriating as me, sainz. you’re no different. if anything, desperation suits your name better than it does mine.’ lifting your hand to his bearded jaw and gently caressing his cheek, you give the spaniard a faux sympathetic smile. ‘you’re pathetic, and you’ll never amount to charles no matter how hard you work, carlos. he’ll always be better than you and you know this.’ your smile growing as the pressure of his hand against your throat gradually grows, you’re getting into his head. he grips your hips harder when he feels the tears finally brimming his eyes, he’s letting you get into his head.

‘joder, no me digas eso por favor, cariño. devuélvelo, por favor.’ fuck, don’t say that to me please, sweetheart. take it back, please. his overwhelming emotions way past the ability to being suppressed; he begs as his tears finally fall from his eyes and strain his skin, he then lays his forehead against yours—- pleading with his big, sad, teary, but oh so beautiful brown eyes. you’ve always loved everything about the spaniard’s eyes: how big it gets when he gets the opportunity to talk about his job, how it resembles a certain earth colored crystal, how they remind you of puppies, how beautiful it shines when met with light and how you catch them staring right back at yours with an emotion you’d never really been able to put a finger on.

‘No quisiste decir eso, ¿verdad, mi amor? look me in the eyes and say it again.’ he pleads, his walls completely down, waiting to be stepped on. he waits—- he waits and waits for your reassurance all while he cries to your hands cupping his face. from an outsider’s perspective, it might seem as the two of you had a lovers quarrel, but you’re no lovers, barely even acquainted. the fact leaves a heavy feeling to your chest whenever you think about how other people— how other women get to touch him, get to fawn over his figure and charming looks, praise how good of a driver he was knowing their true intention with the man. for the longest time you called this strange feeling hate, often bringing up your dislike to the spaniard that it was known by almost everyone in the grid. so why does seeing him in tears and begging for your comfort, brings an immense feeling of joy instead of pleasure?

an epiphany strikes your senses, it dawns upon you that you wanted the crying man all to yourself, and you’d been denying it for years. so the moment you hear him beg once again, you kiss him. your lips moving in sync with his, gripping the hair just before his neck and then his jaw, you kiss him deep. carlos kisses you back just as hungrily, he pulls your hips nearer and tries to deepen the connection just before you pull away. dragging him to your room, you sit the spaniard down at the couch before straddling him. with his wide eyes and plump lips slightly agape, he waits for you to make a move, fearing he would mess it all up and lose you if he makes even the slightest mistake. combing his messy hair, taking your time to admire the man, you utter him a compliment, so handsome. he gives you a shy smile, feeling timid under your gaze. you bring your lips back to his, gentler this time, more sensual— scared you’d break the man if you act upon your greed and possessiveness.

relishing the feeling of his tongue against yours, you pull away to breathe, carlos chasing to have your mouth back to his, but you deny him. ‘cariño, please. let me kiss you’, carlos pleads, caressing your waist and deliberately grinding up to you, he whimpers, feeling needier by the second. kissing his temple, you go down to kiss each of his cheek and his eyes, his nose, his jaw and gradually making your way down to his neck and collarbones. sucking marks to his nape, carlos grips your hip and cradles your head to his hand as he moans to your ear. ‘mierda, quiero volver a sentirte, por favor mi amor.’ shit, i want to feel you again, please my love. grinding your hips back, you pull his hair and grip his throat before mouthing mine to his lips and finally giving him what he’s been begging you for.

────────────────────────

the sunlight peeking behind the blinds, you feel the breeze of air from the window gap, waking your spirit. you open your eyes only to realize that your head was on top of carlos’ chest, you look up to him, taking in his sleeping form. tracing shapes on his skin, enjoying the warmth and stillness of the moment, you feel a kiss to your temple followed by his arms bringing you impossibly closer to him. ‘goodmorning, mi amor.’ ‘goodmorning, carlito’, laughing when he starts attacking you with kisses. ‘no! no! no, teasing this early, please bonita.’ you humm in defeat, cuddling into each others warmth, no longer denying the overdue of reciprocated yearning between the both of you.

fin.

#f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz au #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz ferrari #carlos sainz fanfic #fluff #carlos sainz fluff #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female oc #lando norris drabble #lando norris f1

[jamminvroomvroom]

here me out, friends and bennies with oscar, but you guys both secretly have feelings for each other, then a fight breaks out cause he gets jealous at a club or something, then an angsty fight breaks but it ends with smut or something 🤭

messy

OP81 x reader

ty for the request! big in my oscar feels atm <3 i don’t loveeee how this turned out but i think i wanna expand this trope with oscar at some point

warnings: minors dni! 18+! language, creepy man in the club, implied smut, alcohol, sl*t is used in a not sexy way, implied physical fight, minor angst, some fluff

you liked to pretend there was nothing going on, that the way he looked at you didn’t affect you and that you hadn’t gotten all dressed up for him.

your relationship with oscar was complicated, friends with a bit on the side when the stress of his job and life got a bit too much and you each needed the extra comfort.

oscar didn’t seem like the type to engage in this kind of thing, in fact you’d never even looked at him that way before, until the night he won the f2 championship and you’d taken a heated tumble into his bed. it didn’t happen again for a while, you’d both managed to keep the urge at bay, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to the alpine fiasco, you were the one he called. you were the one he flew out to bahrain at the beginning of the f1 season, and you were the one that occupied his bed on most race weekends.

it wasn’t a thing, or, to put it more accurately, you both pretended it wasn’t a thing. you viewed yourself as emotional support, stress relief, a very close friend. you viewed him as a person that you could easily fall in love with, but you couldn’t get into the habit of thinking like that.

nonetheless, there you were in a club somewhere in japan, looking far too good to act like you didn’t have a motive. lando had dragged you and some others out, a double podium in suzuka the perfect excuse for a messy night in a foreign city.

oscar may have been good at hiding just how elated he was, but you knew him better than the media did, and you knew exactly how ready he was to celebrate.

in the spirit of having a good time, you’d disappeared over to the bar, fully intending on starting the night off on a high. you were ordering a round of shots when it got messy. it just wasn’t the kind of messy you’d anticipated.

a hand on your waist lured you in, assuming it was oscar, considering how confident the touch was. you leaned into it, but the hand felt wrong, the mould of it against the curve of you waist was wrong.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” the mystery man slurred into your ear, making you shiver in all the wrong ways. the line was icky and the way you felt his breath hit the curve of your ear was just plain disgusting. he wasn’t oscar.

“not you, that’s for sure.” you mumbled, pulling away. the hand on the waist tightened and you panicked.

the next few seconds were a blur, a flash of indistinguishable words coming from the creep, oscar’s body between you and the man, lando stood assertively behind him. you couldn’t tell what was being said, the music too loud and the sick twist in your stomach too prominent to focus. all you caught was the delightful asshole calling you an “f1 groupie slut”, and that’s when everything slowed down.

oscar knocked him on his sorry arse, while lando tried to move you out of harms way. your best friend, who would never hurt a fly, as harmless as a person could be was furious, and you couldn’t keep up with his movements as he handled the situation. you caught lando guiding the less than impressed bouncers to the pathetic mess on the floor, while oscar turned to you.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” he cupped your face, shocking you. pda was not his thing. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, finally at ease.

“just… take me back to the hotel.” you sighed. the privilege of being an f1 driver, you supposed, was the way all he had to do was nod at the bouncers and they let him leave.

it was all too much, the unwanted attention, a new side of the usually monotonous f1 driver, the confusion. oscar had defended you like his life depended on it, like you were his to defend. it topped protecting a friend, he had been blind with rage until the guy was indisposed. oscar didn’t just do things like that, that’s what had shocked you more than anything.

you were in a daze when the fresh air hit you, getting into the car that pulled up. the ride back to the hotel was dead silent, the city lights being both a perfect distraction and a banging headache in the making. you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out the window, though, because if you did, you’d have to look down at his hand intertwined with yours, and you didn’t think you could face that quite yet.

you didn’t get it. were you falling for him? of course you were. but he’d never given even a smidgen of indication that he felt the same way, and now what? he was scrapping in clubs with drunken idiots? over you? it made no sense, you didn’t know how to make it make sense.

the car slowed and your door was being opened for you. you stepped out, finding your feet as you walked on shaky legs into the foyer. oscar’s hand found the small of your back and despite better judgment, you fell into step beside him. he was so familiar, so comforting, you knew you were too far gone.

the way he looked at you in the elevator was dangerous, like he was staring into your bare soul, like he wanted to take you apart and put you back together.

he stepped towards you in the enclosed space. you reached out for him meeting halfway and then it was blissful. his lips slotted over yours, fireworks, hands on your body, frantic. yours were in his hair, threading through his curtains, a symptom of too much time on the road without a haircut. you liked this look though, he looked older, more undone. your back was against the cold wall and you moaned when his lips hit your neck, marking you up for the first time ever. was he making a statement?

“oscar-“ you started, ready to open a can of worms and questions, but you were interrupted by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator. it seemed to break the trance you were in and you both shuffled out of the lift.

“i think i should go back to my room.” you said quietly.

“oh.” was all oscar could muster, not trying to hide his disappointment one bit.

“i’m just… oscar, i’m confused.” you averted eye contact, looking longingly down the hallway towards your room.

“about what? about us?” he sounded defensive.

“is there an us? i don’t even know what this is anymore.” you sighed.

“‘is there an us?’ are you joking?” the defensiveness progressed into a state of pissed off, another rarity for him.

“i’ve never seen that side of you before, we’ve never been like this before.” you pointed between the pair of you, the weight of the space seeming to heavy to bare.

“i couldn’t just let that guy freak you out, it scared the shit out of me watching someone make you that uncomfortable. the idea of someone getting into your space, touching you…” he trailed off.

“why? why do you care so much? because we sleep together? because you didn’t like that it wasn’t you touching me?” the frustration got too much and the words you’d been threatening to say for months came spilling out.

“because you’re too important to me! because you mean more to me than i can even begin to understand.” a raised voice that you couldn’t recall hearing hit your ears and your heart sped up, ringing in your ears.

“oscar, i’m scared.”

“of me?”

“of losing you. what we have now, well, it is what it is. but you’re my best friend and the idea of anything changing, as much as i want it too-“

“do you want me? do you?” his eyebrows furrowed and his voice wavered in a way that made your stomach drop.

your eyes betrayed you immediately and he was kissing you again, softer this time, passionately. the hotel corridor felt too exposed for such intimacy and he was leading you back to his room. the door shut and your clothes were gone, a trail of them formed from the entrance to the foot of his king sized bed.

everything about that night still lingered on your skin. his butter melting kisses, finger prints on your hips, the drag of his grown out hair tickling the delicate skin of your inner thighs. you’d made sure to leave your mark too, his thick neck bruised purple, the trace of your fingerprints right over his heart.

it was all permanent now, every kiss, touch, whisper of affection, and when you fell into bed with him, weekend after weekend, it was the bed that you shared. he was all yours and you were more than happy to let yourself fall in love.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fic #f1 blurb #f1 drabble #oscar piastri drabble #f1 smut #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri angst #f1 angst #request #drabble #blurb #my blurbs #my drabbles #drabbles #blurbs

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 6/12)

HIII this ones a bit spicy, but buckle in, decided to take a little turn in this part so don't hate me <3

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie realizes his true feelings for you just a little too late

contains: enemies to lovers trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, more jealous!eddie, masturbation (m), mentions of oral (f receiving), and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 4.2k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

A 4/4 kick drum is beating in Eddie’s head when he wakes up.

Eddie still hasn’t learned his lesson when trying to outdrink Jeff, so he fails every time, no matter what, because Jeff is a fucking canteen of a human. Eddie does stupid things when he gets as drunk as last night, but the good thing about being blackout drunk is you remember nothing, so there’s not much to regret and cringe about.

There’s a show tonight, and Eddie has to take Wayne to the airport, so unfortunately, Eddie can’t spend the day recovering in his bed, and he’s forced to drag himself out of bed and rinse off the sour smell of alcohol and sex from his skin.

Breakfast has definitely passed, and Eddie curses the crew for not waking him up because his stomach growls as he turns the shower on. As Eddie prepares to hop in the shower, he thinks over what little events he can remember from yesterday because why not torture himself with the embarrassment?

A particular memory doesn’t hit Eddie until he’s halfway through his shower, but god, when it does, Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. Kissing you and pressing into you so close he could’ve sworn he felt the racing beat of your heart against his chest. The feeling of you beneath his fingertips, your hips grinding down onto his with those sinful and pretty sounds falling from your lips and onto his. The taste of your skin bursting in every inch of Eddie’s mouth and the overwhelming desire for more, more, more.

Eddie can’t help it with his head pounding and spinning with the lustful memory of you. He can’t help it when his hands stop doing the job of washing his body and start roaming instead. Can’t help it when his mind starts making up all these different scenarios of him fucking you as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, stroking up once and running his thumb over the head.

He hisses at the sensitive touch, eyes fluttering as he adjusts his grip and begins stroking himself. The shower wall is cool against his back when he shifts to lean against it, the sharp contrast of the cold wall and steaming hot water hitting his chest and rolling onto his cock, sending shivers up his spine.

Eddie lets his mind wander. He thinks about you and how he wants to pull more of those pretty sounds from you. He wants to lick into your mouth and sink his fingers into you so he can taste your moans as he plays with you. He wants to see how wet he can get you with just his fingers before you’re asking for more. He wants to unwrap you like a present and lay you down to part your thighs and sink to his knees, part your folds, and marvel at the way you drip and throb for him. And Eddie wonders if you would let him taste you. He wonders if you would let him suck pretty marks into your thighs until you’re whining and begging him to give you something. 

“What do you want, princess? Gotta tell me what you want first.” 

Eddie doesn’t even get far enough to think about sinking his cock into you before he’s cumming in spurts, white sticky ropes of cum splattering onto the shower floor as he curses and moans, chest heaving and wet hair sticking to his flushed cheeks. And Eddie’s cock is always sensitive in the morning, but he can’t seem to stop stroking himself with the image of you in his mind because fuck, he wants you, even if it’s almost painful.

And he hates that.

He hates that he wants you. Hates that he thinks about you all the way through his second orgasm— hates that he doesn’t stop thinking about you even after the fact. He hates that he thinks about you as he finishes showering and gets dressed for the day. He hates Jeff for barging in and ruining whatever could’ve happened between you two yesterday. He hates that he remembers thinking about you when he was fucking Lany into his hotel bed last night. And he hates that he can still smell her on his sheets because all Eddie wants to smell, see, hear, and touch is you. And he fucking hates it.

Yet, his chest blooms when he sees you at rehearsal. He gets that weird feeling in his chest where warmth spreads like a firework and bounces around his insides— and he gets so distracted that he fucks up a chord on the riff he was playing. No one seems to notice, so he pays no mind and keeps watching you.

And Eddie thinks about what Wayne told him this morning as they shared a quick hug before final departure, “Don’t chase that girl away, son. She’s good.”

Eddie chose not to think too hard about what Wayne meant by that.

He’s thankful he decided to wear sunglasses today because Eddie can’t seem to take his eyes off you. You look good, the way you styled your hair is different, and you’re wearing flared jeans that wrap around your ass and thighs perfectly with a fitted white top that hugs you in all the right places; Eddie, for some selfish reason, wants to believe you wore that to grab his attention. Mission accomplished.

You wander off somewhere near the end, and Eddie tries not to seem too eager when rehearsal wraps up, but he makes a beeline toward Richie and asks where you went.

Richie is too busy to ask why Eddie’s asking about you, but his questioning tone isn’t hidden when he tells Eddie you went to the snack room.

Eddie’s chest does that weird thing again when he walks into the room, fingers itching at the memory of how it felt to hold your hand. You’re standing over the snack table with your back facing Eddie when he walks up, clearing his throat to grab your attention. He frowns when you don’t turn around, but then Eddie realizes you have headphones covering your ears, so he gently taps your shoulder.

You seem startled when you turn to him, wide and pretty eyes blinking in realization as you remove your headset. “Were you saying something?” You ask.

Eddie says the first thing that comes to mind, “What are you listening to?” 

“Oh,” you blink, “Um, Cass Elliot.”

Hippie shit.

You turn around to grab water from the table, and Eddie thinks this may be a bad idea because he doesn’t even know what he wants to say to you. Usually, Eddie is the one to give short and dead responses because he can’t stand you, but for the first time since he’s met you, the roles are reversed.

“Think we can finish that interview? Before the show, maybe?” Eddie asks. And god, this is embarrassing— he needs a smoke.

You turn to him again and shrug, “Nah, I think I've got enough on everyone now. I really only need the group interview now. See you tonight!”

And then you’re gone.

And Eddie thinks, what the fuck?

This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Eddie is the snippy one, and you’re the sweet one that’s way too nice to Eddie despite his disgusting attitude and bitchy personality. 

Eddie’s bothered for the entire day, catching glimpses of you talking to band and crew members and James— fucking James. 

Eddie wants to believe what you said yesterday, “No, nothing is going on between me and James.” but does James know nothing is going on between the two of you? Because it doesn’t fucking look like he does. Not when he keeps leaning in to talk to you, or when he shares a bag of chips with you, or when he’s practically attached to your hip for the entire day.

It’s pathetic, really, the way James is fiending for every second of your attention, and it pisses Eddie off that you’re buying into it. Showtime rolls around, and Eddie does a few lines with the band to get himself amped up before stepping on stage and playing like hell. Eddie keeps his eye on you throughout the show, and he pays the price when he sees James teaching you how to use his camera, wrapping his arms around your frame and whispering instructions in your ear as you test out taking pictures of the stage. Eddie’s chest stirs with something he doesn’t quite enjoy, and it only intensifies when he sees James drop a hand to gently rest against your hip, watching as a smile stretches across your lips in excitement when you show him the picture you’d captured. 

Eddie pops a string when he sees it happen, cursing into his mic, shoving his guitar pick between his lips, and angrily removing the guitar to quickly swap it out with the spare one handed to him from the side stage. Eddie plays the rest of the show with an angry heat running through his body, and he thinks you might be doing this on purpose. Flirting around with James right in his face to make him jealous, and Eddie swears he won’t fall for whatever shitty plan this is, but fuck, do you play dirty.

You never join the band in their post-show shenanigans, but tonight, you decide to tag along for some reason— or rather, someone. 

Fucking James.

Eddie thinks he should just fire him at this rate. Get rid of the problem at the root and burn the stem so it never returns because fuck James. He makes you laugh, he’s gentle with you, and he can sweet talk like a motherfucker, and Eddie knows that because he’s been on the receiving end before— he’s well aware of James and his undeniable charm. And he can’t believe you’re falling for it.

Eddie takes endless shots, trying to blur out the distasteful sight of you pressed against James’ side in the booth, talking about god knows what. The night ends relatively early since everyone is a bit tired from the day and the longer day they have planned for tomorrow, so everybody is in their respective rooms by the time the clock strikes one in the morning. But Eddie can’t seem to fall asleep— especially not with the knowledge that James definitely didn’t go to his room but instead followed you into your room. Eddie doesn’t like that.

Eddie paces his room for some time before he breaks and finds himself knocking on your door. You don’t answer for a moment, and Eddie suddenly thinks he might be strong enough to knock down a heavy oak wood door. Maybe Eddie shouldn’t have smoked before coming here. He always swears the weed will take the edge off, but in reality, it makes him dumber and more impulsive than before, as seen a few days ago when he was right in the same position— knocking on your door at an ungodly hour of the night.

Eddie raises a hand to knock again, but he’s relieved of the job when you swing the door open in nothing but a white robe, drops of water running down the sides of your neck and dripping between the valley of your chest. Eddie wants to drink up every last drop.

“Is James in here?” Eddie asks.

And maybe Eddie shouldn’t have started with that because now you look like you want to punch him in the throat. Your eyebrows furrow as your face twists in a look of annoyance, “You seriously have a fucking problem, Eddie.” You snap. 

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you always come here in the middle of the night to ask me stupid questions?” You ask.

Eddie glances over your shoulder, scanning the room for any signs of a dark-haired and tattooed man, but he finds none and seems to find some ease in that. You step into his line of sight, raising your eyebrows questioningly, and Eddie blinks. “I thought you two weren’t a thing.” He says, and you roll your eyes.

“This again? Honestly, why do you care, Eddie?” Your tone teeters on the edge of impatience, and Eddie steps closer, the clean scent of your body wash invading his senses. “Are you?”

“No. I already told you, again, not that it’s any of your business—” “Does James know that?” He cuts you off.

You blink at Eddie in confusion, “What?”

Eddie’s getting tired of repeating himself because he knows you can hear him loud and clear, and you’re just avoiding giving him an answer. Eddie steps closer, practically inside your room and towering over you, and he can’t help it when his eyes dart to your lips and the clear view of your damp chest. “Does James know that you’re not into him?” He repeats.

You gaze up at Eddie, eyes narrowing as you repeat your question from earlier, “Why do you care?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Eddie grumbles, fingers curling into the palms of his hands to restrain from reaching out and touching you. And you’re making it so hard, standing there and gazing up at him with these eyes that dare him to do something— reach out, touch me, feel me.

You tilt your head as you speak, a sly grin dancing across your lips, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You mock.

Eddie laughs softly and humorlessly, “Why would I be jealous of him, princess?” He hums, stepping closer once again, forcing you to step back into the entryway of your room to make room for Eddie to step in fully. His gaze falls again, and you run the tip of your tongue along your bottom lip, “Does he know what you feel like?” Eddie asks. “What I feel like?”

Eddie mindlessly shuts the door behind him, the air thickening with tension in the room as he inches a little closer. So close and yet not close enough. “Yeah. Does he know what your pretty moans sound like? Does he know how you taste, hm?”

You’re sharing breaths now, so close to one another that your lips are brushing against his as you speak, “Do you know how I taste?” You tease. Eddie hums, “Not the best part.”

He presses his lips to yours, soft moans leaving you both at the sudden contact as he finally reaches out and lets his hands roam your body. The robe you have on is thick and soft, but it’s not what Eddie wants to touch. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin and squeeze and grab at the soft and thick parts of you until you moan for more. 

You blindly stumble further into your room, lips busy moving against one another with tongues fighting for dominance. And Eddie thinks you give the most addicting kisses he’s ever had; every movement is right and sends bursts of colors behind his eyelids, sloppy and wet but so fucking good to the point where he wishes he could kiss you forever. 

“The best part?” You manage to say between kisses. Eddie hums in distracted confusion, advancing to kiss you harder as you drop onto your bed. Eddie towers over you, palms sinking into the plush material of the comforter. “What’s the best part?” You ask.

Eddie’s lips curl into a smirk, smattering kisses down your neck as his fingers dance across your robe to the loose knot holding it closed. He moves back to kiss you as he tugs on the fluffy, thick string, and you gasp against his lips when his cool fingers sneak into the open robe and skim across your warm stomach. “The best part,” Eddie begins, leaning down to nip at your jaw as his hands roam your bare skin. “The best part is what’s sitting between these pretty thighs of yours, sweetheart.” He sucks at the skin of your neck, and you mewl as his fingers squeeze at your thigh, pushing your knees apart to open you up for him.

And Eddie has every intention to fuck you right now. He’s been dreaming about what it’d be like to lick into your sweet cunt, to sink his cock in you and watch as every coherent thought melts from your brain, to make you cum over and over until you’re begging him to stop.

But suddenly, you’re pushing Eddie away, a shaky palm pressing into his chest as your thighs squeeze shut, “I-I can’t,” you shake your head, “You have a girlfriend.”

And well, this is news to Eddie. “I have a what now?”

Your lips are pouty and cute, and Eddie wants to go back to kissing you, but you’re wriggling your way out from beneath him and padding across the floor to your desk. Eddie sits on the edge of your messy bed, palming his neglected cock as he watches you grab a newspaper and walk back over to him. He tries his best not to stare at the sway of your breasts beneath your open robe or the cute little panties he gets a glimpse of, but he fails and throbs beneath the palm of his hand. You stand in front of him with a frown, handing the paper to Eddie as he gazes up at you with wide eyes and swollen lips.

Eddie isn’t sure what this is, and the only thing running through his mind is the incessant need to get off, but he humors you anyway and snatches the paper with a look of boredom. You adjust your robe back around your body and cinch it tighter than before, and Eddie mentally mourns the loss of his moment to finally see those pretty tits you’ve been teasing beneath those tight shirts of yours. He flips the newspaper upright and grazes over the page until he sees it— “Corroded Coffin lead singer, Eddie Munson, new girlfriend debut!”

It’s a blown-up picture of Eddie leaving the club, a drunken and sly smirk plastered across his lips with a pretty little redhead he likes to frequently fuck wrapped around his arm— Lany.

Summer of ‘87 Corroded Coffin went on their very first tour. It was three months long, only covered about four states, and was mostly a shitshow, but the boys were just happy to have booked an actual tour— something bigger than The Hideout. 

Groupies didn’t come around until about halfway through the tour— and look, Eddie had his fair share of men and women by that time, but it was different when they were practically throwing themselves at Eddie, and he didn’t have to work for it.

Lany was Eddie’s first groupie. Sweet and pretty with a silky smooth voice and a wicked mouth that blew Eddie’s little inexperienced mind. Lany and her group of friends tagged along with Corroded Coffin for the rest of their tour, and when Eddie asked Lany where he could find her, Lany simply responded with a sweet, “I’m never where I should be, you know that. I’ll find you when you go big.” And a kiss.

And she did. Eddie didn’t see Lany for years until their second world tour and they were now on their fifth, so it’s safe to say, Lany is a fucking veteran of a groupie.

But Lany isn’t Eddie’s girlfriend. 

Far from it, actually, and Eddie’s not sure why the paparazzi are all of a sudden interested in whatever groupies he’s fucking because they usually could care less. Nothing is interesting about Eddie Munson fucking a random girl nobody knows, so who gave them the idea that they’re not only fucking, but dating?

Despite the confusion reeling through Eddie’s mind, something else overtakes and he snickers, glancing up at you with a smug grin, “You been reading up on me, sweetheart?” He teases.

Your expression switches to one of annoyance as you snatch the newspaper out of his hands, ignoring the smirk plastered across his lips as you huff, “No, I— it came with the room service I ordered.” You fold your arms over your chest.

Eddie’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he stands up and steps toward you, tilting his head tauntingly as he speaks, “And you read it, and what? Got jealous?”

Eddie has you trapped against the edge of your desk now, and his fingers skim the warmth of your fingers as he takes the paper from your hand. “This is fake news, princess.” He says with a mocking glint in his eye. He tosses the piece onto the desk and you glance at it, a frown etched deep into your lips. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Eddie assures you, leaning forward to smear kisses across your jaw. You shift beneath him, finger coming up to dig into the flexing muscle of his arms as he snakes his hands around your hips, pulling you closer. “She’s at every show. And you go out together all the time.” You point out beneath a needy breath.

“Because she’s a groupie, sweetheart. She goes everywhere I go, that’s kind of the point.”

Eddie rucks you up against him, sucking another bruise into your skin and reeling at the noise you make. “That’s mean…” You mumble, and Eddie laughs against your skin. “It’s not mean if it’s the definition.” He argues.

“So what, you got jealous of a groupie? You want a chance to be my groupie, hm? That’s why you’re upset, princess?” He noses at the skin below your ear before licking the spot and smiling when you shiver against him. Then, for the second time tonight, you’re pushing Eddie away with a disgruntled look. You shake your head, trying to collect your thoughts as your chest heaves in hidden excitement from Eddie’s teasing. “I’m not— I’m not some groupie, Eddie.”

And Eddie looks at you like you’ve just said the sky is blue, “I’m a journalist. I came here to work and you…” You pause and blink at Eddie as if thinking over your following words, “You’re just getting in the way.”

And Eddie doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like the way it sounds or the way you said it or the way it makes him feel. He hates it.

“Getting in the way?”

“Yes, Eddie, you’re getting in the way,” You snap, irritation heavy within your tone. “I’ve been patient with you this entire time, but you just— you’re such a fucking asshole. I mean— none of this should be happening— this,” you gesture between the two of you, “shouldn’t be happening.”

Eddie’s face pinches in defense, “Nothing is happening here, birdie.”

And you scoff, shaking your head as you speak, “Then why are you here, Eddie?”

And this is the first time either of you has pointed out the obvious mix of feelings stirring between you both, and it makes Eddie’s skin run cold— because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why your words are upsetting him. He doesn’t know why he hates it when James is around you. He doesn’t know why every time he thinks of you or sees you he gets that warm rush in his chest— he just knows it’s there. 

And it scares Eddie. It scares Eddie to realize that he was wrong about you, to realize that you aren’t all those mean things he said about you, to realize that maybe he likes you a lot more than he’d like to admit. It scares him.

Eddie shakes his head like the words are in there but can’t seem to say them, and he hates it. He hates feeling this way. He hates knowing that he fucked this up way worse than he’d thought because you’re looking at him like you never want to see him again. And you have every right. Because Eddie has put you through more than enough, and honestly speaking, there isn’t a single way Eddie sees this turning in his favor. He’s ruined everything before anything could even happen.

And Eddie hates that.

Your arms slink around your body to protectively shield your frame, and Eddie can visibly see you shrinking into yourself, and he can’t believe he’s the reason why. It hits Eddie like a fucking freight train. All the weeks of tormenting and mean games Eddie has played with you, it’s all bullshit. It was Eddie’s way of protecting himself, and in the end, he only ended up hurting the most delicate and kind person he thinks he’s ever met.

“I think you should go.” You softly say.

And you can’t even look Eddie in the eyes, and Eddie wants to scream. He wants to pull you in, spew out apologies, and beg for any sliver of forgiveness you can give, but you— you’re too far gone. Eddie pushed you off the ledge and watched you drift away, only to cast a rope at the last second. But Eddie’s rope is too short, and you’re gone.

Still, even though Eddie knows he’s done enough damage, his pride wins him over, and on his way out, he turns to say his last piece, “You know, everything was fine until you came along. This is exactly why I didn’t want you here.”

And you both know what he’s talking about. The mixed feelings and the drama— all of it. None of it would’ve happened if you never came along, and even if Eddie thinks he wishes you never happened, he knows he feels the opposite. You both know it.

And if Eddie sees the tiny glimpse of you wiping at your face, he doesn’t mention it. He only leaves you with his words and the slamming of the door.

————

part seven

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a/n: HELLO U MADE IT TO THE END! I HOPE THE GIRLIES ARENT TOO MAD W ME, IK EVERYONE WANTED READER TO HAVE HER MOMENT SO WE GOT A LITTLE SNIPPET OF IT HERE BUT ITS ONLY THE BEGINNINGGG !! as always, thank u for making it to the end and i always love to hear how you feel about it !! <3

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@mvnsonslvt @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @eddielives1986

#AGAIN PLS DONT HATE ME #ENJOYYYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson au #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanon #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader #journalist!reader

[chatsukimi]

STREETRACER!TOJI x WEALTHY!READER ('my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that') ⤷ genre: sfw, fluff ⤷ tropes: reader's bf is a btch, passengerprincess!reader, trustfund!toji, caring!toji, highschool!toji, jealous!toji ⤷ series (jjk men as athletes)

STREETRACER!TOJI who skips school to street-race. you've had an eye on him ever since testing reaction times in Physical Education class, introducing him to drift back in sophomore year. he was a natural.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose life revolves around the illegal sport, catching on so swiftly soon you buy him his first car. you tell him he gets to keep it if he can win in the races.

you're half convinced he'll call you one day to tell you your baby's on fire... literal fire. but he never does- it seems he respects the trust you put in him. and he wins on your bets, so you don't question it.

STREETRACER!TOJI who's always pawing for your colourful gambling tickets (his name purchased first) and you're always removing them from his sight: beggars can't be choosers.

whatever. he never wanted to befriend the rich kid anyways.

STREETRACER!TOJI who tells you to go away right before the competition when you come to check up on him. 'you're distracting me. where's your prissy prince?' when you look at your boyfriend in the stands, he scoffs.

STREETRACER!TOJI who narrows his eyes as your boyfriend slides into the driver's seat of the car you gave him, the car with which he won the race, and begins to drive around like a little kid. no technique whatsoever. he is suddenly reminded of a scene from the movie Tokyo Drift you once forced him to watch at the beginning of showing him cars: 'my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that.'

well isn’t that the perfect descriptor for your boyfriend.

STREETRACER!TOJI who doesn't speak to you for a week after he notices a scratch on the car. he's in cold disbelief. one, that you would ever let an idiot close to a fine car like that. two, that you would trust that idiot to lead you around in a relationship.

i mean, seriously, how can a guy who parks for fifteen minutes and still crosses the line pick out what you want as a gift? how can a loser ever make you happy? he'll drive you carsick. toji's not sure how you haven't gotten so already.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose heart definitely does not flutter when he sees the dinner you’ve eft beside the vehicle after a race. you've left a note too: i know you're mad about the scratch, but congrats on the win. you drove really well. i've left a share of the cash in the centre console.

when he shows up in class the next day, he doesn't return your smile. instead, he stalks all the way up to your desk, silencing the rest of the class as he drags a chair to sit down next to you.

'i thought you didn't wanna associate with me at school?'

he shrugs. 'changed my mind.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who, when your boyfriend ditches last minute from taking you back to your countryside townhouse, shows up within ten minutes of you calling him up. he arrives. running.

you start to wonder if you should've introduced him to track and field and made a new Olympic gold medallist instead.

STREETRACER!TOJI who observes the v12 aston martin, cocking his head to the side.

you admit quietly, 'i... don't know how to drive' and he sighs, pushes you to the side, enters the driver's seat, then looks at you with an impatient stare.

'what are you waiting for? get in.'

you hastily enter the passenger seat, trying to unglue your gaze from the thickness of his arm around your steering wheel, the ease of his large stature adjusting the seat to fit, exhaling slightly when it works.

'trust fund baby,' you hear him mutter.

'hey!' you speak before you realise it. 'you're also my trust fund baby.'

his eyebrows shoot up, dark stare piercing the side of your face. what did you say? you bite your lip and prays for the seat to swallow you up. why did you say that? you feel him shift in his seat, inching closer until both his hands cage your smaller frame.

'say that again..'

STREETRACER!TOJI who drives you home all night, no breaks. you listen to music and watch the stars above the dark countryside trundling past. as the scene becomes monotonous, your eyelids slowly droops close.

toji notices, immediately speeding down by the side of the highway. he walks around the side of the car, opens the door, removes his leather jacket and gently places it over your sleeping figure. his breath almost hitches when you stir.

a tiny voice in his head yelps, whipped.

it's not even his own jacket. you bought him it as celebration for his first victory and he hasn't gone a week without it since.

STREETRACER!TOJI who carefully withdraws your phone from your pocket at the end of the trip, pressing a couple digits, raising it to his ear to leave a voicemail.

'hey,' he says, 'you're the guy who can't drive, right?' any sane person knows to never insult a guy's driving skills. toji pats the hood of the car as he speaks. guess he’s not so sane then. 'now i gotta say, i'm just looking out for you, yeah? stay away from my girl. she too expensive for you.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who dreams of a day he spoils you. a day when your bets on him come to fruition, when he can say with full certainty, 'bet on me, baby. put all your trust on me'

(extra: 'did you compare me to a car??' you listen to the voicemail toji sent to your ex. toji winces. 'had to get the point across. he can't be crashing and burning shit he didn't pay insurance for.' you cross your arms. 'and how are you sure you won't drive this thing off a cliff?' 'oh baby, cause i tokyo drift')

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[covetyou]

the howler monkey

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Mature (18+ only!) warnings: no smut but some nudity, implied drug use/addiction, little bit silly, mildly angsty, performance anxiety, screaming, Dieter Bravo's soft cock. basically mild hurt/comfort/fluff with my usual bit of silliness. word count: 2.8k summary: You got him here, he was safely tucked away upstairs and everything was going, mostly, according to plan. So, who the fuck is screaming?

A/N: For the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Club March Server Challenge - you're unhinged and I love you all. Dieter would be so, so proud of us. Circus mention in honour of Clown!Dieter.

TROPE: Only one bed and forced proximity PROMPT: "You're going to get us arrested." "Oh, I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

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On days like this, getting Dieter Bravo out of the house was more like wrangling an overtired toddler than it was dealing with a full grown man. At least, you assumed it was. You didn't have a toddler for reference, but you did have a Dieter and, sometimes, that felt worse. He stalled and delayed for so long that by the time you finally - finally - got him out of the door, it was quite literally a race to get the the airport.

The flight hadn't been much different, having to practically drag him through the terminal with head down and sunglasses on to cram him into his window seat. Truth be told, you didn't know why you were flying with him anyway, only to fly back later tonight. Still, as long as it wasn't your money on the line, what Dieter wanted, Dieter got.

But now it was done. You got him here relatively unscathed, all things considered, and Dieter had been deposited in his room, ready to get a full nights beauty sleep before the press descended and the festival opened. All that was left to do was check in with his publicist and you'd be on your way back home, where you couldn't wait to crawl into bed and have a few blissful days to yourself.

So, as is the natural way with these things, it's when you're just finishing up with his publicist in the back of the bar that it all starts. It's nothing but a few strained looks from the hotel staff to begin with.

Then the phones start ringing. Every single one.

And when the phones can't be answered quick enough, hotel guests start crowding around the lobby, whispering amongst themselves about the screaming.

The screaming.

And your blood turns cold. Because it's not. It couldn't be. He wouldn't.

The publicist pays no attention, continuing swiping through his phone and yammering away. Not your circus, not your monkeys, you try to think to yourself as the lobby just gets busier and busier.

But then the hotel manager rushes in, sickly sweet smile plastered on his face, Dieter's publicist blissfully unaware as he stares down at his phone, looking at schedules and interview times and literally anything but the chaos evolving around you.

"Excuse me? Excuse me," he's saying, wringing his hands together as he approaches the table. "You're with Mr. Bravo?"

His publicist doesn't even bother looking up, simply nodding as you stare, open mouthed, into the lobby.

"It seems we have... a bit of a problem," he whispers with wide eyes. "Mr. Bravo is uh... well, screaming. It's disturbing the other guests. I'm afraid if he doesn't stop we're going to have to ask him to leave or call the police."

Well, shit. This is your circus, and that is your monkey in particular.

You're swiping the extra key card out of his hand and making your way out of the bar and into the packed lobby as quick as you can while his publicist sits there, arguing that Dieter would never (he would), that he was quiet (he wasn't), and so it couldn't possibly be him (it absolutely could).

The elevator feels so slow, the whirl of gears and an unseen mechanism pulling you up and up, as you ascend the many floors of the hotel. Then, in a blink and with another creak the doors are about to pull themselves open, and you swear you can hear it already.

The fucking screaming.

You're running now, the elevator doors barely open before you're squeezing through them, not caring for the noise you make as you thud heavily down the hallway. What would a little extra noise matter when there's someone screaming blue murder inside one of the hotel rooms.

Tapping the card, the lock on room 819 illuminates green and you're throwing open the door, the screams having subsided for a moment, and shutting yourself inside and trying to catch your breath.

Aside from the silence, it's dark. That's the first thing you notice. The second thing you notice is Dieter Bravo is nowhere to be seen, even in the dim light creeping around the window.

"Dee... Dieter?" you whisper into the darkness, hoping beyond hope that he's not here and he hasn't been screaming for the past fifteen minutes.

A small, hoarse voice floats toward you from much further away than you'd expect him to be able to be given the size of the room, "Who is it?"

"Dieter? It's me. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?" you loud whisper into the hotel room, running your fingertips across the wall as you creep forward. From what you can tell it looks the same as when you left him here. Nothing is wrecked or overturned, and he hasn't had another sudden burst of artistic inspiration - the walls look the same as they did when you shut the door to Dieter looking forlornly out of the window to the city below.

"What do you mean?" comes the muffled voice. It's closer now, but you still can't see him. There's no lump on the bed, no one sat in the chair, and he's not lying spread eagle on the floor.

"Dieter, where the fuck are you?!"

He sighs, and you hear a slap, like the sound of a hand hitting a flat, solid surface. "Under here, numbnuts."

You take another step forward, peaking under the desk, seeing no sign of Dieter. Turning toward the bed, you try to find somewhere else to look under to find wherever Dieter has stashed himself when you see it.

Two bare legs sticking out from under the bed, the end of his soft green robe just poking out from beneath the frame.

"Dee... what is going on, why are you under there? There was screaming, they think it's coming from in here."

Dieter's silence is all you need to confirm it was indeed coming from in here, from him. Pinching your nose, you ready yourself for whatever he's going to throw at you this time.

"Why are you screaming?"

"Come under here."

"Dieter, no, it's disgusting under there, they don't clean these -"

"I'll tell you if you come under here."

"No, I know this is a nice hotel, but the floors are still filth-"

Dieter cuts you off, a loud scream ripping out of his chest and rattling around your head at a frequency that makes you feel like your skull is about to burst. It must hurt, is all you can think, his throat must be raw and his mouth dry. Panic sets in - hearing a scream like that will do that to a person, you suppose. You panic not just because it must hurt, but because if there was one thing you knew, despite Dieter Bravo's flair for dramatics, he wasn't a man to scream for no reason. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you can't help but think down to Dieter's publicist likely still sat in the bar - Dieter will be impossible to interview tomorrow if you don't stop him soon, and that's if he's even allowed to stay in the hotel much longer.

So, you do the only thing you know how to do when a metaphorical fire in the shape of Dieter Bravo threatens to burn everything down. You throw yourself over it and hope for the best.

"DEE! DIETER! OKAY, OKAY!" you shout, trying not to grimace as you get on your hands and knees to crawl under the cramped space under the bed, ignoring the grit and dust already on your palms.

"Fuck. Shit, Dieter. Ow." You're wedged under there with him now, ass sticking up in the air as you cram your upper body under the bed frame. You can see the vague shape of him under here, a Dieter shaped profile visible in front of you as he stares blankly up at the underside of the bed.

"What's wrong with you?" you ask, somewhat breathlessly, only to watch Dieter tense up at your words. Shit. You didn't mean it like that, and you certainly didn't say it like that either, but before you can take it back and apologize, he beats you to it.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with me," he says in a voice so much smaller and quieter now that your head is right beside his.

"Sorry. Look, I didn't - I meant, why are you screaming, Dee. They said they'd have to kick you out or call the cops. You're going to get us arrested."

"Arrested, huh?" he says thoughtfully, turning to look over at you. "I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

"No, Dieter," you say, and even though you know he can't see you, you roll your eyes in the dark anyway.

Dieter's sigh is so big it picks up errant dust swirls it around under the bed. The urge to swipe at your nose is strong but you resist, knowing from the state of things and the chalky feeling of your palms that it'll only make things worse.

"I'm nervous," he finally says, and that's all you needed to hear.

His face is turned toward the underside of the bed when you crawl backwards. It takes a moment for him to notice, but as soon as he does he's whimpering and taking in a breath big enough that you know he's going to scream again. But you're not leaving, and instead you roll onto your back with an oof and slide yourself under the bed to look up into the nothing with Dieter.

You think back to other times he'd been like this. Too scared to perform, anxiety taking root, frightening him off into some dark quiet corner of a set or his house. You'd found him in his closet once, the only thing apparently capable of coaxing him out was watching you unbutton your shirt a little more because you'd gotten so hot sitting in the stifling little room with him. When he'd finally made his way out, it had been with his eyes glued to the extra patch of skin you'd uncovered and the trickle of sweat dripping down your chest.

Dark as it was, visual distractions wouldn't work this time.

"How many times do you have exactly the same thoughts, and how many times does everything turn out okay anyway? You're good at this, Dieter. You're going to be amazing tomorrow, just like you always are, and I'm not saying that to pressure you to perform, but just because you are. You're amazing."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, slapping a hand dramatically down on the floor again with a grunt.

"I'm serious. You have a lot to be proud of."

"A lot to not be proud of too."

"Well, you know what to do about that."

"I'm not going to rehab."

"I've never told you to."

Dieter sighs again, because you were right. You had never told him to go to rehab. You never would. It didn't feel like your place to - you were only his assistant. He knows this and you think - know - that sometimes he'd like for you to just tell him to get it together and go, but you don't. "I know."

You don't know how long you both lie there in silence and darkness after that, softly exchanging breaths under the bed. You do know it's long enough for your mind to wander back down to the bar and all the people now going about their evenings. It's not lost on you that no one came in to check on him before you. That now that he'd been silent for several minutes, no one had bothered to knock on the door to see if he was okay. None of them cared, not really. You knew that and, worse of all, Dieter knew that. The people here didn't care about him unless he was being a shiny, glitzy movie star who could say and do the right things in front of the cameras.

Scuffling feet alert you to his movement as Dieter move shuffles toward you, his head colliding gently with the side of yours. You make no effort to move and neither does he, choosing instead to lean his head against yours and rest it there.

The signs are obvious then. The small weave of his head as his eyes track invisible shapes in the dark. The twitch in his fingers, the bounce of his foot. He'd been a mess all day, you can see that now, and whatever he had taken since getting here was somehow making it better and worse all at once.

"How much have you taken this time?"

His breath catches, caught doing something he said he wouldn't do, not here, not this time. But he doesn't lie, not to you. He'd stopped doing that a long time ago, and that was as much progress as you could ever hope for.

"Too much. Not enough. I don't know."

"Okay," you say, even though it isn't, not really. He should stop. You wish you could do more to stop him.

"Will you stay?" he murmurs, even though he knows you have a flight to catch. He'd paid for it when he demanded you come with him, promising you a few days off while he was stuck at the festival answering the same questions over and over again.

"You know I can't, my flight is in a couple of hours, I need to get through the traffic -"

"Please stay."

"There is nowhere for me to stay, Dieter. You don't need me here and I couldn't get a room if I tried. Everywhere nearby is booked." Assistants don't sleep with their employers, assistants don't sleep with their employers...

"I do. I do need you. I'm not asking you to stay anywhere else, I'm asking you to stay here. Stay with me," he mumbles. "I can sleep under here if I have to. Just stay." Assistants don't sleep with their fucking employers...

"You're not sleeping on the floor. And I- I can't." By this point you don't know why you can't, because maybe assistants don't sleep with their employers, but you and Dieter were always a little bit, well... y'know.

"Please."

And your resolve never was that strong where Dieter was concerned. Not really. "Fine. I'll stay. I need a shower and I need to go -"

"You can borrow some of my clothes," he says quickly. "We can shower - separately, I mean - get room service - fuck I'm starving - and then when we sleep, we can cuddle?"

You can't help but laugh, smiling up at the bed at how quickly his mood could turn around, particularly where cuddling and a good meal were concerned. Sometimes, when he was really tired, or high, or sad, or a combination of all three, he'd ask you to cuddle. You'd always settle on stroking his hair instead, watching his face as his jaw relaxed and sleep finally pulled at his features before sneaking away. Today, you had nowhere else to be so, you think, you may as well stay to cuddle.

"Yeah, Dee. We can cuddle."

You talk over room service - fancy toasted sandwiches and warm chocolate chip cookies that weren't on the menu, but Dieter had the audacity to ask for anyway. When you shower, he waits outside the door for you, restlessly stepping from foot to foot. You wait for him too, convincing him to leave the door open a little just in case, and he does so without question. A few minutes later he comes out, flushed red from the heat of the water and totally naked. You don't bat an eye.

Your skin still feels damp when you're climbing into bed, grateful to be on top of it and grit free now rather than under it. Dieter soon follows, crawling naked on all fours before tucking his legs under the sheets beside you.

You talk for a little longer, listening as Dieter sounds more and more slurred with sleep, before flicking the light off. He fidgets, shuffling closer to you until his arm wraps around your chest, resting his hand softly on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your neck on the pillow you now share. It's not comfortable, not for you, but the contented sounds coming from Dieter and the way his face twitches against your bare skin tells you he's holding back tears, that he needs this. You can be uncomfortable for one night, you think, just before he hooks his leg over yours, well and truly pinning you to the bed.

"Dee?"

"Yeah?"

"Your cock is on my leg."

"I know."

"Okay, well... G'night Dee."

"Night," he says straight into your ear, smacking his lips as he snuggles into your side, soft cock squished against your leg. And when, somehow, sleep ignores your discomfort and pulls you under barely a few minutes later, you swear you can feel Dieter press his lips to the bare skin of your neck.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #coveted fics

[sunboki]

— WHEN THINGS WERE SIMPLE a Lee Minho fiction

⭐️ : Lee Minho(Leeknow) x fem. reader

TROPE. school romance, 90’s romance, bestfriends to lovers, online au, strangers to lovers, highschool au, small town au

WORD COUNT. 7.7k ☆ 37 minute read

WARNINGS. light cursing, deep conversation, two teenagers being madly in love(lmao), bankruptcy, anonymous online chatting between strangers — this is in no way recommending anyone to join anonymous chat rooms nor meet up with strangers irl!

AUG'S NOTES. this fic was heavily inspired by “Twenty Five Twenty One” (one of my favorite kdrama!!) and was based around the 90’s when today’s technology was just beginning, i hope you find this piece to your satisfaction! if so, please leave some feedback, thanks :)

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Lee Minho, the newest resident in your small town, has already established a reputation as the Class President despite moving only a week ago. You, on the other hand, don’t really see the appeal, or maybe your schedule is too jam-packed to consider the prospect of boys. In the meantime, you join an anonymous chat room with this so-called "lino98," and eventually, the stranger recommends that you meet holding a yellow tulip and wait- is that who you think it is? 

or alternatively :

Whoever you’ve been talking to in that chat room was definitely not who you thought would be standing in Marronnier Park with a yellow tulip in hand.

1999.

“Hey! The sign says no throwing!” You scold, rushing to fix the arm to the statue as the tires on the boy’s bike screech to a halt.

And suddenly, it feels like everything’s in slow motion when the perfectly kept head of brown hair swivels back to face you, sharp jawline and piercing eyes belonging to a model-looking stranger you’d never seen before.

Thursday morning was when you first met Minho. Although, you didn’t know his name then, nor that this interaction－the daily magazine breaking your statue’s arm－would change your life.

.

.

.

His expression drops, looking rather bored despite your obviously frazzled (and flustered) state.

“How much?” The bewilderingly attractive boy asks, and it takes you a moment to register what he said, repeatedly glancing from the statue back to him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“It’s.. It’s priceless.” You huff, regarding the stranger with a hard glare as if he’d broken some holy vase or something.

He didn’t.

In fact, the only reason you felt so worked up was because once your parents saw the statue, you’d be grounded in an instant. You, on the other hand, could care less about the stupid piece of marble.

Something about his gaze sets you off, not to mention when he flashes a cheeky grin screaming nothing but trouble.

“Is that so? Then I guess it’s especially priceless now, huh.” He shrugged, kicking the kickstand up and hiking his leg over the seat.

You freeze in your spot, equally stunned with both shock and confusion.

Huh? Where is he going.

Is this guy serious!?

“What’re you- hold on- you can’t just leave!” Racing after him while he positively sped ahead of you on bike, you endlessly shout, slowing down to a halt after a few minutes to watch his silhouette disappear below the winding road traveling down to the village.

Hunched over to catch your breath, you mumble silent curses, dragging heavy footsteps up the small arrangement of stairs to try hiding the broken part behind the statue the best you can.

Brushing off your clothes and adjusting the straps to your bag, you start down the same way he left, stomping and groveling in your misery similar to that of a child denied their favorite toy. It’s quite a sight.

Tomorrow, you’ll give that attractive-Mail-Boy-whose-name-unknown a piece of your mind. You’re sure of it.

Entering the classroom, the first thing piquing your ears wasn’t Soyeon and Hyomin’s daily bickering match about the most random topics (the two you and Yuqi are certain are going to marry one day), but hushed whispering amongst each other.

So, accepting your role as a certified nosy person, you crouch across Yuqi’s desk, craning to make out her way-too-fast-to-be-normal conversation with Rei.

“Psst, Rei, what’s going on?” Blabbering on about whatever the school had been gossiping about, the girl swiftly turned to you, face alight with excitement.

“Have you seen the new guy? He’s an actor, I’m sure of it!”

…Of course. You should’ve known.

Nothing would have Taeyang High School falling over itself faster than a new handsome face.

How disappointing.

Not that you don’t appreciate a good looking person when you see one, but seriously, it could’ve been the upcoming volume of Full House or a class barbecue, something you deemed much more swoon worthy than a boy.

Yet, the transfer student who opened the door mere seconds later looked eerily familiar.

The Mail boy who mutilated your statue this morning is standing there, or are your eyes playing tricks on you? Maybe you’re sleeping at home and this is all a dream. Please be a dream please be a dream please be a dream- Ow!

Pinching yourself did hurt , you were awake, and it was Mail Boy at the front of the class introducing himself.

This week was already off to a great start.

Snapping out of your nightmare to notice him walking in your direction past giggling, lovestruck students to find a seat, you frantically shield either side of your face with your hands. Behind you, Han Jisung, your second best friend to Yuqi, cocks a brow as the boy fortunately takes a seat two rows ahead of you.

It feels like your heart is thundering in your chest with every breath you take, shaking your skull with it’s deafening beating. Any second now he could turn around, and you don’t know why, but the thought of that critiquing stare landing on you again gives you incessant goosebumps.

Sitting through homeroom has never been so suffocating-ly awful, and Jisung can tell when he comes over after class ends, plopping backwards in the chair in front of you to wince at the face you’re pulling.

“I’m cursed, Jisung—“ You childishly squirm, flopping around like some self-acclaimed grub.

Your classmate huffs a humorless chuckle, helping fix a messy strand of your hair before raising from his spot.

“Don’t worry, It’ll only get worse from here. ‘Want a Banana milk?”

Shitty Han Jisung and his shitty personality. Way to lift your spirits, asshole.

“You suck.”

“Two Banana milks it is!” He slaps the wood surface of your desk, breaking into an unaffected smile while hurrying off to the vending machines. Perhaps you’ll just mope till next class, brainstorm the easiest way to glue your statue back together and leave the country while you’re at it.

Abruptly, the minimal view of the classroom from where your head’s wedged between your arms is invaded by a green color, slowly peeking out only to be met with dollar bills waved in front of your face.

Now this had to be a dream. Han Jisung is never fast when it comes to vending machines, usually ogling at options the latest one installed in the cafeteria offers.

Also, for the record, he’s dirt poor like most of the students here.

“Fifty dollars for the damage.”

Damn it!

Still not a dream, because the crisp cash held out to you is none other than Mail Boys’ (a.k.a. Minho’s), staring down at you like you were some insect scurrying near his polished shoes... Or maybe that’s your interpretation of how he’s looking at you.

“This should cover any fees for fixing the statue, I don’t want to deal with you hunting me down every morning when I pass by.” He grumbles, patting the money next to your hand.

You gawk, amazed that he considered at all. What left you more amazed? How he had this amount of money in the first place as a student. Applying for a delivery job may not be so bad after all. That or he does own polished shoes, fancy clothes and a suit with his picture-ready hair and all.

He might as well scream in everyone’s face that he’s rich waving those dollar bills around.

“Keep it. It’s already bad enough it’s broken but it’ll be worse if I have money. Unlike you, I pride myself in being poor.”

There’s that terrifying, critiquing stink-eye again.

“..but my parents don’t, and they would think I stole something.” You quietly add, and Minho almost snorts, appearing to be having a difficult time withholding his bubbling laugh.

Before he can respond though, Jisung steps through the door, stopping in his tracks upon noticing what's going on, beverages in hand.

Noticing the elephant in the room, Minho slides the money closer your way and walks out, leaving you with awkward silence, fifty dollars, and too many questions.

Well, until both Banana milks slam down and your friend snatches the bills with a loud gasp, boba eyes round as saucers.

“Holy shit! I haven’t seen fifty dollars in like, four years. Is that Minho guy your secret boyfriend? Was that why you were acting so weird earlier?”

Not helping with the too many questions part, Jisung. And a secret boyfriend? Does this guy even know you?

“Absolutely not,” You cross your arms, being sure he sees your excessive eye-roll. “He broke my statue.”

In those few seconds of silence you swore he went through at least eight phases of contemplation trying to figure out the context attached to what you said, deciding to just blankly squint till you spilled your guts.

“So you’re telling me,” He points his finger at some imaginary diagram on the desk, focus flickering in every direction trying to connect the dots. “That Mail Boy, no, Lee Minho, threw the newspaper, broke your statue and ran off? This morning?”

There’s a doubtful lilt to his voice while you hurriedly nod, praying the boy will believe you despite how insane it sounds—despite how insane it really was.

“And this isn’t because he’s attractive?”

You cough.

“I mean, he’s attractive, but-“Aha! Finally! A prospect! Looks like my lovely Y/n won’t die alone after all.” Jisung places an over dramatic hand over his heart and you open your mouth, ready to tell him off before the bell rings and all hope of earning any sympathy flies out the window.

Nonetheless, confessing your grievances to the ferociously blunt Yuqi and expecting the newest volume of Full House after school wasn't usually the highlight of your day, but you've come to accept anything away from Mail Boy should be counted as a highlight at this point.

Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the god forbidden statue-killer since morning class.

Eh. He’s probably massacring some more neighborhood statues. He seems like he’d have weird hobbies anyway.

“Sounds a bit like you’re into him if you ask me,” She chews her sandwich, and you might’ve thrown up in your mouth a little bit.

Absolutely not. Your education is far too important to be interrupted by this transfer student. Plus, he also seems uninterested in love, right? It works out .. totally.

“C’mon Yuqi, you know me. The only thing I’m into is good grades and college admission.” You slump against the bench, absentmindedly stealing a few grapes from the girl.

Seriously though, falling in love is not on your roster for high school. At least not for now.

Nope. Take it back. No love. None. Nope.

Yuqi gasping like someone stabbed her seems to pull you from your loophole headspace, grabbing your arm excitedly.

“Oh my gosh! Doesn’t Volume Eleven come out today?” She says, and you might’ve just ascended to heaven.

Ah. Forget good grades and college admission, you’re in love with Full House. Save the boys for later.

She didn’t need to say anymore, because in the blink of an eye you were full sprinting out the gates, mind trained on one thing and one thing only.

Practically singing to yourself with glee, you swing open the door of Myeongjin DVD store, calling out an equally singsong, “Sir— did you save the newest release for m-…”

Huh.

You know those scenes in movies where all the music stops and everything seems to just freeze? Yeah, this was one of those moments.

“Hm?” Is what he responds with.

What Lee Minho responds with, working behind the front desk sorting through rentals.

Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re calling him by his actual name and not Mail Boy.

Strange.

“Ah.. Ahem .. The new volume of Full House, is it saved for me?” You gradually pique, bouncing back and forth on your heels.

Things should be settled by now between you two after he paid you back and all, but you just couldn’t seem to shake the awkwardness compiling in your gut. Like this strange boy that showed up (literally) on your doorstep would get you into trouble.

Placing the book he’d been checking down, he picks up a bulletin board, finger scouring the titles before glancing at you.

“Full House? Nope, we’re all out.”

“Thanks- WHAT?! Look, you might not know, but I’m pretty much the owner’s daughter,” You explain matter-a-factly, cocking your brows expectantly. What kind of stunt you were pulling you didn’t know. Either way, you’d use the many years you lived here before him to the utmost advantage.

Turns out, you definitely should’ve remembered how Lee Minho earned his reputation in the first place.

“So sorry, he didn’t say anything about his beloved daughter paying a visit today.” The man in front of you leans forward, head tilted in a conniving manner.

What. A. Prick.

Jesus he looks good right now.

Opening your mouth to bite back, deja vú plows through like a bus when he cuts you off, light smirk gracing the edges of his lips. Mocking, like when you first met. Mocking.

“But, I’ll be sure to tell you when more are in stock. Deal?”

Oh how you want to beat his stupidly handsome face in.

“Deal.”

Settling down into your chair and repeatedly clicking the cream colored mouse, you watch the blue background fill the screen along with the other person’s username.

Only on stressful nights would you log back into the anonymous chat rooms. Except today wasn’t necessarily stressful, more just leaving you in denial without Volume eleven in hand.

Somehow, these conversations were thrilling in their own, odd ways. Not knowing if the person is your best friend or your worst enemy made the experience all the more fun.

Recently, you'd begun chatting with Lino98, a kind person who apparently moved not too long ago. They gave you the best advice and would always joke around like friends while you talked about love, grades, and anything at all.

In a sense, they were your friend.

YOU: Lino98?

LINO98: Hm?

YOU: What do you want to do in the future? Now that we’re getting older, I’ve been thinking about it a lot

LINO98: Well that’s a random question

YOU: Shhh just answer

LINO98: Okay okay, mine is way out there and pretty unrealistic for a student, but

LINO98: I want to be a dancer

YOU: Wowー dancer? As in, dancing on stage?

LINO98: What else would a dancer do ㅎㅎ

YOU: You know what I mean!! But being a dancer is a good dream. You’ll have to work hard, but it’s your passion, so I shouldn’t be one to judge

LINO98: You’re sweet, saying that

YOU: Hey hey don’t get all sappy

LINO98: I mean it ㅋㅋㅋ

You smile, fingers rapidly typing to keep up with the replies. They had a wild dream, sure, but Lino98 had their own aspirations, and you wondered if maybe in the future you’d see them on TV.

See them in real life. Now that was a thought. Heck, you didn’t even know if they were a boy or girl.

Oh god, what if Lino98 was one of your classmates? Worst case scenario it’d be Minho.

Although, that would never happen, the chances were too slim.

Too slim.. but not impossible. In fact, very much possible because no matter how small the chance is it could always become realit- “Y/n!”

You jump, reaching to turn off the old monitor.

There’s a shuffle outside of your door, the woman’s head peering in momentarily. You have an idea of what she's going to say next seeing you in front of the computer.

“You’d better not be on those chat rooms, I told you they’re dangerous. Also, could you run to the market? I’m missing bean sprouts.”

Bingo.

Patting the doorframe, she disappears once more.

You know she’s right. Sure it could pose a threat, but you’re a student, and adult things like being worried about safety could come later.

However, running into Mail Boy there could also come later, and you debated on turning around before he noticed you. That was, until you remembered the unfortunate errand you’d made the trip for in the first place.

.

.

The last person he expected to find at Ahyeon Market was you, looking equally as shocked with his appearance here as well. Still clad in uniform, he motions from his place on the outdoor bench, patting the spot next to him.

If gears could literally be seen turning in someone’s head he's certain he would have witnessed an entire mechanical process by now, rather amusedly analyzing your angel and devil conversation with cat-like observation.

“I don’t bite y’know,” Breaking the quiet lull, he clicks his tongue, earning a suspicious look.

“And how am I supposed to believe you.” Question rhetorical (he assumes), you approach him slowly, testing, like he’d pounce at one wrong move. The tempting urge to jump and scare you briefly crosses his mind.

“Because,” He bites back a grin. “Our Volume eleven pact, remember?”

Almost instantly, the tense atmosphere dissolves and you plop down beside him followed by hushed “Yeah, yeah”'s muttered under your breath. Barely twenty seconds pass though before you’re bolting to upward (and ironically scaring him instead), glancing left and right.

“I’ll get some Banana milk.” You bolt to the small fridge unit, lips focusedly pursed cashing in your coins.

Minho can’t help but smile to himself at your unbothered-ness, your easiness. You’re kind, not to mention brutally honest on occasions. It’s reassuring being around you, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Like, in some sense, his youth is returning to him. Piece by piece.

“Here.” Your voice has his head swiveling, holding a small cartridge for him to take.

“So.. Why’d you transfer here?”

He stares at the drink for a while, though your eyes never stray from his, observing him contemplating, thinking. Cat-like, you agree. Minho greatly resembles a feline.

“You like this stuff, huh.”

“Jisung got me hooked on it, you don’t want it?” Knitting your brows and greedily pulling the drink to yourself, he’s quick to reach forward, grabbing your hand in his.

You hesitate, both frantically searching each other's face before Minho snatches the Banana milk from you, tone suddenly doused in nervousness.

“No- I do, thanks.”

Liar. He hates Banana milk, but he’ll drink it. For you he will.

There’s that feeling again, blooming in his chest and warming up his entire body.

Weird.

It’s like he’s a three year old crushing on his classmate again, awkward and young. In love.

Anyone unlucky enough to witness this obvious pining deserves a written letter of apology.

“Mm..” You hum quietly, aggressively poking your straw through the paper lid.

Minho’s lips form a tight line, fixating on the rotation of his own straw as he aimlessly moves the drink in his hand from side to side.

“My family went bankrupt. That’s why I moved.”

Pausing your movement, you nod quickly and he feels a pang of guilt strike his chest. He shouldn’t have told you that, should’ve kept the comfort and ignored the question. Way to ruin it, jerk.

“What was your first impression of me?” Changing the subject, he clears his throat from the chilling air. So long for the summer heat.

“First impression?” You mimic, appearing deep in thought for a reason he couldn’t help but feel nervous about. Nervous for what, he couldn’t name.

There were lots of things he “couldn’t” when it came to you. It makes things interesting, makes you interesting. Life isn’t boring when with you, something he realizes the longer you accompany him, vice versa.

He can’t make sense of the feeling, ironically enough. Another “can’t”.

“Well, If you want me to be honest,” Glancing over at him from your earlier focus on a neon road sign, you lift your brows, awaiting his signal to go on.

“I thought you were cold, rude, not to mention a pain in the butt. Also, I’m not kidding when I say I was convinced you were a rich and spoiled brat-“ Rapid waving of his hands in front of you stops your train of thought.

“Are- are you being serious or just insulting me.” He interrupts, deadpanning while sending you a rather confused, nonsensical look.

“Dead serious. You wanted the truth after all.” You shrug your shoulders and Minho chokes a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

Unbelievable. Absolutely, unforgivably, unbelievable.

“And what about now?”

More thinking.

“You’re nice to be around, but still a pain in the butt.” Shuffling on the pavement, you pull your coat tighter around yourself, gaze flitting to the crack of smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

With the streetlights automatically turning on, without response, simply a soft look from the boy, he steps forward and wordlessly beckons for you to follow.

Walk home with me, an inaudible invitation, and you tag along accordingly.

He doesn’t want to go home, but he won’t tell you that. In fact, he dreads going home to a silent house. He won’t tell you that either.

Truth being, Minho hadn’t been this happy in ages, and being by you, talking to you, getting to know you and everything in between has brilliant shades of color decorating his black and white world. If only he could muster up the courage to tell you that.

“Shoot!”

Panickedly facing you, surprise lay evident on his usually unwavering features.

“I forgot bean sprouts! Hold on, I’ll be right back.” You pronounce, disappearing inside the Market with the boy right on your heels.

Arriving at the register, he places his wallet on the counter before you could fetch cash from your pocket. Turning to him, you poke an accusing finger against his chest, fixing your attractive friend with a hard stare.

“Minho, I told you rich people paying for poor people isn’t ‘nice’, it just makes us look pitiful.” You pout, and the boy resists the overbearing urge to coo not only from how unfairly adorable you look right now but hearing his name come out of your mouth for the first time as well.

Adorable. What was he thinking using a word like that anyway? He meant something else .. another, descriptive word for something cute… Nevermind.

“Think of it as me paying you back for the Banana Milk.” Giving in the tiniest bit, he lands a small nudge against your side, earning an equally playful shove back.

Laughter envelops the both of you, walking from the store with bean sprouts in clutch and pink hues decorating your cheeks whether from giggling or something else. Swinging the bag beside you, a fleeting thought of holding it for you crosses Minho’s mind. Should he? What if you say no and things become awkward again?

God, why is he complicating things so much recently. Just do it, Minho. It’s not that difficult.

“You know how much I gave the cashier for those drinks?”

Quickly pulling his hand away from where it reached for the plastic, his grimace becomes instantly replaced with feigned curiosity in hopes you didn’t notice.

Holding eye contact has never been difficult for Minho. In fact, he’s a pro at it …with everyone but you. So when you study him with those brilliant eyes, he can feel his ears burning bright red.

“Yeah? How much?” He mischievously replied, watching you light up.

You have a particular smile, the one that transforms your face so prettily, the one that makes his heart thunder in his chest. He really likes that smile.

“Ten dollars. Can you believe it? I could buy a mansion with that money.” You hum sarcastically, tumbling all over the sidewalk while being kindly beckoned away from the road by the concerned boy.

“Hey Minho?”

He turns to you.

“What do you wanna do when you grow up? Y’know, after High school and University.”

Opening his mouth to respond, he can’t help but find the question eerily familiar.

“Since I was a kid I wanted to be a Dancer. I actually auditioned a few days ago, but I probably won’t make it.” The dark haired man humorlessly laughs, actively avoiding your attention.

You frown, he doesn’t notice.

“You don’t know that. I don’t know what I want to do, but riding in a sports car sounds nice. It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.”

There it is. This was the easiness he was thinking of, your unbothered-ness. All of the things he finds himself smiling about. The things he looks forward to dropping off your mail in the morning to see.

“..A sports car?”

Once comfortable silence interrupted by his snickering, you wack his arm for the nth time that night, sending him a faux glare.

“Oh look! It’s my stop!” You interject, hiking up the stairs to turn around and see him looking up at you, eyes crinkled with a small smile adorning his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow! Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho thinks you're very, very cute.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Minho hopes you think he’s cute too.

Days go by, some long, some short, with August feeling extremely drawn-out and uncomfortable—leaves gradually beginning to brown for autumn.

As for September, you’re still waiting for Volume eleven from Minho, incessantly dropping by the DVD store to annoy him into leaking some info about when the next batch will be shipped.

“It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week,” is what he always says every week until you’re quite certain next week has happened four times already.

On a different note other than your Full House dilemma and impending exams, Minho had been elected Class President, Soyeon and Hyomin are getting closer to officially dating (from you and Yuqi’s observations), and Jisung is currently keeping count of how many girls confess to Mail Boy each semester.

Don’t ask about the last one.

Expecting someone like Yuqi to be running up to you so early on your walk through the school gates, you blink twice to realize it’s Minho instead, something in hand and positively glowing with cheerfulness.

“Y/n!”

Spinning around, you mirror his overwhelming energy and narrowly dodge getting run over in the process.

“Guess what.” He grins, looking scarily enthusiastic compared to usual.

“What?” You ask, already lost in the way his caramel globes for eyes seem to practically sparkle.

“I got accepted! I’m going to be a trainee!” Shoving the acceptance paper in your face, you scream, covering your mouth in disbelief.

To say you both jumped is an understatement, basically frolicking around the courtyard like lunatics. Well, before you realized the entire jumping and frolicking thing and hurriedly returned to your normal, stiff high school selves.

“Also, the Full House shipment came in this morning.”

…

He’s kidding. You’re kidding.

Oh my god you could kiss him right now. Good thing you didn’t say that out loud.

Running as fast as you possibly could with the boy yelling for you to slow down, you mercilessly slam the door open, manically searching through boxes until the beloved, astounded, mystifying book rests peacefully in hand.

Heaven’s gates should’ve opened up by now.

Taking his sweet time as if this wasn’t one of the greatest moments in life, your counterpart casually strolls up to the register, appearing to check out the rental despite holding your precious book hostage after scanning the barcode.

“You don’t care about me making the cut, do you?” He pouts, lip pitifully jutting out.

Mouth left agape, you swiftly bite back what you’d planned to say about the deal, stumbling over sentences to find an excuse.

“I do! I swear! Now give me the book.. please?” Sporting the most genuine tone you could manage, you snatch the book he begrudging lowered down, hugging the prized possession close to your chest.

“Fine, liar.”

Yikes, talk about a grumpy face. He looked like a kicked puppy. You didn’t even think that expression was possible for Lee Minho.

However, you also didn’t think it was possible to feel sort of upset about it. Not his grumpy face, no, but him getting accepted. Wasn’t this a happy occasion? Volume eleven was released and finally in your possession and your friend was now going to be a trainee, now going to chase his dream of becoming a dancer.

So why did you feel sad walking back to school?

It felt wrong, you felt wrong, and the disgusting feeling only grew worse as the day went on. Heck, looking through pages and squealing with Yuqi—an activity that normally helped lift your spirits—didn't feel as reviving.

Later that day you asked him when he’d be leaving to train, leaving for Seoul, far from here. You dreaded the question, but at least it gave you time to prepare in a sense.

“January,” he replied, eating his apple as if it wasn’t the end of September, as if your heart wasn’t splintering into a billion tiny pieces.

Perhaps somewhere, hidden in his unaffected façade, he felt a tad bit upset like you did.

‘It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.’ You recalled assuring him at Ahyeon Supermarket back in August, thinking it wasn’t going to be real, believing it wasn’t going to become reality.

If only you had known.

Adult things were climbing from the busy city into your small town. You weren’t ready.

So when life becomes increasingly overbearing, you log back in.

YOU: Today has been so draining.. I want to wake up and everything to be a dream

LINO98: Need to vent?

YOU: I thought you’d never ask ㅠㅠ

LINO98: Alright alright, go on

YOU: Well I have a friend, and he’s getting to do something he’s always wanted, but it means he’ll have to go away for a while and I can’t help but feel sad

LINO98: Feeling sad is normal, there’s nothing wrong with that

LINO98: It makes you feel like everything you’ve done with them was taken for granted, don’t you think?

YOU: That’s exactly what it’s like

YOU: If you're okay with it, could we meet up and talk? I mean, we’ve been talking for a while now and I just thought

LINO98: Would Marronnier Park work?

YOU: Didn't think you’d be so willing

LINO98: What can I say, we work well together

YOU: How will we find each other though?

LINO98: Hm.. theres that flower shop nearby, right? Bring a yellow tulip and I will too, good?

YOU: Tomorrow at noon?

LINO98: I’ll be there

Yellow tulip, noon, tomorrow. You sigh a stretching grin, clicking the small exit button before flopping onto your bed.

Only downside of this would have to be your inability to sleep, mind unable to calm itself down as you lay awake. Tomorrow you meet Lino98, someone truly cherished for all their help and kindness.

Eyes slowly drifting closed, you can’t help but hope meeting them in real life will ease some of your troubles. Even just a tad.

Springing from bed that morning, you make your daily stop at Myeongjin DVD store, attempting to drag Minho outside to grab dessert with you while he complains of having plans.

You grumble, growling to him you’ll enjoy the sweet treat more by yourself, his saccharine farewell fading into the distance as you close the door behind you.

Luckily, there wasn’t anything that could truly damage your happiness today(despite really wanting to get desserts with Minho) while picking up a yellow tulip on your way to the meeting location.

Gosh, your stomach was doing backflips right now.

Locating the park’s sign, you stopped and patted yourself down for a moment.

Alright. Now time to start guessing. Would they be a girl? Be a boy? Maybe they’d be Yuqi. That would be hysterical. You mean, you’re soulmates at this point, it’d make plenty of sense.

Venturing inside, you shuffle between people in search of the same flower being in someone else’s grip till finally spotting it, hidden between two people in front of you.

If they would just scoot over a little bit.. there! Now you can see ...them.

Oh.

Making eye contact, you watch them realize, beginning to back up.

You don’t know why you run away, you don’t know why your legs won’t stop and why the person keeps calling out behind you.

Funny that the slim chance you mentioned turned out to be true.

Today you met Lino98, someone you'd truly cherished for all their help and kindness prior to learning who they were.

Today you met Lino98 at Marrionner Park holding a yellow tulip, but the person in front of you was Lee Minho, flower in hand and staring directly back at you.

December gradually rolls around, and usually you’re ecstatic seeing all the lights and festivals Taeyang High hosts as Christmas and new years approaches, especially with next year marking a new millennium.

After the news of Minho’s departure though, it’s hard enjoying the holidays knowing he’ll be leaving only a week or so into January.

No. You should soak up your last month or so. This is the most important part, you can’t be miserable when he hasn’t even left yet.

Despite how badly you want to see him all the time, nothing came easy with his identity revealed.

You weren’t angry nor embarrassed. And initially, you didn’t feel anything, you just stared at him across the park, wondering if all of these coincidences were dreams, your loneliness causing hallucinations of a sort.

Regarding the running away part, that was more of a “need to get my thoughts together” reflex, a desperate and last resort you now deeply regretted holed up in your room with Yuqi’s voice ringing through the home phone.

Yes, you’d like to say you dealt with the matter like a responsible almost-adult.

You didn’t.

“Yuqi… I’m ruining my own life and I can’t do anything to stop it..” You hiccup, loud sobs echoing through the empty household.

She clicks her tongue, once patient and understanding persona instantaneously snapping.

“Yah!” The girl shouts, and you flinch on the other side of the line. “Keep saying stuff like that and you really will ruin your own life! I know no one warned you that falling in love with him would be like this, but seriously, I am not letting you waste this last month avoiding each other!!”

In spite of her reprimanding you, her intentions are clearly aimed towards wanting the best for the both of you, and you know you should be grateful in return.

“I’m not in love with.. My god I am in love with him, what do I do—“ You drag out, dissolving into more cries.

It’s true, both her point and the fact that you’re unabashedly in love with him. All of it. From first meeting him, avoiding him, making up, becoming close and convincing yourself you weren’t looking for a relationship, and now avoiding him again. You’ve always had that feeling, that lingering affection teetering back and forth between the line of friends and lovers.

Although, your friend’s sigh suddenly gets cut off by another person, and you briefly wonder if her younger brother took it before making out the name Yuqi yelled in the distance.

“Yeesh you sound ugly when you cry.”

Is that.. Jisung?

“Han Jisung, give me back the phone!”

Jisung over at Yuqi’s house. Weird.

“Just one seconds this is important~” He whines, and from the sounds of it is also currently running away from what you assume to be a raging Yuqi.

“Okay so Yuqi, Soyeon, Hyomin and I are planning the craziest new years bash ev-“HAN JISUNG!” Phone finally finding its way back to the original holder, you can hear sly giggles echoing in the background.

She audibly groans and you can easily imagine her hands threading through long blonde locks of hair, probably visibly resisting the urge to bury her companion. You can’t help but smile.

Just so you know, only Jisung and I are here so don’t worry about the public humiliatio- aw shit there's thirty seconds left on the call- anyways, be sure to stop by my place on the 31st, we have a surprise for you!” Time limit ending without another word, you take the time to connect the dots with Jisung’s “new years bash” and Yuqi’s “surprise”, to expect a small party of some kind.

With those two arranging it, you don’t know what to expect.

Why not? The reasons to say no are basically nonexistent.

Christmas break officially starting, students clambering from school grounds, and your daily “avoiding Minho” schedule on hold now that you’re out till the end of January, the anticipation of this upcoming party creeps closer. That, and how you plan to talk to Minho.

You aren’t stupid, and you didn’t ignore what Yuqi had said about avoiding each other either, fully aware of how essential coming to terms was for the sake of your friendship, and at least for you, for the sake of your love too.

The real question was when, something you’re still trying to figure out on the 30th of December. Way to procrastinate.

Before tonight you’d never hesitated talking to Lino98 (Minho), deleting your message at least a dozen times before clicking the send button and preparing to hide under your comforter for the rest of the night. Keyword: preparing. Because when you anxiously peered between your fingers to see a response beneath your message, you might have just jumped out of your skin.

YOU: Hey, can we talk?

LINO98: I thought you’d never ask

YOU: About meeting up.. I want you to know I’m really not mad at you

LINO98: You can be honest, Y/n

YOU: I am, promise

YOU: It’s so much easier talking online than in person, but I really want to see you

LINO98: Same, but I doubt I’ll be able to say the same things in person

YOU: I think that’s something we can both agree on

LINO98: Hm

YOU: I’m busy tomorrow, but maybe the next day?

LINO98: Seems we still work well together

YOU: Don't say that, I’ll get PTSD..

LINO98: Sorry sorry ㅜㅜ

Little did you know you were both busy doing the same thing after nobody mentioned Minho would be at the party as well, too stunned to speak seeing him sit around the enormous pile of snacks and drinks laying in the middle of the floor.

However, you found it in yourself, not only because of the minimal time you had left but also because of your conversation last night, to move past the tension.

Like adults.

What a bizarre phrase coming from you.

And it looked as if he felt the same too.

Lively conversation filled up the small space, and six kids, six adults, sat around an army of junk food and held a pitiful excuse for a party while using this time together to forget, if just for a moment, about life outside the room.

You couldn’t have had more fun talking and catching up, not to mention the curdling screaming when Hyomin and Soyeon announced that they were officially dating, bouncing around whilst stuck in Yuqi’s bone-crushing hug of delight.

The clock ticked on the wall, and after hours of bringing back old memories and suggesting new ones, a few attendees began to slip away, gradually leaving only you, Minho, and Yuqi to occupy her living room.

She yawned beside you, half-lidded eyes making her sleepiness rather apparent. Patting your shoulder, the girl rose up, trudging toward the door.

“Alright I’m tapping out, see you guys next year.” She quietly mused and you cracked a sarcastic laugh, both wishing her good night before the sound of the knob clicked shut behind her.

It’s just you two now, watching the live broadcast in a numbing peacefulness. It stays like that for a long time, basking in the presence you’d been deprived of after that fateful day.

You stifle a chuckle.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall in love with you, but I guess I couldn’t help it.” You wistfully smile, back leaning against the wall clad in your heavy sweater and socks.

You hear him take a deep breath.

“I could say the same,” He whispers, eyes trained on the celebration airing on TV. “I bet you were upset that I’m Lino98.”

You pull your knees closer to yourself, listening to the two minute warning the reporter announces.

The room once busied becomes quiet apart from television chatter and your hushed talking. In a few minutes it’ll be a new Millennium, the 2000’s.

You should feel happy, knowing you’ll graduate soon, knowing that a new year is beginning. You’ve tried, truly, but you can’t find it in yourself, not with the circumstances.

“I’m not upset. I was just being selfish because I didn’t want it to be any harder seeing you leave.”

The circumstances seem to steal everything away. Minho must know that much better than you do.

Except you have this moment right here, right now, that the circumstances haven’t taken away yet.

He utters a pained sound, a sound that feels like crying. You don’t dare say anything.

“Don’t people,” He stops, waiting for you to look to your right, look at him and his glossy eyes. You’ve never seen Minho emotional, and you wish you never had. It feels cruel. Immeasurably cruel.

“As I speak, we have ten seconds till 2000.”

He opens his mouth again.

“Kiss on new years?”

You can hear the countdown begin.

“Ten!”

Minho has a wistful smile, dancing from your eyes to your lips.

“Nine!”

Should you take the chance?

“Eight!”

Will this hurt you?

“Seven!”

Haven’t you been hurting enough?

“Six!”

He’s leaving in a few days.

“Five!”

It’s now or never.

“Four!”

You lean forward, lips softly connecting with his. They’re soft, his lips, and he angles your head from side to side with a gentle touch, palms enveloping your cheeks, holding you close. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. Everything feels like it’s on fire. Ferociously alight and blazing.

“Three!”

He whispers something between your lips, you can’t hear it.

“Two!”

Partially, you feel grateful you couldn’t.

“One!”

Fireworks burst in your peripheral, littering the screen with a bountiful assortment of lights and cheers.

The new year had begun, and so had a different chapter in everyone’s lives. Both your classmates, and especially yours and Minho’s.

“Let’s welcome the year 2000!”

2000.

LINO98: Don’t get too excited, but I’m outside your house, come quick

YOU: Didn’t we see each other yesterday?

LINO98: Are you saying you’d rather stay in? I thought you loved me

YOU: Fine you big baby, but I’m going back to sleep after this

LINO98: Sounds good to me〜

You groan, dragging yourself out of your covers at the speed of a turtle to organize the unruly chaos ensuing in your disheveled hair and pull on your shoes.

In all honesty, you can’t even remember how you got home last night, only recalling that Minho tasted like Coca cola and that you had a roaring headache.

Minho tasted like Coca cola. You kissed Minho.

Wow.

Maybe the adrenaline had taken over last night considering how your face erupted red merely thinking about it the next morning.

A honk sounds outside and you jump slightly, mind sifting through ideas of what exactly the boy had gotten himself into this time. With Han Jisung’s influence yesterday, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in a fancy sports car or something.

Scratch that, he was in a fancy sports car, and you had to blink repeatedly to check if you were awake.

Did he have a license? Wait, nevermind, since when did he own a car?

“What is this, you may ask?” He gestures to the bright red convertible Mustang, tipping down the sunglasses perched on his nose with a cock of his brow. “Well, since I‘m getting to do what I wanted when I got older, I thought it was only fair you got to do what you wanted to too. Sports car, right? Hop in.”

Oh. My. God.

You just keep falling in love with Minho over and over again.

Breathing a laugh of disbelief, shock, and every other emotion making a pit stop while standing in your pajamas, you cross your arms, sending him a suspicious stare.

“And might I ask how you got your hands on this thing?” Smile threatening to appear, you stave down the urge, struggling to maintain your unconvinced poise under his watchful eye.

“Let’s just say I know a friend who knows a friend-“Y/n! What happened to our statue?!” Your mothers shouts from up the stairs and you practically leap into the passenger seat, frantically urging him to step on the gas.

“Only took her a few months,” Your personal driver huffs amusedly, quickly putting the vehicle in reverse to flee the scene. Ah.. You’re not looking forward to the trip home.

Luckily, you’re not home, and you hope you won’t be for a while. Instead, you’re driving through side roads with Minho and his stupidly attractive sunglass-clad self, and it feels like you’ve just started high school again.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. You wouldn’t have been able to tell, too caught up enjoying it. The sights, the smells, the sounds, all of it. Enjoying everything.

Slowing down to pull into a small alcove overlooking the ocean, the boy leans his seat back and you do the same, warm sun baking down on the dark interior. You reach a hand forward, fingers tangling with his.

“Can we stay like this forever?”

He smiles.

“Forever it is.”

2009.

Scooting the metal chair to the side, Minho takes a seat, adjusting the collar of his shirt that earns a few screams here and there alongside the merciless flash of camera shutters swarming in every direction. Today marks his first fansign as a group, as a member of Stray Kids by the stage name Lee Know.

Exhilarating, perhaps. Terrifying, also perhaps.

Initially, he was anxious, worried he’d come off as cold and rigid followed by the other lovely assortment of offensive adjectives you used to describe him standing outside of school that day in August.

Life was different then, just as it is now. Although, he’s not unhappy with how things turned out, nor how life changed since high school.

Tonight you’d text him (like you did every night since he first left) about the fansign, asking if he found anyone cute (the answer would always be you) and telling him about your day, your changed life.

He’d listen, give his most-always teasing input, smile at your equally teasing retort and tell you to eat well and take care of yourself.

“Good morning Minho— ah, wait, I should call you Lee Know now, shouldn’t I?”

A voice stirs from in front of him and he’s certain he’s officially going insane. But no, it does belong to you, in the flesh, mesmerizing eyes disappearing as you grinned while plopping down onto the stool below.

“Do me a favor and act really obsessed with me for a minute, I want to make your fans jealous,” You giggle, leaning closer to whisper the petty request.

In the midst of his shock he scoffs, appearing profusely offended.

“And you still suck at introductions. Not even a congratulations, ouch.” The brown-haired now-Idol frowns, behaving more like a child than ever before.

His status as a normal person might’ve developed (Minho was never a normal person), but he still retained the maturity of a twelve year old.

“Oh, dearest apologies my beloved Lee Know.” Basically gagging, you balance your chin on your hand, once teasing expression replaced with a smile that makes his heart downright ache.

“Congratulations on becoming a dancer, Minho. I missed you.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @dorisnumber1fan @mal-lunar-28 @httphans @virluna148 @bettybeako @grannyindehouse @minhaurloml @ylixbok @inkelea @luna585 @hyunbae-35

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #straykids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #straykids x you #straykids angst #straykids fluff #skz fluff #skz angst #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #skz lee know #lee know angst #lee know x you #straykids lee know #lee minho fluff #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho angst #skz lee minho #leeknow x y/n #leeknow fluff #leeknow x you #leeknow x reader #skz leeknow

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the roof

lilac, chapter four

a/n: we're getting somewhere, we're not there yet, stay in your seats, but we're making progress... planting seeds and all of that....

summary: “are you scared of heights?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, nightmares, crying, rupaul's drag race references, repairing a leaky roof, acrophobia (fear of heights)

word count: 1528

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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As your frantic breaths began to slow down, you gingerly lowered your shielding palms from your face, letting them drift down atop the duvet that draped over your curled-up knees. 

“I am awake, it was just a dream,” you softly repeated the mantra you had echoed since the moment your eyes snapped open, “he’s nowhere even remotely close to here,” the nightmare you’d roused from stayed too sharp in your mind to simply shake off, every little detail stood out and singed into your flesh as if it had really happened, “he can’t–… I’m safe, nothing is gonna happen, everything is okay…” from the snapping tone of his voice to the dark ink that slithered across his skin in the shape of an unsettling snake, wrapping all the way from his shoulder to the back of his dominant hand, “I did it, it’s over, he’s not here right now and he never will be again…”

It took another minute or two before you managed to get your legs to cooperate and swing over the edge of the mattress, gently lifting yourself up to a stance. You hadn’t even been awake for that long and you already had a stomach ache.

Prickly feet carrying you to the window, you cracked it open and breathed the fresh air in deeply, morrow birds chirping as they landed on a gnarly branch on the shrub closest to the house. 

Leaning against the windowsill for a moment, your neck then twisted and caught sight of your reflection in the mirror that hung on the far side wall. A complicated feeling began to brew within your belly as you saw the new uniformity of your complexion, all of the lavender bruises and all the angry marks haven finally healed completely. 

The overwhelming liberation, that you now didn’t bear reminders on your skin anymore, mixed with the sour tinge that you even had to endure it to begin with, all added up to tears beginning to well up in your eyes. 

The wounds were gonna take a lot longer to heal than just when you couldn’t see them on your body anymore…

Sucking in a deep and grounding breath, you swiftly wiped your eyes and walked over to your dresser. After you’d compiled a little clump of clothing in your arm and you tugged open the drawer that homed your tops, your fingers instinctually went to the short pile of long-sleeved shirts before they froze, remembering that you now didn’t have only that option to choose from. There were no more mortifying clues that could poke out if a hem rode up too much, you could wear whatever you damn pleased.

With a soft t-shirt stretched over your skin, you leisurely made your way down the stairs, an eager voice drawing your attention to the sitting room that stood at the bottom to the right. 

“Oh my god,” a smile couldn’t help but bloom on your weary features as you watched the small town’s sheriff clasp his palm over his mouth as he stared intently at the tablet propped up on the small table he sat at. 

“Good morning Otto,” you poked your head in, prompting the wrinkly features of the uniformed man to momentarily face you. 

“Ah, morning,” he rumbled, removing one of his earbuds as his eyes still flickering to the screen every few seconds. 

“You know I could just help you get some better wifi at your own house so that you don’t have to lean on ours to watch episodes of Drag Race.”

“What,” he gasped, clutching his chest as if his badge was instead the prettiest brooch made out of silver and pearls, “are you trying to get rid of me?”

A genuine smile blossoming upon your lips, you scoffed, “never.”

“Well, then pull out a chair,” he offered, beginning to turn the screen for you to catch a glimpse, “watch the rest with me before my shift starts.”

“No,” you quickly redirected your vision to the corner of the ceiling, “because I know that you’re further along in the season than I am, and I don’t want any spoilers.”

“But–”

“No!” you light-heartedly stuck your fingers into your ears as you scurried out of the room, “la, la, la! I don’t wanna know who gets sent home!” 

You were supposed to be looking at your laptop. You were supposed to be making the inn a proper website and contacting various travel agents. That’s what you were supposed to do, yet here you were, staring out the window, completely entranced as you watched Pete take care of the task that he’d so generously offered to fix for you. 

On the bed in an unoccupied room, there you sat, computer in your lap but your eyes firmly out the open window. He was almost like a cat the way he just casually perched out there on the roof as if it wasn’t a big deal.

With an angular crowbar in his gloved hands, you watched as he carefully jimmied off the broken roof tiles, messily stacking them beside where he’d securely piled up his other supplies. 

Your bottom lip found its way in between your teeth as you watched the muscles on his forearms flex under the efforts that the task took, the sleeves of his shirt haven been pushed up all the way to his elbows just before he’d crawled out there. 

“Hey,” not lifting his eyes from the work before him, his gruff voice seeped in through the window like the mild breeze, “could you hand me the trowel?”

Not truly comprehending what he’d just asked, you hummed distantly, “huh?”

“The spatula-looking thing you use for cement,” he craned his neck to finally catch your hypnotised gaze, “I forgot to bring it out here.”

With a light shake of your head, you forced yourself out of your daze and spotted the tool among the small pile of potentially useful items for the task all clustered on the floor, “uh, yeah, sure, of course,” hastily ridding yourself of the computer in your lap to get up and grab it.

Poking your head out of the open window, it dawned on you how you couldn’t just extend your arm to give it to him. It might have been the haze still lingering, but before you even had a chance to ponder the consciences, you found yourself crawling out onto the rooftop, feet becoming wobbly on the wavy tile as soon as you glanced down at the distant grass. 

“Wow,” Pete’s sharp reflexes steadied you at once, rushing to your side to steady your balance. With one palm firm on your waist, the other locked around your arm, the fuzzy sensation persuading your vision to find his chocolaty gaze instead of the terrifying plunge, “I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got–, uhm…” you muttered hazily, “uh…” your breathing growing ragged before you snapped out of it with a clear, “here!” and pressed the requested tool against his broad chest. 

Cocking a brow in subtle amusement, he grasped it, “thank you,” though the other hand still stayed fast around your arm. Tilting his head in an attempt to catch the gaze you’d hastily averted, he then asked you, “are you scared of heights?”

Scoffing sharply, you narrowed your eyes back at him, “no, I’m not scared of heights, what are you talking about?” though when his dark eyebrows raised in disbelief at your unconvincing tone, your eyes then rolled in your skull, “alright, fine, maybe a little… but that’s a perfectly natural and rational fear for a person to have!” you bellowed defensively, slowly lowering your centre of gravity and tensely sitting down the mossy surface, “it’s not like I’m scared of, I don’t know, tomatoes or something…”

He eventually let go of you when he’d grown confident in your position, his then brisk movement across the roof, back to his task prompted you to continue babbling nervously, “how are you just walking around out here like it's just a sidewalk or something? You could slip and fall to your death at any moment!”

“I would have to get very unlucky to die from up here,” he casually informed, keeping track of you out of the corner of his eye as he worked the premixed bucket of cement open, “it would just be a lot of serious injuries, but most likely not immediate death.” 

Hoping that he could physically feel the glare you shot in his direction, you grumbled, “you do know that doesn’t make me feel better, right?”

Catching your eye, he exhaled slowly before offering, “you want me to help you back inside? 

“Uhm,” your vision flickered back down to the grass below, the green blades minuscule from up here, “y-yeah, that’s properly a smart idea…” adding awkwardly as he hoisted you back up to your feet, “I really don’t wanna fall down and go splat.”

Chuckling gently, “I won’t let that happen,” he supported you back to the window and helped you inside. 

You weren’t sure what had made you feel more dizzy, the petrifying altitude, or the way his secure touch felt like it nearly burned through your layers of clothes… 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

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