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wandasaura · 9 months ago

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RED WINE SUPERNOVA

summary — when wanda first proposed making you cum in front of her friends, you’d thought she’d been joking, but when maria and carol come over for your annual halloween movie night, you realize she wasn’t at all

warning(s) — established relationship, heavy dom/sub elements, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, humiliation, degradation, praise kink, teasing, cum tasting, finger sucking, make out session, nipple stimulation/torture, orgasm control/delay, unintentional edging, fingering, clit stimulation, alludes to maria being dommy, carol and maria watch, possessiveness, eventual orgasm, soft aftercare, brief domestic fluff/cuteness, men/minors dni

kinktober

The fabric of your panties had once felt soft against your skin, comfortable and easy as you slid through the house on sock covered feet, preparing for a movie night with your girlfriends and two of their friends. It had become something of a tradition, a soft moment to look forward to in a life overwise filled with chaos and constant movement. Tonight, you’d thought you’d be cuddled up close to Natasha, holding onto Wanda’s hand as you watched Coraline and countless other films that had always inspired spooky feelings in your heart, but when Natasha had steered you away from the wardrobe, declaring that your outfit was enough on its own despite the nakedness of your uncovered stature in frilly panties with a dull pink bow sewn onto the waistband and a lacey top that matched so sweetly, that soft cotton fabric between your legs had very quickly become damp with persistent arousal and anticipation; no longer comfortable as every time you shifted in place, you were reminded of your desperate state and unwavering vulnerability.

Maria and Carol had been right on time, barging straight into the quaint albeit perfectly cozy apartment that you, Wanda, and Natasha shared whenever they weren’t crashing in safe houses and Shield facilities off the grid. They’d hardly even glanced in your direction as they barrelled through the door, something that was odd and had your belly twisting with wild emotions and sensations, especially when you came to realize why they were acting as if you weren’t there at all. This had been something brought up in passing conversation one night, merely a wild fantasy that Wanda had shared after coming back from a grueling solo mission. You had always known that she was on the kinkier side, especially out of you and Natasha, but hearing about how she wanted to show you off to her friends, wanted to stake her claim with you in front of an audience of your most trusted acquaintances, had you eagerly agreeing to her little fantasy. That’s all that you thought it would be, a fantasy that stayed within the walls of your shared bedroom, but then Natasha brought it up last week, and now here you were, sat on the couch between both of your girlfriends, your naked thighs glimmering beneath the ambient lighting of the television as one of them held your hand, and the other stroked your inner thigh as if you were nothing more than a priceless object to flaunt.

Your cheeks were heated with flushed humiliation and undeniable arousal, the center of your panties damp and darkened, although thankfully hidden from view yet not ignored entirely. Every few minutes, when you had been led to believe that Natasha’s heavy, possessive, hand wouldn’t rise any further up your thigh, she would stretch her fingers outward and fiddle with the lace edges of your panties, pulling the elastic material away from the crevice of your thigh only to let it snap back into place like a broken record that wouldn’t stop skipping. Wanda squeezed your hand occasionally, reminding you of her steady presence beside you on the couch, but even that did little to quell your racing thoughts as you tracked the way both Carol and Maria traced the outlines of your pebbled nipples through the dainty tank top adorning your torso and upper half.

After a while, yet only midway through Coraline which nobody was really paying any attention to, Natasha grew bolder in her ministrations with your wanting body, and as a result, the flush plastered across your cheeks and ears became darker with bated arousal and humiliation. That soft, tantalizing touch on the insides of your thighs became curious fingers sweeping through your sodden folds, prodding at your aching clit and pressing against your wanting entrance that begged to suck her fingers in despite your greatest attempts to remain unbothered and unaware. You hadn’t thought it could get any worse, any more humiliating, but just as you got used to Natasha’s cold touch against your hot cunt desperate for relief, she retraced her fingers, instead holding them up to the light for Wanda and her friends to marvel at.

As she pulled her fingers apart, revealing stringy ropes of warm arousal clinging to her knuckles and the pads of her delicately scarred fingertips, a whine of mortification fell off of your cat clenched tongue and into the air thick with tension and lust, though like before and every minute since both Carol and Maria had stepped inside the apartment, you were ignored entirely by the onlookers who caught a glimpse at your most vulnerable headspace typically reserved for Wanda and Natasha exclusively. “Well would you look at that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the little slut likes being shown off.”

A pitiful whine fell off of your lips as Natasha rubbed her fingers together for everyone in the room to see, making an extravagant show of your glistening moisture that dirtied her fingertips. Your face fell into Wanda’s chest on instinct, seeking protection from the dramatic show Natasha was putting on for her own entertainment, however that was hardly allowed, and mere seconds after you settled with your face against the breasts of your younger girlfriend, her fingers were tangling into your hair and pulling you upright, demanding you watch as Natasha unravels your autonomy, reducing you to nothing but a slut for her friends to ogle; and shamefully, it was turning you on more and more.

A startled gasp fell off of your lips when Maria came closer, leaving Carol behind on the loveseat adjacent from the couch you sat cuddled into, and stalked up to Natasha with slow, calculated strides of maintained authority. She had always radiated a gentle energy, someone that you found comfort and ease being around whenever you visited your girlfriends at whatever Shield base they occupied, but as she stared down at you, traced the evidence of glistening moisture on the insides of your thighs and snickered to herself when she found that telling patch of darkness on the center of your panties, she’d never appeared more dominant, and your heart lurched in your chest at the prospect of misbehaving in her company.

When her lips wrapped around Natasha’s fingers, cleaning them off without so much as a grimace as she let the taste of your arousal sink into every taste bud on her tongue, a blush so dark it nearly burned your skin crept down your neck and provoked tingles and goosebumps to rise along your spine and in your belly where that coil of anticipation grew bigger and bigger each time Natasha humiliated you further. When Maria moaned softly, only pulling off of Natasha’s fingers because she couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled over in her chest as you squirmed and whined with impatient humiliation, you nearly melted into the couch entirely, not sure what was worse; being beneath her heavy, pointed stare, or watching as your girlfriends shared your intimate sweetness with their friends.

“My shy girl. Why are you pretending that you don’t like this, huh? Your pussy’s aching for Natty to touch you, and yet you’re pretending to be my shy girl like you don’t want her to make you cum for Carol and Maria to see.” Wanda coaxed tantalizingly, her fingers ghosting along your chest for the first time that night, taking an interest in your pebbled nipples that pleaded for attention just as Maria sat back on the couch with Carol, being abruptly pulled into a searing kiss that conveyed passion and intense need.

Between the sharp sensations of Wanda fiddling with your pebbled nipples, pinching and pulling and twisting, your eyes remained locked on Carol and Maria who seemed to be lost in the whirlwind of their passionate makeout session. You hadn’t known that they were an item, wouldn’t have suspected it even if the signs had been laid out in front of you, but they moved together so cohesively, it couldn’t have been the first time they found themselves in this position. It was most definitely the first time you found yourself in this position however, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary whine that clawed up your throat and forced its way out when they finally pulled away, a lust drink smirk on Carol’s lips as she practically undressed you with her eyes.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Romanoff. I didn’t know your girl was so sweet.” Carol’s lips curved with dominance that hadn’t been traceable when Maria had tangled her long fingers into her short blonde locks and tugged so aggressively you feared Carol may recoil from the kiss in momentary pain, but as she sat on the loveseat that you had spent many nights cuddled up on, she looked absolutely dominating with her icy blue stare and sharp jawline.

“She’s the sweetest, isn’t she?” Natasha’s eyes glimmered with dominance as she turned her attention to you, fully focusing on the pink hues that formed along your cheekbones and skin, marveling at the glaze of submission that had come across your eyes since she’d first denied you access to the wardrobe in your shared bedroom. “Why don’t we take these off, show Carol and Maria how wet you really are for me, hm?” There wasn’t much of a question in her softly uttered words, but there was enough grace given that you knew you could back out at any moment. You declined that subtly placed offer, though your embarrassment didn’t lighten any. You couldn’t explain the strong feelings turning your blood into butterflies, but despite being utterly humiliated, you were beyond turned on. You wanted Natasha to continue to condescend you, you wanted Carol and Maria to watch as she unraveled your walls and brought you through a glorious episode of bliss and pleasure. You wanted to know that despite sharing the sight of your body with two people that you trust most in Wanda and Natasha’s tight knit circle, that you were truly only theirs to have.

When your panties came off, you tried not to watch as Natasha playfully flung them across the room in Maria and Carol’s direction, or how the Commander grabbed them without batting an eye and inspected the dark patch adorning the center that had laid so snugly against your weeping entrance. You shuddered in anticipation when Natasha pried your legs open just the slightest bit more, draping one of your naked thighs across her material covered lap, opening you up for eager eyes to search. You whined when her fingers swept through your folds again, although this time, she didn’t spare her touches like she had been. Her fingers fell onto your clit heavily, rubbing rushed tight circles on your pebbled bundle of nerves that pleaded for attention and relief.

When Carol commented about wanting to taste you herself, Wanda’s ministrations on your nipples seemed to double, fueled by possessiveness that was intimidating and unspeakably arousing, and through a haze of intense pleasure that was sparking through your body at various places, you just barely recall her telling Danvers to remember the agreement at hand. Her possessive touch lit your body up, and before you could comprehend the desperation that was truly turning you into a mindless slut for two of the most powerful and influential people in the world to witness, your hips searched for more from Natasha in desperate twists and pathetic reaches.

“How long do you think it’ll take me to make the little slut cum?” Natasha wagered, her smirk devious as she stopped rubbing tight circles around your clit without so much as a warning that you were about to lose what you’d been begging for all night, her eyes trained on Carol and Maria, paying no mind to the way you babbled and sobbed for relief, having been seconds away from an orgasm that was now ebbing away into the abyss. Desperately you fought for her attention, arching your hips up against her hand, attempting to gain back even an ounce of the pressure she had been providing, but Wanda’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you back before you could succeed.

“A minute.” Carol laughed, her tone painfully condescending as her eyes traced the gleam of arousal that had marked your skin with glistening moisture, your pussy on full display as Natasha unintentionally spread you farther, giving both Danvers and Hill an extraordinary sight of your pulsating clit and weeping hole that was desperate for any ounce of attention.

“Fifty six seconds, but nobody's counting.” Maria’s response was dry, laced with infectious dominance that was spurring Natasha on to be better, harsher. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when two fingers sunk into your cunt, enveloped by velvety walls that squeezed her knuckles tight. There was no time to grow used to the stretch as she worked you open, but it felt so good you didn’t care.

Her thumb found your clit again, and relentlessly she worked you back up towards that orgasm you’d been desperately chasing. Wanda’s fingers didn’t stop pulling and twisting at your nipples, but at some point, she’d pulled your top low, trading in thin fabric for warm flesh. You hardly flushed when you realized all of you was now exposed to Carol and Maria, so desperate for an orgasm that you let it fade away entirely. Strained whines and pleads fell off of your lips as Natasha worked you closer and closer to a blissful orgasm embarrassingly quick, but she kissed your insecurities away as she mumbled for you to let go, to let her make it all better.

“Shh, there we go. There we go, pretty girl. Making such a mess for me. It’s okay.” She coaxed softly, pecking your lips multiple times as she withdrew her fingers, quickly finding a blanket to throw over your body, no longer wanting you visible to her closest friends who seemed to understand, and didn’t comment on her quickness to cover you up.

“Forty seven seconds. Impressive.” Maria taunted lightly, her smile dazzling as she flashed you the softest look you’d ever seen her give. You blushed, hiding your face in Wanda’s chest as she allowed you to get comfortable, seeking out her tender affection that she would never dream of withholding. “Where are you going?” Maria narrowed her eyes at Natasha when she noticed the redhead itching to rise from the couch, her arms slowly falling off of your still trembling frame as you leaned heavily against Wanda in post-orgasm bliss and hazy submission.

“To get her a water?.” Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed as she found herself explaining the routine steps to your preferred aftercare scene that she had engraved in her mind like a sacred text since starting her relationship with you, but Maria merely scoffed and stood up herself, tenderly handing your panties back to Wanda who took them appreciatively.

“I’ll get her some water. You make sure that she’s okay.” Was her affectionately mumbled response. You didn’t really pay any attention to Natasha easing your panties back up your legs, or Wanda softly fixing your top over your breasts, but by time Maria returned with a glass of water, you were dressed and snuggled into Wanda’s lap contently, holding tightly to Natasha’s hand, just barely able to focus on the credits rolling across the screen.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to Maria when she passed the water off to you, smiling encouragingly before she took a seat next to Carol again, seemingly unphased by what had just happened, although it did ease the knot of anxiety in your belly. Nothing had changed, they didn’t see you any differently, and if anything, these were the best post-scene cuddles that Wanda had ever given, partly because her possessiveness fueled her need to hold you tight and stake her claim despite there being no threat.

“What do you say we watch Halloween Town?” Carol mused, seemingly just as eager to assure your comfortability as Maria, to which you were beyond grateful for.

“Twitches. Someone thinks it’s fun to watch witch movies and compare everything about them to me.” Wanda giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, silently settling the question of which film would be the one that you all agreed to pay attention to. Maria agreed easily, fighting Natasha for the remote and winning, victoriously scrolling through your streaming platform until she found what she desired.

“I love you.” You mumbled to Wanda, slouching against her chest as your attention drifted between her soft touch and the opening scene beginning to play at a low volume.

“I love you too, baby. So much more than you’ll ever know.”

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areislol · 2 years ago

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"forget him, be with me instead."

ft— various male genshin x fem! reader (childhood friend trope)

warning — slight angst but it's just a pinch! comfort, mutual pining (?), smitten men, fluff, kissing. headcanons are a bit down! modern! au, implied toxic relationship

a/n— yay time to write some fluff after writing angst, what a life! listened to laufey's 'everything i know about love' album while listening to this ^^ this is a little bit rushed and might be a wee bit shitty but uhm please don't judge your girl was out here suffering

wordcount. 3.7k

synopsis. your boyfriend stood you up on your date, once again, and as usual your childhood friend is here to comfort you.

In the soft glow of the quaint café, you sat alone, your anticipation slowly morphing into a quiet ache. You had meticulously chosen your outfit, a delicate dance between casual and elegant.

You had arrived early, your excitement palpable. The minutes stretched into an eternity as the minutes on the clock ticked away, and the once hopeful glimmer in yours eyes dimmed with each passing moment.

The ambient chatter and clinking of utensils became a dissonant soundtrack to your growing unease. You checked your phone repeatedly, hoping for a message or a call that would explain the delay.

The vibrant ambiance of the café, which had initially felt like the backdrop to a romantic night, now served as a cruel witness to your solitude.

You take out your phone from your pocket, anxiously checking the time on your phone before sliding your hand back in, clenching it tightly. 8 PM. Your heart sunk as you realized that it was now exactly 8 PM, the time you both agreed on arriving.

You didn't want to jump to conclusions, maybe he was stuck in traffic? But then again it was 8 PM, barely any road traffic. Was his boss keeping him back for a little bit? Did the wifi cut off in his building, was that why he couldn't send you a text?

Despite trying to comfort yourself by putting ideas in your head, you had a hunch that he was most definenetly not coming, he had forgotten about your date.

It wasn't the first time he stood you up, as a matter of fact, he had stood you up many times but you always pushed it aside. You pushed his mistakes aside, why? Because he was your boyfriend. You knew it was wrong but... what could you do? You didn't want to lose him.

As the realization settled in, a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment clouded your expression. The waiter, noticing your solitary presence, approached with a mixture of sympathy and concern.

You mustered a brave smile and declined a menu, your appetite for food dissipating. The warmth of the café offered little solace as you continued to sit on your reserved seat, looking like an utter fool just sitting there, waiting for someone who wasn't going to come any time soon.

You checked the time once again, 8:10 PM, seconds went by, then minutes, and hours. You checked the time one more time—the clock reached 10:15 PM. You had arrived at the café at 7 PM.

Sighing at the realization that you really sat there and waited for your 'boyfriend' for three hours, you felt like an idiot. And even more of an idiot of the fact that you let this slide so many times.

You decide to leave the café, ignoring the sympathetic looks given your way. You take out your phone from your pocket once again, this time you didn't check the time but rather press on a familiar icon before making a call.

As you foot taps on the ground anxiously you wait for him to pick up the phone. You stand outside just a few inches away the café door, as you wait for what felt like an eternity all the emotions got to you.

Tears welled in your eyes, betraying the resilience you had tried so hard to maintain. Your emotions that were long kept in check, spilled over like a dam bursting at the seams. The phone continued to buzz, waiting for the other side to pick up.

The streetlamp cast a soft glow on your tear-streaked face as you lowered your phone, defeated by both the silence and the heartache. But just as the phone was about to go silent, by some miracle he picked up.

"Y/N?" For some odd reason hearing his voice made you have the urge to bawl your eyes out once again. You hastily wiped away your tears and attempted to sound nonchalant.

"Hey I uh.. I—" you paused, voice a delicate balance between composure and fragility. Sighing, you continued. "I got stood up."

Your words were short and blunt, but by now you were holding back a waterfall. You patiently wait for his answer over the deafening silence. "... Again? That boy.."

His voice was laced with annoyance, disappointment and concern.

"Where are you now? At the café? Stay right there, shit it's raining, make sure to stay under cover okay? I'll be there in about 10 minutes."

You could hear the sounds of him excusing himself from his boss and the angry cries from his boss.

"Aren't you at work though? It's okay you don't have to come pick me up."

"Are you crazy? So what if I'm at work? I'm not leaving you out there alone, plus it's raining. I know you hate having wet hair." Well, he wasn't lying. He was your childhood friend after all, he knew almost everything about you.

And before you knew it, just after a couple minutes of ending the call you noticed a figure making it's way towards you, umbrella in hand as he gives you a small smile. All the while rain was pouring down on your head.

is extremely happy that you finally realized that your boyfriend (soon to be ex) is horrible, he won't show it though. but he is really happy.

the first thing he did when he saw you absolutely drenched in the heavy downpour was take off his jacket and place it over your shoulders and hold the umbrella over your head. there were many questions he wanted to ask but the main one was "are you alright?"

yes he wanted to question about that damn lout (your boyfriend) but he already knew the answer. it happened too many times, way too many times. you and your boyfriend would agree to go on a date, you would arrive early or on time, you wouldn't get an answer from him when you questioned why he was late, minutes would turn into hours and then you would call him.

he wasn't mad at you, no never, but your (*cough* ex *couch*) boyfriend? absolutely. if anything he wanted to prove to you that he was a horrible boyfriend so he would always come to pick you up and try to knock some sense into your head, sometimes his words would go from one ear and out your other.

when you don't answer his question and begin to bawl your eyes out he immediately begins to panic, because you are crying hard. he only lets out a soft sigh before holding the back of your head and gently pushes your face in his chest, letting you cry into his chest. he softly pats your head in an attempt to comfort you (it does)

he resist the urge to say "i told you so" because, he did tell you so, but he knew it would only dampen your mood. he reassures and shushes you warmly, and his soft voice really does calm you down.

"shh, i know it's okay. you'll be fine. he is a big jackass alright? don't waste your pretty tears on him."

you both begin to walk together through the raining weather, he obviously doesn't want to see you cry so he offers to buy you your favourite snacks and drinks in a convenience store. you refuse, thinking that you already troubled him enough but NO he will not take no for an answer.

"trouble me? never."

and it worked!! your mood slightly lifted after chugging down your favourite packet of chips. in all honestly he found your puffy cheeks and eyes cute, the way your eyes glistened slightly from your tears, and the way you were chomping on your food? so adorable.

when you quietly thank him his heart bursts even more (like every other day he sees you) but he waves his hand, "it's nothing, sit down, lets talk."

why did he sound so scary? he would never know. when you both sit down on the ground, back pressed against the wall of a shop, he begins to question you. "you do realize that this is like the tenth time he stood you up right?" you nod your head sadly as you were reminded of what had happened.

he sighed, "i just want you to know that this.. you can't just forgive him after this, after all of this. he even forgot your anniversary! i'm.. i'm just worried for you. you know that?"

you knew he was only worrying for you and wanted the best for you. but despite all the other times that you would dismiss his worries and say "it's okay we all make mistakes" you really thought about it this time. and boy was he right.

do you know how ecstatic he was when you told him that you would break up with him!? HE WAS OVER THE MOON, he was literally on cloud 9. not that he could show it thought, you would be suspicious of him. but then again he has had the biggest and fattest crush on you since you were little.

but after that he tried his best to make you happier (even if he hated doing it), he would point out the most stupidest shit ever, "oh look at that squirrel, Y/N, doesn't it remind you of childe?" or "wow the uh, the light is really.. light'ing.."

sigh.. he's trying his best okay..

although it wasn't really funny, the way he spoke was most definenetly funny. when he notices how you hold back your laughter or even chuckle slightly that's just his motivation to do better, he would also tell you silly little jokes that he googled on his phone (while you were looking away) quickly.

buttt now he has an even better idea :) what is it you say? taking you out on a date of course! right now...? why not right now!

(please he's just really excited that you're going to break up with that old hag, meaning he has a shot!! he will definenetly give it his all to try and woo you.)

— ALHAITHAM, kaeya, WRIOTHESLEY, AYATO, dainsleif, NEUVILLETTE, CYNO, ZHONGLI, tighnari

starts scolding you and goes on a bit ass rant about how you deserve better than that (AND I QUOTE) "low life lout", he thinks he sounds all harsh and mean but to you he only sounds like he was really worried about you

"seriously, how many times does this boy have to repeat his actions until the truth gets through your thick noggin." he heaved a great sigh, a bit dramatic don't you think? he continues to rant and rant about blah blah blah you weren't listening. and only when he notices that tears are rolling down your cheeks freely does he shut the hell up.

"hey hey— what's wrong? don't cry.." he tries his best to act slightly annoyed because truly he kind of was, he hated seeing you hang out with your 'boyfriend', he hated seeing how your eyes would light up every time you saw him, the effort you put into your relationship, he hated how blind you were to his actions.

but, despite his tough outer shell he was really a softie inside. so when you began to bawls your eyes out (again) he immediately switches up, his voice that was so harsh was no soft and tender. a tone he barely uses (he only spoke nicely to you okay!!)

a sigh. "i didn't mean to be mean, i'm sorry. i'm just so annoyed that you keep on.. i don't know! i'm just frustrated okay." you were confused? why was he frustrated, shouldn't it be the other way around since.. you.. were the one being stood up?

he (surprisingly) wipes away your tears, cupping your cheeks with his hand as he uses his thumb to dry your tears. "i don't like seeing you cry, okay? follow me now" you were confused again, but follow him anyway.

he literally bought you back inside the café, the waiter looks happy and surprised (in her head she was thinking: wow so this is the fucker who stood his own girlfriend up?), when he was ordering your favourite pastry and drink he was really confused about why the lady was giving him such a dirty face.

"hey y/n, any idea why that lady over there is giving me a stank eye?"

he watches as you eat your food happily, he only hoped that you had forgotten what had happened before, not only that but he sees this as a way to show you that he would be a much better boyfriend, i mean look at him! he came (he would always come on time), memorized what your favourite snacks/pastries/drinks were, sat down with you. he wasn't trying to boast but.. he would make one hell of a boyfriend than your current one.

you noticed that he wasn't eating and just.. staring at you. "want some?" you offered, he shook his head no but you wouldn't take that for an answer. you shove a spoonful of cake in his mouth and smile happily. "yummy?" he only grumbles, looking like an angry cat. "mmm i guess.." (he really liked it please feed him more)

seeing you smile after bawling your eyes out and wasting your tears on somebody you didn't deserve felt like a treat. he also wipes the excess food and crumbs on the corner of your lips, he looked adorable when he was concentrating hard to wipe it off, and it wasn't like he was trying to be romantic as he wasn't maintaining eye contact, but when he backed away and looked at you and notices how you were smirking he scoffed.

"don't you get any ideas now." you giggled at his words and continued to eat your cake as well as occasionally feeding him as well. all you were thinking about was ow delicious the cake was but all he was thinking about was you. he was.. basically taking you out on a date. woah.

when you both exit the shop, you thank him for the food and also apologize for dragging him out here in the rain and how you got his hair wet. "yeah well yours is too. you can blame that asshole." he noticed how your face slightly drops, a solemn expression on your face.

"yeah.. i guess so." !?!?!?! you actually agreed with him?!?! HE WON AT LIFE WOOOOOOOOOOO

and now that you both are on the same terms he can finally talk to you about everything, but all the while he was explaining how he saw him (your soon to be ex) treat you, he couldn't help but also include his feelings. that's one thing you caught on.

"he forgot your anniversary, did you forget? i was absolutely frustrated! i mean at his actions, i mean his actions and him! i would never do that if i was your boyfriend. h—hypothetically."

you had a hunch that he had a thing for you, but not that big of a crush. maybe he was just really angry that he kept stumbling over his words?

either way, he told you what you should do you this time you listened, chiming in with your own experiences with your boyfriend and the more you did that the more you began to notice hoe you really looked past all his red flags.

safe to say he won at life, again, this time he won't pussy out on you and will for sure confess to you!

— WANDERER, XIAO, dottore, diluc, PIERRO, albedo

a bit... too giddy. willingly SHOWS and TELLS that he is happy. i mean not at you being stood up but how you're finally getting a grip, wait.. is than a "i'm going to break up with him" he heard?!?! GOD BLESS

he doesn't say anything at first, comforting you and drying your hair the very best he can (literally bought a book to dry your hair: swatting it), he lets you cry on his shoulder, letting you hug him tightly (not that he was complaining... oh did you just break his ribs? nah it's all good)

he lets you calm down first to the point where it's just hiccups rather than tears rolling down your cheeks (and when you could barely breathe by how you were choking on your tears), he holds you in his arms, rocking you slightly.

"okay, i don't want to sound.. rude but, i think it's time you start to notice how badly he's treating you. i mean, look at you, you're a mess (dare i say, a beautiful one), he made you feel this, he made you cry. and he isn't here to apologize. this isn't the first time too, y/n, i'm begging you, please don't look past this."

he tries his best to explain to you everything, what he saw, what he is doing to you, how he feels and how you feel (he knows everything shh). and you can't deny it, you won't, because everything he was telling you was true. and you hated how you couldn't deny anything.

he leaves you for a couple of minutes so that you could collect your thoughts and emotions while he went to go buy some snacks, especially some sweets and savory. "this should cheer you up" he says as he passes the plastic bag to you.

"oh wait i forgot to get some ramen, be right back!" you didn't have enough time to stop him as he was already on his way to grab a hot cup of ramen for you. he was just too sweet. when he came back with your favourite cup of ramen he would open the lid and blow onto it, he insisted on feeding you, saying that you must've been exhausted from today (but you barely did anything?)

you can't help but notice how... somewhat happy he was, normally when he comes after you call him (after being stood up once again) he seemed concerned for you, and he does look concerned for you, i mean he is always but today... he looked giddy. was it maybe because you said that you would be breaking up with your boyfriend today? so strange..

!!! not only that but he encourages you to break up with him, and he doesn't mean it like that, he just wants the best for you. and you obviously say yes because.. everything he is telling you IS true. next thing you know he's literally helping you write a sincere paragraph to your boyfriend on text.

"oh you should send a voice message as well, i think it'll really help him understand how serious you are."

you're too afraid to make a voice message? no worries, he'll do it for you!! he will send the most passive aggressive voice message know to man kind (he had to fight back the urge to yell obscenities over call). basically, this man is way too happy, not that it's suspicious or anything, just a little worrying LMAO

he's just really happy, happy for him and you! it's a win-win honestly. you finally get out of that toxic relationship and finally get a hold of reality, but also for him to finally get his chance to maybe try to confess to you. (one day... but he'll make sure to woo you sooner or later before someone else swoops you off your feet)

he's literally on his way to manifest for you two to be together, repeat after him, i don't chase, i attract (he literally chases after you so uhm forget about that please)

— THOMA, KAVEH, LYNEY, itto, gorou, KAZUHA, pantalone, heizou, VENTI, capitano, childe, baizhu

As the rain began to clear, only leaving behind a tranquil symphony of soft pitter-patters. You two stood next to each other, letting the silence take over.

All the while he was contemplating something, something that will change your relationship for the better or worse.

Should he kiss you?

For years he had always wanted to feel your lips against his but he was always so nervous to do so.

But right now? It was the perfect opportunity, the raining had almost cleared, the atmosphere was soft and romantic. If he didn't do it now then who knew how long it would take for him to build up his courage again?

All of the sudden he cupped your cheek with warm palms, the tenderness in his touch was evident even in the hesitant pause that hung in the air.

For a moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes, a silent contemplation of unspoken desires. Was he really about to pussy out again?

You, for one, was a bit puzzled by the sudden shift in the atmosphere and his sudden actions. When your gaze met his with curiosity. In that fleeting moment, he knew he had to do it.

Even if it ruined everything he built up with you.

He muttered a breathless "fuck it," as if casting aside the weight of hesitation that tethered him, in a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned in, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a passionate kiss that stole her breath away.

You were caught off guard, were you imagining this? No you couldn't be, it felt so real. Your heart raced with a mixture of surprise and delight. The kiss was passionate and full of raw emotion, igniting a fire within her that she was pressed so far down.

The softness of his lips against yours sent waves of tenderness through your body, and in that moment, your realized that this kiss was not just a spur-of-the-moment act; it was a reflection of the unspoken feelings that had been building between them for so long.

His touch was gentle yet filled with an underlying intensity, it was a kiss that sparked something, expressing all the words they had been too afraid to say.

You closed your eyes, allowing him to continue as your hands held onto his wrist. A couple of seconds passed by when he, unfortunately, pulled away—your eyes locked once again in a silent acknowledgment.

His eyes held such a fiery passion as you stared deeply into your eyes. He looked relieved as if finally taking initiative that had been weighing him down.

"I... But—" You were still left breathless as you spoke, you felt an underlying guilt, still not haven broken up with your boyfriend yet.

He understood what you were thinking and feeling, "look at me, Y/N." At his request you did so, observing his face and trying to guess what he was going to do next. Kiss you again? (Yes please)

"Forget him, be with me instead."

note: off to continue writing for my sagau now, this was more like a shitpost for the shits and giggles but aye

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

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simplygojo · 2 months ago

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Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Five

author's note ⸺ HEY FRIENDS!!! Chapter 5 is finally up!!. My apologies for the delay my laptop simply just hates me, LOL. I hope you are all doing well, and thank you so much for all of your comments/feedback on this series, it means the world <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, alcohol use, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.4k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

*3 Years Prior: Business Association Ball*

The hotel lobby shimmered with that brand of over-polished elegance reserved for galas and business formals—too many chandeliers, too much marble, and the kind of ambient jazz that made your heels sound louder than they should.

The three of you stepped in together—Gojo in a navy suit already half-unbuttoned, Geto head to toe in charcoal black, all clean lines and quiet confidence, and you in a dress you weren’t totally convinced wasn’t a little too short.

Geto’s gaze flicked toward your legs for less than a second, then up—never lingering, but not hurried either. His expression stayed neutral, but he straightened beside you like something about the sight had realigned him.

He adjusted the lapel of his jacket, one thumb brushing down the fabric as if smoothing a crease that wasn’t there.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you muttered, clutching the tiny purse that barely fit your phone.

“Because I’m charming and persuasive,” Gojo said, flashing a grin that had gotten you both into trouble more than once. “And because they’re giving out free drinks.”

“He means because our professor bullied him into coming,” Geto added, deadpan, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as he eyed the already-forming crowd inside the ballroom.

The doors stood open, gold trim gleaming, and beyond them, the event buzzed with early arrivals—small clusters of students, faculty, and alumni already sipping from stemware and circling the charcuterie like moths around cheese.

Gojo beelined to the bar the moment you stepped in, dragging Geto behind him with a dramatic sigh. You followed, the smooth glide of Geto’s shoulder brushing yours in the slow push of the crowd.

The bartender barely blinked when Gojo leaned on the counter.

“Three of your finest cocktails,” he said. “Make 'em strong enough to make our internships feel fake.”

He tapped the edge of the counter twice for dramatic flair, then added, “And nothing pink, please. I’m trying to look like I pay rent on time.”

The bartender, a man in a crisp black vest who looked like he’d heard every variation of that line, raised a single brow before turning away.

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, surveying the room like a self-appointed social director.

“You ever think we peaked in first year?” He asked absolutely no one in particular.

“I think you peaked when you printed business cards that said ‘Idea Man…’” Geto replied, rolling his cuff once, then folding it again with careful precision.

You nodded in solemn agreement. “And misspelled ‘consulting.’”

“I stand by that branding,” Gojo said, unfazed. “It was bold. Disruptive.”

Before he could launch into a TED Talk, the bartender slid three martinis across the counter—crystal clear, elegantly brutal, each with a gleaming olive skewered on a thin silver pick.

Gojo grabbed it with both hands like it was a cursed object. “Oh god,” he said. “They’re… classic martinis?”

“Congratulations,” Geto said. “You’ve been served like an adult.”

Gojo held it up suspiciously. “I thought they’d at least taste like citrus or joy.”

You lifted your glass more carefully, giving it a cautious swirl before taking the smallest sip. The gin hit sharp and cold, like chewing ice through a fog of pine. Not your favourite. But manageable.

You could totally stomach this and pretend you had big opinions on the ethics of insurance companies.

Your eyes drifted over to Geto, who didn’t flinch when he took a sip.

A faint ripple moved through the line of his throat as he swallowed it, and when he lowered his glass, his eyes met yours across the rim—steady, dark, and unexpectedly close in the space between words.

Heat bloomed low in your cheeks before you could stop it, and your gaze darted away, sudden and sharp, like the snap of a rubber band. You busied yourself with your glass, fingers adjusting your grip on the stem as though it might anchor you from—whatever that was.

Gojo took one sip, coughed, then recoiled like he’d been personally insulted.

“This tastes like regret in a stemmed glass,” he sputtered. “Why would anyone willingly drink this? I feel like I’m being punished by the British Empire.”

You snorted, nearly spilling yours. “You asked for this.”

“No, I asked for charisma in a cup. This is… anti-charisma. This is what spies drink when they’ve lost the will to live.”

Geto, unfazed, clinked his glass against yours. “To second year.”

“And to surviving third year...” you muttered, bumping his glass gently.

Gojo, still scowling, gave in and raised his reluctantly. “Annndddd to the poor choices of the past, and the even worse ones to come.”

You all drank to that—well, sipped slowly.

Gojo winced again. “There’s something else in here. Is that… despair?”

“Olive brine,” Geto said.

“Same thing,” Gojo muttered.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Time slid by in a blur of clinking glasses and half-remembered names. You saw classmates drift in and out—some lingering for polite conversation, others waving on their way to the buffet or vanishing into alumni circles that orbited the room like planets with more polished resumes.

The air had warmed with bodies and soft chatter, jazz fading into a slightly more modern lounge mix that still made your heels echo like punctuation.

Gojo, despite the occasional impulse to flirt or flit, had stubbornly claimed a post near the bar. “Best view in the house,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely at the room like it was all part of his domain.

He wasn’t wrong—the bar sat just high enough above the ballroom floor to make people-watching an art form.

You set your glass down with a soft clink, the olive tilting in the swirl of clear gin.

The buzz of conversation around the ballroom had risen—laughter bouncing off marble, the clink of glass against glass.

Someone passed behind you a little too close, and Geto’s hand briefly touched the small of your back. Just a gentle, steadying thing—gone almost as quickly as it had come.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him. But you felt it.

Gojo made a face, eyeing the crowd like he was above this all. “God. Everyone here just gets tipsy and talks about themselves.”

“Well,” you said, taking another sip, “you should fit right in.”

Geto laughed—quiet but sudden, like you’d caught him off guard. The sound of it sent a little pulse of satisfaction through your chest before you could stop it.

Not because it was loud or dramatic, but because it was him.

You didn’t say anything about it. Just tucked the moment away somewhere small and stupid and yours.

Gojo narrowed his eyes at you both.

“I’m feeling very attacked, and I haven’t even started talking about my brand yet.”

“Please don’t,” Geto said mildly, but you could see the curve at the corner of his mouth—lazy, amused.

Gojo had already tuned you both out, eyes scanning the room like a periscope.

Then he straightened, too fast to be casual. “Wait. Redhead. Nine o’clock.”

You followed his gaze. There she was—sleek hair, red lipstick, the kind of neckline that made Gojo’s eyebrows do that cartoon-arched thing.

“Oh nooo,” you muttered.

“Oh yes,” he said. “I know her. I think she once offered me an internship and then took it back when I made a dumb joke about crypto.”

Geto gave him a flat look. “I’d take it back too.”

“She laughed,” Gojo said defensively. “It just... wasn’t the right demographic.”

“Human?” You offered.

“She’s here with the Ryker crowd,” Geto said, scanning the name badges. “Probably recruiting.”

Gojo straightened his already crooked tie. “Well, I’m here to be recruited as long as she's the one doin’ it. Don’t wait up for me!”

Then he was gone, already halfway across the ballroom, weaving between groups like he was born to navigate cocktail politics and ambient jazz.

You shook your head, turning back to the bar—and found Geto already looking at you, one brow lifted, the faintest smile lingering like he’d never been surprised by Gojo in his life.

“Should we start a Gojo survival fund? Or just bet on how fast it’ll take that girl to realize he’s a total loser?” You said with a teasing smile spread across your lips

Geto chuckled, low and warm. “Depends. Is the over-under set before or after he forgets her name?”

You laughed, feeling the buzz of the martini finally catch up to you—just enough to soften the edges of the room, just enough to make the look he was giving you feel closer, somehow.

A pause settled between you, not awkward, but full.

The kind of quiet that didn’t ask to be filled. Geto’s eyes didn’t wander the way Gojo’s always did in a crowd.

Your hand tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. “You’re not gonna go network or charm alumni into funding your mysterious nonprofit dreams?”

His smile curved a little deeper, but his steady gaze never left yours. “And give up premium seats at the bar?”

You huffed a soft laugh, glancing down at your glass like it might offer a clever reply. “Big sacrifice.”

Geto leaned a little closer, elbow grazing the bar, eyes still on you as his face became a few inches closer.

“Besides,” he added, voice quieter now, “I think Gojo’s covering enough social ground for all of us.”

You followed his gaze for a second—just long enough to see Gojo doing finger guns at that beautiful redheaded woman—and shook your head. “God help her.”

Geto hummed, something like agreement, then lapsed back into that comfortable silence that had begun to feel oddly intimate.

You weren’t often left alone with Geto. It wasn’t something you were particularly used to.

Usually, if Gojo stepped away, you followed—or you went home—partly out of habit, partly because Gojo had a way of taking the center of gravity with him.

But this wasn’t the kind of event where slipping out was easy. Name tags, assigned tables, and too many professors watching.

So you stayed. And so did Geto.

It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just unfamiliar. You didn’t have a blueprint for how to pass time with him one-on-one.

With Gojo around, there was always noise, a buffer of jokes and movement. Without it, everything just… settled. A little quieter. A little slower. You could hear the hum of the room more clearly now—silverware clinking, muffled laughter, the velvety scrape of heels across marble.

Then the bartender reappeared, wiping his hands on a bar towel, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was interrupting something.

“Another round?” He asked, already reaching for your empty glasses.

You glanced at Geto. “Feel like a change?”

“I’ll just take whatever she’s having,” Geto added, nodding toward you with the smallest lift of his chin.

“You don’t even know what I’m ordering.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “You’ve got good taste.”

You gave a half-laugh, shaking your head as you turned back to the bartender. “Two espresso martinis. Shaken with Baileys, please.”

“Of course,” he said, already moving like he’d expected that answer.

As he turned away, you caught the way Geto’s gaze lingered a second longer than necessary—on the back of the bartender’s hands, on the movement of bottles behind the bar, then back to you. Not with any urgency. Just that same steady, quiet presence he carried like second nature.

“You always this decisive with drinks?” He asked.

“Only the important ones,” you replied, nudging your elbow lightly against the bar. “Coffee and alcohol. Life essentials.”

“Makes sense,” he murmured. “You always did show up to morning lectures more awake than the rest of us. I thought you were just naturally energetic.”

You gave a dramatic shudder. “God, no. Caffeine and fear. That’s what is getting me through undergrad.”

He chuckled again, and the sound—dry and warm and just a little private—settled between you like the start of a shared secret.

***Present Day***

“Oh god yeah, I remember that night…” Your smile curved slow, amused. “Wait… wasn’t that when Gojo tried to charm that redhead girl from Ryker?”

Geto let out a short laugh, already shaking his head. “Yup, and I don’t remember either of us being surprised.”

You grinned. “She looked like she ate interns for breakfast.”

“She probably does,” he said. “And I’m sure Gojo thought he was volunteering.”

You laughed. “He really straightened his tie like he was walking into a date and not a corporate slaughter.”

Geto smirked. “He didn’t even have his own tie. He borrowed mine.”

“Oh my god, you’re right.” You leaned forward, the memory coming back in full detail. “He didn’t come back the rest of the night.”

“Nope.” Geto took a sip of his drink, watching you over the rim. “And when we asked the next morning, he said, and I quote, ‘She had recruiting energy, but not the kind I was hoping for.’”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth. “He totally thought he had a shot.”

“He always thinks he has a shot.”

You tilted your glass in his direction. “And honestly? I respect the delusion.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you sipped, the old rhythm between you falling back into place like no time had passed.

He looked over again, a little more curious this time. “So… what about you? Anything new? It’s been a while—catch me up.”

You gave a casual shrug, though your fingers tapped once against the glass. “Honestly? Nothing too thrilling.”

Geto didn’t say anything—just nodded, giving you space to speak.

“I ended up at that insurance company,” you said. “Kind of by default, really. It was the only offer I got after graduation.”

He raised his eyebrows, not surprised, just listening.

“And I don’t hate it,” you added quickly. “I like some of the people there. One of the analysts bakes bread every Sunday and brings it in on Monday mornings. That alone is keeping morale up on our whole floor.”

He grinned. “Bread-based workplace cohesion. Very modern.”

You pointed at him with your martini glass. “Exactly. That’s the real culture fit.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat, letting the glow of your laughter settle between you.

“But…” you went on, letting your voice trail slightly, “my contract’s up in a few months. So I’ve been poking around. Checking out other jobs. Nothing’s really grabbed me yet.”

“Are you looking for the same kind of thing?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I was. But every time I scroll through a job board I just feel… tired.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not nothing.”

You let out a breath, your thumb tracing the rim of your glass as your eyes instinctively avoided his. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not bad. I’m just not sure it’s meant for me, you know?”

Geto’s glass tilted slightly in his hand, the chocolate-coloured liquid catching a bit of the candlelight and flickering like something alive. Around you, the bar buzzed with a low hum—ice rattling in shakers, someone’s laugh punctuating the air too loudly, a spoon clinking against a ceramic mug.

“I think you always knew what didn’t feel right,” he said, voice warm and laced with a familiar sense of reassurance.

Your lips curved faintly, but the muscles around your mouth stayed still for a second longer. Then you exhaled through your nose, barely audible.

“I guess I just thought I’d have it figured out by now,” you said, setting your glass down with the kind of precision that didn’t match your words. The condensation left a faint ring on the napkin below, perfectly round.

His eyes followed the motion, then flicked back to yours.

A beat passed. Then another.

“And yet,” he said, mouth tugging slightly, “here you are. Still here, doing alright.”

You let out a dry laugh. “What a glowing review.”

He shrugged with one shoulder, the movement easy. “Surviving in this economy? That’s not easy work y’know. You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.”

The words landed heavier than they should have, a prickle started at the base of your neck, low and slow, blooming upward until the heat kissed the tops of your cheeks.

You shifted in your seat, brushed a knuckle under your nose—trying your best to hide it, and dropped your gaze for a half-second to the condensation sliding lazily down the stem of your glass.

The feeling clung stubbornly, but you pushed through it, lifting your head again with a small, practiced smile—like wiping steam off a mirror and pretending you hadn’t noticed it clouding over in the first place.

You leaned forward a little, elbow propped on the table, fingers curled around the stem of your glass.

“What about you?” You asked, not quite letting the question linger. “You said you were doing like, charity outreach? Tell me about that, sounds just like something you’d do?”

You waited, but didn’t push—just like he would do

Geto glanced down and adjusted the watch on his wrist, as if it suddenly needed attention.

“Sort of,” he said. “I’m with a philanthropic division now. Private company. They fund youth programs—stuff like financial literacy workshops, math clubs in elementary schools, mentorship programs for kids who are good with numbers but don’t have a lot of support.”

His voice carried an unassuming fulfillment, shaped by something older than ambition. Across the small table, his hands moved gently as he spoke—one resting on the base of his glass, the other making the faintest, unconscious gesture you've always noticed he does when talking.

“I’m on the financial operations side of things,” he went on.

“Budgets, project proposals, making sure the funding actually gets to the right schools. It’s a lot of board meetings and a lot of spreadsheets, but... It’s good. It feels real.”

The bar lights shifted overhead as someone passed by, throwing a warm flicker across his face. It caught in the quiet focus in his eyes, the steadiness in his posture. His gaze didn’t move, but something softened in it—a flicker, almost imperceptible, like the last edge of a candle flame before it settles.

You watched him a second longer than you meant to, struck—maybe not by what he said, but by how he said it with that quiet conviction that never needed to be declared to feel present.

“It suits you,” you said, lightly—but not flippantly.

His eyes flicked to you, steady. Then down again. “You think so?”

“Mhm.” You swirled your glass, the condensation leaving a faint ring on the table. “Helping the next generation reach their potential. Making sure the math checks out. It’s a very selfless thing to do ya’ know…That’s very you.”

That earned you a subtle shift in his mouth—too brief to be a smile, too sincere to be anything else.

“You say that like you mean it,” he murmured.

You blinked, a little thrown—not by the words, but by how softly he said them.

“I do,” you replied, after a second. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

He nodded—slow, thoughtful. The kind of nod people do when they’re not just hearing you, but tucking the words away. You watched his jaw shift slightly, his gaze dipping for a second toward his glass, like the weight of your honesty had to be set down somewhere.

Then, quieter still: “Still. Nice to hear.”

You studied him—the deliberate calm of him, the way he filled silence like it was a language he’d grown fluent in. And for a second, the noise of the bar fell away. Just the warm light, the low clink of glasses, and him—sitting across from you like no time had passed at all.

“Yeah, well.” You reached for your glass again, fingertips brushing the wet ring it left behind. “You’re not that hard to root for.”

He let out a breath—one of those faint exhalations that lived somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. But his eyes stayed on you.

“You used to say I was annoying.”

You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “I said you were cocky.” Your voice was playful, edged just lightly with something warmer. “Different thing.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head, like he was pretending to consider it, but there was a pull at the corner of his mouth again—more a flicker than a grin. The kind of expression that made you wonder what memory he’d just stepped into.

Your knees bumped beneath the table, a small, almost accidental thing. But neither of you pulled away.

The touch lingered, as quiet and steady as the rest of him.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, comfortable—not heavy, but full, like something unfolding slowly between sips and glances and the warmth shared beneath the table.

Outside, the night went on.

But here, in the hush between words, something had shifted.

Just enough for you both to feel it.

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shiorihyugawrites · 3 months ago

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Owned - Eren x Reader Modern AU

You were hired to sing at the most exclusive lounge in Paradis City—classy, high-end, and quietly owned by none other than the infamous Eren Jaeger. The moment he sees you on stage, he’s hooked.

You try to resist. He’s your boss. He’s dangerous. He’s taken.

But Eren doesn’t take no for an answer.

He showers you in gifts, whispers promises against your skin, and drags you into a world of dark secrets and criminal power. Even as guilt and jealousy twist inside you, the heat between you burns out of control.

He has a girlfriend. He doesn’t care.

And when he finally claims you? He makes sure you know one thing—you belong to him.

PART ONE: THE DEVIL IN THE FRONT ROW

A/N: 18+ Only Minors Do Not Interact

PART ONE: THE DEVIL IN THE FRONT ROW

The night air in Paradis City is hot and heavy, clinging to your skin as you step onto the sidewalk outside Jaeger’s Lounge. A neon sign glows across the blacked-out windows, a stylized “J” flickering green and gold. It’s only your first night on the job and you’re already late—a bit of traffic, plus last-minute nerves, turned your usual cool composure into something jittery.

You straighten your outfit, chest rising as you take a steadying breath. People pass by on the street, flashing curious glances. Jaeger’s Lounge is infamous; rumor says the owner is some big-shot gangster who rules Paradis City’s underworld. But you need the money, and the manager who hired you made it sound legit—“We run a tight ship,” he said. “We only want the best. We pay well, no strings attached.”

And so here you are, clutching a small bag with your stage heels and a few personal items, anxious to see what the night will bring.

The inside of the lounge is pure indulgence: plush velvet booths, low ambient lighting, a long bar backed by bottles that sparkle like precious stones. The stage sits at the center, the perfect spotlight for any performer. You take it all in, a flutter of excitement rushing through you. Singing here is about to be your big break; the place practically drips with wealth.

Your new manager, a man named Ray, waves you over from near the bar. “Hey! Finally, you’re here,” he greets, forcing a polite grin.

“Sorry for the delay,” you say, glancing around. “Traffic.”

“No worries,” Ray says, eyes flicking behind you. “We have a full house tonight. You’ll go on in about twenty minutes.”

An unexpected hush falls over the bar behind you. You sense a presence—a shift in the atmosphere. Even with your back turned, you notice how everyone looks in one direction. Ray’s posture stiffens, voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“He’s here,” he murmurs cryptically.

“Who?” you ask, but Ray doesn’t answer. Instead, he excuses himself, darting away so quickly you hardly register the movement.

You turn around to see what’s causing the commotion. At the lounge entrance stands a man with long, dark hair pulled into a low bun with a few strands falling on his forehead, wearing a sleek black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal elaborate tattoos that wind from the backs of his hands, twisting up his forearms. He’s tall—very tall—easily towering over his companions. His emerald gaze sweeps the lounge with a cool, impenetrable calm. That stoic aura only amplifies the raw intensity beneath.

He’s flanked by people you only half recognize from hearsay and rumors: Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Armin Arlert, Levi Ackerman—some of Eren Jaeger’s top men. They move together like a quiet storm, presence alone stirring a ripple of unease and awe in the crowd. Then, the man in the center—Eren Jaeger himself—strides forward, exuding quiet confidence. He makes no apology for the effect he has on the room.

Your manager’s words echo: He’s here. So this is the man rumored to own the lounge. The biggest name in Paradis City’s underworld. You swallow the sudden tightness in your throat, tearing your gaze away and heading backstage to get changed.

Backstage is cluttered with costume racks, mirrors rimmed by bright bulbs, and a few other performers fussing over their outfits. You claim a corner vanity and begin your routine, carefully warming up your voice, fixing your hair, checking your reflection.

A stagehand hovers by, letting you know there are ten minutes until your set. You nod, adrenaline pulsing. This is your dream gig, your path to bigger opportunities—yet the hush in the crowd earlier still lingers in your mind. Eren Jaeger… I should steer clear of men like that. People say that where Eren goes, trouble follows.

But you have a job to do. You step onto the stage, the lights flooding around you. The band behind you starts the opening chords. Even if your stomach twists with nerves, you’ve practiced for this. You open your mouth and sing.

The lounge’s chatter fades the moment you begin. Your voice carries through the smoky air, and you can practically feel the crowd slip into the palm of your hand. There’s power in performing, in luring everyone’s attention to your stage.

By the time you finish your first song, you hear a few hoots, whistles, and an enthusiastic round of applause. You catch glimpses of Eren in the back, seated in a private booth with tinted glass partitions. His face is unreadable—arms crossed, posture relaxed, but his eyes... they’re locked on you with an intensity that sends a thrilling shiver down your spine.

You do a couple more songs, each time taking a breath between sets. And each time you glance his way, there he is: watchful, focused, seemingly transfixed. Ignore it, you tell yourself. He’s probably this intense about everything.

When your set ends, you thank the audience and descend the stage. Butterflies dance in your stomach as you slip into the back corridors, heading to the dressing room to gather yourself. You’re mid-sip of water, heart still pounding from the performance, when the door opens.

Ray steps in, smiling like he hit the jackpot.

“Good news. Boss wants to meet you,” he says, looking almost giddy with relief.

“Your boss…” you repeat warily.

“The boss,” Ray clarifies. “Eren Jaeger. He rarely takes an interest in new performers, so this could be a big deal for you.”

You swallow, memories of that stormy gaze fresh in your mind. If you’re honest with yourself, a part of you wants to see him again, to unravel the mystique swirling around him. But the rational side warns: He’s trouble. However, you’re new. You can’t just snub the man who owns the lounge. “Alright… lead the way.”

Ray ushers you to a secluded booth away from prying eyes. Eren sits at the center with a couple of men from earlier. Up close, you note the raw dominance in every small movement—like he has absolute control of the space, even while seated.

He stands as you approach. Being this close, you sense his height—he towers over you—and the subtle swirl of tattoos at the neckline of his shirt. The overhead lighting gleams off the rings on his fingers. He extends a hand in greeting.

“Eren Jaeger,” he says simply, voice low and smooth.

“Hi,” you reply, giving your name, fighting to keep your voice steady. His hand dwarfs yours in a firm, brief handshake. The contact is electric, igniting a pulse of awareness that rushes up your arm.

Ray slips away, leaving you alone with him—like an offering.

Eren watches you, eyes lingering on your face with unapologetic interest. “Heard you sing. You’re good,” he says.

A faint flush warms your cheeks. “Thank you. Glad you liked it.”

“Have a seat,” he instructs, gesturing to the booth. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m good.” You slide into the plush seat, forcing yourself not to stare too hard at his angular features or those tattoos swirling down his neck. His cologne is dangerously enticing, a subtle blend of spice and smoke that practically demands your attention.

He sits as well, leaning forward so you’re almost knee to knee. “You new to Paradis City?”

“More or less,” you admit, lifting your chin with a hint of defiance. “Just trying to build my career. Like everyone else.”

He nods slowly, gaze never leaving yours. That unwavering focus is disarming, sending your pulse into a staccato.

Conversation flows in short bursts. Eren asks a few questions, you respond, and each time he leans in, your breath hitches. He’s so stoic and calm, but the heat in his eyes is impossible to ignore. You can feel him devouring every detail, mentally cataloging all your subtle reactions.

Finally, you murmur something about needing to get back and gather your things. Eren’s mouth twitches into a near-smile—just a ghost of it. “I’ll see you around,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. Or a threat. You can’t tell which, and your body is riddled with nervous anticipation as you walk away.

…

You barely escape that night with your composure intact. The next evening, you return for another performance, only to find a sleek black box with a satin ribbon waiting at your dressing area. A note pinned to it simply says:

“Wear this tonight. I’ll be watching. —E.J.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Eren. A swirl of excitement and reluctance churns in your gut. Opening the box, you find an impossibly expensive backless designer dress in your size. There’s no question—he wants to see you in it, wants to claim you in some subtle, material way.

Your pride bristles. Who does he think he is? Yet the dress is gorgeous. The color, the fit—it’s heartbreakingly perfect, the kind of luxury you’ve only daydreamed about. After a minute of deliberation, you exhale and decide to wear it. Because if someone’s going to shower you with designer gifts, at least you’ll shine on stage.

Performing in that dress is exhilarating. You feel sexy, powerful. And, no surprise, Eren is out there in the crowd again, eyes never straying from you. You see him, seated in his private booth, swirling a drink in one hand, the other resting casually on his thigh.

After the show, you gather your courage to confront him. “This,” you say, gesturing to the dress, “wasn’t necessary.”

He barely shrugs, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You deserve the best. I always take care of my own.”

“I’m not ‘yours,’” you retort. “I’m just an employee.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

He keeps it up for weeks—sending you fancy accessories, jewelry, picking up your tab at the lounge, even leaving cryptic notes that borderline on possessive. You push him away verbally, but inside, each gift sends your heart racing. You try to remain professional, but you can’t deny the attraction that keeps burning hotter every time he corners you in the hallway or appears after your set with that unwavering stare.

…

One night, you’re in the middle of your final performance of the evening, belting out a powerful ballad for the crowd. The lights shine hot on your skin, the crowd’s energy fueling you. Then, from the corner of your eye, you see Eren walk in—with a woman clinging to his arm.

She’s tall, fit, with a black bob that frames a pretty face. You watch him press a light kiss to her temple before sliding into a VIP booth. Your voice nearly cracks mid-note. Who the hell is she? They’re extremely comfortable together—her hand rests on his thigh, and she leans in to whisper something in his ear while he nods.

You force yourself to push through the performance, though your stomach twists with jealousy you can’t rationalize. You’ve been resisting Eren’s advances. You’re not together—why do you feel so stung that he might be with someone else? And yet… you do.

The final note of the song ends, and the lounge erupts in applause. You do a quick bow, ignoring the way your chest feels tight, and hurry backstage without waiting for your usual post-show greeting.

You rush into the dressing room, slamming the door behind you. Your pulse thrums in your ears, anger and jealousy roiling in your chest. “Why the hell am I so mad?” you mutter to yourself. It’s not like you had the right to be jealous. But for weeks, Eren’s relentless pursuit gave you the impression that you were the singular focus of his attention. And maybe deep down, you liked it.

A sharp knock rattles the door. You fling it open, expecting Eren. Instead, it’s one of the staff members.

“Boss wants you back on stage for an encore. The crowd’s going crazy,” he explains.

“Fine.” You push past him, muttering under your breath. I’ll do my job. And then I’m out.

The moment you step on stage for the encore, your eyes flick to Eren’s booth. He’s still there with the mystery woman. She’s looking at you suspiciously, probably picking up on the tension in the air. Eren, though, pins you with that same green-eyed stare, watching you like a hawk.

You belt out your final song, trying to maintain your composure, but frustration leaks into your performance—each note weighted with raw emotion. The audience loves it, your voice carrying a little edge of heartbreak and fury. But as soon as you wrap up, you storm off stage, ignoring the applause, ignoring everything but the need to get away from that scene.

Back in the dressing room, your chest heaves from the exertion. You’re no longer sure if it’s from singing or from the emotional whiplash. You start to gather your belongings, half planning to slip out the back and avoid Eren altogether.

But the door flies open and slams behind someone. You whirl around—it’s him.

His hair is loose from its tie, a few strands framing the cut of his jaw. He stands there in his black shirt, sleeves rolled up, tattoos on full display, breathing just a touch heavier than usual—like he rushed to follow you.

“What the hell do you want?” you snap, hugging your arms across your torso. “Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?”

He steps closer, ignoring your jab. “That’s Mikasa,” he says flatly. “We’ve been together two years.”

A cold wave of shock seeps through you. “Two years… So all this time you’ve been… what, just leading me on?”

He narrows his eyes. “Leading you on implies I’m playing games. I’m not. I want you.”

You bark out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re a piece of shit!”

That remark draws a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? Don’t want to admit you’re creeping around behind your girlfriend’s back—”

He crosses the room in two strides, his broad shoulders and powerful build looming over you. “You don’t know anything about me and Mikasa.” His voice is dangerously low.

Anger flares up your spine. “I know you’re cheating on her with me.”

“That would imply you and I have something going on,” he retorts. Then, quieter: “Which we do… or we will. And I’m not sorry.”

Your heart pounds. You hate how your body reacts to him, even now—his presence sets every nerve aflame, your anger melding with an almost electric attraction. You fight to hold onto your fury, spitting, “Get out of my dressing room, Eren.”

He exhales slowly. “No.”

You scoff, turning away, messing with the vanity table to gather your scattered things. “So that’s it? You come in here, half-explain you’ve got a girlfriend, and still think I’m gonna let you keep showering me with gifts and—”

In a flash, he closes the distance, one hand braced on the table, the other on the wall, trapping you. His voice rumbles close to your ear. “I don’t think you understand. I see what I want. I take it. No one else matters.”

Despite your better judgment, your pulse races with a traitorous desire. “You sound like a psychopath.”

He lets out a short chuckle, the warmth of it ghosting over your neck. “Maybe. But you’re still trembling when I get close, so what does that say about you?”

Your back is pressed against the vanity, Eren’s body heat surrounding you. You can’t ignore the gravitational pull between you. You hate it… or maybe you love it. The confusion tears you up inside. “This is messed up,” you whisper.

Eren’s hand brushes your cheek, tilting your chin so your eyes meet his. The weight of his gaze nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. “I never said I was a good man,” he says. “Just that I want you.”

You swallow hard, your pulse thundering. “Get out.”

“No.” He dips his head, lips hovering near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out. But I don’t think you can.”

You take a shaky breath, hating how right he is. You’re furious, yet your body feels alive, thrumming with anticipation. “I hate you.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s not what I asked, is it?” You open your mouth to retort, but he moves faster—his hand slides behind your neck, pulling you into a rough, demanding kiss.

You gasp in surprise, and he takes advantage, tongue sliding against yours. He tastes of top-shelf whiskey and something inherently Eren. It’s a needy, brutal clash of lips and teeth, and it rips a moan from your throat despite your anger.

Eren breaks the kiss with a ragged breath, eyes half-lidded as he studies you. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice tight with lust. “You taste so damn good.”

“Don’t—” you try to protest, but it’s useless. He leans back in, biting your bottom lip softly before pulling you flush against him. You can feel his body heat, his hardness pressing against your stomach, sending a jolting thrill straight between your legs.

He grips the collar of your dress, hooking a finger under it. “I want this off,” he growls.

Every rational thought screams at you to shove him away—but your traitorous fingers fly to your own clothes, tugging them off in frantic motions. You’re panting, adrenaline coursing. Eren’s gaze devours every inch of newly exposed skin.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, brushing his knuckles over your sternum. “Can’t believe you’ve been playing so hard to get.”

You bristle, swatting his hand away. “Like I’m just some prize?”

His eyes flick up, a smug half-smile playing on his lips. “You’re more than that. But I do win, and you?” He leans closer, warm breath caressing your ear. “You’re the biggest prize I’ve had my sights on for a while.”

Eren’s mouth trails down your neck, and you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut. He’s rough, but not careless. Every bite, every lick, every press of his lips makes your body arch toward him. “Damn,” you whisper shakily.

He sinks to his knees, hands gripping your hips in place with clear authority. The moment his tongue presses against you, a startled cry leaves your mouth. You cling to the edge of the table for dear life, mind going blank as he devours you with slow, thorough strokes.

You feel the cool air of the dressing room on your overheated skin, your breathing ragged, heart drumming in your ears. Eren shifts his approach, alternating between relentless and teasing, drawing out whimpers you can’t swallow. The filthy, wet sounds echo in the small room, and you clamp a hand over your mouth, mortified by how loud you’re getting.

His gaze flicks up, meeting yours. In that moment, you see the pure hunger in his eyes—like he can’t get enough. He pins your thighs wide, preventing you from squirming away, then presses his mouth to you again, flicking and sucking until a tight coil forms low in your belly.

It’s too good, too intense. Your legs tremble against his shoulders. “Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’m—”

He growls something you can’t quite catch, then suddenly stops. You let out a whine of frustration at your denied release.

Eren stands and yanks you against him, mouth colliding with yours in a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his lips. “You taste so damn sweet,” he rasps, voice laced with desire. “I need more.”

In one smooth motion, he catches your wrist and tugs you away from the vanity, guiding you toward the small couch along the dressing room wall. He plants you there, the cushions dipping under your weight. You glance up, heart racing, while he peels off his black shirt, revealing sculpted muscle and a tapestry of tattoos that curl across his arms and chest.

You swallow, eyes trailing the ink. Eren notices your distraction and smirks. He slides down the zipper on his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and already leaking. You try to look anywhere else, but it’s impossible not to notice how large he is, how each movement radiates confidence.

The air around you shifts, like everything else fades away, leaving only you two in this haze of mutual hunger. Eren drops down onto the edge of the couch, hands finding your waist.

“You’ve been so fucking cocky,” he mutters, running a thumb across your lower lip. “Ignoring my gifts, making me chase you. Now you’re gonna beg for my cock like a good girl.”

Anger sparks, but it’s doused by the immediate surge of arousal coursing through you. “Fuck you.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Soon,” he promises. “But first, let’s see if you can keep up that mouthy attitude when you’re dripping for me.”

His palms glide down, gripping your thighs, opening them up. The cooler air hits your bare skin, and you twitch with a mix of anticipation and embarrassment. The hunger in his gaze pins you in place.

“Eren—” you start, but he cuts you off by pressing two fingers over your folds, teasing a light stroke. You arch, a gasp slipping from your lips.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t deny the wetness. Anger and lust swirl inside you, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He slides his fingers up and down your pussy, the friction maddeningly slow. “Tell me,” he coaxes, leaning down to graze his lips along your throat. “Tell me how much you want this.”

You bite your lip stubbornly. A flick of his thumb lands right on your clit, and you jolt. It’s a wicked tease, his touch both infuriating and addictive.

“Come on,” he whispers against your skin, licking a path up to your jaw. “Admit you’ve been dying for me to fuck you. I can feel how badly your pussy’s begging to be filled.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, torn between pride and desire. But your body betrays you—your hips roll into his hand, seeking more friction.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, stroking you more firmly. “Say it. I wanna hear you beg.”

Your nails dig into the couch. You hate how easily he’s unraveling you, how your pride is slipping away. “Please,” you finally whisper.

He stops. The sudden emptiness where his fingers were makes you whine. “Louder,” he demands, his free hand cupping your chin. “Look me in the eyes and beg for my cock.”

You open your eyes, meeting that intense green gaze. “Please,” you say again, voice trembling. “I… I want you. Need you to fuck me, Eren.”

His face twists in triumphant satisfaction, and that heavy tension in the air explodes. In a swift motion, he slides back onto his knees in front of the couch, hooking your legs over his shoulders. Before you can even process, his mouth is on you again—hot, wet, and relentless.

You cry out, back arching off the cushions. He devours you with fierce hunger, tongue lapping and sucking at your pussy, driving you insane. His grip on your thighs tightens, preventing any escape from the onslaught of pleasure.

He slides his tongue in deep, then drags it up to circle your clit in slow, maddening spirals. You moan shamelessly, tangling your fingers in his hair. The obscene wet sounds fill the small room, and each swirl of his tongue sends bolts of ecstasy shooting through your core.

Eren’s eyes flick up, watching you through half-lowered lids. He loves this—loves seeing you fall apart on his tongue. He grips your ass, pulling you even closer, burying his face like he can’t get enough.

“Oh my god, Eren,” you gasp, breath ragged.

He hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl. You’re right on the brink when he abruptly stops, pulling away. You let out a frustrated whine at the loss of yet another orgasm.

“Patience,” he murmurs, standing up. His lips glisten with your arousal. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a devilish grin curling his lips. “I’m not letting you come yet. I wanna be inside you when it happens.”

Your core clenches, desperate for release. He smirks, sliding onto the couch, pressing his chest to yours so you’re lying beneath him. The hardened length of his cock slides against your inner thigh, teasing.

“Beg for it again,” he orders softly, voice thick with lust.

“Eren,” you whimper, hips shifting restlessly.

“Say, ‘I want your cock inside me. Fill me up, Eren.’”

Heat burns across your cheeks. Somehow it feels so dirty, so wrong, yet you need it. Your nails rake down his back. “I want your cock inside me,” you whisper, pulse skittering. “Fill me up, Eren.”

His breath hitches, eyes darkening. “That’s my girl.”

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself into your pussy, ripping a sharp cry from you both. He’s thick, stretching you in a way that stings at first, but the pleasure follows swiftly, igniting every nerve.

“Fuck,” he snarls, teeth gritted. “So tight.” He stills momentarily, letting you adjust, though you can feel his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You breathe through the pressure, arms clinging to his shoulders. When you give a slight nod, he wastes no time—pulls back, then slams forward again. You practically see stars.

“Look at me,” he growls, hooking an arm under your leg to angle your hips up. “Look at me while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

Your eyelids flutter, fighting the urge to roll back from the intensity. You force your gaze up, meeting his. The raw desire etched into his features makes your body sing. He sets a punishing rhythm—fast, hard, and relentless.

The sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the dressing room, accompanied by ragged moans and curses from Eren. You cling to him, nails carving crescents into his skin, the couch bouncing against the wall with every thrust.

“Ah—Eren—” you gasp, voice high with pleasure.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Come on, baby,” he urges, panting against your mouth. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

His cock drives deeper, and you feel the brush of him hitting that sweet spot inside you. Fire erupts in your veins. “Oh my god,” you moan. “I’m so close—”

“That’s right,” he grits out, hooking his other arm behind your knee, practically folding you in half. The angle intensifies everything. “Gonna come for me, yeah? Let me feel that tight cunt squeeze my cock.”

His filthy words make your cheeks burn, but they also push you right to the edge. You scramble for something to hold on to, half-burying your face against his shoulder. “I—I can’t—”

“Give it to me,” he growls, snapping his hips faster. “Come on my cock, right fucking now.”

A scream wrenches from your throat as your orgasm slams into you. Your walls clamp around him, and the wave of pleasure blanks your vision. You cling to him, spasming in release. Eren curses, thrusts becoming erratic before he stills, spilling himself deep inside you with a strangled groan.

For several seconds, the two of you remain tangled, sweaty and panting. His forehead drops against yours. You can still feel the tremors of aftershocks rippling through your body. The filthy warmth of his cum drips down your thighs.

His lips graze your ear. “Fuck,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good.”

You swallow hard, heart still racing. Every nerve in your body is alight, a mix of shame and satisfaction warring inside you. Slowly, he withdraws. You bite your lip at the empty ache, wincing at the oversensitivity.

Eren’s arms remain braced around you, preventing you from pulling away. His hair brushes your cheek, and he inhales the scent of your skin. “Next time, you won’t walk away so easily,” he warns softly, as though there’s any chance of you forgetting this moment.

You glare up at him, too breathless to form a comeback. The reality of what just happened starts to sink in: the fact that not only is he your boss, but he has a girlfriend. And you let him fuck you senseless in your dressing room.

He reads the conflict in your eyes and scoffs. “Don’t overthink it,” he says, rolling off you but keeping a firm hand on your thigh. “We both know you wanted it.”

Shame and a simmering anger bubble up, but even now, you can’t deny how your body hums from the afterglow. “You’re insane,” you mutter, propping yourself on shaky elbows.

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. His eyes shine with that fierce, possessive spark. “Maybe,” he agrees quietly, “but you’re not any better. You’re mine now.”

That final statement settles over you like a challenge—or a dark promise. With your pulse still pounding, you stare back defiantly, refusing to yield, even though you know you’re already lost in whatever spell he’s cast.

He stands, beginning to gather his clothes, and for a moment, you catch yourself admiring the ink winding across his chest and arms. You close your eyes, berating yourself. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want more. But your body’s still thrumming with the aftertaste of his dominance, your mind replaying every filthy word he whispered.

You drag yourself upright, fumbling for your discarded dress. Your legs threaten to buckle as you stand. Eren watches, his expression smug, like a predator who caught his prey.

“Go home,” he finally says, buttoning his pants. “I’ll handle Mikasa.”

The mention of her name sends a pang through your gut. You stiffen, pulling on your outfit and swallowing a fresh wave of guilt. You despise that you’re involved in something so clearly immoral, but you can’t go back in time. The question is—would you, even if you could?

You tug your shirt on, shaking your head. “This—this can’t happen again.”

Eren chuckles, stepping over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah?” He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss on your lips. “We’ll see about that.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you trembling, disheveled, and flooded with both regret and a dark, gnawing desire. You sink onto the couch, breath uneven, mind racing.

It’s only later, when you finally make your way out of the lounge and into the night air, that the enormity of what happened sets in. You’re caught in Eren Jaeger’s web—your boss, a brutal gang leader, and someone else’s boyfriend. Part of you knows you should run. Another part is already counting the minutes till you see him again.

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Tags: faerie-soirxx

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vxlentinescookies · 5 months ago

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Can I have red velvet x autistic!reader fic? Like maybe y/n is obsessed with cakehounds but they can be overstimulating so red velvet catches y/n petting cakehounds while trying to tough out the barks...aaaand red velvet comes to save the day? Lol!

→ ❛Double edged sword❜

→ Pairing ; Red Velvet Cookie x Autistic!Reader → Quote ; ❛❛And he knew that he’d do anything to keep you safe no matter what.❜❜ → Genre ; Slice of Life → A/N ; Sorry for the delay, but here it is! Hope you like it

Love can be such a precious thing. Sometimes we love out of wanting someone to hold onto, sometimes we love out of wanting to be appreciated, nonetheless, we all love for different reasons, and perhaps, the most important is loving because we want to love, because we want to feel such a lovely feeling.

Today, for example, was much like any other day, being with your partner as you spoke about your current fixations, your mind going from place to place as you spoke and he listened. Of course, Red Velvet would always be happy to listen to you speak your heart out of the things you loved and appreciated, but as you spoke more and more, he noticed a little thing.

You were petting one of his cake hounds much like you tended to do, but the thing is, the little one didnt stop a second to stay quiet, no, in fact, it was quite the opposite. They were barking, barking like their life depended on it. It was a loud sound, too loud truly, so much that your speech had become shaky and your hands had become shaky as well.

Having been looking away from you, Red Velvet hadnt noticed until, when he turned around, he saw you, shaking while petting one of his cake hounds as the little thing barked and barked. It was clearly overstimulating you and there was no way that Red velvet was going to let that slide.

“Beloved!” He’d say, running right by your side as if to hold your hands in his, allowing you to let go of the cake hound who ran out into god knows where, that much wasnt important, at least not to him. “You’re overstimulated…”

“N-No” You whined, but it was clear you were, in fact, overstimulated. “I just, wanted to pet one of your cake hounds… they bring me comfort…”

“I know, but you know that you shouldnt put yourself in line for them” He’d say, gently, a hand now running to brush hair out of your face as your eyes lost focus, darting from place to place. “Here, how about I sit with you for a while and we try to come down?”

“Ok…”

As so, you’d sit by Red Velvet’s side, leaning into his shoulder as he held you, but didnt do more as to not add more stimuli into your ambient. The distant noise of the barking had become blank noise, and the breathing of Red Velvet had become a constant easy enough to carry, that you tried to mimic your breathing with his. He only stayed there, by your side, sitting down and looking around as if to gauge any other plausible danger—There wasnt, it was a fairly calm day, but you could never be too sure.

“How do you feel?” He’d ask, still, when you seemed to have come down from your high, looking around with certain tiredness. “Better?”

“Mhm…” You’d answer, coming closer to him.

And he’d welcome you, gladly into his arms, kissing your forehead as you looked around before noticing something that had called your attention, butterflies. And then, there you went on again, suddenly energized (albeit not too much), you started speaking about butterflies and them as insects. Red Velvet would sigh at first, before smiling and nodding along, right, you loved speaking your heart out and that was part of why he loved you so much.

And he knew that he’d do anything to keep you safe no matter what.

#🌙;moonlit dreams #red velvet cookie x reader #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 47 of human Bill Cipher thinking that being imprisoned in the Mystery Shack is looking pretty good right now:

The Eclipse: Part 5

Bill and Ford are just... so energized and enthusiastic after their near death experience. Not to mention fashionable.

But they've got nothing on Dipper.

And, at long last, Ford and Dipper badger Bill—who's just too tired to lie—into explaining what kind of an "eclipse" involves a giant flying axolotl making gravity disappear.

####

When they reached the cave, Ford discovered that his antique lantern was too waterlogged to light.

"I'm not sure how we're getting to the top now," Ford said. The cavern directly behind the waterfall had some ambient lighting, but it wouldn't carry very far. "I know you can see, but I don't trust you to lead me through a cave system in the dark, no offense." He was surprised at himself for saying no offense.

"If I was planning to let you fall off a cliff, I could've saved myself a swim in the lake." Bill had taken off his backpack and was rummaging through it. "Didn't your lantern go out when you took four-eyes hiking through here? You should have learned your lesson."

Bill must have meant Fiddleford, though it was strange to hear him single out Fiddleford as "four-eyes" when Ford wore glasses too. "I did learn my lesson. I brought three flashlights as backup," Ford said. "Which are in Dipper's backpack."

Bill laughed weakly.

"Did you bring a flashlight?"

"Better." Bill pulled out a kazoo. He blew a stream of water from it, shook it, and then took a deep breath and played a long high note that wavered up and down.

Ford cringed at the noise. "Bill, what—?"

Bill held up a finger to silence Ford. Okay, fine. He was curious now.

It took a few moments of increasingly irritating kazoo playing, but Ford heard a soft clinking sound coming from the deeper caverns; and then several geodites—small creatures that looked like stone orbs with crystal limbs and teeth and glowing eyes—curiously emerged into the main cavern. Ford hadn't seen these creatures since he'd documented them in the eighties. He hadn't known they could be summoned via kazoo. They began making a high pitched humming along with Bill's kazooing.

"There you are." Bill stuffed the kazoo into his backpack and crouched down, holding out a hand until a couple of geodites crept closer to inspect it; and then he scooped up the closest one. The others startled into breaking off singing, but hovered nearby, chirping and clicking. "Okay, grab a flashlight." The light the geodites' eyes gave off wasn't very bright; but it was enough for Ford to see Bill's smug smirk. They proceeded into the caves, and a dozen-odd more geodites—perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of concern for the two hostages—followed along behind them.

The climb went much slower than it had just a few hours earlier. Unsurprisingly, without low gravity on his side, Bill was the holdup this time. Not only was he not as experienced in spelunking as Ford, but between his waterlogged dress shoes and his borrowed trout slippers he didn't have any appropriate footwear, and he'd elected to carefully climb barefoot again. When Ford had climbed up this path with Fiddleford in the 80s, it had been a six hour climb. He had no idea how long it would take with Bill.

But even at that, Ford hadn't expected Bill to need to pause so often to get his energy back. It seemed like the more Ford recovered from their fall in the lake, the weaker Bill got. In any other situation, he'd suspect Bill of slowing them down on purpose, but after... well, even that aside, Ford couldn't think of any reason Bill would want to delay getting home.

"It's just this body that's dizzy," Bill said, the fourth time they had to stop for him to sit. "Probably one of those... counterproductive stress reactions human bodies get." He wiped a film of sweat off his forehead, then stopped to examine how his hand trembled when his geodite's spotlight eyes fixed on it. "That or it's because I've only had a handful of cereal for the past two days."

Ford stared at him. "You what? Why?"

Bill shrugged. "Body wouldn't let me get more down. Wasn't my idea."

"Well, for goodness's sake, eat something now."

Bill took off his backpack, pulled out a cereal box, and opened it. He grimaced. He poured out a puddle of sugary lake water and dissolved cereal.

Of course. "Here." Ford pulled a tube of astronaut meat out of his backpack and offered it over. "It's not the most nutritionally complete meal supplement, but it's something. It'll have protein."

Bill took the tube with a grimace, but squeezed out a dollop of meat paste and licked it; and then he gagged so hard he doubled over. He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from retching and offered the tube back. "Mmmf." The geodite hopped out of his lap in alarm and retreated to the group of hangers-on traveling with them.

The meat paste wasn't great, but that was a disproportionate reaction out of the alien who liked to mix chocolate sauce and mustard. This was a bigger problem than Ford had anticipated. "Keep it. If you can get down even a tiny bit every few minutes, that's better than nothing."

Bill nodded jerkily.

"I think it's better if we reach Dipper and get out of here as soon as possible."

Bill nodded more enthusiastically.

What would they do if Bill couldn't make it the whole way? Would Ford have to leave him in the cave and come back for him later? Ford hadn't tied the infinity belt's cable to Bill like he'd meant to, he just realized. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to try now; but it might be useful if he did have to leave Bill behind. He didn't know that they had any better option, he couldn't carry Bill all the way up and down. Especially since Bill had let go of his geodite, and Ford suspected the rest might abandon them if he put down his own...

They'd have to figure that out if it came to it. For now, they kept walking—Ford glancing back regularly to check on Bill, and Bill pretending he didn't notice.

####

After another half hour and another two increasingly frequent breaks, Ford saw a faint light in the tunnels ahead—yellow-white, not like the geodites' natural blues and purples. "Bill, is that...?"

"Hm?" Bill looked in the direction Ford was pointing. His right eye twitched, and then he had to squeeze his eyes shut in pain. "Yep. Boy child at 12 o'clock."

Ford called out, "Dipper?"

"Great Uncle Ford!" Dipper's voice echoed through the caves. There was a sound of clattering rocks as Dipper scrabbled down the tunnel to join them. The geodites scattered in fear, peering out from behind stalagmites as Dipper's flashlight swept over the scene. "Grunkle Ford! Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Are you—?"

Dipper collided with Ford to hug him. (Ford held his geodite out to the side so he could return a one-armed hug.) "I'm so sorry I saw you go over the cliff but I couldn't do anything I was in the mindscape the whole time something sucked my soul out of my body—"

"Not it, I'm innocent," Bill said unnecessarily, "nobody look at me." He'd taken advantage of the break to immediately sit on the ground. His abandoned geodite crept back over to check on him.

"—and—and wow, that was the Axolotl you were talking about, right?" Dipper let go of Ford to gesture like a fisherman demonstrating the size of an enormous catch, "It was huge, it had to be—I don't know, as long as the county? The whole state? How did it get so big? Is the Axolotl an alien or some kind of mutant Earth axolotl? Are all axolotls aliens—?"

"Now, hold on," Ford said, putting a hand on Dipper's shoulder, "what huge axolotl? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't see it?" Dipper paused, looked Ford up and down, and said, "What are you wearing?"

Ford grimaced, tugged his bandanna up a little higher, and turned his geodite away when it tried to aim its spotlight eyes at his neck to see what he was doing. "We had to borrow some dry clothes."

"He couldn't see the Axolotl," Bill said. "You shouldn't have, either."

"Sor-ry. Getting sucked out of my body wasn't my idea—"

"Hold on," Ford said again. "What do you mean, sucked out of your body?"

As they headed back down toward the waterfall, Dipper and Ford exchanged their versions of events. It didn't take long for them to realize Bill had saved both their lives with a swift efficiency that, had it been applied to any less altruistic a task, could have been called "ruthless." They didn't say anything, but neither one could stop from glancing back toward Bill.

"What?" he snapped, clinging to his geodite a little tighter like he thought they were planning to take it. "I don't owe you an explanation. You're not dead! Be grateful. Stop looking at me."

They stopped looking at him. Bill should be gloating about them owing him their lives. He should be convincing them they had to pay back their debt. Silence alone would have been worrying; but bristling like he wanted them to forget what he'd done was baffling.

As Dipper finished explaining his version of events, he said, "I think I remember meeting the Axolotl before—like you said." He directed this last comment back over his shoulder toward Bill.

Bill—whose entire attention had been focused for the last ten minutes on walking without collapsing, tripping, or dropping his geodite—simply muttered, "My condolences."

"Wait," Ford said, "You've... met a giant invisible axolotl before?"

"Mabel and I both did."

"When?"

Dipper opened his mouth, paused, and glanced back again at Bill for help.

It took a few seconds for Bill to register the question. "Oh—they've never met before. Not in this reality."

Exasperated, Dipper asked, "Then why do I remember it?"

"I told you—echoes," Bill said. When Dipper continued giving him an expectant look, Bill sighed deeply and said, "This is an embarrassing oversimplification, but you're at least familiar with the concept of branching timelines, right?"

"Of course I am. Every time you make a decision, the timeline splits into two paths—"

"Cute that you think it caps out at two," Bill said. "And a decision doesn't always split the timeline, sometimes the branches collapse back together depending on the gravity of the decision you made. I don't literally mean a decision 'you' made—you've never made a decision that important—but sure, you've got the basic idea."

"Fine," Dipper snapped. "So I met it on another branch, right? When?"

"Never," Bill said.

"Okay. Yes. But there is a branch where... some version of me met it. Right?"

"It depends on how you define 'is.'"

Dipper puffed out his cheeks with the effort of restraining a yell. He looked at Ford for either help or sympathy.

Ford winked surreptitiously at Dipper and said, "It's probably some complicated chronological issue. I doubt Bill can explain it in a way humans can understand." Under his breath, he loudly muttered, "Some 'teacher.'"

Bill straight-armed Ford aside to walk beside Dipper. "You humans have no sense of humor," he said. "I said you met him never because it's literally true. You had an accident that landed you in a time and space outside time and space—the meeting happened never and nowhere. It's where he prefers to take visitors. That timeline terminated after your meeting—and I don't mean you died, I mean he terminated that entire timeline."

"Really?" Dipper shivered. "With... With everyone in it? Why did he do that? Did something dangerous happen in that timeline, or was it unstable, or...?"

"That's how he usually ends casual meet-and-greets," Bill said. "Higher dimensional beings. He sees your reality from a perspective unimaginable to you. Remember when I told you you're just a movie projecting on a wall to him; he's got no problem with pulling the film out of the reel to inspect a few frames and then turning the entire projector off when he's done. What does he care if that's somebody's entire reality?" He paused to think that over. "Maybe the projector metaphor's getting strained. Imagine flipping through a book with all the pages out of order, and meeting him is like somehow flipping to a page outside the book... No, that's a little too contrived. I'll stick with the projector."

"When did we... when would we have met him?" Dipper asked. "And—when I say 'when' I mean—you know what I mean."

"You mean, when would you have made the decisions that could have led to you meeting him? Depending on your perspective, either last August or 207̃05. Time travel was involved."

"Last August..." Dipper thought back. "Was that when we were—?"

"Treasure hunting, yeah. By the by, I never asked—" Bill gestured vaguely around them at everything in general, "—which dimension did I end up in? Is this the one where you went hunting in the 1400s or 1800s?"

"Uh—1800s."

"Hm. Knew this wasn't a 207̃05 treasure hunt timeline, Questiony doesn't have a pet enslaved time pirate."

"A what?"

"So you never had a chance of meeting the Axolotl anyway," Bill said. "Hey, fun fact! Did you know there's a time pocket where twelve million alternate versions of you, your sister, and the puppet with the goggles failed at your quest and plummeted out of time? I wonder how long the last of them survived! I meant to check in after Weirdmageddon. Human flesh isn't that nutritious and doesn't have much water, but with millions of bodies and a little determination— Hey, wanna know how long you all were there before you started resorting to cannibalism—?"

"No," Ford said before Dipper had to. "And I'll thank you not to get off topic to try to give my gnephew more nightmares."

Bill shot him a sideways glance. "Remind me to tell you about the time pocket formed by all the timelines where you and Specs did your first portal test without checking your math."

"So if I wasn't even supposed to meet him—how did I see him today?" Dipper asked. "Did he pull me out of my body into the mindscape so we could talk, or...? But he didn't even tell me anything, was he just trying to get me to remember meeting him in the terminated timeline—?"

"He wasn't trying to do anything," Bill said. "He wasn't here for you, he didn't care. Shadow on the wall."

"Then what was he here for? You?"

It took Bill too long to answer. He just shrugged vaguely. "Probably not."

"Huh." Instead of questioning Bill, Dipper briefly turned introspective himself, gaze far away and thoughtful. "I think I remember a little more about meeting the Axolotl now. The first time, I mean."

"Oh, do you?" Bill asked. "Ha! Poor kid."

"Mabel and I were in some kind of rocket car?" Dipper's brows furrowed in concentration. "And the Axolotl had a... bean bag chair?"

Bill scoffed. "He still has that old thing?! Wow."

"It was really comfortable."

"It's also really tacky."

"You talked about him like he was some kind of... of big... eldritch cosmic horror thing," Dipper said. "What kind of a cosmic horror has bean bag chairs?"

"What, do you think being a vast multidimensional amphibious monstrosity with an incomprehensible mind and a body that can only been seen in lower dimensions as grotesque shapeshifting cross-sections protects you from having bad taste? He'll flay your sanity straight out of your gray matter—and you won't even have the comfort of knowing your mind-shredder had nice interior decor sensibilities!"

"I can sympathize with the experience," Ford muttered. "I was driven to the brink of paranoid madness by a nightmare demon who thinks Doric columns go with checkerboard flooring."

Bill let out a shrill "Ha!" and smacked Ford's shoulder.

"But he remembered me when we met," Dipper went on. "He told me to say hi to Mabel. And—the last time we met, we—talked. I don't remember it all yet, but... you were wrong about him. There was nothing insanity-inducing about him. He was just... nice."

"You don't think the madness sets in all at once, do you?" Bill turned back to Dipper, with an air of what Ford uncomfortably felt like was ill intent. "Go on then—what did you talk about? You can't remember it, can you? Why not? Just a harmless little conversation, right?"

Dipper frowned in thought. "There was something important, but—I can't remember what it was. What was it?" He muttered, "I know it was something important—"

"And there we go!" Bill gestured at Dipper with a flourish, triumphant. "Now you're digging for the significance of the whole thing. You're trying to comprehend the motives of something that has a state of existence your mind wasn't built to understand! You'll either go mad trying to understand his motives—or you'll go mad because you do understand. You're doomed now, kid—this is gonna haunt you for the rest of your days." He laughed. "Try to stop thinking about it now while you're ahead!"

"I'm not going insane," Dipper said. "Just shut up, I'm trying to remember."

"'I'm not obsessed, I swear! I can stop thinking about it any time I want!' Sure."

"Shut up," Dipper repeated. "It had to have been something important! Otherwise why would he dragged me out of my body and—and shown me the fourth dimension just so I could meet him?"

"Don't sound so self-important! You never saw the fourth dimension; if you had, you wouldn't think he looks like an axolotl. He visited this dimension's mindscape," Bill said. "And he didn't even mean to drag you into the mindscape! It was just a side-effect of his gravitational pull. He tugged you toward him just like everything else in town; but Earth'sgravity doesn't extend through planes like the mindscape, and his does. Yanked your spirit right out of your body."

"Then why was I the only one?" Dipper demanded. "Why didn't you or Grunkle Ford leave your bodies?"

"Your spirit's more loosely attached to your body than ours."

"Why?!"

For a moment, Bill's face twisted with displeasure; and then he sighed in resignation. "Ah, heck with it. You've been astral projecting."

Dipper's mouth worked uselessly. He croaked, "What?"

"It's when you—"

"I know what it is! I mean—what? How? When?"

"At least as long as I've been here. How long have you been having those out-of-body dreams?"

"Y—!" Dipper socked Bill's arm. Bill didn't even flinch. "You said those were nightmares!"

"And I lied," Bill said tiredly.

"Why?!"

"Thought you'd be annoying about it."

"I've been dealing with this all year, you—!" Dipper groaned in aggravation. "Why am I astral projecting! I wasn't trying to learn or anything!"

"How should I know, I wasn't around. Best guess, I think I ripped up the Velcro sticking your soul to your body when I yanked you out to puppet it," Bill said. "Oops."

Dipper gaped at him in outrage. "'Oops'?! That's all you can— I've been terrified and I thought it was a nightmare and it was real all along and it was all your fault and you won't even—"

"I knew you'd be annoying."

"I'm annoying?! How would you like it if you'd spent a year getting dragged out of your body in your sleep—!"

Bill abruptly stopped walking, turned toward Dipper, and said with an intensity that startled Dipper into silence, "You don't have the slightest idea how much I'd like it. How would you like it if you'd been trying for weeks t—" Bill cut himself off before he could get more heated; and instead, only said, "If you. Wanted to get out of your body. And couldn't. And some brat down the hall is doing it without even trying."

Dipper remained frozen, jaw locked tight in a grimace, until Bill turned away and trudged on. Dipper snapped, "But I don't want to do it. And it's your fault I am."

"Great. Nobody's satisfied." Bill sighed. "Make the most of it. Watch late night TV. Learn to meditate or something, I don't care. You've got nothing to worry about, it's harmless." He paused. "As long as nothing else crawls in your body while you're outside of it."

"WHAT?!"

"It's fine. Nothing'll get you in the shack through the unicorn hair barri... hm. Well—you're safe in the shack."

"But I have to go home at the end of summer! Will something be able to get me then?!"

Bill shrugged. "Hypothetically."

"Am I gonna die?!"

"Given my understanding of human mortality? Sure, sooner or later. Wanna hear your top five most likely causes of death?"

"No! Is it possible to—to stop? Can I control the astral projecting?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess. Ask me next time you're out of your body. I'll show you"

"Can't you show me n—"

"No. Not while you're in your body."

Dipper scowled. "Fine! Next time I'm projecting, I'm kicking you awake until you help me." He turned away from Bill; and, after a moment of fuming, mumbled to himself, "If I've been astral projecting... then that time I visited the neighbors... oh, man..." He trailed off, getting lost in his own thoughts.

Keeping silent during that discussion had been agony for Ford.

Every few seconds, he'd wanted to butt in either to eagerly ask for more information about the Axolotl or astral projection, or—far more often—to express his rage on Dipper's behalf, that Bill (of course!) had put him through this, and then not even had the decency (of course!) to try to rectify it.

But it was Dipper's conversation. It was about Dipper's problem, and anyway Dipper had been trying so long to pry some sort of useful information out of Bill—it would be cruel of Ford to snatch the conversation away from him when he was finally getting somewhere. He'd have a lot to discuss with Dipper once they were home and could get away from Bill.

But staying outside the conversation had let him observe three points he might have otherwise missed.

One: Bill really wasn't himself. Back when he'd been playing as Ford's muse, whenever he got to answer questions, he'd always done it with an air of theatricality and barely-suppressed glee; and after he'd given up that act, he'd answered questions with smug arrogance, the glee turned to sadistic delight at the bad news he could deliver. Now, he simply answered them. Even his attempts to be condescending gradually got less enthusiastic until they petered out completely.

Two: Bill was answering questions he never would have answered that morning. After telling them as little as he could about the thing coming to Gravity Falls, even trying to avoid admitting it was the Axolotl, now he was freely talking about the Axolotl's taste in furniture as though he knew the beast personally. After hiding that Dipper was astral projecting for over a month, he simply told him. Heck with it. He'd admitted it was probably his fault. He'd said the last two words Ford had ever thought he'd hear come out of Bill's mouth: I lied.

Three: this was the longest Bill had walked without needing a break all day. His voice was stronger. His steps were more steady. Ford had even seen him squeeze out a few dollops of astronaut paste between comments—and he struggled to make himself swallow, but he didn't gag.

And now that Dipper had stopped asking him about the Axolotl and about astral projection, Bill's footing was growing less certain again. He wove unsteadily on the path and had to pause to lean a hand on a stalactite, taking deep breaths. "Gimme a second."

Bill was distracting himself. He was keeping himself going through conversation, the simple ritual of receiving and answering questions. Ford understood: sometimes, in desperate circumstances, you had to burn yourself out to get somewhere safe enough to collapse and recover. When you had no choice but to push yourself, the best thing you could do was think about anything but your exhausted, failing body. It made it easier to keep moving and burn through what energy you had left.

Ford had once wondered if his "muse" was some manner of creature that was compelled to answer the questions his protégés asked him. This was perhaps the closest Bill had ever gotten to actually being such an entity: answering questions because he had to to go on, and willing to give away almost anything as long as it kept him moving.

Ford stopped next to Bill. "So. The Axolotl was the source of your 'gravitational eclipse,' I suppose."

"Astute observation," Bill said flatly.

"I take it that it isn't 'eclipsing' gravity so much as canceling it out. The Axolotl must have a mass similar to Earth's, if the force it exerts flying by above us is nearly identical to the force of Earth below us."

"More or less."

"But according to Dipper's observations, this Axolotl is only the size of Oregon at most. Did he underestimate its size? Or perhaps it's incredibly dense...?"

Bill gave Ford a sharp sideways glance. Were this any other conversation on any other day, this would be when the gloating started. Well, well, well, look who finally believes I was telling the truth, finally crawling back to me to give you all the answers you can't find yourself— But Bill only looked away again, pushed himself back upright, and kept walking. "You're the square looking at the sphere and thinking it's a circle," Bill said. "The majority of the Axolotl's mass is in dimensions you can't see. The little bit of him that's visible in the mindscape is just a... a feeler. Or an anglerfish's lure. The rest of him is close enough to exert a gravitational pull—but not in a dimension you can see."

"Which dimensions does he exist in?"

"I can't tell you because your species knows so little about them that the answer wouldn't mean anything. You haven't even decided whether or not you want to officially call the dimension that time shines from the 'fourth' dimension—I could tell you he comes from the seventeenth dimension and it wouldn't mean anything but an impressively high number to you."

Dubiously, Ford asked, "Does he come from the seventeenth?"

Bill waved a hand vaguely. "Heck if I know. The most I've ever seen at once is nine, and I was on a lot of psychedelics at the time. My eyeball popped."

"Eugh."

"Worth it, though. If you ever wanna feel cosmically insignificant in the most breathtakingly beautiful way possible, and you don't mind going blind, let me know. I think I can remember most of what I was on."

"Pass," Ford said. "If the Axolotl is so enormous, then why was only Gravity Falls affected by its gravity? At a minimum, shouldn't have the rest of the Pacific Northwest been impacted—if not the whole planet?"

"He wasn't near the rest of the Pacific Northwest. In the third dimension, Gravity Falls is obviously connected to Oregon; but in higher dimensions, it's..." He tried unsuccessfully to pantomime something mountainlike. "Imagine if the second dimension were a flat sheet of stretchy fabric. If somebody plucked the fabric up in the middle and made a peak, a creature living on the surface of the fabric would still be able to travel across its slope like it was flat, right?"

Ford tried to visualize Bill's description. "Right."

"And so if a fly flew past the peak of the fabric, it'd cross near whatever town's at that peak without getting near the towns at the bottom of the slope."

"Rrright."

"That's what Gravity Falls looks like from the fourth dimension," Bill said. "In the third dimension you can't see anything, but to fourth dimensional beings it sticks out of the fabric of spacetime like a thousand mile high pillar in the middle of a desert. That's why Time Baby put his capitol here."

Now, Ford wasn't sure that sounded right, but he didn't know enough about the seventeenth-or-whatever dimension to dispute it. "And why you kept trying to punch through to our dimension from here?" he guessed. "I imagine stretching the fabric of spacetime that far might make it easier to tear."

Bill shot him a sour look, but didn't deny it.

"Why did the gravity go down slowly for two days and then come back all at once? Did the Axolotl just leave faster than it came?"

"You know how the Doppler effect works?"

Ford hesitated. "Yes. Obviously."

"Well, in higher dimensions, gravity works like a reverse Doppler effect. It spreads out in front of a moving object—"

"Oh, come on."

"—and compresses behind the object—"

"Now you're just making up scientific-sounding nonsense because you know I can't disprove it."

"I'm not, and as soon as you get me a pen and paper I can prove it." Loftily, Bill said, "There's a simple equation that can explain higher dimensional gravity."

Ford was pretty sure he was being made fun of. He didn't mean to laugh, but he did. Dipper looked at him like he'd lost his mind; but trying to explain what was so funny would probably just make him look more insane.

Bill looked nearly as surprised.

####

"... And the smaller axolotls, what are they—heralds, worshipers? Children?"

Bill scoffed in disgust, "I don't know, I've never asked him. I see them like the flies orbiting a cow's tail. They migrate with him, that's all I know."

"Then the Axolotl really was just 'migrating'?"

"Well. Migrating in the sense that a mayfly watching a human walk back and forth to the office thinks it must be 'migrating.' He has..." Bill gestured vaguely, "duties, that mandate he travel fixed routes through the multiverse. He just happens to have a years-long workday. His commute doesn't usually take him past 46'\."

"'Duties' as in... divine duties?"

"It depends on if you worship him for doing them. I don't."

The cavern was growing light again, and the distant waterfall was audible. Ford quietly sighed in relief. Even as oddly forthcoming as Bill had been, Ford doubted that even two-thirds of the information he'd shared was true. But it was hard to tell. It had always been hard to tell.

Dipper helped Ford deflate the raft and pack it up. As he did, he said, voice low, "Is it just me, or is Bill kinda...?"

Ford cast a sideways glance across the cavern. Bill was crouched in front of the geodite he'd carried all up and down the tunnel, backpack in his lap, pouring a pile of soggy cereal onto the ground for the geodite to eat. Ford was surprised he'd gotten so attached to the creature. "I think he's been in some state of mental shock since the fall in the lake," Ford said. "And it seems he hasn't been able to keep down a full meal since we left yesterday. I suspect he's barely on his feet. The sooner we can get him back to the shack, the better."

"Oh." Dipper frowned toward Bill. (He was now pouring cold medicine on the cereal. Ford would have to ask him about geodite diets.)

"What are you thinking?"

Dipper shook his head. "I just thought... He seems like he's thinking about something. And he's giving so much away... I don't know. I wanted him to talk, but now it makes me wonder if he's scheming something."

From what Ford had seen, at the moment he doubted Bill could so much as scheme a way to ruin a picnic. But now he was second-guessing his perception. Ford knew Bill better than anyone; but that also meant Bill knew how to manipulate Ford better than anyone. What was Dipper seeing that he didn't? "Really? Do you think so?"

Dipper hesitated. "I—thought so? Maybe not." (Well, now they were both second-guessing themselves.) "I just don't know why he'd tell us so much if he isn't up to something. It feels like a distraction."

"Ah." Ford nodded. "I think the distraction is for himself."

"Mm." (Ford wasn't sure if Dipper had heard him.) "I just feel like there's—something. I can feel it in the back of my head." He stared at Bill a moment longer; then shook his head and turned away. "Maybe it's not him, maybe it's the Axolotl. He said something I can't remember. Something about degrees."

"Degrees?"

But Dipper didn't reply. He'd returned to his work, lost in his own head, mumbling under his breath the way he did whenever he was trying to work something out. Something else for Ford to ask about later.

When they got in Tate's loaned motorboat to head back out, Dipper got a look at the rainbow trout slippers Bill had put back on, and let out a choked laugh of surprise; and then that was the last sound any of them made as they crossed the lake. Ford steered, Dipper remained lost in his own thoughts, and Bill stared at his friendship bracelet, thumb running around the glass evil eyes.

####

(Finally a few mysteries solved! I hope y'all enjoyed, and I look forward to hearing what you think. Next week is another emotionally wrenching chapter!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #dipper pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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mediocre-shark-tales · 5 months ago

Text

Brazilian GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Returning to the paddock for the sprint race, I focused on one thing: the job. The rain hadn’t come yet, but the air was thick with humidity, and the dark clouds rolling in on the horizon promised it wouldn’t hold off for long. As I climbed into my car, I pushed every stray thought out of my head. This was my escape. The only time Henry couldn’t get to me was when I was strapped into the cockpit.

The sprint race itself went well. I pushed hard, held my position, and finished P3 again. Behind Lando and Oscar, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied with my consistency, but there was still a fire burning in my chest, a determination to do even better in the main race. For now, though, I basked in the small victory.

After pulling into parc fermé and handling the brief celebrations with my team, I made my way back to the garage. That’s when I saw him—Henry. His smirk stretched across his face as he stood by my workstation, arms crossed like he owned the place. I immediately felt my stomach churn.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse, delaying the next session. Rain lashed against the paddock’s roof, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Teams were stuck in their garages, waiting for updates from the FIA. It felt like the world was put on pause, and unfortunately for me, that meant I was stuck with Henry.

I tried to keep busy, double-checking data with the other engineers and chatting with Landon when I could. But Henry was like a shadow, following me wherever I went. His presence was suffocating, his comments laced with the same inappropriate undertones that made my skin crawl.

“Staying dry in here, sweetheart?” he asked as I passed by, his voice dripping with mock concern.

I ignored him, but he wasn’t deterred. He leaned against the table where I was reviewing some data and lowered his voice. “You know, I’ve been thinking... You’ve been looking really tense lately. Maybe after this weekend, we can spend some one-on-one time. You know, help you unwind.”

My jaw clenched, and I felt my fingers curl into fists at my sides. I didn’t trust myself to speak without snapping, so I stayed silent, my eyes glued to the tablet in front of me.

Henry chuckled, clearly amused by my lack of response. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I like a challenge.”

I needed to get away from him. Grabbing the tablet, I stood abruptly and made my way to the other side of the garage, pretending to check something with one of the mechanics. But no matter where I went, Henry was always close behind. It was like a game to him, and I was the unwilling participant.

At one point, I slipped into the back of the garage, trying to find some space to breathe. But Henry followed, cornering me near the equipment racks. His eyes glinted with something that made my skin crawl, and I pressed myself against the wall, desperate to put distance between us.

“Why so shy today?” he asked, his tone low and teasing. “You know, you don’t have to be so uptight around me. I don’t bite... unless you want me to.”

That was it. My breaking point was so close I could feel it bubbling under the surface. But I couldn’t afford to lose my composure, not here, not now. Instead, I forced myself to look him in the eye, my voice steady but cold. “Henry, I’m not in the mood for this. Back off.”

He smirked, leaning in just enough to make my pulse quicken. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.”

I stepped past him, my entire body trembling with frustration and disgust. I needed air, space—anything to escape him. But the rain still poured outside, trapping me in this nightmare of a garage.

The FIA announcement came through the garage speakers, crackling to life over the ambient noise of the rain hammering against the roof.

"Attention, teams. Due to the persistent rain and worsening conditions, qualifying will be moved to a slot a few hours ahead of the originally scheduled race time tomorrow. This will allow us to monitor for a potential break in the weather. Further updates will follow."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. This was my chance to escape, at least for now. As soon as the announcement ended, I grabbed my things and slipped out of the garage. The quicker I got to my driver’s room, the less likely Henry would have a chance to corner me again. My heart pounded as I walked briskly through the bustling paddock, my eyes darting around to make sure he wasn’t following me.

Once inside the sanctuary of my driver’s room, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling deeply. I allowed myself a moment to breathe before gathering my thoughts and changing into my casual clothes. The sooner I was out of here, the safer I’d feel.

As I finished changing, I peeked out the door, scanning the hallway for any sign of Henry. When I didn’t see him, I let out a small sigh of relief. For once, it looked like luck was on my side. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped out and made my way toward the paddock exit, keeping my head low and moving quickly.

Just as I was about to turn the corner, I nearly collided with someone. Looking up, I saw Franco Colapinto grinning down at me.

“Hey! You’re in a rush. Everything okay?” he asked, his tone light and friendly.

I plastered on my best fake smile, pushing down the lingering nerves. “Yeah, just trying to beat the rain back to the hotel. You know how it is.”

Franco chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “True. I don’t envy whoever’s on the FIA’s weather team right now. Anyway, I was going to ask—do you want to join us for dinner tonight? I invited Alex and Lando, too. Figured it’d be good to unwind before tomorrow.”

I hesitated for a moment, my instincts telling me to retreat to my hotel room and hide for the rest of the evening. But the thought of being surrounded by friends, even for a little while, sounded comforting. And besides, Franco’s friendly demeanor was hard to resist.

“That sounds great,” I replied, the smile on my face feeling a little more genuine this time. “What time?”

“Let’s meet in the hotel lobby around seven,” he said. “We’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then,” I said, giving him a small wave before continuing toward the exit.

As I stepped out into the rain-soaked paddock, I felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos. For a few hours tonight, I could pretend everything was normal. Even if I had to put on a brave face, I’d take any reprieve I could get.

Returning to the hotel felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The ride back had been quiet, giving me time to stew in my thoughts, but the moment I stepped into my room, I set my bag down and headed straight for the bathroom.

I didn’t just want to shower—I needed to scrub every trace of Henry’s words and his unwelcome touches from my skin. Turning the water as hot as I could bear, I stepped under the stream and let it pour over me, cleansing not just the grime of the day but the lingering weight of his actions. I scrubbed at my arms and shoulders, imagining I could wash away the memory of his arm around me, his hand gripping my waist. By the time I turned the water off, my skin was pink from the heat and friction, but I felt lighter, freer.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I leaned against the bathroom counter and took a moment to steady my breathing. Tonight wasn’t about Henry, I reminded myself. It was about Franco, Alex, and Lando—people who didn’t make me feel small or uncomfortable. I dried off and slipped into a pair of comfortable jeans and a sweater before tying my hair back loosely. With a glance in the mirror, I forced myself to smile. It didn’t quite reach my eyes, but it was a start.

At exactly seven, I stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby. The boys were already there, chatting and laughing. Franco spotted me first, waving me over with a bright grin.

“Perfect timing!” he said, his energy contagious. “You ready?”

“Always,” I replied, smiling back as Alex and Lando turned to greet me.

“Glad you could make it,” Alex said warmly, giving me a quick hug.

“You’re not allowed to bail halfway through, by the way,” Lando added with a smirk. “We’re keeping you hostage for the evening.”

“Oh, no,” I teased, feigning horror. “Guess I’m stuck with you guys then.”

They laughed, and just like that, I felt a little more at ease. We piled into a car Franco had arranged, and he directed the driver to a small, tucked-away restaurant he’d found online. It was styled like a quaint town eatery, the kind of place that served hearty, comforting meals with a side of charm.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with rustic wooden tables, dim lighting, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. We grabbed a table near the back, and before we’d even ordered, the banter started.

“So,” Franco began, leaning forward with a grin. “What’s the over-under on Alex spilling his drink tonight?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “One time. It happened one time.”

“And yet, it lives rent-free in my memory,” Lando quipped, dodging Alex’s playful swat.

As the night went on, I found myself relaxing more and more. The boys were effortlessly funny, their lighthearted teasing pulling me out of my own head. When the food arrived—big plates of pasta, burgers, and fries—we dove in like we hadn’t eaten in days.

“So, what’s everyone’s game plan for tomorrow?” Franco asked between bites.

“Win,” Lando said confidently, earning a laugh from everyone.

“Revolutionary strategy,” I teased, shaking my head.

“And you?” Alex asked, looking at me curiously.

I hesitated for a moment, but their expectant faces made it impossible not to answer. “Honestly? Just survive the chaos. If the rain comes like they’re saying, it’s going to be wild out there.”

“You’ll do more than survive,” Franco said firmly. “You’re the rain master, remember? We’ll all be trying to keep up with you.”

I laughed softly, grateful for the confidence he had in me. The conversation continued, moving from racing to random topics like who could do the worst impression of their team principals (spoiler: it was Lando). By the time we left the restaurant, my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much.

As we walked back to the car, Lando nudged me lightly. “See? I told you tonight would be good.”

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, feeling a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a long time. For a few hours, I’d been able to forget the weight of everything else and just enjoy the company of my friends. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

The morning of the race was a whirlwind of nerves and anticipation. I stood in front of the mirror in my hotel room, mentally preparing myself for the challenge ahead. Today was a new day, and no matter what had happened leading up to this moment, I was going to race like it was my last. The pressure from Henry and the team’s constant expectations weighed on me, but I refused to let it break me. Not today.

After going through my usual routine of getting ready—gearing up, double-checking everything—I made my way to the paddock. The moment I stepped foot into the familiar environment, I could already feel the tension mounting. Of course, Henry was the first to spot me. As usual, he had a comment or two to make as I walked past him, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. His voice had that familiar smugness, but today I had one thing on my mind: get into the car and forget about him.

I didn’t let his presence affect me; I couldn’t afford to. I gave the bare minimum responses, nodding along as he made more remarks, his tone still pushing boundaries. His touch lingered longer than I wanted, but I kept my focus on the goal. I was here to race, not to let him ruin this for me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I made my way to the car. Once I was suited up and strapped in, the world outside of the cockpit faded. It was just me and the machine. The roar of the engines, the feel of the track beneath my tires—I was in my element. Qualifying started, and the nerves I’d been holding back finally seemed to evaporate.

But the track wasn’t as wet as I’d anticipated. The rain had calmed down to a drizzle, and the surface was surprisingly dry. That meant I couldn’t push as hard as I’d wanted, and the lap times didn’t reflect the pace I knew I was capable of. When I crossed the line, I felt a pang of disappointment. P5. Not terrible, but not what I had hoped for. Still, I couldn’t let it get to me. There was still the race, and I could make up for it.

The starting grid was a blur, and before I knew it, the lights went out. As we all took off, the rain came back in full force, and my confidence surged. This was my domain—racing in the rain was second nature to me, and I could feel myself carving through the field. It was almost effortless.

I overtook car after car, inching closer to the front. The rain never let up, but it didn’t bother me. I was in the zone. By the time I reached P3, I had a surge of pride—this was where I belonged. But the track was starting to get dangerous. The spray from the cars was so thick, visibility was reduced to almost nothing.

Then came the call.

"Bring your delta positive," Landon’s voice crackled over the radio. "Yellow flags. Be careful."

I felt the pit of my stomach drop. Yellow flags weren’t a good sign, and I could hear the tension in his voice as the tone of the message shifted. "We’ve got reds, we’ve got reds!" he said, loud and clear.

"What’s going on?" I asked, my hands tightening on the wheel.

"Franco has spun and crashed," Landon replied, his voice thick with concern. "We don’t know if he’s okay yet."

My heart skipped a beat. Franco. My mind raced with worry, the thought of him hurt gnawing at me. I had to swallow the lump in my throat, focusing on my breathing to calm myself. I needed to know he was alright.

"Franco, please be okay," I whispered under my breath.

The tension felt suffocating as I continued to slow and adjust my pace. It felt like an eternity before the radio came back on.

"Franco’s fine," Landon said, a slight relief in his voice. "He’s out of the car, shaken up but okay."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Franco was fine. But the weight of the situation still hung in the air.

I made my way into the pit lane, my mind still racing. The red flags meant the session would be paused, and we’d have to wait it out. As I pulled into my pit box, I let out a slow, steady breath, still shaken but thankful. The team was already working hard to keep me updated, but for the moment, I had to reset.

I couldn’t let my emotions take over. I still had a race to finish.

As the red flags finally lifted, I found myself back on the track, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The rain had only intensified, turning the surface into a treacherous challenge. Visibility was at an all-time low, and the spray from the cars ahead of me blurred everything around. Every inch of the track felt like a gamble.

The lights went out again, and we were racing once more. I quickly regained my focus, the familiar rhythm of the car returning beneath me. I knew this track like the back of my hand, but today, it was a whole different beast. The rain made everything unpredictable. My heart was still pounding in my chest, but I pushed it aside, keeping my focus sharp. This was the moment where I had to trust my instincts and my training.

As the laps wore on, I found myself battling alongside some of the best drivers on the grid, feeling the pressure building up. Then came the moment that would define the rest of the race.

Carlos and I were side by side on one of the straights, inches apart, both of us fighting for the same piece of real estate. It was going well until, suddenly, Carlos’s car began to aquaplane. His back end snapped out, and in the blink of an eye, he was off the track. Instinctively, I tried to react, but it was too late—my car was already slipping, too. The moment my tires lost grip with the wet track, I felt the dreaded sensation of aquaplaning.

My heart leaped into my throat as the car began to slide. I fought the wheel, trying to regain control, but it felt like the world was spinning out of control. Carlos was already in the gravel, but I had a split second to save myself. I yanked the wheel, bringing the car around in a full 360 spin. Time slowed down as I felt the car slide and twirl, but somehow, by sheer force of will, I managed to keep the tires pointing in the right direction.

It wasn’t over yet. The car didn’t want to cooperate. As soon as I regained control of the wheel, the back end started to drift into the next corner. I could feel the tires barely gripping the surface as the car skated dangerously, but I didn’t panic. My fingers tightened on the wheel, my foot on the throttle, and I steered the car back into line.

Somehow, I managed to correct the slide, keeping my position. No spinouts, no off-track excursions. I hadn’t lost anything—except maybe a few heartbeats—and I was still in P3. The radio crackled to life as I rejoined the racing line.

"y/n, that was some incredible driving," Landon said, his voice a mix of relief and admiration. "You’re still in it—keep it up."

I allowed myself a small exhale of relief, but I knew this wasn’t over. The rain was still coming down hard, and the conditions were only going to get worse.

Behind me, Max was gaining on me. He was hungry, and I could feel the pressure building with every corner I took. Esteban and Pierre were still in front of me, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the battle for P3 would turn into a fight for the win.

As the laps ticked down, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t just here to survive—I was here to win. I would prove to everyone that I could handle anything, even when it felt like the world around me was falling apart. I wasn’t going to let the conditions, or the pressure, take me down. This was my race, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me.

The final laps felt like a blur, a perfect mix of instinct and skill. I could hear the tires screeching as the rain continued to pour, but it was as if I had found my rhythm, my comfort in the chaos. Pierre and Esteban were still holding strong in front of me, but I could feel them starting to struggle with the conditions. The track was slick, every corner becoming more and more treacherous with each passing second.

I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away. I focused on the corners where they faltered, waiting for my chance. As we hit the straight, I pulled out from behind Esteban, my eyes fixed on the gap between him and Pierre. I knew exactly how much grip I had, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I closed the distance with a calculated precision, then took the inside line into the next corner. Esteban was slow on the brakes, his car sliding just slightly in the rain, and I dove past him before he could react. In an instant, I was on Pierre's tail, my heart pounding in my chest.

He wasn’t giving up easily, but the rain was a relentless opponent, and I could see the strain in his movements. With one final push, I threaded my car through the corner in a perfect line, pulling ahead of him just as we came to the final stretch.

I could hear the roar of the engine in my ears, the tires biting into the wet tarmac, and my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the car. And then, just as the checkered flag waved ahead of me, I surged forward, crossing the line in first place.

The moment the race ended, a rush of emotion hit me, and I heard Landon’s voice crackle through the radio, full of excitement. “You did it! Master of racing in the rain, huh? I think the storm has nothing on you.”

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension lifting as the weight of the victory finally set in. "Maybe I’ve just got a magic touch on the wet tracks," I teased. "Looks like the rain’s not the only thing I can control today."

Landon chuckled on the other end. "Whatever it is, you crushed it. Proud of you."

As I slowed the car to a stop, the pit crew and team stood at the barriers, all cheering and clapping. The adrenaline that had kept me sharp during the race now flowed freely, and I allowed myself a moment to soak it in. I had done it. I had conquered the storm.

The podium ceremony was a blur of smiles, flashing cameras, and cheers, but for a moment, I allowed myself to truly savor the victory. The rain may have been relentless, but it hadn’t stopped me from coming out on top. I glanced over at Pierre and Esteban, both grinning ear to ear as we all stood side by side on the podium.

"Finally!" Esteban chuckled, holding up his trophy, the relief in his voice palpable. "It’s been a long time coming, but this is worth it."

Pierre nodded, his eyes sparkling with pride. "You’ve been quick all season, Y/N. Well-deserved. I’m just happy to be up here with you."

I grinned back at them, genuinely happy for their success. It was a long time coming for both of them, and I could tell how much this podium meant to them. Seeing their joy, their sense of achievement, made the victory feel even more meaningful.

We all raised our trophies high, basking in the moment as the crowd cheered. But as the noise of the celebration filled my ears, my eyes couldn't help but wander to the crowd below.

I caught sight of Henry, his smug expression standing out among the rest of the team. His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, the joy of the podium felt distant, overshadowed by that familiar, disgusting feeling.

I couldn’t shake it. That sickening reminder that despite my hard work, my success, there was still something toxic lingering in the background. I forced myself to smile as I stood there, trying to shake off the unease creeping up from my gut. The team’s cheers filled the air, but all I could hear was the thought of the media duties that awaited me. I would have to face Henry again.

As the ceremony wrapped up and we made our way down from the podium, the momentary elation of the win started to fade, and reality hit me again. I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, focusing on the next step. But I knew deep down that the weight of what I was still facing wasn’t going to go away just because I’d crossed the finish line in first place.

I had a lot to prove, not just on the track, but off it too. And the hardest part? Getting through the next few hours, knowing what was waiting for me after the cameras stopped flashing.

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #max verstappen #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #lando norris #franco colapinto #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #george russell #grill the grid #f1 grid x reader

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