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abbotjack · 3 months ago

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Wearing War

summary : Jack Abbot’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed—but instead, you go to his favorite dive bar. You wear the skirt. You wear his tags. You push, and Jack—tired, restrained, and entirely yours—snaps.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! explicit smut, dominant boyfriend Jack Abbot, semi-public sex (in a parked truck), use of dog tags in kink context, possessiveness, fingering, vaginal sex, marking/bruising, overstimulation, reader is bratty and teasing, not much plot, mostly smut

word count : 4,323

Jack’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed.

You’d imagined it—his weight pressing into the mattress, one arm tossed over your waist, the rest of the world pushed away by the rhythm of his breathing. You’d imagined curling into the heat of him, tracing the faint scar beneath his ribcage with your thumb, pressing your face into his chest and not moving for hours.

But instead, you were standing in the doorway of your kitchen, watching him rinse his hands in the sink like he couldn’t quite turn off the part of his brain still stuck at work. His scrub top was balled up on the counter beside him, and his undershirt clung to his back in soft lines.

“Let’s go out,” you said, voice careful but certain. “Just us.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just let the water keep running over his hands like he hadn’t registered the question—or maybe like he was pretending not to.

“Out?” he echoed, like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth after ten nights of nothing but fluorescent lights and hallway coffee. “You mean… out out?”

You stepped into the kitchen, folding your arms. “Yeah. Not fancy. Not fussy. Just somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic or have a monitor beeping in the background.”

That made him glance over. Barely. But enough.

His brow creased like he was doing the mental math—how long since his last shower, how much energy he had left in the tank, whether he could fake his way through being social when he barely felt human.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t want… like, a real night out? Something normal. Reservations. Wine list?”

You shook your head. “No. I want you. I want O’Malley’s.”

That got his full attention.

He turned, leaning back against the sink. His dog tags swung slightly when he moved. “O’Malley’s?” he asked, like you’d just suggested robbing a bank.

You took a few steps closer. “Yeah.”

He blinked once. “You want to go to a bar where the jukebox hasn’t worked since ’08, the floor sticks to your shoes, and that guy with the mullet always thinks you're hitting on him just for saying hi?”

You smiled, letting your hands slip up under his shirt, resting lightly against the warm skin of his stomach. “I want you. Where you feel good. Where you’re not someone’s doctor or someone’s emergency. Just… mine. I’ve been coming home to your things, not you. And I want to be somewhere that feels like you again.”

He went quiet at that. Quiet in the way Jack gets when something actually lands. The way he used to go quiet back when you first met him—when you’d say something kind and he didn’t know what to do with it yet.

O’Malley’s wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t even clean. But it was his.

Brick walls stained with decades of smoke and sweat and spilled drinks. The barstools wobbled. The bathroom door didn’t lock unless you jammed it shut with your heel. But it was familiar. Steady. Like Jack.

It was the first place he ever kissed you in public.

The first time you saw him relax—really relax—with his hand on your thigh and his smile easy and unguarded. No pager. No badge. Just him and a beer and the kind of quiet contentment he didn’t let anyone else see.

You wanted that Jack tonight.

Not the version who came home bone-tired and silent, who sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark. The one who carried too many stories in his hands and didn’t know where to put them.

“Alright. We’ll go. But I’m not shaving.”

You smiled. “I like you scruffy.”

He kissed you, slow and low, then murmured, “Twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen,” you said, already slipping out of his arms and heading for the bedroom. “You’ve got first round.”

And as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you made a beeline for that skirt.

The black one.

The one that hadn’t seen daylight since your fourth date—back when he’d taken you to a bar kind of like O'Malley's. A little louder, a little messier, but the same kind of dim lighting and cracked leather booths. You’d leaned against the doorframe of your apartment when the night was over, keys in your hand, heartbeat wild under your skin, and asked, “Do you want to come up?” like you weren’t already hoping he’d press you into the wall and never leave.

He kissed you before he even got his boots off.

Not soft. Not slow. Like something in him had snapped loose. You barely made it to the couch—his hands on your hips, mouth trailing heat down your stomach, skirt bunched at your waist. He was on his knees before you could say another word, eyes dark, breath rough against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, voice all gravel and restraint.

You didn’t.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Just held your thighs open like he needed to, like he hadn’t had a real taste of anything in months. He made you come twice before he even touched himself. All control. All focus. Like the only thing that mattered was what your body was doing under his.

You still think about how he looked that night.

The way he moved—deliberate and slow, like he was memorizing every inch of you. The low curse he let slip when he finally slid inside. How he pressed his forehead to yours, jaw tight, barely breathing, like you were the only solid thing left in his world. No dirty talk. No theatrics. Just him, wrecking you with nothing but steady hands and a look you’ve never been able to shake.

That night, Jack Abbot stopped pretending. He stopped playing it safe. He stopped pretending he didn’t want you like a man starved.

You hold the skirt up in the warm light of your bedroom, thumb brushing the fabric like a secret, and smile. It’s tighter than you remember. Shorter, too—but maybe that’s just the way you’re looking at it now. With the memory of his hands. His mouth. His voice when he said your name like it was something sacred.

You slide it up your legs slowly. Deliberately.

Because you don’t want soft tonight. You don’t want tired.

You want him. The version of Jack who doesn’t know how to hold back. The version who comes home and remembers exactly who the hell he belongs to.

And by the time he sees you in this?

You want him wrecked.

Not by the shift.

Not by the world.

By you.

When you came downstairs, he was in the kitchen with his phone in one hand, wallet in the other, the porch light casting long shadows across the hardwood.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t look up until he had to.

And when he did—he stopped mid-motion. The screen of his phone still lit, thumb frozen over it, breath caught in his chest like it had nowhere to go.

His eyes dragged down your body and then back up, slow. Controlled. Like he was trying not to react. Like he had to try.

His mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw ticked once.

He wiped a hand down his face, slow and rough, like the sight of you was something he needed to get a grip on before it undid him. “You really—” he started, voice low and ragged, gesturing vaguely toward your legs. “That skirt?”

You leaned against the doorframe with the kind of casual ease that was anything but. “Figured I’d dress for the occasion.”

Jack didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“That skirt’s been in the back of your closet since…” He stopped, biting off the rest like it physically hurt to say it out loud.

You smiled gently. “Yeah. I remember.”

Silence stretched long and heavy between you. His eyes never left yours.

Then, quietly—honestly: “I’m not gonna ask you to change.” He paused. “But don’t ask me to keep my hands to myself.”

You pushed off the frame with a soft shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

When you reached for your bag, he still hadn’t moved.

You had to walk past him to grab your keys, and even then, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a word. Just watched. Like he was counting his breaths. Like if he said one thing too soon, this night would tip into something neither of you were dressed for.

You walked out together into the thick hum of summer, the heat sitting low and wet across the driveway. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the trees. The air smelled like warm concrete and fading sunlight.

As you made your way toward the truck, you let one heel wobble—just a little. Just enough.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stopping, bending at the knee like you needed to fix the strap.

You didn’t.

But you knew exactly what you were doing.

And you could feel his gaze on you. Hot. Still. Quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t come closer. Just waited, jaw tight, fists curled around the truck keys.

You stood, slow. Turned, met his eyes.

He blinked once. Swallowed. Then turned and opened the passenger side door for you like he wasn’t two seconds from backing you up against it.

The drive was quiet at first. The windows down, the music soft—something bluesy and old, not quite loud enough to distract from the weight between you.

You reached over, let your fingers brush his thigh gently. The shift in him was instant. A subtle inhale. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. His hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“You sure you don’t want something nicer than this bar?” he asked finally, voice low and quiet like he already knew the answer but had to give you the out anyway.

You turned toward him, soft smile still in place. “No, honey. This is about you.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead and nodded once. The streetlights passed in slow intervals, the engine humming beneath your feet.

And Jack?

He just drove. Knuckles white against the wheel. Thigh tense under your hand. Mouth pressed into a line like he was already counting down the minutes until you got home—and he could stop pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

When you walked in, his hand found the small of your back.

“Usual booth,” he said. “I’ll grab drinks.”

You turned, looked up at him with a soft smile. “No, babe. Let me. You always do it.”

He squinted slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Go sit. Relax.”

He hesitated. Then pulled out his wallet, thumbed through it, and handed you his card. You turned and walked to the bar, slow and confident, letting your heels click against the hardwood. The bar was a straight shot from your booth, just far enough that he could still see you. And you made sure to give him a show.

You leaned forward, pretending to read the drink list. Let your hips tilt. Let the skirt shift. Just enough for the lace of your thong to show.

The whistle was immediate.

A low sound from a table of men a few feet away.

And then Jack was there.

Behind you in a blink.

His hand clamped to your lower back.

And the other—

yanked your skirt down.

Hard. Final. Like the motion itself was a correction.

The fabric snapped against your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a jolt through you. You straightened instinctively, blinking.

“Jesus,” you said under your breath.

Jack leaned in. “You really wanna do this here?”

“I was just reading the menu,” you murmured.

“Bullshit. You order the same thing every time. Diet Rum and Coke. No lime. Half ice.”

You swallowed.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move again. Just pressed his hand firmer to your lower back and let the moment hang.

The bartender handed over your drinks. You took them. Didn’t say anything. Just walked back to the booth with Jack two steps behind.

You slid into the booth—on his side.

He gave you a look.

“What?” you asked, sipping your drink.

“You’re pushing it.”

You shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You’re doing this because I haven’t fucked you in ten days.”

You flushed—heat hitting your cheeks hard.

But you didn’t deny it.

Instead, you leaned in. He thought you were going to kiss him. And then your hand dipped beneath his collar. You pulled the chain free.

Unclipped it.

And slid his dog tags over your head. They settled against your chest, heavy. His name resting between your breasts.

Jack blinked.

Then laughed once. Dark. Rough.

“You wear them,” he said, voice low, “you ride. That’s the deal.”

You smiled. “I know the rules.”

He stared at you another beat.

Then stood.

“We’re leaving.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“You want people to see your cunt?” he cut in. “You want attention? Then let me remind them who you belong to.”

You didn’t argue.

Just followed him out, heart pounding.

You thought you were headed home.

But when he opened the truck door, he looked at you.

“You’re not gonna ride me in bed.”

You blinked.

He nodded to the truck. “You’re gonna ride me right here. Since you wanted to act like bait.”

You got in.

Because that’s exactly what you wanted.

And he knows it.

The truck door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thunk. One of those sounds that doesn’t echo—it lands.

Jack circles around the hood without a word. His boots hit the gravel with a quiet crunch, one slower than the other, rhythm faintly uneven from the prosthetic he’s never once complained about. Shoulders set. Gait loose, but loaded.

He’s not in a rush.

Not because he doesn’t want to touch you.

Because he’s trying not to break.

You sit in the passenger seat, legs drawn up just slightly, thighs tight, heart climbing higher into your throat with every second he doesn’t speak. The skirt’s still riding too high despite his earlier intervention—and the lace between your thighs is still damp. Still warm.

When Jack slides in behind the wheel, he doesn’t touch you.

Just plants both hands on the steering wheel and exhales. Once. Deep. Grounded.

Then he turns his head.

“I knew you wore that skirt on purpose,” he says, voice low. Strained around the edges. Not tired from work, but from holding back. Like keeping his hands to himself has taken more out of him than the last ten nights combined.

He says it like a confession. Like a warning.

And you don’t bother playing coy.

You tilt your head, smile just enough to be dangerous. “Figured you deserved something to look forward to.”

He shifts beside you, slow and quiet. One arm drapes over the back of your seat, casual on the surface—but his fingers find your shoulder. Trail down, soft as breath, to the edge of your collarbone. He lingers there. Just enough to feel your pulse.

“I’ve been looking forward to you for ten nights,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his palm drags slowly down your chest, not lingering, not teasing—reading.

Then he moves lower.

Hand slipping down your stomach, over the edge of your skirt, until he finds the lace. The wet. The heat.

He hisses through his teeth.

"You’re soaked."

You don’t answer.

“You’ve been walking around like that since the house?” he asks, more statement than question.

Your breath catches.

His fingers press in slightly—not a thrust, just pressure. Just enough to feel.

“I know this body,” he says, low, barely a whisper. “I’ve had this pussy every way you let me. In the shower. Against the wall. Bent over the fucking sink. You think I can’t tell when you’re asking for it?”

Your hips twitch into his hand.

He doesn't give you more.

“You thought this was gonna be cute?” he growls, thumb brushing just beside your clit. “Bend over at the bar. Show everyone the lace I’ve ripped off you a dozen times?”

You bite your lip. Nod.

That makes him laugh. A rough, breathless sound.

“I should take you back in there,” he says. “Let them see what it looks like when you beg.”

You shift toward him, no hesitation now—like your body’s been waiting for this as long as he has. You climb into his lap with practiced ease, knees against the worn leather of the truck seat, thighs bracketing his hips, breath warm against his jaw.

He exhales like the contact knocks something loose in him.

His hands find their way under you, palms settling at the curve of your ass—rough and sure, reverent in the way only a man who’s gone without you can be. Like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. Real. His.

“You missed me,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb dragging a slow arc along the edge of your hip.

“I missed you,” you breathe, your lips brushing his. “You weren’t home. Not really. I kept pretending it was enough just to hear your keys in the door, but it wasn’t. I was alone. I needed—”

Jack kisses you.

Hard.

Not like a question. Like a claim.

It isn’t soft. Isn’t slow. It’s hungry—the kind of kiss that splits you open, that tastes like every second he had to swallow the urge to call you in the middle of the night just to hear you. His mouth is hot and demanding, his grip tightening like he wants you closer, like closer still isn’t enough.

You gasp against him, fingers tangling in the fabric at his shoulders, and that’s when he groans—deep and wrecked—like you just pulled the last thread keeping him together.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

It’s ten nights of wanting.

And now?

Now he’s got you in his lap, and your skirt’s hitched up, and you’re not stopping him.

You’re meeting him there.

He bites your lip, slow and deliberate. Tugs it between his teeth, groans when you gasp. The sound spills into your mouth and coils low in your stomach, sharp and warm. His hands shift, drag you harder against him, and you feel it—how hard he is under his jeans. How close he’s riding the edge.

You rut against him before you can stop yourself, hips grinding down like instinct, like need. His hands grip tighter, grounding you, guiding you, pulling a sound from your throat you’ve never made for anyone else.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like you’ve undone something deep in him. His mouth finds your jaw, your neck, the corner of your shoulder—fast, focused, starving. Each kiss lands like an answer to every silent plea you made in the nights he was gone.

“Jack,” you whimper, breath stuttering. “Please—”

He growls. Low. Close. A sound like something tearing loose inside him, sharp and intimate and only for you.

His thumb presses into your waist, anchoring you. His eyes are on you now, heavy and dark, like he’s drinking you in—committing this to memory in case the world asks him to go without you again.

“You want it that bad?” he rasps, voice tight. “You want to fuck me right here, like this truck’s the only place that’s ever existed?”

You nod—frantic, breathless.

Your moan says the rest.

And the way he looks at you then—like restraint was never about control. It was about respect. And now, finally, he doesn’t have to wear it.

He grabs your face, hands big and steady, his thumbs resting under your jaw, holding you like he needs you still to speak clearly.

“You wear those tags,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You ride. Like you promised. You gonna be good for me?”

You nod again, quicker this time.

“Words,” he breathes, brow low. “Tell me.”

“Yes. I’ll be good.”

He exhales like that undoes something else in him. But he doesn’t thank you for it. Doesn’t say a word. Just watches you, jaw clenched, thumb brushing your chin like you’re both already undone and just getting started.

“You made me watch,” he murmurs. “Watch every man in that bar eye what’s mine.”

You meet his stare, voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to remind you.”

“You did.”

He unzips his jeans without breaking eye contact. Slow. Controlled. Not hurried, not desperate. Just decided. Like he’s already known for days exactly how this was going to end.

The tags shift when you lean forward. They clink once against his chest before settling back against warm skin—your skin.

“Do it,” he says, voice scraped raw. “Do what you promised. Ride me.”

His hands guide you—slow, steady, reverent. Like he knows what this is. What it means. What it’ll undo.

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

A pause. One breath. Then another.

“Remind yourself who the fuck you belong to.”

Your hand slips between your bodies. Sure. Smooth. No hesitation now. You find him—hot, hard, already pulsing in your palm—and line him up.

You sink down.

You don’t even make it all the way down before Jack’s hands are on you—possessive, certain, like your body belongs to him and he’s just reclaiming it.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. His head falls forward, lips brushing your sternum as you sink fully onto him. You feel the tremor run through him. Hear the sharp breath he drags in like he’s been choking without you. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

His fingers splay wide across your hips, holding you there. Not letting you move. Not yet.

“Stay right there,” he growls. “Let me feel it. All of it.”

You whimper, thighs already shaking, because he’s thick, hot, deep—so deep it makes your chest ache. You try to move, to set a rhythm, but his grip tightens instantly.

“No,” he says, tone dropping lower. “This isn’t yours to lead.”

You gasp. “Jack—”

He shuts you up with a thrust so sudden, so deep, you see stars. The sound you make is guttural—raw and involuntary.

His hands grip your waist, drag you down harder against him with the next roll of his hips, his cock hitting that spot that makes your spine arch, your jaw fall slack.

“I’ve been hard for you for ten fucking nights,” he rasps against your collarbone. “You think I’m letting you play games? You think I’m letting you tease me, ride me slow like you’re in charge?”

He pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart. I am.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ease you into it.

He fucks up into you like it’s punishment for making him wait—hands bruising your hips, his mouth hot against your throat, his body straining under yours like he’s holding back from breaking the whole damn truck apart.

Your skirt rides up higher. Your knees scramble for leverage. The windows fog, the air thick with the slap of skin, the creak of leather, your name torn from his throat like he’s never tasted anything better.

His hand slides up your spine, fingers threading through the chain around your neck. His dog tags. His.

And then he yanks.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough.

Enough to snap your head back. Enough to leave you gasping. Enough to remind you—he’s home now.

He thrusts up, harder now, sharper. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, your body unraveling under every precise, unrelenting movement.

“You wanted me to lose it. Wanted to feel me snap.”

“Jack—please—”

His fingers twist the chain tighter, the metal cool against your throat. “You wanted this? You take it.”

Another thrust. And another.

He’s all teeth and tongue now—biting at your jaw, kissing you deep, swearing against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You feel your orgasm building hard and fast, coiled tight in your belly.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“There she is,” he whispers, voice almost gentle in contrast to how he’s fucking you. “You gonna come on me, baby? Hm? Let go for me?”

You nod, eyes wide, breath ragged. “Jack—God—Jack—”

“That’s it,” he says, and he fucks you through it. “Come for me. Come now.”

And when it hits, it slams into you—your whole body tensing, toes curling, nails digging into his chest, a moan torn from your throat that doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever made before.

He fucks you through it—relentless, controlled—until your walls flutter around him and your body starts to fold.

That’s when he lets go.

He growls your name, hips bucking once, twice—and then he’s buried deep, his jaw clenched, eyes shut. Like he’s finally home.

He stays there. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

One arm around your waist. The other still curled in the chain around your neck.

Breathing hard. Pressing kisses to your chest like prayers.

You let a beat pass. Then two.

You shift slightly, still filled. Still aching.

Then you lean back and smirk.

He notices immediately.

“What,” he says flatly, eyes opening just enough to pin you in place, “is that look.”

You blink, all wide-eyed and faux-sweet. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

He raises a brow. “Surprised.”

You nod. Slow. A little too pleased with yourself. “Mmhmm. I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Jack exhales through his nose. Once. Controlled. His jaw shifts.

“Careful.”

You shrug, grinding down just a little—not enough to be obvious. Just enough for him to feel it.

“I mean… it was good,” you say lightly. “Don’t get me wrong.”

His hand flexes on your hip. Hard.

“But I was expecting…” you trail off, eyes dancing, “more.”

Jack’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then: “You done?”

You grin. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“No,” he says calmly. “You’re done.”

He shifts under you, cock hardening again. Already thick. Already ready.

Your smirk starts to fade.

But it’s too late.

You’re about to get it.

#the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #smut #shawn hatosy #fanfiction

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dokyumms · 4 months ago

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seventeen's reaction to you hiding an injury from them !

pairings: ot13 x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.2k (lowkey estimated bc word counter isn’t working)

cw: injuries (sprained wrist/ankle, concussions, etc.), blood mentioned but not descriptive (woozi) way too much backstory bc i'm a d1 yapper

a/n: for the record i've never sustained a major injury (thankfully!) besides when i dislocated my shoulder when i was 4 years old so this may not be accurate. SO sorry that this took so long i had a brain fart or smth 😔

scoups - you really didn't think he'd notice immediately, but he does. you accidentally rolled your ankle trying to catch the subway. it wasn't too bad; the doctor said you'd minorly sprained your ankle, but all it needed was a couple weeks in a splint.

so deciding it wasn't that big of a deal (and lowkey a win since you got to skip work), you didn't think of telling seungcheol because one, you didn't feel like listening to him scold you for staying up too late the night before, and two, he'd just gotten off tour. he didn't need to spend the next couple of weeks babying you over an injury that didn't even require surgery. in some attempt to hide it, you put on some sweatpants and slippers and call it a day.

but when he returns home from a day out and catches you instantly put down your leg from where you'd been elevating it on a footstool, he immediately grows suspicious of something. "why were you doing that just now?"

"eh? i think you're being paranoid- oh, um..." you try to play it off, but then he comes closer and inspects your body for a bit before pulling up your pant leg to reveal the splint surrounding your ankle despite your protests.

his eyes widen and he looks up at you from where he's kneeling. "you got hurt? when? why didn't you call me?" he asks rapidly. you sigh, listening to him scold you even more than what he would have if you'd told him earlier, finally promising him to never hide anything from him again.

jeonghan - basically, you slipped in the shower and gave yourself a concussion while jeonghan was at practice. out of pure embarrassment, you didn't tell jeonghan because let's be real, it sounded a little stupid and someone like him would never let you live it down.

and honestly, you thought you'd exceeded. jeonghan had come home and didn't mention anything to you, just complaining about how he hates all his choreography (he says this everytime he has to learn new choreo...). that was until you went to bed.

all is well, but then those massive headaches roll in one by one and now you're stuck with an unbearable migraine. trying not to disturb your boyfriend, you uncurl yourself from him and barely make your way to the kitchen.

the headache only gets worse as you fumble with the advil bottle while cursing your concussion aloud when suddenly a hand takes it and opens it. "here," you turn around, only to find jeonghan offering the bottle with a confused, sleepy look.

"and what were you muttering around? a concussion or something?" you gulp, taking the advil as you try to come up with an excuse. he takes your (literally three second) hesitation as an answer, "wait- you actually got a concussion?" avoiding the question, you attempt to usher him back to bed, but now he's somehow gained consciousness and doesn't back down. "y/n, what happened? and why didn't you tell me?" and when you finally tell him, he's... disappointed?

"baby, you really didn't tell me you got a concussion because you thought i'd make fun of you?" he sighs, shaking his head before putting his hands on your shoulder, "i'm your lover before a jokester or best friend, okay? i care about you more than anything. don't hide things like this from me."

joshua - in this situation, you would say "snitches get stitches" but the only one who actually got stitches was you.

you got a pretty bad arm wound while bike riding with your friend. it hurt and the only thing you really remembered was crying from the pain. anyways, joshua had just gotten off tour, and you'd feel bad for making him worry, so you made your friend promise to not mention it to him.

but the only warning you get when you return home from the hospital is a text from that same friend saying, "sorry y/n...." before you open the door and are greeted by a very worried joshua.

"y/n! i heard about your arm, are you okay?" you try to brush him off, but he doesn't let you. "hey, your friend also said you were going to try to hide it from me. why's that?"

"it's really not a big deal shua-"

"don't lie to me, she said you were crying, babe. why are you trying so hard to keep this from me?"

you don't know what to say and joshua just embraces you, "here, i'll take care of you okay?" and you let him, because it's joshua.

jun - ugh, he's so oblivious yet somehow annoyingly observant that he finds out without trying.

someone ran over your toe with a shopping cart during your grocery trip. it truly didn't hurt that much in the moment, but the hours after that? oh boy were they torturing.

it still didn't seem like enough to tell jun about, so you simply went about your day suffering in silence.

during dinner, however, he asks you through scoops of chinese steamed egg, "did you hurt your foot while shopping?"

taken aback by the accuracy of his question, you literally drop your spoon and he's just like, "what?? you just seem to be lighter on your feet today, that's all."

he takes the whole situation pretty lightly (oblivious i tell you) that he doesn't even believe you when you try to tell him the truth 😭 "okay, okay, you're just trying to make me seem smart now." so then you take off your sock at the dinner table and lift your bruised foot to show him and he looks at you like this: (°ロ°)

hoshi - unlike jun, he does NOT take it lightly. he's almost offended.

yes, you shouldn't be trying to walk around too much with a bad ankle, but you can't help it okay? sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, like walk hoshi's dog, latte, while he works on his album.

he's been really busy, okay? you never told him about how you tripped around a week ago, so you'd just been living as if it never happened. honestly it's no surprise that you kind of automatically accepted his sister's request without thinking of your ankle (that was praying you'd stop putting pressure on it).

but then you make the grave mistake of posting your walk on instagram with just a sliver of the bandage wrapping up your ankle. he literally hearts the story, removes it, and replies with an angry face.

he calls you, "y/n! what are you doing walking around with an obviously injured leg? and why am i finding out through your instagram story?"

you're not sure what to say, but he talks for you, "i'm leaving practice right now so i can take care of both my babies, don't move. you'll make your ankle worse, babe."

"right, because you'd know-" and he hangs up on you,

wonwoo - silently observant...

you were surprised that you'd been able to go this long with a cast around your wrist, only using hoodies to conceal it, but turns out wonwoo's like those shop employees who wait for people to steal $1000 worth of stuff before dropping that lawsuit on them.

one day, you're both just sitting on the couch when he grabs ahold of your wrist. he literally waits for you to be distracted, doomscrolling on social media, to do it.

but then you feel him roll up your sleeve, and now you're doomed.

"what's this, y/n?" he asks firmly, holding your arm tight enough to where you can't move, but somehow gently as to prevent any discomfort (how cute of him).

"you really didn't think i would notice it? you wearing hoodies when it's 70 degrees, eating with your nondominant hand, taking forever to shower because you have to wash your hair with one arm, why didn't you just let me take care of you?"

you sort of shrink back in shame; wonwoo read you and you were stunned. he simply takes you into his arms, murmuring, "i'm not mad, i just want you to know that you don't have to struggle like that when i'm here. i'll notice either way."

woozi - ouch. you accidentally cut yourself while cleaning up the remnants of a glass cup you dropped. the cut was deep, but somehow still in a sleepy daze, you cleaned it to the best of your ability, slapped some gauze on it, and went back to bed.

whenever jihoon comes home, he follows his normal 2 am schedule, but then notices the blood-stained towel in the hamper. he rushes to your room, only to find you sound asleep.

still, he shakes you awake, "y/n, why's there a towel with blood all over it in the laundry room?" you kind of look at him, confused, before simply lifting your arm to reveal the amateur work you did you bandage it.

at first, he sighs in relief, but then you see his brows furrow. "when did this happen? seems kinda serious..." he inspects it closely as you mumble, "i dunno, couple hours ago? i dropped something."

"what? why didn't you call me? i could've come home earlier to take care of it." he says, feeling guilty about not being there.

"it's really nothing, you've been really busy anyway. this isn't something you should worry about-" but he shushs you. "i'm never too busy to help you, y/n. i don't want you thinking like that."

dk - like hoshi, he doesn't take it lightly. you took a heavy fall while rushing to work a couple days ago. it wasn't a big deal until your arm started to bruise pretty badly.

you knew seokmin would freak out at it, so you planned on wearing long sleeve shirts to cover it up, and it'd been working pretty well.

but unfortunately for you, this had to be the time where you forgot to bring a shirt with you to shower, accidentally bringing two pairs of pants instead.

you tried to dash in and out of your room as fast as possible, but seokmin was plopped on your bed, getting a clear view of your arm (you had a towel wrapped around you okay?).

his jaw drops, you grab a shirt, water is dripping everywhere, and you yell “i’ll explain later!” as you run back to the bathroom.

when you come back, his jaw is still in the same position. “seok, it’s really not that bad.” you assure him, but he barely pays attention, just reaching for your arm. “it looks bad though…” he mumbles, poking at the bruise like a little kid, “that didn’t hurt, right?”

ugh, he’s so cute.

mingyu - you somehow manage to slice your hand open while cooking dinner for whenever mingyu comes home.

do you tell him? absolutely not. you definitely do not need him locking you out of the kitchen after you try to cook one time.

you really don’t have time to go to the hospital (which you definitely should’ve done??) so you opt to put some pressure on it with a towel until it stops bleeding, and because you have terrible timing, mingyu enters the apartment.

at first he says “smells pretty good! what are you-“ he strides into the kitchen to see the food you were unable to plate at the dining table (that actually looks pretty good), your distressed face, and then your hand.

“at least i got here on time,” he says, taking your hand and looking at it closely. “don’t worry, i was like trained for this stuff.” he smiles, heading toward what you used to think was an overstuffed medical cabinet.

“you didn’t even call me. were you planning to take care of this yourself?” he asks, wrapping your hand with precision. “i’m here for a reason, you know? you just gotta let me help you, baby.”

the8 - you had a feeling minghao would notice immediately, but there was a very slim chance he’d miss it this time. he’d just got done filming for his survival show, and you knew he’d be tired when he got home.

you’re a pretty clumsy person, and you always felt bad for making a usually calm minghao worried. so, when you tripped and got a concussion the day before, you didn’t tell him.

it was going fine, painkillers acting as your savior, but then you ran out of them. groaning, you decide to wait for minghao to leave the house to go buy more, but he doesn’t?

it’s like his subconscious knew your plan, and eventually you just can’t take it anymore, calling your friend and asking her to drop some off.

then you go to take a nap on the couch as an attempt to sleep off the headache you have, unaware that your friend’s at the door.

minghao gently shakes you awake, bottle of advil in his hand and a concerned look on his face. “i knew something was up with you. you should’ve just told me, y/n.” he says, explaining how your friend gave him a weird face when he asked about the medication and then dropping how you got a concussion like it was obvious.

“we shouldn’t hide things like this, okay? it’s not good for you.”

seungkwan - let’s just say, you may not be cut out for volleyball.

you were just goofing off with your friends, playing volleyball, when you dislocated your shoulder. seungkwan was hosting a variety show, and you didn’t feel like bothering him, so you didn’t mention it, not even when he video called you during his lunch break.

it wasn’t that bad of an injury, the doctor popped it back into its socket and you were sent home with some medication.

a week passes with no problem, but then seungkwan offers to play some badminton (like the LAST sport you should be trying to play during recovery), and thinking it wouldn’t be too bad, you accept.

it’s only till you’re actually swinging the racket that you realize that your shoulder has definitely not healed, let alone healed enough to really be playing a sport. you suddenly pause, “wait- just give me a minute.” he runs over from his side of the court. “hey, what’s going on? you look like you’re in pain.”

trying to get out the fact it’s because you got a dislocated shoulder, you ramble “it’s fine, just a dislocatedshoulderigotaweekagowithouttellingyou 😄”

and he’s like “WHAT? are you crazy?? why are you trying to play on it?” and proceeds to grab that same arm and drag you out of the court. he definitely scolds you for the rest of the day…

vernon - normally he’s chill, but right now he’s lowkey tweaking out.

while he was visiting his sister for her birthday, you broke your leg. you didn’t tell vernon because you wanted him to have a good time with his sister (how nice of you 😊), but when he comes home, he doesn’t think of it as such.

you’re laying on the couch, watching a show, whenever he enters the apartment. there’s a blanket over you, so he doesn’t notice the leg immediately.

“finally, this jet lag has got me *yawn* out of it.” he says, lifting the blanket just enough so he can slide in next to you.

he still doesn’t notice until his leg touches your boot, yelping in surprise. “why are you wearing shoes on the couch?” and then making another surprised noise when you reveal its a medical boot.

“did this happen when i was gone? you should’ve told me…” he gently scolds you, mainly because you made him so surprised, and then just lays back with you on the couch like nothing happened.

dino - you really wanted to tell him, but he just looked so happy in singapore and you really didn’t feel like ruining his time there.

on the way to class, you fractured your wrist while trying to catch yourself. since then, you’ve been struggling trying to do basically anything: changing clothes, showering, cooking, the list goes on.

but you didn’t tell him, just choosing to get through it until he comes home.

“y/n~ i’m home!” he calls out, walking in with his luggage. you’re in the shower, arm sticking out as far as it can away from the water, trash bag wrapped around that arm, and ultimately, just in a bad position.

“um, in here! can you help me?” you holler. you feel bad for making him help you as soon as he got home, but you’re going through hell and back trying to shampoo your hair.

he walks into the bathroom, “you sure you want me in here?” and all he sees is a fogged up shower with a trash bagged arm sticking out of it. surprisingly, he immediately understands what happened.

“babe, you should’ve told me earlier.” he says, helping you wash your hair properly. “i don’t like to think that you’ve been struggling like this without me there.” he frowns, kissing you on the forehead.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #dokyumms #dividers by toastray

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ranoutofficssoiwritemyown · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! Can I request the lads boys with a reader that’s typically super composed losing their composure? It could be something serious or super small, they just hit their breaking point.

Okay, this might be longer than I intended it to be but les go

Zayne

Zayne flinches slightly when you slam the door shut as you enter.

“Hello, dear”

“I can’t fucking believe it”

Zayne raises his eyebrow. He has never, and he can swear that he never, ever heard a swear word coming from your mouth, nor has he ever seen you this angry.

“Don’t these people look where they’re going at all? Look at my shoes, they were white when I left home this morning. At least three people have stepped on me. What the fuck?”

Maybe Zayne should thank god that you don’t notice how he sneaks a glance at the calendar and once he makes sure it is nowhere near your period he stands up and approaches you, however, you interrupt whatever he is going to say while you’re pacing back and forth.

“Then I was late to work, and to make matters worse I got stuck in the elevator. I was there for at least half an hour. And when I finally meet Jenna, because that’s why I was there actually since it’s my day off, I found out that I can’t go to any mission for at least three days, because a certain doctor doesn’t recommend it”

Zayne’s eyes widen at her last sentence. No, he’s not scared of you, generally. But he’s also never seen you like this. The thing is, you and Zayne are on the same wavelength. Both of you are calm and composed, even during arguments, which are rare, none of you raise your voice. Now he’s standing here watching you pace around in his office and shouting curses because you had a bad day, part of which is apparently his fault and… he fears for his life.

Only when he sees angry tears does he come out of the trance and grab your hand pulling you to him. He cups your face and you look up at him with a frown.

“Okay, take a deep breath with me” he inhales deeply and you copy him. He does it a couple of times before seeing you slightly relax “Good. Now, listen to me. I understand you had a bad day and I’m sorry that you can’t go on missions for a few days, but you had an injury a week ago”

You open your mouth to speak but he shushes you with his finger on your lips.

“Shh, let me. I know it’s healed, but you were on bed rest and even if you feel like it, you’re not completely fine. Let’s give it a few days, hm? Trust me, I’m not doing this just because.”

You stay silent and Zayne sighs.

“I’ll be off in an hour. How about you wait for me? Then we can go home and have hot chocolate while watching the show you’ve been begging me to watch together for weeks.”

“I wasn’t begging…” you mumble as you look down.

“What was that?”

“Okay”

“Okay,” Zayne kisses your forehead before you get comfortable in the armchair in the corner of his office.

Rafayel

‘Well, she needs a fucking exorcism’ is his first thought as he sees you stomping in his studio. Apparently, your cat is lost, and Rafayel might or might not have something to do with it. In his defense, it wasn’t on purpose. How could he have known that if he’d leave his door open that little devil would run away?

“I knew I shouldn’t have left him with you, I’m so stupid- actually no, you’re so stupid. How the hell did you lose him?”

“I told you, I left the door-”

“I know what you told me, it was rhetorical- god is your brain of a fish too?”

“Wow, that’s mean”

Rafayel pouts slightly and he would become dramatic in a moment if it wasn’t you being dramatic right now and you weren’t even doing it on purpose. Oh no, Rafayel has never seen you this furious, nearly having a mental breakdown and his brain short circuits.

“He must be so scared and hungry and… lost” You sniffle and Rafayel realises you’re crying.

“Hey, hey, look. We’ll find him okay? Thomas is out there searching for him. I’m so sorry I lost him but we’ll get him back, I promise”

“How? You don’t even-”

“Look who I found”

Thomas enters the studio with an orange cat in his arms. You run to him immediately and Rafayel sighs in relief. He thinks you would actually kill him if Thomas couldn’t find the cat.

“I owe you my life” he whispers to Thomas.

Rafayel approaches you, eyeing the cat in disdain.

“I’m never leaving you with him,” you say to your cat.

“Oh- oh no. Please don’t take him away from me”

You laugh at his sarcastic answer.

“I’m sorry I called you stupid”

If Rafayel couldn’t act dramatic before, now was the perfect time.

“Yeah, you should be. That was really mean, you know? Your words pierced through my heart like a dagger-”

You cut him off with a kiss

“Does this make up for it?”

“What was I talking about?”

You laugh.

Xavier

Xavier has never in his life regretted anything like he regrets letting you play on his gaming console. Who would know that as much as you are calm and collected, there is a rage in you that only the videogame can take out on the surface. Maybe not. Xavier knows you've been stressed lately and maybe you're taking everything on your teammates in some stupid videogame. Either way, it doesn't look good.

“Are you serious? You are a support for fuck’s sake, why are you taking my kills? I’m the adc here. I’m playing with degenerates”

You’ve been shouting at the screen for so long that Xavier becomes tired. He tries to tune you out, he really does, but there’s only so much he can take. He gets up from the bed and unplugs the gaming console. You look at him like he just stabbed you in the back.

“Wh-what- why? Oh my god, I’m gonna get banned for being afk”

“It’s my account, I’m gonna get banned and I don’t care. This game is driving you crazy… and me”

“But-”

“No,” he says it like, you’re a kid “Come to bed, I wanna take a nap”

“I’m not sleepy,” You say while yawning and Xavier chuckles slightly.

“Okay, come on”

You take his hand and drop to bed, taking him with you.

“I bought a new hero, by the way”

“YOU SPENT MY GOLD?”

“Shh, let’s sleep”

You shush him quickly as he grumbles something under his breath. Whatever, it's a much healthier coping mechanism anyway.

Sylus

Sylus didn’t expect to see you bawling your eyes out when he entered his bedroom. To say, he is surprised, would be an understatement. The most out of control he has seen you is when you… well, when you wanted to kill him, to be honest. Even then, he pulled the trigger on himself. So seeing you in his room, sobbing in his bed is something new and terrifying. In a second he is beside you, gathering you in his arms while you sob into his chest.

“Sweetie, tell me what’s the matter. You know I can make it disappear, whatever it is… or whoever it is.”

You don’t answer, couldn’t answer. But you try to get ahold of yourself.

“He-” and a sob escaped your lips again.

Sylus stayed silent to give you time to gather your words as he planned the most painful ways to murder whoever ‘he’ was, in his mind.

“He loved her and he didn’t tell her, because-” you sniffle as Sylus gets more and more confused “because he thought she would never look at him”

You grab the book beside you and suddenly everything makes sense. You’re crying because of a book. Sylus almost laughed, but he stopped himself from making a grave mistake.

“But she loved him too and now she’s married but they both still love each other. And she named her son after him”

Sylus understands half of it as he wipes your tears.

“What do I do with you, kitten, hm?”

“What?”

He laughs before kissing your cheek

“I’ll get the bath ready and tell me about the book while we relax, okay?”

“Okay”

“And maybe next time, don’t give me a heart attack”

You frown.

“It’s really sad. Doesn’t it affect you at all?”

“Fictional tragic love? Not my cup of tea. But coming home and seeing you having a mental breakdown over a book affects me… a lot, may I add”

You laugh sheepishly

“Sorry”

He kisses you, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Caleb

Caleb has known you since childhood and has seen every side of you… or so he thought. He can swear he has never seen you so angry and to make matters worse, you’re angry at him. Now he regrets every life choice he has ever made.

“Okay pipsqueak, calm down-”

Another apple comes flying to his face and he barely avoids it.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you asshole. Am I your prisoner now? You locked me in your house while you were god knows where and even had the nerve to not answer my calls. I swear-”

You try to throw another apple at him but he grabs it before you can.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry but I wasn’t near my phone, what was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not lock me into the house?” You exclaim.

“Oh, you’re so hot when you’re mad”

There is a moment of silence before you lunge at him.

“Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that- Ow!” He rambles as you hit his chest repeatedly. He steps back and trips over something. Next thing he knows, he’s on the floor and you’re on top of him, straddling his waist. You are breathing heavily as you blow loose strands of your hair from your face.

“There’s something wrong with you”

You say calmly and he stays silent.

“Why would you-”

“You tried to leave”

He says suddenly.

“What?”

“How would you know you were locked in if you didn’t try to leave?”

You look at him dumbfounded and almost started pounding on his chest again.

“I didn’t know what to expect when you’d wake up and I had to go to work. I didn’t want to come home and find you gone so I did what I could think of… And I really wasn’t near my phone when you were calling me, I swear.”

“you are so stupid”

You mumble as you get up. He follows you and dusts himself off.

“I wanted to get some air, take a walk but no my boyfriend is a paranoid freak”

“I’m your boyfriend?”

He grins suddenly. You watch him for a minute before letting out a scoff

“An idiot is what you are”

#love and deepspace #sylus #caleb #rafayel #Zayne #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #zayne x reader #xavier #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #x reader #lads #lnds

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cheftsunoda · 3 months ago

Text

Beauty and Brains

(part two)

SMAU! + Real Life

in which charles leclerc's twin is a doctor and is making the big move back to monaco and also introducing the family to her new boyfriend...who they most definitely already know.

Charles Leclerc X !Doctor Sister Reader X Platonic F1 Grid

Leclerc Reader x Lando Norris

part one here:)

part three here:)

part four here:)

tag list : @klauslovemepls, @omgsuperstarg, @msliz, @samanthaofanarchy, @mayax2o07, @goldenstrawberryx, @hannahmotors10, @alireads27, @1800-love-me

—

reader point of view ;

The living room was a sea of half-filled boxes, bubble wrap, and sharpie markers. It was strange—seeing my medical textbooks, framed degrees, and half-used coffee mugs all laid out like museum artifacts waiting to be archived.

“You sure you need all of these anatomy books?” Lando’s voice called from the study, followed by the sound of something thudding against the floor.

I chuckled, wiping my hands on my old jeans as I walked in to find him crouched next to a very full box, one of the books clearly too heavy for its own good. He looked up with that guilty-but-charming smile.

“Those books saved my ass in med school. I’m not leaving them behind just because they weigh a ton.”

He huffed dramatically. “Fine, but I want it noted that I’m risking back injury for love.”

I stepped closer and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You’re very brave, Norris.”

He smirked and rose to his feet, brushing his hands off. “So, when are we tackling the kitchen? Because I feel like that’s going to be way more terrifying.”

I let out a groan. “Probably after I emotionally recover from going through my office.”

He reached out and took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he studied my expression. “You okay? I mean, I know this is exciting—coming back to Monaco, being closer to family, starting fresh—but it’s a lot.”

I nodded, biting my lip. “It is. It’s a good kind of overwhelming, though. I think I just didn’t realize how much I’d built here until I started packing it all away.”

“I get that,” he said softly. “But you’re not doing it alone. I’m here… and your brother’s probably going to show up in a Ferrari and try to carry one box like it’s a workout.”

I laughed. “That sounds exactly like Charles.”

Lando grinned. “And hey, once we get to Monaco, you’ll have a whole new home to decorate, new memories to make—and I’ll still be stealing your cereal and annoying you every morning.”

I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He held me tightly, his chin resting lightly on my head. The chaos of moving felt a little less daunting in that moment.

“Thank you for helping me,” I whispered. “For all of this.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at me, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Always. You’re kind of stuck with me now, Dr. Leclerc.”

I smiled up at him. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

—

dr_jules_leclerc added post(s) to her story!

{caption 1 : <3} {caption 2 : so happy to be back home}

alexandrasaintmleux : hurry uppppp i wanna see you

dr_jules_leclerc : see you so soon angel

arthur_leclerc : charles is getting impatient and he may know about you and lando

arthur_leclerc : expect an influx of messages in the group chat

dr_jules_leclerc : took him long enough

charles_leclerc : jules elise leclerc answer your messages rn

dr_jules_leclerc : that is DR jules elise Leclerc to you pal.

username4 : phone case is very lando coded

—

lando added post(s) to his story!

{caption 1 : prettiest angel , caption 2 : back to monaco}

seen by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell & 3,378,688 others.

—

The Monaco sun filtered through the car window as Lando pulled into the familiar driveway of my childhood home. I had purchased a Penthouse next door. I felt a rush of emotion—nostalgia, nerves, and excitement all tangled together. Even after living away for so long, the sight of home still made my chest ache in a good way.

Lando looked over at me, sunglasses sliding down slightly on his nose. “Still good?”

I nodded, squeezing his hand on the gearshift. “Yeah. Just feels… real now.”

The front door swung open before either of us could even get out of the car. Charles stood there, arms crossed, that signature protective brother glare already locked and loaded.

“Oh no,” Lando muttered under his breath with a smirk. “Here we go.”

I stepped out with a laugh just as Charles started walking over.

“You’re late,” he announced, though his grin betrayed his excitement.

“It’s Monaco,” I shrugged, opening the back of the car. “Time doesn’t exist here.”

Charles pulled me into a hug, his chin resting briefly on top of of my head the way it always had since we were kids. “I am so glad you’re back.”

“I missed you too,” I mumbled into his shoulder before pulling away.

Then, his gaze shifted to Lando. The grin faded just a fraction.

“Lando,” Charles said, tone neutral.

“Charles,” Lando replied with a mock salute. “I brought your sister back in one piece and helped pack her entire life into about 47 boxes. So I feel like I should get a gold star or at least a drink.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t drop any of her medical equipment, did you?”

Lando put a hand to his heart. “Not even the weird bone model thing that stares at you.”

“It’s an anatomical replica of a skull,” I clarified, rolling my eyes.

“Right, creepy Steve,” Lando added, pointing toward the box where the plastic skull peered out.

Charles blinked. “You named it?”

Lando and I both said at the same time, “He named it.”

Charles just sighed dramatically and grabbed a box. “You’re both weird. Perfect for each other, unfortunately.”

I laughed as Lando nudged me with his elbow. “Look at that. He’s accepting us. That was basically a blessing.”

Charles shook his head but smiled. “Just remember—if you break her heart, Norris, I know where you live. And we drive the same track.”

Lando threw up his hands. “Noted. Fear officially installed. Now can we carry boxes inside before I collapse and die from exhaustion?"

As I walked up the front steps between the two most important men in my life, I felt it—the peace of being home, the warmth of Charles’ ridiculous threats, and the comfort of Lando’s quiet, steady presence. This was the start of something new. And this time, I am not doing it alone.

—

The apartment was still a mess of boxes, pizza crusts, and tangled extension cords, but somehow it already felt like home. I was curled up on the makeshift couch—a pile of cushions and a borrowed throw blanket—with Lando beside me, both of us exhausted.

“Okay, real talk,” Lando said, taking a sip from a water bottle. “We should just live like this forever. Minimalist chaos.”

I laughed, nudging his side. “You mean organized mess? Very artistic of you.”

“It’s nice,” he said, leaning closer. “Besides, I've got all I need and that is you.”

He kissed me slowly, his fingers brushing over my cheek like he had all the time in the world. I melted into his touch, hands resting on his hoodie, smiling mid-kiss. The door suddenly burst open without warning.

“We brought champagne— Mon Dieu!” Charles’s voice rang out first.

“Bro, seriously?” Arthur groaned right behind him.

“We said knock!”

Lando looked genuinely startled, clutching a throw pillow over his lap like it was a shield. I was already halfway on my feet, eyes wide, cheeks blazing.

“Do you two not know what knocking is?? As-tu perdu la tête??" I shouted.

Charles stood frozen, one hand raised like he was about to make a toast, champagne bottle still uncorked. Arthur looked like he’d just walked in on an exorcism.

“Is this how you treat your guests?” Charles said, dramatically turning his back. “We bring you gifts and you assault our eyeballs?”

Arthur muttered, “Je ne reverrai plus jamais.” (I will never see again)

Lando cleared his throat, still sitting awkwardly on the pillow. “Uh… hi, guys. Good to see you. Love the timing.”

Arthur gestured vaguely to the room, eyes narrowed. “Is this the vibe now? Moving in and immediately traumatizing family?”

I snatched the champagne out of Charles’s hand. “You didn’t even text! It’s our first night here!”

Charles dropped into an armchair with a dramatic sigh. “Exactly. We wanted to be part of the moment. Thought we’d celebrate you finally moving back—and I walked in on Lando trying to eat your face.”

“Romantic,” Lando mumbled, grabbing two glasses from a box and handing one to me.

Arthur dropped next to his brother. “We brought snacks too. But I guess you’re already full of each other.”

“Arthur! Ferme ta gueule” I groaned, covering my face.

Lando gave me a look, grinning like he was actually enjoying this. “I like them. They’re fun.”

Charles pointed at him. “We are not fun. We are watching you.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lando said with a smirk.

I poured four glasses, reluctantly toasting with them all as Charles sighed and Arthur wiggled his brows in my direction. I was flustered, and slightly horrified—but also happy.

“Cheers to new beginnings,” I said.

Charles added, “And boundaries.”

Arthur raised his glass. “And to Lando marrying my sister."

Charles began choking on his champagne and smacked Arthur as Lando giggled to himself. Lando leaned in, whispering with a grin, “Remind me to install three deadbolts tomorrow.”

I laughed as my two idiot brothers bickered across the room, and Lando wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

—

The salty breeze hit my face as I stepped out onto the private beach, toes sinking into warm sand. The sun was shining, the waves rolled gently in the distance, and Charles was already arguing with Arthur over who forgot the sunscreen. Lorenzo and Charlotte settled down in the sand next to Maman and Alex followed close to my side.

I adjusted my sunglasses and glanced back at Lando, who was shirtless, in board shorts, and struggling to carry two umbrellas, a cooler, and mine and Alex's beach bags like a pack mule. I tried not to smile too wide.

“You alright there, muscles?” I teased, reaching to take the bag off his shoulder.

“I’m thriving, actually,” Lando puffed, pretending to struggle more than he actually was. “This is the full boyfriend experience, right? Beach Mule?”

You kissed his cheek in thanks. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Alex giggled to herself and parked herself in the chair beside me. Charlotte came over and we began our typical girl talk. Lando was stood still trying to assemble all the beach gear. Down by the water, Maman was watching as Charles tried to construct a sandcastle with the intense focus of a man trying to outdo a toddler. Arthur, meanwhile, was already in the water yelling something about being part dolphin. Lorenzo trying to ignore both of them for his peace.

Lando dropped beside you onto a towel and stretched out, arms behind his head. “This is heaven. Sun, sea, no pit wall yelling in my ear…”

“Don’t get used to it,” Charles said, tossing a clump of wet sand at the both of us. “You’re racing next weekend.”

Lando shielded his face dramatically. “You mean I don’t get to retire at 25 and live on the beach with my beautiful doctor girlfriend?"

“Please don’t encourage him,” you groaned, lying back beside him. “He’s already too relaxed. He tried to explain to me, the doctor, that sunscreen is useless." I stated and Alex chuckled from beside.

“It is when you’re built like a bronze god,” Lando said confidently, flipping onto his stomach.

I grabbed the bottle from the bag and rolled my eyes. “Give me that before you turn into a tomato.”

From a few feet away, Arthur shouted, “Lando, if I see one more love bite on my sister’s neck, I swear I will drown you.”

“Arthur!” I yelled, mortified, gripping at my neck.

Lando just grinned. “For the record, she’s the one who bit me first.”

“Lando!” you smacked his shoulder as Maman called out from her chair with a grin on her face, "Arthur, faites attention à vous."

Charles was howling with laughter, and Arthur looked like he was planning Lando's funeral.

"Charles don't act like I don't notice you marking up my sweet innocent Alex." I shouted pointing to Alex as she hid her head. Charles laughing stopped abruptly and he went back to the sand.

I collapsed next to Lando again, hiding my face in the crook of his arm. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

He just kissed my temple and murmured, “You love me though.”

I huffed and nodded as he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

—

After the long day at the beach, Maman had prepared a dinner for all of us. I had just got out of the shower and dressed and saw Lando lying on the bed. He smiled and reached his hands out towards me pulling me down with him.

"Dinner is ready." I mumbled against his lips.

"Just two seconds with you." He murmured as he drew me into his lips and held me steady. His hand made its way to rest lightly on my neck guiding the kiss.

"Excuse me, love birds, dinner is ready!" Arthur shouted banging on the door, interrupting our moment of peace. I stood up and opened the door and glared at him. I chased him out into the kitchen and jumped on his back. Maman, stood over the pots and pans in the kitchen chuckled at us. Lando followed behind laughing and struck up a conversation with Maman. Arthur clutched my legs and started running outside towards the pool.

"Arthur, I will literally kill you. No pool." I yelled and he stopped right at the edge of the pool. Charles, Alex and Lorenzo watched closely all holding back a chuckle.

"Say that I am your favorite Brother and always will be." He threatened as he teetered me over the edge.

"Arthur, you are my favorite brother and always will be." I stated and stared down Charles and Lorenzo while shaking my head. Arthur gently set me down on the ground and squeezed me into a hug.

I walked over and sat in between Charles and Alex. Alex and I began discussing her recent duties in her job in Art.

"I have an exhibition next week, if you'd be interested in joining me." She stated with a smile and nodded.

"Absolutely." I said and took a swig of the wine.

"I can see how happy Lando makes you and it warms my heart. You so deserve that." She said and I felt myself flush.

"Same goes for you, Mon Amor. Even if it is sadly my brother that makes you happy." I said and we both chuckled as we peered over at Charles and Arthur who were arguing again.

"Everybody ready to eat?" Maman asked as she peaked her head out of the door. We all nodded and followed her to the other side of the terrace. I pulled her into a hug and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"merci maman." I said and she smiled.

"tout ce que tu fais pour ma fille. ce garçon que tu as est spécial." She replied and I smiled to myself. (anything for you my girl. that boy you got yourself is very special)

"oui, il l'est" I said and watched Lando as he finished setting the table. (yes he is)

I greeted Lando with a kiss on the cheek and he smiled.

I sat between Lando and Arthur, sandwiched in as usual, while maman fluttered around making sure everyone had enough food (even though there was more than enough), and Charles argued passionately about wine pairings with Lorenzo.

Lando leaned over and murmured in my ear, “I think your mom just tried to sneak more food onto my plate when I wasn’t looking.”

“That’s how she shows love,” I whispered, stifling a laugh. “You’re officially in.”

“She also asked me earlier what my intentions are with you,” he added under his breath.

I turned to him, wide-eyed, slightly choking on my wine, “What did you say?”

“I panicked and said I liked your brain,” he whispered.

I burst into quiet laughter, covering my face as he grinned.

Arthur leaned over suspiciously. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Lando’s fear of lasagna and commitment,” I teased, nudging Lando gently.

“Oh, I’m great at commitment,” he said casually, picking up his glass of wine. “I mean, I’m practically in love with—”

He froze. I froze. The whole table went quiet like someone hit pause.

Charles dropped his fork. “What did you just say?”

Lando blinked. “I—I said I’m practically… uh… in love with food?"

Maman raised an eyebrow.

Arthur leaned back, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Did our sweet little Lando just say the L-word?”

Lando looked absolutely panicked—but I was staring at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. Because I knew what he meant. He wasn’t talking about the food. I reached over and gently took his hand under the table.

“Hey,” I said quietly, “you don’t have to walk it back.”

He looked at me, eyes softening, and then took a breath.

“No, you’re right,” he said, this time with no hesitation. “I meant it. I love you.”

Silence again. And then—Charles groaned, dramatically dropping his head into his hands. “I knew this dinner was cursed.”

Maman beamed with joy. “Finally!”

Arthur raised his glass. “To Lando being emotionally available—who would’ve guessed?”

I laughed as the chaos resumed, my heart full and warm, my fingers still wrapped in Lando’s under the table.

I looked at him and smiled. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I knew it,” he whispered smugly. “This family loves me.” Charles scoffed loudly and then threw a napkin at his head.

"Don't get too cocky, Norris." Charles snapped and Alex smacked the back of his head.

"I love you as my own, Lando." Maman stated, giving Lando a huge smile.

—

dr_jules_leclerc just posted!

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, lewishamilton & 12,424,878 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : i made the mistake of taking lando on a vacation with my family and now he thinks they are all insane (just charles).

lando : would deal with charles' threats and abuse every single day if it means i get to see that beautiful face at least once

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and charlotte2304

charles_leclerc : watch your back, norris.

lando : you do realize that will be your sisters last name someday too..

liked by author & alexandrasaintmleux

arthur_leclerc : charles is shouting and on the verge of tears rn

liked by author, lando, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : SHE WILL KEEP THE LECLERC NAME GOD DAMNIT

liked by author

lewishamilton : Treat her well, Lando. She is a special woman.

liked by author, lando, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc and maxverstappen1

lando : she definitely is mate, the most special

alexandrasaintmleux : so happy to have you back mon ange

liked by author

charles_leclerc : all this charles slander is BS

liked by author

franciscacgomes : NO- I LOST MY WOMAN TO A BRIT

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I LOST YOU TO A FRENCHIE

carlossainz55 : Happy for the both of you! Be nice to each other because I have a hefty soft spot for you both and the break up would kill me.

liked by author and lando

dr_jules_leclerc : my carlando heart

liked by carlossainz55 and lando

yourbff : body so tea the british r coming or whateva

liked by author

lando : yeah they definitely are

liked by author and yourbff

arthur_leclerc : i am acting like i cannot read

dr_jules_leclerc : wdym acting - you can't read.

charles_leclerc : i am hiring a hitman im tired

—

@lando made a post!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc, pietra.pilao, mclaren & 8,987,274 others.

lando : fuck a soft launch- im dating the most intelligent and beautiful person on the planet and i love her dearly

dr_jules_leclerc : my cutie pie angel face pookie love

liked by author

charles_leclerc : im gonna be sick

lando : walk past a mirror charles?

liked by dr_jules_leclerc + arthur_leclerc

username4 : he got the girl from being himself guys

liked by author + dr_jules_leclerc

username4 : take notes

adam_norris_pure_electric : We are so excited to meet her!!

liked by author & dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : you saw my home, norris. seems i need to see yours now;)

liked by author, flonorris1 and ciscanorris

ciscanorris : Bring this beautiful girl home to me right now, Lando. I have to start digging out your baby books!!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : oh i am definitely excited now

@maxfewtrell : so glad to see you so happy man!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

@pietra.pilao : we want to meet her!!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

@leclerc_pascale : Beautiful Couple. Love you both!

liked by author & dr_jules_leclerc

maxverstappen1 : Happy for you guys but so help me Lando if you hurt her, I will eat you alive. Leclerc is not your biggest problem.

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : charles isn't even a problem he is just a menace

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and arthur_leclerc

lando : not threatened at all by charles- slightly scared of mad max tho

liked by dr_jules_leclerc and maxverstappen1

arthur_leclerc : a bumble bee followed charles around the terrace yesterday and he screamed for about 5 minutes

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and dr_jules_leclerc

charles_leclerc : talking about someone when they are not present to defend themselves is RUDE.

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : kk scaredy cat

—

dr_jules_leclerc added to her story!

{caption : brother in laws <3 }

seen by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 7,378,367 others.

charles_leclerc : what is this? take it down immediately- you are ruining my intimidating older brother image.

dr_jules_leclerc : wdym older brother we are TWINS CHARLES. shared the womb.

charles_leclerc : maman always told me I was born 4 minutes ahead of you… I am older

dr_jules_leclerc : mmm okay whatever helps you sleep at night but the whole internet knows you’re not intimidating at all..frankly I am more intimidated by Leo

—

part two complete! let me know if you guys would like a part 3 where she meets lando's family or any other requests you have. my drafts are quite full but i am just trying to get a feel for what you guys want to read. i am always accepting requests:)

#lando norris #lando x reader #mclaren #lando x you #charles leclerc #lewis hamilton #scuderia ferrari #formula 1 #formula one #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader

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emilys-bangs · 6 months ago

Text

born knowing you | e.p

Tags: shy!reader, established relationship (married cause who wouldn’t wanna marry her), temporary amnesia, hospitals, reader has an appendectomy but no details are mentioned, absolute boatload of fluff, disgusting amount of petnames used, no use of yn

Summary: After your surgery, the effects of the anesthesia linger: you can’t remember your wife—or being married to her. Luckily for the both of you, she’s persistent.

Word count: 1.4k

The moment you peel your threaded lashes apart, fluorescent light assaults your eyes. Immediately they shutter closed. You take a few seconds to adjust to the blissful dark before opening them again, a small, displeased sound getting stuck in your throat.

It catches the attention of a woman sitting on a chair next to your bed. She looks up from a book in her lap, a smile crossing her face as she closes it and slips it onto the table next to her. Your brain is fuzzy, but with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the uncomfortable scratch of the gown you’re wearing, it’s not hard to deduce that you’re in a hospital.

“Hi gorgeous,” she says softly. Reaching out, she takes your hand. “How are you feeling?”

You frown confusedly. Looking between her and your joint hands, your perplexion mounts; you know her, you must. Your skin doesn’t crawl at her touch. But you try to come up with a name, a memory, and your brain comes up with nothing.

The woman squeezes your hand and leans out of her chair, across the handle of your bed—she’s suddenly so close you could count the freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes spike your sluggish pulse into something frantic.

God, she’s so familiar. You know that stare. Your skin warms at its intensity, a low buzz in your bones that could no doubt be accredited to the deep, unfathomable brown of her iris.

Nobody has eyes like that.

The woman’s brows pinch at your silence. A wrinkle forms between her manicured brows; she chews on her bottom lip, squeezes your hand again—nervous this time.

“Honey?”

“I…I know you,” you mumble uncertainly. It sounds like a question.

The wrinkle clears. An exhale parts the woman’s heart-shaped lips, her relief wafting over your chin.

“You do. I’m Em, baby. Emily. Don’t you remember?” She asks gently, cradling your cheek with her free hand. You think you could’ve answered if not for the devastating tilt of her spidery lashes. “The anesthesia did a number on you, huh? The doctor said it might happen.” Her thumb traces the length of your jaw.

She’s so close. You swallow and discover that your throat is dry. Emily, she said. Strange how it warms you up on the inside. Flitting your eyes away, you relieve yourself of her crushing gaze.

“Can I have water?” You rasp.

Emily procures a bottle. Cold creeps into your skin as she adjusts your bed, helping you sit up, and uncaps the water. Your arms are leaden by your sides. Heat surges in your cheeks as you let her help you drink, a distinct weight on your face you think might be from her eyes. You can hardly feel the cool spill of the water down your throat.

Clumsily, you push the bottle away when you’re done. Water spills down your chin; it travels down the column of your neck, soaks your hospital gown. Embarrassment flares hot, especially when Emily’s hand is there on your chin, drying the water with her fingers. You stare at her, this time unable to look away even when her eyes meet yours.

She smiles, dimples popping in her cheeks. “Everything alright in there? They didn’t mess you up too bad, did they?” Her voice is lightly teasing. It’s lovely, silky smooth and drenched with the warmth of adoration. That can’t all be for you, can it? “I should’ve flashed my badge, let them know it was precious cargo they’d be dealing with.” She muses, brows pinched as if she were serious.

God, who is this woman?

You swallow your thrumming heart. “What happened?”

“You had an appendectomy.” Emily says. “Laparoscopic. It took about an hour—we should be out of here once they check your vitals.”

Out of here, to where? She won’t be taking you to her home, will she? You saw a wedding ring on her finger when she tucked her hair—wavy, dark as an oil spill—behind her ear. The glint of metal makes your stomach tighten strangely.

“Hey, you never answered,” Emily’s leaning against the handle of your bed, “how are you feeling?” A smooth, smoky scent floods your lungs.

“Alright.” Breathless. Her ring is dazzling in the dull light. “Itchy. But nothing hurts. You’re married.” You say, vaguely aware of the way your voice slurs.

Emily smiles softly.

“We are.”

What?

You shake your head haltingly. “I’m not—I’m not married.”

“You are, sweetheart.” Again, she cups your face. “To me. What, am I that easily forgettable?” She whispers. The smile doesn’t play on her lips now; it shimmers in her eyes. “You’re breaking my heart, love.” Her voice is so achingly tender, soft as the cushioned heel of her palm.

Your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

Breathless, you wet your lips with a quick dart of your tongue. “You…you wanted to marry me?”

Emily looks almost offended.

“Of course I did.”

You still can’t fathom it. “Why?” You mumble. “Why me?”

“Who else if not you?” She thumbs along your jaw.

You’re dizzy. And almost entirely sure she can feel your frantic pulse under the lazy drag of her finger. At your disbelief, Emily hums.

“Here,” her hand is reaching for your left, “see? I put that there, two October’s ago.” She kisses your wedding band—how hadn’t you felt it?—her lips velvet smooth against your skin. “You were so stunning I nearly forgot my vows.” The warm vibrations of her voice sink into your hand, reverberate through your bones.

It’s a good thing you’re in a hospital; you think she might be doing you irreparable damage. Lungs tight, you try to think past the effortless way she threads her fingers through yours.

“Do you always flirt like that?”

Emily’s smile melts your brain. “When you let me.” She shifts a little closer—impossibly—and her eyes sweep downward, a lick of heat burning your lips. Then they’re back up to meet yours, wide open and a little desperate. “Can I kiss you, baby? God, you wouldn’t believe how much I missed you in there.”

Your heart palpitates.

“We’ve done it before?” You manage, more than a little choked at the thought.

“A million times.” Emily promises.

It’s your turn to look at her mouth. Soft pink, heart shaped, and entirely too inviting. When she does something with a flash of her teeth, you’re a goner.

“Okay.”

She lights up. “Yeah? Sure?”

“Please.”

The breath you exhale when she cups your cheek is downright embarrassing. But it almost doesn’t matter; this close, you can see that her pupils are wide, blown out. The lack of iris doesn’t make her gaze any less intense. If you hadn’t been sitting, legs firmly on the mattress, you’d have slid to the floor with weakened knees.

Emily’s lips are exactly as soft as they look. She tastes like coffee, sweetened by something you inexplicably identify as Splenda, and when her fingers sift through your hair something tugs in your chest. It’s instantly proven—no, this isn’t your first kiss. Maybe it has been a million times, or maybe somewhat less, but it’s not the first. Though it’s chaste and quick, your mouth knows what to do. Even when Emily leans back, eyes glittering, your mouth takes over without your permission.

“Love you,” you blurt.

Emily grins so wide you’re breathless. “I love you too. What, did I kiss some memories into that pretty brain of yours?” She thumbs at the edge of your tingling lip.

“You could try to. If you wanna.” What are you even saying anymore? She’s robbed you of thought, of breath. You’re happy to be completely at her mercy.

“Honey, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Emily says solemnly. She kisses the corner of your mouth, the mellow lilt of her voice dissolving right in your tongue. “In fact, it’s my duty as your wife, I’m pretty sure.”

“My wife,” you say dumbly.

“Oh, you like that.” Her grin is incandescent. “God, I’d marry you all over again if I could.”

“I’d just like to remember the first time,” you say quietly.

“You will.” Another kiss, to the other corner of your mouth. Feather light and quicker than you’d like. Your mouth curves into a sulk—a pout.

“Soon?”

“Before you even know it.” Emily—your wife (the reality is starting to set in)—promises. And her promise holds up; it’s when she’s taken you home, and you’re in a baggy pair of sweatpants, flushing and fidgeting as it comes back to you. Believe me now? she teases into your ear, her laugh soft when you reach out to swat at her.

You can’t believe you ever doubted.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fic #divider by saradika

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kabr0ztrousers · 5 months ago

Note

Your werewolf hubby's knot won't seem to go down no matter what you do, so now it's up to the monster doctor to walk you through different ideas in his office... Perhaps he breaks a few rules and joins in halfway through. Don't worry, he's a doctor and he knows what's best. ;)

Kabr0z Writes Episode 48: Medical Attention

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

I also decided to revisit Professor Blaidd from the Debt trilogy

CWs: Medical malpractice (kinda); double penetration; knotting; creampie; dubcon, but not from the person you're expecting;

A/N: This one may wind up more comedy than pornography... We'll see how it shakes out, I guess!

######################################

Try it, they said. You'll have fun, they said. Well, you tried it, and you just wished when you bought that packet of little blue pills you'd read the label more carefully. Maybe then you'd have spotted where it said "not intended for lupines" before getting your brains fucked out and winding up tied together.

You don't mind it, per se, but you're naked, leaking, and have been stuck holding onto the front of your lover for the last hour. Every time you move he whimpers as you push his sensitive cock around in you, god knows what'll happen if you sneeze.

A knock at the door. Owain's here. He was the best man at your wedding, the devious arsehole who ensured your husband spent the subsequent morning taped to a streetlamp, and by remarkable good fortune happened to be a licensed physician specialising in lupine care.

"Well, Mr. Blaidd" you gestured to the door "Company's here"

Your lover smiled, "I suppose, Mrs. Blaidd, we'd better answer the door." He stood up, wincing as your weight pushed his knot another inch into you "Normally I'd be masked in this situation" he muttered under his breath. You stifled a laugh, but your belly still shook a little, making him grab the wall and growl.

He backed up to the closed door and you turned the handle with an outstretched foot so if it wasn't your friend, all they'd see is your husband's back rather than a full show of his cock lodged in you. Thankfully, it was Owain there, the wiry grey wolfman laughing at your predicament

"Rhys you old dog, got a predicament have we?"

He slapped your husband on the back, jostling you both. You gasped a little as the cock buried in you twitched again and a little fluid leaked out of you.

"Yes, you bastard, we've been stuck like this for an hour" Blaidd growled softly as he shook his friend's hand before leading him in to the sitting room, still disturbed from your earlier lovemaking.

"So, how long have you been..." Owain mimed an erect penis

"About two hours?"

You laughed "About one and a half"

"Ok, so the danger zone for a lupine starts around six, so as long as he's out and deflated by then, you're golden"

You looked at your husband. He looked at you. You both looked at Owain.

"We'd like a little sooner?"

Owain laughed, visibly searching his memory "Easiest way would be to make a little cut and... Drain the organ"

Blaidd went pale

"But that's a last-resort. We could always try... Hmm. Worth a shot" Owain got up and left the room, returning a moment later holding one hand in another before holding it to Blaidd's muzzle.

Blaidd sniffed, then gasped, then sneezed hard. The cock stuck in you was forced upwards, you gasped as a little more fluid leaked from it, joining the half-gallon it felt like you were carrying already.

Owain looked at you both, stroking his chin "You know, normally I'm treating the opposite problem... I bet I know what would work, but it's not altogether... Ethical..?"

You looked at each other again, then back at the other wolf in the room

"You want to fuck me up the ass?"

The two wolves stared at you. Then at each other. "He's been eyeing me since he walked in, have you not noticed?"

Blaidd coughed, reaching behind his head in the way he does when he's not willing to admit something. Owain was desperately trying to avoid eye contact, but the growing bulge in his pants told you everything you needed to know

You sighed at your husband "It's not the first time we've shared, is it?" Then, to Owain "There's lube under your seat"

The doctor didn't need telling twice. Stripping his lower half and grabbing the bottle from under the armchair he was on. He's already hard, slathering the cool lube on his cock and your hole only made him more excited. Already panting into your ear, he lined himself up, precum bubbling onto your ass.

He pushed in, your tight hole stretching for him. It didn't hurt, you're well prepared and slick, but the sensation of two cocks in you at once made you gasp.

He isn't shy any more. Thrusting and grasping at your hips. You can feel his cock rubbing against the thick knot already in you, making Blaidd gasp and groan as the sensitive organ is frotted against.

You moan and your cunt clenches, the two thick cocks driving into you bringing you off. Your fingers brush your clit, hurling you over the edge as your heart races. Blaidd groans as your cunt milks him to another aching orgasm inside you, right as Owain knots your asshole.

You're locked in. Your husband on one side, his best friend on the other, and both of them sealed into your holes, emptying their balls into you.

You're no less stuck than you were before, but the two big wolves are so furry, so soft, you reckon it's probably fine.

###################################

Yeah, this was more farcical than titillating, but hey, overstimming your werewolf husband while his performance-enhanced knot is stuck in you by getting anal from his best friend is one hell of a plot.

Either way, tomorrow's episode is another TF extravaganza, with even more questionable medical ethics

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months ago

Text

Back on my Snowcrow bullshit

Just, Sylus fucking Zayne stupid

Our poor doctor is always on, always calculating, never giving his brain the proper break it needs. He's been going full-tilt since high school if not even earlier than that - he needs a chance to shut off

So Sylus first approaches this with a relaxing getaway. A breath of fresh air out in a lodge (ahem, one of his safe houses) wouldn't hurt. Plenty of sweets and non-medical books and beautiful hiking trails - just anything to get Zayne away from that damn bustling city

It works.... ish. The problem is that Zayne doesn't really have an off switch. This is relaxing, sure, but there's that last thread of tension and thought that keeps him from ever fully letting his guard down. If it was just for losing control of his Evol, he already knows Sylus heals quickly (and on some level enjoys the pain), but whatever it is is stuck in that amazing brain of his

Sylus asks if he can try something, and though he gives very litte info on what he wants to try, Zayne agrees. Sylus trails his fingers along Zayne's throat, chin, cheek, drawing him into a kiss. When he pulls away, breaths still mingling, Zayne quirks an eyebrow at him and says dryly, "You wanted to try kissing?"

Sylus smirks and quips that that's just the start of it

And just, book abandoned on the floor as Sylus presses Zayne back into the couch, kissing him like a man starved, caressing and holding him in all the right places. Savoring all the breathy little sounds he makes, especially as he trails his mouth along Zayne's throat. He gets scolded for biting him like he does - wide and deep, leaving lasting imprints behind - but he's seen the way Zayne traces the marks when he thinks he's not watching, committing them to memory

Zayne insists they should move this to the bed. Sylus can't help agreeing, loath as he is to get off of his partner. They're stumbling through the cabin, unable to keep their hands or mouths off of each other, undressing as they go. Sylus lifts Zayne to lay in the middle of the bed, and straddles him, because he knows how much he loves when he sits in his lap. Sylus holding his face in both hands, rolling his hips slightly against Zayne's, panting as he pulls away to look into the hazy, adoring eyes of his sweet doctor. Speaks between little kisses, some chaste and quick while others take a few seconds, "I want... to try... fucking every last thought... out of that damn head of yours..." If Zayne wasn't a blushing mess already...

Sylus takes his sweet, sweet time with him. The foreplay alone seems to last an hour, Zayne's body all marked up and eager for more

Cut to Zayne on his hands and knees, Sylus's hand around his throat keeping him from falling into the pillows, as Sylus slowly, torturously, thrusts into him. But it's only slow right now, because just a minute ago he'd set a pace so brutal, Zayne was close to finishing. Edged over and over again, to and from his orgasm, his body aching so much to finally release, it's the only thing on his mind. Choking pleas to let him cum in between hiccuping tears as he feels the pressure ebbing

Sylus kissing and biting and sucking marks all along his neck, shoulders and back. Free hand stroking teasingly over Zayne's stomach and chest, never where he needs him most. Frost has already started to form along the headboard, snowflakes drifting from the ceiling, cold drifting up Sylus's hands. That's really how he knows he's succeeded; when the ice turns against him. He uses the chill to tease Zayne's nipples, hard and red and surrounded with bite marks

"I'll let you cum this time," he promises against the shell of Zayne's ear. "You've earned it, my beloved, haven't you?" He speeds up, increasing back to the insane pace from before, while Zayne can only gasp out various yesses, barely aware of what he's agreeing to, just that Sylus has sped up again. Sylus wrapping his hand around Zayne's neglected cock, letting it fuck into his hand with each thrust. Zayne's holding onto the sheets so tight he thinks they might rip, all the more reason to keep going

Zayne finishing first in weeping moans that hitch and catch in the back of his throat, cum spilling into Sylus's hand and onto the bed beautifully. Sylus's hips stuttering before pressing himself as close to Zayne's as possible, burying himself as deep as he can go, pushing into him to hard Zayne has to fight not to be choked on his hand as he's pushed forward

Sylus is slow to pull out, and watches with pride as his cum dribbles out onto Zayne's thighs and over his balls. It's all Zayne can do to stay on his shaking knees. Carefully keeping him from falling over as he helps Zayne flip over onto his back next to the mess he made. Zayne's far gone, panting with his eyes closed and face twisted into the aftershocks of pleasure. Anything he could say now wouldn't register

The ice and frost start to recede as Sylus cleans Zayne off with a warm wet washcloth, thoroughly taking care of his partner. Conscious thought starts to come back while he's wiping the tears and drool off his face, hazy green eyes fluttering open to look up at him. Sylus can't help himself from presses little kisses to the corner of his mouth and his cheeks. Zayne tries saying something, but it's all slurred together and garbled - a first, no doubt. Sylus shushes him and tells him to just lay there for a bit

Once they're (mostly) cleaned up, Sylus lays beside Zayne (opposite the remaining mess on the bed) and cuddles him, holding him close and giving Zayne the time he needs. Once the ice and snowflakes are completely gone, and their breaths have regulated themselves, Sylus kisses his head and teasingly says, "I think I succeeded, don't you?"

This was not meant to be this long I swear

#zayne #sylus #snowcrow #love and deepspace #zayne x sylus #sylus x zayne #zylus #smut

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kingkat12 · 5 months ago

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prom night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, mature/dark themes, Roman adores reader so much aghhhh<33, fluff, Roman is bad with words lol, blood, mentions of death, attempted kidnapping, amnesia, Dr. Pryce is scary omg, dead dove do not eat tbh, silly bf Roman because why tf not

summary: going to prom with Roman Godfrey had been a dream of yours for longer than you could remember-- but suddenly, that was the only thing you could remember. seriously. what the fuck happened last weekend, and why is Roman keeping you in the dark about it?

word count: 16,708 (oh my fucking god)

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: celebrating 900 followers (??? WHAT) with the biggest chapter yet!!! I've spent a month preparing it, and this has been the chapter I've been building up to ever since I started this series... I suggest you read it in one sitting because I intended it to be read that way, (although I know that is a lot to ask!!! not necessary boo), and I'm sorry about everything in advance aghhh😭 I would also like to give special thanks to @mentallyscreamingsincebirth for being such a great support and for guiding my brain through this enormous chapter, THANK YOU LYNDI<3 much much love, ENJOY, and read at ur own risk!!!<333 MWAH

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

Have you felt it lingering in your forearms, like you're pressing them up against a flaming stove? Have you felt it pressing at the sides of your head, waiting for it to cave in on itself? I always thought it would feel like going to sleep; that no matter how you pass, you reach a point where your mind flips over into delirium, and then you feel drowsy until it's over. Yet somehow, I was suddenly convinced it was nothing like that. I was sure that it felt like nothing but pure panic, accompanied by a crippling fear unlike any other. Because it hurt, everything hurt, and I was sure I'd be stuck in an endless loop of hell where I would forever be semi-conscious and in excruciating pain.

And why?

Because right now, I was sure I was dead.

That I was done. Deceased. Expired. I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, or why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, like someone had grabbed hold of my tongue and tugged me forward-- a bright light shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the bed with a shriek. It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, and I clawed at my chest as my nails dug into the fabric of my shirt, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

"Pryce, do something!"

"Mr. Godfrey, sit down!--"

"Do something!"

I was still screaming when my hands were pried off my skin with an annoyed groan, still heaving for air as a man in a white coat now hovered over me. He forced my left eye to open wider with his cold, bony fingers, shining the light directly at my pupil. He was searching for any lack of reaction as I emptied my lungs, crying out in fear; it wasn't until I felt the scent of a familiar cologne fill my body that I started to fight my screams of panic.

I was sure it was Roman who was now pinning my hands down to the bed-- his indexes were pressing against my wrists, checking my pulse, the classic Godfrey move. He usually only did that when he was trying to make a point about him making my heart race, and that's how I was certain it was him.

Once the doctor finished, my cries had largely quieted down. All that was left was a series of whimpers and shaky breaths. "What's happening?" I struggled to ask, my voice cracking. I saw the doctor scowl at Roman, clearly frustrated by something. My lower lip quivered; why was I here? What was happening?

Why couldn't I remember anything?

When the doctor spoke, he was still not looking at me; "You're at the Godfrey Institute, getting what is considerably the best care in the world," He moved away, tutting as he sat down on the chair opposite the bed I was lying on. Coming to my senses, my eyes traced the room. The walls were painted an uncomfortably bright hue of white, and I was afraid I'd go blind looking at them for too long. However, the doctor's voice caught my attention once more; "You don't seem to be concussed, but I'll check your reflexes. Have you exhausted your lungs, or must I put you under as well? If you keep screaming and resisting, you will only make things harder for yourself."

"She'll be fine!" Roman barked, letting go of my hands. With swift, nervous steps, he now stood by my side as he stroked through my hair. I could sense his anxiety through the slight tremble in his fingers, and he squeezed my shoulder with his free hand as he spoke to the doctor with a lowered voice, as though I wouldn't hear him if he softened his tone; "She will be, right? Pryce?"

Doctor Pryce rolled his eyes as he looked over at the metal tray beside him, scanning the neat display of medical instruments. "Did you bring this girl to me to question my care, or because you trust that I'm the best?"

"I'm!--"

"I was the one that delivered you into the world, Roman, don't forget that. Your mother trusted me with your life, so you have all the reason to exert some patience and trust me with this very simple task," Pryce picked out his preferred instrument and leaned forward, pressing on a button that made the back of my bed raise.

I yelped, still trying to catch my breath; "What's happening?" I breathed, hoping to contain the wave of tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. It felt like I had died and come back to earth. "Please, why-- why am I here?"

With one final anxious glance at Pryce, Roman finally looked down at me. It was the first time I had been properly acknowledged. "Hey, you," he said, gently running his fingers through my hair. "We were in a car crash, and you passed out. This is Doctor Pryce, and he's just making sure you didn't faint because of anything serious. You could've also lost consciousness because of shock, fear... Many factors. This is just a precaution."

"Car crash?" I echoed. "What-- Why can't I remember?-- Ow!"

A panicked cry escaped me, and I looked down to see Pryce with what looked like a hammer, striking the supple area beneath my knee socket. My leg jumped up automatically, and the doctor let out a satisfied hum before he moved on to my other leg. "Miss, do you get enough sleep?" he asked. "On the regular, that is?"

I had never been this disoriented in my life. "I don't-- I don't know?"

With an exasperated sigh, Pryce muttered a simple alright. He sat back down in his chair, now gazing at me with a blank, neutral look. Something told me he had practiced that exact expression for his patients. "You seem to have experienced what is called a situational syncope. You must've gone into a deep state of shock, which caused your blood pressure to drop, ultimately knocking you out. Based on the tests we got done on you when you were unconscious, there seems to be nothing wrong with you,"

I forced down a sob as I squeezed my eyes shut. My body was still frozen with panic. Despite my efforts, I couldn't conjure the memory of the supposed car crash; what was happening to me? "There has to be something wrong!" I cried. "I can't-- I can't remember anything!"

Sighing, Pryce got up, but not without glaring at Roman once more. "You might have a minor case of amnesia. It's most likely short-term and will resolve in twenty-four hours, or it might not," He moved to a nearby table, writing down something on a computer. "It might be time to lay off the nocturnal activities, Roman. It's important that she sleeps."

My face had never been redder. Never. To be told to lay off sex in front of your boyfriend's family doctor? Awful. Not something I recommend anyone else go through.

However, in true Godfrey fashion, Roman didn't seem to care about that part. "Thank fuck," he said, letting out a relieved breath as he bent down to kiss my forehead. I could sense the ease settling in his body, and it made me wonder when it could transmit to mine as well. "So she's completely fine?"

"Yes," Pryce grumbled, absentmindedly tapping away on his keyboard.

"No internal bleeding, no injuries?--"

"She's fine,"

Roman nodded, and I thought that would be the end of it until he spoke again; "Will she remember... everything?"

My blood ran cold. Something about the way he said those words made me feel like it was ominous. I blinked, staring up at Roman as my heart beat hard in my chest.

Pryce's clacking stilled. He turned, moving sharply, as his eyes narrowed; "For your sake, I hope not,"

It only took me a second to reach for Roman's hand, grabbing it as fear ran through my veins. "Rome," I echoed, begging him to look at me. I needed to know. It didn't feel like a simple car crash; why was I still shaking? Was this normal? I was terrified that I wouldn't remember anything. "Please, you have to-- you have to tell me what!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman cooed, wiping that terrified look off his face in an instant. "Everything is fine, see? The nice doctor says you just need to sleep, so what do you say I drop you off at your place and make sure you sleep well tonight?"

I could hear Pryce snicker as he got up, gathering what he needed from the room. "The nice doctor," he echoed, shaking his head. Everything he did felt oddly sterile. Everything from the smile to the polite tilt of his head. "Sleep would be the best remedy, yes. And maybe some shopping."

Roman scrunched his nose-- "Shopping?"

Pryce nodded, pointing to my shirt which I had partially clawed up. "Shopping,"

I couldn't imagine I would ever get any redder than this. Why couldn't amnesia take this memory too? I wanted to disappear-- however, when I thought about the black void I had been thrust into before I awoke, I changed my mind. I was happier than ever to be alive. When Pryce left the room, I let out a shaky breath as I locked eyes with Roman; "Rome, please tell me how the fuck we ended up in a!--"

My words were stolen as two large hands grabbed my face, and my favorite pair of lips came crashing down onto mine. Roman was now partially on my bed, rushing his kisses as he pulled me close in sheer desperation. "You had me so scared," he breathed. "So, so--"

Grabbing onto Roman's hair for support, I could only yelp as he practically toppled me, kissing me with urgency. "You can't do that," he begged. "You can't, you-- you can't--"

I was beyond overwhelmed. Exhausted. Still, I could sense that Roman had almost been as scared as me. "Please, Rome!--"

"What would I have done if you got hurt?" He grabbed my face harder, forcing me to look into his teary eyes when he relented his attack on my lips. "It would've killed me. It would've killed me." The desperation, the panic, was evident in his big, green eyes as they searched mine.

When would this be over? "I don't even know what happened!" I cried. "I don't remember, and it scares me! What if I won't-- won't remember it?"

I hoped he would tell me. I hoped Roman would sit me down and tell me in excruciating detail. However, his brows came together and drew upwards in a look of pure pity; "It doesn't matter. Look at it like it's mercy,"

"Mercy?"

"I'm glad you don't remember," Roman breathed, pressing a passionate kiss to my lips before he leaned his forehead against mine. "I don't want you to remember it... I'm kinda glad you don't. You don't need to remember the bad stuff, right? I only want you to be happy. Happy, safe, and with me. Forever."

Forever.

I let out a shaky breath which fell against Roman's lips, defeated. It still lingered in my body-- death. Like something really, really bad had happened.

... Had it?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The air smelled like freshly mown grass although it was growing freely all around us, untamed. The long branches of the willow tree kneeling above us swayed with the breeze, and the leaves rustled with a gentle buzz; it was beautiful to look up at, even in the dark of the night.

Roman was lying next to me, eyes shut in peace that had only recently settled in his body. His chest rose and fell in slow, calm motions as his brown hair wove into the long strands of the grass. I had an inkling that he was getting comfortable with it now-- with the idea of forever. That I was his for as long as he'd have me. That he had someone to go through life with, after all this time finding solace in fleeting moments of intimacy with the girls that were lucky to be near him at the right moment.

Roman was unbelievably beautiful. Unreal.

I still had no idea what happened that day I woke up at the Godfrey Institute a week ago, convinced I had died. It was hard not to think about it, but sleep had done me good-- Doctor Pryce had been right. My memory of the incident hadn't returned, and I had a feeling it never would. Every so often, I would get specs of it when I heard a particularly loud car, or whenever the smell of diesel got very strong from Roman's red jag, but that was the end of it.

However, the whole car crash incident had set Roman off into a weird state of possessiveness. Not one night had passed without him sneaking in through my bedroom window, lying next to me to make sure I wasn't on my phone until three a.m., and that I was getting enough sleep. I had watched Roman doze off into slumber countless times, both next to me and on top of me, and I had loved to stroke his hair and watch him sleep every time. It was the only time I felt he ever got to rest properly. Never ever during the day. Which is why, now that Roman was doing the same for me, I started to feel more at peace with what had happened. With the crash. With what I didn't know. As long as I had Roman, I would be fine, right? I was sure of it now.

Not only had the car crash left Roman and I in a weird state, but my parents as well. They were wary of me needing to get enough sleep and rest, so they had given me a rather strict curfew up until prom night. This curfew also involved not having Roman over as much, meaning we had to get creative-- so here we were, lying next to each other in the grass at his secret hiding place around midnight, where we had previously exchanged our blood.

"Rome," I whispered, watching the swaying willow branch above me. "You put on an alarm, right? I can't be out for too long, I'm scared my parents will find the pillow concoction we put on my bed and know I'm not home..."

He hummed, his eyes remaining closed-- "We have about thirty minutes until I have to take you back. I'm keeping track of it,"

"You don't seem to be keeping track of anything right now,"

"Nonsense,"

"... You look like you're sleeping,"

"But I'm not, am I?" Roman's eyes met mine, his lashes hanging heavy over the green color of his irises. With a tug at the corners of his lips, he sung a short, mocking line; "I don't want to close my eyes!--"

Oh no. "Rome, don't!--"

"-- I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I miss you, baby!" His laugh was as melodious as his half-assed attempt at serenading me.

I snorted, no longer sleepy. This was beyond cringe. "You're an idiot,"

"And yet you're crazy about me," Roman purred, moving closer to me on the grass. The tips of his fingers, which had barely grazed mine a minute ago, were now running along the back of my hand in soft motions. "That says more about you than it says about me."

I turned my hand as I smiled to myself, feeling my chest burn with the warmth I got from being near him. If only he knew I was more than crazy about him. If only he knew. "Yeah, you're right," I mumbled, intertwining our fingers with a content sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

I didn't deem my words to be as heavy as Roman suddenly made them seem-- it was as though the leaves stopped rustling. As though the air no longer smelled like grass, and the only thing I could smell was suddenly only Roman's heavy, expensive perfume. Something stilled. Was it the waves of the water nearby? His eyes softened with his next exhale, pupils rounding out. It was almost as though I could see the pounding of his heart as his chest fell. "I don't know how I ever lived without you in the first place," he confessed. "It kills me that you were so close all this time, and... I didn't notice."

Thinking back at the time when Roman would barely look my way was excruciating, even now. "It doesn't matter--"

"We had chemistry together," he breathed. "You were so close." Roman no longer looked at me, and instead turned his gaze to the hanging branches of the willow tree we were lying beneath. "I used to think I was the center of the universe, y'know? That the world was mine, along with everyone living in it. I thought I was everything I ever needed, that no one else truly mattered except for me, but then..." He cleared his throat, an empty look in his eyes. "This is getting cheesy, isn't it?"

Silly, silly boy. "You were literally singing at me a minute ago, I think I can take you being sweet,"

The small upward tug of Roman's lips lifted an ache in my heart. "The past doesn't matter. But the future does, as long as you're in it with me,"

I love you, I love you, I love you. It was echoing in my head. "Grow old with me, Roman?" I hoped it would come off as a joke. I hoped he'd sense the smile in my words, the lightness in which I proposed the hypothetical.

But he was so serious. So, so serious, as he turned to meet my eyes. And just for a second, I was scared he'd open his mouth and tell me he couldn't get old-- I had read too much of that upir book. "I don't want to get old," he mumbled. "Old people don't have a lot of sex."

It was impossible not to laugh. "They probably do,"

"... Gross,"

Rolling my eyes, I gave his hand a squeeze. "I'd have sex with you. You'd still be the Roman I lo--"

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

I choked my words with a cough; "This damn grass," I cursed. "I might be allergic..." Gathering courage, I glanced over at Roman as I held my breath.

He seemed to be holding his too.

It took longer than expected for any of us to say anything. With small movements, Roman slid his hand up to my wrist, pressing his index against my pulse.

I cleared my throat, breaking out into a nervous laugh. "Okay, let me clear that up. The coughing made it sound like I was saying something that I wasn't saying."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Why was my throat so dry? "I was gonna say that you'd still be the same Roman I long for."

"Oh..." He seemed both relieved and disappointed. I couldn't read him. It was too dark. "Okay. I'll hold you to it when we're eighty, then."

My heart was still racing. Had I gotten away with that or was he letting me? "So you're basically saying you won't be jumping me when we're old? I'm disappointed. And on top of that, I think you'd still be yourself at eighty, no? Or will you no longer be so nympho when you reach a certain age?"

"... You have a point," Roman's classic smirk was back-- I had never been happier to see it. "I'll always want you, I'm afraid."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what,"

"Are you a hundred percent sure about that, Rome?"

"I'll do you one better. Hundred and one,"

It was impossible not to smile. I loved him so much it hurt; I needed to mend it. "... Even if I turn into a worm?"

The groan he let out blended in with the ringing of the alarm he had put on.

As Roman pulled me up from the grass, I realized how much I loved everything about this night. I loved that he wanted to see me so bad that he was sneaking me out of my room. I loved the feeling of my hand in his, loved the sight of his smile, loved every inch of him. I only wished we could stay this happy for an eternity-- an eternity with him would be so unbelievably nice.

And if Roman loved me too, I'd let him love me forever.

I'd love him till the day I died, tirelessly, endlessly.

... Even if he was a worm.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a lingering warmth in my body, yet I waited for the other thing to leave. The feeling. The doom. The terror I didn't remember.

And while I waited, prom was a wonderful distraction.

My parents were out of town for the weekend, which allowed us to skip the awkward photos in the hallway that were usually customary for prom. I was sure Roman would've rather died than go through that.

Actually, I was half convinced someone else had told Roman to man up and ask me to go with him, because it seemed like I was getting too much of the good thing recently. It didn't make sense to me that he wanted anything to do with something like this. And for a second, I was convinced I had been right about it all along; when I walked down the stairs of my porch, it was impossible not to smile from ear to ear at the sight of Roman in his tux. He was sitting on the bonnet of his car, smoking a cigarette as always--

... Without so much as a reaction to me in my dress?

It felt like my whole body was on fire, like I was one of Roman's cigarettes. My smile faltered as I approached, not saying a word. I held my breath, watching the green of his eyes pierce mine. He didn't blink. He didn't budge. He simply held his cigarette to his lips, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

Something felt off. I should've known Roman Godfrey wasn't the classic prom-man. "Do you not like it?" I breathed, feeling my confidence collapse as I toyed with the fabric of my dress.

Roman's eyes immediately darted down to my fingers-- "Don't tear at it. I know you like doing that," He held out his cigarette as he scanned me. It took a few seconds too long. With quick steps, he got off of his car; "Get in."

What? "No,"

Roman turned to me, cocking a brow. "No?"

"No," This was nerve-wracking. "You're being weird. Tell me what's wrong, or I turn around and go right back in again."

Visibly taken aback, Roman let his cigarette fall to the ground before he pressed his heel to it. In our moments of intense eye-contact and silence, I could see the way he had styled his hair differently tonight. It wasn't slicked back or messy, which were the two alternatives he always alternated between-- no, it looked like he had put effort into giving it a bit more volume, like something out of an old Hollywood film with James Dean as the lead. I couldn't understand him, where he stood in front of me in his ridiculously expensive tuxedo; it was obvious that he cared about this, so what was happening here?

"Nothing is wrong," Roman finally answered. "I just don't have the words."

"Words for what? What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on," he muttered under his breath. "It just makes me feel stupid."

"What does, Rome?"

"I... have never been good at finding the right words. I always screw these things up," Frustrated, Roman put his hands in his pockets as he no longer met my gaze. "Saying you look good doesn't feel like enough... and telling you that you look beautiful feels weird, because I don't use that word for anything and that makes it sound rehearsed, so... I'm screwed. I'm looking at you, and I'm blanking. My heart is beating too fast."

Oh.

"Take your time," was all I managed to say. I love you regardless was the thing I would have loved to add.

Roman chewed on his lip, sitting down on the bonnet of his car again. He dared to meet my eyes as he reached for my hand; I took it, ready to take a step forward, before I caught Roman shaking his head. "You'd help me if you did a twirl," he said, a smirk nudging at the corners of his mouth. "Come on, now."

My heart lightened with the giggle that escaped me, and I could only blush as I did as told.

"There you go," Roman cooed, warmth dotting his cheeks when I faced him again. "I like your dress. You kinda look like a cupcake."

"What? I do not! This is a-line!"

"A what line?"

"No, it's!-- Oh, forget it," Men.

Roman laughed, reaching for my waist to pull me in between his long legs. Softening his grin, he glanced down at my dress; had I not been watching him so intently, I wouldn't have caught the way his eyes subtly rounded out when they met mine. "I never realized how unfair it is,"

I frowned; "What's unfair?"

"You. Looking like this. Making every other girl on the planet look like an afterthought," Roman paused, his smirk softening with something genuine; "And it's not just tonight, y'know? It's everything about you. It's the way you laugh, it's the way you think, it's all that is you, along with how you look at me like I'm not completely messed up. You're just perfect." Roman stilled, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric around my waist as his smile turned self-conscious. "Sorry, that probably sounds cheesy as hell... What the fuck is up with me these days?"

If only he knew. If only he saw that I was fighting the welling of tears in my eyes. I love you, I love you, I love you. "As long as you don't start singing again, I'll be fine,"

Roman's smile was soft, and so was the kiss he gently pressed to my collarbone. Everything about the way he was holding me made me blush. "Come on," Roman cooed, a mischievous look shimmering in his eyes. "I can't wait to arrive with the prettiest girl in town. Everyone's gonna hate us even more than they already do, and I need the fuel of their spite and fear to survive."

I rolled my eyes, muffling my laugh against the following kiss. "Okay, Pennywise. Just keep the carnage to a minimum tonight, alright?"

"Deal,"

Just as Roman was about to lean in to kiss me, I remembered something important-- I grabbed his shoulders, watching his eyes widen as I pinned him to his place. "And we need to keep you far away from Brooke Bluebell tonight, by the way,"

"Uh, not that she was on the agenda, but... why?"

"Rumour says she's bought a needle. For revenge, and all,"

Roman let out a laugh of disbelief before it dawned on him that I wasn't joking. "Oh," he breathed, frowning. "Seems like there might be some carnage after all, then."

"No, that's not funny!--"

"Come on, it kinda is!"

"Roman-- ugh, fuck it, let's just go!" I placed a soft kiss to his lips; "Don't say I didn't warn you."

After more back and forth banter, it was finally time to get going. However, as Roman opened the car door for me and I sat down in the seat, I was hit with a major deja vu when he started checking out his hair in the rearview mirror. I knew that he did that every time before starting the car, this wasn't something out of the ordinary-- but for the first time since the incident, I remembered something clearly.

I remembered just a fragment. A feeling. I had been upset the day of the crash, and so had Roman. Had we fought?

It was at the tip of my tongue, there was a faint taste of exactly what had happened, and I was about to roll right into the memory when Roman put his hand on my thigh. I looked over at him, my breath high in my chest; he noticed it immediately. "You okay?" he tried.

It was lingering in my forearms, like I was pressing them up against a flaming stove. It pressed at the sides of my head, waiting for it to cave in on itself; death. It felt like a countdown.

Counting down.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I will know soon.

I put my burning hand over Roman's, forcing a smile;

"Never been better," ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Walking around at prom, hand in hand with Roman Godfrey as he talked to a couple of his friends, was only something I had imagined in my wildest dreams. I used to bury my face in my pillow and blush just at the thought of him even looking at me.

Back in those days, I had a specific image in my mind; since I hadn't ever thought I would go to prom with Roman, I imagined I'd be there with someone like Daniel. Someone I didn't like. I don't know, it wasn't too important. However, my date would be the type to not want to dance, and I would be left sitting with him by some table while everyone danced. And this would (of course) be the point where I'd imagine Roman walking up to me, charming, cocky, and high on his sky-high self-esteem, to reach for my hand. He'd ask if I'd like to dance, and I would glare at my date before giving Roman an affirmative yes.

Then we'd dance. Slow. Close.

And in my dreams, Roman would look me in the eyes and tell me that he had loved me all along, that he would love me and only me for the rest of his life, that he had secretly been pining for me since the day he first saw me, that he was actually planning to propose right now actually, and then the whole prom would stop and gasp in jealousy as he got down on one knee, and then!--

I bit down on my lip, suppressing a laugh at the memory. It seemed so childish, now more than ever. I told myself to excuse my old, stupid daydreams; the mind wanders when you're crazy about someone.

Roman squeezed my hand; "What are you laughing about?"

Fuck. "Oh, just..." I glanced up at him, smiling uncontrollably. Alas, now that Roman was my boyfriend, I didn't need all of that ridiculous stuff. I only needed him by my side, and that'd be enough for me forever. "I just remembered something stupid."

Roman cocked a brow, the green of his eyes shining down on me despite the darkness of the room. "Keen on sharing?"

"Not so much,"

"Alright," he said, tsking. "Pervert."

"Hey!" My cheeks turned a peculiar shade of pink which I hoped wasn't visible beneath the dim lights. Why did he have to say stuff like that while standing next to his friends? Not that they were listening, anyway. Nonetheless, the cheeky look on Roman's face told me everything I needed to know about it. "It's nothing like that!" I tried. "It was actually kind of sweet..."

"Oh, yeah?" Nodding, Roman's hand went to the small of my back, excusing us before he started leading us away from his circle of friends. "Tell me, then."

"It's stupid!" I giggled, my blush deepening with the kiss he pressed to the top of my head as we walked. Giant man.

Roman rolled his eyes; "Tell me before I spike the punch and get us kicked out," We had now reached the other side of the room, and he turned me around to press my back against the wall. Like this, he was towering over me as always. Just the sight of it made my heart beat harder.

"It should be illegal," I muttered under my breath, reaching for his tie. Sweet-talking him would hopefully be distraction enough. "You in a suit--"

"Tux,"

"Tux," I didn't want to tell him about my childish dreams about prom. I was aware how stupid it sounded, anyway. I didn't need to give Roman more things to tease me about, did I? "You're very, very handsome."

"Aha," he hummed, unimpressed. "How long would my sentence to be, then?"

"If it was illegal?"

"If it was illegal,"

"Hmm... I was thinking six years and nine months."

Roman bit down on a grin. "Do I spot a subtle sixty-nine reference?"

Yes. "Pervert,"

We shared a laugh as my hands slid down his tie, but my brows drew together when I felt something hard between the top and second button of his shirt. My mind flared red lights-- "Is this what I think it is?" I asked, gazing up at Roman as my eyes rounded out.

He didn't seem to understand my reaction. "I always wear it," he said, shrugging. "Didn't want to take it off."

"Ah," I suppose it was sweet. That's all it was. It most certainly didn't remind me of my least favorite passage from The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir;

There are even some upirs that are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

... Certainly not.

"I like feeling you close," Roman murmured, his long fingers now running past my waist as the sound of his voice pulled me back into the moment. "I don't like being apart from you, and having your blood with me at all times... feels like I'm carrying a piece of you, which I technically am." He bent down, his soft lips brushing against my ear-- it made my breath hitch. "What do you say we get as close as we can later tonight?" he whispered, a small kiss to my ear following. "Just you and me... And me in you?"

I could only smile. Especially as I spotted Brooke Bluebell and her cheerleader friends by the punch a little further away from us. I was sure my smile started to look rather sinister as my hand went into Roman's hair, pulling him closer as my eyes locked on Brooke's.

Fucking cheerleader whore. I hated her. I hated everything she represented. And honestly? I couldn't quite remember why. All I knew, was that seeing the jealous look on her face made my heart race with pride and joy.

... Something told me that Roman and I deserved each other. We were both evil in our own ways.

"That sounds perfect," I purred, leaning my head against the wall as Roman pressed soft kisses to my neck. "My parents aren't home, so..." I could feel him smiling against my skin at the reminder. It was such an exhilarating feeling. Especially when I knew Brooke was watching.

"Great," Roman murmured, pulling away to look down at me with a mischievous look shimmering in his green eyes. "Can't wait to fold you and hear you whimper."

My blush deepened in record time; "Pervert,"

Roman only grinned. I was sure he was gonna say something much, much worse, something that would've made my toes curl on the spot if they weren't currently pressed against the front of my slightly uncomfortable heels, if one of the prom chaperones hadn't started walking towards us with hasty steps and a grumpy look on his face. It hit me that we were probably standing too close for his liking, and that he was there to make sure the students were being appropriate, which... let's face it, we weren't.

I shook my head with panic as Roman opened his mouth to speak, and he seemed to catch onto what was happening rather quickly. With a quick nod, he took a long step away from me and held his hands up with a cheeky grin as the strict-looking chaperone approached. "Yes, officer?"

The chaperone sighed, passing fed-up glances between the two of us. I wondered where I had seen this man before. He was certainly someone's father who I had seen around drop-off hours. "I'm not the police," he grumbled. "You can put your hands down, Godfrey--"

"I invoke the fourth amendment!" Roman chimed in, winking at me. It was impossible not to smile.

The chaperone proceeded to groan, shaking his head; "Just-- no touching, okay?"

"Of... anything?"

"You can hold her hand, Godfrey, but anything else--"

"Oh, so it applies to things like... if I touch the wall?" Comically slow, Roman pressed his finger to the wall, hissing as though he was being burned by the law. "I'm a man of many crimes, as you see, officer!" He lowered his voice to a whisper; "I even touched the punch earlier! Actually, now that I think about it, I think I deserve to be kicked out... Can't believe I have allowed myself to commit such atrocities." With one last pout, Roman held his hands out to the chaperone, bowing his head in defeat. "Take me, oh, lead me away, kind sir! I will serve my time, and I will do my due diligence!--"

"Enough!" The chaperone barked. "As long as you didn't spike the goddamn punch, you're free to go!"

And with that, Roman's gig was up. He bit down hard on his lip to suppress his smirk, not to great success. "I wouldn't dare to, officer," he cooed, reaching for my hand in the smoothest manner known to man.

The chaperone rolled his eyes, probably rethinking all his life choices, as Roman led me away with the both of us trying not to topple over from the laughter we were suppressing.

"You're crazy," I said, squeezing his hand. I was worried my eyes had formed hearts.

Roman shrugged, glancing down at me with a knowing smile. "And you're crazy about me," he murmured. "But, speaking of crazy..." He raised our hands, making me do a little twirl as I giggled. When I faced him again, Roman wrapped his arms around me as he glanced over at the punch not too far away from us; "What do you say actually spike it?"

"... What?"

"It could be smart," he purred, swaying with me a little on the dance floor. "Brooke and her girls have been drinking it all night, and they just walked away... Maybe if they all get drunk off their asses when they come back, they won't be able to take their needle-revenge on me?"

Roman was right. We had kept a bit of an eye on them all night, just to make sure they were at a safe distance at all times. It was a fun game, if I were to be honest, but... Roman was right. It was an unusual occurrence that he was, so I couldn't help but smile as I felt myself get convinced.

"Fuck it,"

What ensued, were three nerve-wracking minutes at the table with the large punch-bowl. I stood in front of Roman, blocking the view of any possible chaperones as he skillfully got a silver flask out of the pocket of his jacket, and we spent a good amount of time positioning ourselves to make it all look casual, as though we weren't pouring straight vodka into the punch. Why Roman had any on him in the first place was a conversation for another time.

The second we saw Brooke and the cheerleaders approaching again, I felt my breath hitch-- had we made it or were we about to get caught?

However, Roman's timing was impeccable. With a smooth slither of his hand down to mine, he pulled me back to the dance floor, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be escaping the scene of the crime at this pace.

And suddenly, it felt like I had entered that silly dream of mine. Cause now, we were dancing. Slow. Close. The remnants of our silly escapade were visible across our lips, corners pulling up into knowing smiles as we held each other close. Roman's cologne was alluring as always, and so were his big, green eyes; I could see everything now. The scar on his right cheek, the way his pupils practically pulsated at the sight of me, the way he was drinking me in, the beautiful upturn of his nose, all to the way his warm breath fell against my cheek.

Roman's long, slender fingers intertwined with mine as his other hand rested at the small of my back; it was perfect. Better than I could've ever imagined it. It was intoxicating. Deadly, in the best of ways.

If I were to say anything, now would be the moment. If I were to say the words that I had longed to say, now was the time. All I could hear was the sweet sound of Roman's breath, the dimmed shuffling of the tulle of my dress, and the mellow remnants of the slow song playing in the background. "Rome," I breathed. "There's something I need to tell you." My heart had never beat harder in my life, I was sure of it now.

I was sure of it.

Roman let out a short hum, lovingly nudging his nose against mine. "I need to tell you something too,"

The more I thought about the beating of my heart, the more I was sure it was going to beat its way up my throat. "Yeah?" I tried. Breathless. Breathless.

"Yeah," Roman closed his eyes, gently pulling me closer. "But this might not be the place to tell you."

"I beg to differ," Something told me all my dreams were coming true in one go. If he was gonna say what I thought he was gonna say-- "There might never be a better moment than right here, right now." Please. Please. I wanted to beg him to say it first, if he wanted to say those three words at all.

It felt like the air was a tissue. A tissue falling into me, which was pulled out with Roman's next intake of air. Every breath felt sharp, yet exhilarating, yet draining, yet filling, yet emptying.

"Not here," he whispered. "You'd have a heart attack."

It felt like I was about to have one anyway. "I doubt it," God, I was about to spill, wasn't I? "What if I go first?"

Roman's brows drew together as he pulled away just a centimeter or two, looking more confused than ever. "What?"

My mouth pulled into a line. Was I reading this wrong or was this one of those situations where I just had to grow a pair of balls on the spot and walk on the burning charcoal? "Like... if you're saying what I think you want to say?"

"And what do you think I want to say?"

"... Uhm," It hit me that my mouth had never been drier. Could I do this? Should I do this? "The... thing?"

"What thing?"

"That you, y'know... That you--"

"That I what?" Roman's words were insistent, rushed. It almost scared me into silence. "Baby?"

My lower lip trembled as I gathered the courage to let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. This was my sign to retreat. With a defeated sigh, my eyes shied away from his as my cheeks burned. "Forget it,"

"But..." Roman looked beyond lost. "Okay, I feel like I'm messing things up here. Let's start again."

"Start again?--"

"Start again," he insisted, his green eyes burning into mine as I dared to meet them again. "You were gonna tell me something."

Fuck no. Now, I was sure that'd be a fate worse than death. "I-- I don't know, I'm a little lost now, could we just forget?--"

My nervous ramble was interrupted by a loud groan from Roman. At first, my eyes widened at his weird reaction to me stumbling over my words, all until I realized his phone was vibrating in his pocket. Thankfully, the song in the background wasn't so quiet and slow anymore, and nobody around us seemed to mind. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, letting go of my hand to fish out his phone. "This is fucking ridiculous, who in their right mind is calling at this time of night?!--"

Roman's anger came to a halt as he saw who was calling him. I was praying to all the Gods I could think of at the moment that it wasn't Letha.

"It's Peter," he said, eyes rounding out. "I haven't gotten a hold of him in a while, I-- will you kill me if I take this?"

I let out a sigh. Typical. I suppose some things simply remain a dream. "No problem," My ass.

"I'm sorry," Roman tried, placing two fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up, placing an apologetic kiss to my lips. It was quick, hurried-- something told me I'd remember it. "I will be right back, and then you're gonna tell me that thing, okay? I'm dying to know. Dying."

"Sure,"

"Just-- meet me by the door leading to the hallway, okay? Not the exit, not the one leading outside, but the--"

"Hallway, yeah. I got it,"

The look on Roman's face told me he was genuinely sorry. That was a consolation, at least. "We're gonna talk, I promise. I really need to tell you what I wanted to say,"

I swear, if he ended up telling me he was getting a new car instead of telling me he was in love with me, I'd wack him with the first heavy purse I'd find. "Go, Rome,"

Roman disappeared from the crowd rather quickly, making his way outside with hurried steps, leaving me alone and frustrated on the dance floor. Muttering curse words under my breath, I waddled to the door leading to the hallway, leaning against the wall next to it with a disappointed sigh. The momentum of that whole conversation had left me a bit of a panting mess, and my heart had yet to slow down. I wondered how I was supposed to get out of telling him that I loved him. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!

However, as I scoured my brain for something else to say, I felt the familiar smell of overly-sweet perfume fill my nostrils.

I stiffened in fear.

Oh no.

My mouth dried in record time as Daniel approached me, his stride calm and calculated. It was odd to see him out of his blue varsity jacket, yet he hadn't disappointed; his tux was blue too. The more I kept thinking about the color blue, the more I thought about the ocean, and the more I thought about the ocean, the more clearly I saw myself holding Daniel's head underwater until he drowned.

Daniel's smirk was nastier than ever. I couldn't believe I ever thought it was cute. "There you are," he purred, getting too close for my comfort. "You look like you're having the time of your life, as always."

I snorted. "Well, what do you expect of a brainless slut, as you so poetically called me? You've always had a way with words,"

"Damn," Daniel mumbled, pulling his hands into his pockets as he chuckled. "Did I really say that?"

"Yep," Asshole.

He nodded; "Ah... It seems you remember that night more than I do, then," Daniel's perfume had now infiltrated both my nose and my will to live. If only I could melt into a puddle on the floor and become immaterial-- that would've been mercy enough.

"I bet you haven't come here to apologize, am I correct?" I asked.

Daniel shrugged, amused. "I was actually coming here to ask you for an apology,"

"Me?! For what?" He never failed to say outrageous things, I could give him credit for that much.

However, Daniel seemed taken aback by my response. "Are you really going to act like nothing happened?"

"What?! Are you talking about you and I those thousands of years ago?--"

"No," Daniel's face fell. "I'm talking about what happened last weekend."

Something was awfully wrong. My intuition made the hair at the back of my neck stand up to the sky, and I realized I was pressing myself up against the wall. "Last weekend?" I mumbled. What did I do last weekend? I couldn't remember. All I could remember from last weekend was waking up at the Godfrey Institute because of the car crash--

Wait.

Daniel took a step forward; "I've been waiting for you to get away from that boyfriend of yours for a while," he said, his words low and threatening. "Cause you and I are gonna go have a little talk, aren't we?"

"About what?" My voice came out frail, scared, as my breath continued to catch in my throat. For a second, my attention darted to the person coming out through the door to the hallway, and it reminded me that I was in a room filled with people. Roman was coming back any time now, too. Nothing could happen to me. "I don't know what you're--"

And then it happened. Daniel stepped forward with speed I didn't know he had in him, and he jammed his foot between the door as he grabbed me with strength I couldn't fight. He clasped his hand over my mouth as I tried to fight him off, yet to no avail-- it didn't take many seconds before he managed to get me through the door, dragging me down the hallway and away from the party.

I let out a cry against Daniel's palm as my heart raced. Biting him didn't work, as my teeth barely grazed his skin-- I tried to dig my nails into him, yet I didn't manage to reach any exposed skin. The grip he had around me was crushing, and I knew my ribs would ache for days to come.

"We're gonna have a real nice talk," Daniel hissed into my ear. It was disgusting to have him so near, repulsing. His breath was unsteady as he spat his words, yet there was an exhilarated tone to his voice, like he was getting the biggest kick in the world out of this. "And I'm gonna let you go in one piece if you stop-- stop resisting!"

Daniel managed to drag me down the hall and around the corner before he threw me down. I hit the ground with a hard thud, wincing as I tried to get up with my heart threatening to beat out of my ears. However, Daniel bent down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, twisting me to look at him as I cried out in pain, eyes watery with tears as I met his angry blue eyes. I tried to drive my nails into his hand, yet he only tightened his fist in my hair-- the pain was blinding.

"Your spoiled brat of a boyfriend won't even pay for the damages," Daniel hissed in my face. His breath was warm, but in the most unpleasant way; it made me squirm as a tear spilled down my cheek. "Not a cent! The fucking Godfrey lawyers are blocking everything my family could've ever gotten as a compensation!"

I didn't manage to kick him away, no matter how hard I tried. "For a car?!" I yelled. "For a fucking car, Daniel?! Let me go!--"

"It's not about the car!" Daniel shouted, a few drops of spit landing on my face as I grimaced. "It's about the person driving it, you psycho!"

"I don't-- Fuck!" It was impossible not to curse at the agony. It didn't help that he was now dragging my head backwards, making me wonder whether he'd snap my neck. Would he? Would he actually? "I don't remember anything! I don't-- I don't fucking know! Were you in it?!"

This only seemed to anger him further, and Daniel proceeded to bend down next to me to properly get up in my face. I wondered whether he saw how clumpy my mascara was getting from the heavy tears weighing down on my lashes. I wondered whether he perhaps was hard right now from staring at the terrified look on my face. I wondered if he'd be sadistic enough to shove his dick down my throat if he was. These thoughts only made me panic more, yet I felt my body going limp from the pain; my hands were still fighting. I was still trying. There was no way I'd give up, but it also felt like there was no way for me to win.

"Not a single thing?" Daniel hissed, fury burning in his eyes. "You don't remember how you and your prick boyfriend left my father bleeding in his car? You don't remember how he swerved off the road and got the front of his car completely smashed in?!"

The more I tried to conjure the image, the more the feeling of all-taking panic and dread infiltrated my veins. I tried to claw his hands out of my hair, my nails digging into his skin, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

My current state unlocked the one I had been in on the day of the crash.

And with the panic, I remembered everything.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I could almost hear Roman's voice.

Tick tick tick.

Right now, I was there.

I was living through it again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The sun was blinding, although the air was cold. I hurried down the steps of the school that day, running to Roman.

"Where were you?"

I was confused. "I was just!--"

"I've been waiting here for, like, ten minutes!" Roman hissed, getting up from the bonnet of his car. He was in the middle of what I could only call a fit of fury, and his hands were flying as he marched towards me with heavy, angry steps; "Get in the fucking car!" He grabbed a hold of my arm, forcefully pulling me toward him.

I let out a squeal of shock, yet I didn't resist. It was impossible not to jump when he put me in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind me. "What the hell, Roman? What's gotten into you today?!"

When he got in the driver's seat, he didn't waste any time turning the engine on. "I don't like you lingering in math class," he grumbled, fixing his hair in the rearview mirror. Typical. If Roman had been a woman, he'd have been the type to get extensions and acrylic nails; I was sure of it, with how obsessed he was with his looks. "I don't need you fraternizing any more with the enemy than you already have."

"The enemy?-- Are we talking about Letha?!"

"Yes!" he barked, driving out of the school parking lot with a little too much speed. Had he not been the son of Olivia Godfrey, I was convinced he'd have about a dozen parking tickets for this type of driving.

"Roman, are you serious right now?!"

"Dead serious,"

"You're being crazy!"

That was it for Roman, who immediately started yelling; "Don't fucking talk to me about crazy! You wanna see real crazy?! Let me crash the car and laugh as we bleed out on the side of the road, then you'll see that I'm acting more than reasonably!"

Instinctively, I reached for the handle of the car door. My breath was stuck in a loop in my chest, too thick to pass my trachea. "Please stop shouting," I echoed. "You're scaring me."

Roman's ears were red with anger. I used to think it was a cute trait of his, all until he threatened to kill us both in this vehicle. However, at the frail sound of my voice, he glanced at me for a second or two as he leaned one arm on the rolled-down car window; his big, green eyes rounded out with the realization, with the weight of his words. "I'm not--" He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the road. "I'm not being serious. I wouldn't actually do that, you know me."

I could see the guilt settling in the lines of his brows coming together, yet my breath had yet to escape me; it was hard to think while being suffocated. "Stop the car,"

"Baby, I'm about to get on the highway!--"

"-- Stop the fucking car!"

Roman's anger returned as he struck the steering wheel, ignoring the way I jumped; "Fine!" With the speed he was driving at, it didn't take long before he managed to park by the road. He turned to me with a fed-up look in his eyes, one that brought my blood to a boil. It only got worse with the next words rolling off his tongue; "Christ, woman, what is it?"

For the first time in my life, I hoped I'd get superpowers and lazer-blast his stupid head off. Watch it blow and fly away in chunks, with his blood splattering all over the car. I bet it was the same dark-red color as his beloved Jaguar. Without saying a word, knowing I'd only spew profanities at him if I stayed, I made my way out of the car despite there not being a walkable road in sight.

"Hey-- Come on!" Roman yelled, watching as I started walking away on the side of the road. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

I shivered with the incoming breeze. "Far away from you!" Pissed out of my mind, I wrapped myself tightly in my jacket and ignored the sight of a car passing by me at full speed.

Roman got out of the car with haste, following me with urgency in his steps. "I'm not gonna drive us into a tree, I was just trying to make a point!" he yelled, dragging his hands through his hair to make sure his hairstyle was preserved in the wind. "Baby, please, come back here!--"

"It's not about that!" I yelled back, turning around to face him. Now, there were only a couple of meters between us as we gazed at each other, one with remorse, one with fury. "You say that you trust me, and then you explode when I come back a few minutes late from my class with Letha!"

"Well, of course I'm!--"

"No!" I barked, clenching my fists. "You've been acting so damn weird ever since the day we exchanged the ancient blood capsules, or whatever the fuck they are! You're being erratic! Are you still on cocaine, maybe? Have you relapsed?"

Roman's mouth opened and closed, offended. "I'm not on drugs!" he shouted, flailing his hands to make his point. "I'm not crazy!"

"Rome, you can tell me!" It felt as though my heart was beating out of my chest, and I pressed my hands to the thumping motions of it. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes; this whole week with Roman had been so weird, intense, and it had all come down to this. All this pain, all these emotions. "I'm your girlfriend, I care about you more than anything else in the world, you can tell me if you're back to!--"

"I'm not on drugs! I'm not crazy!" He was chanting it to himself now.

"I can get you the help you need, Rome, please!--"

"I'm not!" With the last boom of his voice, Roman seemed to grow taller on the spot. I was sure I was imagining the way his pupils dilated, the way his jaw twitched, and how he genuinely seemed to be growing an inch or two on the spot, as though he was about to pounce on me.

Was I maybe tired? That had to be it. After math class, my brain was always fried, anyway. Nonetheless, my breath hitched in my chest as I took a step back in blinding fear-- yet what I thought was a step back, was more of a step to the left. I didn't have much control over my body as my hands trembled, paralyzed at the sight before me. Roman didn't look like himself. It was him, I was sure it was the man I loved, yet something was so terribly off.

I hadn't realized I was standing in the road.

I was frozen to my spot.

I couldn't move.

And as the sound of a car honking repeatedly hit my ears, I saw nothing but the way Roman's pupils shrunk in an instant. Sheer panic filled his eyes. I barely registered how he got to me, but it took him less than a second when it should've taken him at least three.

Roman was too late, yet exactly on time-- it felt like a breeze wrapped itself around me with the swiftness of light, and before I knew it, I screamed as I was lifted off the ground and swept up in his arms. Too scared to register where we were, I only felt the prickling of grass in my hair as I soon heard a crash, a bang, and an alarm going off.

I held onto Roman's strong body for dear life as my high-pitched screams refused to subside, and tears welled up in my eyes which were squeezed shut in fear. He had wrapped himself around me in a protective hold and made sure I had landed on top of him in the grass by the road, a little too far from where we should've naturally landed, and Roman clutched onto the fabric of my jacket as he tried to shake me out of my shock.

It didn't work. My throat was getting sore, and I was trembling like a wet, abandoned kitten.

"Are you hurt?" Roman called out. "Hey, are you hurt?!"

With my next sob, the words came rushing out; "N-No!"

He let out a sigh of relief as he pressed me tighter to his chest, now stroking the back of my head and kissing my teary cheeks. "You're alright. It's okay, I'm here, you're alright," he cooed, gently rolling me down to the grass beside him.

I didn't want to let him go. I held onto his hair like a newborn, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I-I'm so, so-- so sorry!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman kissed my lips which were salty with tears. "It's not your fault, it's okay. Try to breathe, alright?"

I would've stayed like that, horrified and shell-shocked at our near meet with death, had I not heard pained groans in the distance. I dared to open my eyes, and immediately saw the cloud of smoke coming from the car with the peeping noise. There was a man groaning in pain, and his body was splayed over the steering wheel. And just as I didn't think it could get any worse, I saw the indent of a footprint in the car door--

My shaking subsided as I rose from the grass, sitting up in a zombie-like state. My eyes refused to leave the image before me.

Had Roman... kicked the car away?

Had he kicked a car coming our way at about a hundred kilometers an hour?

Before I could ponder it any longer, Roman grabbed my chin with the gentlest touch known to man and turned me to him. He didn't have a single scratch on him. Shouldn't he be gasping in pain at the blow of landing on his back with me on top of him? His eyes were round, worried, as he scanned me for any injuries. "How does your head feel? Are you dizzy? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"No," I breathed. "Roman, the car--"

"Fuck that for a second, do I need to take you to a hospital?" The look in his eyes quickly went from worried to crazed, like he was angry that I was choosing to have sympathy for the person in the car instead of caring about myself first.

I blinked. Once. Twice. "Roman?"

"Yes?"

"The guy in there might be dead. Or dying,"

"I know," he echoed. "But he might also be bleeding."

"Exactly," With shaky steps, I tried to raise myself to the ground. The beeping of the car was driving me mad with guilt and worry. "He might be bleeding, so we need to--"

"Call an ambulance, I know,"

"No, we need to check if he's!--"

"Bleeding? Dying? Yeah, I can't," Roman grabbed my hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. They were round with a look I hadn't seen before, like he was trying to convey something I'd hopefully understand. "I shouldn't go near it when it's that much fresh blood." He squeezed my fingers before he brought them to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "And you're about to faint."

"... What?"

"You have about five seconds,"

"How do you?--"

"I'm not crazy," Roman said, an end statement. "I'll make sure you won't remember most of this, but trust me. I'll take care of it."

The worst thing was that he was right. I couldn't do anything to stop it when I started seeing white spots, and I let out a panicked yell. It felt like my head was caving into itself; that was a feeling that would stay with me. I covered my ears before I realized I couldn't feel my toes, and just as I went down, Roman went up to catch me in his arms.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And as I faded out of the memory, it took longer than expected to snap out of it.

I was done.

Done.

I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Again.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, again, like someone had grabbed a hold of my tongue and tugged me forward, again-- the bright lights of the school hallway shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the ground with a gasp for air.

It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, or like I had been drowning, all over again. I clawed at my hands, my nails digging into the fabric of my dress, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how, again?—

There was a release. I no longer felt like my neck was about to snap, and there was no longer pressure on my scalp as I was released from Daniel's grip on my hair. My body fell limp against the floor as I heard a loud thud to my right along with a shrill cry of pain.

As I slowly came back to my senses, I realized that Daniel was being repeatedly punched against the lockers by none other than Roman Godfrey. There was no way for him to fight off the repeated attacks, no way at all, as Roman's fist landed blow after blow with no mercy.

"Rome," I wheezed, coughing and wincing as I tried to get up from the floor. I barely had any power in my body anymore-- it didn't work.

The sound of his nickname had Roman letting go of Daniel in an instant, who fell limp to the floor with a cry of pain. Roman looked completely out of it; his green eyes were wild with fury, worry, and an untameable thirst for revenge. I hadn't seen him like this before, so possessed.

He opened his mouth to say something, yet Daniel let out a wail; "He can't even walk anymore, Godfrey! You fuckers left my father in a coma, and when he woke up, he was fucking paralyzed from the neck down!"

My head was pounding. This couldn't be true. This was a nightmare.

"You ruined his life!" Daniel yelled, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to get up. "And you ruined mine! You took my father from me, and he will never be the same again!"

Roman took several deep breaths. It was clear that he wanted to beat Daniel to a pulp, yet he was holding back. "You think I wanted any of that?" he tried, balling his fists. "Accidents happen all the fucking time!--"

"He says you kicked the car!" Daniel shouted. His voice was shaking. Profusely. It dawned on me how scared he truly looked. "That you-- you kicked it off the road!"

Roman's fists remained clenched. "Did you maybe have too much of the punch?" he asked, attempting to incorporate a calm tone. "You can't possibly be hearing yourself now, Goldman. Explain how I'm supposed to have kicked away a car coming at me at full speed?"

Daniel's lower lip trembled as it caught a few of his tears. "Everyone knows something's wrong with you, Godfrey. It's just a matter of time until someone figures out your secret," A beat. A snarl. "You're a freak."

There was a long pause. Roman was so furious that he could only glare. I could see the way his jaw clenched and how his hands were now balled so tightly they were shaking.

Daniel caught onto it. Despite looking scared out of his mind, tears still staining his cheeks, he conjured a victorious smile which only confused me further. "You gonna hit me again? You gonna beat me to a pulp in front of your girl?" He nodded towards me, a mocking laugh following as his eyes shone with evil glee.

Roman's eye twitched. I held my breath.

"You think she'll stay with you once she knows what you're capable of? You think she'll still be yours?" Daniel wiped his nose, staring up at Roman through his brows with his vicious eyes. "You and I are one and the same. The way she looks at me, the hate, the disgust? You're going to know exactly how I feel."

"No," Roman hissed, breathless. "I'm nothing like you,"

"Oh yeah? Do you really believe that?"

"You're scum!--"

"And you're a fucking sadist, just like me!" Daniel didn't even try to wipe the grin off his beaten face. He simply sighed as he rested his head against the lockers, closing his eyes as though he was reliving his best day; "Bet you would've killed to see the look she had in her eyes when I nearly snapped her neck in half, just before you came... The tears, the fear. She has these pretty whimpers when she's in pain, y'know?" Daniel opened his eyes, staring up at Roman through his brows. "Are you going to let me get away with that?"

I couldn't stay quiet anymore; the panicked cry I let out was unlike anything I ever had before. "No, don't listen to him!--"

"I would've left her here for you to find, just like what you two did to my father!" Daniel chanted. "I would've ruined her, and it would've been all your fault, Godfrey!"

That was it. It was over. I knew it the second those words filled the hallway. His fault.

Roman snapped. He yelled out in fury, and his hands flew to Daniel's neck where he was on the floor, crushing his windpipes along with any hope for breaths or protests. The look in Roman's eyes was too wild, too uncontrolled, too unstable for my liking-- he looked like he was two seconds away from snapping his neck like a twig, just like what Daniel would've done to me.

"Stop it!" I screamed, terror freezing me to my spot. "Stop it, Roman, stop!--"

"Do-- it!" Daniel wheezed, grinning. "Show her-- what a monster you are!"

My heart was pounding in my ears. No, no, no!

Roman's voice boomed throughout the hallway; "I will break your fucking hands if you touch her again, do you hear me?!"

The amusement in Daniel's eyes quickly disintegrated into abject horror. It was the lack of air. This was the moment he realized one very crucial detail; that all his taunting, all his encouragement, could actually get him very, very badly hurt. "W-Wait--"

"Do you hear me?!"

"Y-Yes!--"

"I will tear you apart!" Roman yelled, tightening his grip. "Is that what you want?!"

Daniel's face was turning a peculiar shade of purple as panic settled in his body. His hands went to Roman's, clawing at them, but to no avail. It was essentially a match he couldn't ever hope to win. It would've been impossible. Roman was too strong, too quick, too sharp-- Daniel didn't stand a chance.

I didn't think it could yet worse, yet somehow it did. In a moment which shouldn't have been possible, not so easily, Roman dragged Daniel's sputtering body up along the locker, lifting him from the ground with no exertion or effort. It made me gasp as I propped myself up from the floor, tears rushing down my cheeks as I watched the scene before me, scared into silence.

When Daniel's legs were dangling off the floor, I knew he had a few seconds before he was out. It was clear in the way his eyes started bulging and how his hands fell limp by his sides.

Roman's last words were chilling; "Let me show you how much of a monster I can be,"

Daniel let out a short, defeated wheeze. Had he not been choking, it would've been a laugh. He had won, but now he had to pay the price. He squeezed his eyes shut with his last efforts, ready for the beating of his life, all until--

"No, that's enough!" I cried, exhausted by the terror. "Roman, enough!"

It was as though something changed in Roman at the sound of my voice, and the veins were no longer bulging from his hands as he realized the weight of what he had been about to do. With that, he let go of Daniel, who collapsed down along the lockers for the second time tonight; air rushed to his lungs with massive gulps, and his face was no longer purple from the blood rushing to his face.

Now that I remembered everything from the day of the crash, I saw the similarities. The way Roman seemed somewhat taller, how unnaturally wide his pupils dilated, and the way his jaw twitched.

For the first time, I was seeing him for what he truly might be.

For what he... was.

Upirism lives beneath their skin, scratches at their teeth, and corrupts their minds through dark urges in constant attempts to drive them to the edge of genesis. Do you suspect you are a upir, or do you recognize a darkness in your loved ones?

I do.

Gulping, I finally found the courage and strength to get off the floor. My hands were shaking, and so were my knees-- I was sure my mascara had stained my cheeks at this point, and I felt more breathless than ever as I faced the man I loved.

What made everything worse, was that Roman looked more beautiful than ever. Hair disheveled, broad shoulders raising with every shaky breath, lips parted. The tux only added to the sight-- he was perfect. Despite the sleeves of his jacket being rolled up, and a part of his shirt being untucked from his pants, he was perfect, and he always would be. His round, green eyes were barely green with how big his pupils were, pulsing with adrenaline; "Are you okay?" he asked, taking a step forward and away from Daniel. "Are you hurt? You were practically unconscious when I came--"

Roman's words came to a halt when he saw how quickly I took a step back.

My breath was stuck in my chest. I couldn't speak.

"You look scared. Don't be," he tried. "He's fine, see?" Roman turned around to face Daniel's body, where he lay limp and barely conscious, and proceeded to shortly kick him.

It made me gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth as Daniel let out a pained whimper. My stomach felt uneasy-- I really didn't want to throw up here.

When Roman saw my horror, he immediately took a step away from Daniel. It hadn't yet dawned on him why I was so scared. "I'm so sorry about this," he said. "I'm sorry I stepped away. I should've never left your side."

I tried to speak, yet nothing would come out. Only tears rushed from my system, peaking at my chin before dripping down to the floor.

Suddenly, there was a loud cheer from down the hall, a reminder of the prom going on just a door away. It made me jump, frozen in fear.

It was clear that Roman found it to be ironic, and he alternated between glancing down the hall and looking at me. "You still look good," he mumbled, a trying smile tugging at the corners of his perfect lips. Those perfect, plush lips that used to softly press against mine. Was he hoping we could go back inside and act like nothing had happened? "I have a comb you can use, if you want? The mascara is easy to wipe away, I think, and I bet there'll be no one in the restroom, so we can both go and fix ourselves and--"

When he took another step forward, I took another step back.

Roman stilled. His eyes softened with hurt. "Baby,"

I shook my head. That was the only thing I could do.

"Didn't you hear what he was saying? He wanted to-- wanted to do all these awful things to you, I had to do this,"

I couldn't breathe.

Roman insisted; "I was just protecting you," Despite his calm tone, I spotted the slight shake he had to his hands. "Don't think about all that bullshit he said, okay? He's not in his right mind, he's clearly insane!--"

"His dad, Roman!" My ability to speak returned to me with my growing frustration.

"-- Was a very sad, tragic thing, yes! I'm not denying it!" With the next step Roman took, I stayed in place. He let out a string of controlled, short breaths, trying to calm himself down. "But he didn't have to come after you. I would've given him the money he needed, but it's my mom who controls the assets. All our dear Daniel had to do, was to talk to me. No one had to get hurt."

I squeezed my eyes shut, yet my tears still fell past my lashes.

Roman let out a sigh which resembled a soft hum. "All that matters is that you're okay. That's all that matters. To me, you're all that matters,"

As his big hands framed my face, holding me when he finally got close enough, I still didn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I was scared out of my mind. Roman's touch was no longer a comfort-- it was chilling to know that they were choking someone less than a minute ago.

"Are you scared?" he whispered, worry coating his deep voice. "You don't have to be scared of me, I'm not-- I'm not some monster."

I couldn't believe him. His words echoed in my head. Let me show you how much of a monster I can be.

Let me show you.

"I'm not," Roman insisted. He didn't sound like he believed it much himself. "I'm all yours, only yours. That's all I am, and that's all that I ever will be. You need to know that."

Let me show you.

"Please look at me,"

Let me show you.

"Please," he begged. "I-- I've made some mistakes, but I'm still your Roman. Can't you stomach it anymore? Is me wanting to protect you repulsive to you?"

I shook my head; not at all. My hands found his chest, feeling it raise against my palms. I used to lay there. Fall asleep there, listening to his beating heart.

"What did you want me to do, then?" Roman whispered. "You're my everything. You're everything. I couldn't let him get away with doing all of that, I-- I couldn't. I'm sorry if it scared you, I'm sorry you had to see me like that, and I'm so sorry I ever left... I should've stayed with you. I'm a fool. I should've stayed and heard what you wanted to tell me."

I didn't need to look at him to know he was crying, now. His voice was breaking. Actively. It shattered me.

"Cause... you still want to tell me, right?"

Something told me he knew what I had wanted to tell him.

My hand crept further up Roman's broad chest as I quietly sobbed, my whole body shaking. My fingers were at his neck, tracing his soft skin.

Roman's grip on my face tightened in desperation, yet his voice came out in a frail, low murmur; "Please-- Please tell me,"

I love you. I love you. If only Roman could read minds. I couldn't conjure the words, not in this state.

My silence only broke him further. Hopeless, he pressed his tear-stained lips to mine in a sheer cry for mercy. "Please," he whispered between repeated kisses I couldn't reciprocate. "Please-- Please--"

My fingers had managed to slip between the two top buttons of his shirt, and they now grazed the vial of my blood around his neck. As Roman continued to kiss me, desperately pressing my body up against his, I let out a sob as I twisted the capsule, just like I had once practiced; his breath hitched as I wrapped my hand around the vial, clutching it as I pulled it away from him without a word.

Roman's hold on my face disappeared as his hands floated an inch away from my face, his big eyes watery with hurt and confusion.

I told myself it was for the best. The blood had poisoned his thoughts for too long.

My first step away was slow, trying.

Tick.

Tick tick.

My second was quickly followed by a sprint down the hallway, away from Roman, away from Daniel, away from everything.

Tick tick tick.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

It felt like I was dying for the hundredth time this week. The agony was pressing at the sides of my head, and it made me hope it would finally cave in on itself just to spare me the torture of being awake.

It was the fear that brought me to Letha's doorstep. The thing I didn't want to be true. Everything had balled up into a ginormous travesty of a boulder, and I could no longer try to push it over the side of the mountain-- I was no Sisyphus.

I couldn't begin to comprehend how shocked Letha must've been when she opened the door. She opened and closed her mouth, scanning the mascara which had stained my cheeks, and the state of the top of my hair. "What the fuck?" she cursed under her breath, grabbing my hand to pull me inside. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

I felt like a shell of the person I used to be. Like I had been cracked open like a lobster, with someone actively scooping out my insides. Letha's house smelled of expensive fragrance sticks you'd buy from Rituals-- I recognized the one she had in her house at the moment, the ritual of hammam. It was her favorite, I remembered that much. I felt at home. It was an odd feeling.

"Your dress," Unsure what to do, Letha bent down to fix the way my dress fell. "Seriously, what happened?--"

"A while ago, you said you wanted to tell me the truth about Roman," My voice was sharp, hollow, as I stared at the girl who was once my best friend. I had cried into her shoulder before, we had shared countless laughs-- what had I done? "What was it?"

Letha stilled with shock when she straightened up, meeting my troubled gaze. "Shouldn't you be at prom?"

"Letha, I need!--"

"Where even is, Roman, actually?"

"You need to tell me!" I cried. "You need-- I need to know, I need to hear it from you, because I need someone to tell me that I've gone crazy!"

With slow motions, Letha stretched out her hands to place them gently on my shoulders. "Let's take some deep breaths, okay? Whatever this is, I bet you and Roman will get through this. Did you have a fight? It can be painful to argue with your boyfriend, and it really can feel like you're going crazy. I get it, and--"

"-- I have this book," I interrupted, feeling my tears press up against my lashes once more. "It's really long and dreadful, but I've read the whole thing over and over about five times now."

The worry streaking across Letha's face turned into a look of confusion. "Okay...? As long as it's not Fifty Shades again, I'm listening,"

It was odd to speak to someone that knew me so well. She knew I had read that stupid book several times, despite how ridiculous it could be at times. It almost threw me off. "The more I read the book, the more I saw the... similarities with Roman,"

Letha grimaced; "Fifty Shades?"

"No! The other one!"

"Oh, alright. Phew,"

I groaned, rubbing my temples. I was exhausted. "You said I deserved to know the truth about him, so I'm begging you, Letha, to put everything aside," My breath struggled to steady. "What was it?"

Her palms lifted from my shoulders. "I-- I don't know how to say it, or whether I should tell you at all. I only ever mentioned it because I thought you were in danger, but--" Letha stilled. It was clear on her face that she knew she had said too much.

"Danger?" I echoed. "Letha?"

With a quick hitch of her breath, Letha made her way past me with hasty steps and disappeared into the living room.

"Please!" I followed her, watching as she paced back and forth in the big room, anxiously biting her nails. "Letha, I need to hear it from you, I need to know that I'm wrong, I need to hear that it's something else than what I think it is!"

"I-- I don't, I can't!--"

"Tell me!" I needed to hear it out loud. I burned to hear it from someone else than the voice in my head.

"N-No, I!--"

"Letha!"

"It's too-- I can't!--"

"Say it!"

Letha stilled with the boom of my voice. She stared back at me from across the room, no longer pacing as she finally dared to face the crazed look in my eyes. There was a long pause, a silence that laid itself over us like a cold blanket-- "What book was it?" she breathed.

"The--" I hated this title. "The avoidable vampirism, the--" I couldn't say the word. I couldn't.

Letha nodded. It was barely noticeable, and it resembled an involuntary tic. "Yes,"

Yes?

"Yes, he is,"

"Say it," I whispered. "Please."

Letha closed her eyes, resigning;

"Roman's a upir,"

The house was dead silent. You could've heard a pin drop. There were faint remnants of the wind brushing past the large tree outside the property, with the rustling of the leaves filling the sonic void. Letha wasn't moving. Neither was I. How does one process such news? It was a peculiar feeling-- I felt like I had already known for a long time. There was no shockwave, as I had expected there to be.

"Ah," was all I said. It left Letha to raise a brow, visibly off-put by my reaction.

I nodded to myself a couple times, glancing around the living room I used to know better than the back of my hand. A small huff escaped me, similarly to a laugh; I wondered whether my brain was melting. It surely felt like it.

For a second, I thought that was it. That there would be no blow to the reveal. That I was handling it surprisingly well, and that it'd be the end of it. However, the more breaths I took, the less I felt like I was breathing. The less I felt I was breathing, the more I could feel the painful thumping of my heart against my ribs, every beat serving as a reminder that I was still alive, still in this moment, still processing.

My breath got stuck in my throat with the next heave-- my hands flew to my necklace, trying to find the clasp. It was too tight, too tight. With shaking fingers, I tried to get it off, needed it off, right now. It didn't work, no matter how hard I tried, and my eyes welled with tears as I ripped my necklace off with a gasp, hoping I'd finally be able to breathe. The beads rolled along the hardwood floors as I clutched at my chest, hitting my chest in hopes that air would fill it.

Letha's big, green eyes were filled with worry as she rushed to me, unsure how to help. "Hey, hey, breathe, okay?--"

The corset of my dress was suddenly an agonizing pressure around my waist, and my fingers went to the ribbons at the back to slacken it. It didn't work, no matter what I tried, and the sob I let out was followed by a broken plea; "Help-- H-Help!--"

Letha hurried to get behind me as I slowly sank to the floor, choking on my tears as she untied the ribbons at full speed. My hands were tearing at my dress, choking with my last breaths as I descended into the heap of tulle around me-- I tried to scream, yet no sound would come.

In a last attempt, Letha grabbed the ribbons with full force and pulled them apart, ripping the fabric in half as my corset finally came apart.

What followed was a mix of a sob and a heave, a choked sound filling the room as I leaned forward into the tulle, taking sharp breaths of release. I could finally breathe. I was breathing again. I wept into my hands as Letha's soft hands stroked my exposed back, sitting down on the floor next to me as she brought my body as close to hers as she could.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm so, so sorry."

I shook in her arms, drowning in tears. It was true. Roman was a upir. I had been right all along, yet I had also been stupid enough to suppress it. The sadness, the heartbreak, that hit me felt like a death-sentence, and I held onto Letha as my whole body trembled with the realization; "I love him," I cried. "I love-- I love him!"

"I know," Letha stroked my hair, sighing. "I tried to get to you before you got that far, but there always comes a point when you can no longer do anything. I've learned that the hard way, now."

This was worse than death. "What do I do?" I breathed. "I don't-- I don't know what to do!"

"... You know what you have to do,"

It only made me clutch onto her harder, and I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes of stopping the stream of tears. I wondered how I had any more of them in my system. "I don't-- think I can!"

"I only want what's best for you," Letha cooed, patting away my fallen tears. "And I know that Roman can be charming, and he can be very nice when he wants to be, but... now that you know what he is, how are you going to believe him ever again? He's lied to you all this time, and he would've never told you himself. You're aware that he's putting you in danger every time he's near you?"

I shook my head; "N-No, Roman would never!--"

"If you read a whole book about upirs, you probably know what he's capable of?"

"He'd never-- never hurt me!--"

"Maybe he wouldn't hurt you, but you know he can control people, right?" Letha sighed once more, tilting my head upwards so that I would meet her eyes. "He did that to me our whole childhood. His favorite thing to do in the winter was to make me stick my tongue on metal poles and watch me cry when I couldn't detach it."

What? "But!--"

"How can you ever be sure that your actions are yours?" Letha's eyes were so intense, so desperate to get her point across. "How can you ever trust him again?"

How many times hadn't I thought he was mesmerizing me? I could count them on my fingers, but the thought was still unsettling. "I... don't know,"

Letha shifted to sit on her knees, watching my mascara paint my cheeks with long, black streaks. "I'm glad you came to me," she murmured, softening her look. "I'm glad you see that I'm the only one that can help you. We should put everything behind us and stick together again, and we have to. I'm all you have now. Roman... he's dangerous. You're safe with me."

I was so, so tired. I didn't have the energy to fight the free help coming my way, yet... something felt off. "He's not dangerous," I tried, in denial. "He's--"

"He's what?" Letha insisted, hardening her gaze. This was giving me whiplash. "Seriously! He could snap any day, can't you see?! And who would be closest to him the day he's overcome with thirst?"

"No!--"

"It'd be you!" Letha grabbed my face, and it only made my tears flow faster, hanging from my quivering chin. "It'd be you, and I can't lose you again, not in that way!"

The more my vision blurred, the weaker I felt. "I love him,"

"I know,"

"I-- I love him,"

"But you need to love yourself more," she whispered. Letha let go of my face, wrapping her arms around me in a warm embrace. She smelled just like she did all those months ago. My best friend, Letha. I missed her more than anything.

How could I ever love anything or anyone more than I loved Roman? I didn't have space for that in my body. I didn't have the capacity.

"Do it for your life," Letha pleaded, her voice smooth as honey. It felt like she was talking me to sleep. "Please."

A life without Roman? I couldn't imagine it. Not when we had promised each other forever.

But... forever for him probably meant forever.

Roman is a upir.

I let out another cry into Letha's shoulder; this was a nightmare I wouldn't ever wake up from.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When you get devastating news, you never think of what happens afterward. It's similar to when someone dies-- you get the news, in comes the shock, and then you get handed the papers on what to do with the body. No one ever thinks about having to design the flyer for the funeral, right?

There is a certain weight in your body as you go through the motions you know you have to go through. Your hands feel heavy as you hold your next meal before your mouth, realizing that life moves on, whether you want it to or not. You still need to drink water, eat, wake up, and function.

And just as I opened the door to my empty home, I felt all of that at once. I wanted to freak out and sob in despair to the end of my days, yet I had to get back home. I had to get out of the clothes Letha had given me after I ruined my dress, I had to eat something to fill my rumbling stomach, and I had to sleep. How was I supposed to do any of that when it felt like my world was crashing down on me?

It felt like someone had pressed a button at the top of my head, putting me on auto-pilot. I didn't even notice that I was still wearing my jacket as I made my way to the kitchen with heavy steps, mindlessly opening the fridge and taking a... cucumber?

Why was I holding a cucumber?

Fuck it.

I couldn't think. I didn't even close the fridge. My mind was empty as I put it down on the kitchen island, not even bothering to find a cutting board. I didn't want to think. The more I thought, the more I thought about Roman. Roman and his perfect lips, Roman and his beautiful laugh, Roman and his green, green, green eyes. Roman, the man I loved. Roman, the upir.

Involuntary tears rushed down my cheeks as my face remained stoic. I was exhausted. I had no idea how I was still moving. My hands were mindlessly tapping the kitchen surfaces around me, hoping I'd somehow find a knife that way. Not that I'd be particularly successful, but maybe I didn't want to be? I wasn't even planning on washing the cucumber. Maybe I hoped the germs would kill me. Could you die from an unwashed cucumber? I had no idea. There was probably a higher possibility that Roman would kill me first.

... I hated that thought.

I wish I didn't have to have it.

However, as my hands found the selection of knives, I heard a sound coming from behind me. It came from the other side of the kitchen island, the one I had my back turned to. I didn't think much of it first; houses creak all the time, surely. But then came the scrape-- a deliberate, jarring screech of a chair being pulled out from the kitchen island.

My parents were out of town.

Someone was in my house.

Someone was pulling out a chair.

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, my breath catching in my throat. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps sent a chill crawling down my spine. They weren’t hurried or hesitant-- they were purposeful, unhurried, as though whoever was there wanted me to hear.

I gripped the counter with trembling fingers, my pulse hammering in my ears. I didn’t dare look back, but every inch of me screamed to run. My fingers brushed the cold handle of the biggest knife I could find, finally. The familiar fight-or-flight surged through me, but I couldn’t choose. All I could do was grip the knife and hold it as though it were a lifeline.

When the footsteps stopped, I thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, I had imagined it.

But then-- the breath.

A low, soft exhale just inches behind me.

Now or never. I spun around with a panicked yell, the knife held high, ready to plunge it into whoever had invaded my home-- My scream got stuck in my throat when the blade pointed at the chest of a tall figure standing in the dark, his face barely illuminated by the faint glow of the refrigerator light.

Roman.

Roman didn't even bother to stop me, didn't jump away, nothing. The tip of my knife was barely dipping into his solar plexus, yet I was sure it would've been enough to draw blood on any other person; it didn't even pierce his skin.

I couldn't believe what was happening. He somehow didn't look like himself-- it was Roman like I’d never seen him before. His expression was blank, too blank, the kind of blank that made my stomach churn. He didn’t flinch at the blade hovering just below his sternum. His green eyes locked onto mine with a kind of detachment, as though I wasn’t holding a weapon to his chest at all.

“You done?” he said, his voice carrying an eerie stillness.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My knuckles whitened around the handle.

Roman’s eyes flickered down to the blade, then back to me. “Put it down,” he said, his tone measured but firm.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Roman took a quiet step back, glancing down at the large knife I was holding at him with an unreadable emotion shimmering in his big, green eyes. "Right..." he huffed, sucking in a sharp breath. His gaze darted up to meet mine in the dark of the kitchen. "Is that how you want to do this?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. There was no other way, not when I knew the truth.

Roman’s lips parted, and the breath that escaped wasn’t human—it was low, steady, and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze locked onto the knife, then slowly dragged up to meet mine. His pupils were darker now, swallowing the green of his eyes, and the silence between us stretched too long.

“If you’re gonna do it, don't hesitate,” Roman's voice was soft, yet laced with something cold and merciless. He took a single step forward, the tip of the knife now pressing harder against his chest. “You won’t get another chance.”

I gasped, stumbling back, but Roman didn’t follow. He stayed in the shadows, his figure looming over me like some unholy force. “Fine. This is how it's gonna go,” he continued, his tone so calm it made my blood run cold. “You’re going to put that down and listen. No running, no screaming. I deserve that much."

I tightened my grip on the knife, my chest heaving. “Why should I listen to you?"

A huff-- Roman was pissed. "Cause I'm really not in the mood for chasing you. It'd be over in less than three seconds, and that's never fun," Roman's voice dropped to a near whisper; "You wanna fight me, or do you want to be smart about this?"

I didn't lower my knife. I couldn't. "Alright," I breathed. "Talk, then."

Roman tilted his head, studying me, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smirk-- it didn't reach his eyes. "There you go," he said.

"Good girl."

(a/n: ... are u still breathing? cause I'm not!!!! AGHHH😭 thank you for reading this if you got this far, this is so so much lore so if your brain is overheating pls pls go grab an icecream, you deserve it, and I LOVE YOUUU MWAHHH CAN'T WAIT TO SHOW Y'ALL THE REST OF THIS STORY!!)

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celeryb1tch · 2 years ago

Text

innocent!reader x experienced!pervert!abby is rotting my brain tonight!!!

18+!! this is lesbian smut!

you sit at a table in the mess hall, abby’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and her friends all enjoying their dinner. casual conversation is thrown around the table, until manny’s new fling is brought up.

“-and i mean, SOAKED the sheets. i couldn’t believe my eyes,” he recounts proudly.

everyone is laughing along or rolling their eyes, but abby notices your hesitance. she leans down toward you with a concerned look. “something wrong?”

you shake your head lightly, looking up at her. “jus’ don’t get it,” you reply.

abby feels her stomach twist. she had known there wasn’t great sex ed on the WLF base, but she and her friends had grown up around doctors like her dad and she realizes she hadn’t know the full extent of just how ignorant you were. and admittedly, it made her excited.

“she squirted when she came,” she tries to explain gently. but you still look utterly confused, even as she goes on.

“…come? and she didn’t pee?” you seem so utterly lost. abby wonders if it makes her a bad person to expose you to these ideas, but you’re both already adults. still, that knot is twisting inside her deriving a sick pleasure from all of this. you had always looked up to abby, and she wondered how wrong it would be to corrupt that relationship with talk of sex- or even a demonstration?

that night, you’re laying in bed thinking about what abby said earlier. with all the training and violence you’d grown up around, you hardly had time to pay attention to the ache between your legs, or how it would usually occur when abby was around. but as you recount that conversation in your mind, it appears once more. you think of her arm wrapping around you, pressing you into her hard front. how she was still warm and sweaty from the gym, and how her flyaways stuck to the sides of her forehead because of that. something inside of you is saying you should be embarrassed, and you don’t know exactly why- but a louder, much louder, part is telling you to confide in your best friend. she would never judge you, right?

you shuffle down a few hallways in your fluffy socks until you reach one of the bigger accommodations: abby’s room. and with a bit of hesitance in your knock, you step back as the door opens immediately.

abby is clearly groggy, and must have also been getting ready for bed. she’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and the usual black sports bra she has on during patrols and workouts. her hair is tied in her signature braid, with more wispy pieces that have come out throughout the day. “hey, you. everything okay?”

you nod and push past abby inside as was usual. she joins you on her bed, your bare thighs touching as you both sit. her eyes are on you and you can feel it again- that heat. you pull away slightly, squeezing your legs together as it’s the only thing you know eases the feeling.

abby pretends not to notice, just like she does any other time you blatantly stare at her muscles or blush when she touches your waist. she doesn’t want to scare you off, especially when she thinks she can tell what you’re going to ask about.

“you remember earlier at dinner?” you say, biting your lip slightly as unease turns in your tummy. and abby just nods, still looking right at you. “how manny said he made a girl, uh…”

“squirt?” abby offers. she says it so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. like she’s never in a million years thought about fucking you until you do. like she wasn’t hoping this would happen every second after dinner.

“yeah, well, i realized there’s probably a lot of sex stuff i don’t know, and since you… y’know…”

poor baby, she thinks. how will she ever work up the courage. and abby thinks of all the times she’s teased you about all the women she’s fucked. called you jealous that you had to split quality time with her one night stands. seen you pout about her missing games night because someone asked her on a date in front of you. surely you were going to ask for her expertise- for her to help you out, to show you?

“since your dad was a doctor.”

oh. that was it? you wanted a little anatomy lesson. then what was all the embarrassment for? were you that ashamed of asking for a little bit of guidance?

abby gives you a soft smile and an assurance that she can help. and your body floods with relief. this is normal. you can tell her what you’re feeling and she won’t act weird. she can help you.

you stand up and strip off your pyjama bottoms and big shirt you had likely stolen from abby so long ago you don’t remember whose it was in the first place. and she just watches, small smile still on her face as she looks you over.

“okay, so right here? boobs, obviously.” she points to your chest, and you roll your eyes.

“i know that, stupid. show me the more advanced stuff.”

“you’ll have to take your underwear off then.” so you do.

abby instinctively reaches for it, stroking her fingers between your puffy, wet lips. her eyes are shining with admiration and her cheeks are hot.

you pull away slightly at the bolt of pleasure that spikes through you at her touch. “is it… supposed to look like this? i think there’s something wrong.”

she shakes her head fervently, eyes never leaving your pussy. “you’re just wet, that’s all. did something turn you on?” and at your confusion at the term- “get you excited? when girls see something attractive, they get wet.”

oh no. you can feel dread flooding your senses as you try to scramble for an explanation. that it just happens sometimes. that’s normal, right?

after a pause, and a look at your face, abby knows exactly what happened. “oh. you got wet from me, huh?”

you want to run away and disappear. you swallow a sob, but strangely, you feel that pulsing sensation again. all of this attention from abby isn’t working in your favour.

but she isn’t grimacing in disgust, or even asking you to leave. in fact, abby has a shit-eating grin on her face as she watches you cower in front of her.

“you’re not… mad?” you ask sheepishly.

abby reaches out to you, pulling you onto her lap. “no, baby, of course not. it’s cute.”

relief washes over you, but before you can really relax you feel abby’s hand once again on your folds.

“so wet for me, baby. how long has this been happening?”

a finger skims against a particularly sensitive spot, and you choke on your words, succumbing to the blissful feeling. “s-so long, abs. like forever.”

“poor girl. so pent up, so needy. and too embarrassed to tell me.”

“yeah…” you whine. you’re clinging to abby like a lifeline, overwhelmed by the building tension. it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. so intense, so all-consuming.

abby’s fingers are expertly caressing your pussy, steadily adding more pressure so as not to overstimulate you. “this is the clit,” she murmurs, and you feel that electric spark again as she glides over one specific spot at the top.

“it’s too much,” you cry out, wriggling under her grasp.

“that means you’re cumming soon,” she explains with a chuckle. “feels so good, trust me. just ride it out.”

and you trust abby with every ounce of your being, so you try to relax your muscles as much as possible while you feel that climbing feeling come to a boil. and she was so right. you’re huffing tiny sobs into her chest as you come down, her strokes easing as you’re finally able to catch your breath again.

abby cradles you into her, clean hand running through your hair. you can feel the puddle between your thighs dripping down her own and onto the sheets, and you’re so exhausted.

“that was so hot, baby. did such a good job for me.”

“abs, that was… wow.”

she’s smiling down at you, admiring your sweat- wicked face. “bet you wish you’d asked me sooner, huh?”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #molly’s abby recs!#molly’s!

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sirfrogsworth · 2 months ago

Text

(In reference to this post)

I'm going to be honest, this kind of attitude concerns me.

I've been going over my past lately. I'm writing something about my relationship with my brother. And I found a letter I never sent him.

Here is an excerpt.

-----------------------

I was not a good brother to you.

I took you for granted and was an ungrateful jerk. You used to do so much to help me. You did all kinds of manual labor because my stupid failing body could not. You built me things. You helped me fix things. You drove me places I needed to be. When I first got sick at college you came to Kansas City and scooped me up and brought me back home.

I remember one Christmas you even went back to the family gathering and stuck up for me. They didn't understand how sick I was and you explained it to them. I never told you how much that meant to me. I should have hugged you and thanked you profusely on the spot. You believed me even when some doctors refused to. And you used that big heart of yours to defend me.

That was an amazing act of courage. Find that same courage now. Stand up for Mom & Dad. Stand up for yourself. Put your foot down and fix this.

It took me way too long to figure it out, but it is my regret of being a bad brother that helped me realize why you don't like my humor. Why you are one of the very few people I can't make laugh. It's because I used that humor at your expense. I made fun of you. I teased you the same way those betraying bastard fake friends did in high school. At the time, I probably thought my jokes were harmless fun. But I'm sure you felt they were cruel and hurtful. We are such different people and I had a hard time understanding you. I used humor as a weapon to highlight our differences. I have no excuse. I have no justification for being a jerk to you.

All I can do is say I am sorry. Truly and deeply sorry.

-----------------------

I didn't send that letter because he was too far gone. His wife read every email and text and I had no way of getting through to just him.

My brother used to be a much better person than me. I often failed to be the good person I thought I was. I didn't realize I was being hurtful at the time. And I didn't do this to just him. I thought I was just making jokes. It was not "pretty easy" for me to realize that. It took years of growing and hindsight.

He used to be nothing but good behaviors all the way down.

And I struggled to limit my bad behaviors.

I was bullied in grade school and realized that if you are funny, people don't bully you anymore. So my brain thought I needed to make people laugh at all times. And it didn't matter if my jokes were at someone else's expense.

Bad behaviors are often easy. They can be tempting. They can require less effort. They can have greater rewards. And sometimes they can protect you. They can be a defense mechanism. Your brain trying to avoid trauma. "I'll hurt someone first so no one hurts me."

There is a reason so many people struggle to be good all the time.

Good behavior requires constant vigilance. You can't do a certain number of good things and then just call yourself a good person. And you can't just not do bad things either. A good person isn't necessarily just "not being evil to other people." That is neutral, at best.

I've learned that being a good person isn't something you just are. It is an ongoing choice. You have to maintain it. You have to actively keep it going. You have to consistently choose good behaviors and limit the bad.

And we all choose bad behaviors from time to time.

Don't kid yourself.

If you know the story of my brother, he let bad behaviors win. He let someone influence him to abuse and neglect his own family. He did it because he was traumatized. He was humiliated by a girl in high school. She said she was his girlfriend. She let him take her to prom. Then she wrote a one-act play called "Prom Nightmare" and performed it in front of the entire school. He was a laughing stock to 2000 classmates.

He is terrified of being alone but he is also terrified that any romantic partner is faking their affections. So obedience is his tool to prevent that. He will do anything his partner instructs to make sure her affection is real. His unmanaged trauma has run amok and led him to dark choices to keep his relationship intact at any cost.

He was such a good person. And now he is not. He has the potential. He is so good with his daughter. He is capable of good behaviors. And I think that is why it upsets and angers me so much. I can still see what he could be.

If you want to see people as just good and bad, that's up to you. I can't do it anymore. I think humans are too complicated. And I worry about getting complacent. I need to check in on my ratio of good to bad behaviors constantly. It would be too easy to say I am a good person and not think about it again.

I mean, sure, I don't kick puppies. I don't taunt the elderly. I don't assault random strangers.

Being good is easy!

Right?

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bucketgetter535 · 3 months ago

Text

No Margin for Error: Chapter Two

CW: language

WC: 7.5k

Notes: I almost broke this into two chapters but if yall prefer just combined longer chapters lmk. Anyway a little more of azzis POV this chapter. She does a lot of #noticing.

Azzi could feel the sweat slipping down her back before she even peeled off the top half of her race suit.

It was that kind of heat.

Sticky, impossible, the kind that clung to you through layers of clothes and carbon and adrenaline. The kind that wrapped around your spine and didn’t let go. The kind that made you dream of plunging face-first into an ice bath and never coming out.

She unzipped her suit halfway, tied the arms around her waist, and pulled her fireproof undershirt away from her chest with a wince. The fabric slapped back wet. Her sports bra was soaked. Her body felt like it had been steam-cooked inside a metal box at 300 kilometers an hour for 30 minutes — which, to be fair, it had.

She didn’t even want to talk.

She couldn’t talk, not until her breathing slowed. Not until her pulse backed off from the red zone. Her throat was dry, her arms shaking in that low-buzz way they always did after a race that took more out of her than it gave. The points were fine. The sprint race had been fine. 4th, she thought. Or was it 5th?

It didn’t matter yet. Not until qualifying. Not until the real race.

For now, she dropped onto the bench in the Ferrari cooldown room, eyes closed against the fluorescent lights. Across the small space, Paige was already there — legs sprawled out in front of her, race suit hanging open, undershirt clinging to her in a way that made Azzi’s eyes flick over and away before her brain caught up.

There was something about seeing another driver this wrecked. This undone. Even if it was Paige.

Especially if it was Paige.

Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, like she hadn’t had a full breath since the moment she climbed into the car. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and temples, some flattened from the helmet, some wild from the heat. The veins in her arms were raised, still pumping from the effort. Her collarbones were sharp under the thin material of her undershirt, sweat glinting in the hollow of her throat.

It was a whole lot of information. Azzi didn’t need it. Didn’t ask for it.

She looked away again.

“I hate China in April,” Paige muttered.

Her voice was rough, but not sharp. Not snappy. It was more… honest. Tired honesty. Too drained to be anything else.

Azzi snorted quietly, too cooked to argue. “Try doing this in July.”

Paige let out something between a laugh and a groan. “God, don’t remind me.”

They didn’t speak again after that. Just the soft hum of the AC unit kicking in. Just the sound of both of them breathing through the weight of it.

The cooldown room was private — thank God — a small, merciful space inside the Ferrari garage with a padded bench, a hydration station, a fan no one had pointed in the right direction, and enough room for two drivers to pretend they weren’t about to pass out. No cameras. No mics. No PR team. Just them. And now, thankfully, her.

The door opened and in came Dr. Liao — short, calm, efficient. Female, thank God. That was new this year. That was them.

Azzi had barely known Paige when they’d made the request, but when it came to asking for a female team doctor, they’d been perfectly aligned. No debate. No friction. They’d both wanted it. Needed it.

Azzi remembered how it used to feel, being half-conscious post race in front of a guy almost twice her age. Even if he was kind. Even if he was professional. It was just… never fully comfortable.

Dr. Liao didn’t make them feel like patients. She made them feel like people.

“Hydrate,” she said simply, passing water bottles to both of them before crouching to check Paige’s vitals first. Her tone was steady, clinical. “You’re both running hot. Paige, hold out your hand.”

Paige obeyed without a word, her fingers trembling slightly as the pulse oximeter clipped on. Azzi watched out of the corner of her eye.

Still flushed. Still glassy-eyed. Sweat running down the back of her neck.

Dr. Liao noted something down on her tablet. “You’re fine. Just overheated. Take five, then cold compress. Azzi?”

Azzi rolled up her sleeve as the doctor shifted over, not protesting when her wrist was taken. Her legs were jelly, and her hair was damp all the way to the roots. She thought about peeling off her undershirt too, but the effort felt like too much. She settled for pulling the hem up, letting her skin breathe. Paige had already yanked hers off, sitting back now in just a black sports bra, her skin gleaming under the industrial light.

It wasn’t like Azzi stared. She didn’t.

It was just… there.

The lines of her stomach. The quiet rise and fall of her chest. The tattoo on her rib that Azzi hadn’t known about. The heat radiating off her like she’d swallowed the damn engine.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her like this — they changed in the same room pre race, trained in the same gym, stretched next to each other before sessions — but something about today made it harder to ignore. Maybe the heat stripped too much away. Maybe exhaustion blurred the edges of resentment. Maybe it was the way Paige hadn’t said anything bitchy for once.

They didn’t argue. Not today.

There just wasn’t enough energy for it.

Dr. Liao handed each of them a cold compress, then stood.

“Try to stay cool until the debrief. Get protein in you before qualifying.”

Azzi nodded. Paige, too.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence again.

Paige tilted her head back, eyes half-closed, the cold pack pressed to her neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever sweat this much in my life.”

Azzi leaned back, matching her without thinking. “Yeah. That was brutal.”

A pause. Then another. Then—

“Thanks for the doc,” Paige said, not looking at her.

Azzi blinked. “You asked for her too.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Still. I wouldn’t’ve spoken up if you hadn’t first.”

Azzi didn’t know what to say to that. So she just nodded.

It was strange, sitting here like this. Close but not quite. Tired but not open. Just adjacent. No press cameras. No engineers. Just the low thrum of two hearts cooling down from something unspoken and hard to name.

They weren’t friends.

They weren’t even friendly.

But for the first time since joining the same team, Azzi didn’t hate being next to Paige.

That probably didn’t mean anything.

But maybe it did.

—

China was a success and Azzi couldn’t stop smiling.

She had been on enough podiums to know the routine, but that didn’t dull it — the rush of standing on the top step, the Ferrari red wrapped around her shoulders, the trophy cold in her hands. The champagne didn’t taste like anything, but that didn’t matter. It was hers. First win of the season. China was hers.

The anthem roared. The crowd beneath them waved flags — some Ferrari, some with her name on them, a few even homemade signs with glitter and gold stars. Cameras clicked and flashed. She felt the weight of her cap on her head, the sun on her back, the ache in her calves. Every inch of her buzzed with adrenaline and heat and relief.

Azzi Fudd. Winner in Shanghai.

She closed her eyes for half a second and let it all settle in her chest.

Her engineer, Mateo, had all but lifted her out of the car when she’d pulled into her first place spot. “Brava,” he’d said into her helmet mic before she’d even parked. “You were perfect out there. Absolutely perfect.”

The car had felt good. Not flawless, not light — the track still had its bumps and moments, but Azzi had driven the hell out of it. Gotten pole. Won the race. Controlled the pace. Managed the tires. Held off pressure. All of it.

It was textbook. And it was hers.

So why couldn’t she stop looking for Paige?

Fourth wasn’t a bad finish. In theory. But Paige had been running third with five laps to go. Right behind her, almost, for a while. Then just—gone. Dropped pace, like someone hit a switch. Fell back behind a Red Bull and a Mercedes. No fight. No spark. It hadn’t made sense.

Azzi had noticed. She hadn’t meant to. But she had.

She caught Mateo on her way off the podium, still drying her hair with a towel as they walked toward the media pen.

“Hey,” she said, voice low beneath the noise. “What happened to Paige?”

Mateo hesitated for just a beat too long.

“I saw her start to fall off,” Azzi added quickly. “The car wasn’t handling?”

“She had no cooling,” Marco said, cutting to the chase. “Whole race. It didn’t work. System failure. We caught it too late.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

“No cooling?” she repeated.

“None. Full suit temp. Cabin temp was off the charts by lap ten.”

“Jesus.”

“She should’ve pulled out. But she didn’t.”

Azzi blinked hard. Something sharp pricked the base of her neck — guilt? Concern? Something else? She shook her head.

Mateo glanced at her. “She’s with Dr. Liao now.”

Azzi nodded but said nothing.

The next twenty minutes blurred. Media. Photos. The usual rinse-repeat of post-race interviews. Smiles, nods, answers on autopilot. Yes, the car felt great. Yes, we’re thrilled with the pace. Yes, we’ll take this momentum into the next race. She knew the script. Delivered it well.

But behind every answer, her mind was somewhere else.

It wasn’t that she cared about Paige. Not like that. They weren’t friends. Barely even teammates in the traditional sense. She didn’t know Paige’s middle name, didn’t know what music she listened to, didn’t even know who she called first after a good race.

But still. Azzi found herself turning down the wrong hallway on purpose. She justified it in her mind by saying she just needed to make sure her teammate could handle the intensity of Ferrari. Not any other reason.

The garage was quieter now. Engineers half-unpacked the gear. Mechanics wiped sweat from their brows. She bypassed the debrief room. Ignored the congratulations.

Dr. Liao’s office door was closed, but not locked.

Azzi knocked, once.

A voice from inside — not Dr. Liao. Not Paige either. Just a soft “yeah, come in.”

The room was cooler than the hallway — AC turned up, fluorescent lights dimmed, medical bags open across the counter. Paige sat on the small exam bench, still in her race pants, now in just a sports bra again. Her hair was damp and loose now, clinging to the curve of her jaw.

Her eyes lifted when Azzi entered.

Surprise first. Then… unreadable.

Dr. Liao stood beside her, looking up from her tablet.

“Azzi,” she said with a small smile. “Come to check in?”

“I—yeah.” Azzi shifted. “Mateo said Paige was here.”

“She is,” Dr. Liao confirmed. “And she’ll be okay. But I’m glad you’re here too.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I like to check on both my drivers. Not just the one who got cooked.”

Azzi chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m good. Cooling systems worked.”

“Good,” Dr. Liao said, not missing a beat. “Still, you’re not leaving until I take a look.”

Azzi made a face but stepped further in. Paige hadn’t said anything yet. Her gaze lingered for half a second too long before she looked away.

“I heard about the cooling,” Azzi said finally, voice low.

Paige tilted her head, jaw tight. “Yeah. Wasn’t fun.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You didn’t retire from the race.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Dr. Liao glanced between them and then took the opportunity to go wash her hands at the sink, clearly giving them a second alone.

Azzi studied Paige again. There was color back in her face now. A little more strength in her shoulders. But there was something hollow about her too — not fragile exactly, just… scraped down to the nerve.

“You didn’t tell anyone it was that bad?” Azzi asked.

Paige shook her head. “Didn’t want to give up the points.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped closer, eyes flicking to the bottle of water in Paige’s hand, half-empty.

“You were 3rd.”

“I know that too.”

Another beat.

Azzi sighed. “You’re a dumbass.”

Paige finally looked at her again. Her mouth quirked — not a smile, not quite. “You’re welcome.”

Dr. Liao returned then, stepping between them gently.

“Paige is cleared,” she said, nodding toward her. “Azzi, sit. I’ll check your core before you disappear.”

Azzi sat.

Paige stood, gathering her towel and pulling her suit back on over her hips. The movement was slower than usual. Not weak, just tired.

She lingered by the door for a second too long before leaving.

Azzi watched her go.

The win still buzzed under her skin. But now, something else did too.

Something quieter. Something not quite nameable.

Maybe it was just the heat.

Or maybe not.

—

Azzi had only been back in the States for two days, but already her shoulders were looser.

New York in the spring was loud and half-unruly — cab horns echoing off glass, puddles still crusted with oil from the last rain, pigeons that refused to move even if you walked straight through them. But from the forty-eighth floor, the chaos became background hum. Low, distant, almost comforting. Like the city was alive beneath her feet and she didn’t have to answer to it.

Her penthouse was mostly quiet. Sleek lines, dark floors, wide windows. A glass coffee table she didn’t use and a white sofa she regretted buying the second her team shipped over the red wine she liked. It was the kind of apartment people expected a two-time world champion to live in — tall, polished, borderline impersonal — but she liked it anyway. It had her books. Her candles. Her kitchen. Her rules.

And her silence.

Mostly.

Azzi sat curled in one of the window alcoves, legs stretched out, loose tee barely hanging on one shoulder. A half-finished glass of cabernet balanced on the ledge beside her, and her tablet screen was glowing faintly in the dimness — emails, most of them irritating.

PR had stacked her inbox like always. New sponsorships. New media requests. A mildly threatening note from her stylist about her refusal to attend the Vogue-sponsored cocktail hour in Tokyo. And, worst of all, a bullet-pointed agenda for the next “Brand Alignment Workshop” Ferrari had set up for her and—

Ugh.

Her eyes lingered on the name.

Joint driver promo content. Must align schedules. Please coordinate availability with Paige directly.

Azzi exhaled through her nose. She stared at the line for a full ten seconds before tapping open the attachment. There were six concepts. Three were worse than the others. One involved pretending to bake together for a TikTok series about “F1’s softer side.”

She laughed once. Sharp and alone.

A second later, her phone buzzed in her lap.

PAIGE BUECKERS

[Incoming Call]

Azzi blinked. Then answered.

“Did you see the email?” Paige’s voice came through first — dry, edged with disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” Azzi said, lifting the wine to her lips.

There was a pause. Some muffled sound on the other end — something clattering, maybe wind.

“You’re in New York, right?” Paige asked.

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She glanced toward the skyline — the Empire State glowing soft yellow in the dark.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “You in Minneapolis?”

Another pause. “Yeah.”

Azzi could almost hear it now — the difference in Paige’s background. Less hum, more hush. The kind of quiet you couldn’t get in New York City, the kind you could only get where the sky spread wider and the houses didn’t fight for air. There was a dog barking distantly, a screen door closing somewhere. Then footsteps — bare, maybe on hardwood — soft and lazy.

“You actually gonna do the baking video?” Paige asked, voice tinged with something amused.

“God, no,” Azzi said, grinning. “Unless you’re into pretending we’re PR girlfriends.”

“You wish,” Paige shot back without missing a beat.

Azzi huffed a laugh. “I’d be the hot one.”

“You’d be the controlling one.”

“Same thing.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable this time.

Azzi shifted, tucked one leg under the other. She leaned into the window glass and tried not to think about how nice Paige’s voice sounded when it wasn’t clipped from a radio or low over engine noise. It was warmer. Throatier. Maybe a little tired.

“Did they tell you what time they want to film?” Azzi asked after a moment, mostly to give her brain something to do.

“Yeah. Morning sessions in Tokyo before media. Six a.m. local.”

Azzi groaned. “They hate us.”

“Deeply.”

Another beat.

Azzi could hear something now — not quite music, but something soft in the background. A record? Or a playlist with too many vowels in the band names. Paige didn’t strike her as someone who had a speaker system set up in her living room, but she had something going. There was also the faint sound of water — maybe a kettle? Or a tap.

“You home alone?” Azzi asked without meaning to.

There was a hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

Azzi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. The call should’ve ended by now. It was only supposed to be about the email. Confirm the date. Maybe complain once or twice. But Paige hadn’t hung up, and neither had she.

Instead, they both sat in different cities — Azzi with her wine, Paige with her whatever — and let the space between them stretch.

“You like it there?” Azzi asked finally.

“Where?”

“Minneapolis.”

Paige paused. “It’s quiet. It’s mine.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I like it here, too.”

She didn’t mean to imagine it — Paige curled up on a couch somewhere, phone in hand, in sweats and a tank top, her hair loose, a light on in the kitchen. Azzi didn’t want to picture it. But her mind filled in the blanks anyway.

“What’re you drinking?” Paige asked, pulling her back.

Azzi smirked faintly. “Wine.”

“Of course you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just—of course. You’re the type.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And what type is that?”

“Fancy. Dramatic. Probably drinking it from one of those glasses that cost a hundred bucks just because they’re thin.”

Azzi glanced at her glass. “…They were a gift.”

Paige chuckled. “Sure they were.”

Azzi leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes. The silence returned — softer now, more like a blanket than a wall.

“You should get some rest,” she said, voice quieter.

“You too.”

“We’ll survive the PR thing.”

“Barely.”

Azzi hesitated. “Text me when you land in Tokyo.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Alright.”

Azzi didn’t say goodbye. Just let the line go quiet, then tapped her phone off.

Outside, the city blinked like it always did — constant, fast, golden.

Inside, her wine had gone warm.

She didn’t know what any of this was, or why Paige’s voice was still echoing in her head.

But she let it echo anyway.

—

Japan was always fast.

Suzuka bit into tires and punished mistakes. It rewarded bravery and flow, and this year — finally — it loved the Ferrari.

From the first lap of practice, Azzi could feel it in her spine. The car was alive. Light on its feet. Responsive in ways it hadn’t been since pre-season. The balance was still twitchy in places, but it was raceable. And more importantly — it was fast.

Not that Paige made that easy to enjoy.

Every meeting was an argument. Every debrief felt like walking a wire. They weren’t even fighting about anything important anymore — Azzi swore Paige was just contradicting her for sport. Tire wear, lift-off points, different calibrations in the steering wheel, goddamn front wing angles. Every word Paige said sounded like a challenge.

And the worst part was that sometimes Paige was right.

But race day was race day.

On Sunday morning, Suzuka felt like it was holding its breath. Cloudless sky. High grip. Grandstands full and loud. The Ferrari team garage was buzzing — calm urgency, polished adrenaline. Both girls in the top three, the Red Bulls boxed in behind. A real chance.

Azzi strapped into her car with a jaw set like steel.

Paige did the same three feet away — lips taut, fireproof mask already pulled up — and Azzi didn’t even look at her.

Not really.

—

The start was clean.

Lights out, and Azzi surged forward like she was born for it. The launch was perfect. The traction was instant. She pulled clear by the end of turn two and never looked back. The Ferrari was a machine beneath her, practically begging for corners.

And behind her — just close enough to feel — was Paige.

Azzi saw the red flash of her number on the boards every lap. Heard the team radios updating split times. Knew, somehow, Paige was pushing with everything she had.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The race unfolded like poetry — strategic, tight, unbothered by chaos. Red Bulls squabbled with McLarens. Mercedes fell back. The midfield chewed itself up.

But Ferrari? Ferrari flew.

By lap forty-four, the result was obvious. Azzi crossed the line with a roar of the engine, four seconds ahead of Paige.

1st.

2nd.

1–2.

Ferrari dominance.

—

Azzi had won before. Many times.

She’d stood on podiums in countless different countries. Held trophies twice her size. Sprayed champagne until her fireproofs were soaked. She was used to it.

But this one felt clean. Effortless in the way only total control could feel. She let herself enjoy it — the cheers, the anthem, the weight of the trophy.

Then she glanced sideways.

And saw Paige.

It was Paige’s first podium. Her first. And the expression on her face—

Azzi didn’t have a word for it. Pure maybe. Or blinding.

Paige had her helmet off, hair matted to her forehead, cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she couldn’t breathe. Laughing, actually. Wide-eyed, flushed, completely drunk off adrenaline. She wasn’t even holding her champagne right — just looked like she couldn’t believe she was up here.

Azzi felt something twist in her gut.

She hated that smile.

She really did.

Or at least she wanted to.

—

They came down from the podium together, not speaking much as the media crews swarmed. Paige took every question with that same giddy excitement, talking about pace and grip and how amazing the car felt today.

Azzi watched from a few feet away, answering her own questions with clipped professionalism. She smiled when she needed to. Gave credit where it was due. Spoke like a champion.

But she could still hear Paige’s laugh cutting through the noise. Could still feel the way she’d lit up when the camera caught her looking out over the crowd, her first bottle of champagne in hand.

And Azzi thought, God, she’s such a rookie.

She remembered her own first podium. Remembered how her cheeks had ached from smiling, how the photographers caught her mid-laugh, soaked and shaking with disbelief. Back when she still looked around and thought I’m here. I made it.

She didn’t smile like that anymore.

Paige did.

Paige still had that look in her eyes — the one that said this all meant everything. That look made Azzi itch under her skin.

—

They were walking back to the paddock when Paige caught up beside her.

“Good race,” she said, out of breath but beaming.

Azzi kept her pace. “You didn’t even try to pass me.”

Paige shrugged. “Didn’t have the tires. Or the gap.”

“You had the straight-line speed.”

“And you had clean air.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. Paige’s fireproofs were tied around her waist now, black tank clinging to her shoulders. Her cheeks were still pink from the heat. Helmet hanging loose in one hand. She looked like she was still riding the high of it all.

Like she was invincible.

“You’re painfully fast in Bahrain and Jeddah,” Azzi muttered before she could stop herself.

Paige blinked. “Thanks?”

Azzi didn’t reply.

She hated that about Paige too — how Bahrain always brought out something feral in her. How her driving in Jeddah was so stupidly aggressive that it worked. Azzi remembered from the junior days — watching Paige brake late and still stick the apex. She’d never admit it, but there had been weekends back then where she’d had to fight to keep up.

And Vegas? Vegas was her playground. That annoyed Azzi most of all.

Of course Paige loved the show of it. The lights. The spectacle. It was such a Paige thing — chasing the glamour, soaking it up like it was part of her fuel. Azzi had always thought that made her unserious. Showy. Too caught up in the theater of it.

But now she wasn’t so sure.

Now she was wondering if Paige just loved it. The whole thing. The speed, the cameras, the people. The joy. The pressure.

And maybe that’s why Azzi hated her.

Because she used to love it like that too.

And now?

Now she just loved to win.

—

Bahrain was still dry and hot as usual.

Azzi had been here enough times to know how the track behaved at night — when the desert air cooled just enough to fool you, and the tarmac gripped like it had a personal vendetta. She liked Bahrain. She usually did well here.

But today?

Today sucked.

She was in the garage, gloves still on, helmet still half-unclipped, watching the final moments of qualifying play out on the monitor in front of her. It felt like a personal insult that she had to sit here and watch.

Paige was still out on track.

Of course she was.

Azzi had spun out earlier — turn nine, back stepped out, grip just disappeared like it never existed. Saved the car, barely, but it killed her lap. That was it. No more softs, no more time. She was lucky to get through to the top ten at all. Tenth on the grid. Double digits. Garbage.

And Paige?

Paige had been purple sector after purple sector. Flying.

Azzi leaned forward in her seat, jaw clenched tight, eyes on the monitor. Paige’s car snaked through the final sector like it was glued to the circuit — smooth, clean, fast. She looked calm in the cockpit too. Like she belonged up there.

Azzi hated how calm she looked.

Final corner. DRS open. Clean launch to the line. The screen flashed green.

3rd.

Azzi blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Not 1st, at least. The Red Bulls locked out the front row — again — and for once, she was glad for it.

“Great lap, Paige,” Luca’s voice said through the radio on the broadcast. “That’s 3rd. Really solid session.”

Paige’s voice came back, light and professional. “Yeah. Car felt good. Let’s get ‘em tomorrow.”

Azzi’s fingers curled into a fist against her leg.

—

The debrief was short, but it didn’t help her mood.

She knew what the data would say before they even pulled it up — rear instability, mid-corner rotation issues, maybe something weird with tire temps. The wind hadn’t helped either. She’d pushed too hard on her hot lap. She’d been angry. Frustrated. Pressing when she should’ve waited. It was a classic Azzi overdrive moment.

But what pissed her off more was that she didn’t feel like she was wrong. She should’ve been faster.

She was the better driver.

She knew that.

So why did it look like Paige was the one carrying Ferrari this week?

Why did every camera cut to Paige like she was the star?

Why was her name all over the board while Azzi’s sat in tenth like a joke?

Paige had no business being this fast. She was barely in her second year in F1. She was supposed to still be adjusting. Still learning. Still catching up.

But Bahrain had always suited her. Even back in junior formula. The long straights, the late braking zones, the high-speed rhythm of it all — it played into Paige’s strengths. Her aggression. Her absolute belief in her ability to control a car on the edge.

And Jeddah? Azzi didn’t even want to think about next week.

If Paige looked this good now…

Hell, she could win this week. If the Red Bulls messed up their start, or pitted at the wrong time, or if there was a safety car at the right moment—she was right there. 3rd. In striking distance.

Azzi ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek.

A podium was one thing.

But a win?

That would change everything.

And Azzi didn’t know why that felt like such a threat.

—

‘

She peeled off her gloves in the silence of her driver room, the dull hiss of post-qualifying interviews humming through the wall. She was supposed to join them. Eventually. After she cooled off.

She dropped onto the small padded bench and leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. Helmet still in her lap. She could feel the heat of the Bahrain night pressing in through the concrete.

She knew she should be thinking about the race. About tire strategy, about overtaking, about the million things that could still go wrong tomorrow that she could maybe make go right.

Instead, she was thinking about Paige’s face on the screen. The way she’d looked getting out of the car. Hairline damp, smile tight but focused, fist bumping a few mechanics like she’d been there before. Like this was routine. Like she belonged on the front two rows.

Azzi hated how much space Paige was taking up in her head.

This was supposed to be her season.

Her championship.

Her team.

She wasn’t about to lose to someone who still treated the Ferrari like a shiny new toy.

Especially not Paige.

Azzi exhaled hard through her nose, grabbed the towel off the bench, and threw it across the room.

She needed to sleep.

Tomorrow was race day.

And God help her if Paige really did win.

—

Race day got off to a good start.

The lights went out, and Azzi launched.

Not flawlessly. Not cleanly. Just hard. Aggressive. Maybe a little reckless. Tenth place felt like prison, and she was clawing her way out of it corner by corner.

By lap two, she was already in eighth.

By lap twelve, she was in sixth.

By lap thirty-two, she was in fourth.

Bahrain had always been a rhythm track, and Azzi had the rhythm now. The car felt heavy early, tires needing longer to come in, but once they did — once the grip arrived and the fuel load dropped — it was hers again. Hers to push. Hers to punish.

She chased down Mercedes like they were standing still. She cut through McLaren with surgical precision. She was so deep into race mode she barely registered Mateo’s voice until he brought up the inevitable.

“Paige is in 2nd and closing on the race leader”

Azzi didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t have time to.

She was on the outside of turn four, elbows out, sending it up the inside into five, and the Alpine driver gave her just enough room. That was fourth. She was in fourth.

And Paige was still ahead of her.

—

The thing about Bahrain was that the podium wasn’t just a stage. It loomed.

From the garage, from the cool-down room, from every replay and every still image — it was there. Lit up under a thousand bulbs like a goddamn cathedral.

Azzi had stood on it. She’d owned it. She knew what it smelled like, what it felt like. She knew the weight of the trophy in her hands. She knew the cadence of the anthem as it played.

But tonight, she wasn’t on it.

And Paige was.

Again.

Red Bull had won, as expected — cool, untouchable, boring. Paige, on the other hand, had clawed her way into second. Not a lucky second either. Earned. Fought for. She had the gap down under a second when she crossed the line. Under a second behind a much more experienced driver.

That was real.

That was close.

That was…

Azzi stood behind the screens in the Ferrari garage, jaw set tight, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Paige pull up to her assigned spot. The second-place board was in front of her car. Mechanics and engineers swarmed around her, but Paige stayed still for a moment, helmet tipped back against the headrest, hands resting on the wheel.

Then she pulled it off, and Azzi watched her face.

It was flushed. Red from the heat, damp with sweat, but relaxed. Not ecstatic — Paige was too composed for that — but she had that look again. The one that said she knew she belonged up there. She stepped out of the car, peeled off her gloves, undid the top of her suit just enough, and walked over to the other drivers like she’d done it a hundred times.

Like she wasn’t the rookie in this lineup.

Azzi felt something twist in her chest.

She wasn’t jealous.

She knew she wasn’t.

She’d won races. Championships. She had the legacy, the records, the reputation. She had nothing to be jealous of.

So why did it feel like something was being taken from her?

—

Her manager, Marco, found her after the debrief. They were going over tire data when the screens showed Paige again, this time on the podium, shaking the bottle of champagne like it was her goddamn coronation.

“She’s on a run,” he said, nodding at the screen.

Azzi didn’t look. “So was I last year.”

“You still are. Fourth place from tenth is a hell of a drive.”

Azzi grunted. She didn’t need the pep talk. She didn’t need the sugarcoating. She knew how to read a result sheet.

But still. She couldn’t shake the image — Paige smiling, Paige shining, Paige so thrilled about second place like it was gold-plated.

Azzi had been there. She remembered her first podium. The breathlessness of it. The sensory overload. How nothing else in the world had existed for those ten minutes. She remembered what it felt like to finally be seen.

Maybe that’s what was bothering her.

Because she wasn’t being seen right now. Not the way Paige was.

And what kind of two-time champion did that make her?

—

She showered quick. Changed quicker. Avoided most of the media. Gave the team her thanks, her praise, her apologies for qualifying, her comments on strategy — all clean, all clipped, all professional.

By the time she stepped outside the paddock gates, Paige’s name was still trending. Paige’s second-place finish was being clipped and re-posted with headlines like “Ferrari’s Future?” and “Bueckers Blossoms.”

Azzi hated how fast the world turned.

But more than that — she hated that she was still thinking about Paige’s face on the podium.

Because underneath all the irritation, all the cold professionalism, all the competitive instinct that churned in her blood like fire — there was something else. Something quieter. Something more dangerous.

She’d watched Paige get up there tonight.

And a part of her — a part she didn’t understand — hadn’t wanted to look away.

—

Jeddah was here. And that meant a pre race debrief.

The conference room wasn’t large, but it was private — a quiet corner carved out of the Ferrari motorhome, insulated from the chaos of media obligations, fan zones, and the constant background hum of hospitality. The air-conditioning ran cold, like it always did on race weekends in the desert, and the lights overhead buzzed softly, fluorescent and clinical.

Azzi sat on the left side of the long table, shoulders relaxed but posture perfect, the heel of one boot propped over her opposite knee. Her black Ferrari polo was clean and crisp despite the heat outside, sleeves tight around her biceps. Paige sat across from her, hunched slightly forward, elbows on the table, her damp hair into a lopsided bun.

There was a notepad in front of her. Azzi hadn’t brought one. She didn’t need it.

Fred Vasseur, the team principal, stood at the head of the table. Calm, stern, the same expression he always wore when he was about to say something he didn’t want misinterpreted.

Beside him was Alessandra — head of driver development and one of the few people Azzi actually listened to. She wasn’t as cold as Fred. But she wasn’t soft either. Alessandra’s eyes flicked between the two drivers before she spoke.

“Let’s keep this focused. No press questions, no sponsor talk, just the race. This weekend, we’re not chasing headlines. We’re chasing performance. Understood?”

Azzi gave a single nod.

Paige did too, a second later.

Fred clasped his hands behind his back. “Jeddah is high-speed, narrow margins. Precision above all. You both know that. We’re not asking for heroics.”

Azzi didn’t react outwardly. But part of her bristled at the implication. She didn’t do heroics. She did excellence. That was the difference.

“We want two cars clean through turn one,” Alessandra continued, “and we want race pace that allows for flexibility. Both of you have shown that in data — in moments — but this weekend has to be execution, not potential. We’re past the warm-up phase now. Bahrain was proof we have the car. But you both need to bring it together.”

Azzi lifted her chin. “Are you saying we haven’t?”

There was the briefest pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.

“You’ve both had flashes of brilliance,” Fred said. “But there’s still time on the table. Sector two especially. Paige, we need you to trust your braking a touch deeper. Azzi—” He looked her straight in the eye. “We need less correction mid-corner. More throttle discipline.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to say the balance still wasn’t where she liked it, that she was adjusting to inconsistencies in rear grip, that the telemetry didn’t tell the whole story. But she didn’t. Not here. Not with Paige watching.

Alessandra shifted focus. “Let’s talk goals. Real ones. No sponsor-speak. Paige, you first.”

Paige blinked, caught slightly off guard. She tucked one hand under her opposite elbow. “I want a clean first stint. I want to keep Red Bull in range. Ideally, I’m out ahead of them, but… if I’m 3rd or 4th off the start, I want to be close enough to capitalize. Strategy’s gonna matter. Tire temps too.”

Alessandra gave a single approving nod. “And?”

Paige hesitated, then added, “And I want to beat her.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow.

Paige didn’t look away.

Fred, unbothered, turned. “Azzi?”

“My goal is the same as it always is,” she said, voice calm and clipped. “I want to win. Full stop.”

Alessandra tilted her head. “Even from 7th?”

Azzi’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Especially from 7th.”

The room held a beat of silence. Not tense. Just full.

Fred crossed his arms. “Look — we aren’t interested in internal rivalry becoming public spectacle. We’re not Red Bull. We don’t cannibalize talent. But let’s be clear — neither of you is here to coast.”

Azzi felt Paige shift slightly in her chair. Maybe it was the way Fred had said that. Neither of you is here to coast. Like someone had. Like maybe Paige had in Bahrain.

“We’re giving you both full race strategy autonomy tomorrow,” Alessandra added. “There won’t be team orders. Whoever gets track position keeps it. Whoever earns the win gets the win. But don’t expect us to fix it for you. This is still a team. And we are Ferrari.”

The last three words rang out like doctrine.

Paige leaned back in her chair. She looked tired. But focused.

Azzi, meanwhile, was too proud to feel tired.

She didn’t need to be reminded what the logo on her chest meant. She didn’t need to be told how fast the Red Bulls were or how Paige was “finding her form” or how brilliant the strategy team could be when everything clicked.

She knew all of that.

And she knew that Jeddah was her kind of track — fast, technical, tight. All instinct and nerve. You didn’t flinch in Saudi. You committed.

“I want the gap to be clear,” she said finally.

Everyone looked at her.

“What gap?” Alessandra asked.

“Between us,” Azzi said, nodding slightly in Paige’s direction. “If I win, I want it to be obvious. Not luck. Not pit stop timing. I want it to be mine.”

Paige didn’t speak. But her eyes burned.

Alessandra looked at both of them for a long moment. Then she straightened the edge of the strategy sheet in front of her, even though it didn’t need it.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

—

Azzi had a lot of complicated feelings about how that race went.

Paige Bueckers had stood on the top step of the podium, sweat clinging to her jawline like it belonged there.

Her helmet was off. Her suit half-zipped. Her fireproofs soaked through, sticking to her arms and sides and everything in between. Her face was flushed the way it always got when she was overheating — too pink across the cheekbones, damp strands of blonde hair curling wild around her face, her whole body breathing hard like the race was still happening.

And behind her, the podium lights glowed purple. Of course they did.

Jeddah did everything in neon. The night shimmered with it — track walls, halo boards, hospitality towers, all of it wrapped in that surreal violet tint that turned everything slightly more dreamlike. Slightly more unreal.

Paige looked�� unreal.

Azzi blinked once. Then again.

Her own body still hadn’t settled. Her pulse was high from the heat. Her hands smelled like the steering wheel. Her ribcage felt too tight beneath her suit. She’d just driven the hell out of a race, made every inch of the track bend to her will — and still, she was watching Paige on the top step. Not herself.

Ferrari 1–2. Paige first. Azzi second.

It was still dominance.

Just not hers.

–

She could hear the anthem playing — not Italy’s, not Ferrari’s, not even the sound of a team celebrating — but Paige’s. The Star-Spangled Banner blared in grainy perfection from the podium speakers, and Azzi almost laughed at the way Paige tipped her head back like it meant something. Like it really was hers.

Maybe it was.

It was stupidly cinematic.

Purple light, breeze moving through her sweat-wet hair, eyes closed to the sky.

Paige wasn’t singing. She just stood there, soaking it in. Letting herself be seen.

Azzi didn’t know what to do with her face. She clapped, because that’s what you do. She smiled, because the camera was pointed at her. But none of it reached her bones.

Her bones were too busy noticing.

The way Paige looked afterward — once the champagne exploded and she got absolutely drenched — was worse.

Not worse in the painful way.

Worse in the dangerous way.

Because her smile then? It was real. She didn’t fake that joy. She didn’t even try to hide it. She laughed, loud and unrestrained and open-mouthed, the kind of laugh that made her whole body shake. Her eyes were nearly shut from how hard she was laughing as another tried to spray her from behind and missed entirely. Azzi aimed better. Drenched her again. Paige didn’t care.

Confetti fell. She leaned into it. Tilted her head up again and let it hit her. Arms out, palms up like the whole night was made for her.

Maybe it was.

Maybe Azzi hated that.

Or maybe she didn’t.

She didn’t know.

What she did know — what was undeniable in that instant — was that Paige looked good like this. Lit up in champagne and glory, framed by purple neon and gold confetti, laughing like she’d been born to win.

It was Azzi’s least favorite thing.

And maybe the most beautiful thing she’d seen all month.

–

Afterward, backstage in the cool-down zone behind the podium, Azzi barely said a word.

She watched Paige towel off. Watched her press a bottle of water to her temple, eyes fluttering closed from the contact. She was still dripping, still pulsing with heat, but her whole body radiated that particular stillness that only came after something that mattered.

Azzi had felt that once. The first time she won. She knew what it did to you. The way it carved your name into the season. The way it lingered, hours after the track had gone quiet.

And Paige had it now.

Azzi’s arms were crossed over her chest.

One foot tapped quietly, impatiently.

She stared at the floor instead of Paige.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s neck looked in the light.

She shouldn’t notice how defined her shoulders were in a soaked fireproof.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s eyes kept glancing at her like she expected something — a reaction, maybe. A smile. A nudge. Something shared.

But Azzi gave her nothing. Or tried to.

Even when her body betrayed her and her eyes drifted upward. Even when her heartbeat flickered at the memory of Paige on that step, drenched in light and champagne.

–

They flew to Miami next. The calendar didn’t wait for anybody. Wins or not, the circus rolled on. But tonight was Paige’s night. That was plain. That was carved into the lights and the scoreboard and the air itself.

Azzi didn’t clap again.

Didn’t linger near her.

Didn’t congratulate her beyond the expected.

But later that night, she closed her eyes in her hotel room and saw the purple glow behind Paige’s head like a halo. The champagne in her lashes. The smile that didn’t stop at her mouth.

And for the first time in her life, Azzi Fudd didn’t want the top step.

She wanted to understand what the hell it was she felt watching someone else on it.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #dallas wings

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