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moongreenlight · 2 years ago

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Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”

Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.

But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.

He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.

He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.

He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.

You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.

He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.

He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.

He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.

He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.

You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.

You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.

Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.

He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.

And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.

“Alright?”

You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.

It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.

“You sure, doll?”

The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.

You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.

“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”

You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.

“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”

You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”

He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.

“What? Baking me a cake?”

You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.

“Never been a very good baker.”

He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.

“That right?”

You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.

“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”

It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.

“Sure.”

You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.

“It’s complicated, John.”

Your voice is mousy now.

“I know.”

A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.

“I just-“

“Then tell me to go home.”

The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.

“My husb-“

“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”

The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.

“John, he-“

A throaty growl from him.

“He’s not getting a lick of you.”

And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.

He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.

Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.

When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.

It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.

You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.

He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.

He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.

And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.

The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.

He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.

And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.

You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.

He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like

“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”

#he sees a family with a present but shitty father and says ‘it’s free real estate’ I hate him #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #price cod #john price #cod price #141 x reader #x reader

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viennakarma · 1 year ago

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My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

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

Word count: 7.8k

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

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

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

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

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

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

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

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

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

“You know?” You whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed it off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like to what?” He frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

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

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

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?��

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nano!” You hugged him.

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

“You came.”

“You called.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nena…”

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

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

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

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

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

You walked past him, leaving at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

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

“Fernando, please-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

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

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

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psformybss · 2 months ago

Note

could you please write something about secret fiancé! reader and Drew and how they met and their love story? I see them being high school sweethearts

Folded Notes & History

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, high school slowburn

an: i also see them as high school sweethearts! i tried my best to keep it kinda vague because if i got into details this would have been over 10k words but if anyone wants to see anything specific ab high school or college lmk and i will definitely write it

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Junior year U.S. History smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and dry-erase markers that hadn’t been replaced since the Bush administration. The windows barely opened, the chairs squeaked every time someone moved, and the only working clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.

Y/N sat in the second-to-last row, back straight, notes neat, her pen gliding across the lined paper in even strokes. She didn’t talk much in class—kept to herself mostly—but her notebooks were always full, color-coded, and annoyingly precise.

The seat behind her was usually occupied by Drew Starkey.

Basketball team starter. The kid who always had one earbud in until the teacher told him to take it out. Somehow managed to look both effortlessly tired and infuriatingly good in a wrinkled hoodie and scuffed-up Nikes. He wasn’t loud like the others. He laughed with his head tilted back and his whole chest, but he talked in this low, lazy voice that made people lean in.

He wasn’t in class that day.

Or the next.

By Friday, he slid into the desk behind her like he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Hey,” he said, a little raspy.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Strep,” he said, tugging his hoodie up over his head and ruffling his hair. “Felt like swallowing knives.”

She winced. “Sounds awful.”

When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out—some slower than others, hoping to stall their way into lunch. Y/N was stuffing her folders into her bag when Drew tapped her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more unsure this time. “You, uh… take good notes?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He grinned. “The kind where I’m hoping you’ll let me borrow them.”

She stared for a second, weighing her options, then flipped open her binder and gently tore out three pages.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t crumple them.”

Drew took the pages like they were made of gold leaf. “Whoa. Color-coded and everything.”

“I like things to make sense,” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a look—just a flicker of something amused and genuine, like he hadn’t expected her to be funny. “Thanks. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back by actually listening in class,” she teased.

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

From then on, something shifted.

It started subtly. He started saying hey every morning, even when he didn’t need notes. He started tossing her pens when hers ran out mid-lecture. When they got assigned group work, he pulled his desk up to hers before the teacher even finished talking.

They weren’t friends yet. But they were circling something.

One Wednesday in early February, she caught him doodling in the margins of his quiz while they waited for the bell. He passed her the paper before handing it in—Mr. Klein drawn as a Cold War dictator, complete with sunglasses and an absurdly large cigar. She snorted, smacked him lightly with her pen, and nearly got detention for “disrupting the learning environment.”

That afternoon, Drew waited by her locker.

She blinked in surprise. “Did you get lost?”

“Nah.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“You busy Friday?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I was thinking… coffee. And maybe you could quiz me for the test. But mostly coffee.”

She raised a brow. “You’re using school as a cover to ask me out?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

She smiled. “I’m free after six.”

That Friday afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it—the kind that made you hunch your shoulders and tuck your hands deeper into your pockets. The coffee shop sat on the edge of downtown, nestled between a dusty used bookstore and a florist whose windows fogged from the heat inside. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso the second you walked through the door, the kind of scent that made you want to stay a little longer than you meant to.

Y/N slid into the corner booth first, the red vinyl cool beneath her jeans. Drew followed, his backpack thumping softly against the seat as he dropped it beside him. The table between them was scratched and slightly wobbly, and one of the overhead bulbs flickered every few seconds, casting them in and out of soft, golden light.

Drew’s hands dwarfed the paper coffee cup he held. He turned it in slow circles, fingers twitching around the lid. His foot tapped under the table in a restless rhythm—quick, uneven, like he couldn’t decide if he was cold or just anxious.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes flicking down toward the motion.

He offered a quick smile, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Just… too much energy, maybe. I had practice this morning, but I guess it didn’t wear me out enough.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“Could be the caffeine. Or nerves.” He met her gaze for a second and then looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d made a joke he wasn’t sure she’d laugh at.

She gave him a small smile. “Nervous about what?”

He shrugged, eyes on the lid of his cup. “I don’t know. Talking, maybe.”

“But you talk to everyone,” she said, brow raised.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her smile faltered slightly, not because his words were bad—but because they felt… honest. Real.

They had both said they needed to study. Finals were creeping up fast, and the stress was starting to hang over the school like storm clouds, thick and heavy. But neither of them had even unzipped their backpacks.

Instead, they talked.

About everything and nothing at all.

He told her about late nights after football practice—how the field looked different when it was empty and quiet, the stadium lights buzzing above him, casting long shadows. Sometimes he stayed behind after everyone left, just to sit in the silence. He told her how his shoulder clicked every time he threw too hard, and how he’d ice it without telling the coach because he didn’t want to be benched.

“I hate calculus more than I hate losing a game,” he confessed, resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. “And that’s saying something.”

“That bad?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile behind her cup.

Drew groaned. “It’s like a foreign language I was never supposed to learn. And the teacher… he acts like we’re just lazy, not confused.”

She nodded. “I get that. It’s the worst when they make you feel dumb for asking questions.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head. “Like, I already feel stupid. No need to pile on.”

She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, letting the steam rise into her face. “That’s why I always study with music on. I can’t do silence—it makes everything feel heavier.”

Drew looked at her, curious. “Music helps?”

“It’s like… noise that doesn’t expect anything from me,” she said. “Just fills the space so my brain doesn’t spiral.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away for later. “What kind of music?”

“Depends. If it’s math, it has to be instrumental. If it’s history, I can do lyrics. English? Full-on sad playlists.” She smiled at that. “Like tragic heartbreak anthems while I write essays.”

Drew laughed, the sound warm and low. “You’re way more strategic than I am.”

“I just can’t sit in a quiet room and focus. It makes me feel like I’m waiting to mess up.”

He was quiet for a second, watching her with a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “Not something I really talk about.”

He leaned back, stretching one arm over the booth. “Well, for the record, if you ever need study music, I make a mean playlist.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Do you specialize in tragic heartbreak anthems too?”

“Only the best,” he grinned. “I’ve got taste, Y/N.”

They laughed, and the tension that had been buzzing low between them since they sat down seemed to lift, just a little.

Outside, the sky had faded into a dull blue-gray, and the streetlamps were flickering to life. Inside the café, the lights over the counter glowed golden, making everything feel softer, smaller—like they were the only ones in the world for a little while.

“I like this,” Drew said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Just… talking.”

Y/N met his eyes. “Me too.”

His foot had finally stopped tapping. His hand rested on the table now, not far from hers.

“You make it easy,” he added.

Her heart jumped at that, but she kept her voice steady. “Easy to what?”

He shrugged, almost shy. “To be myself.”

There was a silence after that—not the kind that felt heavy or awkward, but the kind that settled between them like something gentle. Like understanding. Like maybe they were both just starting to see something they hadn’t quite realized before.

The following week, students spilled out of the building in slow waves, some lingering in clumps by the flagpole, others heading straight for their cars with earbuds in and heads down. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, juggling her water bottle and a loose folder full of notes.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter as he caught up to her just outside the double doors, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

She turned, surprised. “Hey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking unsure. “You headed out?”

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Wanna walk together?” he asked, his voice almost too casual. “I mean—I’ll walk you to your car. If that’s cool.”

It was.

They fell into step beside each other, his steps a little slower than usual to match hers. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet from the vending machines by the gym. Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a quiet ease in it. Just the occasional brush of his arm against hers and the low hum of his voice when he pointed out a sticker on someone’s bumper that made him laugh.

When they reached her car, she turned to unlock the door, but paused.

“Thanks,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Instead, he smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And he waited until she pulled out of the parking space before turning to leave.

A couple of weeks later, it was Thursday, right after seventh period. The bell had just rung, and the halls were buzzing with bodies and noise—slammed lockers, overlapping conversations, the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Y/N was heading toward the front stairwell when she felt someone catch her hand gently from behind.

She turned, and there he was.

Drew.

Still wearing his practice jersey from PE, cheeks a little flushed, eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he’d jogged to catch up.

She smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped a little closer, checking over his shoulder. The hallway was mostly clear now, just a few stragglers around the far corner. His fingers laced through hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was quick but warm, like a spark that caught and lit something deeper. It wasn’t showy, or practiced, or perfect—but it was real. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

Her heart was racing, but she smiled back.

He tapped her knuckles gently. “See you eighth period.”

And just like that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned grin and the taste of cinnamon gum still on her lips.

By the time spring bloomed and the world smelled like fresh grass and impending finals, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made other people tease them in passing.

Afternoons were for shared iced coffees and laying in the sun behind the bleachers. Evenings were late-night phone calls that started with “I should probably study” and ended with whispered laughter and one of them falling asleep mid-sentence.

And that’s when she started writing him notes.

Little ones. Folded into triangles with sharp creases, sometimes stickers stuck to the outside—smiling suns or tiny frogs with glittery eyes. The messages varied. Sometimes it was a quote from a book she liked. Sometimes a joke from class. Sometimes just: good luck today or don’t fall asleep in history again or I’ll steal your hoodie.

She slipped them into the vents of his locker when no one was watching—between fourth and fifth period, right before his lit class. He never said much about them, but she’d catch glimpses: Drew standing at his locker, one shoulder pressed to the metal like he was shielding the moment from the world, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he read her words.

He kept them all.

She found that out months later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon in his room. The window was open, and the curtains moved with the breeze. She sat cross-legged on the floor, picking through a shoebox of old ticket stubs and tangled friendship bracelets, when she found them—flattened out notes stacked neatly under a band of ribbon.

“You kept them?” she asked, holding one up between two fingers, her voice caught somewhere between laughing and blushing.

Drew looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

“They were the best part of my day,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, heart stuttering, and looked down at the mess of her handwriting, all those tiny things she’d never really expected him to remember—much less treasure.

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was soft. Adoring.

He sat up then, barefoot and slightly rumpled, his t-shirt creased from the way he’d been lying. He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, and she tilted her head.

“What?”

“I was gonna wait,” he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Like… I had this idea to ask you at prom or something cheesy like that.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “But then you found the box, and you smiled like that, and—God, I really don’t wanna wait.”

Her smile softened. “Wait for what?”

He looked up at her then, finally, and she could see it in his eyes—the mix of hope and nerves, like the way he looked right before a big game.

“To call you my girlfriend,” he said. “Like, officially. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other still holding one of her notes, and kissed him—light and warm, like the breeze drifting through the open window. His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm.

When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

“Of course I want to.”

And for a second, neither of them said anything else. The world felt small and soft and safe, like maybe everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Then senior year came. So did prom, late-night drives, college decisions, and the terrifying realization that not everything lasted forever.

But somehow, they did.

Even when school ended.

Even when dorms and deadlines tried to pull them in opposite directions.

And now, years later, he still has that shoebox.

She still folds her notes into triangles.

And he still grins like a boy with a secret every time he finds one.

#drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #drew starkey x you #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader

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spirit-meets-the-b0ne · 10 months ago

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God I love Dustin Henderson so much man, I know Will is in love with Mike because only a deeply down bad homosexual would be able to say Mike “is the heart” when Dustin is alive and in the party. Dustin is the one constantly mediating in S1 between Mike and Lucas, he’s even insecure of his own newness to the group when he conciliates. Because even though the party are all HIS best friends he is able to rationalize why they might have a hierarchy based on seniority. Mike makes it clear that isn’t the case. It’s partly why Dustin is quicker to accept Eleven and partly why he’s so open to including Max “as the new kid” because that was him once. Dustin’s iconic “she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” Dustin and Lucas having parallel deviations from their code of honor in ST2 and Dustin being (so dramatic ik) literally ready to fall on the sword for his misdoings. Dustin basically involving Steve out of necessity but then cultivating that relationship to make Steve a good friend, Steve who had the shittiest friends in high school and attention for all the wrong reasons. Steve never had a true friend in his life and then some 12 year old basically gave him a crash course. In ST3 when Dustin earnestly challenges Steve’s socially conditioned need to be seen as cool only for Steve to become bffs with a band geek. A band geek who is also a lesbian that Steve would rather be seen as a rizzless hack of a womanizer than out her to anybody, even Dustin. All of Dustin and Steve. Dustin going from calling Steve a douchebag, to Eddie saying the kid worships him and thinks he’s a total badass. Dustin who in ST4 is once again demolishing social norms of high school vs middle school because FUCK, his friend is in middle school! His friend Erica, his comrade Lady Applejack, is a black girl in junior high and he dgaf what anyone thinks about it. ALL OF DUSTIN AND ERICA. Dustin teaching Erica to embrace her inner nerd, to Erica staunchly declaring “I’ve bled with him!” When asked if she knows Dustin. Dustin who is the FIRST person that Max goes to when shit hits the fan in ST4 because god damn dude Dustin is the heart. Dustin’s unwavering support of Eddie even when the evidence is stacked against him, Dustin always believed in Eddie Munson. Dustin is the only one who truly offers Wayne condolences. He is the friend of all friends. Dustin is constantly carrying the party through crisis and discomfort, he’s dedicated, he’s unabashedly caring, and he’s the character that is able to socially move across the board in every direction. I fuckin love this little curly haired drama king because these geeks would be LOST without him!!! If Dustin isn’t the heart; he’s the Central Nervous System, he’s the nucleus, he’s fucking vital to not only the party but every other tertiary character of importance. He’s constantly inspiring and providing direction. He’s a goofball, he’s wise beyond his years, he’s a lover and he’s a fighter, he always has a plan and he always has a bad idea, he’s the voice of reason and the resounding falsetto alarm of things gone wrong, he’s never done anything wrong ever in his life, one time something ate his cat but besides that. He’s my heart of the show damn it!

#he’s my pookie and no one will ever do it like him #dustin henderson #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #Mike wheeler #eddie munson #yes I’m rewatching ST again #Dustin is incontestably the nucleus of the entire party and extensions of the Hopper-Byers family #dustin stranger things #scoops troop #this is a Dustin Henderson appreciation post because yall are not doing enough for my boy #honorary mentions him shitting on Keith for thinking he has a shot with Nancy #to him literally being ready to die with Steve in ST3 in the elevator and Steve being like ugh ok??#just a little NIGHT SWIM #no disrespect to Bylers but Mike’s ass is only the heart to Will!!! Max Mayfield approved this message

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babyarmywrites · 24 days ago

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真夜中のドア - kim seungmin

Synopsys: Everyone told you they loved you—except the one who mattered most. But when words finally fail, love finds another way to speak.

Word count: 4,1k

Genre: fluff, slight angst, but happy ending

Warnings: none

You didn’t think you’d end up here—not really. Not at a company this big, not coordinating stages for a group as high-profile as Stray Kids. You’d started with small freelance gigs in college—community plays, university idol groups, indie concerts in cramped basements with fog machines that barely worked. But you were good. Fast. Quiet. Reliable. The type of person who knew how to get ten things done without asking twice. You didn’t try to charm your way into rooms. You just worked your way into them.

JYP had called you after a rushed recommendation from someone on the production team of a survival show you helped coordinate. You were supposed to be a temporary fill-in. One showcase. One comeback stage. And yet, somehow, you stayed.

It wasn’t glamorous. It was lugging cables before sunrise and running through camera blockings during lunch breaks. But you liked the chaos. The adrenaline. The rhythm of fixing problems before anyone else even noticed them.

That’s how you met Seungmin. Or—how he started noticing you.

At first, you barely interacted. You were all business: headset on, clipboard in hand, mic assignments color-coded and memorized. Seungmin didn’t say much either. Just a polite nod here and there when your paths crossed in rehearsal spaces or backstage.

But it changed during a rehearsal for an end-of-year special.

One of the junior staff dropped the wrong music cue—twice. The rest of the team scattered to fix it, but you were already crouched behind the console, rewiring the audio jack and muttering into your mic. You didn’t notice Seungmin watching from the side until the song started clean, without a hitch.

Later that day, you passed by him in the hallway. He paused. Just long enough to say, “You saved that rehearsal, you know.”

You blinked. “Just doing my job.”

He nodded slowly. “Still. Thank you.”

You didn’t think much of it. But he did.

After that, it kept happening. Little moments. He’d offer you a drink when you stayed late. Ask about the work no one else noticed. Mention your name when thanking staff after a shoot. He’d linger in conversations a little longer than necessary. Ask for your opinion during stage reviews. Smile more when you were around. You weren’t loud. You didn’t chase attention. But you were there, holding the chaos together. And somewhere along the way, Seungmin stopped looking past you like everyone else had. He started looking for you instead.

It doesn’t happen all at once. Seungmin’s always been the type to notice the small things — the way someone stirs their coffee before drinking, the way staff tie their shoelaces before a stage. He’s observant by nature. Methodical. Practical. It’s what makes him so steady under pressure. But with you, he starts noticing things he doesn’t have a reason to.

Like how you hum quietly under your breath when checking lighting cues, a habit so consistent he begins to recognize which checklist you’re running through based on the melody. Or how you tug on the sleeves of your hoodie when you're stressed, trying not to show it. He catches himself smiling when he hears your voice through the comms, even if you’re just calling out, “Group B, standby.”

Then one day, something small shifts.

You’re both reviewing the stage rundown for an upcoming music show — the group’s set is stacked, and the transition time between songs is tight. You sit cross-legged on the floor of the rehearsal room, laptop balanced on one knee, scribbling notes in the margins of your clipboard. Seungmin sits across from you, sipping from a protein drink, eyes drifting over your concentrated expression.

“You’re always this prepared?” he asks lightly, more curious than teasing.

You glance up, a bit surprised he’s talking. “Someone has to be. You guys don’t make it easy.”

He smirks. “Fair.”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s comfortable. Familiar.

“You ever do something completely out of your comfort zone?” he asks suddenly, eyes not leaving yours.

You blink. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says quickly. “Just wondering.”

But that night, as he lies awake in bed, he thinks about how asking you to dinner would be out of his comfort zone. Not because he doesn’t want to — but because it would make this real. And real is terrifying. Still, the thought lingers.

A week later, after a particularly brutal day of rehearsals, you’re sitting on a bench just outside the studio building, sipping canned coffee and scrolling through lighting corrections.

Seungmin finds you there. He sits beside you without saying a word at first.

“Long day?” he finally asks.

You nod without looking up. “Stage four had a flickering LED panel, and the fog machine almost killed our mic levels, but… other than that, totally smooth.”

He laughs, a sound you’ve grown to love. He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Hey.”

You glance over. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking…” He hesitates, lips parting like the words might float away before he catches them. “Do you want to grab dinner sometime?”

You blink, a bit caught off guard. “Just the two of us?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean—if that’s okay. I figured… we spend so much time working, maybe it’d be nice to just… not work. For a bit.”

You smile, heart doing something traitorous in your chest. “That sounds nice.”

He exhales — half relief, half disbelief. “Okay. Cool. I’ll… I’ll text you.”

You bump your shoulder lightly into his. “Don’t forget the emoji.”

He grins. “Not a chance.”

And when he walks away that night, fingers twitching at his phone like he can’t wait to type something ridiculous, Seungmin feels something strange bubbling under his skin. Not panic. Not uncertainty. Just… anticipation.

Because maybe this is out of his comfort zone. But maybe that’s exactly where you are.

Your first dinner together isn’t what you’d call romantic — at least, not by the usual standards.

There’s no candlelight, no nervous flirting, no dramatic confessions. Just a small, cozy restaurant tucked into a quiet side street. Seungmin picked the place himself, promising the kimchi jjigae was the best in the city — and he wasn’t wrong. You sit across from each other in a booth, steam rising from your bowls, and somehow the conversation flows with surprising ease.

You talk about everything and nothing: awkward rehearsal moments, your mutual hate for faulty headset mics, the time a stage light exploded mid-performance and Seungmin didn’t even flinch.

He makes you laugh — really laugh — more than once. And beneath his usual composed, dry exterior, you catch glimpses of something softer, something that only shows when he’s around you. Meanwhile, Seungmin watches you quietly, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, wondering how he ever thought you were just part of the background.

When he walks you back to your building that night, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, there’s a pause at the front steps.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, half-smiling.

He nods. “I liked it.”

You’re not sure what you expect next — maybe a hug, maybe a goodbye — but instead, he says, “Wanna do it again sometime?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

From there, it’s a slow evolution. Neither of you announces it, labels it, or tries to define what it is. But suddenly, Seungmin starts waiting for you after rehearsals. He saves a spot for you at lunch. He learns how you take your coffee and always shows up with it before show call. His playlist changes — softer songs, more warmth.

You stop pretending you don’t notice the way his eyes follow you across the room, how his hand lingers just a second longer on your back when he walks past, or how his lips twitch up when you say something only he finds funny.

The others start catching on quickly.

Han nudges you during mic check one day and whispers, “When’s the wedding?”

Felix just grins knowingly. Hyunjin raises a teasing brow every time Seungmin’s voice softens around you. Even Minho, ever the observer, once walks past and mutters, “You’re doomed,” to Seungmin with a smirk.

But Seungmin doesn’t care. He’s not the loudest about it — he never will be — but he starts showing you in a hundred little ways: in the packed dinners he brings to late rehearsals, the forehead kisses he sneaks when no one’s looking, the way his messages always end with “Get home safe.”

Eventually, during one of those quiet moments, curled up together backstage after a long week, he turns to you and says, so simply:

“I think I’ve been yours for a while now.”

And just like that, you know.

This wasn’t loud. This wasn’t sudden. But this? This was love.

Over the next couple of weeks, without a grand gesture or without an elaborate conversation on where you two stand relationship-wise, it becomes clearer and clearer that you two are, in fact, a couple.

You feel it from small gestures. In his attentiveness, that seems to be exclusive to you.

You step into the rehearsal room just as Seungmin and the others are wrapping up their practice. The moment he spots you, his face lights up in a way that makes your heart skip. As you walk over, he subtly brushes his hand along your lower back, guiding you gently through the cluster of people. You barely notice the casualness of the touch, but others around you exchange knowing smiles.

Later, when you sit side by side on the couch, his fingers find yours, intertwining just briefly before he lets go, as if holding your hand too openly would be too much for now. Still, the warmth lingers.

During a break, you catch him watching you from across the room. His eyes are soft, full of care, but he quickly looks away when you meet his gaze. Only you understand what that silent glance means.

Later, you find a small note tucked on the side of your water bottle — a simple "Good luck today!" scrawled in his handwriting. You smile, feeling the comfort of his thoughtfulness.

He leans in close, whispering a teasing nickname only you know, making you laugh until you nearly fall over. It’s in that moment, your laughter echoing between you, that he squeezes your hand and you realize: you’re his, and he’s yours.

When the day cools down, Seungmin takes off his hoodie and gently drapes it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat before he pulls back, shy but proud.

Finally, as you stand together waiting for the others to finish, he leans in just a little closer, the space between you narrowing naturally — a quiet promise, louder than words.

Doomsday comes a few weeks later. You’re sitting across from Seungmin, the small café around you humming softly with quiet conversations and clinking cups. He’s telling one of those goofy stories — the kind only he can pull off, full of awkward mishaps and exaggerated expressions.

You can’t help but smile as he talks about the time he accidentally wore two different shoes to practice. And then, just as he’s about to demonstrate his “fashion disaster,” he trips over an imaginary obstacle and nearly knocks over his coffee. You burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s been waiting to escape all day. It bubbles up from deep inside and catches you off guard. When you finally catch your breath, the words come tumbling out, almost like a surprise to yourself:

“I love you.”

Seungmin freezes, eyebrows rising in surprise, his smile faltering for a brief moment. You stare at him, suddenly embarrassed and wishing you could take it back. But then, instead of saying anything, he just grins that quiet, warm smile you’ve come to know so well. He reaches over, lightly bumps your shoulder with his own, and says softly, “You’re something else.”

That little gesture feels like a promise — a gentle acknowledgment that, even if he’s not ready to say the words yet, he feels the same.

In that quiet, shared space, you realize something: love doesn’t always need to be spoken. Sometimes, it’s carried in the small things—the pauses, the touches, the way someone holds you like you matter most.

Maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

Confession No. 1 - Han Jisung

Han slides into the room where you’re working, headphones hanging around his neck, fingers nervously drumming on the table.

“Hey, can I steal you for a sec?” he asks, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.

You look up, curious. “Sure, what’s up?”

He pulls out his laptop and opens the remix project for Super Bowl. “Okay, so here’s the deal—I’m totally stuck. My brain is fried, and this remix needs to slap, but I just can’t get it right.”

You grin. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

As you dive in, tweaking beats and layering sounds, Han watches you with a goofy smile. “I swear, you’re magic. Honestly, if I didn’t have my amazing girlfriend—the world’s best PR manager, by the way—I’d be on my knees for you.”

He smirks, clearly proud of that. “But seriously, you and Seungmin? You’re good for him. Like, really good. I’m happy he’s got you.”

You smile, pleasantly surprised.

Then, Han freezes for a second, cheeks reddening. “Uh, so, I just want to say... I love you.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“No, no!” he blurts out quickly. “Not like that! I mean—platonic love! Like, I love your skills, your brain, your patience with me being a mess.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Only you could make a platonic love confession sound so confusing but endearing.”

Han grins, relief washing over his face. “Yeah, that’s me. But seriously, thanks for helping me out. This remix’s gonna be fire.”

You exchange a smile, the music between you somehow feeling even better now — like the beat of a friendship that’s growing stronger every day.

Confession No.2 - Lee Know

The rehearsal studio buzzes with the usual energy, but you notice Lee Know standing off to the side, his brow furrowed and fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. The stage layout had been changed last minute, and you can tell it’s throwing him off—he’s worried the choreography won’t come together right.

You catch his eye and head over, holding a water bottle. “Hey, you look like you need this more than anyone right now.”

He accepts it gratefully, taking a few sips before letting out a shaky breath. “Thanks. This last-minute switch… it’s messing with the flow. I’m worried the moves won’t translate the way they’re supposed to.”

You smile gently, trying to ease his tension. “You’re one of the best dancers I know. The moves might change, but your skill doesn’t. The energy you bring? That’s what counts.”

Lee Know looks at you, eyes softening. “You’re right. I’m just... stressed, you know?”

You nod. “Totally understandable. But you’ve got this—and we’ve all got your back.”

For a moment, there’s silence, then Lee Know glances down at the water bottle in his hand and mutters, almost under his breath, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I love you.”

You blink, surprised, but before you can respond, he shrugs, flushes a bit, and quickly adds, “Not like that, obviously. Just… you’re one of us now. You’re a good person.”

And just like that, he turns on his heel and disappears back into rehearsal like it never happened, leaving you smiling quietly to yourself, warmed by the unspoken trust.

Confession No.3 - Changbin

You step into the practice room balancing a tray with coffee cups, hoping the caffeine boost will lift their spirits during the long rehearsal. Changbin immediately zeroes in on you, snatching a cup like it’s a lifeline.

“See? This is why I love you!” he declares, clutching his chest with mock drama. “You get the assignment right every time.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. He leans in, voice dropping to something softer, more sincere. “Seriously though. You’re amazing. I hope he tells you soon. You deserve to hear those three little words.”

His words catch in your throat. The truth is, you’ve been waiting—patiently, hopefully—for Seungmin to say it. But a week has passed, and the silence has started to sting. The fact that the boys know about your inner turmoil makes it a hundred times worse.

Changbin’s teasing cheerfulness fades when he catches the look in your eyes. “Hey, don’t let it get to you. Sometimes people show love differently. You just gotta give him time.”

Just then, Seungmin walks in behind Changbin, catching the last part of the conversation. He pauses, watching you with a softness that speaks volumes, but he doesn’t say the words himself.

Instead, he quietly places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

You look up, searching his face for a sign, but all you see is a tender hesitation.

As he steps away, your smile falters. You clutch your coffee a little tighter, the warmth not quite reaching your heart.

Confession No. 4 - Felix

Felix’s kitchen smells like cinnamon and vanilla, soft lo-fi music buzzing from a speaker near the windowsill. You’re elbow-deep in flour and laughter, icing cupcakes with reckless abandon while he watches you with that signature sunshine smile.

“Seungmin told me you’ve been a little… distant lately,” Felix says gently, placing a tray of cookies into the oven.

Your hands pause mid-swipe of frosting. “I’m not trying to be. It’s just—hard, I guess. Waiting.”

Felix nods, pulling off his oven mittens and leaning on the counter beside you. “He’s scared, you know. Seungmin’s not the type to fall easily. But when he does? He falls hard. And when someone gets close, he holds on with everything he has.” His voice is soft, but certain. “He’s not good with words like that. But he’s trying. I know he is.”

Your throat tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the tears come.

“I know he loves me, I can feel it in the way he acts, the way he looks at me,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I just… I need to hear it. Words matter to me. They always have.”

Felix reaches for a tissue and hands it to you wordlessly, letting you cry without making it feel dramatic. He then embraces you, whispering "We all love you" into your ear, reminding you how much you mean to their group. Not just Seungmin. Then, as if on cue, the front door creaks open.

You freeze.

Seungmin’s voice calls out casually from the hallway, “Felix? I left my charger—”

And then he sees you—eyes red, shoulders trembling, face turning away.

You don’t give him a chance to say anything. You’re out the door before he can take a step closer, leaving the smell of cookies and unspoken feelings behind.

Confession No.5 - Bang Chan

You’ve never felt quite this heavy leaving work. The rehearsal schedules were brutal today, and Seungmin barely looked at you during the debrief. Not out of malice, but distance—a carefully placed wall you can’t seem to get through anymore. You told him you loved him. Weeks ago. And he still hasn’t said it back.

You hear footsteps catching up behind you in the parking lot, and you already know who it is before he says anything.

“Hey,” Bang Chan says, offering a warm smile as he falls into step beside you. “I figured I’d walk you out.”

You smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

He doesn’t say anything at first, letting the silence settle gently between you. When you reach your car, he leans against the door and folds his arms across his chest, looking up at the night sky like he’s thinking through a thousand words before choosing the right ones.

“You’ve become… really important to us,” he says at last. “To all of us. But especially to Seungmin.”

You blink, not expecting him to go there so directly.

“He’s scared,” Chan continues, gaze steady now. “Scared because what he feels for you is big. Bigger than anything he’s felt before. And Seungmin isn’t used to that. He’s not the type to say ‘I love you’ lightly. He’s the type to mean it so much, it paralyzes him.”

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers to your temple. “I’m not asking him to be someone he’s not. I just—needed something. Anything. To know we’re not just… stuck.”

Bang Chan’s voice softens. “You’re not stuck. You’re building something. And I know it’s not easy when you speak different love languages. But trust me—he hears you. He sees you. And he loves you, even if he hasn’t said it yet.”

You don’t realize your eyes are watering until he pulls you into a quick, reassuring hug—the kind that feels like family.

“We all love you, by the way,” he murmurs. “Even if that guy is being his typical emotionally constipated self. And if he somehow messes this up…” He pulls back and grins. “We’re keeping you anyway.”

That makes you laugh, even through your tears. A small sound. A spark of something hopeful.

+1 Confession No. 6 - Seungmin

Seungmin had always thought love was supposed to be quiet. Comfortable. Easy. Something that slides into your life unnoticed and stays without needing much from you. He’d seen it in his parents, in a few of his friends, in books and movies where the feelings were loud, but the foundation was steady.

But then there was you.

And suddenly, love wasn’t quiet.

It was terrifying. A loud, messy thing that threatened to unravel all the careful walls he’d built for himself.

At first, he told himself it was fine—more than fine. You made him laugh like no one else. You were good to him. You were good for him. But then came the weight of it: the way you looked at him like he hung the stars, the way you said “I love you” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And he couldn’t say it back.

Not because he didn’t feel it—but because he did. Too much. Too deeply. Too dangerously.

He couldn’t sleep tonight, even though his body ached from the day’s schedule. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the sound of Felix’s soft snoring doing nothing to quiet the noise in his head.

You had cried in Felix’s kitchen. He heard it. He saw it. And when you ran past him, your shoulders curled in on yourself, he felt his entire world shatter a little more.

You weren’t drifting away from him. He was pushing you.

All because of fear.

Fear of what being with him would do to you—an idol’s life wasn’t designed for softness. For midnight phone calls, or spontaneous weekend trips, or even the comfort of privacy. Loving him meant carrying the weight of shadows, secrets, scrutiny. It meant living with uncertainty and restraint.

And yet, what scared him more than all that… Was the idea of losing you.

So he gets up. Puts on a hoodie. Slips out of the dorm into the quiet night air. His heart hammers against his ribs the entire cab ride to your apartment, his thoughts spiraling in every direction.

What if you’re asleep? What if it’s too late? What if you don’t want to see him?

But when the elevator dings and he finds himself outside your door, his fingers hesitate only a second before he knocks.

You open the door seconds later, wrapped in a loose sweater, your eyes wide with confusion and a soft thread of worry. “Seungmin?”

He doesn’t speak at first. He just steps inside, gently closing the door behind him. And when he turns to face you, his breath catches.

You look like safety.

And he’s never needed it more.

“I’m sorry,” he says first, voice hoarse. “I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve said it sooner.”

You blink at him, uncertain. “Said what?”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I’m not good with words. Which is stupid, because they’re literally my job. But when it comes to you, I never know how to say what I’m feeling without sounding like a complete idiot.”

Your lips part to respond, but he holds up a hand, trying to keep the dam from breaking too soon.

“I didn’t say it back that night,” he continues, stepping closer, “not because I didn’t mean it. But because I meant it too much. And I was scared. Scared that I’d ruin you. That being with me would make your life harder, lonelier, more complicated.”

Your breath hitches.

“But the truth is,” he whispers, voice cracking, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And it kills me that I made you feel unwanted or unloved, when the truth is—I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I just didn’t know how to say it without breaking something.”

He laughs, but it’s shaky, and his eyes are glassy now. “Turns out I broke something anyway.”

Tears stream down your cheeks before you even realize it, and you reach for him without hesitation, curling your hands into the fabric of his hoodie. “You didn’t break anything,” you say softly. “I just needed to know I wasn’t loving you alone.”

He cradles your face in his hands like you’re the most delicate thing in the world, his own tears finally falling. “You’re not. Not even close.”

The kiss that follows is slow, aching, desperate. It’s the culmination of all the words he couldn’t say until now—the soft tremble of his lips on yours, the way his hands hold you like a promise. You melt into each other, your tears mixing, but neither of you pull away.

You just breathe, together.

Wrapped in the warmth of a love that took its time—but arrived all the same.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids imagine #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff

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toxycodone · 7 months ago

Text

ship. captain grant mccurley (curly) x reader

content. general hcs + sfw + romantic

an. hehe u guys know i love doing these big ass hc posts to like. characterize and get a feel for how I write for characters sooo yaaaay enjoy this

general curly hcs (feat. the Tulpar crew near the end)

as much as I love scottish/irish/british curly,,,,he is american born. HEAR ME OUT. his parents/grandparents are immigrants buuuut this man is all american (where it counts ig).

he's from Colorado! his family mostly lives around there/mid america. He grew up playing a lot of winter sports (hence his love for it). As a kid he played ice hockey for sure and lost a tooth. there's a polaroid at his mom's place with him smiling happily after a game with a bloodied tooth in between his fingers

but as a pre-teen/teen he moved to the south. somewhere around the mid-south/mississippi basin. as sad as he was to leave Colorado behind, he latched onto southern culture sooo fast. I am a huge southern transplant Curly believer.

And this is when he meets jimmy. They went to 8th grade and high school together. After witnessing Jimmy's terrible ass home life, curly kinda latches onto him. It's a weird mix of being way too empathetic, his savior complex, and just desire to be useful/helpful/etc.

Jimmy basically lived with Curly his junior and sophmore years of high school. His household was abusive and terrible so Curly's own parents let him "sleep over". He has his own toothbrush, loofa, shower products, etc at Curly's. He didn't even ask for them either, Curly and his dad got them out shopping once.

^ Jimmy is thankful but oh my GOD does he resent curly for having such an unproblematic home life. curly has vented about his parents being too overprotective or something before and jimmy lashes out at him for it (oof)

Curly sticks up for Jimmy way. too. much. As much as he cares, it's actually kinda toxic. Curly never lets Jimmy face the consequences of his own actions, downplays all his shit, doesn't take the warning signs Jimmy clearly exhibits...he kinda acts as a barrier to Jimmy growing up and learning to be himself alone.

And on the other hand, Jimmy is way to enabling of this. It's easy. Simple. He latches onto Curly and like. feels threatened by any new friends, romantic interests, etc.

when Curly starts working for the Pony Express (an actual REAL career that takes Curly away from Jimmy)...Jim spirals. yeah.

He goes to jail. and when Curly gets back from his haul, the first thing he does is bail him out, co sign shit for him, etc. So again, Jimmy doesn't face the consequences of his actions. (and we see how that plays out in game...)

BUT YEAH. Jimmy is a mississippi native and he and curly do so much country ass shit together. hand fishing for catfish, mudding, hunting, all that jazz. they are avid rodeo fans too. Curly goes every year (he's tried to compete. broke his wrist doing those calf cathcing/tie down things i think)

Curly and the Tulpar crew have been together for a handful of hauls. (I mean in-game dialogue suggests this too). Knowing people that long means he's a well respected captain and they're kinda a little family!

Swansea is tough to work with, but actually respect's curly. This is bc Curly skirts by the typical PE rules, but not in a bad way. He's really adamant about safety and following protocol, which Swansea respects (although it's annoying). But the 5 hours of rest rule? Curly thinks that's ridiculous. As long as the work is being done, Curly doesn't count break time. So there's plenty of blankets or pillows lying around the common room in case anyone needs a nap on one of the couches. Curly also advises everyone have a blanket and pillow in their work areas during shifts for "comfort" (it's just code for everyone to catch some sleep outside of the time they spend in their quarters).

Curly also makes sure they have game nights + shared meals +etc. He counts these as "meetings" or "team building exercises" when sending reports to corporate.

Curly and Anya haven't been together too long compared to the others. The Tulpar haul is her second haul with Curly, but they've known each other for at least 3+ years and are pretty comfortable with each other. Curly made sure she felt as comfortable as possible being the only girl on their team. (well. yknow. until that ultimately gets tested.) But I think Anya and Curly aren't extremely close which explains why she doesn't immediately come to him w issues + why Curly doesn't deal w Jimmy in a harsher way (it's a combination of Curly being sleep deprived, favoring Jimmy, and ultimately his own paranioa and shortcomings. Curly has a real problem confronting Jimmy bc of his past w lashing out).

Curly is an insomniac. Not on Earth, but on hauls most definitely. He has a lot of anxiety about hauls (which he chalks up to being "normal") and the monotony of them drives him crazy. He's constantly a little sleep deprived.

He picked up weight lifting as a hobby on hauls bc cardio is like. impossible on that ship and it makes him feel good. <3 When he doesn't have access to the gym he does pull ups on loose bars on the Tulpar and stuff lol. He has a few weights and crap though. And that Pony Express brand protein powder is hella useful for cutting.

sfw + romantic

Oh he most definitely doesn't have a partner on earth. It's why he's facing his mid life crisis shit because he's like my god. all this work and status and nothing to show for it wtf. I think he really wants to have a relationship, but most people don't want to put up with the fact he's gone for about a year or so. off planet. with little communication.

On the Tulpar he keeps it in his pants. Curly is a professional and does his best to continue acting that way. But no one really comes onto him anyways? (if they did. my God I think he would be very weak to it.)

He has rizz. Like. Mr. Grant McCurley can fucking flirt like a champ. If he wants you he will make it clear. Ask you out for drinks. Then pay at the end. He makes it clear he's not expecting anything either?? Total southern gentleman shi

Insists on only giving a cheek kiss after the first date too like sheeesh (he's playing the waiting game with you. trying to keep you wanting HIM yeah he's good).

I like to think he's more traditional when it comes to romance like...dates weekly or bi weekly. Gives you flowers and chocolates and stuff. He actively pursues you and its soooooo <3333

No sex until at least after the third or fourth date too like. AGAIN. WAITING GAME. wants you to initiate that stuff (but he'll give hints like putting his hand on your knee and letting it trail up your thigh. YEAH)

He's the type who is always planning his life with you in it. Like, he's gotta have your fave snacks/drinks in his pantry/fridge. You have your own stuff at his apartment before you move in (that he bought, btw. he takes note when he visits ur place). His apartment feels like your home away from home. <3

He definitely rubs his stubble on you to annoy you when he gives you hugs. ewwww i hate men (im lying)

ok idk what else to write but. he used to use old spice but now uses a calvin klein cologne that man smells GOOD ASF

ok thats all i got enjoy

#dividers by cafekitsune #captain curly #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #curly x reader

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deathbyday · 8 months ago

Text

-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ MOUTHWASHING ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

“How could we end up here…?”

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

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Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

2 MONTHS AFTER THE CRASH

You, Jimmy, Daisuke, Swansea and Anya sat at the lounge table. You haven’t grouped up with everyone in a while. They were always busy dealing with the aftermath of Captain Curly’s doings. Honestly, you were too. You couldn’t believe that he would do something like that.

You all stare at Jimmy, waiting for him to start speaking. You sit beside Anya while Daisuke sits across from you, Swansea right beside him. Jimmy sits on the end of the table, appearing as the leader.

“Anyone else would do the same thing.” Jimmy speaks, his voice calm. “We ain’t touching the damn cargo. The hold is locked down for a reason. The only thing worse than dying slowly is not getting paid.” Swansea argues.

You glance up at him, giving him a weird look. “But it could be something useful. I think-..” Anya attempts to reason with the short haired man, but failed to do so. “Could be what? Hopes, dreams and marzipan?” He chuckles, glaring at the black haired woman.

Anya tries to speak again, but she gets cut off by Jimmy. “If it helps us survive it’s worth it.” He mutters. You stare between the trio, not knowing whose side you’re on. Jimmy did have a point about how if it gives you an advantage to live, you’ll have to take it.

But a small percentage of you can’t help but wonder if it’ll hurt one of you. Or worse, all of you. You bite your lip as Daisuke chimes in. “Man, Pony Express bosses really aren’t chill at all, huh?” Everyone turnes their heads towards him, including you.

“C’mon! A quick look won’t hurt.” You gently shove Daisuke’s leg with your foot, getting his attention. “What if we get hurt trying to look?” You question, a worried expression glazing your face.

“That wouldn’t happen, Y/N.” Anya replies, a soft smile appearing on her lips for a moment. You can’t help but keep thinking about it. Even if it wasn’t going to happen, what if it did?

“How exactly is this group therapy committee planning on getting in there?” Swansea asks before Daisuke turns to him, exposing his solution.

“Right here, boss!” He happily replies. “You’re looking at the meanest swing of the regional junior baseball team. Straight up nearly corked a kid once!” He brags, a grin plastered on his lips.

“I can take the utility axe and-..” Swansea slams his hand on the table before shouting. “You were goddamn born fully corked!” He retorts. Daisuke’s smile slightly softens, but it was still noticeable.

“That’s enough, Swansea.” Jimmy cuts in before he could say anything worse. “There has to be an ‘in case of emergency’ way inside.” Anya perks up before speaking.

“If I remember correctly from the safety protocols, the doors should have an alternate access code. But, it can only be uncovered using a code scanner device.” She explains.

“Isn’t the only person who has access to the code scanner the captain?” You murmur, tilting your head. Jimmy nods, confirming your question. “Of course! Go ahead and ask him all about it then. Maybe he’ll sing ya the blues too.” Swansea sarcastically declares.

“We don’t need him if we find the scanner, get the code, and open the hold.” Jimmy argues. “For better or worse, I’m captain now. I’ll figure it out.” Your brows furrow, hasty eyeing the brunette male.

Nobody discussed that he would be the new captain. Although he was the second in command before the crash, it still felt wrong.

“Right on!” You wish you could punch Daisuke in the face right now. You love him, but god could he be dumb. Now that Jimmy’s the captain, he’s the one to search for the code scanner. You all let him be, going to do your own thing. You follow Daisuke down to the digital screen, wanting to talk to him.

Your arms sit crossed over your chest, a worried expression plastered on your face. You turn your head to see Jimmy searching for the scanner around you two first. You glance back down at the brunette before speaking.

“Are we sure we want Jimmy to be the new captain? It just feels wrong to me. You know Jimmy’s always rambling to himself about how he should be the leader, not Curly.” You mutter, keeping your voice low.

Daisuke smiles up at you, trying to ease any doubt you have about Jimmy. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, babe. You don’t need to worry about him.” He reassures, his voice soft.

You take a sharp breath in, not giving a very confident nod in agreement before smiling back, thankful for his comfort. Suddenly, Jimmy walks up to the both of you, causing your smile to disappear as Daisuke spoke.

“Looks like it’ll be soup again for dinner. You wanna rock paper scissors for the chicken noodle?” He suggests half-jokingly, trying to lighten the current situation. “How much food do we have left?” Jimmy replies, not in the mood for any kind of game.

“I think around 4 to 5 months, maybe in between?” You chime in, glancing at Jimmy. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Less than the remaining air supply, but we can make it last.” He hums.

“We’ll be starting to poke new holes in our belts pretty soon to pull that off.” Your anxiety worsened as he pointed out starving yourselves, not wanting to have to cut down on eating just to make sure the food supply last longer.

“Man, my mom will straight up stuff me when I get back. I’ll look like Swansea!” Daisuke chuckles. “We’ll have a rad story to tell, though. They might even write articles about us. We could be on TV!” His eyes seem to light up at the thought.

You chuckle before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Daisuke. We still need to figure out how to even get out of here safely.” Although it would be nice to be famous, you couldn’t help but think of the reality.

It was silent for a few seconds until Jimmy spoke up. “..It’ll impress your parents too.” He nods as Daisuke grins like a little boy at his words. “Mhm!” He hums in agreement before nervously chuckling.

“The real problem is us running out of toilet paper. Fatal stuff, man.” He scratches the back of his head. “We should leave that part out for the press, huh?” You bite back a giggle as Jimmy changes the subject.

“Has Swansea been like this towards you for your whole internship?” He asks, his brow raising in thought. “That’s just how he is!” Daisuke defended. “Didn’t want a spud like me following him around for an entire year.”

“This isn’t really the internship experience anyone had in mind.” Jimmy mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t let him push you around too much.”

“His bark is worse than his bite. He may be cranky, but he is legit a wizard of a mechanic!” You recall a few times where Swansea was fixing things in front of you, causing you to chime in.

“Yeah! I’m surprised he still has it in him, seeing as he’s almost at retirement age. I guess hard work does pay off.” You hum, a small smile crossing your face.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate your thoughts.” You couldn’t tell if Jimmy was being sarcastic or not, but you nodded anyway. You cross your arms against your chest once again as Daisuke changes the topic.

“Did you find the scanner thing yet? I’d ask Anya about it, she’s been reading the safety manual like a bible since the crash.” Jimmy nods as a ‘thanks’ before looking up at you, making eye contact for a split second. You instantly look away, not saying anything.

He didn’t mention it and turned his back to you both, possibly to search for Anya in the medical room.

————

You were cut off mid sentence by the sound of the lounge door opening, causing you and Daisuke to turn your heads to where the sound came from. It only took a few seconds for you to realize Anya was the one who ran through the door.

Her legs gave out as she clutched her chest. From the screen of the sunset, you could hear her heavy breathing. You were about to call out her name, asking if she was alright, but Daisuke wrapped his hand around your forearm.

You looked back towards him, brows creased in concern. He shook his head as to tell you to leave her alone and let her calm down, so you did. You kept your voice low, just in case it would trigger her.

After a few minutes, the door opened once again. This time, Jimmy came through it. He walked up to Anya and crouched down beside her.

“We don’t have a whole lot of painkillers left.” He muttered, ignoring the fact she looked like she was going to have a panic attack. “But you still want to keep-..”

“Why do you think he did it?” Anya cut him off, not paying attention to what he said. “Does it matter? What answer would make you feel any better?” He sternly replied, no hint of empathy in his voice.

“I have to believe that our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Jim.” She whispered. “…I have to. Even in his case.”

“He tried to take us all down with him, Anya.” It almost sounded like Jimmy was on the verge of yelling at her. “The way I see it, there’s two reasons to keep him alive at this point.”

You couldn’t stop staring at the two, watching their conversation. Even though Daisuke tried to get you to look away, it was useless. You felt the need to watch them to prevent Jimmy from doing something to Anya. Either verbally or physically.

“Guess the important bit is that we all agreed to it. For one reason or another.” He shrugged, his voice not as strong as it has been. Anya shook her head. “I-I’m still feeling nauseous.. I need a minute.” She quickly got up from her spot on the floor and ran off.

You looked over towards Daisuke before continuing on with your conversation about video games, twirling your fingers around one another.

————

Anya, you, Daisuke and Swansea stood in front of the Cargo Hold, waiting for Jimmy to bring back the code scanner. Luckily, just after a few minutes of waiting, he did. He walked up to the four of you, scanner in hand.

He glanced at you all, taking in your expressions. You just wanted this whole thing to be over. You stood beside Daisuke, one of your hands on your forearm.

“Well? Get on with it.” Swansea urges, his hands over his hips. “This is all you. I want it duly noted that I had no involvement in this.” Jimmy nodded in agreement before turning towards the younger brunette. “What do you guys think we’ve been shipping?” Daisuke pondered.

“If it’s spare parts, maybe me and Swansea can repair the ship and we can get out of here! Right, Swansea?” He turned to the older man who turned to him. “Quit yapping.” Jimmy ignored the two of them and looked to you.

“It could be more food.. maybe we won’t need to starve ourselves after all!” A gentle smile appeared on your lips before the dark haired male turned around to see Anya beside the door.

“Are we doing the right thing..? Let it be medicine, food, or water.” She hoped to herself. Jimmy stepped towards the sign with the hidden code before flashing the code scanner on it.

4517

He put the scanner away and walked up to the door code before putting the numbers in. The door slid open, revealing numerous of shipping boxes on shelves.

————

7 DAYS BEFORE THE CRASH

You stood beside the utility room’s door with Jimmy, peaking into the room. You snickered, not being able to contain your laughter. Daisuke was just trying to fix the vent, trying to be a good intern, but he accidentally triggered the emergency foam which made him slip out and get stuck in the substance.

You felt so bad for him, but at the same time it was so funny. You heard heavy footsteps to your right, causing you to look up. The owner of the footsteps was the captain. He gave you a short lived wave before turning towards Jimmy, glancing inside the room.

“And Pony Express said they don’t provide on board entertainment.” Jimmy slightly chuckled, eyeing Curly. You continued staring at the scene, a dorky grin running across your lips.

“Feels like there’s always something broken in that room.” Curly shrugs, a sigh leaving his throat. “Tulpar’s starting to show her age.” Jimmy raised a brow.

“Passed inspection, right? Shouldn’t be an issue.” He declared. Curly hummed, adding on; “Plus, they added Daisuke last minute.”

You perked up at hearing your boyfriend’s name, taking brief glances towards the two men beside you. “Didn’t account that there’d be six of us now. I only knew one more was coming, not two.” The captain tilted his head towards you before his head became straight once again.

“I really should have made a bigger stink about that.” He complained, regretting his decision to allow Daisuke on board. You were glad he did though. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have met him.

“Maybe you should intervene?” Jimmy suggests, referring to the mess inside the utility room. “Or we could just close the door.” He shrugged. “Your call.”

You and Jimmy kept away from the scene, staying in the doorway as Curly walked inside. “Well, I can see the issue.” He chuckled at the site in front of him. “The kid was brought on just to make me suffer!” Swansea had his arm crossed, the look of disappointment written all over his face.

“I was just trying to fix the vent! How did that trigger the emergency foam?!” Daisuke attempted to get free from his spot, only to be stuck in place. Swansea turned his head towards him. “Because you’re talented in all the wrong ways!” He argued.

“I would’ve dealt with this but only you can unlock the axe case.” Swansea grumbled, placing his hands on his hips. “Every goddamn thing has to go through you.”

“I’ll handle it. Hang in there, Daisuke.” Curly reassured him before walking to the ‘in case of emergency’ box that held the axe. He took out the code scanner, flashing the light on the black rectangle.

2609

He quickly put in the code, opening the case. He grabbed the weapon and walked back towards the two brunettes, ready to swing at the foam. A few seconds later, Daisuke was finally set free from the substance.

“Strong stuff, huh?” He ow’ed in pain but still tried to get a chuckle out of everyone. Swansea wasn’t having it though. “Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits. Fully fucking collapsed inside.” He lectured. “You looking to get impaled, electrocuted and cooked?!”

You lightly smiled, knowing deep down Swansea does really care for Daisuke. But he just can’t show it. “Yeah, but like.. you can’t fit in there to fix it, right?” The whole room went silent, stunned at what just came out of his mouth. You instantly covered your mouth, eyes wide.

“So I can totally handle it-..” Daisuke gets cut off by Swansea turning to Curly. “Captain. Give me the axe.” He demands. “Swansea..” The dirty blond warned, trailing off. “This could’ve damaged the pods. You can’t let something like this happen again.”

You leaned against the doorframe, becoming bored from the lack of excitement. You drown the rest of the conversation out, waiting for Curly to be done speaking to the two of them.

Jimmy moved right beside you, arms at his sides. You twirled around strands of your hair, glancing at the man standing next to you. “Hi, Jimmy.” You muttered, your voice soft. He stared at you, nodding his head before mumbling, “Hey.”

You were honestly a bit surprised he even said anything back. Nonetheless, you give him a light smile, attempting to be sweet. It was short lived as Curly came towards the two of you and Jimmy opening his mouth to speak, ignoring you.

You rolled your eyes before blowing Daisuke a small kiss, making sure he saw it. You backed off, turning around and walked away from the utility room. You wanted a have a small chat about Jimmy to Curly, but he just seemed so busy. Along with that and the fact he’s always near him.

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author’s note

finally getting ready for angst!! I’m so ready to write how some people’s deaths impacts the reader. i can’t tell if i want a certain someone to be added into the mix yet or not..

fifth chapter will be up in a few days!! thank you all for the support, I appreciate it so much! and happy halloween!!! 🎃

bye for now<3

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader mouthwashing #video games #horror games #indie games #x reader

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