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rebeccccccaaa · 6 months

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Too Sweet

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Spencer Reid x Reader

:: Practically at his beck and call, Spencer knows you’re too sweet for him. He knows he shouldn’t use you but he can’t stop himself when you’re also all too enthusiastic to fuck him ::

warnings :: smutttt, casual sex (kinda lol), oral (fem receiving), over stimulation, insomnia!spencer, spencer spitting facts (literally), reader is described to have hair length long enough to stick to your cheeks, obviously reader is described as afab, not sure what else i should tag so let me know what i miss :)

author’s notes :: hello, hello! honestly i saw this tik tok edit of spencer with this song (Too Sweet - Hozier) and felt a bit inspired by it and also loosely by lyrics too. please be kind as it’s been a couple years since i last wrote a fic and it’s my first one about dr reid too, so let me know if you guys like it, comment, reblog, all that jazz and critiques are more than welcome! Enjoy!

WC :: ~4k

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It was pretty late into the night, it was the first weekend in weeks that the team was able to really enjoy. Spencer sat in a corner of his apartment, a glass of whiskey sat on the table as he flipped the pages of a book he’s read a thousand times before, albeit it was one of favorites.

He was hesitant to call, he didn’t want to pull you away from enjoying your weekend but when it came to his pleasure, he put himself first. You were always too nice to say no to him and he knew that. It made him feel sleazy sometimes, but this was who he was now. Rugged, damaged, fucked up. He’d been through a lot. But in those moments where you squirmed and whined beneath him, he felt satiated. You were his drug now.

“Hello?” he mumbled when the call picked up.

“Spencer,” your voice was a whisper as you practically sang his name.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Yes,” you responded.

“It’s a little late don’t you think?” he poked.

“Then why are you calling?”

You knew why he was calling. He only ever wanted one thing from you when the sky was dark. You didn’t mind it though. You basked in it. You kind of liked it. The feeling of having sex without commitment. Your job didn’t give you enough time for a commitment. You didn’t feel humiliated or belittled by Spencer’s desires. In fact, his lust for you turned you on in most cases. Most.

Spencer was still a good friend to you. Regardless of sleeping with him, he was your closest friend. And recently, you noticed changes in him. Maybe you’ve kept a closer eye on him more than before but you were a little concerned. You had the right after everything he’s been through. He seemed more tired than usual, even though he was still punctual with work. Although you didn’t sleep in his bed after every time you slept together, when you did, you pretended not to notice his exits and long absences in between the long hours of the night. You could barely hear his ever so quiet footsteps roaming the living room. The clanking of coffee mugs in the kitchen and his quiet ‘Shit’ when he thought he was being too loud.

Three subtle knocks rapped his door, so quiet Spencer would’ve missed if he had breathed just a bit louder. A grin spread across his face subconsciously, glancing at the clock before taking long strides to the door. It was almost midnight. You stood in the doorway with heavy eyes, not the drunk kind, but the tired kind. He moved aside to let you in. Just like last time; and all the other times you showed up at his door for him.

“I thought you went out tonight,” he questioned, rhetorically.

“I did. For a bit,” you told him, “I just had one drink, then went home.”

“What are you doing up so late?” you asked, you already know the answer. And Spencer knows you know too, though he tried at first to be more subtle in his nightly fixtures. He simply sighed with amusement. You set your things down on his couch, eyes adjusting to the dim lights that hardly lit the room. The glass sitting on the table in the corner caught your eyes though.

“What are you drinking?” you asked.

“Uh, whiskey. Neat.”

“Ew, why?” you joked.

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugged. A whiskey wouldn’t exactly be Spencer’s first choice of drink but then again his first choice of drink wouldn’t even be alcohol. If it was, he would probably be content with a beer, or something of the sort. He was sort of going through a phase during nights. He was sleeping a lot less too.

“I just didn’t take you for a whiskey kind of guy,” you teased.

“What kind of guy did you take me for?” he poked; he wasn’t really talking about drinks anymore though.

“Water,” you joked, making him laugh.

Spencer stood before you now. His hands were slightly hesitant this time to rest on your hips.

“Is everything ok, Spencer?” you asked him.

“Yes,” his voice was a whisper.

You didn’t believe him, but you knew better than to press him. He was a stubborn guy and whether you did or didn’t you weren’t going to get an answer. You slid your hands up his chest before cupping the back of his neck with your hands. The kiss was chaste. You didn’t want to sleep with him if he was having second thoughts.

“Are you sure? If you’ve changed your mind I can head hom-,” you were telling him.

“No, don’t,” he rushed out.

“I’m fine; I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he confessed. This surprised you, not because you didn’t know, but because you didn’t think he would tell you.

“Well, then maybe I should go. That way you can finally get to bed before the sun comes up for once,” you joked with him, “Besides, you’re the one who's always telling people how important sleep is to the human body.”

Your words shocked Spencer this time. Admittedly, in the back of mind he suspected that you could sense him leaving his bed, or your bed sometimes, and that one or more times he’d been a little loud dwindling in the next room. But he didn’t realize you were fully aware of his nightly escapades. You knew him too well. You were too sweet to him. Spencer knew after all the fucked up things he’s been through he didn’t deserve your friendship; or anything more despite the fact.

“Did you know that elephants sleep the least of any other animal?” he told you, he doesn’t know why. Maybe to distract you, or seduce you. Both outcomes came often enough for him to make it a guessing game.

“You’re not an elephant.”

And then there were the ultra rare times when neither outcome happened; just now being one of them.

“Sleep deprivation has been associated with reduced sexual desire and arousal,” he tried again.

“Well, I can help with that,” you teased. There we go.

He leaned down to kiss your lips but you pulled back in tease, smile on your face; you knew how pussywhipped you had this man. He didn’t want to fight it, he was growing desperate for you with every passing second. Rolling his eyes, he dipped his head in the crook of your neck. His hands left your hips, pulling you closer to him from your waist and lower back. Your hands began to unbutton his shirt, he was still wearing the clothes you saw him working in earlier that day.

You stopped him, never been one to have sex anywhere other than the bedroom, taking his hand already knowing where to go after doing so many times before already. Although, it wasn’t like his apartment was a confusing labyrinth. He followed you like always.

You reached the edge of the bed, sitting instinctively. Your hand went straight to his belt, undoing it with ease. Spencer pulled your hands away from his hips before sinking to his knees to the ground. He pulled your hips to the very edge, scratching the skin as he desperately pulled at your pants bringing them down your legs. Of course you let him.

He pushed you back and you fell on your elbows, still able to see him so clearly. See him dip his head and kiss the skin on the inside of your knee, his eyes lingering on yours. You let your head go for a second, basking in the feeling of his lips. They always made you feel so warm and tingly. One thing about Spencer, he loved foreplay. All the little things that lead up to sex. Most of the time, he craved the foreplay more than the sex itself.

He moved your legs over his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your thighs, his hands holding your hips. His nose ran along your inner thighs. Your skin erupted in goosebumps at the feeling of his warm breath coming from his nose. His fingers fiddled against your hip bones and you wiggled a bit becoming desperate by the minute for something more than just this teasing.

“Spence,” you whined, looking back at him.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we do this, you’ll never learn patience will you?” Spencer bartered.

“Spencer, I don’t come to you to learn patience,” you spat, not with any malice however.

“You won’t come at all with that attitude,” he snapped back, hiding a grin between your legs.

“Spencer!” you gasped.

He chuckled lowly, bringing his hand between your thighs, pulling your underwear to the side to expose you to him. You were glistening, slick beginning to leak from you already. Spencer could feel himself getting hard. He precariously tried to not buck his hips into the bed like horny teenager.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

He stepped up quickly letting your legs drop harshly. His fingers curled over the hem of your underwear pulling them down and tossing behind his shoulder before returning to his previous position. He felt like he was possessed. Acting and moving like it was primal, instinctive. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to satisfy you.

He kissed all the places except the place you needed the most. You curled your toes anticipating his next move, longing for his lips, tongue, fingers, anything to bring you pleasure. Just when you were about to sit up, ready to nag at him, his lips wrapped around your bud.

Your shoulders gave out at the feeling. Your body electrifying instantaneously. Your eyes trained on the ceiling, focusing on everything about Spencer in this moment, the sounds, his touch, his tongue. His tongue dipping in you every now and then, making you moan feverishly. His hands spread out, pinning your hips down to the bed to try and get you to stop wiggling your hips, but he wasn’t too successful in that.

“Knock it off,” he groaned, removing a hand wrapped around your leg to bring his fingers to your entrance.

“It’s not enough; I need more,” you whined.

“No, you want more,” he debuted, “You’re being greedy.”

“And you’re being mean,” you quipped, you always had something to retort.

“Ok, fine,” he stood up.

“Stop!” you whined, “Please, come back. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he sat on his knees again, instantly bringing his fingers up to rub slow circles that made your toes curl.

He purposefully let them every now and then prod at your entrance make your hips jerk in surprise. He could see how wet you were, all of the slick telling him how needy you were. He looked up to look at your face. His eyes catching your nipples peeking through the fabric of your shirt from the pleasure already, smiling to himself.

“Sexual arousal can cause an increase in blood flow to not just female genitalia, but also the breasts,” he told you, feeling your thighs squeeze ever so slightly.

“Is that your way of telling me my nipples are hard because of you?” you teased.

“Yes,” he stated before diving straight back between your thighs.

His tongue did circles like his fingers, the wetness and warmth much more stimulating than before. His fingers slid inside you, curling when he couldn’t push them any further. You moaned out, reaching your hand down to comb your fingers through Spencer’s shaggy hair. The noises of everything bounced off the walls of Spencer’s shallow bedroom. It sounded vulgar but so sexy. Your heavy breathing practically syncing together.

Your thighs squeezed more and more as you got closer to your climax; you didn’t care if you were suffocating Spencer. If he died, he died pleasuring you and neither of you minded it in this moment. Your hips grinding against his tongue chasing you release frantically. Spencer pumped his fingers in and out of you rapidly, leading you to ecstasy.

Your breaths became shaking, as did your moans. You were overcome with pleasure as your orgasm hit you so suddenly. You could feel Spencer’s smile growing against you, you knew that he wasn’t going to withdraw despite reaching your climax.

“Oh god, too much, Spence.”

“First it was not enough, now it’s too much?” he taunted you, fingers still pumping in and out you strenuously.

“Spence!” you wailed, your voice trembling embarrassingly.

When he wouldn’t give out, you pulled at his hair as you sat up and pulled his mouth away from between your thighs.

“Oh ow, ow, ow!” he whined.

“Jesus, you were gonna give me a heartache,” you whined.

“Actually the possibility of having a heart attack during sexual activity is exceedingly low. So you wouldn’t have had anything to worry about; if anything you would get a small headache,” he explained.

“You’re giving me a headache,” you whined, making him laugh.

You pulled him from the back of his neck, crashing his lips against yours. You loved to kiss Spencer. You always felt the closest to him physically when you kissed. Which is ironic since he was quite literally inside you most nights. Kissing, the art of kissing, was practically your love language. You always gave small pecks when you were together, privately of course.

Spencer was worried at first, that kissing was too intimate that things would complicate fast and feelings would get hurt. But as time went on and things continued to stay normal between you, he just began to relish in it rather than worry about nothing. At least that’s what he’s convinced himself of.

He suddenly remembered the first time you slept together. You were in his apartment one night going over some details of the case. Nothing so major, or frightening, but something wasn’t adding up. You decided to take a break, cracking open some beers and just talk. One beer became two, then three, then four and then suddenly bottles littered the pitiful coffee table in front of you. You were very clear with him, “I don’t just sleep with anybody.” But you were a woman with needs just as much as Spencer was a man, “Neither do I.”

“Things have to stay the way they are if we do this,” he told you that night.

“They will,” you assured him.

You rested your forehead against his seeing his eyes seem different. Spencer always did this. Everytime, just for a minute or even a second, he would disappear behind his eyes, like he was reminiscing on a memory you couldn’t describe.

“You did that thing again,” you said with a small grin on your face.

“I know,” he blushed, “Sorry.”

“You ever gonna tell me what you’re thinking about when you do that?” you questioned.

“Nope,” he smirked, making you giggle.

Spencer stood straight up shagging his shirt off before scrambling out of his pants. He crawled back over you settling his hips between your thighs as he dipped his head down to attach his lips to your neck. Your hand curled around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair as his breath and lips tickled your skin. Your hips fit together snuggly, grinding against desperate to chase each other’s highs.

Spencer reached into the drawer beside your head to pull out a condom. You snatched it from his hands with a devilish smirk on your face tearing it with your teeth. You spat the foil corner from your mouth, pulling the condom from its package before tossing it aside. You reached between your bodies stroking Spencer. His face blushing red, contorting with pleasure as it’s the first of the night to feel some sort of friction he needed from the beginning. The reason he called you in the first place.

Spencer let his hands trace your skin. Though you wouldn’t react, your skin erupted in goosebumps. Feeling him prodding against your entrance, your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat. You always anticipated this part. No matter how many times you and Spencer spent the night together, you couldn’t ever get used to the flips your stomach made at this time.

Spencer pushed his hips into you, his length stroking your walls making your hum in delight. Spencer’s breath became heavy as he pulled out just enough before rutting back in you with skill. Your face began to feel hot as Spencer began to find a good rhythm. You could feel the sweat building on your forehead, the air cold against your scalp.

You looked at Spencer’s face; the veins bulging from his forehead and his neck. You cupped his cheek with your hand, catching his rhythm with your hips. Your breath became heavy, your hums became moans. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most vocal lover you laid with. Not that Spencer was your lover of course. That‘s not what you meant.

“What’s going on in that pretty little brain?” Spencer’s voice took you from your sudden trance; his pace beginning to slow. He brought his hand to your face, pulling the stray hairs that stuck to your cheeks from your sweat away.

“Nothing, just don’t stop,” you sighed, pulling his lips down to yours again.

Spencer picked up his pace again, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. You felt overcome with an ambitious heat throughout your body. You pushed Spencer’s shoulders up trying your best to cool down without stopping your chase to your high. Spencer sat on his knees gripping your hips, practically ramming his hips into yours. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets beneath you.

“Oh god, fuck,” you cried out. Your thighs squeezing Spencer’s torso as you began to get closer to your climax.

“Shit, it’s like I can’t get enough no matter how many times I have you squirming beneath me,” he gloated.

You could see Spencer's chest begin to get red, his knuckles however turning white. Your hands reached down gripping his wrists. Prying them away, before sitting up to straddle his legs, as they stretched forward, adjusting comfortably. You held on to his shoulders sturdily, finding an entirely new rhythm to chase your high.

Spencer’s hands ran up your back, sliding under your shirt that you had yet to take off. No wonder you were overwhelmed with heat. He peeled the tight fabric from your skin, tossing it to the ground like he has so many times before. He unhooked your bra with ease, his eyes instantly trained to your chest. He couldn’t help his hands following, massaging the soft skin. Spencer looked up to you as you bounced up and down. Sweat dripping seductively down the valley of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty,” Spencer whispered, staring up at you.

“I know,” you joked breathlessly, giving him a playful wink.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh at that. The both of you were itching for a release now. Your bodies squirming against one another, aching to give the other the release. You leaned back placing your hands on his thighs, moving your hips faster and harder than before.

“Spencer, I’m getting close, I feel it,” you whimpered, “Please tell me you’re close too.”

“I’m close,” he breathed out.

“Fuck,” you cried.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let go,” Spencer mused, he reached between you two, fingers circling quickly between your thighs to bring you to climax even faster.

You gasped out, chest heaving as you felt the waves of pleasures wash over you suddenly. You couldn’t help the loud moans escaping from you as you threw your head back; arched back and thighs tensed. Spencer’s hand held your body close to himself, and you curled forward wrapping your arms around his head as you climaxed indefinitely. Spencer grunted below you, his legs stiffening and jerking upward. Curses whispered from his lips.

“Oh, shit,” you gasped, relaxing and slumping your body over Spencer.

“Treat me good, like always,” he whispered, his hand coming briefly to stroke your hair gently.

He rolled you over, laying you lazily on his bed before climbing out of the bed swiftly. He stumbled his way to dispose of the rubber. He grabbed a small towel from a drawer along with something to cover himself. He sat silently on the edge of the bed, gently cleaning you as your eyes slowly blinked, telling him you were exhausted.

“You want to stay the night? I can see how tired you are.”

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” you quipped with a small grin on your face.

Spencer laid beside you, covering your body with the blankets. You curled by his side, your leg falling over his hips. He turned the lights out, but the soft golden glow from the lights in the room next door streamed in. His arm wrapped around you, fingers softly stretching your back. Steady breaths against his chest gave him a sense of comfort. He was always a bit jealous how easily sleep came to you; how peaceful you looked when you did. Spencer tried to close his eyes. He tried to let rest wash over him like a blanket. What felt like seconds was an hour. And another hour. He peeked at his watch laying on the nightstand beside him, three o’clock the time read.

Sighing, he sneaked out of bed, careful to not wake you. He skulked towards the kitchen, eyeing the small glass of whiskey still on the table. He couldn’t help smirk to himself over it. He opened the cabinet grabbing a mug, pouring a bitter liquid into it. He took a big swig of his favorite beverage, basking in all the flavors, when suddenly a beautiful figure stood before him.

“Hey,” his voice was quiet.

“I’m guessing you haven’t slept,” you tiptoed your way to him, you could hear him sighing.

“Is there anything at all I can do to help you?” you whispered, carefully placing your hand on Spencer’s warm back.

“No, but having you here is enough.”

You were beginning to blur the lines between your arrangement and your friendship. But neither you nor Spencer could muster up the courage to stop what you’ve started. Spencer indulged in your sweetness, the way you were always there to satiate his desires, the way you opened yourself to him like heaven’s gate. And you, well you would never admit it. Being in love with Spencer that is. You’ve known him for years; seen the best parts of him and helped him through the worst. You knew him the best of anyone you’ve known before. And he could say the same too. He’s never opened up to anyone as much as he has to you.

You were perfect for each other. And yet, Spencer wouldn’t allow himself to bask in it. He truly believed he didn’t deserve you. That all the demons that haunted him in these dark hours were undeserving of your kindness, compassion, gentleness. Simply thinking about you was often enough to calm him in tense situations. But he would never tell you this. So here he was, standing in the kitchen with his coffee black at three in the morning wondering why you couldn’t see that he would never be enough for you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #first fic back!!#hope you enjoyed reading #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #mgg fluff #mgg x reader #reader insert #smut

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rose-maidenn · 1 month

Text

🔸️Pick a card 🔸️

1-2-3

♧Let me describe the way you speak

♤What do people think of that

◇ A tip

Hi guys so nice to see you here I hope life's been extra sweet to the sweet angel that you are ❤️✨️ for this reading choose a picture from the above intuitively, take what resonates and leave the rest , enjoyyy ✨️

Images via Pinterest, dividers by @enchanthings

Pile 1 :

♧Let me describe the way you speak

What I get is that your voice is kinda breathy and you speak like an ancient wanderer who has seen a lot of the world, I feel like you're someone to whom people come for advice , also one of your friends is forwarding your voice messages to a secret lover omg 😂 don't worry this isn't creepy because that can be someone from your friend group . Your prime aim of speech seems to be motivating people, though you don't claim to know a lot but whatever you know you know it by your heart and that's what makes you loved among your friends and feared among your enemies

♤What do people think of that

People think you're the light to their shadow no really you sound like an angel like a billie eilish , lana del vibe really 💌 it screams a bunny like maiden energy but also a very wise women by the way you speak , I feel like some people are naturally inclined to ask you for directions the visitors in your city , you might have a mole on your face that's so attractive . People might wanna set your voice as a lullaby .

◇ A tip

Okay so get that you might stutter at the pronunciation of a certain letter in the alphabet , I get that you should observe the mouth movement of the people who talk to you it will help you a lot , Avoid cold foods if you have migrane issues . Elevate your knowledge to about some recent social or celebrity news as well because soon you're gonna find a group that's gonna help you go far ahead so win the world my little angel 🎀

Pile 2 :

♧Let me describe the way you speak

I think most people here are people who are contralto , alto or husky voiced , more men might be here as well , your voice seems like the one in those youtube audios all I can say is your voice is ultra s**y it's silky like butter on fresh bread or water , your voice is versatile you also might be into beat boxing or rapping . You have nice breath control . The prime aim of your speech is to keep your thoughts to the world , you're up to date in studies and social affairs .

♤What do people think of that

People down right want your voice ❤️‍🔥 you're like an husky Ariel .you have nice pronunciation, because of having a deep voice if you rap often people find it so attractive and want to learn they literally mimic how to speak like you but it's actually so natural to know you don't even try . You're someone who might be able to talk to a room full of people and make them listen to what you have to say because of how much emphasis you can put through your voice .

◇ A tip

Though you're good at sentence formation, you often mess up a little on how to say a certain word in a sentence like " I think a bird is meant to be free " here if the subject is the bird your voice might put more focus on the meant and it's very subconscious so try putting more emphasis on what you want to get through to the people. What a good life to be as amazing as you ❤️‍🔥

Pile 3 :

♧Let me describe the way you speak

You have a very indigenous voice, a voice that reeks of mountains or ancient voice very beautiful sultry or gorgeous✨️ , a very country or folk song oriented voice , a voice that reaches the blood of the people your larynx seems to work like an instrument, some of you might have learned music as a child like doremifa or saregamapa you're a great singer . On the other hand some people in this pile might also have a very shrill feminine voice that's loud but commanding very unique voice like 2000s Paris Hilton vibe .

♤What do people think of that

You remind people of their roots I feel like your political stances are very appreciated they like the way you speak about your art and the instances of your life almost like poetry in motion. You might be good at selling things because of the way you passionately speak about the things you wanna Market . You will make a great youtuber because you know how to cater each audience you're very street smart . The prime aim of your speech is expression .

◇ A tip

One tip for you might be to focus on speaking up more you have so much art inside you but also you're an introvert but you know you'll do more good to the world by speaking more than keeping it to yourself , ofcourse take your time as to be comfortable around your setting to let your true thoughts flow from your heart to your throat , it's more like this because you're a little scared also a blockage in your heart chakra work on it I'm sure you're a rock star ✨️

Thanks for being here ❤️ dm to book a personal reading ✨️

#pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #intuitive readings #intuitive tarot reader

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zepskies · 15 days

Text

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

AN: Here we go! lol. This is the highly requested Part 2 to This One’s For You, over in the BMD-verse!

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, edging, teasing, fluff, and feels.

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

You gasped, your nails raking through his hair. Your grip threatened to rip out a few strands as you panted into his neck.

“Ben, please…for God’s sake…”

“Please what?” he said. There was grit in his voice when he spoke into your ear, but he was all too controlled. Taunting.

Asshole.

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips.

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her get back to sleep, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter.

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.”

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy" in French

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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mcondance · 1 year

Text

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu!

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time.

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already.

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed.

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.”

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black reader #hobie smut #hobie x black reader #hobie x reader #tw weed #ummmm yeah that happened #hope y'all like it #wrote most of this today :3 #OKAY TIME 2 POST

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golbrocklovely · 1 year

Text

our girlfriend // sam and colby

A/N: it's my bday and i'm giving you guys a present... aren't i so nice lol i know it's been a LONG time since i posted any form of a fic, and i'm sorry about that. but hopefully this makes up for it a bit. if you squint hard enough, this could basically be a 'careful what you wish for' fic as well (but not really since the boys are just normal and not a demon or vampire). hope you enjoy and let me know what you think !

prompt: you and the boys always had your fun, but you never tried it in public. and now they want to. || fem!reader x sam and colby

trigger warning: SMUT, threesome (but no actual sex), no solby, you are sam and colby's girlfriend…. lucky you lmao, fingering, oral fixation/finger sucking, bossy!bf sam and colby, also very possessive, a wee bit of degradation, mentions of baby, darling, baby girl, love, good girl, slut, and it also takes place slightly in public (but away from everyone)

word count: 2003

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guys, are you sure about this?" You questioned hurriedly as you rushed up the stairs.

Sam looked back at you, his voice loud over the thumping music of the party. "Yeah, c’mon Y/N. There’s no one up here."

"Probably for good reason." You grumbled.

"You’ve never been one to follow the rules. Don’t start now..." Colby smirked devilishly, his voice right by your ear as he passed you on the stairs.

Reaching the top and with each one of them holding a hand, Sam and Colby pulled you down the hallway. They stopped right outside a door tucked away from the stairs. If someone came up, they would see you. Your heart raced at the idea alone.

Colby leaned his back against the wall as you looked around the corner, glancing at the stairs nervously. He rolled his eyes, pulling you against him. "Baby, you have nothing to worry about. You're with us. When have we ever gotten caught?"

You glared up at him, annoyed. "You literally have a rap sheet that proves you don't know how to hide."

"Someone's feeling bratty tonight..." Sam joked playfully, leaning across from you and Colby.

You gazed at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed. "I'm just worried about someone finding out about us. God knows how the fans would react if they knew..."

Colby's finger lightly turned your chin so that you were looking at him. "Knew about what? That we both love to play with our girlfriend, and now we're trying it out in public?"

You stuttered, the lustful glint in Colby's eye making you blush. "Y-yes. Exactly that."

Colby pouted. "But I thought you loved when we both touched you."

"And tasted you..." Sam replied, sounding closer.

Colby leaned his face in, getting close to yours. "And fucked y-"

You cut him off, slapping his chest. "That's not the issue I have. It's the getting caught part. Or someone seeing us."

"But that's what's fun about this," Sam turned you around to face him, Colby's hands still resting low on your hips. "You're getting fucked as a party is being thrown downstairs in our honor. And if anyone tries to find us, they'll see us all up here... with you. So we gotta make sure we don't get caught."

"Especially since no one is allowed up here." You mentioned again.

"Well, we're allowed up here. No one else is." Colby informed.

Your face scrunched up, "I thought the owner said-"

"The owner can suck my dick. If I want to fuck my girlfriend in a house I'm renting out for a party, I'm gonna do it wherever I want to." Colby ranted.

"Excuse me." Sam raised an eyebrow, a light glare thrown at Colby.

"Right, my bad, Sam. Our girlfriend." Colby responded, smiling.

Sam sighed, "Much better."

"Speaking of...." Colby slid his hand under your skirt, pressing your damp panties against your swollen sex. "Our girlfriend is very wet."

You gasped, your body arching against Colby's. He exhaled as your ass grinded into his crotch. His breath was hot against your neck, raising goosebumps across your cool skin.

Sam's eyes danced up your body, studying it as Colby kneaded your clit slowly. Sam hummed when his gaze reached your face, his voice low, "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Kiss me." You shuddered, grabbing his shirt lightly and tugging him closer.

"She's so aggressive when she's needy." Colby chuckled darkly, applying pressure to his movements.

Sam nodded, leaning in and kissing you tenderly. You could barely breathe to begin with but having Sam's mouth on yours and Colby's fingers on your clit, you felt yourself get lightheaded. It was so overwhelming already, and they barely had done anything to you. God, or the devil himself, only knew what they had in store for you.

As Sam's tongue glided into your mouth, tangling with yours, Colby moved your panties out of the way and slid two fingers inside of you, pumping them at an achingly slow pace. Your breath hitched, a moan falling from your lips. Lucky for you, it was muffled by Sam's mouth.

"What did we say, baby girl? You can’t be too loud. And we know how loud you can get." Sam teased.

"Even with the music playing, they would be able to hear her." Colby sneered jokingly.

"Is that what you want? To get caught? To have all of our friends know you're being fucked by us? That you're needy for us?" Sam grunted, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

"I think that's what she wants. She loves to pretend to be such a good girl, but in reality, she's bad." Colby snickered into your ear quietly. "She's a little slut for us."

"Our slutty little girlfriend who can't stop herself from moaning when we touch her." Sam closed the space between you two, gripping your chin so that your eyes were looking into his piercing blues. "You're so pathetic and horny, aren't you?"

You shook your head, a whimper falling from your lips as Colby slid another finger in. You bit your lip hard to not make a noise, knowing it wasn't doing much to help.

"We might have to cover her mouth, since she can't listen." Colby hissed mischievously, biting your neck softly.

"I know the perfect way to do that." Sam placed the tips of his index and middle finger against your lips, "Open." Your lips fell open instantly, and he snaked them in, resting them against your tongue. "Suck."

You immediately started sucking his fingers, whining around them and bobbing your head up and down. Sam growled lowly at the sensation of you sucking off his fingers. He pushed himself closer to you, sandwiching you in between him and Colby completely. You couldn't have escaped their hold if you wanted it, and you definitely didn't want to.

"Her mouth feels amazing, Colby. You'll have to give it a try soon." Sam closed his tightly, focusing on the feeling.

"I remember how good she feels, trust me." Colby leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear, "You always need something in your mouth, don't you darling? You can't help but want to suck on something. On one of us."

Colby's fingers sped up, a groan deep within your throat rocketed out, stifled by Sam's fingers. You kept grinding your ass against Colby, who now was hard in his leather pants. He followed your movements, his hips pressing hard into you. Your hand gripped his wrist, clinging onto the hand that was fucking you. Your other hand held Sam close as your nails dug into his back.

"Are you getting close, baby girl? Do you want to come?" Sam barked.

You mewled, nodding your head desperately. Sam tsked, leaning his forehead against yours. "Not yet, baby. I think you need a bit more help."

His other hand drifted down, stopping right above your clit. He teased you for a moment, the tip of his finger brushing across it ever so gently. Your body shook and both boys laughed.

Colby feigned concern. "Aw Sam, c’mon now. You gotta be nice to her. She's not gonna make it."

"I guess we traded places this time, since you're the one that's always so mean to her." Sam quipped sassily.

Colby faux gasped, "Me? Being mean?" He leaned into your ear, whispering, "I'm not mean, am I love? You like when I treat you rough. I know you do, sweetheart."

You closed your eyes tight, trying to hold yourself back from exploding. Both of their motions were all too much for you, but you didn't want it to end just yet. You needed it to keep going. You just loved being theirs.

Sam pushed his lower half into his hand that was rubbing your clit, both boys now grinding against you. Their cocks were hard, and they were touching you in all the right places; you could feel your orgasm building up to its breaking point. You needed them to say you could let go. You weren't sure how much longer you could last.

"Feel how hard you've made us, baby girl. You want us inside of you? Wanna get filled up by us?" Sam rasped.

You whined and nodded mindlessly. You couldn't even form words if you want to.

"She's squeezing my fingers so tight. God, I can't wait to taste you, Y/N. You're getting so close..." Colby panted. "Maybe we should let her come."

"Only if she deserves it. Do you, baby? Do you deserve to come? Have you been good for us?" Sam taunted, staring into your eyes.

You moaned around his fingers in agreement, shaking your head again.

Sam bit his lip, glancing at Colby for a moment. "She has been following our demands very well. She made me hard just by sucking my fingers."

"You've been such a needy, good girl for us, haven't you? You take our fingers so well. Do you wanna come? Say you want to." Colby lowered his voice, "Use your words, love."

You choked around Sam's fingers, a 'I wanna come' mumbled through his digits.

Colby harshly snapped in your ear, "Who owns this cunt, darling?"

You grunted out a 'You do', eyes pleading with Sam to say you could let go.

Sam smirked, an almost evil glint in his eye. "I think she can come now. What about you, Colby?"

Colby paused, his fingers still moving at their fast pace. Your body was hot, sweat dripping down your back. Your face was flushed, and you felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for Colby to say the magic phrase.

He kissed right under your ear sweetly, his lips then pressed against you. "Come for us, baby."

You cried out around their fingers, your body spasming in ecstasy. Sam finger fucked your mouth, making sure your screams weren't heard over the music as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Colby kept the pace as you exploded around him, your juices running down your thighs. He cooed in your ear, speaking softly that you were a good girl, a good slut for them, and that you were so beautiful when you come.

Your pleasure slowly subsided, Sam and Colby resting against you and their motions still. They breathed with you, kissing along your neck and face as you relaxed.

You were about to say something when all three of you could hear someone walking up the stairs. Sam backed up, removing his hands from your mouth and clit. Colby spun you both around, facing the person coming up the stairs. It was a scramble to make sure you looked okay, and you weren't even sure if you did.

A tall man in an all-black suit, one of the security guards, looked down the hallway at you all. "Excuse me, you can't be up here."

"Uh, sorry about that. My girlfriend wasn't feeling too well and the line for the bathroom was kinda long so we figured she could come up here and use this one." Colby smiled, placing you in front of him to cover up his hard on.

"Are you feeling better now, miss?" The man asked, looking at you.

Sam cut you off, thankfully; since you weren't sure if you could even speak yet. He cupped his hands in front of his body, trying to cover himself up. "Yeah, she's good. We'll make sure she feels better later tonight, though. Just to be safe."

You glanced at Sam, and he gave you a little wink.

"Please follow me back downstairs to the party." The man stated.

You trudged down the hall towards the man, Sam and Colby following close behind. Once the man turned around, you could hear Sam smack Colby's arm, saying 'She's our girlfriend' to him. They bickered back and forth until you got to the bottom of the stairs.

Colby smacked your ass playfully, his voice loud enough for only you to hear, "Don’t go too far, Y/N. We're not done with you yet."

#sam and colby #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby fanfic #sam and colby fic #sam and colby smut #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach smut #sam golbach fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock smut #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach #colby brock

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izvmimi · 3 months

Text

cw: fluff. isekai au. selfship-coded. female pronouns.

In all your focus on becoming strong enough to protect yourself and not be a burden to others, it hadn’t occurred to you that as a Demon Slayer, you’d be receiving a paycheck.

A fat one at that.

You’re not exactly sure what to do with it. The envelope had shown up, slipped below the door of your lodgings at the Ubuyashiki mansion with your name on it, and while you’re not completely sure what the conversion rate + inflation would be, the sheer size of the stack was enough to make you quite confident that it was a lot of money. The issue is, you have very little use for money as you receive meals and board by virtue of Kagaya’s kindness, and the things you would buy if you could don’t particularly exist in this timeline.

As you sit on your futon and think again about what it would mean to save and how banking would work in this timeline, and if it’s even worth it given your particular circumstances, a sudden flash of Tanjiro’s smile comes to mind, and you immediately know what to do.

You should buy him a gift. After all, you wouldn’t have gotten through your first mission if not for Tanjiro, you consider, your face warming as you consider what things you’ve seen him receive that delighted him the most. Then you consider that perhaps a gift is too presumptuous, and you see him happy when he has a nice meal, or perhaps you could get something nice for both him and Nezuko because that wouldn’t look too strange, plus he’s happy when she’s happy, or perhaps you could-

Your thought spiral is interrupted by the sound of a knock on your door. Two gentle raps, and then you hear his voice.

Think of an angel and he will appear.

“___, are you busy today?”

When you ignore your slightly quickened heartbeat to let him in, he looks just like the picture in your mind’s eye, sweet, practically glowing with warmth, save for the fact that you notice his hair is slightly damp and his skin dewy as if he’s just bathed. He’s wearing his Demon Slayer uniform but with his regular green and black checked haori over top and his sword is at his side as though he plans to travel. He smells good, and you hope you smell at least decent to him, too.

You shake your head no.

“Are you planning on going somewhere? Did you get a new mission?” you ask.

“No, I wanted to know…” he pauses for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling, “if you wanted perhaps to go out to town with me. I was hoping to congratulate you for your first mission.”

You blink twice. He really is always one step ahead of you, you realize.

Tanjiro lets his hand fall to the side and nods at you, now with a steadier expression. “You did a really great job.”

To this, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“You mean by staying alive while you cleaned up?” you ask. Tanjiro decides to indulge in your humor, insisting, “It wasn’t all me.” he insists.

Perhaps that much is true. Tanjiro is a good friend and mentor so it’s not odd that he would extend this kindness first. It’s also an opportunity it would be best to seize, treating him to udon or dango, and offering him some gratitude as well.

Your mind may shift from time to time to the time he used his own mouth to suck turbulent air from your unnatural breathing technique out of your own lungs, but he is simply a friend.

And friends can hang out.

—

“It’s a beautiful fit,” the shop owner says as you slip on a peach pink jacket with colorful embroidered petals and blossoms, the last of the four you’ve tried on to Tanjiro’s surprising patience, and glance at yourself in the mirror.

Something about this entire scene feels wrong but also right to you. For one, you’re not the one who suggested this particular shop - rather it was Tanjiro who insisted you consider window shopping with him, under the guise of finding something for Nezuko, but soon you’d realized that he hadn’t exactly picked anything out, content to watch you leaf through hung designs and listen to the shopkeeper’s promise of superior quality compared to the other stores in the district. You consider that whatever would look good on you would look good on Nezuko and with each trying on of a jacket, you offer pros and cons.

This one is a bit airy and light, very comfortable for summer time.

I think this one might clash with her hair color.

The texture’s too thick here, I’m not sure I like this one as much but it’s very high quality, I can tell.

This last one however is simply perfect in feel and design, and you feel somewhat bad when you turn to Tanjiro and sheepishly say,

“This one is super pretty. I know we’re shopping for Nezuko but I think I might buy this one for myself.” Tanjiro smiles as he rises from the chair in the corner. He’s sat politely for the past few minutes saying very little except nodding appreciatively.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he states as casually as if he were describing the weather, then turns to the older lady running the shop, the same lady who had spent a few minutes glancing between him and you as well, and you’d pretended not to notice.

“How much?” Tanjiro asks.

Surprised, you wonder if he hadn’t heard you.

The seamstress names her price and Tanjiro is quick to give money, before you finally hold in your need to be polite and nudge him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. He’s unfazed as he hands money over, then smiles at you.

“Buying you a gift.”

“You don’t have to…” you start, but trail off as the woman receiving the money shoots you a dirty look that has you fall silent.

“You’re right, I don’t have to. But I would like to,” he adds.

You leave the shop promptly with a parcel in your hand and the seamstress’ eyes on your back.

—

Perhaps you do look like a couple, even if that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Tanjiro won’t let you treat him to any of the food, insisting you save your money instead through bites of skewered meat and noodles, and you finally find out which bakery supplies the Castella he brings by for you and your friends, as well as the girls at the Butterfly Mansion.

It’s better than anything you’ve tasted in your time, even if you practically choke on a roll when the baker tells you Tanjiro is lucky to be in the company of a pretty girl.

In your own time, you’ve been called pretty before, but this description today strikes at the very pit of your stomach, filling it with butterflies. Does Tanjiro know that you’re pretty? Does he agree? You ponder this for a few moments, then you’re immediately embarrassed to be thinking something so childish.

Whether you’re pretty or not is moot. To him, you’re a younger sister to whom he buys gifts and food. Perhaps more pathetic since you are not related, since you have no one else, since you’re trapped here.

Tanjiro doesn’t answer the question you’ve posed in your head out loud, but he grins.

“I’m quite lucky indeed.”

—

As you walk side by side at the close of the evening, Tanjiro enthuses you in your progress, and you talk about all and nothing. There are red bean paste buns in your hand that you chew on idly between thoughts.

You’re not sure how the day went by so quickly, not while you were parallel processing, doing mental math to figure out what he thinks of you - as friend, as someone to dote on like a child, as someone who he could potentially…

No, that cannot possibly be it.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks. His cheeks are a warm pink and he’s looking straight ahead rather than at you, but his shoulders are relaxed and he bites and chews as he waits for your answer.

“Of course, I did,” you tell him. “This is…,” you pause, then continue, “probably the first time I’ve been anywhere nice, just for fun, since I got to this place.” Admitting it feels strange, but it’s true. Your life has now been limited to the mansion and towns you don’t know. Duty-driven, despair-driven, danger-driven.

Tanjiro looks at you for a moment, and for just a moment his look is wistful.

“Are you happy here?” he asks. Your mouth opens then closes, and then he quickly catches himself in a nervous laugh.

“Probably a stupid question, given none of your family is here, and you don’t have any of your technology and it’s not even your country and-”

You squeeze his hand for a moment.

“I’m happy now,” you offer him, then let go quickly. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

His mouth opens for a moment, and you wonder if you overstepped but he beams, and you wonder what you’d do without this small friendship.

“We should go back,” you quickly fill in before he can say something else and you can regret touching him. You’re the first to take a few steps forward, practically skipping, snacks and new clothing in hand, and you hear him behind you catching up.

“Yeah, let’s get you home safe.”

#tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fluff #daydreams: kny #mimi's notes #kny fluff #tanjimimi

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alt-vera · 1 year

Note

If you’re taking Joel requests, can I suggest a pre-virus where you’re being a good neighbourly citizen and always bringing him extra food you’ve cooked when you know he’s had a late shift (for Sarah and him) and one night there’s a knock at your door and he returns the favour of gifting you food, when Sarah’s at a friends house, so he stays for dinner and gets to know you except the dinner also comes with some slutty Joel

— cowboy take me away ⁀➷

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joel miller is surprised by how kind his new neighbour is. he decides he has to find a way to repay her.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

♡ | joel miller | 2.5k | ❛ cowboy take me away - the dixie chicks ❜

warnings: preoutbreak!joel miller. mentions of food/eating. thigh-riding. fingering. praise. piv sex. age gap. mdni.

note: very lowkey channeling that scene where jess brings rory food in gilmore girls n denies it was from him <3

❝ i wanna be the only one, for miles and miles, except for maybe you and your simple smile ❞

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JOEL HADN’T EXPECTED HIS NEW NEIGHBOUR TO BE SO… NEIGHBOURLY.

　Sure, he’d offer the polite wave and greeting every time the two of you would leave your houses at the same time, have small conversations when getting the mail, even sending out the offer to help you fix anything wrong with your new place.

　But Joel never imagined that he’d come home after a late shift to Sarah telling him how earlier you’d dropped off food for the two of them, and he certainly didn’t expect for it to become a common occurrence.

　It’s almost as if you had a sixth sense for when he’d be working late and couldn’t make Sarah a proper dinner. Or maybe you were just observational.

　At first, Joel was hesitant. Sure, he knew you, but he didn’t know you. What if you were some psycho freak who put poison in the food just for kicks?

　But one cautious bite into the dinner you made, and Joel knew that wasn’t the case. This food was prepared with heavy TLC; tender love and care.

　After two weeks of your graciously received meals, Joel decided to return the favour. He’d whipped up a hearty pasta salad, excusing it as a reason to use the stray veggies in the fridge for a nice summertime meal. You also seemed the healthy type; he’d snuck peeks of you doing yoga in your backyard multiple times, sports bra and leggings doing nothing to hide your figure.

　As he hovered his meaty fist over the solid wood of your door, the first pins of doubt began to needle him. Was this weird? Joel hadn’t been able to acknowledge your kindness at all, simply because he hadn’t seen you since you began your nearly daily meal runs. It was almost as if you were a ghost, dropping the food off to Sarah and disappearing into the simmering sunset.

　‘No,’ He finally decided. ‘I’m simply returning a favour.’

　He rapped at your thick door, the knocks echoing through the quiet neighborhood being painted by the hues of the sunset. A soft summer breeze flowed around him, cradling him with the smell of lilacs and faint barbecue.

　He tried not to jump when you answered the door almost instantly, a smile gracing your youthful features as your eyes scanned him. He suddenly felt very subconscious in his worn grey tee and ratty jeans. He shifted his weight in the soles of his workboots.

　“Joel Miller,” You greeted, elation present in your voice. “What can i do for you?”

　You didn’t address your dinner droppings at all, and Joel struggled to not let his eyes crinkle in confusion at that. Maybe it wasn’t you doing it? Or maybe you wanted to leave the simple kindness at that. Simple.

　Maybe he was overthinking everything, given he’d been there for only a minute.

　“I, uh, brought this for you,” He said gruffly, awkwardly holding out the tupperware filled with his delicately cooked pasta salad.

　“Come on in,” You welcomed, waving him into the house and shutting the door behind you. He took in his surroundings, breathing in the smell of lavender and linen, noticing how clean your house was despite being moved in for less than a month. He’d figured there’d still be boxes scattered around, like there was when he first moved into his house with Sarah, but everything was pristine and spotless.

　“Did Sarah put you up to this?” You asked, disappearing into the house. Joel took this as a cue to follow you, dinner still in hand as he clumsily shook off his heavy boots, listening to the sound of your voice to find you. “I told her you guys didn’t need to do anything in return. I just wanted to be helpful.”

　“Uh, yeah, she did,” Joel replied. A big fat lie. He did this entirely of his own volition. “Said I should return the kindness.”

　“Well, you might as well join me,” You replied softly, and Joel watched as you already moved to the cupboards, grabbing plates and cutlery. “Is it just you? Or should i grab another place setting for Sarah.”

　“No, she’s stayin’ the night at a friends house,” He replied, sitting down in the oaky chair at your kitchen table, putting the food down carefully, as if it were glass and he were afraid to drop and break it.

　You brought the place settings to him, and he watched you as you neatly organized everything, the smell of fresh flowers tickling his nose from the vase in the centre of the round table.

　You even went as far as to serve the food for him, pouring him a glass of water and making sure he had everything he needed before serving yourself and sitting down to eat.

　Joel tried not to relish in the domesticity of it all.

　“You really don’t need to bring us food,” He said after swallowing a bite of the meal, the sweetness of bell pepper lingering on his tongue. “Sarah can cook—well, she can cook grilled cheese and use the microwave, and that’s about it, but—“

　“No, no, I don’t mind,” You replied, smiling at him before taking a quick sip of water. “Sarah told me it was just the two of you, and I usually make too much anyway. I’m used to cooking for a big family, and now that i’m by myself…” You trailed off. “Well, i guess i’m just not used to portioning for one.”

　“Big family?” Joel prompted after a moment, not wanting silence to dig it’s sharp claws into the comfortable atmosphere around the two of you.

　You nodded. “Yup. Three brothers, all on sports teams. My mom worked a lot, ‘cuz she was an RN, so i’d have to make a lot of food for those knuckleheads. Learned how to barbecue at a very young age.”

　A chuckle escaped Joel at that. “Yeah, I know the feeling. My brother Tommy, well, he was on the football team. I mean, i was too, but boy he could turn a family sized meal into a meal for one.”

　The conversation flowed easily as the two of you ate. Talking about family, and the past, and the present. How the job Joel was currently working on was taking longer than it should. How you were settling into the neighbourhood.

　After the plates were cleared you set a chilled beer in front of Joel, the condensation beading and running down to create a wet ring on the top of your table.

　As he reached for a sip from the now half-empty bottle he winced, a sharp pain shooting through the muscles in his shoulder.

　“Bum arm?” You asked, and Joel nodded silently.

　“Been given me trouble for a few days now,” He mumbled, turning the cuff in a sloppy circle. “Must’ve pulled a muscle or somethin’.”

　You pulled your chair to him, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Here, let me see,” You offered, gently taking his arm into your hands.

　“I’m a physical therapist,” You said softly, as if to explain your actions. Joel tried to ignore the smell of your perfume, and the soft tingles your feather-light grip left in it’s wake as you gently stretched his shoulder.

　You pulled your hands away, and Joel’s arm suddenly felt very cold, goosebumps raising on his skin.

　“Is that better?” You asked with a lopsided grin.

　Joel nodded, eyes studying your face now that he was closer to you. He traced your nose with your eyes, zeroing in on the slight tint on your cheeks and the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked. How your lips turned as you smiled, and how the faint beginnings of crows feet settled into the corners of your eyes.

　Without thinking, he kissed you. It was all too much for him; the floral smells, the proximity, the domesticated actions. It gave him a sense of warmth, drawing something deep within him that longed for someone to share life with. The feeling of home that your presence gave him.

　You kissed back, as if you were waiting patiently this whole time for him to make a move. Your lips melded into his, becoming whole as his tongue moved along yours, muscles twisting and melting into each other. When you pulled away you gazed at him with wide eyes, face heating into a rosy bloom and lips dewy and parted.

　No words left either of you as you led him up the stairs, steps creaking under your feet, and the absent minded thought crossed Joel’s brain that he’d have to come back and fix those steps for you.

　He lost all train of thought, though, when the two of you entered your bedroom. Clothes were tossed lazily onto the floor as you stripped each other, shirts and pants being discarded haphazardly until you both stood in your underwear, bodies tangling.

　Joel laid you softly onto the cotton of your comforter, your head resting against the pattern of bluebonnets on your pillowcases. The air between you held so much raw animosity, such a strong difference from the homey aura you’d created down stairs. Your eyes were wild, waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do you first.

　His breath fanned your skin, hairs raising as he undid your bra, settling between your parted thighs as he gently took one pebbled bud into his mouth, his stubble creating small red marks on your breast in his wake. A light sound escaped you, airy and desperate. His fingers found your other nipple, twisting as he worked.

　He could feel the warmth radiating off your cunt, feel it clenching around his thigh as he pressed his leg against your panties, rubbing slightly to create a delicious friction that had you whispering his name.

　He couldn’t hide his smile at the sounds you were making. He inched himself lower, unlatching from your nipple as he peppered kisses down your stomach to your navel, stopping as he reached the band of your lacy underwear. He traced the fabric, fingers hooking into them as he pulled them down your thighs, calloused pads tracing shapes into the plushness of your thigh.

　You mumbled his name again, and Joel caught your gaze, eyes clouded with hazy lust. “You’ve been treating me so well, baby,” He said wantonly, “Now let me pay ya back.”

　He entered one finger into you, wetness coating him as your gummy walls sucked him in. It didn’t take long until you were ready for another, and as he entered a second digit he pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, sucking it gingerly. A high pitched whine left your lips, and Joel couldn’t resist as he grinned into your pussy.

　He loved the sounds you were making. They sounded like music to his ears, clouding his mind with a foggy lust that kept him on a single-minded train of thought. “Those noises all for me, baby?” He questioned, keen smile still on his lips as he watched you writhe beneath him.

　He watched you nod, mouth coming to form words that died in your throat as he hit a special spot inside of you, your eyes glazing over as you started bucking against his hand, holding his fingers in a vice grip as you came around them.

　“Please, Joel,” You breathed out after you recovered from your winded state. Your dainty fingers found the band of his boxers, curling around it as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

　“I wanna hear ya say it,” He teased, watching as your eyes glanced uncertainly between him and his tented underwear.

　You hesitated for a moment before the words tumbled between your swollen lips. “Please fuck me, Joel.”

　Joel groaned as he lewd sounds left your mouth, nudging your hands aside to replace them with his own, quickly working himself out of his boxers. The simple way you said his name was enough to get him worked up.

　He palmed himself, running his hand over his cock to stroke himself skillfully, a drop of precum leaking from the fat tip. He pulled you closer to him by your hips, leaving prints that would be sure to mark you come tomorrow. He dragged his length through your folds, collecting the sloppy wetness that had accumulated.

　He began to push in, slowly, giving you time to adjust. You braced yourself, in turn your cunt began clenching around him, the tightness making it nearly impossible for him to continue to enter you.

　“You’ve gotta relax, baby,” He cooed gently, his thumb releasing pressure to rub tight circles around the jutted bone of your hip. You melted into his pleasant touch, relaxing just as he asked. He pushed himself further into you, your warm walls stretching around him. “That’s it. Good girl.”

　He continued to rub those soothing circles into your skin as he pressed himself into you, hips meeting as he reached the hilt. You let out a shaky breath, the pain of being spread soon turning to a dull pleasure.

　“Move, please,” You begged, and Joel was sure to give in right away, hips rolling indulgently against yours as you let out sounds of satisfaction. Your noises spurred him on further, and his gentle rolls soon turned into harsher snaps, heavy balls making sinful slaps against your bare skin.

　“Joel!” You exclaimed lewdly at his rougher actions, his thumb coming to brush your clit as you squeezed him, pleasure coursing through your veins.

　“So well, baby,” He murmured, barely being heard over the sound of skin on skin. “You’re takin’ me so well.”

　He changed his angle into one that mimic his fingers earlier, finding that spot inside you that had you cursing and clenching around him, eyes lolling back into your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, high over taking you. You felt as though you were in the clouds, wild blue sky washing you in it’s waves.

　Seeing you come undone from his actions fed Joel into his own orgasm, rutting into you tirelessly until he felt as though he was about to snap. He pulled out quickly, thick ropes of hot spend coating your stomach as he pumped himself.

　He barely caught his breath before he was grabbing tissues off of your bedside table and wiping up the mess he had made. Only after you were cleaned up did he allow himself to collapse beside you, thick arms pulling you to rest against his bare chest.

　“It wasn’t Sarah’s idea,” He confessed after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I wanted to make ya dinner.

　“I know,” You replied, voice soft as he felt you smile against his skin.

　“I think i wanna make ya dinner again,” He spoke again, and you lifted yourself up to face him. His deep eyes stared back into your own, the corners crinkling as a grin spread across his face. It was warm, and sweet, like thick honey on a summer day.

　“If it means i can repay you the way you just repaid me, then i’m all for it.”

　You let out an airy laugh as Joel pulled you in for a soft kiss.

　“If it means I can be close to you like this,” He said fondly, “Then i’ll have to start cookin’ for ya more often.”

3K notes · View notes

the-midnight-blooms · 16 days

Text

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader

AU: historical au, joseon dynasty

word count: 10.5k

masterlist

I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You’ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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verstappensrealwife · 7 months

Text

Off Track Desire - Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

smut, fluff.

approx. 1100 words.

warnings: SEX, p in v, oral (fem receiving), swearing.

oscar piastri masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

As the anticipation mounted before the exhilarating sprint race in Qatar, you playfully bantered with your friend, Oscar Piastri, teasing that if he emerged victorious, you'd indulge in a more intimate form of celebration. Little did you anticipate that his performance would exceed al yourl expectations, but you found yourself not at all dismayed by the outcome of your playful wager.

With each rev of the engine, he poured his heart and soul into the race, his determination fueled not only by the pursuit of victory but also by the unspoken attraction between you both—a truth acknowledged by him, you, and the discerning eyes of Formula One enthusiasts worldwide.

Though he had openly expressed his desires, he opted instead to wait for the perfect opportune moment; it seemed that the chequered flag marked the perfect culmination of his ambitions.

As he soared past the finish line at breakneck speed, your jubilant cheers echoed through the air, a testament to the pride and elation swelling within you.

“Very nicely done everyone,” Oscar said in his radio, “Thank you, very much. Very Very well managed and uhh, yes, tell Y/N I still expect the gift she promised me.” He finished before the radio crackled.

With the race behind him, Oscar emerged from his car, the visor of his helmet lifted to reveal a visage glistening with sweat—a detail inconsequential in the face of your overwhelming admiration. Rushing into his embrace, you held him close, your heart brimming with pride and affection.

"I am beyond proud of you, Osc!" you exclaimed amidst the cacophony of cheering fans, your words a testament to the depth of your admiration.

A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes as he playfully inquired, "So, am I still entitled to my reward?" Though delivered in jest, the underlying sincerity in his tone left no room for doubt.

Your cheeks flushed with a vibrant crimson hue as you stumbled over your words, "I- Yes," the embarrassment evident in your voice, eliciting a smirk from him.

"I’ll see you later then, yeah?" he remarked, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. Your response was a silent nod, your mind still reeling from the exchange. "Oh, and wear something pretty for me," he added with a suggestive tone.

As the heat of your blush persisted, you could only manage a wordless acknowledgment, your thoughts consumed by the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Later that night, he arrived at your hotel room, rapping his knuckles against the door before you welcomed him in. His eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight before him. Clad in daring red and black lace that left little to the imagination.

With a swift motion, he shut the door behind him, his hand finding the nape of your neck, pulling you into a fervent kiss. Your breath hitched as his lips claimed yours, igniting a fire within you. The room was cast in shadows, the soft glow of the bathroom light providing the only illumination, while the moon's gentle rays filtered through the curtains. The king-sized bed, draped in delicate pink sheets provided by the hotel, awaited your passionate embrace.

"God, I would've killed to see you like this a few months ago," he murmured, his urgency palpable as he guided you towards the bed, his desire undeniable.

"What's the hurry?" you teased, a playful glint in your eye. "I'm all yours."

Pressed against the wall, his hands firmly gripping your hips, you could feel his arousal pressing against you. His lips trailed along your jawline, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled just below your ear. "Tell me what you want me to do," he whispered huskily.

"You tell me," you moaned in response.

Before you knew it, you found yourself seated on the edge of the bed, his head buried between your thighs, his expert tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Gripping his hair, you guided him, relishing in his every touch and groan.

After reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy once, twice, three times, he rose to his feet, shedding his clothes with haste. "Let me know if I'm too much," he breathed, his eyes ablaze with desire.

Propped against the pillows, you welcomed him, feeling him enter you slowly, eliciting a breathy moan from both of you. Each movement was gentle at first, his kisses sweet and his whispers tender. But soon, his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more forceful and erratic, with no real rhythm, you love the feeling. His head falls back, abs flexing, satisfied moans falling out as his hips go back and forth. “So fucking good, baby. You’re being so fucking good for me.”

His hips flexed, his words a symphony of passion as you both reached the peak together, your cries of pleasure mingling in the air. "So good," he gasped, his voice trembling with satisfaction, as you surrendered to the intoxicating bliss of the moment.

He tells you how close he is and it pushes you over the edge. Both finishing at the same time, “Fuck- Fuck-Fuck.” his voice cracks a little as he finishes inside of you.

In the serene quietude that followed their passionate union, a gentle calm settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic cadence of their intertwined breaths. Lost in the tender reverie of the moment, they found solace in the comforting embrace of each other's arms, their hearts beating in harmonious synchrony.

As the moon cast its soft glow upon the room, Oscar's gaze lingered upon you, his eyes alight with a newfound clarity and determination. With a soft, hesitant breath, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering against your skin.

"Y/N," he began, his voice soft and earnest, "I know we've always danced around it, but… Do you wanna maybe be my girlfriend… like officially."

A flutter of anticipation danced in your chest as you met his gaze, the question hanging in the air between you. With a tender smile, you nodded, your heart overflowing with warmth and affection.

"Yes, Oscar," you whispered, your heart brimming with joy, "I'd love to."

A flicker of relief and joy danced in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his gaze locking with yours in an unspoken promise of affection.

el fin.

still cant write smut too well. im working on it shhh

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yrqrnc · 3 months

Text

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 STRAY KIDS : SMILING WEIRD AT THEM UNTIL THEY NOTICE

genre: fluff, crack, pranks

pairing: skz x reader

bringing the tiktok pranks back bcs i need funny headcanon ideas to write 😁🙏🏻

some member's parts might be a bit shorter than the rest bcs i wrote some while being sugar high at 2:50 in the morning so pls excuse that

leave comments, reblog, and feedbacks pls <3

𖤐 CHAN : —

is 70% concerned 30% holding his laugh

you approached him and started a normal conversation on a very normal thursday afternoon so he thought everything was nice and ok in the house and with you???

he guesses not, a minute or two into the talk 😟

bcs why are you smiling at him in a way that would summon his sleep paralysis demon at night???

he already sleeps so less now he fears he will have to sleep even less.

is too worried to say anything about it because what if this is actually your true smile and you’re just getting comfortable around him and he hurts your feelings by making a comment about it?

right????

but he’s also starting to get scared because wHAT HAPPENED TO HIS BABY YOU’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE 😭😭😭 WHAT WENT WRONG ⁉️

PLS BRING THEM BACK 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

doesn’t say anything but gets so tensed during the convo and gives you this look that has you breaking character shortly after, bcs you burst out laughing and going back to that cute big smile he was used to and the one he adored.

(sorry, writer-break-in: now if anyone comments abt how they ugly laugh, i’m gonna smash my guitar on your head. chris says that’s cute, so it’s cute. you don’t get a say.)

then he’s like “oh ☺️ that’s it. here they are <3”

thinks about it when he lays in his bed at night tho

might make him rethink everything and consider your health (mental & physical) for a couple days 😕👎🏻

𖤐 MINHO : —

right, ok. so, he notices it so quick

this man is VERYYY very very observant and he knows you like the back of his hand

so the moment you flash your worst smile as he’s in the midst of talking, taking just the chance when he looked to the side for a sec—

he catches it from his peripheral vision, snaps his head at you and he goes 🤨⁉️ (15% concerned 85% judging)

stares at you silently for a while after that, trying to figure you out

🧍🏻😾❓️ (yes.)

when you act completely normal and ask him why he stopped, telling him to continue and all that, he cautiously goes back to saying what he had been talking about

but then you pull your shit again and he catches it this time too right away

(bcs he’s always looking at you when he’s talking. he looks at you when you’re talking too. he looks at you. he just loves looking at you, that’s honestly it. bro is just an eye-contact and make their knees weak type of person)

and he knows he isn’t high

looks straight at you and goes — “what’s wrong with this one... 😐”

and you’re all like “what??? 😠🦿🦿 what’s wrong w me???” bcs how dare he say that in that tone

“why are u making yourself look like that plushie whose face doongie scratched up last week”

LMAOOOO 😭😭😭 SAVE YOURSELF

so you’re throwing hands now (& terribly failing) and this is the only part of your stupid prank that minho is finding fun

𖤐 CHANGBIN : —

HELP.

doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry someone pls take him away from you 🙁🙏🏻

he’s just casually telling you about this sick rap that he came up with yesterday night in the studio

and you’re nodding and laughing, and he turns to focus on you more and finds you like: 😁 i mean 👹???

and the lOOK THAT PASSES THROUGH HIS EYES AND THE WAY HIS SMILE DROPS SO SLOWLY

WITH AN EYE TWITCH TOO

LORD HELP ME

no HELP SEO CHANGBIN ACTUALLY

bro freezes but then he tries to play it chill, chuckling and being like “right... 😄☝🏻 hahah hahahahah so i was saying... ”

but you keep doing it and he can’t ignore it anymore 😔

“...baby what’s wrong? do you feel sick?” and that too in such a scared voice yOU CAN'T KEEP UP THE ACT ANYMORE

once you tell him it’s a prank, relief washes over him like cold water on a scorching hot summer day and he laughs along with you

might haunt him when he’s alone in his studio at midnight tho

𖤐 HYUNJIN : —

judges you.

no i’m not even gonna try to be funny first

HE JUDGES 👨‍⚖️

you do it and he instantly goes “😦😣 what the fuck”

and you’re like “what? what happened?”

and he doesn’t even know what to say

then he switches up just as quickly and starts yapping again

but you do it again too

and he’s so fed up he goes “dude tf wrong w u 🙄”

and when you keep doing it, he starts iMITATING YOU TO MOCK YOU😭😭

now you’re both just flaring your teeth and gums at each other while cackling in between too, and anyone watching would’ve started praying honestly

later that day, after finding out it was a prank he’s just thinking... why is my partner like this... 😟

he loves u tho <3

𖤐 JISUNG : —

honestly bro...

he finds you adorable :(

like, you guys are casually talking one evening

and he’s telling you about this new anime he watched recently, that almost made him cry

and he’s telling you the amazing sad plot and all, and out of nowhere you just 😁

first he’s really caught off guard bcs... girl (gn!) what 😟 i said??? i almost???? CRIED??? HEARTBREAK?????

but then he just looks at you as you keep up w the goofiness when he speaks again, and he thinks to himself

:(“i love this idiot so much even tho i do feel half irritated and offended right now”

bcs even if you’re pulling your ugliest smile rn, he loves that sparkle in your eyes as you stifle a laugh back and the way almost break character everytime you make eye contact with him

sorry guys this is getting soft but

jisung just loves you very much ☹️☹️☹️

prank is all forgotten, you are just two young people in love <3

𖤐 FELIX : —

i would say he already knows what the trend is, but that’s really boring so let’s pretend that he’s actually getting fooled here.

the moment he sees u doing it, that epic felix thing happens again— where his smile gradually just drops and he has that :0 face in the funniest way

he isn’t sure if he should speak bcs what if that unleashes more of that demon in u 😓

he’s torn between two things actually: should he hug you and try to squish the demonic smile out of you, or should be just stay away and give u your space until ur okay again

bcs he isn’t sure about how fine you are with the way you’re smiling at him right now

he might just be like:

“haha hahahahah hahahah ok we laughed now can we pls have my partner and their sweet smile back 🙁”

genuinely doesn’t know what to do

half of him is scared, half finds you very cute, some other bits are thinking of ways to get back on a a prank of his lololololz

he decides to continue speaking bcs maybe you’ll get distracted by the talk and come back to him normally again

doesn’t happen. so now he’s just there and thinking abt how to fix u 😞🙏🏻

𖤐 SEUNGMIN : —

you hate him

you hate him so bad

he doesn’t give you any reaction AT ALL 😐👎🏻

you start off gentle at first, right, like doing it when he wasn’t looking and then gradually more intensely and so he could clearly see

but nothing. no weird looks. no comments. no judgement.

NOTHING AT ALL?!^#^*@#,

at some point you get all up in his face and you’re like 😁😁😁👹😁😁😁👹😁😁❓️❓️❓️

and mf just keeps talking like nothing is wrong or off

it gets you more and more frustrated with each passing second but man, if you’d put that irritation aside and looked more closely into his facial expressions,

you would’ve seen the way the corner of his mouth lifted in the slightest and that glint of mischief in his eye

but you don’t 🙄

when you finally give up and go “babe why aren’t you asking me why i’m smiling weird??? 😕”

he... he says... he’s like—

“huh? but don’t you always smile like that?”

damn y/n 😥💔 that’s how it was huh

you’re abt to poke his eyeballs out and then shit tears yourself

jk dw tho he’s just teasing you

he stays with felix enough to know about these ideas

and from how you’ve done multiple pranks on him before, everytime you do something weird or out of place now, he just assumes you’re onto some prank

𖤐 JEONGIN : —

HE GETS SCARED PLS DONT😭

NO LIKE he actually starts taking it in all the wrong ways

when he sees you smiling like that.. there’s this STORM of emotions that starts cooking up inside him 😭

“are they ok” “are they mad at me and trying to play it off” “is this a trick move” “is this a prank and if so how should i react that it would make me seem cool and—”

but then... SUDDENLY

he suddenly remembers this piece of information he read on the internet LONG time back, like, AGES ago !! that said like

if someone is having a stroke or about to, their smile will be crooked / really weird and off/abnormal

....

no way... right ?

HIS BABY 😟😕🥺🥺😭😭😭 (emojis are satire im not—)

“...baby 😨😰 i think... i think you’re about to have a stroke 😣 or ARE YOU HAVING IT ALREADY 😰😢😢 HAS IT STARTED😭⁉️”

now ur not sure if u should stop or continue and whether u should laugh, cry or bonk him in the head

but he’s just a jeongin 🙁🎀

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vashtijoy · 2 months

Note

I wanted to ask if you could clear this up for me, if you play in third semester and you get to Maruki's Reality, we see Akechi appear to turn himself in on Christmas Eve so, Im not sure exactly why we dont see him do so when you go back to The True Reality? what was the reason for it, Im not clear on it a bits

Hi! In short, Atlus want to maintain the mystery of whether Akechi is canonically dead or alive. Thanks for your question!

... okay, okay. More seriously, Akechi arriving on Christmas Eve is the first use we see Maruki make of his enhanced power. Akechi is present in Shibuya to take the rap for Ren because Maruki puts him there. So when that is later undone, Akechi is no longer there—and Ren was arrested and detained, all along. Just as he was in the vanilla game.

but doesn't maruki's reality start on 12/31?

We-ell... kind of. As he says in his 1/1 journal entry, Maruki finally merges Mementos with reality late on 12/31, when Ren has his dream about the butterfly. But he's already using his new power before that point, to do nice things for his friends, the Phantom Thieves.

It's not just Akechi in Shibuya. The Christmas Eve party in Royal is very different from its counterpart in vanilla—well, sure. Ren's not in detention, so the whole mood is different. They talk about Akechi, but then they just move on to have fun. Well, it is Christmas.

But the New Year's party is a strange sequence of pleasant events. Futaba calls it "an actual, real-life good ending"! We hear not just that Ren's conviction is likely to be overturned, but that Shido is to be prosecuted for the crimes he confessed. In February, of course, Sae will tell us that it took months just to document his confession, and that he's being prosecuted only for breaches of electoral and funding law.

Something else to note about the Royal Christmas and New Year events: to my ear, they have a glib, superficial tone. Don't you think so? Matters of import come up, but the team move past them, to talk about trivialities, about their party and the fun they're having. It's kind of nice; this is who they might have been without the weight of responsibility, of grief. But equally, that weight should be there.

This is illustrated in the script. Both events feature a long string of sound effect emotes:

These SE lines are never translated, but what you see here is Joker, Ryuji, and Ann laughing—waraigoe, the sound of laughter, literally "a laughing voice". This laugh, on New Year's Eve, continues through the whole group, not just the Phantom Thieves but also Sojiro and even Sae.

Coincidence? There are group laughs later, after Joker is released, and at the big confidant party. But those are just attributed to 全員 zen'in ("everybody"), or 一同 ichidou ("all present"). These lists of identical laugh lines at the start of Maruki's reality are just a little bit unnerving. By the time of Maruki's bad ending, those brief lapses into reality, with all of its unpleasantness, are gone.

So yes, in small ways, Maruki is using his power even before he merges Mementos with reality late on 12/31. And here's one last thing to pay attention to on 12/24. You know how Maruki alters reality itself, by altering people—by changing everyone's cognition so that the world agrees on its new nature? Watch Sae, during this scene.

She's surprised, sure—but she never seems surprised that Akechi is alive. She's just surprised that he's turning himself in. In the vanilla scene, on the other hand, she explicitly says that Akechi is missing. Ren can bring up that Akechi is back from the dead, but Sae doesn't seem to care!

Wheels within wheels.

so where's akechi in the "real" timeline?

Can of worms. Which "real timeline"? There are two, depending on whether or not you maxed Akechi's confidant. In the vanilla timeline, you don't get him to rank 8 before the engine room, and he dies behind the door. But in the Royal timeline, you do get him to rank 8, and you keep your promise, and that gives Akechi the will to live.

(Yes, this is what I currently believe. And more than that, I think it's the true meaning of that creator interview, "the player's feelings are equivalent to the protagonist's cognition". It doesn't mean that guy on the platform can be a randomer in his school uniform or a ghost!—it means there's one route where he's dead, and one where he's alive.)

In the game as released, we don't know where Akechi is. But in his February deleted scene—where he's clearly alive—he tells us where he was, for precisely this reason.

He wasn't in Shibuya at all. He was at this refuge, wherever it is, going into hiding. He wasn't around to save Ren.

If this scene had been left in, this would have been the moment Akechi came out of safety, out of hiding, and gave up on his life—to do what's right once more, to confirm his 12/24 decision, and face justice in Ren's place. If you think Maruki altered him, and he would never have turned himself in otherwise—watch this scene again. Yeah, we were robbed.

what else does akechi say?

On 2/2, Akechi tells us how it happened:

Let's take a quick look at that line in Japanese:

Akechi けど、君たちと戦ったあと⋯{F1 82}ともう一度会うまで僕の中にハッキリした記憶はなかった。 kedo, kimi-tachi to tatakatta ato... [Ren] to mou ichido au made boku no naka ni hakkiri shita kioku wa nakatta But after I fought against you all, I had a gap in my memory that ended with meeting up with [Ren] again. [lit. But, after I fought with you and the others… until I met back up with [Ren], I had no clear memories.]

hakkiri shita—"clear; distinct; vivid; plain; explicit; well-defined; sharp; loud and clear". hakkiri to kioku shiteiru—"to remember clearly". hakkiri shinai kioku—"unclear memories". hakkiri shita kioku—"clear memories".

Note that well. Akechi is not saying that he remembers nothing. He's saying he remembers nothing clear, which is substantively different, and not conveyed well by the English "a gap in my memory".

(He also switches address mid-sentence—in the first half of the line, he's addressing Ren as kimi ("you"), but then he cuts off, and addresses him as Ren. It looks like he switches from talking directly to Ren to talking to Maruki. And if you remember him being a dick about that moment on 1/2... this might be the line that reveals that actually, yeah, their promise in the engine room really did matter to him.)

Akechi believes he's dead on 2/2; I think there can be no question of that. There isn't a big reveal that he was alive all the time. And you can't even get this scene if you didn't max his confidant, if you didn't keep the promise—if Akechi didn't survive.

But there is an afterlife in the Persona universe, from which characters have even spoken—so I'd like to hear a little more, some day, about these "unclear memories" of his.

but how can he be alive

Bear in mind that the third semester looks identical (besides that engine room flashback on 1/2), regardless of whether or not you maxed Akechi's confidant. That's to say, whether Akechi dies in the engine room or not, the third semester does not change.

That means that everyone's perceptions of it cannot change. That includes Akechi. If he was dead and Maruki revived him, then he has no memories before he awakens in Shibuya, because he was dead. But if he wasn't dead—if he was at the refuge we see him at in the deleted scene, or in Hawaii, or on the Moon—if Maruki believes that he was dead, and attempts to revive him based on that conviction—

Well, then he creates a world where Goro Akechi died behind those shutters, doesn't he? A world where Akechi remembers nothing before he awakens in Shibuya, because now he was dead for those weeks. A world where, even though you saved him, Akechi died in the engine room. Just like in the vanilla timeline.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.2 (2024/07/13)—wording.

v1.1 (2024/07/12)—added a bit about how akechi bookends 1/2 and 2/2.

v1.0 (2024/07/12)—first posted.

#persona 5 #p5 meta #goro akechi #takuto maruki #i hate maruki's reality

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heavenlyhischier · 3 months

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

word count: 12k words

summary: One night changes your relationship with Nico, and just when you think it was exactly what you wished for, you go back home feeling even more confused than you ever had before.

warnings: poorly translated german, cursing, drinking, kissing in a storage closet, angst (of course), Minors DNI 18+ themes below the cut; smut, unprotected sex, also nico is a major major idiot at the end

note: thank you everyone for your patience. i know it's taken me forever to get this out but it's here! this is slightly unedited (i tried) so please excuse any mistakes ahaha

series masterlist | prev part

When you woke up the next morning, memories of what had occurred merely a few hours ago instantly flooded your mind nearly making you dizzy. The feeling of his fingertips pressed into your hips, of his lips on yours, on your neck, singed your skin like it was happening all over again. You were entirely expecting to wake up to find out that it was really a dream, but not even you could make up the feeling of electricity that shocked your body when he kissed you. There was no imagining that.

Charlie had her leg thrown over your own, making slipping out undetected a challenge, but you deemed yourself successful when your feet were planted on the ground and all she did was tightly wrap herself up in the blanket. You carefully tiptoed out of the guest room, making sure to stay quiet in case the others were still sleeping, as you went in the correct direction to the bathroom. However, when you’re outside the door, Luca walks out and nearly sends you toppling onto the floor when you collide with him.

He quickly grabs onto your elbows, keeping your body upright as a quiet chuckle passes through his lips. Your body heats up in embarrassment, your eyes staying trained on his chest as you step away from him once you’re steady on your feet. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet, waiting for Luca to move away from the door so you can step inside to brush your teeth, but you can feel his eyes linger on you for a moment longer than you thought necessary.

“All yours,” Luca finally says, an amused hint to his voice, before he walks around you, “Nice hickey, by the way.”

Your head snaps towards him, eyes wide and mortified as he disappears back into his room without another word or another glance in your direction. You quickly rush into the bathroom, flipping the light switch on and leaning towards the mirror as your eyes explore the expanse of your neck. Sure enough, there was a decent-sized bruise slapped on the skin just above your collarbone. You covered it with your hand, panic filling your veins as you tried to figure out just exactly how you were going to hide that from his entire family.

The three of you hadn’t initially planned on staying overnight, and the only clothing you had brought with you was the dress you had shown up in. Your entire clavicle was exposed in said dress, and Charlie’s shirt was just as, if not more, revealing, so switching with her would be useless. The idea of someone else seeing the mark on your neck made you want to vomit in sheer humiliation, so you quickly brushed your teeth and filtered out of the bathroom before anyone else could see you.

Instead of walking back to the guest room, you stand outside the door of the person responsible and quickly rap your knuckles against the wood. You can hear his faint voice, and you hope that he said come in because that’s exactly what you did. You rushed into his room, closing the door behind you as you stood in the doorway, your shoulders heaving as you tried to calm your uneven breathing. Nico’s gaze lands on you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he takes in your disheveled appearance, but then he sees it.

He can’t help but let out a laugh as you walk towards him, your voice worried and strained as you speak, “It isn’t funny, Nico! I can’t go out in front of your family like this.”

He can see the genuine panic in your eyes, and a part of him feels bad for accidentally bruising your neck. He knows his family is likely to see it, but he also knows they wouldn’t say anything to make you uncomfortable. They wouldn’t think any differently of you either, and he knows that’s going through your mind. He can see the distress written in the way your brows are furrowed and the way your shoulders are nearly to your ears, and he knows he needs to find a solution to ease your blooming anxiety.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He says, his voice soft and careful as his fingers twitch towards you, “You can borrow one of my shirts and ask Charlie if you can borrow the pants she brought. She can wear your dress.”

“Yeah, because that won’t be suspicious,” You groaned, letting your head fall backward in frustration as your hands ball into fists at your side.

“It won’t be,” He chuckles as he steps towards you, his eyes soft as he hesitantly takes your hands in his own. He carefully separates your fingers from your palm, his thumb delicately rubbing the skin as he continues, “Just tell them you didn’t want to wear the dress back because it was uncomfortable. Problem solved.”

The air around the two of you was thick with a mixture of emotions that slightly overwhelmed you. You knew what happened last night was going to shift things with Nico, but now that the adrenaline rush from then had come and gone, you were back to being nervous around him. His touch made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, your eyes wide and impressionable as your mind drifted towards the same insecurities from only hours ago.

“Okay,” You eventually breathe out, forcing yourself to step away and pull your arms back to your body before your doubts become too overbearing, “If you think it’ll work.”

His face twisted in confliction as he watched you retreat into yourself the same way you had done last night. He could tell that you were slightly pulling away from him in fear. Of what? Nico wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew he needed to find out before you managed to convince yourself that whatever you were thinking was rooted in truth. However, he knew that, unfortunately, now wasn’t the best time for that and he was going to have to wait until the two of you were alone again.

You went back to the guest room shortly after, Nico’s old hockey shirt in hand, to see Charlie now wide awake and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes instantly darted towards the fabric between your fingers before landing on your neck. She harshly slapped the spot next to her with a slight smirk on her face even though she had already put the pieces together. After you had recounted the events from last night, and she relentlessly teased you for the mark near your neck, you slipped her jeans and Nico’s t-shirt on before going downstairs for breakfast.

Only his parents and sister were in the kitchen, and they all three gently pushed you away when you asked if you could do anything to help. Nina only gave your new outfit a passing glance before she went back to finish helping her parents prepare breakfast, leaving you to sit in the living room as you waited. Luca was the second one to come down, the two of you sharing brief eye contact before you bashfully snapped your gaze away from him.

“Nice shirt,” He teases, his voice thick with amusement as he sits in the chair.

“Aufhören, Luca,” You heard Nico call out from behind you, his tone holding a slight sense of warning towards his older brother as he reached the bottom of the stairs. (Stop)

You glanced towards him to see a reassuring smile on his face as he fell into the spot next to you, the cushion dipping with his weight. He could still see a slight sense of apprehension on your face, but he wanted you to know he meant everything he had said last night without saying it so openly in front of his family. Although, if he knew that would have been something you would want, he would do it, but he knew you better than that. Having that much attention on you was only going to cause more harm than good.

For now, he was going to do his best to drop the most subtle, yet not subtle at all, hints he can. He throws his arm over the cushion behind you before shifting in his spot, his thigh pressing against your own with only the most minimal amount of space between your sides. A wave of nerves wash over you as you divert your eyes to your hands that were clasped in your lap, your heart thudding in your chest as the two of them continue.

“I’m only joking,” He brushes off, slightly shaking his head, “Maybe now I won’t have to listen to you complain about ho–”

“Okay,” Nico’s voice smothering Luca’s as his face flushed and he nervously cleared his throat, steering the conversation to a different topic, “Why don’t you go help in the kitchen?”

“Tried earlier,” He chuckles, “Mom said I’m still forbidden from cooking after last time.”

It wasn’t long after that Finn and Charlie joined the three of you in the main room, the conversation flowing naturally without any mention of the random change in clothing. Although, they both took notice to the closeness of you and Nico and passed you teasing, knowing smiles that you paid no mind to as you focused on the others. Eventually, Katja called for her sons to set the table once they were finishing up with the food, but all five of you stood to help with the small task.

Breakfast went by quickly, almost too quickly, and you already began to miss his family. While it had only been less than a day in their presence, they were nothing short of welcoming, kind, and caring. They were everything you already knew Nico to be, everything you had always admired about him, and you wished there were more people like them in the world. They never once made you feel like an outsider or like you didn’t belong, only ever treating you like you were family despite having just met. Though, if you were to ask, they would tell you it felt like they had known you for years with how often Nico spoke about you.

When it was time for the three of you to head back to the train station, his mom hugged you tightly and mumbled something you didn’t quite understand in your ear. Judging by the way Nico’s face got redder and Nina had to stifle her own laugh, you could form an idea as to what was said. You chose not to focus on it too much, moving to bid goodbye to the rest of the Hischier family, Finn included, minus Luca who was driving you back to the station.

“You will have to come back soon,” Katja called out as the four of you gathered by the door, a gentle smile on her face, “You will always have a room here.”

“Nächstes mal braucht sie ihre eigene nicht,” Finn teased as he playfully raises his eyebrows at both you and Nico. (Next time she won’t need her own.)

Your eyes flicked towards Nico, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion because you didn’t recognize any of the words he had said. He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, mumbling something along the lines of ‘not important’ before he ushered you and Charlie out of the house. Luca follows suit, a mixture of voices calling out final goodbyes right up until the door is shut behind you.

The entire ride back to the train station was full of all four of you discussing plans for your last day in Switzerland. Luca had suggested that the four of you, Nina, and Finn plus a few others go out to a club in Bern, but Nico was quick to suggest that you do that the night before because you had a nine-hour flight the next day and doing that trip hungover wasn’t the best idea. By the time everyone was in agreement, though it didn’t take much effort to get there, Luca was pulling into the parking lot.

Your goodbye with him, while still meaningful, was more playful and mischievous in a way that made you realize you missed Jack more than you had initially thought. Nico had already bought your tickets online, rebuffing any idea of you paying him back for them as he led you through the crowd of people. You heard Charlie’s quiet whisper of an idea for repayment, but you paid her no mind and did your best to keep the blush from crawling onto your cheeks as you walked slightly behind Nico.

On the train, it was you who had made the decision to sit across from Charlie rather than beside her, which did not go unnoticed by either her nor Nico. He couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on his face as he gracefully took the seat next to you, both of you ignoring the teasing gaze of the girl across from you. You were so focused on staring out the window, trying to conceal your flushed cheeks, that you missed the way Nico’s eyes lingered on you far longer than what would be considered normal, but Charlie didn’t. She never did.

By the time the three of you were finally back at Nico’s apartment, he had to leave almost as soon as you walked through the door. He had nearly forgotten about the training session he was scheduled to attend until he received a text from one of the guys he was going with. Before he left, he had mentioned something about going out for dinner this evening if you and Charlie were okay with that, but otherwise, he had nothing else in mind.

You and Charlie had decided to stay at the apartment and lounge around for the day since you hadn’t really taken any time to relax during the entire duration of your trip. You sat on the couch, flipping through Nico’s Netflix account before deciding on some random romantic comedy you had both seen a dozen times. Though neither of you made it through half of the movie before you were sound asleep.

The sound of someone down the hall from the apartment slamming their door startled you awake, your body jolting upwards as you tried to rid yourself of the fog clouding your head. There was now a random movie playing on the screen and Charlie was still sprawled on the other end with her mouth slightly dropped open and soft snores passing through her lips. You carefully reached for the remote that was tucked underneath her side to turn the TV off before you picked up your phone to check the time.

You had two missed texts from Nico letting you know that his session was running a bit longer than usual, but he would be back before six in the evening and that he had made the reservation for seven. You also had a string of texts from Jack who was updating you on the antics you were missing at the lake house, telling you that everyone missed you, and how he was waiting for you to get there so he could finally win at beer pong. A small, amused smile formed on your face as you shook your head, texting him and asking if he would be busy in an hour so you could Facetime and tell him about how the trip was going.

His response was almost instant, and you couldn’t stop the guilt from creeping on you as Charlie’s words from the night before echoed in your mind. You hadn’t meant to make Jack feel like you were mad at him, but you truly didn’t think he would think much of the way you had slightly backed off. You knew how he felt about Charlie, and her about him, and you assumed that he would want to primarily talk to her and not hear repeats of the same adventures. A small part of you was also worried that maybe he wouldn’t be interested in talking to you at all anymore.

While Jack had always made it known with all of his girlfriends in the past that you were a permanent fixture in his life, the underlying feeling that you would be tossed to the side was always there. Of course, you knew Charlie would never be that kind of girl, especially given the fact that she valued her friendship with you over anything, the feeling still lingered. You never voiced it out loud because you knew it sounded stupid, and that is exactly what both of them would say to you if you did.

The decision to shower came easy once you glanced at the time and also realized you hadn’t showered since before you had left yesterday. You made a point to take your time and focus on getting everything done just in case there was a potential repeat of what happened last night. By the time you finished, the entire bathroom was full of steam and the walls were damp with condensation from how hot the water was.

Slipping out of the bathroom and into your temporary room, you made quick work to change into more comfortable clothes before blow-drying your hair. Once you were finished, you went back into the living room to wake Charlie up so she had plenty of time to shower and get ready before you left. She tried to brush you off, mumbling incoherent words as she buried her face in the cushions, but you didn’t let her. You knew she would sleep the rest of the day if she could.

After some gentle coaxing, you managed to get her off the couch and into the bathroom with her leaving a passing comment about how foggy the mirror still was. You retreated back into the room down the hall, making a spot in front of the mirror to finish styling your hair before you texted Jack and asked if now was a good time to Facetime, and not even ten seconds later your phone was ringing.

“You’re alive,” Jack cheerfully greets, a blinding grin on his face as he shuts the door to what you assume is his room, “Swiss life treating you well?”

You could hear the faint sound of the front door shutting followed by a quiet voice and footsteps down the hallway. The click of Nico’s door closing reaches your ears as you turn all your focus back on Jack, who is now lying on his bed with a smug look on his face. You ignore his look as you try to balance your phone on the makeshift stand you put together so you can talk while you get ready.

“Hey,” Jack suddenly yells, making your eyes widen in confusion as your arms retreat back to your sides, “That’s a hickey! Whose dirty mouth did you have on your neck?”

Your entire body stilled, embarrassment crawling against every inch of your skin as you stared at Jack, your jaw slack like you had been caught doing something unimaginable. His outward appearance was that of someone who was pretending to be disturbed with his narrowed eyes and scrunched nose, but his eyes were swimming with amusement as he awaited whatever excuse you managed to come up with.

“What are you talking about,” You chose to feign confusion, looking away from him as you looked into the mirror and tried to angle your body away from him, “I think it’s just a shadow.”

“No, I know what hickeys look like,” He draws your name out, sitting up as he brings his phone closer to his face, “I’ve given my fair share, and that, my friend, is a hickey. Who’s the lucky guy? You and Nico finally stop pretending like you don’t want to jump each other's bones and just get it on?”

Jack was mostly joking when he said that, mostly because he didn’t think either of you was going to be brave enough to make a move, especially not when Charlie was there. However, when you nearly choked on nothing but the air passing through your lips and he watched your face turn an entirely different shade, he knew what he said had some truth to it.

“Oh, you so did,” His voice was strained as he spoke through his laughter, “You two boned!”

“No,” You rushed out, aggressively shaking your head as you scrambled to turn the volume down in case Nico could hear it, “We didn’t bone, Jack.”

“Not yet,” He sang, an even bigger grin on his face, “I’d put money on you two hooking up before you come back.”

“Oh my god! You’re so annoying,” You groaned, throwing your head back in slight humiliation, “You couldn’t have just pretended not to notice?”

He says nothing, instead meeting your gaze as he quirks his brow before both of you double over in laughter. Expecting Jack to not say something about something as obvious as a hickey was like expecting them to let Luke drive the boat; it was simply impossible. Once the two of you were able to catch your breath, to finally have a normal conversation, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. A weight that only a conversation with your closest friend could make disappear.

The next few days were full of adventure and excitement as Nico, along with Luca who was now back in Bern, took you and Charlie on hikes or to various different places around the city. While some hikes were more difficult than others, they allowed you to see some of the most beautiful creations of nature that you would never get back home. The busy schedule also allowed you to nearly forget the lurking insecurities that would gnaw at your heart anytime you were alone with Nico for even a second, but the way he kept subtly trying to bring it up didn’t.

When the evening before your last day in Switzerland came, Nico left his apartment to you, Charlie, and his sister to get ready while he and Finn left for his brothers. Music softly played in the background as the three of you told stories that incited laughter and comments that would make anyone who heard them blush. Nina gave helpful tips as to what one would typically wear to the kind of club you were going to, going as far as to bring extra clothes in case you didn’t feel like anything you had packed was suitable enough.

Nina was helping fix your hair when she quietly says, “I was surprised there are no more hickeys to cover.”

Charlie’s laughter immediately fills the room as you let out a surprised gasp, looking up to glare at her in the mirror. Nina doesn’t meet your gaze, putting her focus on finishing what she was doing, but she has a coy smile on her face as she continues her work. Charlie, though, manages to catch your eye as walks towards the two of you, her laughter dying down.

“That’s because they haven’t been alone for longer than two minutes,” Charlie playfully teases, “Not for lack of trying on my part.”

“Oh, I’m sure that will change once he sees you tonight,” She snickers, “You look like, what you guys would call, a smokeshow.”

Nico and Luca arrived back at the apartment just as the three of you were finishing up, their loud voices echoing down the hall. You couldn’t help but let your eyes drift towards the mirror, dragging your gaze from the top of your head all the way down to your toes. Doubts and scrutinizing thoughts slowly crept their way in, your hands anxiously running across the thin fabric of your shirt as you began contemplating changing into something that you were more used to. Something that wasn’t so form-fitting.

“Hey,” Charlie peaks her head back in the room, quickly taking notice of a look she had seen on your face far too often, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” You give her a tight-lipped smile before dropping your gaze to the floor.

You hear her footsteps approaching you, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as she says, “You look absolutely beautiful, okay? I mean that. You’re going to be the hottest girl in that club no matter what, but if you want to change, we can wait. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable the whole time.”

You meet her stare in the mirror, a soft, sincere smile on her face as she gently squeezes you in reassurance. You bring your hand up to grasp her forearm, tears lining your eyes as you let out a deep breath and rub your thumb against her skin. Small moments like these were times you appreciated Charlie more than anything. She was always your personal hypeman, but she was also always quick to remind you that you had a choice rather than talking you into doing something you didn't necessarily want to do.

“I’ll be okay,” You murmur, clearing your throat when your voice threatens to break.

“Are you absolutely sure,” She presses, subtly gesturing to your glassy eyes.

“I promise,” You nod, “I just appreciate you and it makes me emotional, okay? Give a girl a break!”

You and Charlie stay in the room a few minutes longer, allowing you to recollect yourself before going out in front of the others. With your shoes in hand, you follow her out and finally make your way into the main room to see the four of them seated at the table. Luca and Finn were the first ones to see you, Nico and Nina sitting with their backs facing you, and a small smirk was quick to form on their faces before looking towards the younger Swiss in front of them.

When Nico turned around, it felt like everything else, everyone else, had stilled and it was only the two of you in the room. Only you with your flushed cheeks and downcast eyes, and him with his slack jaw and captivated gaze. Your heart rams into your ribs as he drinks in every dip and curve of your body, almost like he was trying to commit the moment to memory, as you walked in front of him. He visibly swallows as you take the chair next to him and you give him a shy, passing smile; one he hastily returns with an unwavering, unblinking look.

“Does he do that when you guys go out at home,” Luca whispers, slightly leaning towards Charlie as she sits next to him.

“Every time,” Charlie hums, chuckling to herself, “He thinks no one notices, but everyone does. He is not very good at hiding it, but neither is she. They’ve just both been so oblivious it’s actually painful.”

“You look amazing,” Nico says, blissfully unaware of the teasing going on across from him.

“Thank you,” You bashfully mumble, turning your gaze to look at the wooden table in front of you.

Luca mentioned that he had called a taxi a few moments prior, saying that they would call him when they had arrived, so the six of you spent the time waiting simply talking about whatever came to mind. The minutes were full of teasing and laughter so loud that the call from the taxi nearly went missed if it hadn’t been for Nina’s careful ears picking up on the sound.

The taxi service had sent a van in order to accommodate the six of you, with you squishing in between Nico and Charlie in the back row, Nina and Finn in the two middle seats, and Luca riding as the passenger to the older driver. Charlie was taking as much space as she possibly could, forcing you into Nico’s side so harshly that he had to throw his arm around your shoulders to remain comfortable, which you knew to be her goal, anyway.

“Will there be a lot of people you know,” You ask, lightly gasping as Nico’s fingertips brushed against the exposed skin along your collarbone. Just above where he had left his mark a few days prior.

“A few,” He hums to himself as he thinks, slightly adjusting himself so you’re better slotted under his arm, “Timo, Jonas, and Nola will be there, so you’ll see a few familiar faces.”

“Yeah, Timo texted me earlier and told me he’d be there,” You lightly laughed, wringing your hands together as a way to help ease some of the nerves flowing through you.

You were so focused on staring out of the windshield that you missed the way Nico’s jaw slightly hardened at the mention of his friend and teammate texting you. While he knew that neither you nor Timo had any sort of romantic feelings for another, he couldn't help but let a slight sense of envy creep its way up his throat, rendering him mute as he set his narrowed eyes on the headrest in front of him.

When you arrived at the club, you still felt a little on edge as you stepped out of the van, especially given Nico’s random bout of silence, but you did your best to swallow the anxiety bubbling in your throat. The outside of the club looked just like any other you had visited before, and that helped slightly relax you as you gathered in the back of the queue to get inside. There were a few people in the line who gave Nico passing glances, which he returned with a kind smile if he noticed, but it was the girls who stared at him a little longer than you thought necessary that made a scowl form on your face.

The second you were inside, the music was pumping so loudly that you could feel it in your bones. People were pressed together as they danced, worryless and carefree looks on all of their faces as they enjoyed the moment. You could feel the subtle stickiness on the floor as you followed the others through the crowd, Charlie’s hand grasping your own as a precaution, but it was nothing compared to the tacky club tile back home. However, the section on a slightly raised platform with a couch and several chairs was not something you were used to.

“Do you want a drink,” Nico asked after he had introduced the two of you to everyone. He was leaning into you, his mouth near your ear as he talked over the music, his hand protectively placed on your lower back.

A wave of deja vu washed over you, the memory of Nico asking you almost the same exact question a few days prior quickly replaying in your mind. You shake your head, pushing the thoughts far away, as you look up at him, meeting his warm stare as you say, “I think I’m okay right now, but thank you.”

“I’ll be right back then,” He nods, his hand flexing against you as his gaze slightly shifts behind you, “Charlie, you want the usual?”

“Sure! Thank you,” She shouts.

Just as you were about to say something to her, you heard the sound of your name being called behind you. With wide, curious eyes you turn around to see Nola approaching with a bright smile on her face, her boyfriend trailing behind her. She instantly pulls you into a hug as soon as you’re within reach, comments about how good you looked spilling from her lips before she thought about letting you go. As she turned to Charlie, Jonas embraced you in a polite side hug before you fell into conversation about your trip so far.

“Are you going home when you leave,” Nola asks as Jonas wraps his arm around her.

“We’re going to Michigan actually,” You revealed, “I haven’t gone to the lake house this summer yet because I’ve been trying to prepare for the internship next semester, and Jack said if I didn’t go the second we get back, he was going to cut me off.”

“Of course he did,” She throws her head back in laughter, “Ever so dramatic, he is.”

“Are we talking about Jack,” Nico’s voice interrupts, diverting your gaze to him as he walks towards you with a drink in one hand, and two in the other, “I know you said you didn’t want a drink yet, but I got one for you anyways since the wait was long.”

“Oh, thank you,” You take the drink from him, warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your neck as you force yourself to look away from him. Though, you were instantly met with the same teasing look you had endured by everyone else you had seen slapped on the faces of the couple in front of you.

It wasn’t long until Charlie dragged you into the middle of the dance floor as soon as she heard the beginning of her favorite song blaring through the speakers. Bodies were crammed against yours as you moved your hips to the beat of the music, your arms thrown over her shoulders as she moved her own. The alcohol in your system allows you to have confidence you otherwise wouldn’t have, encouraging your salacious movements that Nico couldn’t look away from.

The lights above were illuminating you in a way that made you look otherworldly as you tilted your head backward, your hair cascading down your back in waves. You let your eyes wander amongst the sea of people around you, but you nearly freeze in your spot when you catch Nico’s stare. He doesn’t falter when he realizes you’re looking back at him, only bringing his drink up to his lips before you swiftly avert your gaze.

The two of you stay out there for nearly half of the second song, but filter off when Charlie yells something about getting another drink. Nico wasn't exaggerating when he said the wait was long, but neither of you minded as you familiarized yourself with the strangers next to you. They were also visiting from America, one of them making an amused comment about how Americans always managed to find one another, and they had asked if you had any recommendations for them while they were there.

With a new drink in hand, you bid your new friends goodbye before turning to rejoin the group you arrived with. Charlie sees him before you do, her eyes squinting as she looks through the veil of smoke decorating the dance floor. She sees the way Nico is leaning into one of the girls whose name she had forgotten, his lips turned upward as she speaks directly into his ear. Charlie quickly looks to you in hopes that she could distract you before you took notice, but the solemn look that had fallen on your face told her she was a second too late.

To say you were confused as you looked upon the scene in front of you, would be an understatement. Ever since that night at Nico’s parents, he had been more upfront and clear with his intentions, or as clear as he could be without downright saying it out loud, and they led you to believe all that had been said and done. Now, you weren’t sure what to believe. However, your confusion was quick to shift towards insecurity that you drunkenly masked with jealousy.

“Hey,” Charlie’s voice filters through the cracks of your thoughts, “Want to go back to the floor?”

You moved your eyes to her, and you could see her own confusion written on her face, but you choose to act as if nothing had happened. Instead, you give her a tight-lipped smile and shake your head before grasping her free hand in your own and tugging her through the multitude of people standing about. If it weren’t so loud in the club, you would have heard her deep sigh as she lets you guide her, but you can feel her sympathy in the way she tightly squeezes your hand.

When you reach the others, you take the empty spot on the couch next to Timo while Charlie beelines towards Nina. You can feel Nico’s stare piercing the side of your head as you greet his teammate, letting him pull you into his side as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t dare to look in his direction. You knew all he had to do was look at you a certain way and you would fall right back into the same trap he seemingly set before.

You can see Charlie engaged in a rushed conversation with Nico in the corner of your eye, and you can’t stop yourself from tossing curious glances their way. Timo is trying to hold a conversation with you, but he takes quick note of the way your focus lies with his team captain, much like it always had before, and he chuckles to himself. When he sees Nico walking towards you, he quietly excuses himself, but not before sparing you a teasing drop of the left eye.

“Can we talk,” Nico asks as he’s standing before you, extending his hand for you to take, “Please.”

His gaze was soft and pleading as he looked down at you, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you breathed deeply. The few seconds that passed felt like an eternity to Nico as he waited, but the moment he felt your soft palm slide into his own, nothing else mattered. He helped you to your feet, not letting your hand fall from his as he carefully guided you away from everyone and down a hallway littered with people.

He twisted the doorknobs of the various doors you passed until one finally opens, and he was gently pulling you in behind him. The room is dimly lit by the bulbs above, the walls lined with shelves that were home to what appeared to be cleaning supplies. A tense silence fills the room as you wait for Nico to say something, for him to at least tell you why he has you in a storage closet.

“What’s wrong,” He slowly asks, taking a step forward so that he’s only a few inches away from you.

“Nothing is wrong,” You deflect, looking at the wall behind him, “I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” He shakes his head, “Everything seemed to be going good until you came back from the bar. You didn’t even look at me.”

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” You mumbled, silently cursing the tipsy state of mind you were in that gave you the confidence to say something you otherwise would keep to yourself. Mostly because you knew you were being over dramatic, but also because you were scared that there was weight behind your reasoning.

You had hoped Nico didn’t pick up on the words that fell from your lips, but he did. He always did. His face twists in confusion as he tries to put together just what you had meant, but he was at a loss. He had been paying attention to you, and only you, the entire night, his eyes never leaving you for long. Not until you had disappeared behind a crowd of people at the bar and he began talking to– Oh.

“You were jealous,” He announces, his voice lighter and lined with a hint of amusement, “Weren’t you?”

“What,” You scoff, only meeting his stare for a fleeting moment, “Of course not. What would I be jealous of?” You visibly cringe at how unconvincing you sound, the octave of your voice higher than you intended it to be.

“Well, I promise there’s nothing to be jealous of,” He lowly chuckled as he hesitantly takes your hand, “Not that you were of course, but if you were, you should know that she’s married to a friend of mine. She was also asking about you, and that’s what we were talking about.”

This time you do meet his eye, blood pounding in your ears as his touch sends a shock from your hand all the way to your shoulder. He peers down at you, watching the way your shoulders relax and the storm of emotions swirling in your eyes calms and clears. He can tell that you’re searching for the right words to say but are coming up short, so he continues.

“The other night,” He pauses when you drop your gaze, reaching his hand up so he can cradle your jaw in his palm and tilt your head to look at him, “The other night, I meant it when I said I wanted everything to do with you. I don’t just want to kiss you. I don’t just want small touches when I can steal them. I want it all, if you’re willing to give that to me.”

Your mouth is slightly parted as you take quick and shallow breaths, trying to will yourself to say something, to do anything other than stand there in silence. Nico is looking at you in anticipation, his thumb running along the curve of your cheek as his eyes dance across your face. The tension filling the room was slowly suffocating you, and you knew the only way to breathe again was to speak.

“I would give you anything you wanted,” You exhale, not caring how pathetically desperate it sounded, “You’ve had all of me from the moment I heard your voice.”

Nico carefully leans down, his lips hovering over your own as he teases, “Only after you heard my voice, huh?”

“I’m a sucker for an accent,” You bashfully giggle, letting your eyes flutter closed as you shudder underneath him.

With a subtle tilt of your chin, he connects his lips with your own in what starts as a soft, slow kiss between two people who need a gentle reminder of what they mean to each other. However, the second your hands lazily drag up Nico’s shirt to loop behind his neck, it turns into something much more. Something more driven with passion and desperation. He grips your hip with his free hand, the other sliding to cup the back of your head as he deepens the kiss.

You cautiously step backward until your body comes in contact with the wall behind you, your fingers tangling in his hair as you stand on your toes to meet him with just as much fervor as he was giving. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, ardent desire pouring out of both of you so urgently that it left you weak in the knees. It was the kind of kiss you only ever heard about in books, and Nico effortlessly brought it to life.

He explores the curve of your body with his hand, the thin material covering you granting you access to feel it like there was nothing separating him from you. Your head falls back as Nico begins to kiss down your jaw until he’s placing open-mouthed kisses to the column of your neck. Breathless moans tumble from your lips as you tug on the ends of his hair, eliciting a few quiet groans from his mouth.

“Nico,” You call out as his teeth carefully nip at the skin, “If you leave another hickey, I’ll kill you.”

His laughter rumbles against your neck before he’s pulling away to look at you, “I wasn’t intending on it, schatzi. Not in a storage closet at a club.”

Warmth spreads from your stomach at the implication that the only thing stopping him from marking you again was simply the less than ideal location. Images of what could be, of Nico discovering parts of you he had only dreamed of seeing before, flooded your mind, leaving you dizzy and even more flushed than you already were. He maintains your stare, his eyes full of nothing but want and something else you were too fearful to recognize.

“We– I think we should go back out there,” You whisper as your chest rapidly rises and falls, “Just in case they come looking for us.”

“I really don’t think they will,” He chuckles, “But, yeah. We probably should.”

Nico laces his fingers with your own before he’s guiding you back through the maze of bodies and back to his friends. When you finally join them, every single one of them is looking from your faces to your intertwined hands as smug smirks toy at their lips. Your face heats up at their attention, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing that is undoubtedly going to occur for the rest of the night, as you follow Nico to the couch.

The rest of the night flew by with only very minimal teasing, most of which came from the mouths of Luca and Timo, and by the time you were back at Nico’s apartment, you were ready to sleep for the next 12 hours. He offered to make you and Charlie breakfast the following morning, but you both declined because there was no way you would be awake before noon. You laid in bed replaying the moment at the club over and over, your hesitance to accept his feelings for you were true slowly melting away until you were fast asleep.

The next day, the reality that your trip was coming to an end hit you when you were in the middle of lunch with Nico and a few others. You had experienced so much in the last week, both culturally and emotionally, and the idea of having to go back home wasn’t all that appealing to you. Of course you would be going straight to Michigan to continue your summer adventures, but Michigan didn’t have the one thing you really wanted; Nico.

You spent the rest of the day following the others around wherever they managed to drag you, which was primarily shops of different variety. The slightly hectic schedule forced you to swallow your sadness and focus on the present rather than the events of tomorrow. As the day was winding down and dinner ideas were being thrown around, Charlie insisted that the two of you buy ‘I love Switzerland’ shirts at one of the souvenir shops before retiring because ‘Did you even go if you didn’t buy the cliche shirt?’.

At dinner, Nico was always touching you in some way. Whether that be his arm slung over the back of your chair, his knee pushed against your own, or his hand on the exposed skin of your thigh. His displays of affection slightly caught you off guard, but you welcomed them with a shy smile you would pass him any time he looked at you. You even found an ounce of confidence to place your hand over his own, curling your fingers around his index finger as you willed yourself to focus on the conversation around you.

“I’m going to miss you,” Nina said as she hugged you tightly, “You really must come back sometime, and I’ll call you next time I’m in the city so we can go out!”

“I’ll miss you,” You smile, pulling away from her but keeping your hands on her biceps, “And I would love that. I’ll come back, I promise. Even if Nico isn’t here.”

“Ouch,” His voice sounds from behind you, forcing your gaze to him as he nears, “Replacing me with my sister are you?”

“She is infinitely cooler than you,” You playfully rolls your eyes.

“She’s right, I am.”

When the three of you arrived back at Nico’s, you and Charlie had gone straight to what had been your room for the last seven days. You had yet to start packing and you had a twelve o’clock flight, which meant you needed to be on the road to the airport no later than 8:00, and that left you no time to pack anything in the morning. While the two of you finished squeezing all of your clothes back into your suitcases, Nico was busy trying to busy himself with anything he could find rather than focus on the fact that you were going to be leaving tomorrow and his relationship with you was now much more complicated than before.

“So,” Charlie draws out, “Did any results come from your sneaky little make out sessions?”

“What do you mean,” You furrow your brows, zipping the flap inside of your suitcase.

“Are you guys going to be like official or just two people who run off into the nearest empty room and get it on every chance they get,” She snickers as she throws you the dress you had worn when you went to visit Nico’s family.

With a small, reminiscent smile on your face as you look down at the material, “We’re not– I don’t really know, to be honest. We haven’t talked about that.”

“Do you want to talk about it? With him,” She quirks her brow. She watches as your movements falter before you settle on a simple shrug. “Well, I think you should at least try or I think you’ll both regret it. At the very least I think you two should get it on before we go. I brought earplugs.”

“Charlotte,” You gasp, your eyes widening as she fails to bite back her smile, “Seriously? ‘Get it on’? You’ve been talking to Jack too much.”

“Yeah,” Her face reddens at the mention of your best friend, “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt anything! Show him how you feel, you know?”

While you shift the conversation to a different topic, the idea she had shamelessly proposed was ringing in your ears. While the proposition that you, in her words, get it on with him seemed a little far-fetched, telling him how you felt about everything would likely be a good idea. Especially given the fact you wouldn’t see him for another month and a half after you left for Michigan, and you would find a way to talk yourself out of anything if you let yourself wait that long.

Charlie didn’t ask any questions when you suddenly rose to your feet and stepped into the hall, but she did toss a quiet ‘Use protection’ before you were gone from her sight. Your feet carefully padded across the wood floor of the hallway, your hands nervously wringing at the fabric of your shorts until you were stood right outside of Nico’s bedroom. The soft light was slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door, illuminating your feet as you stared at them and mulled over your sudden actions.

Intaking a sharp breath, you brought your knuckles up to his door and lightly knocked a few times. Nerves were pricking at your skin as you waited for him, the pit in your stomach growing with each passing second and your hands were shaking at your side. When Nico finally pulls the door open, your come face to face with his naked chest and every sentence you had pre-planned in your head flew out of the window.

You have to force your eyes up to his own, your heart pounds in your chest as you try to get your mouth to cooperate with your brain. He’s looking at you with a slight sense of worry swirling in his eyes as he holds the door open and gently calls out your name, your silence making him uneasy. Through a surge of confidence you didn’t know you had, you were rushing forward and slamming your lips on his own. After all, you had always preferred to show people how you felt anyway.

Nico’s reaction is instantaneous as you loop your arms around his neck and stand on your toes, pressing your mouth against him so desperately that he stumbles backwards. His own arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest, keeping you steady against him as the door clicks shut behind you. He turns you, his movements calculated and careful to keep his mouth on yours, and drags his hands down to grasp at the back of your thighs so he can lift you onto his dresser.

Your legs hook around his hips, your fingertips pressing into the muscle above his shoulder blade as his palms explore the curve of your body. Your head becomes dizzy as your mouths move together, neither of you wanting to pull away from the start of a moment you had both thought of far too many times. Nico was the one to pull away, his breathless pants meshing with your own as he slowly trails his fingers up until your chin is between his thumb and forefinger.

His thumb brushes your soft lips, his dark eyes boring into your own as goosebumps rise all over you. The skin underneath his touch was hot, burning with the desire to feel it across every surface of your body. You let out a shaky breath as your eyes flit across his face, learning every scar, every imperfection that made him undeniably the most attractive man you had ever seen.

“Nico,” You whisper before taking a deep breath, bringing your eyes back to meet his burning gaze, “I want to– I want you.”

The pad of his thumb slightly tugs at your bottom lip as he says, “Are you sure?”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you think back to the moment a few nights ago, “Is this the part where I say I’ve never been more sure of anything?”

“Only if you mean it,” His voice was serious, yet gentle at the same time.

“I do,” You swallow, “I mean it.”

Nico drew you closer, holding you against his chest as he reconnected your mouths. Your lips molded to his own like you had been made for each other, and it made him ache to see how well all of you fit against him. You clung to his body as he kissed you, gentle yet demanding with a fervent desire that matched your own. He was quick to move you over to his perfectly made bed, delicately laying you on the soft material of his comforter as he hovers over you.

You keep your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close enough that you can feel his bulge pressing into the flesh of your thigh. The stubble that had grown out during your stay with him rubbed against your soft skin, but you welcomed the slight sting with eager arms as his hands slipped underneath your shirt. You reach between your bodies to grasp at the hem, and Nico is pulling away from you to help lift it over your head.

You move to undo your bra, but Nico was faster than you, his fingers fumbling as he undid the clasps. His fingers trail down your arm as he drags the straps off your shoulders, your entire body shuddering underneath him as you keep your eyes on him. You watch as he straightens his back and he unabashedly lets his gaze wander across your exposed chest, and, for the first time, you don’t feel the desire to cover yourself because no one has ever looked at the way Nico is. Like you were carved and sculpted by the Gods themselves.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You tease, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Tempting,” He deeply chuckles.

Slowly, he leans over and briefly meets your lips, your head falling back onto the mattress before he begins to kiss down your jaw. His fingers drag across your skin, over the curve of your breast, and down your stomach. His touch sets the skin under it on fire, his lips cooling it down as he moves down your body until he’s slotted between your thighs. His gaze flicked up to you, but you were too entranced in the way his mouth felt against you to meet his stare.

His fingers loop in the waistband of your shorts, steadily sliding them down your legs until they’re in a pool on the floor. As the cool air hits your warm center, you finally lift your head to see Nico stepping out of his shorts and you can’t help but admire him. His stiff cock springs free from his shorts, a subtle gasp tumbling from your lips that you hoped he missed, but of course he didn’t. He quirks his brow at you, a coy smile on his face as he steps forward.

“Move further up,” He warmly orders, but his eyes are shimmering with unwavering devotion.

You do as he asks, shifting your body so that your head was placed on the plush pillows, eyes wide in anticipation as Nico positions his body just over your own. He uses his forearms to support his weight, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips as you begin to drag the tips of your fingers over his sides and onto his back. He shivers under your touch, his tongue darting to wet his lips as he closes the gap between you.

When Nico kisses you, you feel weightless, as if you were floating above the clouds and into the heavens. The way his mouth moves with your own, fluidly and effortlessly left you wondering why you had ever bothered to kiss anyone else before because nothing would ever compare to this. You feel his hand drop between you, his hand diving between your legs and pushing them further apart before his fingers are lingering over your heat.

“No, want you,” You groan against his lips, a chill running up your spine as he draws his finger between the slickness of your folds.

“I know, schhatz,” He mumbles, your head falling deep into the pillow when he presses his thumb to your clit, “Need to get you ready, yeah?”

Your response was stifled by the breathless whimper that slips through your lips as he slips a finger into your entrance. His movements are slow and prudent, working his finger inside of you as you languish underneath him. As Nico feels you rock your hips against his hand, he uses a second finger to further ready you before he were to let himself fall all the way into the bliss that is you.

“Nico, please,” You plead, your fingernails digging into the plane of his shoulder, “Need you now.”

“Are you sure,” Nico reiterates, wanting to give you the opportunity to say no should you wish to.

“Yes.”

Nico pulls his fingers out of you, immediately grasping his length in his hand before his eyes are on your face. He takes in the way your eyelashes flutter as you grasp onto him, breathing shaky as you peer up at him, and he can’t help but surge forward and encase your lips in a small, yet passion fueled kiss. He readies himself at your entrance as he kisses you, teasing and prodding at the hole until you’re nails harshly scrape against his skin.

The weight of his body as he pushes himself into you dizzies you, your eyes squeezing shut as you drop your head away from his and a slew of broken moans fill the room. Nico goes until he’s entirely bottomed out inside of you and he feels your walls stretch around him. He heard a quiet wince as you shift underneath him, but the moment he goes to say something, you beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, “It’s just been a while, but I’m okay. You can move, and yes, I’m sure.”

His gaze doesn’t falter from your face as he begins to slowly rock his hips against yours, making sure to keep his movements short and shallow until you were more relaxed. You’re biting your lip to muffle your moans, to keep them contained in the small bubble the two of you had created for yourselves. It wasn’t until Nico felt the sharp point of your heel dig into his lower back that his thrusts became deeper and rhythmic.

“Fuck,” He groans as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, your walls clenching around him.

A mixture of whines and curse words filter into Nico’s ears as he hits into you at a pace that is winding the coil in your stomach almost painfully tight. The way he was able to read your body like he had a map of it imprinted his mind drove you crazy as you tangle your hands in his hair. Quiet grunts vibrate against your skin before his right hand is hooking behind your knee and bringing it over his shoulder.

“Nico,” You mewl, the new angle allowing him to reach a part of you that you didn’t know existed, “Oh my god.”

“Huere schön,” He rumbles as his motion becomes quicker, more fervent and desperate. (Fucking beautiful.)

“I’m cl–”

Your sentence is cut short as your orgasm washes over you like a wave of scalding water, your entire body lighting on fire as Nico has to smother your mouth with his hand to keep your moans quiet. He continues to drive himself into you, his own ecstasy filled climax nearing a head as your walls flutter around him and your legs shake under him. Your hold on him tightens as he fucks you through your blinding orgasm, and not even his hand is enough to stifle your wanton moans.

With a few more lazy stutters of his hips, Nico is pulling himself all the way out of you before pumping himself in his hand, releasing his load all across your stomach. Your eyes were still screwed shut as you descended the blissful feeling of euphoria coursing through your veins, and that acted as an extra push for him to finish before he leans down to briefly capture your lips as he comes down from his own high.

Your eyes flutter open as he pulls away, meeting his gaze to give him a lazy smile as you say, “Can you clean me up?”

“Shit, yeah. Of course,” He rushes out, scrambling off his bed to find something to wipe your stomach.

He grabs two of the nearest clean shirts he can find, not having a towel in sight, and he makes quick work of the warm, sticky liquid spread across your skin. He makes sure he’s gotten everything before he tosses it in the direction of his dirty clothes, his gaze faltering over your naked, flushed body. He hesitantly hands you the other shirt he had grabbed, apprehension now cracking through his features.

“Thank you,” You sheepishly mumble, despite the man before having now seen every part of you.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, slipping the shirt over your head as he stepped into his shorts. Nico could see the worry etching onto your face, and he’s quick to take the spot next to you and pulls you into his chest. He stays quiet, waiting for you to make the first move because while he knew he was ready for the talk that undoubtedly came after what the two of you had just done, he wasn’t sure if you were yet.

“What does this mean,” You whisper after the lapse of silence, nerves pricking your eyes, “For us?”

“What do you want it to mean,” He asks, equally as anxious as you were as he holds you close to him.

“I want to be with you,” You earnestly speak, though your voice still cracks, “But I don’t know if you want to be with me. I have my internship coming up and I’ll be busy, and you’re already busy enough, so I could understand if that wasn’t what you wanted. But I’m willing to make it work, for you. I meant it when I said I would give you anything you wanted.”

Nico’s breath catches in his throat as your words ring in his ears, and, with the mention of his job and your internship, suddenly he was slapped in the face with reality. He had let himself relish in the fantasy of summer the past week so deeply he had forgotten what he told himself, but now he was reminded of all of the harsh possibilities that could be, and he remembered why he had pulled away from you all those times before. It wasn’t always because of wrong timing for him, but you never knew that. You never knew that some things were on purpose, calculated and planned, to keep you at arms length from him.

His silence made your heart fall to your feet, and the unreadable expression on his face made you want to throw up. The expression he had on his face reminded you of the one you had sported yourself on more than one occasion, and you were silently begging him to say something, even if it was a rejection. Because at least then you would know how he truly felt.

“We can talk more later,” He finally says, his hand timidly flexing on your back, “This can wait, but you need to sleep before your flight.”

You don’t put up a fight as Nico lets go of you for a fleeting second to lean over and click the lamp on his table off. Neither of you say anything as you crawl underneath his blanket, letting him mold his chest to your back as he lazily wraps an arm around your waist. Your breathing was uneven as your mind wandered to the worst of possibilities, but you kept them to yourself. Partly because you were too afraid to ruin the already crumbling moment, but also because you didn’t know what you would do if you had found out everything he had said and done was a lie.

When you wake up the following morning, it was to Charlie’s incessant knocking, and to an empty bed. You abruptly sit up, eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Nico, and also your clothes. The only evidence you had of Nico leaving was the half-made bed, causing your lips to turn downward into a disappointed frown. Had he even tried to wake you up, or did he slip out undetected on purpose?

Once you had dressed yourself in the clothes you had originally entered the room in, you pulled the door open to see Charlie sporting a smug smile. Though, the second she registered your dejected face and the empty bedroom behind you, her look morphed into one of anger fueled sympathy. You didn’t say anything as you stepped around her to go back into the guest room in search of your phone. Maybe he had texted you, not wanting to wake you so you could get as much sleep as possible, but your messages from him were empty.

You ignore Charlie’s quiet, careful voice as she calls out your name, your feet moving quickly to lock yourself in the bathroom to get ready and finish packing your things. As you brushed your teeth, you felt like the air from your lungs was being sucked out of you, making them burn in your chest. You wanted to believe that Nico had a good reason for disappearing without a trace, but the logical part of your brain was snuffing out the last remaining shred of hope by the second.

“I’m fine, Charlie,” You say as you walk back into the room, your voice flat and clipped.

“Well, I’m not,” She scoffed, “What the fuck did he do? Where is he? I didn’t even hear him leave.”

“Don’t know,” You shrug as you shove the last remaining items into your bags, “Didn’t say anything to me, but it’s fine. I’m sure he has a good reason. Maybe he had to do some media stuff.”

“He better have a good reason,” She snapped, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. Charlie had always been a fiercely protective person when it came to the people she loves, and she could cleary see through every excuse you made for him. Though, even with the ball of rage in her chest, she was almost as confused as you were, and she hated that she didn’t know how to help you.

The sound of the front door distracts the both of you, and you’re quickly running into the hall to see if Nico had returned, but instead, your eyes settle on the body of his sister. She had her phone up to her ear, her words harsh and angry as she spoke to whoever was on the other end. Once she noticed your presence looming in the hallway, desolate and defeated, she snapped one more comment toward the victim of her anger before hanging up and focusing on you.

“Hey,” She softly greeted, but you can see the sympathy swimming in her eyes.

“Nina, I love you, but I’m going to kick your brother's ass,” Charlie called out as she dragged both her and your suitcase into the living room.

“Trust me, I will help,” She sighed before walking towards you, delicately placing her hands on your shoulders, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” You lie, blinking away the tears burning your eyes, “I’ll be fine.”

Both of you knew your lie was far from convincing, but she didn’t say anything about it as she pulled you into her embrace. It was taking every ounce of willpower you had to keep yourself from crying as you hugged her, not wanting to make a big deal out of something that never really started anyway. After all, maybe there was a reason the two of you never seemed to find the right time back home and you had just always been too enchanted by the potential that you couldn’t see things clearly.

Nina helps you and Charlie do a final walkthrough of the apartment to make sure nothing was going to be left behind. Neither of them attempted to bring up Nico or what had happened before you were finally ready to leave. With the handle of your suitcase in hand, you walk out of his apartment door for the last time and you realize that maybe believing Nico’s words and actions to be meaningful was just wishful thinking all along, and you should’ve known that wishes rarely came true.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier smut #nhl imagine

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saintescuderia · 4 months

Text

pancakes (pt. 7)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: here we are! and CHARLES WON MONACO! (also sorry for the lance slander RPM influences me far too much)

P7 - 2.5L water bottle

"Oh for fuck's sake."

The lyrics rapping over the Metro Boomin beat were cut off as you turned off your engine. You huffed spotting the asshole in green getting out of the Aston Martin in front of you.

Mother fucking Lance Stroll.

Stroll got on your every nerve from the fact that he, as a paid driver, was the epitome of what you hated about F1 and the cash is king nature of the sport. It didn't help your opinion of him that his treatment of the Hospitality workers was very telling of his personality (i.e a spoiled little bitch) - but he also treated the rest of Aston Martin like that.

His engineers he bossed around. His PR team he bossed around. His fucking team principle he bossed around. You had never ever seen a driver be able to literally pick and choose what Media they wanted to do until Lance Stroll. Not even Räikkönen had gotten away with things that way Stroll did.

The worst part of it all, though, was that Lance's attitude of I can do whatever I want meant that he really thought he could get any girl he wanted.

Namely - you.

Your Supra wasn't exactly inconspicuous and Lance had (unfortunately) been in F1 long enough to make the connection that the flash JDM car parked in the lot tended to belong to you. And even though your windows were tinted a few shades darker than legal limit, Lance was getting out of the car right next to you. There was no chance he didn't know that it was you.

If anything, he likely made his driver park next to your Supra on purpose.

"Lord give me strength." You muttered seeing him come up to your window.

But then Lance Stroll had the fucking audacity to tap on your window.

You immediately reached for the handle and opened the door which caused him to stumble for the lack of space as you did so. "Oh, woah! Hey!" The Canadian accent pissed you off for no other reason than it reminded you of Drake. Someone else you fucking despised.

"Don't touch my car." You said, voice flat.

"Oh, er. My bad. Nice looking ride."

"Thanks." You said curtly, internally cringing at how he said 'ride' like that. You went around and grabbed the vast array of things you always hauled with you. Said items for today consisted of your gym bag, your workbag, your lunch bag and your comically large 2.5L water bottle. You always were carrying a lot.

"Need help?"

"No."

"I insist."

"Don't."

"Why you always gotta play hard to get?"

You said nothing, forcefully biting your tongue. You were out of practice with Lance Stroll's shit since Domenicali had finally relented and cut the amount of shifts you would be rostered on Aston Martin. Which had been a shame since the crew were quite nice and you really taking the piss with Nando.

Still, Lance Stroll was insufferable - and you were evidently out of practice dealing with his spoiled delusions. You were just glad his father wasn't around. God help you when it came to the European races.

"I have to get to work." You said and locked your car. There was a call from behind where some Aston Martin people were waiting Lance but he ignored them. Instead, falling into step with you.

"I don't see you around Aston Martin anymore." He said, trying to make conversation.

You kept ignoring him, hoping he'd get the hint. Pulling out your phone, you started to compose a to text to Oscar. He would coming here with Lily and had said something about finally introducing the two of you. Your eyes checked the time at the top of your phone screen. Based on what time it was, Oscar should've been here by now - and could save you from Lance Stroll.

to: piazzas 👼

where the fuck are u ?? lance stroll is trying to talk to me send help

"I don't know." Was all you said, typing away with one hand as the other held a bag, hoodie, bottle and lanyard. You lifted the arm to tap in through the gate and then continued to ignore Lance - who continued to walk beside you and speak.

"That wouldn't be because you're working for McLaren." Lance said. This made you fingers pause as the blatant comment caught you off-guard. You sucked your teeth and took a deep breath. You adjusted your grip on your bags and continued to type another message.

to: piazzas 👼

srsly im gonna fucking rage at this point

"I don't know what you're on about." You said and felt relief seeing the Read time-stamp arrive below your sent message and three dots finally pop up as Oscar typed a response.

Lance made that irritating sound - his laugh. "You know my dad will pay you double what they're paying."

from: piazzas 👼

I'm at the McLaren motorhome. In a meeting with some PR. Can you come?

You huffed and pocketed your phone. Your shift was at Ferrari today and so there was no logical reason for you to walk into McLaren. Then again, it was early and you were yet to get dressed. It should be okay. People rarely noticed you since you looked like some random trainer with the amount of stuff you always carried.

Except, right now, Lance Stroll was not getting the hint and pissing off. Meaning you couldn't exactly freely walk into McLaren no questions asked.

Especially after that comment about you working for McLaren.

"What do you say?" The annoying idiot stood there, still waiting on you apparently.

"What?" You asked, shifting the items in your hand and pausing in your steps. You were in front of Ferrari right now and considered going in to dump your stuff before sneaking off to McLaren. That would at least get rid of Lance.

"Just say the number. How much. Dad wants you onboard and so do I. And all that legal stuff we can sort out." Lance said with a nonchalant shrug that pissed you off more than it should've. "My trainer isn't really working for me anyway."

You stared at him. Was he being serious right now? Your mouth fell open at the audacity and you glanced at his manager behind him who was looking up at the sky, clearly uncomfortable.

But, of course, unable to say anything.

"Ah, Stroll! Mademoiselle is with us today!" You turned your head to the French accent of your other favourite Team Principle. Fred Vasseur arrived with one half of the Scuderia drivers beside him. Your eyes widened on the sight of Carlos there, sunglasses pushed up in the head of hair that had its own fan-accounts and was the star of many, many Tiktok thirst edits.

Fuck.

Last night, your uncle had thrown you for a loop. Carlos Sainz had somehow infiltrated your uncle's sphere with a video of him refusing to sign a Barcelona jersey.

This, your uncle took as a good omen and a worth his approval.

"Approval for what?"

"None of these drivers are worth your time. But this one seems good." Your uncle's voice had sounded through the speaker function of your phone as you balanced a ball on your head. Last night you had present for his usual call to his sister and Dia was adamant you cop it.

And cop it you did. His newest idea was not Jude or Vinicius - but apparently Carlos Sainz.

"What? Because Carlos didn't sign a Messi jersey?"

"His name is Carlos?" Your uncle had asked and you had, in turn, just groaned. You half expected him to make some ridiculous comment about the similar names being a good omen or something.

"Yeah. Carlos Sainz."

"Sainz? Hm." There was a short pause from your uncle. "Is his father a rally driver?"

"Yes." You had frowned, not expecting that.

"Ah! I know him. Good family."

"What?" You said, still stuck on how your uncle knew the Sainz family. "How do you know him?"

"Why didn't you tell me about him before?"

"Because... I never noticed Carlos." The football you had been kicking slowed as you found yourself frowning at the phone on the kitchen table. "It's... I don't know. It's just Carlos."

"I want you to talk to him. To 'Just Carlos' as you say." Your uncle was not relenting. "Go have dinner together. He has a good face."

Your uncle's attempts to get you married to what he deemed was a 'respectable man' and not, in his opinion, 'some limpy Frenchman' (you would often remind him Charles was from Monaco nor was it was like that between you two) or 'some tatted up Australian wanna be Italian' (you would also remind that Daniel barely identified as Italian). However, all of your uncle Carlo's options had always been footballers which, you and Dia knew, was just a ploy to move you from car circuits to football pitches.

But last night, you found, Carlos Sainz apparently had the Ancelotti tick of approval and he was adamant you and Carlos apparently go out for dinner.

You took your uncle's comments to be why you suddenly found yourself feeling a little awkward seeing the driver in the flesh. The on you admittedly never paid much attention to before.

"Maybe next race you can have her." The Spanish driver - who apparently had your uncle's approval - said. Carlos took a sip from the small coffee cup in hand. He was on his piccolo, you noted.

Carlos came up to you and you felt yourself caught out and taken aback by him openly reaching for the strap of your gym bag and your bottle, prying them for your hands. The surprise had you letting go and once Carlos had a grip on them, he nodded at everyone in green. "See you guys on track." And put a hand on your back to guide you into the home. His clear dismissal towards Lance made you smile and it made your face warm up even more.

Your smile dropped.

What the fuck?

"Um. Thank you." You said, once you were out of earshot.

"He's an idiot." Carlos said, with a tired sigh. This made you laugh.

"You're telling me."

It was then that you realised your laugh was nervous. You cleared your throat. You were going to rip into your uncle. And then yourself for being so stupid. Because this was stupid. You barely ever noticed Carlos. What? You find out he really hates Barcelona and has really, really great hair and suddenly you're tongue-tied around him?

"Ha. Yeah. I get that. And I can hold that." You went to reach for the strap of your bag on his shoulder. Carlos moved away.

"Don't insult me." He said, tsking you with a grin on his face. "Let's go. Fred spoke all morning about your pizzas."

"Yes! I did." Fred said, reappearing with his assistant who was handing him a paper he was half reading as he spoke. "Guenther didn't let me have any last time."

You couldn't but smile, remembering Guenther's loud curses echoing throughout all of Haas when he found you plating some aside for Fred. You gave Fred a salute. "I'll get right to it. Let me just dump my things in the backroom."

"I'll take them there." Carlos said, evidently not relenting. You sighed and let him carry them for you as you both made your way to the backroom.

Unfortunately, this meant walking through the entire motorhome in which case many Ferrari staff did a double take seeing you walk with Carlos. Whilst it wasn't uncommon to see you around, nor for you to have any interactions with drivers - you literally made their food and coffee - but Carlos was holding all your many, many belongings and walking to the small backroom that were reserved for Hospitality.

"Thank you." You said, appreciating the chivalry. What you didn't appreciate, however, was how your body was reacting to Carlos.

You didn't get why you were suddenly so... hyperaware around Carlos. Seeing driver content wasn't something new to you. Why did it affect you like this? Maybe addressing it would just help.

And so your mouth just came out with it.

"My uncle likes you."

"What?"

You quickly elaborated. "He saw a video of you refusing to sign a Barca jersey."

Your uncle had even sent you said video of Carlos, the driver windswept in his Ferrari, driving off when a fan passed him a pen and the jersey. You had to admit he did look good in the video and the way he drove off like that had made your eyebrows shoot up, impressed.

"Your uncle... Don Ancelotti?"

"Yeah." You said with a laugh at the name. The Don. You were proud of your uncle and what he achieved, earning him such a nickname. Dia always said her brother's intimidating Don cigar smoking aura had been passed down to you - and not his own children/your cousins.

You weren't surprised Carlos knew about who your uncle was. It wasn't exactly a secret. And considering the world of Formula 1, that wasn't even the craziest connection for someone working in the Paddock. An Alpine techie was distant cousins with Mbappé, a Haas mechanic was close cousins with LeBron, and Valentino Rossi's babysister's best friend's brother was a PR manager for George Russell.

So, no. No one really paid much attention to you and your uncle. The most it had ever come up was the odd few comments of the Paddock's EPL fans coming to you lamenting Carlo Ancelotti moving from Everton to Real Madrid.

"Woah, that's pretty cool." Carlos said, his eyes widening. "I definitely need to let my dad know."

"Apparently they know each other?" You asked, hoping he might shed more light on the connection your uncle somehow had to Sainz Sr. Your uncle hadn't managed to explain that curious bit.

"Do they? He never said." He said and you blew a raspberry. You really were going to give your uncle a piece of your mind. You shook your head and Carlos laughed, saying something that went to deaf ears as he took his sunglasses off his head - causing some strands to fall across his forehead as he was looking down at you.

Fuck.

He used the other hand to run through said black locks.

Double fuck.

The man seriously could've made it as a hair model.

You looked down from his hair to meet his eyes and felt yourself flush even more knowing he'd caught you staring at his hair. You cleared your throat again - when had it gotten so dry? - and spoke. "You um, you could really make bank doing hair endorsements, you know?"

"Bank?" Carlos asked, not picking up the slang.

"Money." You explained the slang and then thought of the Spanish translation. "El dinero."

"Ah, so was it the Don who taught you Spanish?" Carlos asked, lips turning up to grin.

"Nah I don't really speak Spanish." You shook your head and explained. "I just know that word from some from lyrics and stuff."

"Stuff? From living in Los Angeles?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You blinked, surprised he knew that tidbit about you. "I remember you telling Max about it back in Torro Rosso."

Carlos' observational skills evidently had you in surprise. First it was him remembering your Egyptian heritage and now this?

"I, uh. Yeah for a year and a bit. I worked in a garage." You explained, feeling more awkward and, well, something else that you refused to acknowledge as nervousness.

You didn't get nervous. You had literally served countless celebrities and prided yourself on not getting starstruck or fucking nervous.

And yet, here was Carlos running a hand through his hair catching you off guard with how hyperaware you were of him.

"Ah." Carlos laughed and you stared at the way a thin gold chain glittered around his wrist. "Well, if you know any hair sponsors you'd recommend, let me know."

"Oh, yeah. Done." You said, going back to the previous conversation. "But I'm expecting a cut, then." You said, opening up a locker and beginning to stuff the bags into it. "Hoy por ti - "

" - mañana por mi." Carlos finished the phrase, amused. "It's different in Spanish, though, you know?"

"What is?"

"English you say scratch my back or something. In Spanish it's more about generosity. You take care of me so I will take care of you next."

"Oh." You said, taking in the mini Spanish lesson. Admittedly all your Spanish came from working with Tyler in the garage on Fairfax Ave and, of course, song lyrics. There had been a few funny conversations with Fernando - but nothing intimate such as I will take care of you.

You didn't really know what to say next. Your face was already flushed and you'd probably be able to cook something on your cheek from how hot it was.

You were going to kill your uncle. Real Madrid could win Champions League without him. And even if they didn't - well, Guenther would be happy to see another team finally have a chance.

"Also," Carlos casually continued, unfazed - or not noticing - your lull, "there's going to be a game tomorrow night. I'm not sure if you were planning to watch it."

Thankfully, his words momentarily did distract you from the inner monologue. Real Madrid wasn't playing this weekend. Atletico Madrid was.

Maybe it was Carlos being from Madrid or following the Spanish league religiously but, either way, it wasn't a game you had intended to watch.

"Oh, I mean I like Griezmann." You said, referring to the famed Atletico player, "but I don't watch La Liga games unless Real Madrid is playing." Besides, if you showed any interest in any other team, The Don would have your head. Your uncle still didn't know you owned a jersey of another team. Even if it was only for Mo Salah.

"No, the Liverpool game." Carlos corrected. "They're playing Manchester United, are they not?"

This was surprising. There had been no indication in the past of Carlos ever caring about any other team besides Real Madrid - let alone being that interested a whole other league. If you ever were going to talk EPL with a driver, it was probably a passing conversation with Lewis. Maybe George if the Wolves were involved. And that was when the drivers themselves initiated the conversation.

Max, and his love for your team's biggest rival Barcelona, was who you used to talk to about football, who you used to stay up and watch games or play Fifa with.

And since that was no more, you sort of lost any passion for it.

So this was very much news to you.

Carlos Sainz. Talking to you about EPL.

More than that - asking you if you were going to watch an EPL game.

"Uh, yeah maybe." You finally spoke. During your drive to work, you had vaguely thought about changing your schedule so as to be able to watch the game. You had played around with the idea of doing a workout after your shift tomorrow so you could stay up after qualifying and watch the match.

The only issue was that this would you mean you wouldn't be able to work out before the race on Sunday - and you were definitely going to be stressed working a whole weekend at Ferrari.

But if you watched it you could stream it on one of the TVs in the driver's gym - that way Oscar could workout with you also.

Suffice to say, you hadn't yet made up your mind.

"Lando and I were going to watch it. He's a fan of Manchester United." Carlos said, looking at you expectantly. "Don't worry, I won't tell the Don."

It was that look which made your eyes widen slightly, the thought suddenly dawning on you: was Carlos asking to watch the game together?

Something erupted in your stomach.

However, your reflex to any driver interaction had immediately kicked in.

"Oh, nice. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to watch it with the schedule. You guys enjoy, though."

Carlos opened his mouth but thankfully someone, a man dressed in the red uniform, appeared in the doorway calling for Carlos. The interruption was very much welcomed as the driver nodded and was resolved to leave you before your body gave you any more confusing signals.

You took a second, a steading second, before you slammed your locked shut and went out to look for Oscar.

“And there’s the young rookie, Oscar Piastri. Looking really good after his amazing win in Jeddah. 9th, outperforming everyone’s expectations!"

“Yes! He’s just arrived with his - is that his trainer?”

“She looks tough enough to be one. Wait is that — “

The commentators immediately realise and change the subject to something else to do with Fernando’s winning streak and Aston Martin’s upgrades. You sigh at the clip that had been playing on the TV in front of you where you could be seen handing him the Antinal Dia had been adamant Oscar have.

Zak had informed Oscar who had informed you about the conversations had between all the TPs about, well, you.

It was startling to say the least.

"I'm afraid people are starting to catch on." Oscar's PR Manager said with a stern look as she stared at both you and Oscar. Her name was Sophie and despite her young age putting her in the same ball-park as you and Oscar... it still felt like you both were students in trouble, being told off by your teacher.

Oscar had asked you about a Sophie Wright a few months ago. You briefly knew of the girl from her interning days, following other PR members around the McLaren motorhome over the years. She was a little on the shorter side, the chubbier side and, unfortunately, these two appearance traits meant she was excluded from the other PR girls who definitely already had a group chat going.

However, you also knew this meant she would be good at her job. Sophie could blend in the background quietly, unnoticed and do her job well. You also doubted she would easily jump around for a better opportunity and do Oscar dirty. Then there was the fact that when you served her a skinny latte one time, she made sure to read your name badge and thank you with a genuine smile.

And so you had given Oscar the thumbs up.

Never, in a million years, did you think you would be here though. Getting a debrief from her as Sophie tapped on her iPad. You risked a glance at Oscar who looked indifferent and nonplussed.

"Sorry Soph," he said, "but I'm not exactly aware what this means exactly."

There was some noise at the door and in walked Zak Brown himself. He was still talking to someone outside in the hall and said a 'yep, bye!' and then finally turned to address the room he was halfway in. "Ah, here we are. Just the people I need to see." His eyes fell on you and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

"No trouble at all. I know you're friends with Oscar and just wanting to help him out." Zak said, coming to sit down. "Ah, so you've seen the clips." He looked at the TV where Sophie's iPad was still screensharing the clip from yesterday.

Thursday's media days was always the least loved day for everyone - save for the bloodthirsty journalists. Drivers hated all the mundane questions and the paranoia of microphones and cameras everywhere. And you hated media day because it meant extra long barista shifts.

"Yes, Sophie showed me before but I thought Tezza should see it." Oscar explained, using your nickname. Your heart warmed at how considerate that was. You met his eyes and smiled softly at him. Your love for the kid grew daily.

"Good thinking!" Zak said, nodding agreeably to his driver. You fought to keep your face passive as you regarded the McLaren CEO.

Your opinion of Zak Brown was that he got further than he ever dreamt to get from starring on Wheel of Fortune. And whilst you did admire him for not being brought up in the snobbery and pretentiousness of the generational wealth that F1 tends to circulate through... you did note how he sucked up to the those snobs and their pretentious generational wealth.

Namely, how he did anything and everything for to make Lando Norris happy. In your opinion, it was a lil cringe at times.

"Well, the problem is that it's getting harder and harder for me to just make it out to the rest of the Paddock that you and Oscar are just friends spotting one another at the gym." Zak said. "Christian Horner is running rampant, scared you'll turn Oscar into the next Max Verstappen."

You snorted at this. Unfortunately this drew everyone's attention to you and you knew you would need to explain. "Max and Oscar are polar opposites."

Oscar could very easily become a World Champion without you. He was smart, dedicated and very talented. And whilst Max was all those things, he didn't need someone to train him up so much as tame him down after all that Jos did to him. You guys had just as much sessions on anger management as you had sessions on endurance training.

"Either way, it's coming to be viewed as a breach." Zak said. "And if you breach your contract then - "

"I know." You interrupted him. He didn't need to explain that to you.

"There's also the issue that people think you two are dating." Sophie spoke up from the front. She tapped on her iPad a few times and up came up a few screenshots of Twitter threads hypothesising about the two of you. "Your Twitter had a followed increase of 150% since Oscar followed you. Which didn't help."

"And whose fault was that?" You said, looking at Oscar with an unimpressed look. "You're lucky I deleted that shit so quickly."

"Yeah look, my bad. The timing was off." He said, accepting responsibility. You still remember all the notifications of the Twitter shit-storm Oscar set off. You literally had to delete your account because of it.

"Yes, Christian did bring that up." Zak said. "And it's a good thing Oscar's lovely Lauren is here - "

"Lily, sir." Sophie quickly corrected her boss. You wanted to groan. Oscar just looked down to hide his smile. Under the table, you kicked at his legs.

"Lily! Sorry." He gave a sheepish look to Oscar. "Yes, you and Lily this morning was a good idea."

"Unfortunately, Daniel did like a few of these Tweets." Sophie added, bringing up the screenshots of a Tweet about you and Oscar that was liked by none other than @danielricciardo.

You clenched your fist, your nails digging into your palm as you thought of how fucking petty that was. Daniel wasn't a fucking idiot. Aside from the fact that he knew your type - (admittedly, the tall/dark features combination always got you) Oscar was so young.

If anything, you thought of Oscar, genuinely, as a younger brother. As you had Max. Daniel knew that. So he knew exactly what he was doing by liking those kind of fucking Tweets. Tweets you wouldn't put past Red Bull to send out themselves.

Because, if anything, they would be praying it wouldn't be true about you and Oscar. Otherwise Christian Horner wouldn't have any leg to stand on. That was how you got around being connected to Charles, anyway. Family was the exception.

"I know your contract has you tied to only working for Red Bull and Ferrari's drivers but--"

"Red Bull and Charles Leclerc." You corrected in a tight voice, your eyes falling down to the table in front of you. "I was only granted exemption to work with Charles as he was considered family."

This caused him to frown as he pulled out his phone and began typing at it. "I thought you were allowed to work for Red Bull or Ferrari. No new teams."

"Yeah, no." You said, making Oscar chuckle at the Australianism. "No new teams outside of Red Bull and Torro Rosso." You specified.

"Christian didn't say that." Zak said.

"It was kept really quiet." You explained. "Charles was, um, he granted exemption from my Red Bull contract because he - well, he was considered family." You cleared your throat, not able to even look at Oscar. "I was signed for Torro Rosso and Red Bull. Never Ferrari."

"That's not what Toto said at the meeting." Zak said, shaking his head. "He made it seem that you could work for Ferrari."

You said nothing. Toto Wolff had approached you once or twice but your answer had always been the same, no matter what he offered. Eventually, he dropped it. You just didn't realise he dropped it because Toto had sought out the fine print.

"Wait so why aren't you Charles' trainer?" Zak asked, looking up from his phone. "He'd be insane to not have you!"

You froze. How were you supposed to answer that? For once, you had hoped the F1 rumour mill had properly run its course and Zak would know better than to ask that obvious question.

"Eh, Leclerc's loss." Oscar interjected with a casual shrug. "Let's be glad we don't need to worry about that."

The hidden meaning behind his smooth words were clear and you felt your love for the boy increase tenfold at his save.

"What - if I may," Sophie started, trying to be sensitive with her wording and her eyes darted between you and Oscar, "what were the grounds for family?"

You took a moment to think of how you might answer. You really didn't want to but if this might help the boy beside you, you would. "Charles - and I, like, I dunno. We grew up together? Everyone just knew." You pulled at your hoodie sleeve, feeling every bit uncomfortable with the question.

"You didn't date?" Sophie asked. Your face must've shown something very unpleasant because she was quick to amend. "I'm only saying because the grounds for family are always a grey area."

You pressed your lips together and went back to staring at the table. "There was nothing romantic between Charles and I." You said. The room fell silent for a moment as Zak tapped on his screen a few times and then he spoke up.

"You also trained Daniel. He told me in 2021." Zak said and put the phone down and you wanted to roll you eyes. Of course Daniel would say that. "And I don't want to get into all the drama but you were dating him back when you were training Verstappen."

Zak did have a point.

A key point that you had forgotten.

You paused and watched the screen in front of you and the liked by @danielricciardo Tweet. "Christian's always had a soft spot for Daniel so..." You trailed off. "But yeah, you're right. It was fine even though I was contracted to Max under Torro Rosso then Red Bull."

"Hm." Zak said, bringing a hand to his chin as he leaned back, pensive, in his chair. "I can see how romantic grounds could be argued." He said it with a laugh, looking between you and Oscar.

You raised an eyebrow at the comment. You honestly weren't sure if this was just Zak Brown being Zak Brown - i.e saying dumb things to suck up since he was out of his element - or if he actually meant that. Either way, it pissed you off.

Because there was no fucking way you'd let that happen to Oscar.

"No it can't. Contracts aside, I'm not forcing someone I think of as my younger brother into a PR relationship with me." You said.

"It could work, though." Sophie said, taking a professional tone as you turned your glare to her. "This is what I was trying to say before. The Twitter comments about you and Oscar are not necessarily negative. If anything you've helped increased Oscar's public image and Red Bull wouldn't able to say anything about you two on romantic family grounds."

You were seething.

Thankfully, Oscar was more level-headed than you.

"Yeah, look guys. Tezza's pretty but not my type." He finally chimed in, lighthearted. "Besides, I think we should focus more on the car and that way it's a fair advantage to both me and Lando."

You looked back at him and took a deep breath. Oscar smiled at you, chill as always, and you took another breath. You wanted to give the boy a big hug.

"Look, Zak," you said, looking back at the TP, calming down a little more, "I'm sorry. I'm causing you all this shit."

"You got Oscar into the points." Zak waved off. "Don't worry about it. I just want to find a way that works for everyone." You sucked on your teeth. Whilst it was nice to know that Zak Brown was willing to take risks on you also wanted to know how this conversation would've gone if Oscar hadn't finished 9th in Jeddah last weekend.

Such was the way of F1.

Sophie then tapped on her iPad and the TV showed a picture taken by Ky Millman. It was of Oscar hugging you after the win in Jeddah. Some comments were displayed and you found your lips turning up as you read them. They were, as Sophie said, sort of positive.

kymillman

liked by mclaren, saintescuderia and 15'483 others

kymillman SUPPORT FOR SUCCESS! Oscar surprised many with his amazing performance in Jeddah and goes to celebrate with a F1 Hospitality worker and friend @ynusername!

view all 76 comments

halaaaamadrid girl help his shoe game pls

ln44girlieee @mclaren we need content from this duo plssss u have them right there

logansversion as if mclaren is going to post a couple?

f1fanforever they're friends?

ln44girlieee idc the level of sarcasm between them would be SO GOOD

oscarpastries i love THIS! 😫😫😫

justanotherinchident omg charles finna be RIOTING!

team44roscoes wait why would charles be upset ?? i thought @ynusername was with dannyric?

maxiel4eva_16 yeh 😒 jumping on all them aussies

You rolled your eyes at the last comment. Maybe it was a good thing you were off Twitter and barely used Instagram anymore.

"It'll be hard to argue that Oscar is family since you haven't known him as long as you did with Charles," Sophie spoke up, bringing your attention back to her, "but we can maybe try to build it up from a PR point a view."

"That Oscar and I are family and not dating?" You asked. Sophie nodded. You looked at Oscar, wanting his confirmation.

"Yeah, sure thing Vin Diesel." He laughed.

"Hey, hey. Fuck you." The grin on your face was contagious and he broke out laughing also. You liked this new idea and turned back to look at Sophie a lot more positively. You were glad McLaren gave Oscar the girl.

"Okay, so what do we do to show the world I've adopted Oscar?" You asked.

"I think you'll find my dad's already half adopted you." Oscar corrected. "He wants to see your Supra."

"That's perfect!" Sophie said, excited. "Maybe Oscar can post a story of the interaction sometime this weekend? Make sure Lily is there. Maybe you can play the tired third wheel of them!" Sophie looked at you as ranted off her ideas. You nodded, suddenly less excited.

Whilst it was nice to know there was a plan in place to help you and Oscar continue to work together, you didn't like the way Sophie said for you 'play' a role. The one, sole consolation you had going for you these past few years was the lack of needing to play any PR role. Hearing Sophie speak was giving you flashbacks to times long gone.

"Happy with that gang?" Zak said, placing his palms on the table. "We'll work on building the PR and hopefully that will get Red Bull off our back as we also improve the car!" He stood up and left, not joining Sophie and Oscar as they said goodbye to the boss.

"Wait, does this mean I need to actually start using Instagram?" You asked.

"Yes." Sophie said. Then she looked up from her iPad. "Don't you? You were tagged in it?"

"Like, I have an account but I stopped using it. I'm pretty sure I deleted the app." You said, pulling out your phone to see that yes, there was no pink app downloaded. You pressed the download button, knowing what was in store for you.

"Download it. You're already at 2.4k followers." She said, bringing up your profile on the TV screen.

"The fuck? I had like three hundred last time I checked."

"Five." Sophie corrected. "Your growth has increased since you started training the F2 winner who follower Y/N Tessio after the most controversial Formula 1 Tweet that ever was Tweeted." Sophie said, eyeing Oscar with a raised eyebrow.

"I already said sorry about that."

"Do you know how stressful you made my first day? Helen scared me!" Sophie asked, humour on her face. "Though, nothing like jumping in the deep end."

The Instagram app had finishing downloading and you logged onto it - thank you pre-saved passwords - to be met with a fucking plethora of notifications that suddenly had you overwhelmed. As such, you immediately went out of the app and put your phone in your pocket. You could deal with that all later.

"I'm not using Twitter again." You said, thinking back to the Tweets Daniel had liked. "Fuck that."

"Yes, only Tumblr or Reddit over here." Oscar said, pointing to you.

"Tumblr?" Sophie looked at you, surprised.

"Yeah? What of it?" You asked, defensive.

"Nothing. Just surprised. I would ask to follow you but Tumblr is the safe haven of anonymity. I get it." She nodded. "Alright, perfect. I'll draft up a PR plan. In the mean time, do you mind if I review your profile and send you some tips?" Looking at you for the last bit.

"By all means." You said, half wishing you could give her control of it like Oscar and be done with it. You just wanted to be able to work with Oscar without causing him any trouble and not having to worry about this PR bullshit.

"Perfect!" She said, beaming.

Your phone buzzed. It was a text reminder about you needing to go back to check on some dough you'd prepared. Back at Ferrari. You sighed and stood up.

"Alright, sounds good. I gotta get back to work. Take your supplements and electrolytes. The green one." The last bit was aimed at Oscar as you met his eyes and then turned to leave the room and walk, head down, out of the McLaren motorhome.

You took a deep breath as soon as you made it into the open air. With how things were going, it was likely that you would be having another gym session today. You arrived at Ferrari and saw the back of Carlos' head. You felt yourself gulp and turned to hide behind the coffee machine. Maybe you would watch Liverpool play.

The mention of your connection to soccer was also pointed out in the room you had just rushed out of. Sophie made a small sound and rounded on Oscar, shoving something in his face.

"Did you know that half of Real Madrid are following her? Jude Bellingham just commented on the post!"

She stared at Oscar, hoping he might provide an answer. The young driver just shrugged. "She did say something about her uncle coaching a team." Sophie stared at him, incredulous. "How was I to know? I don't watch soccer."

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