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f14fun · 3 months ago

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speed date (arvid linblad)

synopsis: in which case y/n, earns herself a hot blind date, not realizing that her best friend set her up with non other than f2 driver arvid linblad

smau x prose (11.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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I was goddamn royally fucked.

Considering that bright and early on Monday morning at 9:00 AM, I had a cumulative test for my Intro to Sociology course on social stratification, I should’ve been spending my Saturday night locked in my dorm, surrounded by sticky notes and highlighters, cramming like my life depended on it.

And, to be fair, it kind of did.

The University of London wasn’t just any institution—it was a beacon of prestige, a place where centuries of tradition met cutting-edge academic rigor. My concentration in International Relations wasn’t some fluff major either; it was the real deal, complete with rigorous coursework that challenged you to dissect the layers of global politics, economics, and, of course, sociology.

Getting into this university had been a Herculean task. Maintaining my grades here? Even more so. I wasn’t just chasing a degree—I was chasing First-Class Honours, the kind of distinction that could open doors to diplomatic corps, global think tanks, or even the United Nations. It wasn’t just expected by my parents; it was demanded by my own overachieving, anxiety-ridden brain.

Which was why I absolutely needed this course to go well. I needed that test score. I needed to drown myself in textbooks until the theories of Karl Marx and Max Weber were practically embedded into my brain.

But did I also need this blind date?

For purely entertainment purposes? Maybe.

For the sake of my rapidly deteriorating mental health? Definitely.

All thanks to Ollie, my friend-slash-brother-from-another-mother, who had somehow made it his life’s mission to “get me out there.” “It’ll be good for you,” he’d said with his usual laid-back grin when I protested. “You’re always locked up in that room of yours. Have some fun for once, yeah?”

My protests had been met with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Trust me, you’ll like him. He’s one of my best mates. Good guy, funny, decent-looking, and he knows how to hold a conversation. What more could you want?”

For starters, I wanted to know who the hell this mystery man was.

“What’s his name?” I’d asked, crossing my arms as Ollie lounged on my couch like he owned the place.

“You’ll find out on Saturday,” he’d replied, far too casually for my liking.

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s a blind date, love,” he’d said with an exaggerated eye roll. “The point is in the name.”

“And what if he’s horrible?”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test.”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening like he’d just cracked the code to the universe. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test. Or, better yet, fake food poisoning—classic, foolproof.”

“Great plan, Ollie,” I deadpanned, glaring at him. “I’ll just dramatically clutch my stomach and sprint to the bathroom. Real subtle.”

He laughed, propping his feet up on my coffee table like the annoying pest he was. “Hey, it works. And besides, you’re good at theatrics. Remember last month when you staged that coughing fit to get out of that guest lecture?”

“That was different,” I snapped. “I actually thought I was dying.”

“Oh, totally,” he said, smirking. “Dying of boredom.”

I threw a pillow at his face, which he caught effortlessly, still grinning. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoying but lovable,” he replied, tossing the pillow back with that self-satisfied grin that made me want to both punch him and keep him around forever. “And you’ll thank me for this. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” I echoed, glaring at him. “Ollie, you’re about as trustworthy as a wet traffic cone. And let’s not forget the last time you tried to ‘help me.’ I’m still emotionally recovering from the guy who wouldn’t stop talking about his crypto portfolio.”

“That was one time,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he sprawled across my couch, looking far too comfortable in my space. “And, in my defense, how was I supposed to know he’d turn out to be a walking NFT?”

I glared harder, arms crossed. “He handed me a business card with a QR code that said, ‘Scan for my life story.’”

Ollie burst out laughing, kicking his feet up on my coffee table like he owned the place. “Okay, fine, I’ll admit that one was a misfire. But this guy? Top-notch. No QR codes. Just vibes.”

“Great. Because ‘vibes’ are definitely what I’m looking for,” I muttered, sinking into the armchair opposite him. “I should be studying right now, not signing up for another one of your social experiments.”

“Studying?” Ollie repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday night, Y/N. Even nerds need a night off. Besides, I’m leaving in two weeks for testing. Who knows when I’ll be back to sprinkle a little chaos in your life?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. That was the thing about Ollie—he was infuriating, but I missed him when he wasn’t around. He’d been my unofficial big brother since university, and now that he was off racing for Haas in Formula One, our hangouts were fewer and farther between. The thought of him jetting off for the season again made me soften, just a little.

“Fine,” I said begrudgingly. “But if this date sucks, I’m holding it against you for the next decade.”

“Deal,” Ollie said, sitting up and extending a hand like we were sealing a business agreement. I ignored it, rolling my eyes instead.

“And when you’re back in March, you’re buying me dinner,” I added.

“Done,” he said, grinning. “You want it in London or a paddock somewhere?”

“London,” I said firmly. “I’m not flying to Bahrain just to watch you crash into someone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d crash,” he shot back, a mock-offended hand over his heart.

“Bold of you to assume you wouldn’t,” I replied, smirking.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said, shaking his head but laughing anyway. “Anyone else would’ve blocked your number by now.”

“And you’re lucky you’re going back to testing soon,” I said, throwing a pillow at him. “I can only take you in small doses.”

“Oh, you love me,” Ollie said with a grin, catching the pillow effortlessly. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone in a few weeks. But until then, you’re stuck with me.”

God help me, he was right.

After Ollie left my dorm, grinning like the smug instigator he was, I decided to do what any responsible student would do: bury myself in my notes and try to salvage what little control I had over my life.

Friday night was a blur of highlighters, scribbled index cards, and frantic Googling about Karl Marx’s theory of class conflict. My desk, which had started out reasonably tidy, quickly turned into a war zone of open textbooks, coffee mugs, and half-eaten snacks. By the time I checked the clock, it was 5:00 AM, and I was drooling on my sociology notebook.

The guilt of falling asleep mid-study session hit me like a freight train when I finally woke up. My neck was sore, my back was stiff, and my face had a lovely imprint of the notebook spiral on it. The sun was already creeping through the blinds, and I groaned, wiping at the dried drool on my chin.

I stumbled into the dorm kitchen in my pajamas, too bleary-eyed to care who saw me, and threw together the saddest breakfast imaginable: a grilled cheese sandwich made from stale bread and the last two slices of American cheese in my fridge. The toaster barely worked, but it was functional enough to melt the cheese, which I considered a win. Sitting on the counter, I wolfed it down like a goblin, crumbs falling onto my notebook as I tried to multitask.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of intense cramming. I barely moved from my desk, save for bathroom breaks and refilling my mug with instant coffee. Page after page of social stratification theories blurred together, my brain buzzing with terms like "bourgeoisie," "proletariat," and "meritocracy." Time felt irrelevant—until it wasn’t.

When I finally glanced at the clock, it was 7:03 PM.

And my date was at 8:00.

Ohhhhh, I was so fucked.

Panic slammed into me like a freight train. My pen froze mid-sentence, and my eyes darted to the mess around me: papers, empty coffee cups, and my disheveled appearance reflected back at me in the dark screen of my laptop. My hair looked like it had fought a losing battle with a blender, and I was still wearing the same pajamas from the night before.

“Shit,” I muttered, pushing myself up from my desk so fast my chair squeaked. “Shit, shit, shit.”

How had I let this happen? Oh, right—because I’d convinced myself that I could juggle both being a straight-A student and surviving Ollie’s matchmaking. My brain, now functioning on fumes, reminded me of one very important fact: I was absolutely not ready.

“Okay, okay, I can fix this,” I said out loud, pacing my dorm in a panic. “Just... start with the basics. Shower. Clothes. Makeup. Don’t think about the fact that you’re already screwed.”

Grabbing my towel and a pair of flip-flops, I bolted down the hall to the shared dorm bathrooms, clutching my toiletries like a soldier heading into battle. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed open the door, the faint smell of cheap soap and mildew hitting me immediately. I grimaced. Shared dorm bathrooms were the bane of my existence, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The showers were already occupied, voices bouncing off the tiled walls as girls chattered about everything from classes to their plans for the weekend. I tried my best to tune them out, ducking into the furthest stall and locking the door with a shaky hand.

“Fastest shower known to mankind,” I muttered to myself, tossing my towel over the door and setting my shampoo precariously on the tiny shelf. I slipped off my flip-flops and stepped onto the gritty floor of the shower stall, wincing as I reminded myself not to think about what might be lurking there.

I turned on the water, and it blasted me with ice-cold fury. “Shit!” I hissed, dancing out of the spray until it warmed up. Time was ticking, though, so I forced myself under the stream, quickly lathering up my hair and scrubbing like my life depended on it.

All the while, the conversations outside the stall droned on. Someone was laughing loudly about their roommate’s terrible cooking, and another voice chimed in about their date going horribly wrong. “Same, girl,” I muttered under my breath, rinsing shampoo out of my hair.

I grabbed my loofah and scrubbed every inch of myself with the kind of fervor that could’ve sanded a wooden floor. When I reached my feet, I braced myself, balancing on one leg like a flamingo to scrub in between my toes. “Germs don’t take a day off,” I whispered like it was a mantra.

Then came the worst part: shaving. I fumbled with my razor, slathering a generous amount of body wash on my legs before dragging the blade over my skin as quickly as I dared. My hand slipped once, the razor catching on my shin. “Ah, fuck!” I yelped, wincing as a thin red line appeared.

“Are you okay?” someone called from outside my stall, their voice tinged with concern.

“Fine!” I lied, my voice too high-pitched to sound convincing. “Totally fine!”

I rinsed my leg, the water stinging as it hit the scrape, and forced myself to finish shaving the other leg, gritting my teeth the entire time.

Finally, I turned off the water and grabbed my towel, wrapping it around me as I tried to ignore the suspiciously squelchy sound my flip-flops made against the wet floor. I’d survived, barely, but I still had to face the monumental task of getting dressed and making myself look presentable in less than 45 minutes.

I pulled off an impressively athletic sprint back into my dorm room, water still dripping down my legs and towel barely clinging to my body as I slammed the door shut behind me. The clock on my desk glared at me with unforgiving numbers: 7:25 PM.

“Shit, shit, shit, I'm a bloody mess,” I muttered, rushing to my closet and yanking the door open. The already crammed space seemed to mock me with its lack of options. Dresses? Too cold. Skirts? Not the right vibe. Pants? Too boring. My hands moved frantically, rifling through hangers as I tossed rejects over my shoulder like a tornado. A floral skirt flew across the room, followed by a crop top and a pair of boots I hadn’t worn in months.

“Why do I own so many clothes but nothing to wear?” I groaned, holding up a sequined dress and immediately tossing it aside. The pile on the floor grew, and my patience shrank.

Finally, at 7:35, I resigned myself to something both practical and chic: a grey cape jacket paired with black thermal tights, sleek black shorts, and knee-high boots to keep warm. It wasn’t exactly runway-ready, but it looked polished enough to get Ollie off my back for not trying. I caught a glance at myself in the mirror and nodded. “This’ll do,” I muttered, yanking the cape’s zipper closed with a sigh of relief.

With 12 minutes left, I tackled my hair and makeup. A quick spritz of heat protectant, a few frantic waves with my curling iron, and a generous application of hairspray made my hair passable. My makeup routine was an Olympic sprint: concealer, mascara, blush, and the lightest swipe of gloss. I blinked at myself in the mirror at 7:47 PM, flushed and frazzled but somehow looking... decent?

“Good enough,” I said to my reflection, grabbing my purse and darting out the door.

By the time I flagged down a cab, the streets were choked with rush-hour traffic. As the driver punched in the destination, the fare popped up on the screen, and I winced. “Seriously? Highway robbery,” I muttered, climbing in anyway. There was no time to be cheap—not when I was already cutting it this close.

As I climbed into the cab, the driver, an older man with a kind smile and a thick accent, turned to me. “Where to?” he asked.

“Maggiore,” I replied quickly, rattling off the address Ollie had texted me earlier. I tugged the seatbelt across my lap, my fingers twitching as I locked it into place. The cab lurched forward, merging into the sea of traffic, and I leaned back against the seat, watching the clock on the dashboard mock me with its relentless ticking. 7:49 PM.

Rush hour in London was like wading through molasses, and the minutes seemed to fly by while the car barely crawled forward. I tapped my fingers against my knee, glancing out the window as red brake lights reflected on the glass like a taunting light show. 7:50. Why had I thought this was a good idea again?

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with curiosity. “You look nervous,” he said, his voice casual but warm. “First date?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah,” I admitted, my cheeks heating as I adjusted the hem of my cape jacket. “A blind one, actually.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “That explains the fidgeting. Don’t worry, miss. Blind dates aren’t all bad. Sometimes they’re even fun.”

“Fun,” I repeated, laughing nervously. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He chuckled again, his eyes returning to the road. “Don’t overthink it. Worst case, you’ve got a good story to tell your friends, eh?”

I sighed, leaning my head against the window. “I guess you’re right. But if it’s a disaster, my friend who set this up is going to pay.”

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made me relax—if only a little. “Sounds fair. Just enjoy yourself. You never know—this date might surprise you.”

“Here’s hoping,” I murmured, checking the clock again. 7:52 PM. My fingers tightened on my purse strap as the cab inched forward. I could feel my pulse quickening, every tick of the clock reminding me how little time I had left.

The cab driver must’ve noticed, because he added, “You’ll get there on time, miss. I’ll make sure of it.”

I gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to calm the swirl of nerves in my stomach. This was fine. Totally fine. Except it wasn’t, because I was about to walk into a room and meet someone I’d never even seen before. And if they were anything like the train wreck of Ollie’s last matchmaking attempt… well, I was in for a very long night.

“Thanks,” I said softly, glancing out the window as we finally pulled into a quieter street, closer to Maggiore. The clock flashed 7:57 PM, and my heart skipped a beat. Showtime.

The warm buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air as I stepped into Maggiore, my eyes darting around the restaurant. Ollie had been vague about what his friend looked like—typical—but he had, in his infinite wisdom, left me with the oh-so-helpful clue: “Just look for the kind of guy you’d consider handsome.”

Great. Because that wasn’t subjective at all.

I scanned the room, my gaze skimming over tables of couples and groups until it landed on a man sitting by the window. He was tall, well-dressed, and had a brooding, almost annoyingly good-looking air about him. The kind of guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a perfume ad with just the right amount of perfectly styled hair. Handsome? Sure. Probably Ollie’s type of wingman? Definitely.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way over, my heart hammering in my chest. “Excuse me,” I said hesitantly as I reached the table. “Are you… Ollie’s friend?”

The man looked up, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

I blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the curious look in his deep-set eyes. “You’re not…? Oh my god, never mind,” I stammered, heat flooding my face. “I, uh, I think I’ve got the wrong table.”

As I stumbled backward, practically tripping over my own feet, the guy by the window—Mr. Brooding Handsome—watched me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. Before I could escape to the safety of my actual date, he leaned forward slightly, his sharp jawline catching the dim light of the restaurant.

“Wait,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, and entirely too confident. “You’re not just going to walk away after that, are you?”

I froze, blinking at him. “After what?”

“After mistaking me for your date.” He smirked, and the way his lips curved up was so irritatingly perfect it made my brain short-circuit. “I mean, not that I’m complaining. You can sit here if you want—I’m sure whoever you’re actually looking for wouldn’t mind waiting.”

I stared at him, my brain firing off alarm bells. What the hell is happening right now?

“Uh, thanks, but I think I’m good,” I said, trying to muster a polite smile while edging away.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his smirk deepening. “I wouldn’t mind getting stood up if it meant spending the evening with you.”

Oh, God. Kill me now. Was he actually flirting with me? This was not part of the plan.

“Wow,” I said, managing to sound more annoyed than flattered. “Do you just have a stockpile of lines ready for moments like this?”

Mr. Brooding Handsome smirked again, completely unfazed. “Only for the ones who deserve them.”

I stared at him, deadpan, and decided to throw the ultimate curveball. If this guy was going to make me uncomfortable, I might as well return the favor. “You do realize I’m a minor, right?”

His smirk vanished faster than you could say awkward silence. His eyes widened, his expression morphing from confident to horrified in record time. “Wait, what? You’re—you’re underage?”

I didn’t even blink, keeping my expression as serious as I could manage. “Yeah. Seventeen. What are you, some kind of perv?”

His face drained of color so fast I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I—I didn’t know! You don’t look—” he stammered, his words tripping over each other in a desperate attempt to backpedal.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” I said, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Classic.”

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—” He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, clearly spiraling. “I need to repent, like immediately. This is horrible.”

Before I could drive the nail in any further, a sudden burst of laughter cut through the awkward tension, loud and unrestrained. I froze, my head whipping toward the sound, and for a moment, my brain short-circuited.

At the next table sat quite possibly the prettiest boy I had ever seen in my life.

He had this full head of unruly dark curls that looked like they’d been styled by the wind, framing a face so symmetrical it could’ve been carved by Michelangelo himself. His sharp jawline softened by a cheeky grin, and his deep brown eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he laughed like he couldn’t help himself. He wore a crisp white collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, and the first couple of buttons undone, hinting at effortless charm. He looked like he belonged in a summer movie montage or an editorial spread, not sitting casually in a restaurant grinning at my misfortune.

And the kicker? His smile. The kind of smile that could make a nun forget her vows—and right now, it was aimed squarely at me.

I stared, completely floored, as he tilted his head slightly and wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “Wow,” he said, his voice warm and smooth, like melted chocolate. “That was the single most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

My face, already red from mortification, went nuclear as I realized two things in quick succession:

This boy had witnessed my entire interaction with Mr. Brooding Handsome.

This boy was my date.

“Kill me now,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to look away from his stupidly perfect face.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, still grinning as he gestured toward the empty seat across from him. “I’m Arvid. Ollie’s friend.”

I froze, my stomach doing somersaults. Ollie knows. He knows exactly what kind of face card would render me absolutely useless.

“You’re Arvid?” I managed to squeak out, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

“Guilty,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence, the kind that made the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt seem like a deliberate act of seduction. “And you must be the infamous Y/N he told me about. The one who, apparently, would rather fake food poisoning than go on a blind date.”

I shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “That was private.”

"Hah!" he chucked.

Arvid reached down beside his chair, pulling out a bouquet of assorted flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper. Bright yellows, soft purples, and cheerful whites filled the bundle, with not a single rose in sight. My jaw dropped slightly as he handed it over with a casual smile, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“These are for you,” he said, his voice warm but teasing. “Before you accuse me of trying too hard, Ollie did warn me you’d need some convincing to show up.”

I blinked, taking the bouquet automatically, the vibrant colors almost distracting me from the fact that a ridiculously hot stranger had just handed me flowers. “These… aren’t roses.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Nope. I figured you’d appreciate that. I may or may not have done some research.”

“Research?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “What, did Ollie give you a dossier on me or something?”

"Well... maybe yes," He responded bashfully.

"Thank you very much," My cheeks turned red, grateful, and also astonished that this Greek God of a man wasn't just dashingly handsome, he was also chivalrous.

"You are very welcome," He smiled, a real wide one too. “Are you going to sit, or are you going to keep terrorizing random men in the restaurant?”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my face burning as I buried it in the menu. “I hate you already,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “I’ll grow on you. Give me, like, an hour.”

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “You sound awfully confident for someone who just witnessed me humiliate myself in front of half the restaurant.”

Arvid leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his grin not wavering for a second. “Oh, trust me. Watching you mix up your date and traumatize that poor guy? That was the highlight of my week.”

I glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Of course I am,” he admitted shamelessly, leaning back in his chair and casually adjusting the cuff of his rolled-up sleeve. “Though, in my defense, Ollie did tell me you’d be entertaining.”

I blinked, my stomach twisting. “Ollie told you... what, exactly?”

“Everything,” Arvid said, his grin widening. “Who you are, what you study, the fact that you once tried to sneak an entire pan of brownies into a movie theater—”

My jaw dropped. “He did not tell you that.”

“He absolutely did,” Arvid replied, laughing. “And honestly? Respect. That’s commitment.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t be too mad,” Arvid said, his voice still laced with amusement. “He was just being a good friend. Besides, it’s not like I went into this blind.”

I froze, slowly lowering my hands. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he began, his tone so casual it immediately put me on edge. “Ollie might’ve shown me your Instagram. And your TikTok.”

My stomach plummeted. “Excuse me?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, though the sheer horror in it was unmistakable.

Arvid grinned, leaning back in his chair like he had just dropped the most casual bombshell in history. “What? It’s not like I went deep into the archives. Just the highlights.”

“The highlights?” I sputtered, my voice cracking. “What exactly does that mean? Oh my god, how far did you scroll? What did you see?”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he shook his head. “Relax, Y/N. I’m not some creep. Just, you know… the usual stuff. Your workout videos. Your, uh, thirst traps—”

I nearly choked on my own breath. “Thirst traps?!”

He nodded, looking far too amused for my liking. “Yeah, you know the ones. Dancing in your dorm, flexing after workouts. Oh, and that one where you were doing lunges in, like, the sweatiest shirt I’ve ever seen. You called it ‘Hot Mess Energy’ or something.”

I slapped my hands over my face, groaning into them. “Oh my god. This is my worst nightmare. My literal worst nightmare.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, though his teasing grin said otherwise. “I mean, I appreciated the honesty. Not everyone has the guts to post their sweaty, post-gym selfies for the world to see. Very authentic.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, my mortification climbing by the second. “You saw those? All of them?”

“Not all of them,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Just the ones Ollie said would give me ‘a sense of your personality.’ And honestly? You’re hilarious. That video where you did the 0.5 camera angle thing and made your forehead look like it was five feet wide? Comedy gold.” He let out a dad laughed and I paled even more then I thought I could. What was my life. I was going to kill Ollie after this.

I dropped my hands onto the table, glaring at him with every ounce of dignity I could muster—which wasn’t much. “Arvid,” I said slowly, “if you’ve seen all of that, why are you even here?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said, gesturing vaguely at myself, “why would you agree to this date after seeing… that?”

His grin softened, and for a moment, he looked almost earnest. “Because I liked it,” he said simply. “You’re not trying to be someone you’re not. You’re just… you. And, for what it’s worth, sweaty workout Y/N is still pretty damn cute.”

I stared at him, my cheeks flaming so hard I was surprised they didn’t spontaneously combust. “You’re just saying that,” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the edge of the menu.

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p” with a smirk. “In fact, I think the 0.5 angle thing is kind of endearing. It shows you don’t take yourself too seriously. And honestly?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart stutter. “It’s hot.”

I blinked, my brain short-circuiting as my self-consciousness warred with the undeniable fact that this absolute Greek god of a man had just called me hot.

What kind of fucking fanfiction life was I living in.

“You’re lying,” I said weakly, though my voice lacked conviction. My cheeks were on fire, and I suddenly wished the dim lighting in the restaurant was just a little dimmer.

Arvid leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why would I lie? I’ve seen the TikToks, Y/N. You’ve got confidence—and honestly, that’s more attractive than someone pretending to be perfect all the time.”

I groaned, slumping forward until my elbows hit the table. “I’m never posting online again.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone softer now, almost reassuring. “It’s part of what makes you you. I like that you’re not afraid to be a little messy. It’s refreshing.”

I glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For someone who spent his life racing cars at insane speeds, he was surprisingly grounded. Or maybe he was just really good at charming people. Either way, I hated that it was working.

“So,” I said, desperate to shift the focus away from my TikTok antics, “Ollie told me absolutely nothing about you. Care to fill in the blanks?”

He shrugged, resting his chin on his hand, the picture of casual confidence. “Well, here’s something—Campos Racing just signed me. First year in F2.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to process the words. “Wait… Campos Racing? F2?”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Yep. Signed the contract a few weeks ago. I’m officially moving up.”

I gawked at him, my mind racing. “Hold on. Ollie didn’t tell me you were a driver. He just said… God, he didn’t say anything except that you were his ‘friend.’” I gestured at him dramatically. “This feels like vital information, Arvid!”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Ollie’s probably just being Ollie. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, congrats,” I said, trying to recover from the shock while still glaring in my mind at Ollie for leaving me unprepared.

“It’s huge,” he admitted, the pride in his voice impossible to miss. “I’ve been karting and working my way up through the junior series for years. Getting this contract feels like… I don’t know, everything I’ve been working toward finally paying off.”

“And you’re just casually dropping that into the conversation like it’s no big deal,” I said, giving him an incredulous look. “You realize that’s insane, right?”

Arvid chuckled, shrugging as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, it’s just what I do. I don’t really think of it as a big deal. It’s my job.”

“Your job is racing cars for a living,” I said, emphasizing the absurdity of it all. “You have to admit, that’s a bit cooler than your average 9-to-5.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin turning slightly sheepish. “But honestly, it’s just a lot of training, traveling, and trying not to screw up in front of thousands of people.”

“I watch Formula 1 sometimes,” I admitted, shifting slightly in my seat. “Well, I try to when I have the time. But F2? Not so much. I mean, I know it exists, and I know it’s the step before F1, but I barely have time to keep up with one series, let alone two.”

“Fair,” he said, nodding. “F1 gets all the glitz and glamour, so it makes sense people don’t pay as much attention to F2. But we’re where the real grind happens.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Oh, so you’re saying F2 drivers work harder than F1 drivers?”

“Not harder,” he said with a laugh. “Just… differently. F2 is all about proving yourself. Every race feels like a job interview. You mess up, and it could cost you everything.”

“Yeah, it’s a big step,” he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. “This is my first year. It’s a lot of pressure, but it’s what I’ve been working toward since I was a kid.”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite myself. “That’s actually pretty cool. I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s chasing a dream like that.”

“Thanks,” he said, his grin softening. “I wasn’t sure how much you’d care, since Ollie said you’re more into F1 than anything.”

“Yeah, well, Ollie didn’t tell me anything about you,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “I came in completely blind, so thanks for the heads-up, Ollie.”

Arvid laughed, his curls bouncing slightly. “To be fair, I came in knowing way more about you than you did about me, so maybe it balances out.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, my face heating up again as I thought about all the embarrassing TikToks and Instagram posts he’d probably seen.

“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You might not know much about F2, but if you ever want to come to a race, let me know. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “That’s… nice of you,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “But I’d probably just embarrass myself.”

“Doubt it,” he said, his grin turning teasing again. “Though I’d pay good money to see you try and explain tire strategy to someone.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, his voice warm and light, “you’re still sitting here.”

Before I could respond with something witty—or tell him off for being annoyingly charming—the waiter arrived, and the moment took a sharp left turn.

It was Clara. Of course, it had to be Clara. The girl from my Intro to Economics class, who was practically infamous for her ability to sniff out drama and turn it into the juiciest gossip on campus. She was the type of person who could glance at someone’s outfit and instantly know who they were meeting, where, and why.

And right now, she was staring at me with her sharp, piercing eyes—eyes that missed nothing. Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted slightly, just enough to suggest that she recognized me, though she didn’t say it outright. But the look was there, subtle but unmistakable. It was the look of someone who knew they had stumbled onto something interesting. The kind of look that could turn my mortifying night into Monday morning entertainment for the entire Economics department.

My stomach twisted as her gaze flickered from me to Arvid, and then back again, like she was cataloging every detail for later. The tailored white collared shirt, his effortlessly confident posture, my flushed cheeks—she was filing it all away, I just knew it. Clara didn’t need words to spread gossip. Her looks alone could set a chain reaction of whispers in motion.

For a moment, I considered pretending I didn’t recognize her. Maybe if I avoided eye contact, she’d assume I was just some random girl with no connection to her perfectly curated world of university drama. But the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth told me otherwise. She knew. She knew.

“Hi,” she said brightly, flipping open her notepad, her voice so professional it almost made me forget the glint of amusement in her eyes. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Her tone was perfectly polite, but her sharp gaze lingered a second too long, and my stomach dropped even further. This wasn’t just a casual encounter. This was Clara seeing something she’d want to dissect later, probably over a cappuccino with her friends.

I forced a tight smile, gripping the edge of the table like it might somehow anchor me. “Uh, a few more minutes, please,” I said, my voice coming out higher than I’d intended.

Clara’s lips twitched again, and for a horrifying moment, I thought she might say something more. But instead, she just nodded and walked off, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and slumped back in my chair. “Of course it’s her,” I muttered under my breath.

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into an amused grin. “Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly,” I muttered, glancing at Clara’s retreating figure. “She’s in my Intro to Economics class. And she’s… well, let’s just say she’s the kind of person who loves to be in the know.”

“Ah,” he said, his grin widening. “A campus gossip.”

“Worse,” I replied, leaning forward. “She’s the campus gossip. If she recognizes me—and I’m pretty sure she does—this date is going to be all over campus by Monday morning.”

Arvid tilted his head, clearly more entertained than concerned. “You’re worried she’s going to spread the word that you’re out with a Campos Racing driver?”

I shot him a look. “No, I’m worried she’s going to turn this into some kind of soap opera. She’s probably already coming up with theories about why I look like I’ve been holding my breath for the past five minutes.”

He chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t mind the idea of people talking about us.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re the ridiculously hot guy in the story. I’m just the awkward mess who thought she could get away with ordering hot water and lemon in a place like this.”

“Ridiculously hot, huh?” he teased, leaning forward with that damn smirk of his.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I take it back. You're bloody annoying never mind."

Arvid and I continued talking for a minute, then we scanned our menus when we realized it was in fact dinner time, and we must eat during dinner.

The waitress—Clara, from my Intro to Economics class—returned with her notepad and a polite but overly curious smile. Her gaze flickered between me and Arvid, and I could tell she was already mentally storing this entire scene in her little database of gossip.

“Have you decided on drinks to start?” Clara asked, her voice light and professional, but her eyes were practically screaming, I know you.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let my nervousness show. “I’ll have hot water with lemon,” I said, folding my hands on the table like I hadn’t just committed financial suicide by agreeing to eat at this place.

Clara gave me a quick nod, but before she could jot it down, Arvid chimed in, “I’ll have the same.”

My head whipped toward him, my eyebrows shooting up. “You drink hot water with lemon?”

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging as his lips curved into a smirk. “Not usually. But I figured I’d give it a try. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Clara glanced between us, clearly amused, and jotted down the order. “I’ll bring those right out,” she said, but not before giving me one last look that screamed we’re going to talk about this in class, aren’t we?

As soon as she walked off, I turned back to Arvid, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t have to order the same thing as me, you know. It’s not a personality quiz.”

“True,” he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “But I thought it might give me some insight into you. What does hot water with lemon say about someone?”

“That they’re broke and trying to save money?” I shot back, hoping my sarcasm would mask how flustered I felt.

He laughed, the deep, warm sound sending a strange, fluttery sensation through my chest. “Nah, I think it says you’ve got taste. And discipline.” He winked, and I felt my face heat for the hundredth time that night.

I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking another glance at him while pretending to adjust my napkin. Seriously, how does someone even look like that? His curls, dark and unruly, framed his face like they were sculpted to perfection. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut through my sanity. Then there was the smirk—the one that somehow managed to be both infuriating and heart-stopping at the same time. It wasn’t fair. No one should look that good and be charming. It felt like some cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.

His gaze flicked up from the menu, and of course, he caught me staring. Again. A slow smile spread across his lips, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a glint of knowing mischief.

“See something you like?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

My face ignited, and I quickly looked away, pretending to be very interested in the tablecloth. “In your dreams,” I muttered, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

He laughed softly, the sound somehow both infuriating and intoxicating. “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know.”

“Hiding what?” I shot back, glaring at him with what I hoped was righteous indignation but probably just looked like I was panicking.

“That you’re flustered,” he said smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “And, dare I say, a little impressed.”

“I’m not flustered,” I lied, crossing my arms as if that would protect me from the sheer intensity of his presence. “And definitely not impressed.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

Before I could come up with a halfway decent retort, Clara reappeared with our drinks. She set the glasses of hot water with lemon down in front of us, her sharp gaze flicking between Arvid and me like she was analyzing every interaction.

“Have you decided on food?” she asked, her voice polite but laced with curiosity.

Arvid gestured toward me, clearly amused. “Ladies first.”

I swallowed, feeling Clara’s gaze boring into me as I opened the menu again. The prices glared back at me like some cruel joke, but I wasn’t about to let either of them see me sweat.

“I’ll have the Grilled Sutton Hoo chicken,” I said finally, forcing my voice to stay steady. “With the mushrooms and the… uh, truffle sauce.”

Clara jotted it down, her lips twitching like she was holding back a comment. She glanced at Arvid, who hadn’t stopped watching me with that insufferable smirk.

“And for you?” she asked.

“I’ll have the Slow Cooked Herefordshire Beef ‘Daube,’” he said easily, barely glancing at the menu. Then he looked at me, his grin softening into something that felt almost… warm. “And we’ll share the pork belly starter, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine,” I said, pretending not to notice the way my heart skipped at the way he looked at me. “But only because I’m starving.”

Clara nodded, her gaze lingering on us for a moment longer than necessary before she walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, I slumped back in my chair, groaning softly.

“Relax,” Arvid said, his voice light and teasing. “You’re acting like she’s going to write a full exposé about us.”

“She might as well,” I muttered, dragging my hands down my face. “She’s in my Econ class, and she’s always gossiping. By Monday, everyone’s going to think I’m dating you.”

“And?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a glint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the casual confidence in his tone. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, his smirk softening into something dangerously charming. “I’m just saying,” he began, his voice dropping to a smooth, teasing lilt, “if we were dating, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might even be pretty great.”

“Oh, really?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow, trying desperately to mask the heat creeping into my cheeks. “And what exactly makes you think that?”

He shrugged, his curls shifting slightly with the movement, and somehow, even that looked annoyingly perfect. “For starters, you’d never have to worry about a boring meal. I’d make sure we’d always go to places like this—or better. Nice food, good wine, desserts you’d dream about afterward.”

“Wow,” I said dryly, though my voice betrayed a hint of nervous laughter. “So generous of you.”

“I’m not done,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in, his eyes locked on mine. “We’d do fun things, too. Not just fancy dinners. Weekend trips. Walks through new cities. Ice skating, even if you’re terrible at it.” He winked, and I felt my stomach flip. “And I’d make sure you always had the best view of whatever race I was in. VIP, every time.”

I tried to scoff, but the idea was so vividly painted in my head that I couldn’t help the way my traitorous mind entertained it for a split second. “Sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, sitting back in his chair. “I’m just saying, people might gossip about us, but at least they’d be talking about something good.”

“Something good?” I echoed, crossing my arms and fixing him with a mock glare. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not really,” he replied, shrugging again. “I just know what I bring to the table. And if I were your boyfriend, Y/N, you’d never have to question it.”

My heart stumbled at the casual way he said it, like he wasn’t just throwing it out to mess with me, like he meant it. My face flushed so hot I was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of my ears.

I quickly reached for my glass, taking a long sip of hot water with lemon just to avoid his gaze. “You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, my voice muffled by the rim of the glass.

"Mhm," he smirked, titled his head, and looked at me, his gaze piercing through all defenses that I put up.

What the fucking hell. No boy had ever done this to me. I hate this.

I didn’t respond right away, mostly because I couldn’t. The thought of him painting this ridiculously idealized picture of dating—us dating—was doing things to me that I wasn’t ready to admit, even to myself.

“Dream on, Campos,” I muttered finally, setting the glass down and forcing myself to meet his gaze. “It’s going to take a lot more than good food and fancy dates to win me over.”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with something that made my heart skip. “Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, he had me right where he wanted me—half-annoyed, half-intrigued, and entirely unable to look away.

I took another sip of my hot water with lemon, using the motion to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts. Arvid was entirely too good at throwing me off-balance, and the way his dark eyes never seemed to leave mine didn’t help.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that maddeningly smooth voice, “tell me about you. Ollie said you’re studying something impressive.”

I raised an eyebrow, setting my glass down. “Ollie said that?”

“Well,” he admitted, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, “his exact words were, ‘She’s a genius who’ll probably run the UN someday, but she’s also stubborn as hell and will definitely challenge you to an arm-wrestling match if she’s had too much caffeine.’”

I sighed, "He may be correct on that account."

Arvid laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “So, is he right? About the UN, I mean. Not the arm-wrestling—though I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

I lowered my hands, rolling my eyes. “I’m studying International Relations at the University of London. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Mostly, it’s a lot of reading, writing, and pretending I understand what my professors are saying half the time.”

“Sounds pretty impressive to me,” he said, his voice genuine enough to make me glance at him. He was leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the room.

I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s… something I’m passionate about. I like understanding how the world works, why countries act the way they do, and how policies shape people’s lives. It’s a lot to take in, but I love it.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “You’re the type who stays up all night before exams, surrounded by books and snacks, stressing over every little detail.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a laugh that was more exasperated than amused. “You have no idea. That’s literally what I was doing before this date.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening with curiosity. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Well,” I began, setting my glass down and crossing my arms, “Ollie showed up unannounced last night and decided to chat my ear off about who-knows-what Formula 1 nonsense, completely derailing my study schedule. He finally left at, like, midnight, and by then, I was already behind.”

Arvid nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Sounds about right for Ollie.”

“So,” I continued, gesturing animatedly, “I stayed up until five in the morning—yes, five—trying to cram for my Intro to Sociology test on social stratification. Somewhere around 3:00 AM, I drooled all over my notes and woke up with half the syllabus stuck to my face.”

He snorted, barely containing his laughter. “Please tell me there’s a picture.”

“Thankfully, no,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “But when I woke up, I ate the most pathetic grilled cheese sandwich ever, made in my dorm kitchen, and went right back to studying. I didn’t even realize the time until it was 7:00 PM, and that’s when I panicked because I remembered you.”

“Flattered,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what happened next? Let me guess: world’s fastest shower?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” I rolled my eyes, already cringing at the memory. “The shared dorm bathroom was packed. Everyone was gossiping, and I was just trying to scrub between my toes without hearing about Sarah’s boyfriend drama. Oh, and I shaved my legs so fast that I actually cut myself. Twice.”

“Ouch,” he said, his smirk softening. “I hope you at least had decent water pressure.”

“Barely,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Then I had to sprint back to my room, only to realize that none of my clothes looked right. I threw half my wardrobe onto the floor before deciding on this.” I gestured to my outfit. “At 7:35.”

“And you still managed to look incredible,” he said, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that made my stomach do flips.

“Stop,” I muttered, though my face heated up against my will. “Anyway, I finally finished getting ready, grabbed a cab, and spent the entire ride freaking out about being late. All because Ollie thought it would be funny to set me up without telling me anything about you.”

Arvid laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like quite the journey. I’m impressed you even made it here in one piece.”

“Barely,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “And now I’m sitting across from you, telling this embarrassing story while you look like you just walked off a magazine cover.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands, “I had to make a good impression. Ollie said you’d be a tough critic.”

"Well I can say your fit is impressing me, and serving cunt at 100%," I cheekily grinned.

Arvid burst out laughing, the deep, warm sound filling the space between us. His dark eyes lit up, and he tilted his head, clearly amused by my choice of words. “Serving cunt at 100%, huh? That’s probably the best compliment I’ve gotten all year.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, sitting back with a smirk, feeling oddly triumphant for making him laugh like that. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m still a tough critic.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied, his grin widening. “I know better than to let my guard down around you. You’re like a tiny ball of chaos, and I have to stay sharp.”

“Tiny?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just call me tiny?”

“Well, yeah,” he teased, leaning forward again. “You’re what, five-four? Five-five?”

“Five-four and a half,” I corrected, crossing my arms. “And don’t act like you’re a giant, Mr. Five-eight.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock defense, “five-eight is still respectable. I could still pick you up with one arm.”

My face went hot, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was leaning. “Don’t even think about it,” I said, trying to sound stern but feeling the flutter in my chest betray me.

Arvid smirked, clearly relishing my flustered state, and then—because he was insufferable—he flexed his arm casually. The motion sent his bicep straining against the fabric of his shirt, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his veins ran along his forearm, prominent and defined.

I swallowed hard, my face heating up even more. Why does he have to look like that?

“Do you work out often?” I blurted before I could stop myself, instantly regretting it.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into a knowing grin. “Yeah, pretty much every day. It’s kind of essential, you know, for driving.”

"Mhmm," I responded, letting him explain. I totally knew this, I just liked the sound of his voice when he spoke.

He laughed, the sound deep and warm. “You’d be surprised how physically demanding it is. A lot of it’s about endurance—keeping your neck and core strong to handle the G-forces. And grip strength for controlling the wheel during long stints. Plus, I spend a lot of time on reaction drills and cardio.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ve heard Ollie does those things too.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a grin that was pure mischief. “Yeah, but let’s be honest. Ollie’s kind of a twig. I’m actually buff.”

I snorted, the laugh bubbling out of me before I could stop it. “You did not just say that.”

“Sure,” Arvid said, leaning forward again with a glint of mischief in his eye. “But let’s face it. Ollie couldn’t bench press a wet towel. He’s got the build of a breadstick.”

That did it. I burst out laughing, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. “You did not just say that!”

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” he said, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “It’s not a bad thing. Breadsticks are great. They’re just… not very sturdy.”

I was still laughing, my shoulders shaking as I tried to get it together. “Poor Ollie,” I managed, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re way too nice to say it, but you know I’m right,” he teased, his grin growing. “Besides, if we ever went to the gym together, I’d let you choose the playlist. That’s gotta count for something.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “So now you’re inviting me to the gym? This is escalating quickly.”

“Not really,” he said, leaning back with a sly smile. “I’m just planning ahead. You know, keeping my options open.”

“For what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “For humiliating me on a treadmill?”

“Hardly,” he said with mock offense, his hand going to his chest like I’d deeply wounded him. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d do that?”

I gave him a slow once-over, letting my eyes linger on his annoyingly perfect posture and the barely-contained smugness on his face. “Honestly? Yes. You absolutely look like that guy.”

He laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, closing the already diminishing space between us. “Okay, fair. But I’d only push you on the treadmill so I could catch you when you fall.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my brain short-circuited for a second. Was he always like this? So quick, so smooth, and so completely aware of how to make my pulse race?

“Wow,” I said, regaining composure just enough to throw him a smirk. “You’ve really got a whole playbook of lines ready to go, don’t you?”

“Not lines,” he said, his tone shifting to something warmer, more deliberate. “Just the truth.”

I blinked, thrown off balance by the sincerity in his voice. Before I could find a comeback, he leaned back again, his grin morphing into something impossibly charming. “Besides,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself, “if we’re talking about treadmills, you should know I’d never humiliate you. I’d just pace you. Keep you steady. Maybe even give you a motivational pep talk.”

“A pep talk?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You don’t exactly strike me as the motivational speaker type.”

“Oh, I can be,” he said, feigning seriousness as he clasped his hands like some kind of motivational coach. “Picture this: ‘Come on, Y/N! Just one more kilometer! Think of all the overpriced lattes you’ll earn after this!’”

I burst out laughing, the image of him cheering me on while I panted my way through a workout was too much. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin widening. “But I’d still get you through that workout. And afterward, I’d make sure we went somewhere to refuel properly. Burgers, fries, the works. You know, balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Coming from someone whose entire job is throwing their body around a track at 200 miles per hour?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I’m an expert on controlled chaos.”

“You are chaos,” I shot back, unable to stop myself from smiling.

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart do something stupid, “you’re still smiling.”

“I—” I started, but Clara, our ever-curious waitress, appeared again, interrupting the moment.

“So,” Clara said with a sweet but suspiciously knowing smile, “are we ready for that pork belly starter?”

“Yes,” Arvid answered immediately, glancing at me with a look that said he wasn’t done with the conversation. “And can we also get another round of hot water with lemon?”

I glared at him. “Are you mocking my drink choice now?”

“Not at all,” he replied, completely serious. “It’s growing on me. Kind of like you.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as Clara smirked and walked away. This boy was going to drive me absolutely insane—and, annoyingly, I was starting to think I might enjoy the ride.

As the food arrived, the conversation between us found an easy rhythm. The slow-cooked pork belly, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, was practically melting in my mouth, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of approval.

“Good?” Arvid asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a bite of his own.

“Better than good,” I admitted, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “It’s probably illegal for food to taste this nice.”

He grinned, gesturing with his fork. “You should’ve seen the catering at my last F2 event. This is basically Michelin-starred dining compared to that.”

“What did they serve?” I asked, curious.

He chuckled, setting his fork down. “Let’s just say I’m not entirely convinced it was chicken.”

I laughed, almost choking on a piece of pork. “Okay, but I thought you F2 drivers were supposed to have these super-healthy, protein-packed meals or something.”

“Oh, we do,” he said with a dramatic eye roll. “It’s just that sometimes, when you’re at a track in the middle of nowhere, the food options are… limited.”

“So you survive on protein shakes and dreams?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Pretty much,” he said with a grin. “Which is why this,” he gestured to the pork belly, “is basically heaven.”

By the time our main courses arrived, I’d learned more about his training routine, some behind-the-scenes F2 drama, and his guilty pleasure for cheesy reality TV—though he’d sworn me to secrecy on that last part.

I had just taken my first bite of my grilled chicken when he asked, “So, what about you? What’s the one thing you eat when you’re stressed?”

“Instant noodles,” I admitted, without a hint of shame. “Cheap, easy, and doesn’t require a fully functioning brain to make.”

Arvid laughed, shaking his head. “Let me guess. Ollie’s given you a lecture about that.”

“Every time he catches me eating it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s convinced it’s going to kill me.”

“Well,” Arvid said, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eye, “if it does, can I have your notes on Intro to Sociology? They sound pretty thorough.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

As we finished our meals, I reached for the menu to double-check the bill when I realized Arvid was already signaling for the check.

“What are you doing?” I asked, frowning.

“Paying,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.

“Wait—no!” I protested, sitting up straighter. “We’re splitting it.”

“Too late,” he said, handing over his card with a charming grin. “You can thank me later.”

I stared at him, flustered and a little impressed. “You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer the term ‘chivalrous,’” he replied, standing up and nodding toward the door. “Come on, let’s get dessert.”

“Dessert?” I asked, grabbing my bag and following him out. “Isn’t that cheating your diet or something?”

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I figured I’d make an exception. For you.”

My face burned at his words, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it as we walked a few blocks down to a quaint little dessert shop. The place was cozy and full of charm, with mismatched furniture, colorful murals on the walls, and the scent of freshly made waffle cones wafting through the air.

“Okay, this is adorable,” I admitted as we walked up to the counter.

“Best ice cream in London,” Arvid said confidently. “Ollie and I found it last year after one of his races.”

I scanned the menu, my eyes widening at the sheer variety of flavors. “How do you even pick?”

“Easy,” Arvid said, stepping up to order. “You go with whatever makes you happiest.”

“Philosophical and hungry,” I teased. “Impressive.”

He grinned, ordering a double scoop of salted caramel and pistachio in a waffle cone. When it was my turn, I went for chocolate and hazelnut, mostly because it sounded indulgent enough to match the mood.

We found a small table by the window, and as I took my first bite, I couldn’t help but let out a satisfied hum. “Okay, you weren’t lying. This is amazing.”

“Told you,” he said, his gaze soft as he watched me. “I’ve got good taste.”

“Debatable,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “But this ice cream? Definitely a win.”

The conversation flowed easily as we ate, filled with jokes, stories, and just enough teasing to make my cheeks ache from smiling. For someone I’d been so wary of meeting, Arvid Lindblad was turning out to be… kind of perfect.

“Alright,” he said as we finished up, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Rate the date so far. Be honest.”

“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “The food was great. The company… tolerable.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it,” I shot back, surprising myself with how comfortable I felt around him.

“Maybe I do,” he said, his tone softer now, his dark eyes holding mine for just a moment too long.

My heart did a little flip, and I quickly stood up, tossing my napkin onto the table. “Come on. Let’s go before you start getting sappy.”

He laughed again, standing and following me out the door. As we stepped into the cool evening air, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little warmer. For someone who’d completely derailed my plans for the night, Arvid Lindblad wasn’t half bad. In fact, he might just be the best distraction I’d had in a long time.

As we stepped outside the ice cream shop, the night air was cool but not uncomfortable, and I glanced at Arvid with a small smile. “So, what’s the plan? Are you driving me back, or am I hailing a cab?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish for the first time all evening. “Uh, about that… I can’t drive you back.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait, what? You’re a race car driver, but you don’t have your road license?”

“Not yet,” he admitted with a chuckle, his curls catching the streetlights in a way that was entirely too distracting. “I figured I’d drive in Formula 1 before I bothered with driving on normal roads.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping slightly. “That is the most absurdly cocky thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Cocky?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Or just confident?”

“Cocky,” I shot back, folding my arms. “And impractical.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, his grin never wavering. “But it’s worked for me so far.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. I have my license, and I’m younger than you.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, teasing tone that had been throwing me off all night. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you another time. But first—” He pulled out his phone, holding it out to me. “Put your number in.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool despite the way my heart skipped a beat. “You’re awfully confident I’ll say yes.”

“Well,” he said, his smirk widening, “you’ve already spent the whole night with me. What’s a few more texts?”

I huffed, grabbing his phone and quickly typing in my number before handing it back. “There. Don’t make me regret it.”

He looked down at the screen, saving my contact with a satisfied nod. “Oh, I won’t. In fact, I’ll text you as soon as you get home. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

“Smooth,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

He stepped closer then, his expression softening as he opened his arms slightly. “Can I at least give you a proper goodbye?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Fine. But no funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug that was surprisingly… nice. He smelled like cologne and something faintly sweet, and for a moment, I let myself relax against him.

When he pulled back, he gave me one last smile, his eyes lingering on mine for just a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N. I had fun.”

“Me too,” I admitted quietly, quickly looking away before he could see the blush creeping up my neck. “Take care, Arvid.”

He waved as I stepped into the cab, and as the car pulled away, I couldn’t help but glance back at him through the rear window. He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the confident, charming troublemaker he’d been all night.

By the time I got back to my dorm, it was exactly 10:57 PM. I glanced at the clock on my phone, shaking my head with a small smile. Full circle, I thought, dropping my bag onto the chair and sinking onto the bed.

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: made it home safe? or should I file a missing person’s report?

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I typed back. relax, I’m alive. barely, though. those ice cream calories nearly did me in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Arvid: guess we’ll have to hit the gym together soon. you know, balance.

I groaned, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. This boy is going to be the death of me.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, arvid.lindblad, and 1,203 others

yourusername: why this one.... this one lowkey ate.

view comments:

user1: okay cuntcore we get it queen

user2: ALRIGHT. girl is this a DATE??? hello answer my TEXTSSS.

user2: i know you are reading these y/n....

yourusername: i never said that it was a date

olliebearman: sure, sure...

user3: HUH shes a stunner i need to see what fugly ass man this is just to check if he can fight me for her

olliebearman: wait WDYM this one lowkey ate

olliebearman: answer my texts NOWWWWW

olliebearman: stop pretending you are studying it says you are active on insta

olliebearman: GIVE ME A LIFE UPDATE PLEASEEEEE

yourusername: never knew a bitch was so thirsty DAMN

olliebearman: i take credit i take all the credit guys

yourusername: you aired out my DIRTY LAUNDRY

user4: GIRLS GIRLS no fighting

user5: there is no way a MAN made you laugh harder than i did

yourusername: hate to be the bearer of bad news...

olliebearman: there is absolute no way he isn't even that funny

olliebearman: MY jokes are better than his common.

yourusername: once again, i hate to be the bearer of bad news...

user6: scrolling through her likes to see who this fool is

user7: AND he got her flowers? idk who this is but he a diva

yourusername: byeee he wishes

olliebearman: are you sure you are only saying this one ate because he paid for your meal AND your icecream...

yourusername: i don't know what you are talking about!

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #arvid #arvid lindblad #arvid lindblad fic #ollie bearman #oliver bearman #oliver #oliverbearman #oliver bearman f1 #ollie bearman 38 #f14fun

149 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 9 months ago

Text

why are you obsessed with me? — ryomen sukuna.

"You seemed really into it tonight." he noted casually, though his eyes held that familiar gleam. “Just playing my part, darling.” you replied with a shrug, but your voice was softer, a hint of something warmer seeping through. Sukuna stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "Maybe we’re both playing a little too well, aren’t we, baby doll?" he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. You met his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Or maybe we’re not playing at all." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the crowd outside.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern singers au!

WARNING/S: romance, fluff, secretly dating, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, elaborate roleplay, making out, smut, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, teasing, flirting, playfulness, dancing and singing, possessiveness, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of sexual tension, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, frontman! sukuna, front!woman/soloist! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.9k words.

NOTE: finally the starter for this year's kinktober!!! i liked this idea of sukuna being a frontman and just dating another singer and just like getting off doing this play of them having this rivalry but they're actually together??? i sat there and was like 'actually, their bed activities must go wild after every fake fight!'; anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

PEOPLE DIDN’T KNOW HOW IT STARTED. But everything about the rivalry was electric, charged with an intensity that made headlines and drew crowds. Anyone who had been there from the beginning would swear it was something you had to experience firsthand—a front-row seat to the wildfire that was your feud with Ryomen Sukuna.

Both bands had climbed their way to the top on different wavelengths: you, with your poetic lyrics and magnetic stage presence, a master of drawing the crowd into the emotion of your songs; and Sukuna, with his raw, untamed energy and unapologetic attitude, commanding attention like a force of nature. The music industry loved pitting you against each other, fanning the flames of competition, but no one had expected it to escalate the way it did.

It started innocently enough. Sukuna, in a radio interview, casually commented, “Sure, they're good, if you’re into that whole soft and emotional vibe. I just think music should have a bit more… bite.” The host laughed, the audience cheered, and Ryomen Sukuna’s grin was all teeth—sharp, confident. “You know, you gotta expect more!”

You had fired back the next day on social media with a witty post: “Bite all you want, but if your bark’s louder than your music, maybe you’re just a dog chasing its own tail.”

The tweet went viral within minutes.

The fans loved it. The music blogs devoured it, dissecting every word, every implication. Both your names were plastered across headlines, articles speculating about a burgeoning rivalry that was just too juicy to ignore. The tension simmered, but it was still lighthearted, still playful.

Then Sukuna took it to the next level.

At his next concert, in front of a sold-out crowd, he made a spectacle of it. “This next song….” he announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s dedicated to someone who thinks they can keep up with me.” His grin was wicked as the crowd roared in anticipation. The opening notes rang out—an aggressive beat, the kind that grabbed you by the throat. The lyrics were sharp, mocking, filled with clever jabs that made it unmistakable who they were about.

"Got your head in the clouds, but no feet on the ground, baby doll." Sukuna sang with a sneer. "You talk about a big game, but all I hear is sound. Nonsense!"

The audience went wild as the guitar line merged with the drums. The pyrotechnics were going insane with the beat. People ate it up. Social media exploded. Hashtags trended within the hour. Your name was on everyone’s lips, and suddenly, it was your turn.

Not to be outdone, you fired back at your own concert, taking shots at his image, his music, and even his fans. The cheers and screams were deafening; you knew you had his attention. From then on, it was an all-out war, a back-and-forth of jabs and taunts, each concert a new battleground.

Then came the diss tracks.

You released yours first, a biting, cleverly constructed anthem that didn’t just mock his music but dissected his entire persona with surgical precision. The internet went wild. Memes, fan theories, reaction videos—your name was on everyone’s lips. Sukuna's response was swift, and his diss track hit like a punch to the gut. It was brutal, unapologetic, and catchy enough that even your own fans had to admit it was a banger.

Lines were drawn. Your fans and his went head-to-head on every platform imaginable, turning comment sections and fan forums into war zones. Arguments broke out, allegiances were tested, and friendships fractured. The media couldn’t get enough, fueling the fire with articles dissecting every lyric, every post, every glance exchanged between you two. It wasn't just a rivalry anymore; it was a movement.

And through it all, there was an unspoken understanding between you and Sukuna. A thrill in the way your eyes met across the stage, a shared smirk when your names were spoken in the same breath. You were rivals, sure, but there was something else there too—a magnetic pull that neither of you could deny. Every diss, every jab, was just a prelude to something bigger, something inevitable.

People just had to be there. To witness the chaos, the passion, the music that became the soundtrack to an unforgettable war. To see how a feud could blur the line between hate and something far more dangerous. To feel the tension crackling in the air, knowing that this was only the beginning.

On your next concert, where you decided to strike back. “Heard some noise the other day, bothersome noise really.” you told the crowd, a sly smile playing on your lips. “Sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. So, I thought, why not give them something real to cry about?”

The audience cheered, sensing the impending retaliation. And you delivered, every line of your song a retort, every beat a blow aimed squarely at Sukuna. "You get on my nerves; You're so fuckin' annoying, you could poison poison?" you sang, a smirk on your lips as the crowd chanted along, the hook instantly catchy, an earworm that would haunt Sukuna’s name for weeks.

By the next day, the diss track was trending everywhere. Ryomen Sukuna was asked about it during an interview, and his reaction was priceless. He chuckled, clearly amused, his eyes gleaming with something dangerously playful. “Oh, I’m annoying, am I?” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “Well, sweetheart, when you’re that easy to rile up, it’s just too tempting not to play.”

Behind closed doors, though, it was a different story.

Backstage at a private after-party for Uraume’s album reveal, Ryomen Sukuna cornered you with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "That was cute, baby doll." he said, his voice low, intimate. "But you know you just gave me more to work with, right?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. As if you could come up with something half as clever."

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, his smirk growing. “You think I’m not capable of playing your game?”

"I think you're used to being a blunt instrument, hm?" you teased, leaning closer. "But there's an art to this, darling. Not just noise."

His grin widened. “We’ll see about that, baby doll.” he murmured, his hand brushing yours—intentionally, deliberately. For a moment, your breath hitched. There was a charge in the air between you, an unspoken understanding.

It became a pattern. Each new concert brought a fresh wave of insults, veiled in clever lyrics. Every interview turned into an opportunity to stoke the fire, to keep the fans on the edge of their seats. The tension, the back-and-forth, the rapid-fire comebacks—it all played out in front of the world. But behind the scenes, it was like an elaborate game, a high-stakes dance that neither of you could quit.

"You seemed really into it tonight." he noted casually, though his eyes held that familiar gleam.

“Just playing my part, darling.” you replied with a shrug, but your voice was softer, a hint of something warmer seeping through.

Sukuna stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "Maybe we’re both playing a little too well, aren’t we, baby doll?" he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You met his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Or maybe we’re not playing at all." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the crowd outside.

He chuckled, leaning in closer until his lips were a breath away from yours. "Careful, my baby doll." he whispered. "People might start thinking about something else.”

Your smile widened, eyes locked with his. "Maybe it is." you replied, your heart racing in your chest, as his lips finally met yours, soft yet insistent. “Maybe it isn’t.”

══════════════════

THERE WAS SO MUCH ADRENALINE. You were pacing back and forth, adrenaline coursing through your veins as your bandmates tuned their instruments, stealing glances at you. The festival was the biggest one yet, and your set was right after Sukuna and his folk.

The perfect setup for another battle, another clash in this never-ending war. It was another festival gig and Sukuna was here again. But you weren’t just thinking about the performance. Your thoughts kept circling back to that smirk Sukuna flashed you from the stage earlier, as if daring you to make the first move tonight.

Your bassist nudges you with a grin. "You’re not seriously thinking about what he said last week, are you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Of course not." you lied. "But he’s been pushing it lately, don’t you think? I’m just figuring out how to outdo him this time."

Just as you said that, the door swung open, and there he was—Ryomen Sukuna, flanked by his own entourage, looking as smug as ever. His eyes zeroed in on you instantly, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his gaze.

“Ready to get outclassed again?” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Your set was… okay, if you’re into repetitive noise.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, ignoring the tension that rippled through the room. “Is that the best you’ve got, sweetheart? Because I’ve heard your new track… and honestly, I’m not impressed.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and exhilaration. “Right, because your lyrical masterpiece about your ex was so groundbreaking. What was it called again? ‘Cliché’? Or was it ‘Cringe’? Hard to tell.”

Sukuna laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine, though you’d never admit it. “At least people are talking about it, baby doll.” he shot back, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, you and I both know… this isn’t about the music anymore.”

You took a step closer, refusing to back down. “Oh? Then what’s it about, Sukuna? Enlighten me.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper that only you could hear. “It’s about this… you and me, driving each other crazy. Admit it—you’re having fun.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. For a second, the noise of the festival outside seemed to fade, and all you could hear was your heartbeat, loud and insistent.

“You wish.” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m just here to win, Sukuna.”

His grin widened, and he moved even closer, so close you could see the sparks in his eyes. “Then let’s see who wins tonight, baby doll.” he murmured, a challenge in every word. "And maybe, just maybe… we’ll figure out what the hell this really is."

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, heading out with a laugh that lingered in the air long after he was gone. You stood there, breathless, wondering how the hell he always managed to get under your skin—and why a part of you liked it so much.

Your drummer nudged you, pulling you back to reality. "So… what’s the plan now?"

You smirked, grabbing your microphone, your adrenaline surging. “The plan?” you said. “We give them a show they’ll never forget.”

As you took the stage, you saw him standing off to the side, watching you with that infuriating grin. The crowd was roaring, the lights were blinding, and somewhere in the midst of it all, you felt the spark ignite again.

This was far from over.

The roar of the crowd vibrated through the stage as you stepped up to the microphone, eyes scanning the sea of faces. And there he was, off to the side, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face. Ryomen Sukuna was waiting—waiting to see what you’d do, how you’d respond to his taunts, his challenges. The rivalry had become a game, but one neither of you were willing to lose.

You leaned into the mic, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. "How’s everyone doing tonight?" you shouted, and the crowd erupted in cheers, the noise almost deafening. "You know, I wasn’t sure if we should even bother showing up after that last set."

You paused, letting the words sink in, and a wave of laughter and excited murmurs rippled through the audience. Your guitarist strummed a sharp chord, and the band jumped in with the opening notes of your new track—the one that had set the internet ablaze.

The fans knew the first lines by heart, screaming them back at you with an energy that could only come from shared devotion. You caught Sukuna’s eye, feeling that familiar thrill at the challenge that lay in his gaze.

Halfway through the set, you decided to escalate things. You turned back to the mic, catching your breath. "You know, guys…." you began. “There’s been a lot of talk lately… about who's really on top in this scene."

The crowd cheered louder, sensing where you were going. "Some people think it’s that guy over there." You pointed in Sukuna’s direction, and the audience erupted into a mix of boos and cheers. “Hey pink head.”

Sukuna, ever the showman, gave an exaggerated bow, playing to the crowd’s reaction, which only made them more riled up.

“But I think we all know, everyone.” you continued, leaning forward with a grin. “That the real reason people are here tonight… is to see which one of us cracks first. So, what do you say, Sukuna?” You called out, your voice carrying over the noise. “Why don’t you come up here and face me?”

A ripple of excitement and disbelief swept through the crowd. Ryomen Sukuna’s smile grew wider, and without missing a beat, he moved toward the stage, his entourage trailing behind. He jumped up onto the platform, grabbing a mic from one of the stagehands, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You really wanna do this, baby doll?" he taunted, his voice low and teasing. "Because I don’t think your fans can handle what I’ve got in store."

You stepped closer, the tension thick between you, the audience practically buzzing with anticipation. “Oh, I think they can handle a lot more than you can, Sukuna.”

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo off the stage walls. “Alright then, let’s give them a show.” He turned to the crowd. "How about a little live battle, right here, right now? Let’s see who’s really got the chops."

The crowd went wild, chanting both your name and his, the noise rising to a fever pitch. Your bandmates looked at you, uncertain but excited. You gave them a nod—it was on. You faced off with Sukuna, mics in hand, the beat dropping low and steady, building tension. The music swelled, and Sukuna started first, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“You think you’re on top, but you’re just a phase,

A flicker, a flame that’ll soon be erased.

I’m the storm, the fire, the one they all fear,

And when this is over, you’ll wish you weren’t here.”

The crowd erupted, and you could see the challenge in his eyes, daring you to match his intensity. He continued on, people saying ‘ey’ ‘oh’ and screaming as they echoed their words. You stepped up, not missing a beat as you grinned at him.

“You swagger and boast like you’re king of the stage,

But all that you’ve got is that pathetic, tired old ass rage.

I’m the light, the spark, you’re the one drinking cheap booze.

When I’m done, your crowd’s gonna give you nothin’ but boos.”

The audience was in a frenzy now, torn between the two of you, your words cutting into the night air like knives. Sukuna leaned in closer, his grin still in place, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer force of his presence. He was electric, enigmatic. He was everything all at once as you looked at him.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that, baby doll.” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the chaos. “But do you really think you can outlast me?”

You smirked, adrenaline coursing through you like a drug. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The beat dropped again, faster, harder, and the two of you kept going, each line sharper, each verse more biting than the last. It wasn’t just a performance anymore—it was a test of will, a clash of two forces too strong to coexist but too intrigued to stay apart.

And somewhere in the midst of it all, as the crowd surged and screamed, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t trying to win this battle. Maybe you were just trying to keep Sukuna’s eyes on you for as long as possible.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO PRACTICE TODAY. But you decided that you were going to go anyway. Mainly because your bandmates said they’ll buy you your favorite matcha drink with your favorite croissant today. And you like to be given free stuff, so off you went, dressed in baggy clothes and headed to the studio.

The studio lights were dimmed low, and the energy in the room crackled with excitement. Your bandmates were clustered around, phones in hand, eyes glued to the social media explosion that followed your latest diss track.

They seemed more excited than you. Especially now that you get to perform it live. You sat in the center, drinking your matcha drink with a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. The track had dropped at midnight, and by morning, it had already become the talk of the town.

The song was everywhere now. Fans and critics were dissecting every line, every beat, comparing it to Sukuna’s latest attempt at a rebuttal. But this time, you’d hit a nerve. You knew that already. Sukuna’s the type to enjoy saying something about anything and everything. Your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced down to see a message from your manager.

"Check his story." it read. “Now.”

You quickly grabbed your phone, pulling up Sukuna’s social media. Sure enough, an Instagram Live was broadcasting in real-time. Ryomen Sukuna lounged on a familiar couch, the blue glow of his phone screen casting a soft light on his face. His expression was a mix of amused disbelief and genuine intrigue, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, alright, you guys.” Sukuna drawled, glancing at the camera. “I gotta hand it to them—this track is… something. From you-know-who.” He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “But seriously, 'why you so obsessed with me?' That track is pretty interesting.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “That hook… damn, it’s catchy. I’m almost flattered, really. Almost.” He paused, his grin widening. “You really think I got a Napoleon complex, baby doll? Because last I checked, I was standing pretty tall.”

The comments exploded—hearts, fire emojis, and a flurry of messages from fans of both sides, hurling playful and not-so-playful insults. He knew you would be watching his broadcast. You leaned back in your chair, smirking as you watched him. The song had clearly gotten under his skin, just as you’d intended.

Sukuna’s grin faded slightly as he continued, “But let’s talk about some of those lines. ‘Last man on earth still couldn’t get this’? Ouch. You know that’s not true, baby doll.”

Hesnickers, a mischievous gleam in his scarlet eyes. “Because if I remember correctly… you were the one who couldn’t stop staring at me from across the room just a while ago.”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, but you kept your expression neutral. No way you’d give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words affected you. At least….You shake your head, continuing to drink your matcha drink. Not here, you think. It would be too obvious.

Sukuna leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “But seriously, props to you and your crew. You got everyone talking, and that’s what it’s all about, right?” He winked at the camera. “Now, I guess I’ll just have to come up with something to top it… and I will.”

He ended the Live with a cocky grin, and your phone buzzed again—a new message from your manager. “He’s biting. Good job. This is gonna blow up.”

Your drummer chuckled, “Did you see the way he was trying so hard not to laugh? He’s loving this just as much as we are.”

Your guitarist nodded, absently strumming a few chords. “Oh, he’s definitely going to come back with something. What’s the next move?”

You grinned, leaning forward, fingers tapping rhythmically on your knee. “Next move? We keep pushing. He wants a war, we’ll give him a war.”

Your bassist chimed in, “And if he’s obsessed, we’re gonna make sure he stays that way.”

The room burst into laughter, and you felt a rush of adrenaline. You had Sukuna’s attention, and you weren’t planning on letting go anytime soon. You stood up and put your drink away. “Alright, alright. Time to practice.”

A few hours later, as you were leaving the studio and headed for dinner with your bandmates, your phone buzzed again—a private message from Ryomen Sukuna himself.

“Nice track, baby doll. You got guts. But don’t think for a second this is over.”

You smirked at the screen, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed back a quick reply. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

With that, you hit send, knowing full well that this game of cat and mouse was far from over. The rivalry had taken on a life of its own, and you were ready to see it through to the end.

The days following the Instagram Live were a whirlwind of activity. The media coverage of your feud with Sukuna was relentless, and the buzz around both your diss track and Sukuna's playful response only grew louder. Your fans were eagerly waiting for the next move, while the anticipation among Sukuna's followers was palpable.

Your studio was buzzing with a new energy as your band prepared for the next stage of the rivalry. You were in a brainstorming session with your team, mapping out strategies and refining ideas. The stakes had never been higher, and everyone was determined to capitalize on the momentum.

As you reviewed some rough cuts of new material, your phone once more buzzed with a notification—a direct message from Sukuna on Instagram. You raised an eyebrow. Your curiosity piqued, and opened it to find a short video clip.

The video showed Sukuna lounging in his familiar and stylish, minimalistic apartment, the camera focused on his face. He had a relaxed, almost smug expression, and he started speaking directly to the camera.

“Hey, baby doll.” he began, his voice smooth and confident. “I see you’re still all fired up from our little game. Can’t say I’m surprised. But if you think you’ve got me cornered, you’re in for a surprise.”

He paused, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m working on something that’ll blow your track out of the water. Something special, just for you.” He leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a more intimate level. “And I promise, it’s going to make you rethink everything you thought you knew about this competition.”

Sukuna ended the video with a wink, and the message was signed with a flourish: “Yours truly, Sukuna.”

You chuckled, impressed by his confidence and intrigued by his hint. You knew this was only the beginning of a new round in your ongoing rivalry. You showed the video to your bandmates, and they were immediately excited.

“Looks like Sukuna’s not holding back.” your drummer said, leaning over to get a better look. “What’s our move?”

You grinned, feeling the familiar thrill of competition. “We push the envelope even further. If he’s coming at us with something big, we need to be ready to top it. Let’s go all in.”

The team rallied, diving into planning and creative sessions with renewed vigor. Ideas were thrown around, debates sparked, and everyone was charged with the excitement of outdoing Sukuna. Later that evening, as you were reviewing the final mix of your new track, your phone buzzed again.

It was another message from Sukuna, this time with a photo attached. It was a behind-the-scenes shot from his recording studio, showing him with headphones on, a focused expression on his face. The caption read: “Just a little preview of what’s coming your way. Can’t wait to see your reaction 😉”

You couldn’t help but smile. The rivalry was as thrilling as ever, and Sukuna’s antics only made it more engaging. You replied with a playful message: “Bring it on, Sukuna. We’re ready for whatever you’ve got.”

As you finished up for the night, you felt a rush of anticipation. The battle between you and Sukuna had transcended mere competition; it had become an electrifying dance, each of you pushing the other to new heights. And you were more than ready for the next move.

The stage lights cut through the darkness, bathing Sukuna in a dramatic, almost ethereal glow. The crowd roared with anticipation, their excitement palpable as they waited for Sukuna’s next performance. You were in the VIP section, surrounded by your bandmates, eyes fixed on the stage. The rivalry had reached a new peak, and tonight was the next chapter.

Sukuna appeared at the center of the stage, wearing a tailored black suit that accentuated his confident, charismatic presence. His expression was a mix of cocky assurance and playful challenge. He grabbed the microphone with an almost theatrical flair, and the band behind him struck up a powerful, bass-heavy beat.

He began to sing, his voice dripping with both charm and defiance. The lyrics were a direct response to your latest track, each line crafted to counter your words with his own brand of swagger and wit.

“You think you’re clever with your little diss track, babe,

But let me show you what I’ve got—watch me take it back.

You throw punches in the dark, but I’m the light that blinds,

Every move you make, every line you drop, I’m right behind.”

The crowd cheered, their energy feeding into Sukuna’s performance. His voice was smooth and commanding, each note perfectly delivered with an edge of playful arrogance. As the chorus hit, Sukuna took a moment to address the audience directly. He flashed a grin and winked in your direction, his eyes locking with yours for a brief, charged moment.

“And you think you know me? Think you’ve got my number?

Watch me turn this game around, and watch you slumber.

I’m the king of this stage, and you’re just a player,

So step aside, baby doll, it’s time for a new layer.

Call me up, call me late, rumble some date.

Come on, be obsessed with me, get home late.”

The wink was truly unmistakable—a flirtatious, provocative gesture that carried both a challenge and a promise. You bit your lower lip. It was clear that Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just participating in this rivalry; he was fully immersed in it, relishing every moment and using it to his advantage.

Just as much, you also couldn’t help but be impressed, despite the competitive edge. The rest of his performance was electrifying, and Sukuna’s ability to blend his charm with his musical prowess only heightened the tension and excitement of your ongoing feud.

As the song ended, Sukuna raised his arms in victory, soaking in the applause and cheers of his fans. He glanced over at you again, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. The crowd’s energy was palpable as they chanted Sukuna’s name, and you could feel the shift in the air—an unspoken understanding that this battle was far from over.

You turned to your bandmates, a determined gleam in your eyes. “He’s got moves, no doubt about it. But we’ve got our own plans. Let’s give him something he won’t forget.”

══════════════════

YOU AGREED TO MEET UP IN HIS STUDIO. After all, you had a key to his studio. One of only two people, besides his manager. The echo of the door clicking shut behind you was the only sound in the dimly lit room. The minute you stepped inside, a familiar hand grabbed your waist, spinning you around with a rough but playful urgency. You couldn’t help but feel adrenaline rush through you.

You looked up to see Ryomen Sukuna’s smirk inches from your face, his eyes dancing with mischief. You couldn’t help but bite your lips as he lets his attention stuck on you for a little while longer. He’d just gotten here after a long schedule today, that you knew. But he just couldn’t pass up this moment. He missed you, after all.

“You’ve really done it now, baby doll.” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "That track? You know it’s all anyone is talking about. Got my fans in a frenzy, and I can't say I'm not impressed."

You laughed, slipping your arms around his neck. “Wasn’t that the plan?” you whispered back, feeling his grip tighten possessively around your waist. “To keep everyone on their toes? To keep you on your toes?”

Sukuna’s smirk softened into something a little darker, a little more heated. “Oh, you’ve got me on my toes alright, baby doll.” he replied, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”

You shivered at the feel of his breath against your skin, but you didn’t back down. “And you love every second of it, darling.” you shot back, daring him with your eyes. “Admit it, Sukuna. You like it when I push your buttons.”

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a thrill through you. “Maybe I do, baby doll.” he admitted, nipping playfully at your earlobe. “Maybe I love watching you act all tough out there, throwing shade at me like you mean it. Gets my blood pumping.”

You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “You think you’re the only one who gets a thrill out of this? Watching you strut around on stage, pretending you’re so unaffected…” You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “I know better. I see how you watch me.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I think when I’m up there, you know.” he growled, his lips brushing against yours, the air between you charged with electricity. “No idea how much I want to drag you off that stage and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, fierce and demanding, pouring every bit of the adrenaline still buzzing through your veins into the press of your lips against his. He responded instantly, kissing you back with a hunger that made your knees weak, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, panting slightly, foreheads resting against each other. “I knew you’d enjoy it, our little roleplay.” you whispered, your lips brushing his with every word. “I knew you’d love playing this game.”

Sukuna laughed softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Oh, it’s more than just a game, baby doll.” he murmured. “It’s our foreplay.” He grinned wickedly, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip. “Every line, every taunt, every verse… just getting me more worked up for moments like this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned into his touch, your smile matching his. “So… what’s next?” you asked, teasingly. “Another diss track? Or are we moving on to something a little more… physical?”

He chuckled again, his lips brushing yours in the faintest of kisses. “Both, baby doll.” he whispered. “Always both. I’ll keep you on your toes, and you keep me guessing. That’s how this works, right?”

You nodded, feeling the thrill of his words spark through you. “You already know it well, darling.” you grinned at him, pulling him closer for another kiss, deeper this time, more intense.

Because behind all the public drama, the mock insults, the fan wars and the staged battles, there was something real—a chemistry, a connection, that neither of you could resist. No one else knows, and they didn’t have to. Because that’s what makes it fun, that’s what gets you hot, high for him.

This elaborate game of rivals was just another way for you and Sukuna to both express that pull, that irresistible need to keep challenging each other, to keep pushing each other’s buttons in every way possible. And you knew, as he did, that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Sukuna’s lips moved against yours, his kiss deepening with a fervent intensity, you felt the world around you blur into a haze of desire and adrenaline. His hands roamed possessively over your body, each touch a reminder of the raw, unfiltered connection that existed between you.

The heat of his skin, the firm grip of his hands, and the way he pressed you closer only heightened the sensation that this was more than just a physical encounter—it was an embodiment of the fierce rivalry and undeniable attraction that had been building between you two.

The way his fingers traced your curves, his touch both commanding and tender, spoke volumes. It was as if he was claiming you, not just in the heat of the moment but in a way that was deeply intertwined with the ongoing battle of wits and passion you both were engaged in. The contrast between his rough, assertive touch and the gentle caresses created a whirlwind of emotions, each sensation adding to the already charged atmosphere.

As you pull back slightly, your breaths mingling, Sukuna’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes dark with a mix of satisfaction and challenge. His smirk, still present, held a promise of more to come—more battles, more games, and an unspoken agreement that this was only the beginning of an exhilarating journey. For a moment, you think you fell in love deeper with him again.

The gradual approach of his fingertips was a slow, tantalizing tease, each moment stretched out with the deliberate pace of someone who knew exactly how to build anticipation. You could feel the heat from his touch even before his fingers made full contact, the mere thought of what was to come causing your breath to hitch and your body to respond eagerly.

As his fingers inched closer, their warmth and the promise of what lay ahead created a growing sense of urgency and need. The gentle caress of his fingertips, as they brushed against your inner thighs, was both intimate and assertive, a clear indication of his intent. The friction was electric, a stark contrast to the cool air around you, amplifying every sensation as his touch grew more purposeful.

You could feel his breath against your skin, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, locked onto yours with an intense focus, conveyed both a challenge and a deep-seated desire. The way he watched you, his gaze dark and smoldering, only added to the overwhelming allure of the moment.

His fingers finally made contact with your womanhood, the touch both delicate and firm, exploring with a confident familiarity. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation as his fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and testing. Each stroke was designed to elicit a response, to push you further into a state of heightened arousal.

A satisfied smirk curled on Sukuna’s lips, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of pride and desire. “You know it don’t you, hm?” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “No one else can touch you like this, no one else can make you feel what I do.”

His words were a taunt and a promise, each thrust a reminder of the exclusive, raw connection between you. “You need this, don’t you?” he continued, his voice low and seductive. “You need me to push you, to make you feel every inch of me.”

Your breath hitched, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a moan slipped from your lips. He was relentless, and he knew it, his movements intentional and powerful, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Admit it, baby doll.” Sukuna demanded, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “Admit that no one else can make you feel this way.”

You bit back a moan, your head tilting back as you fought for control, but the way he looked at you, the way he moved against you—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. “You… you’re so full of yourself, darling.” you managed to gasp, though the quiver in your voice betrayed how much he was getting to you.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin. “Maybe.” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse. “But you like that about me, don’t you? You like the way I take control… the way I make you lose yourself.”

As Sukuna’s breath grew heavier, mingling with yours, he leaned in closer, the heat of his body was all too much for you. His eyes, locked onto yours, held a smoldering intensity that combined both dominance and a profound passion. The teasing brush of his fingers, so close to your most intimate area, sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fiery need that built with every second.

When you finally released a groan escaping your lips, you held him tightly, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment. Sukuna’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and approval.

“You really get a load of it when it’s good, don’t you?” he teased, his voice low and filled with a playful edge. His tone was both confident and affectionate, the snicker that followed underscoring the satisfaction he felt in having pushed you to such a heightened state.

Sukuna’s words hung in the air, a provocative mix of satisfaction and challenge. His fingers continued their gentle, lingering caress, prolonging the aftershocks of your release. The smirk on his face was unmistakable—a blend of triumph and deep-seated affection that he only reserved for moments like these.

“You know, baby doll..." he said, his voice softening to a more intimate tone. “it’s not just about getting a reaction. It’s about knowing how much you need this—how much you crave every bit of it.” His hand moved with deliberate, gentle strokes, still teasing, ensuring that the aftermath was as intense as the build-up.

You looked up at him, breathless and flushed, meeting his gaze with a mix of desire and exhaustion. The connection between you two felt palpable, a mix of competition and passion that seemed to define every interaction.

“Is that so?” you managed to reply, your voice hoarse but laced with playful defiance. “And what makes you think you’re the only one who can bring me to that edge?”

Sukuna’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his lips curving into an even broader smile. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the only one. But I do like to think that I’m the best at it. There’s something about our… little games that just makes everything so much more exhilarating.”

He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “And you love it. Every second of it. The highs, the lows, the rivalry... it’s all part of the thrill.”

You shivered at his words, the heat of his body and the intimacy of the moment amplifying the connection between you. His touch was a constant reminder of the dynamic between you two—a blend of passion, competition, and mutual desire that made every encounter both electrifying and deeply personal.

As the intensity of the moment began to wane, Sukuna’s touch softened, and he held you close, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. The playful glint in his eyes remained, but there was also a deeper sense of satisfaction, as if the night had cemented something unspoken between you two.

“I guess we’ll just have to keep this up, you know?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

He starts to emphasize his words, his voice low and commanding, as he enters you with a slow, deliberate thrust that sends a shudder through your entire body. Each movement is precise, calculated, as if he wants to draw out every sensation, making sure you feel the intensity of him.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens reflexively, your nails scraping against his skin, leaving faint trails in their wake. The contact seems to please him, a low, almost primal growl escaping from his throat, vibrating through his chest and into yours.

The warmth between you both intensifies, the heat of the moment engulfing you. It’s stifling, but you crave more of it, each moment more consuming than the last. Your mind, once racing with scattered thoughts, is now empty, surrendered entirely to the sensations overwhelming you.

Every nerve is alive, tuned to the rhythm of his body against yours. As Sukuna pushes deeper, your world narrows to the singular, undeniable reality of him filling you completely. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and you’re lost in the sheer intensity of it. All that exists is him, inside you, and the way your body responds to every movement he makes.

“Say it, baby doll.” he insisted, his hand moving to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill through you. “Say you need me.”

Your heart pounded with thunderous applause, and for a moment, you hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But the way he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, pulled the confession from your lips.

“I… I need you, darling.” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your body arching against his, craving more. “I need you, Sukuna. All of you.”

A satisfied grin spread across his face, his hold on you tightening as he captured your lips in a fierce, claiming kiss. “That’s right.” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “Only me. Always me.”

And with that, he moved with renewed intensity, each deep thrust and touch a declaration, a challenge, a promise that you were his—and that no one else could ever come close to what the two of you had. He was good, he was good at making you feel like this.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your shoulders, down the curve of your spine—each kiss a mark, a reminder that this, whatever it was between you, was uniquely yours. Every gasp, every moan he drew from you only seemed to fuel him more, his movements becoming more fervent, more determined to prove his point.

And you couldn’t help but revel in it—the way he knew your body, the way he knew exactly how to drive you to the edge and pull you back, just to see the need in your eyes grow stronger.

“You love it, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “You love the way I make you feel… the way I take you apart and put you back together again.”

You could only nod, lost in the rhythm of his movements, the intensity of his gaze, the heat that built between you. Because he was right—there was something about the way he touched you, the way he pushed you, that no one else could ever replicate. And in that moment, with his hands on your skin and his voice in your ear, you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

He continued with a deliberate rhythm, his movements precise and relentless. You could feel the intensity building, every touch and motion sending waves of sensation coursing through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mix of pleasure and the sheer force of his actions. He always knew how to push you to the edge, how to test your limits, and tonight was no different.

Each thrust was a carefully measured challenge, a dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless, gasping for air yet craving more. The friction between you was electric, sparking and crackling like a live wire, building with every moment until you felt like you might burst from the sheer pressure of it.

Sukuna’s eyes never left yours, a dark, consuming gaze that seemed to see right through you, drinking in every reaction, every gasp and shiver. “You feel that?” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “That’s what happens when you get me riled up and excited, baby doll.”

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat, your body trembling under his touch. He was relentless, every motion a reminder of his strength, his intensity, and the unique connection that bound you together. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, the kind of sensation that left you dizzy and reeling, your heart pounding in your chest.

But beneath the raw physicality, there was something more—a deep, unspoken understanding, a bond that neither of you could deny. His touch wasn’t just about possession or power; it was about claiming you in a way that no one else ever could. And in his eyes, you could see the same need reflected back at you, a hunger that matched your own.

“Tell me, baby doll.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it, darling.” you whispered, your voice breaking with the intensity of the moment, your hands gripping his arms as if anchoring yourself to him. “I always feel it… with you.”

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his gaze softening for just a moment, a flicker of something almost tender beneath the heat. “Good, good…” he said softly. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now… not ever.”

And with those words, he moved with renewed determination, his hands tightening on your hips, his body pressing closer, as if trying to fuse the two of you together. The rhythm between you became more frantic, more desperate, as if neither of you could get enough, as if the very air between you was charged with the electricity of everything left unsaid.

The world around you faded, until there was nothing but him—his touch, his voice, his breath against your skin. And in that moment, you knew that whatever games you played in public, whatever battles you waged on stage, nothing could compare to this. To the way he made you feel, to the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

And as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, you surrendered to the sensation, letting it take you over completely, knowing that with Sukuna, you would always find yourself right back where you belonged—in his arms, in his gaze, lost in the heat of this dangerous, undeniable connection.

Your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, a rhythm known only to the two of you. Sukuna’s grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of his presence, his power. His breath was hot against your neck, each word he whispered sending a fresh wave of heat through your veins.

"You're mine. Only mine." he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with conviction. "No one else gets to have this… to have you like this." His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone both thrilling and comforting in its intensity.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark desire and something deeper—something that made your heart clench in your chest. "You think anyone else could handle you?" he taunted, a sly grin spreading across his lips. "Handle us?"

You couldn’t help but smile back, despite the breathless state he had you in. "N–no one." you managed to reply, your voice a whisper, yet full of certainty. "No one else would even come close. Only you.”

His grin widened at your words, his eyes lighting up with that familiar mix of pride and satisfaction. "Damn right." he said, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing, almost tender gesture before capturing them in a fierce kiss. “Only me.”

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, the air between you charged with an intensity that was almost palpable. "We could do this forever, you know," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his expression suddenly serious. "Keep pretending, keep pushing each other… but you and I both know the truth."

You looked up at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. "And what's that truth, Sukuna?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against yours as he spoke. "That no matter what happens on stage, no matter what anyone else thinks… this is real. What we have… it’s real."

For a moment, all the bravado, all the games, all the theatrics fell away, and it was just the two of you, standing at the edge of something deeper, something more profound. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of rightness settling in your bones. "Yeah, of course." you whispered back, your hand finding its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "It’s real."

And as his lips met yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, you knew that whatever this was—rivalry, love, obsession—it was something you wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Because with Sukuna, every line blurred, every touch sparked, and every word spoken between you felt like the beginning of a song only the two of you knew the lyrics to.

A song that, no matter how many verses you added, would never truly end.

══════════════════

epilogue

The social media buzz had been relentless since the rivalry between you and Sukuna had begun. Fans and media alike were glued to every update, eagerly dissecting every new development in your ongoing feud. It was a carefully crafted spectacle, each move calculated for maximum impact. But what came next was entirely unexpected.

Sukuna was known for his bold, often controversial social media presence, but this latest post took things to a whole new level.

The photo he shared was striking and intimate—a mirror selfie in which Sukuna stood with his back to the camera, his muscular body on full display. In front of him, you were barely visible, your form concealed mostly by his arm, his body strategically positioned to cover you. The image was provocative, suggesting an intimacy that had never been publicly acknowledged before.

The caption, simple yet loaded, read: “My baby doll likes excitement.”

The post exploded across the internet. Fans, already used to the charged tension between you two, were stunned into silence before erupting into a frenzy of speculation and excitement. The comments section was a whirlwind of reactions, from shock to adoration, as people tried to make sense of this unexpected revelation.

At first, there was a stunned silence from your side. You were sitting in your living room, scrolling through your feed, when you saw the post. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the image and the caption. The boldness of it was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

Minutes later, your phone buzzed with notifications. Your own social media accounts were flooded with messages, your fans reaching out with a mix of curiosity and support. Some were confused, others were jubilant, but everyone was talking about it.

You decided it was time to respond, and you crafted a post that acknowledged the new development without backing down from the playful rivalry. You shared a photo from one of your concerts, the stage lights casting a dramatic glow.

Your hands were littering towards his naked chest while you were dressed on your stage outfit. He came to visit you and well....had fun in your waiting room. You added a caption: “Guess Sukuna’s not the only one who likes a little excitement. See you on stage, my darling.”

Sukuna’s reaction was swift and equally bold. He replied to your post with a comment: “Looking forward to it. Let’s see who can keep the audience more entertained.”

The exchange between you two set the internet alight. The combination of intimacy and competition only fueled the frenzy, turning your personal revelation into the hottest topic of the moment.

Behind the scenes, the two of you found solace in the chaos, a private celebration of your bold move. When you next met, the atmosphere was charged with a new kind of excitement.

Sukuna greeted you with a grin that spoke volumes. “Well, that certainly stirred things up, hm?” he said, pulling you into a fierce hug.

You laughed, your heart racing with the thrill of it all. “You’ve got that right.” you replied, looking up at him with a smile. “But you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ready for the next round?”

You looked into his eyes, a mix of challenge and affection in your gaze. “Always.” you whispered back. And with that, you both knew that whatever came next, it would be just as exhilarating and unpredictable as the ride you were already on.

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presleyvinyl · 3 months ago

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A Sight to See

tags: fluff, light teasing, domestic bliss, short oneshot, early 1970s Elvis

a/n: had to update the photo at 11:24 today of Monday, because turns out, the last photo was an impersonator of Elvis

Steam curled into the air as you stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying your hair. The soft glow of the bedside lamp caught your eye, and there Elvis was, reclined against the pillows, lost in a book. But that wasn’t what made you stop in your tracks.

It was the reading glasses perched on his nose. A slow grin spread across your lips as you took in the sight. You’d never seen him wear them before, and somehow, they made him look even more charming—like some scholarly Southern gentleman instead of the larger-than-life performer the world adored.

“Didn’t know the King needed glasses to read,” you teased, padding over to the bed.

Elvis glanced up, lips quirking in amusement. “Ain’t somethin’ I advertise, honey.” He answered, thick with that Tennessee drawl.

You crawled onto the bed, tilting your head to get a better look. “They suit you. Real studious. Real cute.”

He huffed a laugh, closing the book. “Yeah? You tryin’ to butter me up?”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Just stating facts.”

Elvis slid his glasses off and set them on the nightstand before turning his full attention to you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you against his side as he gave you a knowing look. “You been holdin’ out on me, sugar. Didn’t think I had secrets, did ya?”

You laughed, resting your chin on his chest. “I figured if you needed glasses, I’d have seen ‘em before now.” He smirked, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Only need ‘em for readin’. Don’t go wearin’ ‘em on stage—imagine the fellas if they saw me squintin’ at the setlist.”

You grinned, picturing it. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Might make you look even more mysterious.” He gave a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t tryin’ to be mysterious, darlin’. Just gettin’ old.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re hardly old.”

“Mm.” He hummed, eyes twinkling as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him. His drawl dropped lower, more teasing. “Say it again. Maybe I’ll believe ya this time.”

You bit your lip, pretending to consider it. “Hm, nope. I think I’ll just tease you some more instead.”

Elvis grinned down at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “You wanna tease me, huh? Well, darlin’, two can play that game.”

You arched a brow. “Oh? And what exactly do you think you’ve got on me?” He smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. “For starters, sugar, you leave that bathroom lookin’ like a tornado tore through it. Ain’t never seen so many hairbrushes in one place—how many does a woman even need?”

You gasped in mock offense. “I do not—”

“Oh, you do,” he cut in, voice full of Southern amusement. “Makeup, too. Lipstick sittin’ on the sink, powder all over the counter… Lord have mercy, it’s like sharin’ a bathroom with a whole beauty pageant.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, excuse me for wanting to look nice.”

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. “Ain’t complainin’, just observin’.” Then, his grin widened. “And don’t think I ain’t heard you hummin’ in the shower—off key, might I add.”

Your mouth fell open. “I do not hum off key!”

“Oh, you do,” he drawled, grinning smugly. “It’s real sweet, though. Cute, even.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re asking for trouble, Presley.”

He smirked. “Then bring it on, honey.”

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis the king #elvis fanfic #elvis fluff #elvis presley fluff

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lostwysteria · 1 month ago

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(Part 19

Comin in hot guys! Buckle Up ya'll! I am both happy and dissatisfied with this one. The curse of being a writer or an artist. Just one more left for this arc. I'm going to take a few days off after posting part 20. Let myself recharge and not burn out.)

Masterlist

Lin Ling was grocery shopping and looking for some starters to put in the small veggie and herb garden Nice and Wreck had set up for him by the huge windows on one side of their new apartment. Tomatoes, cabbages, lettuce, and onions were his main goal at the moment. He was just passing an alley when he was grabbed and his mouth was covered by a cloth. He passed out.

…

He woke up restrained and some kind of metal thong gagging him.

“Good evening, Homemaker. Or should I call you Lin Ling?” Enlighter asked as Homemaker opened his eyes. “You are an absolute Mystery. I have absolutely NOTHING on you! It's impossible. Yet, here we are.” Enlighter said with a tsk. “Show time. Look pretty for the camera.”

The next few minutes were confusing. Apparently Enlighter was fueled by Fear, now. He was going by God’s Eye and was bound to expose Nice in any way he could.

…

Moon spat out her drink in horror. Lin Ling was being held captive by that crazed former hero. And this time it wasn't being staged. She shot a portal to Hero Tower as soon as she was suited up.

…

Shang Chao dropped his tablet. “Yang Cheng! Suit up! Lin Ling has been captured by a Fear powered Enlighter. He’s snapped!”

…

Miss. J reached the ground floor right as Moon portaled in. “Good. We're going to need you to help restrain Nice.”

“I figured. We don't need him rampaging right now.” Moon agreed. Even she knew how thin the thread of his sanity was. Moon opened a portal to the trio’s floor.

They walked through to see Wreck struggling to keep Nice pinned.

“LET ME GO! I NEED TO SAVE HIM!” Nice was yelling desperately.

“A little help?!” Wreck asked the newcomers. Moon put Nice in a hold, letting Wreck have a chance to catch his breath. He used his powers to restrain his lover as well. Nice went limp and was just laying there, trembling. It was heartbreaking to see.

“You need to stop and think, Luo Xiaoxing!” Miss. J used his true name. That made even his tears stop.

Moon gasped quietly in the background. She had never known his true name. Just his hero one.

Wreck went over to her. “His name uses the characters for Collection and Little star. He’s mine and Lin’s collection of small stars.” He told her. “Hello, Xiao Yueqing. My name is Yanshi Tiantang. Using the characters for disguise and heaven.” He introduced himself.

“Disguising the heavens, huh? It fits.” she told him.

…

Lin Ling was listless and boneless at this point. God’s Eye had been trying to get something from him for hours. He was exhausted and dehydrated and in pain. He had refused to say a word this entire time.

He knew Miss. J was probably handling things and trying to stop Nice from losing it. He just had to wait a bit longer.

…

God's Eye was delighted when Nice and Wreck arrived through Moon’s portal.

Before he could even say anything, Nice spoke up.

“You want the truth? You can have it. I'm not perfect. I am an orphan that grew up in the system. I only got into good schools because of my grades and pretty privilege. Wreck and I were Idols together in Highschool and College before trying to become heroes together. I made it, he didn't. We were separated and he gladly became a villain just to stay close. We are in love. We have been for so long.”

“I only dated Nice to boost my own status once I saw that people wanted us together. I didn't know that they were in love until after the public tied us so tightly together that my powers trapped me with him.” Moon admitted.

“I come from a good, third generation wealthy family. I grew up with luxuries Nice never could dream of back then. When I couldn't get the one thing I truly wanted, I selfishly chose to be a villain just to get it..” Wreck confessed next.

“I went along with dating Moon just to boost my own image of ‘perfection’. I never loved her. How could I, when we were using each other? I got so bogged down by my own perfection, that I lost sight of what truly mattered. I lost sight of my heart.” Nice cut in again.

He stepped forward. “I tried killing myself. I tried killing myself when the weight of being me was too much to bear. I stepped off the same roof Homemaker was on. This very same roof, in fact. He caught me and then I caught him when he fell while trying to save me. He listened to me as I cried for hours. He took me home and cared for me. Not some imagined image of me. I fell in love with him, too. Wreck and I both have.”

“Homemaker listened to me as well when I kidnapped him out of jealousy and rage at the thought of losing Nice to him. I poured my heart out to him and he didn't judge me. He comforted me and fed me a home cooked meal.” Wreck chuckled wetly.

“I am not perfect.”

“I used people.”

“I am just selfishly trying to keep what I want.”

“Let him go.”

God's Eye screamed in rage at his plan backfiring. Paradoxically, the three confessing their faults was gaining them trust. Who knew that people loved it when people took accountability for their own actions?

He looked at the weakly struggling Homemaker. A few hours of light torture had taken it's toll on the physically weaker hero. The rank 260 hero wasn't a fighter or even a defensive hero and it showed. That little bit of struggle seemed to be the last straw and he finally lost consciousness.

God's Eye attacked the heroes with his little robots. Unfortunately he was outclassed and outnumbered. He decided to make one last fuck you to the three that thwarted him so easily. The fight had moved him and his captive close to the edge of the roof. He gathered the remaining robots and sent them at the heroes at the same time he tossed Homemaker off the roof.

Let’s see how the public reacts to a rampaging hero that just lost a favored toy.

#tbhx #to be hero x #homemaker lin ling #hero lin ling #lin ling #nice tbhx #tbhx wreck #moon tbhx #tbhx enlighter #miss j tbhx #tbhx wrice

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d3vils-island · 7 months ago

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dave headcannons? 💕 absolutely in love with your writing

I have been dying to do a list of my Dave headcanons, I’m so glad someone requested them!! (PS: this is the first time I’m making a headcanon post, so I don’t rlly know how to format/write this… but I’ll try my best 😭🫶)

My Dave Mustaine Headcanons <3

• * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * • * •

How he is dating you:

For starters, Dave wouldn’t care for you like he would anyone else. He’d treat you like you were his most prized possession (which you are). He writes songs for you, and sometimes performs them for you if you two are alone. Anytime you’re near him, he feels his heart rate increase and he trips over his words, not knowing how to react knowing that you’re his and only his.

Once he figured out how to talk to you without stuttering, he would shower you with compliments every day.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”

“I can’t believe your mine.”

“Every time I look at you, I never get used to how gorgeous you are.”

On the outside, Dave looks like a tough son of a bitch who hates the sappy shit about love, but on the inside, his heart is full of the cheesy kinda love which he can only give to you

His forms of affection:

His biggest form of affection is physical touch, but he also loves words of affection.

After a long show, the first thing he needs as he’s getting off stage is to be in your arms. It calms him down tremendously and he couldn’t live without you. He doesn’t even look at anyone after a show unless it’s you, and once he lays his eyes on you, he tosses his guitar to the side and runs up to you with open arms, embracing you in a tight hug.

It’s not only for after shows though, whenever he feels like he misses you, he needs to show you how much he loves you, or he’s just feeling like it (which is often), he hugs you. His favorite thing is coming home from a long day and seeing you on the couch, cuddled up. He immediately kicks off his shoes and sits next to you, snuggling with you for a while as you chat about your days.

He loves complimenting you too. Seeing how your face reddens at his words really make his heart skip a beat, and he loves to make sure you know how much he loves you.

“You look so pretty today…” he says as he goes up to you, planting his hands on your hips and kissing you.

Seeing you cry:

Dave is very protective, loving, and loyal. If you ever came up to him with tears rolling down your face, he wouldn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of whoever made you cry.

“Are you alright? Who did this to you?” He says, wiping a tear that was falling down your cheek before his face became fueled with rage as he tried to figure out who had hurt you.

Holidays:

Every holiday, whether it be Christmas or thanksgiving, Dave always tries to plan something fun with you. On Christmas, you two will go to a trail of lights, and on Halloween you’ll go to a pumpkin patch… the list goes on. Dave wants every holiday to be special, so why not spend it with someone who is special to him?

In bed😏:

(Let’s get to the good stuff.)

Dave is……… 95% a dom in bed. So I’m not gonna lie and say he’s a sub because let’s be honest for a second, Dave wouldn’t be caught dead as a bottom.

(I remember in this one interview where he said something about how he hates feeling over powered and not in control…)

His favorite position:

Dave’s favorite position has to be over-the-shoulder missionary. It allows him to shove his cock into the deepest parts of you, causing you to make more pleasure-drunken faces (which he adores). He loves seeing your expressions as he’s pounding into you, getting to kiss you all over as your coming on his cock, and getting to bend you however he wants.

Kinks:

He definitely has some secret kinks he likes to use on you as well… like how he loves to choke you, tie you up, hear you beg for mercy as he uses you, and he loves it when he sees marks after sex like nail scratches on his back and hickeys all over you.

His secret kinks has to be daddy and sadism… he adores it when you call him daddy as he has his hands wrapped around you pretty little neck.

Oh, and how he loves to go look at himself in the bathroom mirror after and admire all the pretty scratches you created on his back. He loves looking at them, thinking of how much pleasure he caused you for you to do them. He trails his fingers on the marks, a smile tugging at his lips, before he goes back to cleaning up your frail and tired body up.

Dave as a sub?!:

So, let’s just pretend for a second that he would be a sub, what kinda sub would he be???

As a sub, he would still try and be in control, telling you how to move or what to do— but let’s say you magically got him to fully submit to you, Dave would be a mumbling mess under your touch. Seeing you on top of him would make his heart skip a beat, watching as you toyed with him however you pleased. The only name he loves to moan is yours, and he only loves to moan it to your ears.

His darkest secret is he loves it when you tie him up and use him. Rarely does he give you the opportunity do it- but when he gives you the chance, you make sure that you do your best to please him.

His fav places to do it:

His favorite place to fuck you has to be the bedroom, but he doesn’t mind having a quickie in the car or on the couch…

Occasionally,— when he’s in the mood— if you two are at a bar, he’ll drag you to the bathroom and give you a good fucking. Oh, how he can’t keep his hands off you when he sees you all dressed up for him…

#dave mustaine #megadeth #dave mustaine x reader #megadeth x reader #dave mustaine smut #megadeth smut

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mustardyellowsunshine · 1 year ago

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In today's episode of Shut Up Robin, Nobody Cares:

InuKag bickering is so good because it's deeply telling of how comfortable InuYasha and Kagome are with each other at almost every stage of their relationship.

For starters, contrary to seemingly popular belief, arguing does not inherently signal dysfunction. It can sometimes signal the opposite: it demonstrates a level of intimacy and trust in your relationship that you are able to openly disagree with your loved one. You are not afraid of conflict because you know it won't break the relationship. In my experience, at least, it's shaky relationships that avoid conflict at all costs. When there's not enough emotional security with each other to openly disagree without fear/anxiety, open conflict never happens. That's why "arguing like an old married couple" is a cliché: it's the people who've built trust and security who will bicker like that.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it doesn't feel great to be in conflict with a loved one, even in a secure relationship. But being able to navigate conflict together in a way that eventually leads toward understanding and compromise is the sign of a strong relationship. Arguing is often a step in that process.

Which is why I find InuKag arguments absolutely, lip-smackingly delicious.

When they first meet, their arguments have the distinct flavor of, "I don't like you and I don't care what you think about me." Which is an excellent vintage tbh, full-bodied flavor with refreshing tartness. 👌👌 There's something so intrinsically entertaining about watching early-series InuKag butt heads, all the while knowing they eventually get married. And because early-series InuKag doesn't especially care about the other person's opinion of them, they don't hold back: there's no politeness barrier between them, there's no equivocating or filtering. They just have at it. They're not afraid to be themselves around each other, even when they dislike each other.

Then when their friendship begins to form—stage two InuKag 😁—their bond is forged from the two-pronged fire of 1) having each other's backs in life-or-death situations, and 2) experiencing the humdrum quotidian moments that come with traveling together all day, every day for long stretches of time. I've talked about this before, but I love how they know all the dumb little things about each other that you only learn from prolonged proximity: they know the timbre of each other's snores at night; they know how long the other can go without food before hangry-ness rears its head; they know which posture signals irritation or exhaustion, which facial expression signals daydreaming contemplation or a playful mood; they know which jokes will get a laugh and which insults will get the sharpest glances; the little intimacies abound!

By the friendship stage, InuKag bickering takes on a slightly different flavor. There's still that unfiltered, no-holds-barred vibe about them (because they're so used to being blunt with each other), but it also has the tenor of easy familiarity. Friends falling into the same low stakes argument they've had a hundred times already. There's not often any real heat or tension to the bickering, it's more like rote muscle memory. And when they do have real arguments, with real tension and emotional stakes?? It's delicious precisely because there are emotional stakes now! Goodbye, "I don't care what you think about me," hello, "I care so much what you think and I hate it and you're going to hear about it." It's still arguing InuKag, but with different emotional fuel sparking the arguments. Now there's affection and trust underpinning their unfiltered way with each other. It's mmm mmm good! I can eat it up all day.

And as the series progresses, and InuKag begin to develop obvious romantic interest in each other—stage three InuKag, yes it's terminal—the flavor of the arguments gets deeper because now those emotional stakes? They're even higher. And yet despite the higher stakes and the messy complications, they're still not afraid to butt heads. They're not afraid to be blunt and hash things out. I love this example of InuYasha's hack-and-slash style of conflict resolution. If there's a wall between him and resolving the tension, he'll just punch his way through it. 😂 Another favorite of mine is this banger scene where Kagome bluntly calls InuYasha out on his jealousy.

But probably my favorite stage three InuKag fight scene is this one, from chapter 310:

(Full scene here.)

Man, it's so good! Kagome—after taking pains to save Kikyo, who then essentially taunts her for it—starts to feel angry and resentful and then wallops InuYasha with those feelings. (Before any haters pipe in: characters need to make mistakes sometimes. This is one such occasion. Let the 15-year-old girl character make a mistake ffs.) And what does InuYasha do? He sticks around so they can hash it out. The best panels in this chapter are Kagome thinking, "He probably hates me now," only for her to look up and see him right beside her. He can handle her mistakes and flaws, because he knows Kagome. They've spent 300 chapters building trust in each other, and we see the fruit of that here. InuYasha knows very well that Kagome cares for him—cares so much that she's risked her life for him many times over by now, and cares so much that she just saved her own romantic rival partly for InuYasha's sake (but largely because she's just a good person). I think that's why he handles this moment with pretty good composure. He knows Kagome doesn't actually hate him, briefly hurtful as that comment surely was. So he waits until she's processed her feelings a bit more, and they talk it out. (While we're here: I really like that he's sitting close to her but is facing away from her, like he's trying to give her the space/privacy she needs to process her feelings without actually leaving her alone... ugh I love it.)

Notice how, even in the midst of this fight, they start checking in with each other, putting the other person's interest before their own. Kagome sincerely urges InuYasha not to "hold back," the subtext of which reads to me: "Don't let my outburst tie you down, please do what you need to do." InuYasha responds in kind (his subtext reads to me: "Be honest, don't just put on a brave face for me") and also reassures Kagome's underlying anxiety. When he says, "You saved Kikyo, right? Then she'll be fine, I'm not going after her," he's speaking directly to the source of Kagome's insecurity—he's telling her in no uncertain terms that concern for Kikyo's safety was his only motive for seeking her out. Now that he knows Kikyo has been healed and isn't in imminent danger, he's not going after her. Again, he is intentionally addressing what he knows to be the source of Kagome's outburst when he says, "You healed Kikyo? Then I don't need to see her." To me, his message is pretty clear: "I wasn't looking for Kikyo for the reasons you think."

Like! Look at them! Openly and honestly communicating! Messily sharing their feelings! Resolving conflict and talking shit out! They've come so far. 🥹

These stage three InuKag fights feel different than their early-series fights, and they should! InuKag have built trust and love, but with that love comes vulnerability. It's the people we love who have the power to hurt us most. So even while InuKag have fundamental trust in each other, they're both aware that their feelings come with greater potential to hurt each other. And watching them navigate that tension and that duality together? MMM MMM GOOD.

Like truly, InuKag fights at every stage of their relationship are my favorite thing, it's all such good food.

#this post is for my 14-year-old self who always loved InuKag fights but who didn't have the words or life experience to articulate why #now I've got way too many words for it 😂#Inuyasha #InuKag #analysis

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replenaryindulgence · 10 months ago

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Before the Light

Azriel x Calida (ka-lee-duh)/Reader

Summary: After getting lost in the woods on a camping trip and finding herself in an unfamiliar land, 22-year-old Cal must decide what she's willing to do to get back to her life if she still wants it.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Panic, creepy guy in the woods

a/n: I know there’s a lot of backstory, I promise it’s worth getting through! I really wanted to set the stage and for you to get to know our MC.

I didn't intend for this to be so long, but d*mn my little hamster brain kept running on that wheel!!! The MC's name might seem a little strange, it's of Irish origin & I thought it was pretty and unique. Also, she's a redhead because so am I and me plus Azriel equals two (iykyk). Plz let me know what you think! Thinking about throwing in a slight love triangle moment with Morrigan eventually because how dramatic would that be & because our reader might be a little bi aren't we all? Strap in!!!

I'll try to update this as soon as I can! It might be a week or so. (P.S. my asks are always open! Thanks for bearing with me while I relearn how to use tumblr lol)

Chapter 1

“I don’t think we’re doing this right. No, definitely not, this piece is supposed to bend across that one.”

“You suck at this An,” Jack threw back.

“I suck at this? You didn’t get it right either asshole,” Annie quipped.

You shook your head, amused by the twins struggling to put together the first tent. The ground beneath the large pines was littered with dried needles, perfect for kindling. Circling around, you collected them into your jacket pocket.

“You hearing this, Cal?” Jack called out to you.

Turning to face your friends, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous,” You threw back, reaching for a small pine cone at your feet and rolling it in your palm.

You walked back and tossed your growing pile of fire-starter near the center of the clearing. It was still a few hours from dusk, but the hike had been long and you were eager to set up and be done with it. Jack and Annie were tasked with the tents while Brooke gathered rocks for the fire pit and scouted the area, something about checking for bears. A ridiculous idea, you had thought, though if you trusted anyone here with your life it was probably Brooke. Your guess was she wanted to get away from the bickering for a while.

The sweat from the hike still clung to your skin, sitting sticky and uncomfortable beneath your jacket. It’s much cooler now than it had been on the trip in. You touched the back of your hand to your nose to warm it. The sun’s rays peeked through the ever-rising pines, and you welcomed the sparse heat. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head back and let the afternoon look at you. Your feet shuffled slightly until light touched your face, and vibrant red filled your vision from behind closed lids. This moment reminded you of being a kid, observing and learning about the world around you. You tried to remember the last time you felt peace like you did now. It seemed as though no matter how hard you tried to clutch it, life slipped quickly through your fingers like sand. The years passed and suddenly, nothing was the same. But, this moment felt still; the sun was warm, and the lake welcomed you back with familiar hands.

”You’ve been a real help,” Jack whispered, startling you. His arm brushed yours, you smiled at the sky.

“It’s nice that we’re staying out here. I love the cabin, but I think we could all use the seclusion,” you responded, meeting his eyes. He nodded back, folding his arms. Brown hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“Seclusion, huh?” He teased.

“Seclusion, isolation, freedom from the expectations and burdens of society,” you replied dramatically.

“Okay, Thoreau, can we get some help sorting through the bags?” He questioned.

Before you could respond, you saw movement beyond the trees. Brooke approached and Jack walked over to help her with the arm full of small rocks she carried.

“No sign of bears,” she stated shortly. “Only one tent? I’ve been gone for twenty minutes.”

Brooke wasn’t angry, she just had a way about her. A way that was quick to say what was on her mind, and without much thought to how it would be taken. You learn to let it roll off of you when you’ve known someone for years. She’d been your and Annie’s suitemate freshman year. As a sensitive person, you found her bluntness unpleasant, but Annie liked her, and eventually, you came around.

You’ve known Jack and Annie longer than you can remember. Your parents were once very close; you’d spend weeks out of the year at their cabin just east of the lake. When your parents divorced it got ugly and uncomfortable, like a festering wound, until neither of them came back to the cabin. You were grateful for that. The cabin, the lake, it remained a place untouched by the crumbling debris of your parents’ failed marriage. Jack’s mom had pulled you aside and assured you that you’d always have a place with them. You knew she meant it. Mrs. Henley, Ruth, was a soft-spoken woman, but always sincere.

The cabin was almost two hours from the water by car, if cabin was the right word for it. You never talked about how much money the Henleys had, and they didn’t seem to care what your family had in comparison. The twins’ Dad, Eric, ran a few publishing companies in Washington, one in Oregon. After graduation, Mr. Henley lined up an internship for you as an editorial assistant, and asked you to persuade Jack to stay in Washington and work for him. A fruitless task, you were sure. Jack was over living out west, he wanted to travel the states, maybe move abroad for a while. No entry level job at his Dad’s company would sway a 22 year old from the intrigue of adventure.

A month ago, Annie suggested we spend these last few weeks before the fall, fully together. Camping was never your favorite, but you couldn’t say no to Annie. Not when you knew she was right. After graduation, you’d spent the summer mostly together, in your apartments in Seattle, at the Henley’s house in the city, or at the cabin. It felt right, it felt how it always did. But now, the discomfort of change was more tangible, less abstracted by time. Jack was talking of moving east with a friend you’ve known since high school and Brooke was heading to Alaska for grad school. Lucky for you, Annie didn’t seem in a rush to solidify plans, besides staying in the city. Who could blame her, with parents like that?

You joined Annie in the one set-up tent, helping her spread a blanket over one of the thin camping mattresses. You worked silently, unpacking a small pillow, another blanket, and hooking a portable light onto where the poles crossed inside the tent.

“You don’t need my permission, you know,” Annie said, breaking the silence.

You furrowed your brows. “Permission? For what?” You continued looking through the bags, setting one aside and adjusting the blanket beneath you.

"With Jack," She said, smiling at your confused look as she grabbed a bag of peanut M&M’s from her bag. She tilted her head back, letting a few fall into her mouth.

You didn’t know what to say. “It’s not like that,” you assured.

”It’s always like that,” she smiled at you, offering the sweets in her hand.

You took them, rolling your eyes. Annie assumed everyone was in love. You were definitely a romantic, but you also knew what disinterest looked like. You and Jack had shared a few lingering touches and almost-moments on drunken nights, but it didn’t sway you to gamble your friendship on the possibility that he was interested in anything serious. You were content wondering what could have been. You were typically more fond of fiction, anyway.

“Annie, come help me finish setting this up,” Jack called. She smiled at you once more before disappearing from the tent. You laid back, thankful for the swift death of the conversation.

…

The second tent was up much quicker than the first. You had organized them; Annie and Jack’s bags in one, Brooke’s and yours in the other. A small pile of sticks and pine needles glowed atop a circle of rock in the center of the camp. Jack and Brooke had found a small log and somehow managed to carry it over. You sat on it with Jack, rubbing your neck, the ghostly weight of your bag on your shoulders. You tried to pack light, but you brought a few books along; a mystery about a kidnapping that took place at a summer camp, some fairy book Brooke had suggested, and, possibly, one too many sweaters, which added some weight.

The sun was setting now, teasing the horizon with a gentle touch, and although it meant the temperature would plummet, you were eager for sleep. The heels of your feet ached, your calves felt stiff, and you were sure you needed to drink more water.

Brooke poked at the fire while Annie was engrossed in her phone, probably looking at pictures she'd taken on the hike in. You and Jack shared dried mango slices while you searched the shared playlist Brooke made for the trip. All Things End by Hozier began playing, and you smiled absentmindedly at the memory of hearing it live.

"Everyone is so quiet," Annie said, interrupting the hiss of the crackling embers. She and Brooke sat on a blanket across from you.

“I’m exhausted,” You responded with a yawn, staring vacantly beyond the campground. You thought you could spot the glitter of sunset on the distant water.

“Let’s get in the lake,” she laughed. “The cold is supposed to be good for your nervous system, or something.”

The prospect of dipping into the lake woke your body slightly, sending a buzz down your spine. You liked the rush of adrenaline, the euphoria following it.

“I’m in,” you responded with a smile. Brooke looked behind her, towards the direction of the water, and back with a scrunched nose, but eventually agreed. You turned to Jack, he only groaned. Still, he stood, mumbling something about how men weren’t built for cold water. Tell that to the Vikings, you thought.

You grabbed the thin towels from your tent, and headed towards the water.

…

Pebbles crunched beneath your boots. It was a short walk to the mouth of the lake, Brooke had chosen a good spot to camp. You quickly stripped them along with most of your clothes, leaving you in a thin bra and hiking shorts. You dipped one foot in the water, wincing at the temperature. Your friends stripped behind you, while you tried not to lose your nerve. Jack was taking pictures of the sunset from a few feet away, and you quickly slipped out of your shorts while he was preoccupied. Brooke and Annie took to your sides, and the three of you stood apprehensively at the edge of the lake, glancing over the water that expanded before you.

“It’ll be worse if we think too much about it,” Annie said, folding her arms to hold her body.

Brooke took a few brave strides and sank below the surface, cursing as she came up, before tilting her head back and letting the water caress her. Annie squealed before following suit. You blew out a huff of air, trying and failing to compartmentalize the chill in the water. When it got to your stomach your body shivered. No, this definitely wasn’t helping your aching muscles. You pressed on.

The water kissed your chest, then your shoulders. Finally, you gave in, dipping your head under. It wasn’t unbearable, but you weren’t sure you’d last long. You felt your pulse slightly in the back of your head as you swam under the surface. It had been almost 80 degrees today, but the water refused to acknowledge that. You broke the surface with a gasp, turning to face your friends who hovered near the edge of the lake. Why had you been so enthusiastic about this idea? You watched as Jack strolled over and dropped his clothes in a pile near the rest, quickly avoiding his gaze. Annie called out to him that it wasn’t so bad, and he shook his head in disagreement as he stood with the water just above his knees. He folded his arms, holding himself how Annie had. You stilled, lowering your head so your nose and eyes peaked just above the surface, and watched him sink further. You took a breath and sank below once more.

You had always loved the water. Brooke said it was biological, that it calmed something in the animal of us to be near it. When you were younger you pretended you were the half-blood offspring of Poseidon, counting how long you could hold your breath in it before your lungs felt like fire and you got light-headed.

You felt something touch your hand, and you lifted yourself from the water and your daydreaming. Jack had swum out, treading water as he watched the sun set over the mountains behind you. Water trickled down his face, gathering in his lashes, and his golden skin was cast in a reddish-golden light. He looked ethereal.

Turning, you faced the sunset. The sun lit the sky beyond the mountains in the most vibrant hues of red and orange. Where the darkening sky above you met the sun, pale shades of pink gathered. There was a good ten minutes of light left, and you thought that you’d never forget this moment. The beauty of it burned into your eyes. You saw it even as you blinked.

You broke the peaceful silence, "It feels like everything’s changing. I hate it." Change felt like putting on a new leather jacket. It chafed in all the wrong places.

He sighed, “Everything is changing. I for one am excited to leave this oppressive ass place.”

You thought of the vastness of the city, the lake that expanded before you, the mountains that climbed ahead, and wondered how anyone could call this oppressive. You knew he meant the people, but the city was big and it seemed like an excuse for wanting to leave. You stayed silent, sifting through your thoughts.

“Dad sure is glad you’re staying. At least one of us won’t disappoint him.” He added, wiping his short hair back from his face.

You laughed at the idea of his Dad ever being disappointed in either him or Annie. Their parents were unusually understanding people. Of course he wanted his kids close to home but he never was the type to force anyone’s hand. Sometimes, you thought Jack wanted a reason to brood.

“He wants you to stay, but I know he’ll live vicariously through you wherever you go, he’s an adventurer at heart. Maybe we can write about it when you get back,” you replied, smiling as you thought of the times you sat around their Dad’s faded armchair as he read you and the twins stories. He filled your minds with images of half-human creatures and monsters that swallowed ships whole. Of wars waged over beautiful women. Greedy dragons and cursed rings.

He replied with a smile and a ‘maybe’, and you pictured his portrait in the back of a travel book. ‘Everyone has a story to tell,’ His Dad had said to him years ago.

You heard laughter and splashing behind you as your friends jumped out of the lake.

“You’re just like him,” he added, nudging your arm underwater. You raised your brows in question.

He continued, “You should come with me. No author came up with anything interesting to say by staying put. New York, maybe Italy, or Ireland. You’d get plenty of inspiration there.”

“I want to be where the publishing action is,” you joke, “And I’m no storyteller, at least not yet.”

“Yeah right, you’re a natural,” He adds, “You’ve got an eye for it.”

You admired how sure Jack was. You liked how it felt to be near him, it put you at ease. He smiled and you could just picture late nights in the sticky bars of Dublin and Vespa rides along the coast.

Of course, you’d agree you had an eye for storytelling, otherwise you'd have wasted the last four years of your life. But, you didn’t have the option of relying on your rich parents for support as you found yourself at the Cliffs of Moher. The Pacific North-West was beautiful, you couldn't believe anyone would want to leave. You’d travel one day, maybe after you’d settled into your career. Until then, this would have to do. You looked out as the sun took its last breath, bowing to the mountains, passing its watch over to the moon.

“Let’s go, I’m freezing!” Annie called out from the shore.

"I’ll start dinner," Brooke added, attempting to shake the last of the water from her short hair.

You didn’t wait for Jack as you made your way to them. You hurried out, thankful for the thin veil of darkness as you dried off. Jack dressed beside you, his hair falling in short ringlets over his brows. He caught your eye and you pulled your towel over your head, hiding your face, and squeezing the lake from your hair.

…

The fire started quickly, and you ate slightly gummy re-hydrated pasta that Ruth made for the trip with her food dehydrator. You were sure this was the first time they’d used it. Shortly after dinner you fell prey to the lull of darkness and excused yourself with a ‘good night’ leaving your friends by the fire. The blankets in the tent felt damp. Great. Your sweats, thankfully, weren’t as bad. You fell asleep to hushed conversation, burrowing deep into your hooded sweatshirt.

You awoke to a sharp, shining light. Brooke was reading something next to you. How long had you been asleep? You hummed a greeting, burying your face further into your blanket, and sank deeply into the comfort of sleep.

The next day consisted of meals around the fire and a short hike to get a better view of the mountains. You trailed behind your friends, deep in thought as you failed to push away Jack’s suggestion that what you needed was travel. You thought of Bilbo refusing to leave the Shire.

Annie crept scarcely close to the edge of a boulder and you tried to hide your worried face while Brooke took her photo. They pulled you in for a group one, and you held tightly to Brooke as she captured your smiling faces.

The day seemed shorter than the one before, the sunset was more of a dulled pink, dimmed by low-hanging clouds. You made s’mores and failed at telling ghost stories around the fire before turning in early. You grabbed the fairy book from your bag, deciding the mystery should be read in the safety of daylight. You were on page 32 when Brooke joined you, crawling into the tent and kicking pine needles onto your blanket.

“I swear fantasy writers all had a meeting and committed to only writing weak, sex-depraved female leads,” You tell Brooke as she slips into her sleepwear.

“That or they become the best fighters and magicians all of a sudden. Can’t a girl just be a girl?” She adds.

You laughed in agreement and attempted to discuss the female archetype in fairy lands while she settled in. You pressed your legs to hers for warmth, and she opened a book about the history of the local tribes in Washington. Your thoughts drifted from the page, unable to comprehend the last paragraph of world-building you attempted to read twice, and you let your head fall back to your pillow. The serenade of cicadas filled your ears, and you tried to commit the sound to memory. A vision tugged at you, of laying on a porch swing in your mother's arms, listening to the cicadas call as she read to you from your book about flower fairies. You laugh at how little you’ve changed, and how much you’ve changed.

“My mom used to read me this fairy book when I was a kid. I’ve probably heard it a thousand times, and I swore I saw fairies in my backyard. My grandma told me if there was a ring of mushrooms, a fairy had been there and I looked all over the yard for them,” you admitted, the memory vivid and colorful in your mind.

“My brother and I used to build little homes for them out of sticks and leaves,” she added. You enthusiastically agreed, remembering sitting outside of your grandparents’ house arranging pieces of earth with your cousins. Hours content in the world of your imagination. You missed that part of yourself, the child in you. You thought of her as you drifted asleep.

…

The next day the sky was filled with thick puffs of soft gray clouds, the air cooler than it'd been a few days ago. You started the morning off slowly, accompanied by Annie as you laid on a blanket near the water and read. Lunch had been brought to the lake, the four of you determined to spend the whole day in this spot.

Hours later you sat, Jack at your side, and watched as Annie and Brooke swam further and further out. So far this week you’d gone hiking, swimming, read your books, and walked around looking at fauna. You weren’t sure what camping for a week looked like. The longest you’d camped out was two nights, and it was technically in the backyard of the twins’ house.

“What time are your friends getting here?” You asked Jack as you chewed the inside of your lip. He sat with his arms resting on his knees beside you.

"Mmm, around five I think," he responded, glancing at his watch.

A few of Jack’s friends were coming to camp for the rest of the week. They were nice guys, and you weren’t exactly feeling antisocial, but you wished it would have stayed just the four of you.

“Dylan’s bringing is his girlfriend I think,” he added.

You hummed in response. You liked her, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Mirroring Jack, you looked at your watch; 4:14. Wanting to spare yourself from awkward small talk and having to help set up tents, you decided you’d go for a run along the shore soon. The energy bites Brooke had made and the coffee you drank with lunch were making you restless, anyway. You sat with Jack a little longer, and at half past four you stood, slipping back into your shoes.

Jack laughed amusingly when you told him of your plan, seeing through your avoidant ploy, but he just reminded you to be careful and to be back before dark or they’d have to form a search party. You called out to Brooke and Annie and they both echoed a warning too. A ‘be careful’, and a ‘bring your charger just in case.’

Back at camp, you threw your small solar charger into your jacket pocket, along with a granola bar, and drank from your water bottle. Anxious thoughts filled your mind, though you weren’t sure why. You’d woken up slightly on edge this morning and chalked it up to the company arriving soon. The path you’d run would be easy and mindless, no reason to worry. You’d stick to the shoreline, and come back the same way long before it got dark; the shore near the camp would be unmistakable. You took a breath and willed your stomach to settle.

You tied your hair up, swinging it to your back, then wrapped your jacket around your waist and began jogging towards the water. You’d gotten a little addicted to running this past year. It trained your breathing and focused your mind, something you’ve been trying and failing to do all your life. In Seattle, you always ran the same four-mile route from your apartment to around the park and back. It took you a few weeks to map down the perfect path. Past the gift shop at the end of the block, steering clear of the traffic near the middle school a half-mile down, and along the widest sidewalk that led to the park closest to your apartment. You focused on your breath and willed your anxious mind to focus on your surroundings. The pines loomed above you, it almost made you dizzy to look at them. The water reflected the mood of the sky. You could see a small group of people kayaking in the water towards the East side of the lake.

One mile down.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. The trees thinned out near the edge of the lake and the view was stunning. You sometimes felt like you couldn’t fully experience how beautiful it was here, not in the moment. It would hit you on the way home or when you’d get your film back from being developed. You almost brought your camera but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

Two miles down.

Stopping, you caught your breath as you snapped a photo with your phone, then slid it back into the band of your leggings and picked up your pace. Your mind drifted to the book you were reading.

Three miles down.

Your headphone cord swung annoyingly across your chest, and sweat started to prickle your forehead. A large boulder sat in your path and you swerved around it.

Shit. You threw your hands up on instinct, hitting something hard. Blinking for a moment, you steadied yourself. How had you not seen this tree? You brought your fingers to your face and winced as your eyebrow stung. Your eyes fell to the blood prickling the back of your hand. You felt it suddenly, the annoying ache of scraped skin and you cursed yourself for being unobservant. You looked at your watch with a sigh; 5:09. You tried not to let your injury annoy you as you turned to start the journey back towards camp.

Your heart sank. Head darting back and forth, then behind you. Eyebrows knit in confusion.

The lake was gone.

Ripping your headphones out, you scanned the forest before you. What the hell?

Okay, you thought, don’t freak out, don’t panic. Just think. Did you accidentally run further from the shore? You knew the lake was North and camp was West. You looked above you for the sun to verify, but the clouds had gotten even thicker. You scanned the forest confused, trying to find the boulder you had swerved just moments ago. How hard had you hit your head?

Shit. You grabbed your phone and opened the compass app to verify your direction, chewing on your lip nervously as it loaded. You sighed in relief, yes you were facing North. If you walked forward there’s no way you wouldn’t see the lake soon.

Goosebumps prickled your arms and neck. When did it get so cold?

Throwing on your jacket, you tucked your headphones into your pocket and gripped your phone anxiously. You took deep breaths and tried to settle the sick feeling in your stomach. You’d be fine.

You walked further and further North, anxiety creeping up into your body with each step. You settled into a light jog and searched for anything familiar. The minutes dragged on. The panic set in. You checked your watch again; 5:15. Keep going.

Darkness flashed suddenly in the corner of your eye and stopped you in your tracks. You swung your head toward where it’d appeared. Your ragged breathing broke the suffocating silence of the forest. Your anxiety screamed into your mind, animal, and all you could think of was Brooke’s comment about bears, but there was nothing. Just you and the never-ending expanse of trees. Did you have a concussion?

The wind howled behind you, and your body reacted before your mind. Shivers ran up your spine into your neck and you ran. Hopping over fallen branches and swerving between trees. The forest grew thicker, swallowing you whole. You felt your vision tunneling; you were panicking but you couldn’t stop moving. You spotted a clearing ahead and prayed to whoever was listening that it was the shoreline. A low-hanging branch scraped your shoulder as you reached the field. The field. Not the shore. Your eyes searched wildly.

The darkness appeared again, but stood still.

Not darkness, but pure blackness against the muted brown trunks of the forest. You turned to face it, and there, at the edge of the clearing stood a man in a black suit.

All thoughts left your mind. Something in your DNA clawed at you to run, but you stood, perhaps in shock, staring at this man before you. He was much taller than you, you could tell even through the distance, with golden skin and hair black as night.

Seemingly out of thin air, another man appeared by his side. Something covered him, or hung behind him, extending above his head. They looked like… What the hell? Was there a group of guys out here role-playing? Your head ached, this wasn’t happening, this had to be a hallucination, maybe from the injury and the anxiety.

The man in the suit took a step further into the clearing and slipped his hands into his pockets. You stood frozen at the edge of the clearing. He cocked his head to the side and squinted, seemingly assessing you. You thought of the group you saw kayaking and a small amount of hope hit you. Of course you weren’t the only people out here, you were bound to run into someone. You could ask for directions back to the lake. If they were playing make-believe in the forest that was their business. A woman with a long brown braid and a dark leather suit walked into view next and you took a calming breath. A woman.

You swallowed your panic but it stuck in your throat as you took a step forward and lifted your hand to wave. You hoped they didn’t see you shaking. There was a woman, yes, but the two men kept you at edge. Everything seemed out of place.

“Hey, sorry you startled me,” you began with a nervous laugh. “I was running along the shore but I went a little too far, do you know how much further North the lake is from here?” you inquired, heart beating in your throat.

No answer. The suited man looked to the woman next to him, and the man with the giant fake wings kept his arms held tightly at his thighs. Seconds passed.

“Your costumes are great,” you added, trying to sound at ease, and gesturing to the man’s wings. He took a step forward, but the suited man stopped him.

Time to go whispered into your mind and you managed a tight smile, as you took a few small steps away.

“Well, I better head back to my group,” you called out. You needed to put more distance between you. You needed to get the hell out of here.

You started to jog away, but something shot out into your path. You slammed to a stop. Another man, with shoulder-length brown hair half-tied up, clad in black leather gear and the same towering wings rising above his head stood before you. What the hell? He looked at you with creased brows, and glanced at the group of people to your right. He pressed his lips in a line, eyes darting back to you. Your heart raced; you felt like prey. Every hair on your body stood and every instinct told you to run, but the man in front of you was huge. At least six foot five.

You had to go. Whatever this was, you needed to remove yourself from it. They couldn’t run very fast with those things hanging on their back, anyway, right? You took a step back and glanced beside you. You could break for the trees and start heading West.

You began to move, but something stopped you like you'd run into an invisible wall. Whipping around, the suited man now stood before you, just feet away. Your eyes met his. They almost glowed an unnatural purple. He was handsome, they all were, which freaked you out even more. The man next to him looked at you sternly, like he was assessing a threat. What the hell is this?

"I need to get back to my friends, they’re waiting for me," you lied, straining to keep your voice even.

The man spoke back in a language you couldn’t understand. You tried to pick out familiar words but the dialect was too strange. It wasn’t Native, or any of the Latin languages from what you could tell. You looked to the woman who stood slightly further back, with pure plea written on your face. Her eyes softened and she spoke back in the unfamiliar language. She would help, you convinced yourself.

They conversed once more. You took a step back, but hands wrapped around your arms tightly, fingers digging into the sleeves of your jacket. You tried jerking them away, but the long-haired man held firm.

Panic now coursed through you in a dam-less stream. “Please, just let me go, what do you want?” you begged them all, looking to the woman once more. She and the suited man exchanged glances before turning to face you. So this is how you’d die, crossed your mind. What kind of sick game had you stumbled into?

The man spoke once more and took a step closer. You looked to the man at his side, the one with towering wings. His hazel eyes met yours. You searched his face, what you were looking for you didn’t know. Sympathy maybe? His jaw loosened slightly and he held your stare.

You turned to the purple-eyed man before you and pleaded again. He responded, nodding, but you didn’t understand. Tears filled your eyes. A scream pierced your ears. Your scream. It tore its way up your throat as a hot, white pain pierced your brain like a jagged knife. Your knees gave out, but the hands gripping you kept you upright. A golden-brown light filled your blurring vision. Your head fell back, heavy, and your mouth hung open in agony as your body finally gave in.

Darkness washed over you.

...

Ahhh! I'm so nervous to post this but so excited! Already getting started on Chapter 2. Sorry this was so long LMAO I just really wanted to set the scene for some hard-core angst.

#azriel fanfic #acotar x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel angst #rhysand acotar #rhysand is a baddie #feyre archeron #cassian

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