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formula-ghost · 6 months ago

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Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: The Loneliest

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end of the Americas triple header brings chaos, scandal, and conflict to your relationship with Franco. And after an unforgivable betrayal, your friendship may be beyond saving.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

WARNINGS: SO MUCH ANGST, reader is going through it, Franco is mean and lowkey kinkshames reader :( also Franco is a lil freak at the end so SMUT MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA FREAKS (affectionate). The long awaited chapter 4 is here! So sorry to dampen your holidays with this very sad chapter, but thank you all for being so patient with me while I was away. I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter as a reward for your patience!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

You’ll be the saddest part of me

The part of me that will never be mine

It’s obvious, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You’re still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It’s torturous, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The morning light was torturous. It signaled the end of Franco’s short lived unconscious peace, and the breaking of the dawn forced him to confront the fact that it was race day. He hadn’t slept well. It had been one hell of a night.

One glance to the curtained window showed that the morning light was quickly going to be shrouded by rain clouds anyway.

But despite his tiredness, he got up. If he had laid there too long he would have started thinking too much. About the race. About what was at stake.

About you.

He didn’t have time for that. He pushed that mixed jump pile of emotions—what exactly they were, he couldn’t name—down to the pit of his stomach as he quickly showered and gathered his things so he could get to the circuit quickly.

But even in the shower, as he tried to wash the memories of last night away, he couldn’t. His own nakedness didn’t even seem to be his, not anymore. The words you had written, imagining every inch of skin, stuck to him.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he felt like he was going to puke.

And it didn’t get any better as he dressed and gathered his things. There was a journal shaped space in his bag now, hollow without the evidence of his deception. He had kept it on him always to avoid you finding out. But now, it didn’t matter. He knew every word. Even if you did discover what he’d done, he had crossed a point of no return.

The journal itself still lay open at the foot of his bed. Had he fallen asleep after reading it, or just not had the energy to return it to its spot after feeling the shockwaves of the words? He didn’t remember.

All he knew was that his head was pounding. His entire body felt disconnected from the mind that governed it. It was too damn early, and too important of a day to be distracted like this.

But it was all his fault. No one had forced him to read it. No—he had decided, of his own volition, to steal the journal. When you ran out of his room with tears in your eyes and ignored his calls for you down the hallway, he had glanced at the open journal, teasing him to commit this unforgivable offence. He ignored it then, leaving his room, but when he returned that night the temptation had become nearly too much to bear. So yes, just as you had accused him, he did steal the journal that morning before you arrived at the track. And he’d lied to your face about it.

And you believed him.

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting to the track and doing his job, showing everyone that he could do what he said he’d do. He had talked a big game—now was time to deliver.

So when he didn’t respond to your text that morning, you let it go. You knew how important of a day this was to him. Even though he never divulged the contents of his meeting to you, you had known him too long to not be able to assume that the stakes were much higher than anyone had originally thought.

Why else would he be so standoffish when you finally saw him at the paddock that morning, brushing you off and quickly leaving? Why else would he not speak a single word to you the morning before qualifying?

At first, the tonal change from last night—dancing in the pit lane and nearly meeting lips to a morning of being ignored—was shocking to you. But you knew Franco. And he had promised that you’d always have a place next to him. Maybe not this particular morning, when all he needed to do was perform. But always. And you trusted him.

So you let the transgression roll off you like the rain that continued into the morning. You took your usual spot at the back of the garage to avoid the ever present watching eye of the media cameras. After last night's stunt, you knew the world would be watching both you and Franco. You weren’t very keen to give the media what they wanted, knowing every gesture or word would inevitably be scrutinized. The fans, though, had been kind so far.

All the things that they had said—we’re rooting for you—had hit you like a ton of bricks last night, alone in your room. You, too, had been unable to sleep.

It was the effect of the ever-present possibility of what could be. You wanted Franco. All of him. His body, yes, but also his mind and his heart. You were in love with him, without a doubt, and since admitting it to yourself only a few weeks ago, you had fallen hard and fast. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t yours. He had a goal to work towards, and it wasn’t you.

But maybe one day it could be. Maybe when all of this was done, you’d still have him. That’s what he promised.

And for once, you’d allowed yourself to really and truly trust him.

You glanced at the screen that showed him sitting in his car before quali. His back was to you, and it felt odd to see him like this, so disconnected, as if you were just another fan rooting on your favorite athlete.

Sure, he was your favorite athlete too, but he was also your best friend.

You wanted so desperately to trust those words he spoke when he held you as you cried. You wanted to believe that his job would never come before you. So when those familiar insecurities rose in your throat like bile, you swallowed them down and forced a smile to your lips.

If the people were watching you, you’d give them a show. And if Franco had to perform today, so would you.

So you let that sparkle come to your eyes when the fans with paddock passes strolled in and out in front of the garage, straining their necks to catch a glimpse of Franco in his car, and you in the background.

Until it was time for quali. You had wanted to wish Franco good luck, but he had been so laser focused talking with his race engineers and fiddling with the car that you settled for whispering a silent prayer as he expertly rolled his car onto the track.

You were always nervous for him. Even when the stakes were much lower, you knew the skill it took for him to do this job, and how dangerous it was. And on days like these, where the rain just kept coming and coming in sheets, you couldn’t help but let your anxiety win, knowing that anything could go wrong.

But Franco was talented, and focused. He would be okay, and he’d exceed everyone’s expectations. You had to believe that right now, on track, all that was on his mind was becoming one with the road.

Unfortunately, Franco couldn’t focus as well as he needed to. His mind wandered, of course, to you. He had brushed you off earlier, unable to look you in the eye after what he’d read.

Maybe, if there had been more time, he would have figured out what he was feeling. But he had chosen the worst possible night to do what he had done. Maybe his manager was right, he was distracted, and now he had to live with the consequences.

Or maybe, if he had been a better man, he wouldn’t have read it in the first place.

Regardless, he had, and even now, when he needed to focus, the emotions swelled up in him, coming in waves.

The first was shock. He read each sentence carefully, over and over again, praying that something had gotten lost in translation and you weren’t really saying what he thought you were saying. The second was disgust—how could his best friend write such detailed fantasies about him?

The third wave, the one he tried to ignore, was something he couldn’t name. A pool of warmth that settled at the bottom of his stomach as he read each filthy word, and the inevitable vision of the scenes he couldn’t help but imagine. He could feel his blood pulse through his veins as he let his mind give in to everything your words had commanded him to picture.

But the fourth wave came quicker, pushing down whatever the third had been. It was anger. Anger at himself for betraying you like this. Anger at you for writing all this and hiding it from him. Anger at life for putting him in this situation. Anger at his manager because she was right—he was distracted.

He had been driving completely by muscle memory, even going silent with his race engineers. They angrily instructed him to return to the garage.

He obeyed, apologizing to them for being so caught up in his own thoughts. But as he pulled the car into the garage and sat, he couldn’t help but let his eye wander the garage to you, standing towards the back as always, hands over the race headphones that they gave all the VIP guests so they could listen in on the actions.

You looked so innocent. His best friend, just cheering him on from the sidelines, so blissfully unaware of what he had done. But what you’d done, too—the pages full to the margins of your fantasies—well, no one was truly innocent here, it seemed.

You looked up and gave him a reassuring smile, and he felt like he was going to lose it.

He darted his eyes away, and thankfully, the race engineers cleared him to quickly return to the track. He would one last clean lap to finish off Q1, then return to the garage for Q2.

But he couldn’t get your smile out of his head, even when he coasted through turn one. And that familiar queasiness returned in his stomach as he approached turn two.

The rain, and his distractedness, was too much to overcome. He spun and eventually hit the wall.

Back in the garage, you couldn’t breathe. The seconds of silence from his end of the radio felt like years as you waited to hear that he was okay.

All he let out was a sad, “Sorry mate,” to his engineer. But to even hear his voice was a blessing.

He eventually confirmed he was okay and made his return to the garage. His head hung low, weighed down by the expectations he had failed to fulfill. As his best friend, you wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to hold him and assure him that everything would be okay. But he didn’t even look at you.

Turning his back away from you, he just stood solemnly as he removed his helmet and fluffed up his hair, before leaving to go speak with the media.

As his car was wheeled into the garage, you thanked whatever God was listening to you that Franco had made it back to the paddock in one piece. The carnage was bad—and with the grand prix in only a few hours, the mechanics would have their work cut out for them.

The garage was soon becoming too chaotic for your liking, so you slipped out to make your way to Williams hospitality to hopefully catch your best friend once he left the media tent.

But Franco never appeared. You assumed he had been dragged from meeting to meeting, trying to salvage what was left of this clusterfuck of a grand prix weekend. You watched qualifying from the screens in hospitality, wincing when Alex crashed too, and offering another prayer for the sanity of the poor William’s mechanics.

The rain only worsened into the afternoon, when the Grand Prix would have to take place even despite the monsoon that raged outside. You still hadn’t found Franco; you occupied your time by chatting with the fans that were now drenched in the general admission sections. They at least were trying to salvage some joy from the weekend, and you were too.

But it bothered you that you couldn’t find Franco, and that he had been avoiding you all day. It was an odd juxtaposition; on one hand, you had become so comfortable in the space of the race circuit that you no longer hid from the people, but sought them out, taking photos and cheering along with Franco’s many fans. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck that something between you and Franco was wrong. But your anxiety had lied to you so many times that you no longer trusted your intuition.

So, again, you tried to shake it off. It was going to be okay. Franco was going to focus and bounce back and get points. And when he did, he’d pick you up and spin you like he always did. And his beautiful smile would be yours again.

When it came time to return to the garage to get ready for the race, you were hopeful but nervous, your emotions a delicate balancing act of steadying your fear with your desire to support the man you loved.

As you entered the garage, you saw him, fiddling with the cuffs of his fireproof race suit, clearly annoyed by the scrunched lines in his forehead. And then, his eyes traveled up to meet yours.

It was like time froze. You had two options: do as you usually would and go up to him and wish him luck with a hug that was too close and too long to be strictly platonic. Or, ignore him and just silently wish him luck, praying that at the end of the race, he’d come running to you as he always did.

You didn’t get to decide, though. Franco’s eyes darted away as quickly as he could move them, a subtle expression of disgust replacing his former frustration.

It felt like a knife to your heart. You slipped on your race headphones in silence.

He’s just having a bad day. He’s stressed. He wasn’t even looking at you. He did it without thinking. A million thoughts ran through your head, faster than the F1 car that you now watched Franco climb into, readying himself for the race.

You couldn’t look away from him, but he couldn’t even look at you.

All you wanted to do was go back to the hotel and cry. You’d always been too sensitive, people had said, and that was part of the reason you started suppressing your emotions in the first place. But since you’d started your healing journey with your journal, you couldn’t stop the emotions anymore. The blush, the tears—all of it was beyond you, now.

At least, if you cried, the rain would hide it.

That’s what you told yourself as you watched his car roll into the pit lane and onto the track. You prayed to whatever God was listening that Franco would be okay.

But it seems no God was listening to you that day.

It started almost comically, with Lance Stroll crashing into the gravel on the formation lap. A miscommunication between the FIA and the drivers caused confusion on when the race would actually begin. And when the race finally did begin, it was nothing but chaos.

You held your breath during the first spin. It was Nico Hulkenburg, not Franco. Thankfully. Everyone was okay.

You counted the laps in your head, like you’d counted Franco’s breath when he would fall asleep in your apartment during your many past sleepovers. Like you’d counted his breaths when you woke up next to him in Singapore.

Lap 32. He was okay.

In your ears, you heard his race engineer warning him of the wet conditions, advising him to take extra caution with all the water on the track.

Franco asked to box for wet tires. His engineer refused. He told Franco to survive.

A wave of anger rose in you. Is surviving not exactly what he was already doing?

Franco pushed back, asking if the engineer understood what he was saying. And again, he refused. An argument back and forth. Trust us, the engineer said.

And then, he crashed.

A hard hit on the wall and a skid across the wet road.

You felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Everything was spinning.

The only thing that brought you back down to Earth was his voice in your ears. “I’m okay. I’m so sorry, guys,” he apologized.

In the aftermath of it all, you’d feel sorry for the William’s mechanics. But right now all you cared about was the man you loved and if he was really okay.

You didn’t care that he had been upset with you, for whatever reason beyond your knowledge. All you cared about was that he was alive and unharmed.

Your only want was to run to his arms, feel the warmth of his beating heart against your chest, assuring you that he was okay.

But he stomped into the garage and walked right past you, as if you didn’t even exist to him, like you were an invisible burden.

Your heart was pounding as if you were the one who had crashed. You watched as Franco disappeared into the paddock, likely heading to quickly speak to the media before sneaking off to God knows where.

Again, your mind went to the familiar choice, whether to go to him or hang back. But you’d been hanging back too much. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You followed in his general direction, but the paddock was buzzing with reporters and team officials. You scanned the crowd for the familiar curls of your favorite Argentine, but to no avail; the frustration threatened to bring tears to your eyes.

Until you saw him darting through the crowd, nearly as fast as his own car, rushing to get away from all the people with their eyes on him. You had become one of them.

You navigated your way to the crowd and back to his driver’s room, waiting until you and Franco were out of the crowd to call to him.

“Franco!” you yelled, “Franco, wait up.”

“Go away, YN.”

That familiar stab in your stomach pulsed again. “Franco, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

He reached his room and slammed the door shut, locked it behind him. You sighed.

“Please, let me in,” you practically begged. He was silent on the other side of the door.

He had never shut you out like this before—literally or figuratively. You felt the tears begin to pool. With a shaky voice, you began, “Franco, I’m your friend. I just want to support you and be here for you when things go wrong. You’ve been ignoring me all day, and I’m just worried about you.”

His silence continued, and the quivers in your voice became more intense.

“If you want space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t shut me out forever. I want to be here for you. I… I care about you.”

Your heart beat with the near Freudian slip you had said. You were so close to saying I love you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t said it before; you were best friends, after all, but the shift in the nature of your relationship had made the words take on a new meaning. You couldn’t say it now.

It seemed as if nothing you could say would have any effect, judging by the silence on the other side of the door. You had just turned to begin walking away when you heard the click of Franco unlocking the door.

You knew it was a silent invitation to enter. And when he carefully opened the door, just wide enough for you to enter but not enough so that anyone else could see, you saw the redness in his cheeks and the puffiness in his eyes indicating that he, too, had been crying.

It broke your heart.

You entered and locked the door behind you, instantly enveloping your best friend in a warm embrace. You wanted no distractions—just you, the man you loved, and the silence of the room that was only broken by your collective cries.

All you could do was hold him close, burying your face in his neck, relishing the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the race and the familiar smell of the garage—mechanical, yet somehow like home to you now.

“I ruined everything,” he sobbed into your shoulder. The statement was cliche, but by the strength of his sobs, you knew he felt it was true.

“You don’t know that,” you reassured him. “So many other driver’s have crashed today. It’s a mess out there. You did the best you could.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve fucked it all up. I’ve ruined it. I let everyone down.”

He clearly wasn’t in a state to be reasoned with, and you knew that wasn’t the best thing right now anyway. He just needed someone to be with him.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise it will.” That, and a warm body pressed to his, was all you could give him.

But the thoughts cascading through his brain were much darker. He really had ruined everything. Yes, his crashes would likely lose him the Redbull seat. But what he really ruined was his relationship with you.

He had done the unforgivable, crossed the line that he couldn’t return from. Everything between you two would be different now, especially when you found out what he had done.

Part of him wanted to lie and act as if it had never happened. You never wrote those words, he never read them, and everything would go on as normal.

But he knew he couldn’t. It had only been a day and the guilt was eating him alive. And now, he had ruined his chance at securing his future.

Still, in the bottom of his stomach was again that jumbled feeling he couldn’t quite name—something like anger, or disgust, something… vile. His manager was right. You had become a distraction, through no action of your own. But the filthy thoughts that went through your head at the sight of him, all which you’d written down and he’d read… it excited and repulsed him all at once.

And these emotions all ran through him as he sobbed in your arms, a quiet solace from the world. Things were broken now.

But in this moment, Franco could act as if none of that was true. He broke the embrace and finally looked you in the eyes.

Your stomach turned with butterflies. He was so beautiful, even with his puffy bloodshot eyes and gentle blush dancing across his cheeks.

And as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he gently cupped your chin, bringing your face to his, and kissed you.

The kiss was slow and tentative, soft, like you were something fragile. And this moment was fragile, evidenced by the silent peace between you when the kiss ended and you pulled away, staring at each other.

Franco was about to go in for another when his manager knocked on the door.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, and the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wordlessly got up and left with her, leaving you alone in his driver’s room.

You were scared of what would happen when he returned, so you spent the rest of the day in Williams hospitality before leaving the track alone.

You never saw Franco again at the track, but you figured he was in deep shit for his crashes, and that you should keep your distance. But sitting in hospitality, your mind in the clouds as you heard the celebrations of Max Verstappen’s win in the distance, you were haunted by the feeling of Franco’s lips on yours.

It was soft, caring, full of… no. You couldn’t say it.

You felt like there was a stone in your throat. You needed Franco now, but at the same time, you were terrified of what would happen the next time you saw him. So you left and went back to the hotel alone. You knew your usual routine; dinner together, spending a bit of time in his hotel room, then going to bed and heading home on separate flights.

And even though your journal had long left your mind, you imagined what would happen that night in his hotel room.

Another kiss, but rougher this time, more sure of what he wanted; and what he wanted was you. Hands wandering, hitched breaths, waking up next to each other in the morning light.

You felt like you were going to faint. But he never came by that night. No text, no call, no tentative knock on your door.

And even in the morning when you checked out of the hotel and made your way to the airport, still nothing.

You had hoped when you landed and turned your phone off airplane mode that you’d find a notification from him, but your texts were empty.

A day turned into a week. One week turned into two. No word from him. All your messages left on delivered.

It took you two weeks to get him on the phone. You had to call him out of the blue; that was the only time he answered you.

“Hello? YN? Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you—”

He cut you off. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” you answered, slowly, as to not cause an argument. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You paused. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

He paused too, but his pause was more awkward than peaceful. Clearly what had happened in Brazil had changed things, to a point where even a phone call felt stiff and unnatural.

You continued, “Do you maybe want to get dinner this weekend? Our usual place?”

It was a neutral enough offer, something that would be absurd of him to refuse.

“Yeah, let's do that. I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” His tone was cool, but you took any opportunity you had for connection. He had said yes to your invitation; that was enough.

In the meantime, unbeknownst to you, Franco was losing his fucking mind.

He didn’t know why he had kissed you in his driver’s room. It was like he wasn’t in control of his body. But how beautiful was the result; his lips pressed to yours, so softly, felt like heaven. He relished every second of the slow and chaste kiss as if it would be his last.

And when his manager had ruined the moment, he realized that it might be. He snapped back into reality as he rushed down the hallways of the paddock with her. She was clearly pissed. She led him back to a small meeting room. The room was empty, but he knew soon the whole team would be there, and he walked in like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Before he had even sat, she took her place at the head of the conference table, small but imposing. He was in big trouble.

She inhaled deeply before beginning. “Franco, are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m okay. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You were distracted.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“But it’s the truth.” He was silent. She continued, “Look, I get it. You don’t have much experience driving in the rain. You wanted to switch to wets, I heard the radio. You tried your best during the race.”

He fiddled nervously with his hair like a child being scolded, not even able to meet her eyes.

“I’m not upset that you crashed. Five other drivers crashed too. What I am pissed about is the media shitstorm that you’ve created. First that stunt last night, then crashing this morning? And I know you were distracted then, because you weren’t talking at all on the radio and then I saw you staring at YN before your last lap. What is going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She was right. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, stretching and scratching the back of his neck. He had always tried to keep his personal and professional lives separate, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he couldn’t do that for much longer.

“I… things are just… weird with me and YN lately.”

“I can tell.”

He gathered his courage before his confession. “I think I’m in love with her.”

His manager sighed. “I figured.”

She sat, a more sympathetic expression crossing her face. She explained, “Look, we all love YN. She’s always been there for you. I’m not trying to tell you what you need to do in your personal life, you’re an adult. But I think you know what needs to be done.”

He did know. But he was so scared. So terrified of the unknown future now. He couldn’t even speak it.

His manager continued, “Well, after today, it’ll be hard to salvage the Redbull contract. But we have interest from other teams, too. Alpine, mostly. You still have a shot at a seat for next year. We can do this.”

She reached over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled and nodded, knowing there was much work ahead to be done.

And that work had truly kept him busy in the following days, though not too busy to reach out to you. He just couldn’t do it. He knew if he gave himself anything he’d fall too far in. You consumed his every waking thought—but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to your messages.

Instead, he spent his late, sleepless nights online, reading what everyone was saying about him. A horrible decision, in retrospect.

The commentators had thrown him under the bus, calling him underdeveloped and inexperienced. Hundreds of people calling him “crashpinto” and saying he didn’t deserve his seat. To them, maybe lighthearted, but to him, it meant everything he had ever worked for becoming a mockery on Twitter.

When you called, he picked up on instinct. You never called out of the blue unless it was bad.

But you had just wanted to hear his voice.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. He knew he couldn’t do this. His manager had told him. The entire internet was telling him. But he agreed to see you that weekend anyway.

At least, that was the plan. But Saturday came and went and no word from him, no knock on your door, no answered text. Even a call went straight to voicemail—he had declined it.

All week, you had been looking forward to seeing him. You were wearing that dress you’d always fantasized about, the one that was his favorite color, the only one you felt truly beautiful in.

You had gotten dolled up for dinner. You wanted to finally tell him how you felt.

And he stood you up.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. How could you not? Franco was sending you mixed signals and you couldn’t do it anymore.

But when you woke up, it was worse.

A million notifications. At least, that's how it felt. Disoriented, you opened your phone to a video from last night; Franco, walking around Madrid, with an actress. He had stood you up for someone else.

And not just any someone. You had heard of this Argentine actress. She was…controversial. Older. Beautiful.

And Franco had spent the night with her. At least, from the video and comments, that’s what you would assume. They were seen outside his apartment. He was reportedly very…talkative with her. Touchy.

You wanted to puke. The comments didn’t make it any better.

FRANCO BABY GET AWAY FROM HER

How could he do that to YN?

I know he and YN weren’t official but if a man danced with me in the rain one week and was caught with the most problematic actress of Argentina the next, I’d commit an act of violence.

He is so fucking stupid, does he really think this is gonna help his PR after Brazil?

OMG they are so cute! They could be Argentina’s power couple <3

The last comment made you cringe. The replies to it were not kind.

You read through far too many comments before checking your texts. No message from Franco, of course. But from someone else: his mother.

Call me when you can xx

You took a moment to compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you dialed her number.

Her voice on the other line was comforting.

“YN, dear, how are you?”

“Hi,” you said, “I’m… I’m okay.” You lied, and she knew it.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not really okay. Franco has been acting…odd lately.”

“I know. That’s what I called to ask about. I’m sure you’ve seen the video?”

You swallowed hard, as if you could force the pain down to your stomach and ignore it. “I have.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I haven’t heard from him for weeks, since Singapore. I thought I raised him better than this. The press is saying he was covering his face in the video because he didn’t want us, his own family, to know.”

“Seriously?” you questioned, aghast. But your shock was also at the implication of the statement—us, his own family. Even his mother considered you part of the family. But you were invisible to him, it seems.

“Yes!” She responded. “And for good reason. I’ve never seen his father so angry. He’s throwing away his whole career for some… woman. He’s distracted.”

That word: distracted. It felt more powerful now than ever before.

“I mean, he hasn’t seemed like himself lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I don’t either. I actually wanted to ask you to check in on him. He isn’t answering anyone, but I just need someone to talk some sense into him. Just go over to his apartment. If I was there, I’d be on his doorstep with a wooden spoon.”

You could hear the frustration and restraint in her voice. The visual of Franco’s mom on his doorstep with a spoon ready to discipline him was almost comical, if not given the context.

“I’ll try. But if he’s not listening to his own mother, I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

“Well, if you at least try, that’s enough.” She sighed. “YN, I’m so worried for him.”

“So am I.”

The line grew quiet. You could tell his mother had more to ask, but was restraining herself. You were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to tell the insane back and forth you’d undergone with him in the past few days. You were exhausted.

So you bid each other goodbye and you readied yourself to go to Franco’s apartment and confront him. This couldn’t go on forever.

You were surprised that he ever even answered the door. You knocked tentatively at first.

“Franco, it’s YN. Let me in.”

He wordlessly shuffled to the door and opened it, not even stopping to greet you as he went back to his couch to scroll on his phone.

“Hi,” you greeted, awkwardly, as he was clearly uninterested. He just gave you a small nod.

You sat down next to him. You weren’t quite sure what to say. You opened your mouth to begin, but he cut you off.

“If you’re just here to lecture me, don’t.”

“I’m not here to lecture you.” Except, you kinda were. “Franco… everyone’s worried about you. I’m worried, your mom is worried too. She asked me to check in on you.

He placed his phone down and laughed, an exclamation dripping with sarcasm and contempt. “I’m sure she did.”

“Franco—”

“No, she sent you over here to come scold me, didn’t she?”

“No,” you lied. “You’re just not acting like yourself—”

“No, don’t start with that. You’re here to tell me how badly I fucked up, aren’t you? Well you can save it. The entire internet and all my managers and sponsors and everyone else on the planet beat you to it.”

“Franco, will you let me talk?” You asked.

He ignored your question. “I already fucked up my chances at a Redbull seat, so might as well just keep doing it, right? Go big or go home.”

“Don’t you still have a chance with Alpine?” You had heard the rumors. It didn’t matter, though. Franco still had a chance at a seat, yes, but he was no longer the golden boy of F1, the perfect replacement for the driver that always crashed.

“Why does it matter? Redbull or Alpine or… Chinese F4 or whatever the people come up with. It’s over.”

In an ordinary conversation, you would have chuckled. But this was no laughing matter.

“Franco, everyone's rooting for you. We all want you to succeed, and we know you can. I know you can. I believe in you. Why are you doing this?”

He paused. “Doing what?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Ignoring you? Kissing you? Or spending the night with another woman?

“Doing things that hurt your reputation.”

“What, are you worried about the brand?”

“Yes. I am. And you should be, too.”

“Oh, fuck off. If you were really worried about ‘the brand’ you wouldn’t have been acting like you did in Brazil.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was full of pain. He’d never used that kind of language or cruel tone with you before.

“Acting like we’re a couple.”

“Franco, you initiated all of that.” The truth cut through both of you, leaving you raw and vulnerable. “And I thought you meant it. Was it all just… a lie?”

It couldn’t be. The dancing was public. But the kiss had to be real. Away from the cameras, the scrutiny, the potential of what could be. Just you and him. Two people who loved in each other—but in what exact way, it was impossible for you to know.

His only response was curt. “Don’t ask me that,” he whispered.

Silence blanketed the room for a moment.

“The actress,” you asked, “Do you love her?” It was a simple question, asked while still ignoring the elephant in the room of what had really happened in Brazil.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

You looked at him with bewilderment. “I care because I’m your friend! She has the potential to ruin your reputation, so I mean, it’s kind of different depending on if she’s the love of your life or just a quick fuck.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned about my love life. I don’t ask about yours.”

You weren’t quite sure where his agitation was coming from, but it shocked you nonetheless. You responded back with your own passive aggression. “That’s because I don’t have one, Franco. I’m too busy flying around the world watching you race to go on dates.” It was true. But you left out the obvious fact that you were in love with him.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“You asked me to be here!” His words cut sharper than a knife. He had practically begged for you to be there.

“Well, if it’s such a bother, then don’t come to the last three races. I need to focus, anyway.”

“It's not a bother. I enjoy being there! Franco, I’m just trying to talk to you, please don’t take out your anger on me.”

“You’re not trying to talk. You’re trying to tell me what to do, just like everyone else does. You all act like I’m a stupid child who can’t make any decisions on my own.”

Your anger grew. “Maybe it’s because you make decisions like this! You have a reputation to uphold and you’re choosing to associate with people like her?”

“You’re just jealous,” he said, with a thick venom in his voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. You pushed your nervousness down and let anger replace it. In an equally snarky tone, you rolled your eyes and replied, “Look, obviously you’re not going to acknowledge whatever happened between us in Brazil. But I am not jealous. I’m your friend and I want to help you. And besides, not every woman wants to fuck you, Franco.”

“Oh, but you do.”

If your heart had skipped a beat before, it had just dropped into your stomach now. Was it that obvious? Before you could even summon any rebuttal, Franco continued, “You know what actually happened in Brazil? You found me out. I stole your little diary when you left it in my driver’s room. And I read every fucking word.”

All the color had drained from your face. Every single word—where you had declared your love for him, and written all your fantasies about ravishing him and him ravishing you. Every fear and frustration and moment of sadness that you had poured into that journal; he had read it.

“What, nothing to say now?” he snapped at you.

He was right; what could you say when your best friend had crossed a line, only to find out that you had crossed the line so much further?

You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t have the strength to push them away as you had always done. What was the point, anymore?

Your only response came out like a sad whisper. “Why would you do that?”

But clearly, he felt no sympathy for you. “Why would you do that?” he retorted. “Everyone tells me constantly that you’re a distraction. And they’re right. Because I’m trying to win points and you’re in my driver’s room writing fantasies about us fucking. And then I crash and lose everything and you want to act like you’re so innocent, just wanting to help. Well I know what you really want. And it’s disgusting.”

For a second, you really thought Franco was insane. Somehow, he had managed to manipulate the situation into making this your fault.

But if he had truly read every word, how could he come to the conclusion that all you wanted was his body? How could he not understand how deeply you loved him?

In mere moments, a million ways to convey this went through your head, But it was no use. He was beyond the point of reason. And your friendship was beyond saving.

You had nothing to say, and it felt like if you didn’t get out of there right that second, you’d go insane. “I think I should just go…” you muttered as you turned to grab your things and exit his apartment.

“No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to just run away from this.”

Your anger returned at his refusal to let you go. “If you can do whatever you want, then why can’t I?”

This time it was him who was silent.

Just as you were finally about to leave, you heard his voice behind you, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

His four simple words released the flood of your anger. You turned to him. “Prove me wrong? All I’ve tried to do is tell you that you’re wrong, that you still have a chance to save this if you do the right thing. But what if you don’t, Franco? What if you don’t get a seat for next year? You know what will happen? She’ll leave you. And the entire world will forget about you, everyone except for me, because I’ve always been here, even when you were nothing. But this is how you treat me, you’re mean and you lie to me and you betray my trust and you blame everything on me! So don’t come crying to me when everything falls apart.”

And so you left. And that was that.

The next few days went past like a blur.

You could only remember small snippets. A set of emails; your VIP passes had been revoked, your flights and hotel reservations canceled.

A video of him kissing her in a nightclub. A video of her going home with another man. Rumors. Pain.

All of the sudden, you weren’t in his life anymore. But life just…went on.

You knew it would be best to just get off social media for good, now. Try to move on with your life. But you couldn’t help it. You watched the gossip pages, the F1 updates, his own page.

His comments were full of angry people, lambasting the actress or trying to defend you. His managers even had to issue a statement.

In your head you could hear his manager’s voice, scolding him. You knew exactly what she’d say.

And halfway across the world at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you were right.

The few days in between the video of the actress, his argument with you, and the Grand Prix weekend felt like a century. But he was here, for better or for worse.

Still, the icy glare of his manager cut through him. He’d gotten an earful after the video leaked. The tension still hadn’t settled.

But media day had gone fairly well; little mention of you or the actress. In fact, everything had gone smooth—a little too smooth, going into qualifying.

One last meeting before he’d have to get to the garage. The garage itself had felt oddly…quiet, without you there. Yes, he’d canceled everything in the hot aftermath of your argument.

But he couldn’t ignore your absence, like a hole in his chest.

He went in and out of focus—he was doing that a lot, these days—as the meeting dwindled and staff filtered out of the room one by one, until again it was just Franco and his manager.

She felt the tension in the room, and knew it was a delicate balance. The wrong mention at the wrong time could ruin everything. So she didn’t mention your name, knowing that it could affect his performance.

“Hey, kid,” she teased him, “You’ve got this. You’ve been through a lot—Hell, you’ve put me through a lot, but you’ve still got three more weeks to show the world what you can do. And I believe in you.”

He only gave her a reassuring smile before he went to the garage.

The smile was fake. He knew it. She knew it. Maybe the fans knew it.

You certainly knew it, watching the Sky Sports broadcast from home. It was an odd duality; you couldn’t stop watching, but every time they showed Franco, you felt like you’d been stabbed right in the heart.

And across the world, Franco felt that same pain. His manager hadn’t brought you up, but her words were far too similar to yours. I believe in you.

Of course she did. That was her job. But you? You believed in him when he was fourteen and couldn’t figure out how to wash his clothes alone. You believed in him when he was sick and when he crashed and when he fucked everything up.

Everything you had said just echoed in his mind, over and over, every night. He hadn’t been sleeping well.

But this was his own fault. He had ruined it. He had read the journal. He had revoked your VIP passes.

He had no one to blame but himself. And it was eating him alive.

When he was younger, he fell in love with racing because of the freedom it gave him. When he was in the car, it was just him and the road. No one could touch him—he could drive into oblivion if he wanted to.

But now, even in the former bliss of that sacred space of his F1 car, his shoulders were weighed down by the weight of all he had done.

The quali session was almost over when he crashed.

There were no words anymore. He retired the car and went back to the garage in silence.

At home, you just cried. There was nothing else you could do.

It wasn’t long before Franco heard a familiar knock at his driver’s room door—his manager. He had spoken to the media, answered all the questions perfectly. But he had cost the team more time and money. He had let everyone down.

He opened the door without speaking a word, bracing for his scolding.

But when his manager entered, her expression was not one of anger. “Franco, talk to me. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. I just lost control of the car and—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He paused, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. He sat down and brought his head to his hands. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Where is YN?”

“She’s not here.”

His manager’s tone grew angrier. “Yeah, I’m aware. Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Why isn’t she here? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Franco said, his frustration growing at his manager’s insistence.

“Well, obviously something happened, because she’d have to be dead or in jail to not be attending one of your F1 races.”

He looked up, furrowing his brow. “You told me to do what I have to do. So I did.”

“She didn’t take it well? That's… surprising.”

His anger was now tinged with confusion. “Well, most people don’t take it well when they’re called a distraction.”

“...Franco, did you tell her that?”

“Yes, that’s what you wanted me to do!”

“Oh my—no, God, Franco, that’s not what I meant!”

The driver got up, ready to angrily speak with his hands. His manager didn’t cower one bit. She asked, “Franco, what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her she was a distraction and that she didn’t need to come to the last races. And I told her that she doesn’t need to scold me because you already do that enough. I did what I had to do, exactly what you told me to do!”

His manager took a deep breath. “When I said that you should do what you had to do, I meant that you needed to sit down and tell her how you feel.”

Oh.

She continued, “Yes, you were distracted because of your feelings for her. But she isn’t a distraction. She’s your friend, right? And you love her. So why would you say that to her?”

He began, “I—I don’t know. I don’t…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

“Jesus Christ, Franco. What has gotten into you?”

He couldn’t even speak.

“Is there any chance in hell that this can be smoothed over before the race next week?”

He shook his head. No. Not after he had deliberately stood you up to go out with the actress. Not after he had spent the night with her, imagining your lips on his instead of hers. Not after everything he had said. Not after he’d rescinded his gift he’d worked so hard to give you by univiniting you to all the remaining races.

No, things were definitely not going to be smoothed over anytime soon.

Qatar. Still no word from him.

You’d contemplated reaching out a few times, but every time you’d gather up the courage, you’d remember what he said. There was no point anymore.

He crashed within the first laps of the race. It wasn’t even his fault, but still. The damage was done.

The once promising young driver was now the laughing stock of the internet from all the work he’d made for the Williams’ mechanics. Unfortunately for your mental health, you’d still been keeping up with F1 news.

Your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Has anyone else noticed that since YN hasn’t been at races, Franco hasn’t been performing well?

REPLY: Yeah, he does seem kind of off, even in interviews :(

REPLY: He didn’t do well in Brazil and she was there tho

REPLY: Yeah, but Brazil was a mess, no one except Max did well

REPLY: Call me parasocial but I 100% believe that he confessed his feelings and she didn’t reciprocate them. Why else would he immediately crash twice, hook up with a famous actress, and then YN isn’t at any races?

You laughed from the sheer absurdity of it all. Their assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth.

But time kept passing, like your entire world hadn’t been destroyed.

And again, as Franco traveled across the globe for races, his world was crumbling too.

It was becoming apparent that he wouldn’t get a seat for 2025. His time in F1—at least, for now—was coming to an end. And you were gone.

As he checked into his hotel room in Abu Dhabi, he could feel that familiar weight coming to rest on him. It hadn’t let up through the entire triple header.

And when he was alone in his room, he couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You were just a phone call away. All he had to do was press a button and apologize. You were kind—he’d always loved that about you—you’d forgive him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t. Or maybe you couldn’t.

He couldn’t bear the thought. So he didn’t call. Instead he tried to shake it off and take a shower, washing away the grit and grime of the airport, and the metaphorical dirt that now clung to him, the guilt of all he’d ruined.

But even in the shower, his thoughts wandered to you, back in Brazil. You had held him, and he buried his head in your shoulder, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume and the warmth of your embrace.

His hand trailed from his hair, where he was rinsing out his shampoo, to lower on his body, over his toned stomach and the happy trail that dotted his stomach.

He imagined his hand was yours.

No. This was wrong. But you had done it, hadn’t you?

He finished his shower in record time. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in just a towel, he remembered that night in Singapore.

Had you thought about him like this? You must have. Yes, he remembered, you wrote about it.

He had kept the journal. It was there, in his backpack, at his feet.

He didn’t even think when he did it, reaching down to grab the small leather bundle of sin, letting his towel fall to the floor and not bothering to pick it up.

Climbing on the bed, he opened the journal again. His hand gripped his aching cock, but God, how he wished it was yours.

He read. I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on.

Yes, he remembered. The memory of your closeness made his hard length twitch. His eyes darted further down the page.

So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

He pumped himself up and down, slowly at first, then harder as your words got filthier. He imagined the scene; you on top of him, his hand being yours. God, how badly he wanted you, no, needed you right now.

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine.

Yes, he was yours. His body was yours. His mind was yours. Everything that he was, was yours. How badly he wished he could tell you that. But all he could do now was keep himself on the edge, denying himself the sweet release as you’d imagined.

He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

He mimicked the scene when his hips jerked involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from his throat as he released all the pent up anger and frustration. He hadn’t meant to finish this early, but your words and the memory of your lips on his had an effect on him that he couldn’t control.

But even as his breathing slowed and he moved to clean up the evidence of his debauchery, he couldn’t help but wonder how you’d punish him for disobeying your commands.

God, he fucking missed you.

Even with the clarity of his release, he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. His phone still lay open, the screen on your contact.

One phone call. That’s all it would take. One phone call and you could be there at the end of it all, just as you’d always been there at the start.

But he still couldn't do it.

He tapped the settings icon and hit “block caller.”

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cinnamonest · 10 months ago

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Thinking about very well-endowed boys, perhaps endowed a little too much for their own good — with no idea how to properly use the thing.

No self-awareness, no experience. The moment you give a green light, this man just shoves his way in like a battering ram. You were at least expecting some degree of foreplay or buildup, but you don't get that. He has the audacity to tilt his head and hm?when you jolt and hiss.

Oh. It hurts you? You probably just didn't relax enough. That's okay. You'll feel better soon. You don't even get time to tell him that it's because he has no self-awareness of his size before you're tensing up and gasping again when it just slides out and slams back in. You see stars, and not in a good way.

You stutter out something about being too big. But big is good, right? That's what he's always heard. So it's just a matter of you getting to adjust. That'll definitely happen as he goes. No worries.

You're pretty sure your cervix hates you for making the decision to sleep with this boy, a choice you're sort of coming to regret as you find yourself pulled close to him with a harsh grip on your waist — that, too, is something he seems lacking self-awareness of, the fact that he's probably literally going to leave little bruises all along your waist.

It does feel a bit better as he moves and your body adjusts, insides expanding to allow more room… but no matter how much you do, it's not fully enough. You can still acutely feel him inside, the way it bulges and pushes against your walls, the friction as it drags back and forth, the way even at the peak of your own arousal, the tip keeps slamming into that so painfully sensitive spot. Even your toys never touched that part, you weren't even aware until now that you possessed the capacity to feel it so acutely.

At least when you tell him, he apologizes, says it won't happen again… but he seems far more pleased by the ego boost of this, apparently new to him, information. You get the sense that it will, in fact, happen again.

And it does. You blame yourself, honestly, for finding yourself in this situation again, but he's just so cute… only this time, you quickly find that being on your stomach makes it infinitely worse, and his hand on the back of your head, unintentionally shoving your face into the pillow and muffling your attempts to tell him to slow down, does not help.

God, why did you let it come to this… your thoughts are barely coherent from the sheer overwhelming sensation, your brain practically short-circuiting, unable to do anything but process the feeling.

But it stretches you out so good and presses against the good spot too, so unfortunately, you end up with admittedly one of the strongest orgasms of your life, spasming and squirting and making the lewdest of sounds. So, it clearly was good, this is reassuring for him, positive reinforcement. He's too occupied with basking in pride with this accomplishment to notice your groaning at first — but don't worry, once he does notice, he'll dote on you, of course. He cares about you very deeply, you know.

And later, you're still feeling the involuntarily spasms as your poor abused hole tries to adjust to the slight gape left behind, and here he is passed out beside you so blissfully. The bastard gets to just pretend like he didn't try to impale you from the inside.

He really does try. He cares about you, you know. He doesn't want it to hurt. It's just, you know, he doesn't really do a lot of thinking in that moment, and unfortunately, his brain just commands him to breed and he can't think about anything else, so, it's his brain's fault, not his fault. Yes of course those are two different things. Besides, you're the one that enticed him, so, realistically, you must take responsibility as well.

But no matter how many times you say it, he seems to simply get lost in the ego boost and then he... forgets. And admittedly, you too seem to consistently keep coming back, against your better judgement.

He forgets when he has both hands locked into your hair, wrapped around your head, so lost in the wet, warm feeling that he's jerking your head like it's some kind of toy — your jaw hurts, every thrust feels like it's going to tear your throat apart, and it goes so far down that you're fighting your gag reflex every single second. And worst of all, you can't tell him to stop, can't get a word out when his cock is relentlessly pounding your skull.

He just forgot. He forgets when he flips you onto your front side and pulls your hips up, forgets that you said that position is the absolute worst because of how deep it goes — but see, from his perspective, it feels best because he gets to fully bottom out inside, and it’s just so good, you wouldn't understand.

He forgets when he's got his arms wrapped around you, laying on your sides as you're railed like his life depends on it, far too harshly and with far too little warning, but you can't pause the lewd nosies and squeals long enough, and your only attempts to tell him to slow down and not go so deep are so slurred you can't even blame him for not understanding.

He forgets you said how sore you are, how you need one day off at least. You just look so nice, and you didn't say anything (you retort that you didn't get the time, dammit) when he started, so he wasn't thinking, and besides, he was very gentle this time, aren't you proud of him for learning how to not go so hard?

He really does try. When you're walking all funny and clutching your lower stomach and grimacing in pain, he's got this heating pad and bottle of painkillers he bought just for you, and he's quick to pull it out. He really cares about you! Besides, the faster you recover, the sooner you'll stop being mad and glaring at him (it hurts his feelings, this is important), and the sooner you'll get to have sex again (he depends on it now, this is in large part due to your actions, so you have some responsibility to take).

He's even learned how to roll his hips so smoothly, thanks to you, and now it shouldn't hurt so much… now it's less of an earth-shattering jolt of pain, and more of a gentle pain, you know, like poking a bruise. But hey, that's improvement.

#i live!#insert that mushu gif here #anyway #yan.txt #i started LaDS so this definitely came out xvier/rfayel coded #except the former i think would actually try his best and just forget. poor baby #the latter is just a needy brat and blames you. like you seduced him so like whose fault is this really :/

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castielscaplan · 21 days ago

Text

Just One of Those Days (Sam Winchester)

Summary: Everything that could go wrong did go wrong today. But coming home to Sam always makes it better.

Warnings: fluff

WC: 713

Read on ao3!

A/N: rewritten from this piece featuring Luke Cage x Reader

You were annoyed. You were stressed. Nothing had gone your way from the moment you opened your eyes.

You woke up to find Sam already gone. No warm chest to curl into. No sleepy “good morning” murmured against your skin. Just a cool pillow and a folded note sitting on your bedside table in his handwriting:

Early call. Be back later. I love you—call if you need anything. —S

Sweet. Of course. That was so Sam. Always trying to soften the blow.

But then you stepped out into the hallway… and your sock squelched in a puddle of dog pee.

Your eyes widened. You stared down at your now-damp foot. You didn’t even have the energy to be mad—just a breathless, whispered, “Awesome,” as you peeled the sock off and tossed it into the laundry.

Then, the toaster refused to work. Circuit shortage. You fiddled with it until the breaker tripped and the kitchen lights blinked out. Burnt toast smell still lingered in the air even though nothing actually toasted. Not even breakfast could cooperate with you today.

You finally got in a lukewarm shower without incident—one victory, at least.

But then you remembered you were almost out of gas, and there was no way you’d make it to work without a miracle. Public transport it was.

The bus reeked. Some guy nearly fell in your lap when the driver made a sudden stop. Your nerves were shot before you even got to the office.

When you arrived, your boss was already demanding yesterday’s print run be redone—something about typos and misaligned columns in the newspaper. Not your fault, but your problem.

You skipped lunch.

Nearly got into it with a coworker about the new article layout—you weren’t even on the layout team.

Sam never called on his break. He’d promised he would, but with how busy things were lately—especially with that vampire nest they were tracking—you weren’t exactly surprised. Still, you missed his voice.

Then the printer exploded with ink. On you.

You stared down at your once-white shirt in horror, now stained with black splotches, and whispered to no one, “I think the Devil is personally targeting me.”

By some mercy, your boss let you go home early.

But then the bus was late. Of course it was. You stood in the wind, shirt stained, phone dead, stomach growling.

When the bus finally came, you pulled out your phone to message Sam, only to realize the ink explosion had somehow gotten into the speaker and fried it.

And then you tripped getting off the bus. Flat on your face. Scraped knees. Bruised pride.

You limped the last few blocks home.

Once inside, you didn’t even shower. You peeled off your ruined clothes, threw on one of Sam’s giant flannel shirts, made some tea, and collapsed onto the couch. Netflix playing. Phone charging on the kitchen counter. Soul utterly crushed.

You didn’t move.

Not until you heard the familiar sound of the garage door and the unmistakable thud thud thud of heavy boots crossing the floor.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice rang out, low and laced with concern.

You swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm tea. “In here.”

When he walked into the living room, his eyes instantly scanned over your form—messy hair, tired eyes, legs curled under you on the couch. His brow furrowed.

“Bad day, huh?” he asked softly, already toeing off his boots. “You look like you could use a serious cuddle.”

You nodded miserably, bottom lip jutting out just slightly. “Please?” you mumbled, holding your arms out with a pathetic little grabby motion.

Sam’s face melted into a tender smile. “C’mere.”

He crossed the room in two strides, sank down beside you, and instantly pulled you into his arms. His body was warm and strong, his embrace everything you needed. He didn’t say much—he didn’t need to.

He just held you. Kissed your temple. Rubbed soothing circles into your back.

You burrowed closer, nose tucked under his jaw.

“Wanna talk about it?” he murmured after a few minutes.

“No. Just… hold me.”

“You got it,” he whispered.

And just like that, the worst day ever started to feel a little less heavy.

Because Sam Winchester? He always made everything feel better.

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liillyliilly · 11 months ago

Text

destiny has to be real kozume kenma x reader content; she runs into him, he feels his brain chemistry change (fluff) 1032 words

[i met you in the crowded city.]

Kuroo always liked to drag Kenma out into the streets of Tokyo, just so that he could experience real life every once in a while. The streets of Tokyo after it rained were always Kenma’s favorite. Because, there were always less people out and he could actually enjoy spending time with his friend. The rain dampens the concrete sidewalks, and the colors of numerous electronic ads flit across the ground.

It had just rained, but some light drops were still falling from the sky. As Kenma and Kuroo walked, he could hear the way the wet ground sloshed against his shoes. When Kuroo said he needed to pick up some flowers for his girlfriend, Kenma nodded and said that he would stay right by the street sign. Pulling out his game console to beat a new level, Kenma leaned against the tall metal sign. The sounds of his game and the delicate drops of rain around him soothed his anxiety about being outside.

Even if he didn’t express it often, Kenma had been feeling lonely, that's why he had agreed to spend time with Kuroo in the first place. His loneliness wasn’t that bad, but he did know the root of it. He needed someone to be content with. Shōyō, while he was nice and played games with him, was oftentimes much too intense to relax with. Kuroo, while he was understanding and tried his best to level out his passionate nature, he was just always expecting something more, something exciting. Kenma had started to think that he would be the only person to understand himself.

All of his thinking though, distracted him. So when someone bumped into him, he was spooked and dropped his console. When he heard the plastic crack, Kenma cringed crouching down to inspect the damage.

“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! I totally wasn’t looking where I was going, this is all my fault. Is there anything I can do?” A girl’s voice exclaimed, and she crouched down as well. Kenma tried to avoid eye contact. So he just mumbled out a response.

“It’s fine.” He scooped up all the pieces and shoved them into his hoodie pocket. Standing up and turning his head to the side, he continued, “It’s not your fault. I blend in.”

“Me too.” Her voice was quiet, but Kenma could understand her perfectly. She stood up as well, shoving her hands into her jacket’s front pouch. Kenma resisted for a moment. Would it be worth it to meet a stranger’s gaze head on?

[it must be predestined, right?]

Meeting her eyes was the best decision he had made all week, or probably all month, maybe even all year. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he tried to find words to say. His hair fell into his eyes when he looked back down. Only to notice that she was holding out his game cartridge.

“Who's your favorite character?” Her voice was a little bit louder, but still held the same hesitance. As if she was holding back from accidently saying a wrong thing.

“What?” His brain short circuited, a pretty girl was talking to him? And she knew about his game?

“I saw that you play, you know, the video game? I play it too.” She had pursed her lips together as she held out the cartridge for Kenma to take. The fact she played it too only made Kenma more interested. Something about her was different from the other girls he knew. She held herself like she was afraid of hurting others, she stood unbalanced because she seemed to be missing a support. Just like Kenma.

The rain started to come down heavier again. Soaking both Kenma and the girl’s hair. Kenma looked around, and found a bench underneath a bus stop nearby.

“C’mon.” He started walking over to the bus stop. When the girl heard the thunder that cracked down she rushed to his side and grabbed his hand tightly. That’s when Kenma’s heart started to race. It was running against itself to get out of his ribcage.

When they had finally sat down on the dry bench, the girl still hadn’t let go of his hand.

She introduced herself with a wrinkle on her nose.

“I’m Kenma.” He said, glancing to their connected hands once again.

She let go of his hand, and Kenma missed the feeling of the squeeze she had forced onto his hand.

“You never answered my question. About your favorite character?” She stared outwards, looking at the cars that drove by, water rolling with the tire before crashing down again. The lights of Tokyo blurred and streaked with a scratchy grey filter.

[why don't we know each other?]

They talked for an hour. A perfect hour recorded in their memories. Everything they said was in the same realm, their own little realm. It was as if they were stuck in time, a bubble enclosed them together under that bus stop.

“Wait seriously? You got lost in Miyagi, but know Tokyo like the back of your hand?” She covered her mouth to hold in the giggles that attempted to crawl out and wrap themselves around Kenma’s entire being.

“Pitiful huh?”

“Realistic. Never pitiful.” She complimented. Her words were like a fresh breath of air. Her words were like getting a new game to mess around with to try and figure out. And Kenma felt like he could spend his entire life playing her game and would never get bored.

“How have I never met you before?” The words escape before Kenma could understand what they would insinuate.

It was what he wanted to say though, including the insinuation. He wanted to ask any sort of high ethereal being why they had held back from letting him meet her until now. Was it a punishment? But then again, meeting her now was sweeter than it could have been. Meeting at school would have been a missed connection. He met her when he was unaware and vulnerable. Just as it should be.

“It’s fate. That you and I were destined to meet now, and not earlier.” She closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side, “Sorry, that was really cheesy.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Don't be sorry, he thinks, because I think this is destiny too.

Kuroo had taken longer to get flowers, because Kuroo had taken one look at Kenma and Kenma's perfect stranger- and Kuroo had went home. (He could always text Kenma later he reasoned.)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #hq x reader #fluff #haikyu!#haikyuu!!#kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #hq kenma #haikyuu x you #haikyuu kenma #lilly contemplates #perfect strangers and romance #i love the hq universe so much i could cry

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formulakracing · 1 year ago

Text

seeking comfort - s.p.

pairing: sergio pérez x reader

word count: 623

warnings: cursing, a little bit of angst, hate comments, hurt + comfort mostly!

"baby, what did we agree on at the start of the season?"

"that we weren't going to spend hours upon hours on social media reading hate comments," he groans, tossing his phone across the couch, "you should see some of the things they're saying about me!"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"why should i read any of these comments when i know that they're not true?" you counter, crossing over to the couch.

it went without saying that the life of a formula one significant other came with its ups and downs. although your life was mostly filled with traveling to beautiful destinations, supporting your talented boyfriend, and watching endless circuits of racing, there were moments like this.

moments where your boyfriend, sergio pérez, lovingly known as checo, was laying on your bed at the motorhome, scrolling mindlessly through thousands and thousands of comments across various social media platforms. in your time dating the red bull driver, you quickly discovered that x and instagram were the worst apps, as the fans were downright vicious and cruel.

settling next to the driver, you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, "baby, what are they saying?"

"that red bull should have never extended our contract," he exhales, "that i should never step foot on a grid ever again. that i always crash the car so why bother letting me drive? some of them are even telling me that i should kill myself. isn't that insane?"

although he's attempting to maintain a calm, collected exterior, you can't help but notice the glossy coat covering his eyes. how his lower lip trembles as you wrap an arm around his rib-cage, bringing him closer to you.

"oh, mi amor," the tip of your nose brushes his cheek, "i am so sorry."

"don't be sorry," the words are shaky as he fights tears, "maybe they're right. maybe i shouldn't have-"

"hey," your hand finds his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing his cheekbone, "stop that. you know that's not true. if red bull truly did not want you on their team, they would have found someone else to fill that seat."

"but i've fucked up so much lately," he counters, shaking his head slightly, "i've had too many accidents."

"that's why they're called accidents," you murmur, pressing light kisses all over his jawline, cheek, and temple, "they weren't intentional. it's not your fault that there were malfunctions with the car or the conditions on the track were not the best. you aren't the only driver having a rough season, checo."

"there's a reputation that comes with driving for red bull," as more kisses pepper his face, you can feel his demeanor shift, "i'm supposed to be one of the best drivers on the grid. i should be on that podium every damn race."

"then we'll get you on that podium," you find his hand, intertwining your fingers together, "you know i'm going to support you in every way i can. no matter what."

"i know," his lashes flutter as your lips connect with his nose, "you're the best, mi amor. i hope you know that. thank you, for saying the words i needed to hear."

"you know what else helps?" you nudge him playfully.

"what could that possibly be?" although he tries to remain grumpy, you see the corners of his lips curl into a slight smile.

"some cuddles," you offer, squeezing his hand, "i think you are in desperate need of those."

a laugh bubbles up in checo's chest, ringing so beautifully in your ears.

"you know what? i think desperately am in need of some cuddles too."

#sergio perez #sergio perez x reader #checo perez #checo perez x reader #red bull racing #sergio perez x y/n #sergio perez x you #sergio perez fluff #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #sergio pérez #sergio pérez x reader

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j0kers-light · 1 month ago

Text

His Lighthouse: Ruminate (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Ruminate

series summary:

Y/n is an aspiring writer living in Gotham City and struggling to find her next muse. Her recent novel is getting all the buzz, earning her far more attention than she signed up for. But when a chance encounter results in her nursing The Joker back to health, will she find the time to write another best seller or will her own story become front page of the Gotham Gazette?

chapter summary:

Y/n's world has turned upside down now that your ex declared war. Who to trust? Who to love? Not much can be done except think of the next course of action. That is, if Joker doesn't already have a plan. Once again, your trust in Joker is tested.

author's note:

The wait is over!!! I kept you waiting for SEVEN MONTHS! Forgive me. Please. Naturally Chaos went all out with the GothCon aftermath. All I can say is sit back and enjoy another rollercoaster. WARNING: This is one is a jaw dropper. I actually don't know I was capable of writing such complexities 😉🖤✨

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

It was showtime whether you were ready or not.

Multiple stagehands ran around performing final sound checks, lighting sequences, and giving cues to the current presenter on stage. All of the bustle went completely over your head.

Cindy stood helplessly to your left as you continued to pace backstage.

You briefly stopped to greet the young technician who arrived to take your usb away before resuming your panic-induced circuit. She wished you luck, as if you were listening to her. You were a ball of nerves ready to explode.

Crew members were attending to various equipment to ensure every presenter’s stage time at GothCon went off without a hitch. In her hands was the key element to your presentation, which is why she had a mini heart attack when she bumped into someone and it flew out of her hands clattering to the floor.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She spoke to the handsome stagehand who flashed her a blinding smile in return.

“Looking for this?” He mused, holding up an identical usb. Thank goodness he found it! She wouldn’t lose her job after all. “Ah yes thank you! I gotta run this to the control room. I guess I’ll see you around?”

She was blissfully unaware that he crushed your actual usb under his heel as he spoke. “I guess.” He winked. This was too easy!

He kept his smile in place as she rushed off blushing like a fool. A thunderous applause signaled the end of the current presenter. Soon you would be announced on stage but for now, his job here was done.

The guy smirked and fished out his cell to make a call. It rang twice before the line picked up. “It’s in place.”

A sharp laugh was heard, “Thanks man, I owe ya one.” Both heard your name being announced and the following chant from your fans. It was time for the real show to begin.

You were riding a high. You hadn’t botched that much of your speech and bonus points; your fans were eating it up more than you anticipated.

Why were you so nerves before? It all seemed so silly now that you were on stage. The video that you and Cindy’s graphics team worked on all week was playing in the background, a true testament to your success. Your lifelong dream… it was actually happening. Everything was going so well!

Until you heard the track skip.

“Woah, technical difficulties in 2024? That’s wild. Can we get this troubleshooted backstage, please?”

A million what-ifs started forming in your head. What if your usb glitched out and ruined the equipment in the control room? Was it because you didn’t save the file correctly and now it was unable to play? Why did you use a flimsy usb anyway?! Cindy told you to email the MP4 file to the lead tech coordinator but when have you ever listened to instructions?

You didn’t dare blame anyone for this mistake when it was all your fault. You wanted control over everything, right down to the last detail.

No one else had access to your flash drive except the graphics team and obviously you. Not even Joker was allowed to see the work in progress. GothCon was your lifelong dream, under no circumstances could it be ruined by anyone. Maybe you damaged it last night by saving it a bazillion times in an OCD panic. That was a plausible explanation.

You turned towards the crowd to apologize when you noticed a girl’s face in the front row. Her colorful acrylic set covered her mouth, but her eyes held enough emotion for your heart to drop to your stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing could have prepared you for the terror on screen.

Your worse nightmare times infinity was unfolding for thousands to see.

It felt like someone plunged your head underwater. This was happening live plus the thousands more tuning in across the country via stream. After today, there would be no way for you to deny anything.

Every private moment you spent with Joker was being put on blast.

Each photo overlapping your book adaptation was a slap in the face. Every moment you felt happy and at peace, your ex was there lurking in the shadows. Always watching. Forever a threat. And here you thought you were safe. Some illusion that turned out to be.

You wanted to throw up for being so naïve.

A pic of your first official date with Joker appeared on screen and memories from that night came flooding back. You remembered the cool breeze, the warmth emitting from Joker’s hold and the intense gaze he sent your way as he blew cigarette smoke from his nostrils.

Everything about that night at the pop-up festival was vivid in your mind, especially the carnival prize J won for you.

‘A bunny for a bunny.’

You still had Jack; the giant stuffed bunny as big as you, with floppy ears and a delicate bow, hidden in your bedroom. If you and Joker weren’t meant to be, at least you had something to remember him by. You wished you were holding Jack now so you could bury your face and scream.

Another photo flickered on screen, depicting you and J in the uppity aisles of EverFresh. Another touching moment tarnished by that monster you’re forced to call an ex.

In all the years together, Ty never accompanied you to the grocery store. He claimed it was a chore better suited for females, yet he took the time to stalk you and Joker in one. J was about to open a bag of chips (in the middle of the store, mind you) right as the photograph was taken.

Bile rose to your throat when you saw more intimate photos of you and J strolling around Martha’s Vineyard hand in hand. Or worse, you and Joker’s silhouette standing in the famous Tiffany’s store looking like two idiots in love just weeks prior.

You were frozen on stage, too horrified to scream. Your life was going up in flames right before your eyes.

You thanked everything above that Joker swooped in and carried you away.

You buried your face into Joker’s chest and tried to cancel out the mayhem unfolding around you. Event coordinators were talking over the intercom; urging people to remain calm while they troubleshoot the situation, but you could feel dozens of cameras recording—judging you and your past; without knowing the truth.

This is why you left Blüdhaven. The fake pity, the judgmental stares, all the people who told you to suck it up and move on would now be multiplied times ten.

Tyler is a nice boy! Why would he do something like that to you?

You probably asked for it.. have you stopped and thought about that?

Like you were the problem. As if you asked for this to happen. No one in Blüdhaven believed you, so why would Gotham?

This would be all over social media in minutes. Probably a hashtag in half that time. Tyler aired out your dirty laundry at what was supposed to be the Met Gala of your career. You were ruined in more ways than one. Gods, you wanted to throw up.

Your wet sob gained Joker’s attention as he ran towards the van Frost pulled up in. The two men locked eyes as J hopped inside.

Get us out of here was the unspoken order.

Joker shifted you in his lap when he felt you resist his hold. He didn’t want to hurt you, so he loosened up a bit knowing you valued space, especially during a time like this. “Hey, hey easyyy, Doll. It’s me.” You froze when you heard J’s voice amidst your panic attack.

“Breathe for me. Like this.” J took exaggerated breaths until you caught onto what he was asking you to do.

Frost took a sharp turn, earning him multiple car horns as he blew through a red light or two. Gotham City traffic was torturous on a normal day, the flood of tourists attending GothCon simply made things worse. The blaring noises did manage to help you come to.

One minute you were on stage, the next you were in J’s arms, speeding down DeLisle Street. The how’s didn’t matter; Joker was the only constant you cared about.

You mimicked J taking gulps of air until the ringing in your ears stopped.

It didn’t resolve the elephant in the room but at least you weren’t on the verge of passing out. Leave it to Joker to know what to do.

The smell of gunpowder and lighter fluid wafted from Joker’s shirt and smacked you in the face. This was your anchor. When you were unsure, scared, and lost, he brought you out. He was your silent protector after all. You were safe with Joker.

You inhaled the odd scent like cocaine. No one could take this feeling away from you. This sense of security. You nodded to yourself and began a mantra.

You were safe with Joker. Safe with.. you glanced up and fell into endless pools of green, which were already staring deep into your soul.

Joker hated how wide your e/c eyes were. He seen fear like this etched into his victim’s eyes, but it was misplaced in yours. Fear did not suit you and Joker had no clue how to pull you out of the fray.

Luckily, he knew your coping mechanisms so without breaking eye contact, he called up Frost in the driver’s seat. “Airport. Now.”

J held his hand up for you to see before using it to cup your cheek. Your breath hitched from the contact but nothing else was said. Not when actions spoke louder than anything Joker could say.

Frost noticed the intense staring contest happening in the backseat and became mindful of all the potholes and dents in the road. He could read the room. There was no turning back after today. The two of you needed some privacy to process all that just occurred.

Not a peep was heard inside the van as it sped towards the airport.

Joker kept you in his arms, rubbing shapes only he knew into the apples of your cheeks—while you matched your short breaths with his soothing ones.

Soon the congested city streets gave way to the high speed expressway. Even when your eyes felt heavy and sleep longed to claim you, you were stubborn and held out, just to have more time caught up in this jade web Joker created.

The drama at the convention was an afterthought while nestled in Joker’s arms. You didn’t wish to leave but you sensed time was up when you felt the van lurch violently into park.

“We’re here.” Frost’s voice said from the front. He sighed when no response was given and began the checklist himself. Secure the perimeter. Eliminate any threats. Prep the scene and leave no trace.

Frost exited the van to do just that, and Joker didn’t waste a second crushing your body to his. His scarred lips brushed against the crown of your head as he spoke.

“I promise you, Y/n. I will keep you safe. He won’t touch a siiiingle hair on your head.”

His intentions were pure, but you knew the truth. Joker couldn’t promise you anything. “You can’t protect me J.”

Joker leaned back to look you over. Clearly, he was hearing things because it sounded like you had already given up. “Bunny? Don’t you trust me?” Your silence was enough for Joker to scoff.

“Mm you shouldn’t—buuuut I need you to. If I can’t protect my Light, my uhh reason for existing, what good am I? You won’t leave my sighT until he’s gutted like a fish.”

Joker mumbled off the various ways he planned to murder your ex, each idea as morbid as the last. They went right over your head. You essentially replaced one crazy lover for another—and some would argue one far worse. Was this your fate? Trouble seemed to follow your heart wherever it went. Maybe you were the problem after all. Your gaze flickered outside as a plane landed safely on a parallel runway.

Just where in the world did Joker think would be safe enough for you to hide? You were tired of running. Youdid nothing wrong but give and give until you had nothing left.

Two rasps against the van’s window made you tense in Joker’s arms until he cracked the door open to investigate. Frost kept his head down out of respect. “The pilot is three clicks out.”

You cancelled out their conversation fairly quickly. It didn’t matter where they decided to take you. No corner of the Earth would save you from the madness brewing inside your head.

Joker vowed to keep you safe but for how long? He had a life with goals and you were holding him back from achieving them. Eventually J would leave just like everyone else. Then you’d truly be alone.

You rested your head against Joker’s chest, already plotting a way out, as if Joker didn’t already know what his Bunny was up to. He would have to prove he wasn’t going anywhere and he knew the perfect way to do just that.

Imagine your surprise when twenty minutes later a shady-looking guy arrived at the hangar and declared himself the pilot of the flight.

You arched an eyebrow at Joker who simply shrugged his shoulders, “Some things are best left to the uhh… professionals.”

That was J’s lame excuse? He flew twice in the past without killing you both, (although he came close). Why the sudden change of heart? You understood J’s decision to hire a pilot upon boarding the plane. The second you sat down; you received more whiplash from today’s events. It just wouldn’t stop.

Joker noticed your thousand-yard stare and wisely tapped on the table in front of you to snap you out of it. “Bun.” He waited for you to regain focus. “Wanna talk bout it?”

You weakly laughed and squirmed in your seat. Not really, yet J would not accept that as an answer. He preferred you to talk about your emotions rather than bottling them up inside. However, that was the problem. There were too many emotions happening at once with little time to sort through them all.

The pilot was busy taxiing the plane down the runway which gave you an opportunity to stall. “Um, J? W-Where are we going?” you matched his question with one of your own. Typical Bunny evasive maneuvers.

He was concerned it took you this long to realize the plane was moving. But to keep up appearances, Joker stalled as well until the jet gained proper altitude. You were somewhat at ease that a licensed professional was flying the plane and not Joker.

You trusted your dark clown (to some degree) but when it came to handling any mode of transportation, you had to draw the line. Joker was reckless behind any wheel, simply put.

The vast city of Gotham grew smaller and smaller from your window seat. It didn’t seem real how quickly you were leaving it all behind. All thanks in part to the man seated in front of you.

He remained so calm in comparison to the chaos you escaped. Joker’s response time—no scratch that. The fact he was already at the convention to begin with, had you questioning his role in this.

It was obvious Joker knew more than he let on and thus, a staring contest broke out between the two of you. Neither you nor J wanted to be the one who caved first.

Sadly, it ended up being you. You couldn’t stare at Joker and his unnaturally green eyes for too long and he knew that. He smirked in victory. “I’m waitiiiiing.”

You cupped your face with your palm and huffed. Eager for your touch, Joker snatched up your other hand to play with. The physical contact was harmless, so you allowed it. But you should have known J would become greedy.

You watched him gently kiss the back of your hand with bated breath. He was testing your boundaries in subtle ways and the caution was greatly appreciated. You were visibly on edge and Joker never failed at being attentive to you and your needs. Every sigh, every twitch you made, Joker was there, reading your body language and planning accordingly.

You never had a partner so devoted. You got misty eyed just from the thought and naturally, he noticed. “What’s troubling that pretty head of yours, mmm? Ya don’t like me being gentle?” Joker mused.

“I don’t deserve it.” You fired back.

His goddess undeserving of his affection? What nonsense. Joker had to squash that assumption of yours immediately lest it corrupt your brain. He took his time kissing each of your fingers with a rare gleam in his eye.

He nibbled your thumb and you subconsciously began spilling your soul as a result.

“He was there, J. Every time we had a moment—he was secretly there ruining it! He will never leave me alone…” your breath hitched, causing you to shudder. “It isn’t fair how he can walk around like he did nothing wrong while I’m the one hiding in the shadows! Like.. like I’m the bad guy! A-Am I the bad guy?”

Joker’s eyes narrowed, “You’re noT.”

“Well, I feel like it! Look at me, I’m running away to God knows where while he’s probably laughing with his friends about how pathetic I am! I mean I just stood there as he sabotaged my presentation. I let it happen. My career is over because he wants the last laugh! What does he want from me? Hasn’t he already taken enough?” you wailed.

Joker sighed when you yanked your hand out of his grasp.

The power you had over him seriously needed to be studied. Because one tear was all it took for him to start planning a million and two ways to annihilate your ex from the face of the Earth.

In the beginning the threats were harmless enough for Joker to brush off. He honestly thought it was from a rival gang but then they became more frequent, more detailed, and worse; personal. By then, it was a full-blown problem that Joker could not control.

Sappy notes with flowers attached, begging you to ‘come home’ or to meet up somewhere to talk. He was wrong, you and him could fix this…he never meant to hurt you.

Nothing but blatant lies that weren’t worth your time. Joker burned each pathetic attempt that was delivered to your penthouse.

Thankfully you never noticed J intercepting your mail. He beefed up security when your foolish ex began following you around more constantly. It became a nuisance when he stalked you across state lines. The moment your ex sabotaged Joker’s efforts to heal your heart; he had to go.

Joker did not hesitate ordering Neo to murder the Italian. It’s just that no one expected this Tyler fellow to be so elusive.

The idiot had to be receiving intel from a mole inside Joker’s gang. That was the only explanation for why it was taking so long to hunt down and kill him. For once, Joker was outmatched, and he hated the feeling.

Joker could deal with the weekly threats and harassment. You couldn’t.

The sooner your ex was out of the picture it meant you could finally receive closure and start over, preferably with Joker. He didn’t know the logistics yet, but he wanted to be in your life as a permanent fixture. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t live a day without your light.

A life without his Bunny just didn’t seem fun. But he couldn’t start planning forever with you until the present thorn in your side was removed.

Which led him back to square one.

Joker needed to find out just how far Tyler would go. What were his motives? Was there an end game to all this taunting? Joker got the answers he wanted but the cost was witnessing his Bunny fall apart right in front of his eyes.

He caused this. He was to blame for not protecting you properly. He vowed to do better in the future and that started by telling you half truths from here on out.

He cleared his throat to get your attention, “I uh.. I’m takin’ ya somewhere safe.”

Hearing your name from Joker was always a sign that he was serious. You sobered up your tears and listened in. He saw the questions queuing up in your head and rushed to elaborate as best as he could.

“I mean it doll. No one knows where we’re headed. NoT Frost, none of my crew, just you and me.”

“What about the pilot? Won’t he know since he’s taking us?” You asked.

Joker snorted, “About that… This is his ahhh last flight, sweetheart. Oh, don’t look at me like thaT. He agreed to it! Signed on the err, dot-ted line n’ everything.”

You hoped he was joking. There’s no way someone would agree to their death. You eyed the cockpit door in trepidation. The man didn’t introduce himself to you when he arrived at the hangar. Now that you thought about it, did you even get a proper look at the guy?

Was this truly how far Joker would go to protect you? Honestly, you didn’t know why you were so shocked. The answer was a thousand yes.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke on impulse. “You’re crazy.”

You regretted the words the moment they escaped your lips. And there was no taking them back. You saw how Joker’s jaw clenched. Saw how he took a moment to compose himself. Why did you open your big mouth and say one of his triggers??

Suddenly, the view from outside was verrry interesting..

There was no need to panic. You were his Light; you didn’t mean it that way. Still, the words left their mark. “Uh, no. No, I’m noT. I’m pro-tect-ing my girl. I’m… huh. Maybe I am crazy, Y/n.”

Joker’s smile unnerved you more than his broken sentences.

“I am crazy. Crazy for you. M’not afraid to say iT. Nothing I do will make sense but it’s all for you! Everything I do. Everything I am.. revolves around you. Yessss its scary, it’s wrong, its f__ked up my feelings for you, but I. don’t. care. I will always pick you.”

Joker leaned back into his seat, letting out a laugh that made you question your decision to get on a plane with him. Times like this reminded you of the man you’d grown to love. A literal madman without morals.

You were speechless, watching this strange high wash over J. He was wild yet composed all at once. The stark contrast kept you quiet in your seat.

With a final nod to himself, J came to his senses. His electric green eyes pinned you on the spot. “Get some sleep. S’gonna be a long flight.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. You were frozen in place as he stood from his seat and disappeared into the cockpit. The soft click of the door closing rattled your core.

Who really should you be running away from?

Sleep evaded you. The plane was built for long distance and you found numerous pillows and fluffy down blankets early on in a storage bay for your usage.

They became a shield to cover your body crippled with anxiety. Joker’s display from earlier was a lot to soak in on top of your crazy ex terrorizing you. You had enough trauma for one day and your poor brain refused to shut down due to the strain.

The view from outside your window had long since turned dull. Wherever the destination, the terrain was now mountainous and dark. Joker didn’t exaggerate when he said it would be a long journey. The plane flew over the Atlantic and you lost track of the route and any notable landmarks with the setting sun.

Instead, a complimentary clock built into the plane’s decor gave you the time. You flew into a different time zone and the clock hand spun like mad to compensate.

It was late wherever you were. This nagging sensation of uncertainty plagued you the longer the flight went on. You were debating if blindly running away was the right decision.

Trust is for fools; a lesson you learned the hard way—so your defenses were up as a precaution no matter how much of that trust you gave Joker.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the plane descending into the vast darkness below. All you could see was the illuminated PAPI lights announcing the runway threshold on the ground. Your night vision was nonexistent compared to Joker’s. He probably saw everything as if it were daytime and then some.

He long since disappeared into the cockpit with the pilot and you did not want to think about how only one would emerge alive.

You weren’t sure what to make of this situation quite yet. J promised to protect you, and he did take you far far away but were you actually safe with him? Stuck alone in the cabin for hours had you trusting him less and less.

You hopped the soft, endearing J you preferred came back to provide answers along with some much-needed comfort. You were not a fan of The Joker that was currently in charge.

Witnessing just how obsessed J was always a shock, however despite that, you secretly loved the insanity.

To be desired on such a degree borderline worship was an ego boost you’d never recover from. You spent years dating the bare minimum and foolishly called it love. A fraction of what Ty did could never compare to the utter devotion Joker expressed on a daily basis.

Was it wrong? Absolutely. Did you care? Nope.

You deserved a little spoiling, even if it was toxic. That’s all you were used to anyway. You’d worry about the consequences later should things turn south. You hoped it never did but at this rate, it just might.

The plane landed roughly on what you presumed to be an open field. No other lights like those from a building were nearby and that small detail had your heartbeat racing. A quick peek out the window only made things worse. A sea of darkness with no stars or moonlight to provide reprieve greeted you.

Just where did Joker fly you to? You were at your wits end!

You fidgeted in place—waiting for something, anything to happen. You’d take any form of communication at this point because the silence was driving you insane(r). It didn’t help that the jet was dimly lit whilst giving off horror movie vibes. You refused to be a stereotype.

A dull thud from the front had you standing and ready to bolt. Never mind that you didn’t know what country you were in or how to escape the plane, your ancestors were chanting in your ear.

Run baby.

And for once, you listened. Knees to chest—you really thought you were a track star until Joker’s head poked out of the cockpit and squashed your frantic escape in its tracks.

“Where ya going’ doll?”

Why did emergency evacuations look so easy in movies? You barely got the door lever turned the right way when Joker’s warm hand rested over yours. He guided your body to face his and you noted how the dim lighting made his scars look more menacing than normal.

He arched an eyebrow at your troubled expression. Joker had a frightened Bunny on his hands. He would have to do this the hard way then.

“Y/n, listen to me, mkay? When you wake up,” he tsked and guided your chin to face him once more, “When. You. Wake. Up. Don’T panic, mkay?”

There were times when he would be the bad guy—he was doing this for your safety, but oh did it hurt. Even if it pained him to see you break down in his arms, it would all be worth it. This was one of the million sacrifices he chose to bear as your lover.

“Joker please. W-Where are we?” You clung to the fact Joker looked overcome with guilt.

If he was capable of such emotion, it meant he still cared. There was still hope that your J was still around. At least that’s the delusion you created to justify his bizarre behavior.

“Shhhh. I’ll explain… uh. Later.” He tried to be strong but, in the end, your tears tore through his resolve. “Fine you can stay awake just.. Stop. Crying. I gotta uhh cover your eyes though.”

“What? Why?!”

Joker smacked his lips at your watery response.

He pulled away to start searching for something inside the storage bins while you looked on. His own reply was vague but that was nothing new. “You can’T see how we get there.” he laughed when he found a stewardess scarf, most likely left behind by its owner from a previous flight.

Joker tested its durability as he walked back to your side. “Was gonna knock ya out hehe—that’s why I allllllllways have a backup plan. For life’s errm unexpected surprises.” J grinned.

You obviously weren’t in the mood to appreciate his joke.

He wanted nothing more to erase the distrust from your eyes but if he didn’t get a move on, the window of opportunity would be missed. He could regain your trust later. Hopefully. It was such a tricky little thing with a mind of its own. Even you couldn’t control it.

You flinched as the decorative silk fell over your eyes, plunging you into a deeper void. The abundance of caution was annoying—you already couldn’t see! Why the added layer?

Your senses were heightened with one missing. Joker’s lips pressing into yours was unexpected at first, until you willed yourself to relax. J ignored the salty taste and held you close, even as the next plane—smaller and more discreet, landed parallel to the private jet.

Right on time.

Joker broke the kiss early and whispered instructions on how to navigate walking towards the exit. Neither of you had any luggage so Joker popped open the door and a gush of frigid air rattled your bones.

“Shh, I’m here.” Joker’s arms wrapped around your upper body like a cocoon half pushing, half carrying you towards the low buzzing noise you heard.

Another plane? Strangely enough this one had propellers. It didn’t make sense to ditch the one you just left but whenever Joker was in charge, nothing made sense. His words, not yours.

For now, you had no choice but to blindly trust him. Literally.

Whoever arrived with the new airplane remained silent as Joker instructed you to watch your head and your step to board. It was smaller with just enough room to extend your legs once you got situated.

You heard Joker to your left fiddling with the controls. Great. He was flying. You would need intense therapy for the rest of your life after just today’s events alone. Too bad you stopped attending Dr Quinzel’s sessions. You wondered if she charged you for a no-show.

Eh. You’d worry about trivial things like that if you survived this flight.

Joker bit back a laugh seeing your nails clawing into the seat. Did he leave that bad of an impression? Well now he had to redeem himself in your eyes. Joker was a fairly decent pilot!

He fiddled with the controls to take off, “Its gonna be another uhh long one if ya wanna nap—”

“Can’t sleep. Too scared! At least I can’t see my end coming.” You waved in front of your blindfold. Not seeing just made the experience worse.

The plane was gaining speed traveling down the bumpy runway. You held your breath when it finally pitched up off the ground and into the night sky. You exhaled in relief. The hardest part was over.

“Hey. You wanna talk? It’ll help mmm, kill time.” Joker asked out the blue.

Figures he was ready to probe you with questions. Might as well get it out the way you thought. “Sure.” you lamely replied.

He smirked hearing you exaggerate the letters. You were subconsciously adopting his mannerisms. One of the subtle things you did to show off how you accepted J into your life.

Some time passed with the plane’s various systems and clicks filling the dead silence. You got tired of waiting for J to fill it. You would never admit it, but his voice startled you awake.

“Do ya hate me?”

Your neck almost snapped in half with how fast you turned to glare at Joker. Where did he get that idea from? You genuinely had to stop and ruminate about it. Did you?

Every action taken tonight led to an automatic: yes.

However, this was still Joker—the same silly clown that ran you baths filled with rose petals. The same man who massaged your hands after long nights of typing your heart out. Who watched you wash your hair and took notes like you would quiz him on the plethora of products and tools you used.

There were two sides to Joker. The bad and the tolerable.

Only you got the pleasure of seeing the latter. How could you ever fix your lips to say yes when J was so sweet, so loving to you? He crafted such a perfect illusion that you forgot he was Gotham City’s most dangerous criminal.

He killed for fun, he was an agent of chaos, and he had no morals to his name. It was easy to fall for the man underneath the clown makeup.

Just because Joker washed off his disguise did not mean he still wore it.He would never give up his life of crime for you. Joker loved you…in his own demented way but this relationship was temporary. You had to remember that. It was so easy to forget.

Meanwhile, Joker was sweating bullets the longer it took you to respond. The plane was on autopilot but if you didn’t answer soon, he would go berserk and crash it.

He got antsy and resorted to humor to ease the awkward tension, “it’s fine if ya do Bun. I hate myself too.”

Still, the silence dragged on. Was it premature to panic? To beg for your forgiveness? He’d do it in a heartbeat—anything to alleviate this achy feeling in his chest! Thankfully your soft voice floated into his ear, putting all his suicidal thoughts to rest.

“Don’t say that. I-I.. I don’t hate you. It’s just your feelings are a lot to process on top of everything else. You care about me, deeply! and it means a lot to me to know how much.”

“I’m sensing a butt.” Joker mentioned.

“I still feel like his leftovers, okay? I don’t deserve your affection! Even if it’s only temporary.” You mumbled the last part to yourself, but Joker heard it loud and clear.

After all this time it still wasn’t clicking upstairs in your head? Why’d you have to make things so complicated? It’s like you irked his soul on purpose! Although he wouldn’t love you if you didn’t frustrate him time to time.

You heard Joker’s heavy sigh and thought the worst. You considered yourself lucky being unable to see the moment Joker finally ended things. Because honestly, who wanted to be with another man’s used goods? Did Joker not have any self respect? He was lowering himself to be with you!

All sorts of self-deprecation thoughts were running rampant in your head until Joker barged in and severed them at their source. “Y/n, you can’t be this dumb.” He griped.

“What..” He cut you off with a growl, “Ya think I let anyone get this close to me?? You think I get attached this f___king easy? Think Y/n! You’re the first. The only one. No one before you and no one after will ever make me feel the way I do ‘bout you.”

The longer he spoke the rougher his voice became. You never heard Joker so frustrated, so determined to be right.

Without warning he grabbed your hand and bullied it under his shirt. You spoke out against him for not piloting with both hands, but he yelled at you instead. “ShuT. up. and listen! Ya feel that?”

Joker clicked his tongue as if it was obvious what he was asking for. You on the other hand were clueless. Then you felt it. Strong yet fleeting under your palm, Joker’s heartbeat.

How did you miss it before?

He squeezed your hand with a shaky sigh. “A man like me, fallin’ in love? Believe it. It happened. You will never get rid of me. The second you think about leaving? I’ll kill us both.”

Joker shoved your hand away like he didn’t ruin a romantic moment with a homicidal threat. The silk over your eyes did little to mask you blinking in shock. Like?? What do you say after that?

Absolutely nothing.

Joker busied himself by checking the altitude (he lost a few thousand feet while talking to you) but his eyes flickered over to you from time to time.

He knew your thoughts were running a mile a minute like the bunny he named you after. Which was understandable given the circumstances. His version of love wasn’t the norm and perhaps that was best for a broken soul like you.

Normal simply wouldn’t cut it anymore. You had to forge your own rules, and Joker had no shame manipulating your vision to include him as the number one requirement. The unknown was scary, but you weren’t alone. You had Joker right by your side if only you weren’t so scared to give him a chance.

Which made him think back to that last photo shown during the GothCon sabotage.

Enough time had passed since he dropped that heavy L bomb on you. You were still stunned in your seat, with complex math symbols floating overhead. His Bunny was so cute all puzzled.

He eyed your sideways before asking, “What were ya like? Ya know, before you moved to Gotham?” He added.

You didn’t hesitate in sounding off, “Good question.” Quite frankly, you couldn’t remember.

It took you a while to form a proper response. Your brain’s little workers had to venture deep into the archived storage for the answer and even then, the results were spotty. Your response came out more like a question than a statement.

“Loud and boisterous? My friends used to call me a spitfire by how I used to put my foot down about stuff. My mouth always got me in trouble.” Your dry laugh sounded odd inside the tiny plane. “You would have shot me that day in Chinatown for it.” you added.

Now that made Joker raise an eyebrow. “No way. My Bunny??”

“Well, I wasn’t yours back then.” You reminded J. He didn’t need one, thank you very much. You were his now and that pulled him out of that brief sour mood.

“Mmm, I still thought you were hot. Those leather pants? Fuuuu..” Joker groaned at the thought. Good memories indeed even if he was a different man with a different mindset back then.

He was fresh from escaping Arkham with nothing but chaos on his mind. If only he knew bumping into you would change his entire life. Past him rolled his eyes for becoming distracted by some citizen with a pretty face. Present Joker was forever grateful that he didn’t kill you.

“Didn’t know it then but ya had me from day one, Bun.”

Even without your sight, you knew Joker was staring at you. Your ears were tingling, and your neck was itchy.

A sharp chime from the controls gained his attention and you breathed out a sigh, no longer the center of attention. The man was invested since day one?? It was your turn for your heart to beat wildly.

Not like you had time to comment on the sudden revelation. Time indeed had flown by. You heard the plane’s automatics calling out that the glide slope was captured. It was time to land.

“Hold onto something. It’s gonna be bumpy, doll.”

You shot J a dirty look. What were you supposed to hold onto??? Did he forget you were blindfolded?! Still, your hands shot out to find purchase but they came up empty. The ground was fast approaching so you elected to cling to your seat for dear life.

Various beeps and shudders from the plane’s engines painted a clear picture. This was to be a hard landing. “We’re gonna die huh?” you groaned as the first ‘one hundred’ feet countdown call sounded.

Lawd help you. Your life was in the hands of a madman who was far too quiet for your liking.

You knew J was busy not trying to kill you, so you sorta kinda understood why he didn’t let you hold his hand. That didn’t mean you would forgive him for putting you in this situation. Why. Whyyyy didn’t he keep the pilot for this stretch of the trip??

The first touchdown ripped the air from your lungs. Maybe your ancestors were looking out for you after all. Bless them. But like a cruel joke, the plane bounced back right into the air. Joker cursed and you groaned when gravity truly began working against you. All that built up kinetic energy had to go somewhere so the plane connected with the ground a second time. Hard.

Your head collided with something solid causing you to black out.

You didn’t think you’d wake up alive yet here you were, groggy and in pain. You weren’t kidding this time. Never again would you get on a plane with Joker as the pilot. That was the last time he played in your face like that.

Speaking of. You waited until the room stopped spinning for your eyes to—now that got you sitting up, even if you regretted the motion soon after.

No silk impeded your vision. Joker must’ve removed your blindfold while you were knocked out. You could see again!

The first thing you saw was the baby blue sheets underneath you. They were soft to the touch with little yellow and white embroidered flowers scattered throughout. It was too delicate to be store bought which made your eyes scope around to find more touches of character in the room. Things were plain but practical in function. Bed. Dresser. Mirror. Nightstand.

On top of it was a playing card with J’s shockingly readable print along the border.

Pain meds don’t wander off. I’ll be back.

-J

Like a magnet, your eyes locked onto the complimentary glass of water perched on the stand. Your head was throbbing from the hard landing, so there was no hesitation in downing the two pills he left behind. The water was astonishing crisp to the point you finished the entire glass and craved more.

Either you were super thirsty or that water was blessed by an Eskimo medicine man in Alaska. You’d wager the latter. Now you had to find out what Joker meant by (not) wandering off. Did he forget you were naturally curious? You had to explore your surroundings.

You smiled to yourself and flung the covers back. The biting cold shocked you right back under. Joker could have warned you about the temperature drop in his little note. You rolled your eyes as you wrapped the covers back around you.

You weren’t going to let a draft get in the way of exploring. Joker went to great lengths to fly you out. Now it was up to you to find out exactly where you were.

But first, you needed to find some socks.

You lowered your feet onto the floor, hissing at the contact. It took a minute to adapt long enough to stand up straight. This was a new type of cold unlike that of Gotham. Should you be concerned? What if Joker really flew you out to Alaska? Across the country wasn’t your definition of far away but you assumed it would do.

You’d find out the true locale soon enough. You gravitated to the lone dresser in the room and flung open the drawers. The neat rows of white textiles was a jump scare.

Weird, but you kept it moving until you selected the fluffiest socks out of the assortment. They hugged your feet like an old friend. You wiggled your toes as you paddled to the door with the covers trailing behind you like a superhero cape.

You didn’t know what to expect on the other side of the door, but a modest, yet large in size cottage, was the last thing on your bingo card.

The decor was white on natural wood with a mixture of traditionalism and modernization at play. In the small hall, a wooden table sat proudly with fresh wildflowers preening beautifully in a vase. The patterns carved on it stirred your mind but you couldn’t quite place the origin of it. Two other doors slightly ajar lie ahead but you weren’t called to see what was hidden beyond them.

No, something instinctive drew you forward.

You walked over to the landing’s edge and looked down at the space below. The living room was sparse like the bedroom you woke up in, nevertheless it was cute in a minimalistic type of way. White on white with splashes of crème and green decorated the homey space. The random hue earned a smirk from you. You personally loved the wooden dining table overlooking the—

“Ohhhhh my God.” your jaw dropped at the view.

The large two-story windows were obviously the work of a recent renovation but oh so worth it. You didn’t have to move a muscle to gaze out at the open sea and tall mountain range outside.

You definitely weren’t in Alaska. This was somewhere else entirely.

Not a speck of civilization to be found. Just nature and seclusion. Lush green hills and the occasional powder dusting of snow a top the highest mountains in the distance for as far as your eyes could see. No wonder it was so cold. You were smack dap in the middle of a valley.

Your feet moved on autopilot as you descended the stairs.

You knew you were passing up some location clues scattered about, but your eyes refused to leave the window and that view. Early dawn was creeping up over the horizon, casting an enticing spotlight over the rest of the countryside. The house was perched on the edge of the inky black sea. If you weren’t careful, stepping outside for a stroll could quickly turn into a night swim.

You could smell the salty breeze, feel the biting cold against your face.

Heck yeah you wanted to wander. Was Joker kidding? This place was straight out of one of your fantasy worlds! Never in your wildest writing spurts could you describe something this breathtaking and it was right there for you to enjoy.

Your breath fogged up the glass as you squished face against it. It would take you ages to take it all in.

All the troubles you deserted in the city vanished now that you were in this mystical corner of the world. The distrust you felt on the flight? Poof. Evaporated.

How could you ever doubt J when this was his intention all along? His possessive tendencies weren’t justified but perhaps you could make an exception this once! It didn’t matter what country you were in; you wanted to stay forever.

You began looking around for some outerwear that you knew you’d need. The cold miraculously snuck past the stucco and brick walls and made your fingers ache. The bed covers draped over your shoulders would not be sufficient.

Maybe you could find some sort of heat source. A fireplace or hearth to cozy up to later? Your mind was running laps with all the things you wanted to get into.

“Okay deep breaths, Y/n. One objective at a time. Clothes. Work on finding clothes.” You nodded to yourself and set to do just that.

You assumed if the drawers upstairs held undergarments and socks then they would have a coat hanging around somewhere. This place showed clear signs of being lived in which meant that the owner had to have extra apparel to spare. You hoped they didn’t mind you borrowing a few items for your expedition.

That was the logic you were working with.

You clapped your hands and turned to hike back up the stairs—oh the mosaic tiles embedded in the staircase were gorgeous! yet that was the last thing on your mind when you heard a door in the distance creak open and then slam shut.

You thought it was Joker and turned with a greeting on your lips, one that dissolved when a strange woman locked eyes with you. It was a classic record scratch moment. Funny, you wondered how I got here except this was real life.

Of course, the place was occupied. You just expected it to be one of Joker’s hideouts not someone else’s house! What were the odds of her being on his payroll. Did you want to gamble with the possibility or make a run for it?

Before you could decide, she pushed her hood back and you couldn’t ignore the light brown hair that tumbled out of its confines. Your jaw fell open.

This had to be a prank of some sort.

Who was this woman giving straight L’Oreal commercial? Despite wearing minimalistic attire her fit was a look, and it made you very aware of your frumpy, jet lagged outfit. The same one you planned weeks ahead for to look your best for GothCon.

Once again, Joker had you severely overdressed for the occasion, yet in his defense—neither of you anticipated on running away from your crazy stalker ex-boyfriend. So… ya know.

Funny how things worked in your life.

Now you were in some foreign land in this stranger’s home looking rather stupid in wrinkled designer. Your poor brain couldn’t muster up an apology even if it tried. “I didn’t.. I’m so…”

Much to your horror, she rolled her eyes, unzipped her coat, hung it up along with discarding her shoes—all done while completely ignoring you. Your apology fizzled into thin air. Seriously, were you on a prank show?? So much happened in the past twenty-four hours, it was plausible.

On her way towards the kitchen, she finally tossed the comment over her shoulder. “Mm. Thought you’d never wake.”

Her choice of words had you ready to square up but the sound of them simmered your ire. You clung to the unique accent, dissecting it in the hopes it would give you the break you needed. It just sounded too strange to your ear to decipher. If only you paid more attention in Geography class then you could pinpoint the exact language!

“I’m sorry, what?”

She didn’t answer your question. She dumped a canvas bag on the kitchen counter and pointed at the barstool in front of it, “Sit.”

A part of you was inclined to obey her motherly tone but you didn’t reach this big age without learning that respect was earned not given. As a result, your own Blüdhaven accent slipped out to counteract her attitude. “Um? What happened to hello? How are you? My name is..?”

Again, crickets. Forget staying here forever. Not if you had to deal with this woman. You should’ve known this home was too good to be true, the con was staring you dead in the eye.

She huffed in a strangely familiar way before throwing you the sharpest glare known to man. “Povedal, že si ťažký.”

The burst of foreign language—one you never heard before, sent you over the edge. “Yeah nope. Nope nope. Nopeity nope.”

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the door she entered from. Screw the weather. You would wander in a blizzard if need be. Anything to get away from her. Your hand landed on the doorknob as you tuned out the woman’s voice nagging in your ear.

You yelped when the door opened and clipped your nose. Today was just not your day!

Leave it to Joker to make a dramatic entrance. Your eye twitched in irritation as the pain spread across your t zone. You wondered how long it would take him to connect the dots granted you were standing right in front of the door clutching your nose.

Two seconds passed before he realized his mistake.

“Oh. Whoops..” He dropped his handful and held your face with his frigid hands. The shock of them made you flee his hold, much to his confusion.

‘The one time he doesn’t wear gloves, it would be now’ you grumbled internally.

Joker stepped out to gather a few things only to come back to you running for the hills. Your actions didn’t make sense until he heard the voice behind you.

Ah. Now he understood what was up. This was gonna be awkward.

Joker tucked your body into his side and began a conversation with the woman in that strange language. You helplessly looked on, eyes darting between the two like an avid tennis match. You didn’t understand a single word except Joker saying your name once in passing. It seemed to irk the woman whose hands became more animated the longer the exchange went on.

You prayed she wasn’t the other woman. Wait. Were you the side chick?

You overlooked the fact that Joker was downright obsessed with you, men were capable of anything. Joker was the exact type of man to live a double life, and he was messy enough to let the two worlds collide.

Hopefully this was just a big misunderstanding. If it was the wrong house, you were more than happy to vacate the premises. You could not handle any more drama right now.

The conversation was getting rather heated, so you stopped trying to poorly translate and focused more on the sound of the words spoken. It didn’t sound too pretty.

Quite frankly, you were more shocked hearing Joker speak a different language and so fluently at that. It was another piece to the Joker puzzle you were painstakingly putting together. He didn’t offer you many pieces to begin with. This was a rare discovery indeed.

He must’ve been defending you for his hands rubbed your shoulder in that ‘I’m here’ kind of way that you loved. You were so lost in lala land that you almost missed the cusp of the argument. Almost.

He said something important, that much you deduced despite the language barrier, for the silence that followed had you shuffling your feet in distress. “Um, J?”

Joker heaved a sigh before acknowledging you. Your e/c eyes were wider than saucers. He felt awful for leaving you in the dark.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Bun. Just a liiiittle miss-under-stand-ing. It’s my fault for leaving ya here without explaining who you are.” Joker then pushed you in front of him to face the brunette still standing in the kitchen.

She didn’t look impressed by the physical contact you shared with J.

You blinked owlishly as Joker made it worse by hugged you from behind. “I think.. proper introductions are in order! Bunny… whoops. Y/n. This is Irenka. Err.. I-Irenka this is my Light.”

That didn’t explain anything and clearly, Irenka thought the same. Her scoff was fitting. “You brought this, this.. dievča here. Is she worth any good?”

For some odd reason you were upset by her disappointment. She was a stranger to you. Her opinion should not matter, but somehow, it did. Her eyes regarded you in a dejected manner, like you were unfit to be here. You already felt that way in general. There was no need for her to rub the feeling in.

You shrunk further into Joker’s arms and he instantly sensed your unease.

Great. The last thing he wanted was his Bunny feeling worse than you already were. This confrontation was going sideways way too fast. Not much could rectify the situation but still, no harm in trying right?

His words projected his rage like daggers dipped in acid. You applauded this woman for taking the force of it head on. She fired back just as venomously if not more. Her face was oddly familiar even while twisted with animosity. You couldn’t quite place it and trying made your head hurt more.

You were honestly wondering what you did wrong to earn her hostility.

She started it with her rude attitude. You tried to apologize for being in her home when she turned her nose up at you.

Telling Joker that small tidbit made you feel like a tattle tale, so you kept quiet. He probably knew since he was taking your side, at least you hoped he was.

You could tell this conversation was going nowhere if the back and forth jabs they hurled were any indication. Staying here wasn’t worth the headache Joker was making it out to be.

You were about to beg J to stop when his next words slapped some sense into Irenka. In the wrong way. She threw up her hands spitting out what you knew as an expletive in her native tongue.

You watched as she stomped up the stairs, leaving Joker to wipe a hand down his face in anger. A door slamming shut was the finale to the show. The silence lingering in the kitchen hurt your ears and watching J grumble to himself, in both languages, compelled you to say something.

“Did… did bringing me here—”

“No.” Joker cut off your question before it matured, “You. did. nothing. wrong. That demon disguised as a woman is the problem.”

He said some more choice words under his breath that you had you eyeing the imaginary camera on cue. Okay… someone was big mad. That wasn’t your concern, though.

You were still in the dark. “Right… um. Who is she again?”

You panicked when J visibly tensed up. Oh no. That harmless thought from earlier returned. Just when you erased all doubts, they came rushing back.

“Joker? Who is she?” you stressed.

Joker weighed the odds of telling you the truth.

For starters; You survived the long journey without any complaints. Okay, maybe a few.

He genuinely did not mean for the landing to be so rough! He would have to make up for the giant knot on your forehead and for hitting you with the door just now. The bridge of your nose was a comical shade of red, and he was tempted to kiss it if not for you urging him along with an exaggerated blink.

Right. Answers.

This was supposed to be an escape from all the drama in Gotham City. A place for you to breathe easy for a while and lay low. You had gone through so much to get here only for Irekna and her unpredictable nature to ruin the safe haven Joker wanted to create. This was not how he planned things to go.

He never wanted to strangle that woman as much as he did today. Perhaps later.

But for now, his Bunny was staring at him with fear all in your eyes and for once, he couldn’t blame you. He knew what this looked like from an outsider’s perspective. He was at a loss on how to go about telling you the truth, hence why he was stalling.

If only he could call up his loyal three for some guidance; they would know what to say in this situation. A shame Joker was on his side on this.

Your trust issues were a legendary pain in his rear. If he pampered it, there would be consequences. If he neglected them, the same outcome would occur. He decided to just rip off the band-aid and hope you didn’t freak out too much.

You started pulling away and it took Joker grabbing your hips to drag you back. “Y/n, look at me!” He waited until you calmed down to finally come clean.

“Irenka. She’s ahhh.. well. She’s my mother.”

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honeipie · 1 year ago

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CHICK-FLICKS!

eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

synopsis: eijiro was given a tip on a way into your heart

“what are you watching?”

you looked behind the couch to see eijiro leaning himself against it. the sound of uncomfortable groaning came from the television. you grabbed the remote to pause the movie.

"bridesmaids!.. have you never seen it?"

kirishima raised both eyebrows still looking at the screen.

"i think i would've remembered a girl taking a massive dump in the sink"

turning to the television you tilted your head.

"she is taking a massive dump isn't she?" you went to find the remote again "sorry about that. sometimes i forget what i'm watching can be weird since i've seen it so many times. i'll watch it in my room"

he placed a hand over yours to stop you from turning it off.

"whoa! i never said to turn it off. i'm invested now" he hopped over the couch settling in next to you "so what is braidsmaids and what does it have to do with shitting in a sink?"

"well when you put it like that it sounds horrible" you gave him an innocent look making him smile "but it's about this one girl who's friend is getting married and she's doing her best to help plan it. but then this other girl swoops in and acts like she's that girl's best friend so it just makes the original best friends plans look all stupid and messed up so-" you stopped taking notice to the look on his face. the lights were on, but nobody was home "you don't understand a single thing i'm saying to you right now do you?" he rubbed the back of his neck a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

"nah, i'm sorry. i got lost after that one girl.. who was the girl.. who isn't her best friend?"

"don't hurt yourself" taking the remote you rewinded the movie back to the beginning.

"you don't have to do that! i probably would've gotten it eventually!"

you shook your head "nope! you are going to experience everything this amazing movie has to offer" so you settled back into the couch making sure to place your bowl of treats between you.

"oh! i forgot to warn you. the first scene is a little.. much"

but kirishima wasn't watching the screen all too much. he had his crimson eyes subtly gazing at you every chance that he got. the boy had a major crush on you, but wasn't sure how to get an in. every time he tried to start up a conversation with you, he wouldn't know what to say, which would end up with mina coming over to save his ass. that was until mina gave him some pointers.

"listen dude. you can't keep freezing up around her like you’re kaminari after he short circuits" she imitated the boy making him laugh until he realized she was insulting him.

"hey! it's not my fault! every time she looks at me i just want to give her a kiss. a really long kiss"

"ooookay lover boy. let me help you out. i'll list out things that she likes then you can say what you can connect with her on" mina got up and started walking back and forth in her room. she started listing everything that you loved "those cute farming games, crochet, watching chick-flicks.."

kirishima snorted as she said the last one.

"what is a chick-flick?"

"it's like a movie that is made quote unquote 'for women' but everybody should watch them cause they're freaking amazing"

he thought for a good moment. watching movies seemed to be the easiest (and quickest) thing to learn about.

"okay, i'll talk to her about these flicks"

"even better" mina sat next to him with a smile "every friday night when the class goes to those weekly karaoke nights, she stays home and watches them in the common room. she calls it her 'recharging time'"

kirishima nodded with a smile.

"looks like i'm clearing my plans for friday"

He went to say something but stopped hearing the disgruntled moans coming from the screen.

"y/n! what the hell are we watching?"

"that's not fair! i told you that the beginning was a lot!"

the two of you made light conversation throughout the movie. him asking questions, and you asking if he liked it so far. by the end, the two of you were in a fit of giggles as the credits rolled.

"see? i told you that it was a good movie!" you moved to face him fully.

"ok, that was pretty funny. the real question is though, are all chickflicks this good?"

"uhh yeah!" you squinted your eyes at him curiously before putting your hand out "what about this. you come back for the next couple of fridays and i'll show you just how good they can be"

kirishima looked down at your hand with a wide grin. he took it in his giving it a shake “deal” you both let the handshake linger for a couple seconds longer before hearing the door.

letting go of his hand you smiled seeing iida and mina come through the door “hey! we decided to come home early. everything okay?” she asked raising her eyebrows subtly at kiri. he gave her a smile and nodded over at the television.

“everything’s fine. we’re just watchin’ a movie”

taglist! @sagejin @aejabba

let me know if you want to be added!

#honeipie #anime #bnha x reader #mha #writing #x reader #drabble #kirishima eijirou #bnha eijiro kirishima #my hero academia #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #mha eijirou #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x y/n #mha kirishima

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londonfaultfindingexperts · 11 months ago

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Lighting circuits are such an important piece in most homes and businesses, providing the necessary light to keep everyone safe. But just like any system that operates electrically, lighting circuits are subject to faults which need immediate rectification. In this guide, we look at the importance of fault finding in lighting circuits and useful electrical services. For complete and in-depth information about lighting systems maintenance & troubleshooting, download this blog.

#fault finding in lighting circuits

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solarfarming · 3 days ago

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octoberautumnbox · 1 year ago

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fromis as your girlfriend?

ok :DDDD

~~~

You wrap your coat around Saerom and plant a kiss on her hair once you get the chance.

"I was kidding," she giggles, "I'm not that cold." Despite her words, she snuggles your coat a little bit more before she tries taking it off. However, the moment the skin of her hands are exposed to the frigid air, she shivers and rubs them together.

"There's no point in lying, Rommie. You're about as hard to read as a children's vocabulary book." Your hands meet her cheeks, a miscalculation on your part, and she shivers at how cold you are. Her eyes fill with a sort of shy sadness, but her quick thinking saves you both.

"Uhh, my legs are tired too. Carry me?" she asks bashfully, knowing you can't refuse her. Of course you oblige, and as you pick her up in a piggyback ride, she wraps both your and her coat around you to keep you warm too.

~~~

The bowl clatters to the table, spilling its contents all over the surface. Your yelp is loud and sharp, reflecting the pain that covers four of your fingers in the hot soup.

"Fucking idiot," Hayoung grunts. She rushes to wipe your hand free of the liquid, while simultaneously righting and filling the bowl your dropped with cold water. She places it in front of you and dips your fingers inside.

"Be more careful next time." Her voice is stern like it always is when you get hurt. "I can't always be around to look after you and keep you safe. It's like you're doing all this on purpose, honestly."

Behind the scolding, you know her words come from a place of genuine worry and care. Of course they do; her heart can't bear seeing you in pain. Hayoung's gaze never leaves your hand, her fingers never leave your wrist. She has to make sure you're okay.

"It was just an accident, my beloved bread loaf. It wouldn't kill me." The worry in her eyes balloon more, as if she's near tears.

Ease her worries, pull her in and plant a kiss on her exposed forehead. "But okay, I'll be careful. I'm sorry."

Her gaze softens as she finally meets your eyes. A small smile forms at the corners of her mouth before her attention returns to your healing hand.

She fishes your fingers out of the bowl and carefully kisses each one after every word: "I love you too."

~~~

You find Jiwon outside the laundry room with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a finger between her teeth, evidently lost in thought. As you approach her, the smell of detergent overpowers you, and the sound of bubbles popping vigorously out of sight grows louder and louder.

She finally notices you getting closer, and she holds out her hand to stop you. "Okay, before you get mad, know that I did everything right. Something's broken."

"What did you-" you grunt, but as you round the corner and peer into the laundry room, you find the floor covered in suds and the washing machine whirring like it never whirred before.

"See? Broken." Jiwon places her hands on her hips proudly, proud to show none of this was her fault.

Your gaze flies to her in disbelief, and her features drop in disappointment. Her eyes meet the floor between her feet and her voice lowers in volume.

"You're mad," she mutters ashamedly, "I'm sorry, honey. I don't know what happened."

The washing machine finally stops whirring, but the lights all throughout your apartment flicker. You frantically rush for the circuit breaker and flip the master switch off, nearly slipping as you do, and darkness falls all around the two of you.

"It's alright," you sigh. You pat her on the shoulder and pull her in for a snuggle. "You're not hurt, honey?" Stroke her hair and comfort her, still wary that she might be keeping something else about the situation from you.

"Nope, I'm fine, but I have to own up to something: I maaaaybe forgot to read the instructions." Her laugh cuts through the tension of the situation, and you find yourself laughing with her. It'll be a headache tomorrow to get all this fixed, but for now, it's a welcome slow dance with your girlfriend in the dark.

~~~

The two of you head off to a nearby shade as Jisun hums happily at the sweet flavor of her ice cream. She's the type to take bites out of it, and while you found that a bit weird, it takes nothing away from how much you love her.

"What flavor is that again?" you ask while licking your lips free of your own ice cream. She takes a second before meeting your eyes, evidently really enjoying her cold treat.

"It's- Ahahaha, look at you!" She points to your chin while bellowing a hearty laugh. She nearly folds in half as her joy consumes her; each time she rises and takes in the sight of you, she laughs again.

Confused, you fish our your phone and inspect yourself in the screen. In your reflection you find a dab of your rocky road on your nose and a line of it from your lower lip to your chin. It suddenly connects what Jisun was laughing so hard about:

"I'm sorry, love, you a bit look like a clown!" She struggles to get her laughter under control, but loses it when you pull a funny face for her. She pounds your chest weakly, announces her sides are starting to hurt, and yet, her laughter never lets up.

There's no shame nor judgment in her reactions, and you know full well that she's only overflowing with joy to be spending a perfect day like this out with you. There's no harm in laughing at yourself once in a while, especially when you get to hear Jisun's as well.

~~~

You shut the door behind you and walk over carefully to Seoyeon's bed. She lifts up the covers and hurries you in despite you trying your hardest not to spill the ramyeon you cooked for her.

"Thaaank you, sweetheart," she cheers, taking the bowl and chopsticks from you and placing it carefully on her lap over the blanket. She cuddles up to you happily before taking her first bite of your cooking, and she shakes in contentment once the savory taste of the food washes over her tongue.

As the TV drones on in the background, you wrap her in a warm embrace. You have half a mind to scold her, wanting to tell her off for not getting up all day, but with a sight like this, you really hate to break the peace.

Instead, you watch as she devours the ramyeon bite by bite, her eyes never leaving the TV, and her head never lifting off your shoulder. The scent of her hair fills your nose, and the warmth of her body calms you down and releases tension you didn't even know you had.

"Say aaahhhhh." Seoyeon lifts up a bite of her ramyeon and blows on it, then brings it over to your mouth. She stares expectantly as she waits for you to open up, and who are you to decline?

She thoughtfully offers you the bite of her food, her food, and you eat it gratefully. Her eyes turn into crescents as her smile takes over her features, and for a moment you take in the beauty of Lee Seoyeon.

~~~

You snap what might be the millionth picture of her today, probably not even she knows how many you've taken for her so far, and hand your phone back to her for inspection.

"Hmm, no, still not it. Take a few more." She walks back to the wall and strikes another hot pose. Her finger flies towards the stairs, and you understand that she wants you at a higher vantage point for a better angle.

You take a number of steps up the flight, and point your lens at her once more. "Chae, please, we've been here for hours. Can't you just pick the best one?" you whine, but you still fulfill your duty of snapping pictures of her. The light from the flash washes over her features and figure, and you're once again reminded that she's gorgeous. Why even whine about merely taking pictures when this is your muse?

She swipes back your phone and scrolls through your gallery, carefully scrutinizing each photo. She settles on one, and favorites it. "Hehe, thank you, baby. Send all those to me except that one with the heart. "

You take back your phone and find the photo she's talking about, and you notice that by her standards it's the best one out of them all. She flashes a beautiful smile at you, no more pictures, as she wraps you in a warm and grateful embrace.

"Why not this one? I thought you'd like it the most."

"It is! And that one you keep for yourself. Only for your eyes." She kisses you playfully on the lips before smiling again, "For being the best boyfriend ever."

~~~

The live band fills the room with a sophisticated symphony, all the while pieces of silverware clink against plates and hushed, faraway voices of the snooty and rich reach your ears. You try your best to ignore the atmosphere of this fancy dinner, with the only thing in the world making it semi-bearable having a terrible time as well.

"I can't believe I let you drag me all the way out here." Nagyung's knife clacks against the fine porcelain making up her plate, most probably leaving scratch marks on the priceless dinnerware. She retrieves a poorly-cut bite of the tough steak, sighs, and eats it anyway. Nagyung spends a bit more time than usual trying to chew the meat before ultimately swallowing with a grimace. "My mouth isn't made for food like this. I need pizza and Yakult."

"If I recall correctly," you retort, your voice unexpectedly harboring a harsh tone, "it's your fault we're here. You weren't satisfied with suffering alone and you just had to bring me along as a plus-one." The fish's pepper overwhelms your taste buds and you make for your glass of water again. Just one gulp is enough to wash it down, but the sheer amount of fish left on your plate disheartens you.

"Look, I'm sorry. I knew it'd be boring, but I didn't think it would be this bad," Nagyung sighs, shuffling her peas and corn around the plate. You can tell with how she sounds that she means it, and by the way that she acts that she regrets ever mentioning this to you.

Feeling guilty at losing your temper, you attempt to reassure her. It's the least you could do, once you realize how utterly disrespectful what you just said to her was, and try to make up for embarrassing her like that. "This ends at 11, right? Just enough time to get to that Italian place by the park before it closes?"

She looks up at you with a face riddled with shock, but then is quickly replaced with a shining grin. Her teeth gleam in the candlelight as her adorable giggles reach your ears.

"We can just about make it if we break four speeding laws on the way." Her tone is now filled with an unmatched excitement, like the first shot of espresso on a dull morning.

"Awesome. Pick up the pizza, stock up on Yakult, get the hell home. Perfect crime."

Nagyung laughs out loud, attracting the attention of a few others near your table. She covers her mouth, but the smile never leaves her eyes as she whispers: "Are we stealing the pizza too? What do you mean 'crime?!'"

"Figure of speech, dummy," you declare as you twirl your fork in the air like a wizard, "But not completely off the table."

~~~

Jiheon flips the leaf over and over, examining every vein it has. Her eyes rake over the stalk to try and find any defining features at all, but her search evidently turns up nothing of value.

"What type of tree is this?" Her question is innocent, and she's so engrossed in the specimen that she even forgets to look at you.

"Damned if I knew. What am I, a tree-ologist?" Your joke steals her attention, but she responds with only a blank stare.

"Arborist," she says in passing, her attention turning back to the leaf. "They're called arborists."

"Right..." you mutter, shame rising to your cheeks at your apparently immature attempt at humor. Jiheon is too smart for you sometimes, and you don't always connect.

She picks a leaf off the branch and walks over to you. Your girlfriend drops it onto your palm and says "Keep, please. Wanna look up when we get home."

You nod and put the leaf away in your jacket pocket, and she watches as you expertly stow her specimen in a secure place on your person. Once the both of you are sure the leaf is safe, she clings to your arm and snuggles, the image of pure joy.

"What's gotten into you?" Your question is innocent and maybe a little bit dense, but it only serves to make her smile grow wider.

Jiheon snuggles more into your arm and even plants a kiss on your shoulder. She looks up at you with adoration, but something tells you she has one teeny bit of mischief up her sleeve.

"Nothing, you're just cute, that's all. Thank you." She kisses you on the cheek and refuses to explain any further. Her eyes look ahead as the two of you continue your stroll through her neighborhood.

Jiheon is too smart for you sometimes, and you don't always connect. In the rare times that you do, it feels like the world is right. But in the times that you don't, like now, it only reminds you how much more of her you're looking forward to seeing.

~~~

a/n: that was fun! thank you for the great ask anon :DDDD

#fromis 9 fluff #fromis_9 fluff #girl group fluff #kpop fluff #lee saerom fluff #song hayoung fluff #park jiwon fluff #roh jisun fluff #lee seoyeon fluff #lee chaeyoung fluff #lee nagyung fluff #baek jiheon fluff #drabble box #fic box #ask box

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