Note
Omg hiii! I saw that your requests were open again! Please take your time and prioritize your rest, and as always your writing is such a delight to read! I always look forward to your posts! 💖💖💖
That being said, can you please write for a Yuu/reader that has a love for painting (but is shy about showcasing their skill) , and was absolutely taken by Vil's beauty even before they met him? Of course they didn't know that he was a famous actor at first. What if Vil one day finds their sketches and paintings of him after months of knowing him? (hmm preferably after the events of book 6..? 👀)
SO CUTE!!! kicking my legs back and forth at this anonnn
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the picture of vil schoenheit
type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu
How were you supposed to know?
It's not like Crowley had given you a guide on Night Raven College or its students (though, wouldn't that have been nice?)
I mean, you had to reminded of Trey's last name not two weeks ago. How were you supposed to know who Vil Schoenheit is?
You'd only seem him at a distance. Passed him by in the halls while he scolded some poor first year. He even looked beautiful when he was angry.
He was just made to be painted.
You didn't show your friends the art. You didn't need to give Ace another reason to tease you, and being a stalker would've really been the cherry on top of your weirdness sundae.
Besides, it was just drawing. Practice! Sketches from a distance, doodles done in the margins of your notes, watercolors and paintings from memory...
It felt familiar. This man, this stranger, someone you hadn't even spoken to, made you feel a little closer to home.
.
"Really, you should have some sort of organizational system,"
Vil leafs through pages of alchemy reports and history of magic homework. "Might I suggest a recycling bin?"
You smile. It's not often that your friend- Vil Schoenheit, that is- has a day off. But today is Saturday, and your room is in desperate need of his touch.
"This is... chaotic," he says, brushing a clump of Grim fur off his shoulder. "And you live like this?"
You shrug. "I try,"
"Well, try no more. We'll have this done before dinner,"
His commitment is touching. Millions of screeching fangirls would give anything just to spend five minutes with Vil, and here he is, tidying your room for you.
It's almost cute. He's humming to himself, hair tied back in a ponytail, in one of your shirts (his are too nice to get dirty), sweeping Grim fur out from under your bed.
"Rook and Epel couldn't make it?" you ask, pretending not to care that it's just the two of you.
"I told them not to bother,"
"Oh?"
Vil tsks. "They would get in the way. We're much more efficient on our own- we work well together, after all,"
That's something he'd said before. You'd always wondered what it meant.
"Right,"
You switch places, going to strip your bed of its sheets for washing while Vil tidies your desk.
Off go the pillow cases, the comforter, the blankets. You're wrestling with your mattress when you notice that he hasn't moved in a while.
He's looking through some of the papers from within the bowels of your desk, smiling to himself, a finger held to his perfect lips.
"What?"
"Hm?" he hums, but he doesn't look at you. "Oh, just... admiring your work. You have quite an eye for detail, have I ever told you that?"
He's being weird. You let go of your bundle of bedding and look at what he's holding, but it's just your sketchbook.
Oh. Oh, no. It's your sketchbook.
"OH! Um, wait-" you say, rushing to his side. "Don't- don't look!"
Vil smirks, and he holds the art over your head. "How unfair. The muse should always be the first to see, you know,"
Damn his height and perfect, slender arms!!! Your eyes widen. "It's not what it looks like! I didn't know you when I did those!"
"Yes, I saw the dates. You could make a career out of admiring me, you know~" he chuckles. "I'd pay for these. I'm sure Rook would like a few, as well."
You're practically melting with embarrassment. "Come on- give it back!"
Seeing your pathetic, embarrassed whining, Vil relents, handing you the sketchbook with an eye-roll.
"What are you ashamed of? They're fine pieces,"
"It's not that," you clutch the book to your chest. "It's just- uh- weird, isn't it?"
Vil scoffs. "I'm weird?"
"NO! I meant- I didn't even know you, and I drew you almost every day- that isn't... strange?"
He takes a moment to study you, your body language, the embarrassed look on your face. From head to toe. And then he smiles, warmly.
"I am in a dorm with Rook. There are very, very few things that I find strange now. You admire me- I'm flattered,"
He gingerly takes sketchbook out of your arms and opens it again. "Not to mention, you have an artistic eye that any director would kill for."
You stand there, a little dumbfounded, but mostly very, very grateful that he's your friend, and that you can laugh about this together.
"I'm... well... thank you," you finally say.
Vil smirks, and pinches your cheek. "You're precious. Now, back to work. I want this room over with. These paintings won't frame themselves, will they?"
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cmon...😭
#kae.txt#sorry for that aggressive ass squidbag#its not pictured here but i said this way a million times the first time i went up there 💔#i know thats the probably the harder way but like. we were all there and so long as we got#that checkpoint we still couldve attempted the other side to get to the other one 😭😭😭
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘 - 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆
desc. │ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴄʏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʙᴏʏ ɪɴ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ɪꜱ ᴇxᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴛ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. ᴅᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ.
warnings. │ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴍᴇᴀɴ ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴍᴅɴɪ, ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ. ᴍᴇᴀɴ ɢɪʀʟꜱ.
pairing. │ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ!ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ x ᴜɴᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ/ɴᴇʀᴅ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Laughter was contagious, it was similar to a disease in the way that it spread from person to person. Bubbling up inside of you and exploding out like an erupting volcano. Laughter rang throughout this classroom like a bell on a high tower ringing through town.
It had surrounded you, enveloping you in a blur. You huddled into yourself, hugging yourself felt like the only form of protection you'd get from all the prying eyes and explosive laughter that came from them.
You had been a jester in their court, the punchline to their very cruel cruel joke. The screen in front of the classroom displayed your demise. The ultimate downfall of you, not that you had much credibility to begin with but any single ounce of dignity you once held was all gone now, you were left a puddle of yourself. Tears formed in your eyes the utter humiliation of the situation eating you up inside. You should run away, break free from the confines of this classroom and the people that surrounded you but you couldn't quite find your footing.
You were frozen in place not an inch of your body able to move from its spot. Your eyes searched for Heeseung in this room that felt so massive but at the same time so very small. You found him in the corner of the room, eyes not meeting yours. You were silently pleading from him to help you, for him to speak up and defend you. But he wasn't moving, not a single inch.
Your heart was breaking you could feel your stomach drop to its very pit. On the screen displayed pictures, multiple of them. Some of you and heeseung and some of your text messages with. It also showed pictures that you had sent to heeseung in confidence. Not fully naked but pretty close to it. Your mortification could not even begin to be described. This would destroy you. It was actively destroying you.
The source of your downfall you might ask? Hwang Yeji. Yeji hated you for a reason entirely unknown to you. So much so that she decided to expose the hidden relationship you held with the resident popular boy Lee Heeseung. In the most humiliating way possible. Feigning a school presentation she took the time to display all your inner most intimate moments with the boy.
Worst of it all. Heeseung sat completely still in his spot, not uttering a single word as Yeji spewed her hate to all of the class. He did absolutely nothing to defend you much less himself. It hurt more than a million tiny little needles poking into your skin. A million knives driven into your heart.
"Oh!" Yeji laughed, turning to look at you a smile big on her face. "The nerd is crying... Heeseung baby, do you have anything to say to your little girlfriend here? The side piece I should say." She spoke with venomous intentions, the heat of her gaze piercing you.
"She's not my girlfriend." Heeseung muttered finally. It was the first thing he said during this entire ordeal. The first thing he decided to say was say was not in defendance of you, instead he was covering his own ass.
It furthered your humiliation by a tenfold. You curled into yourself hugging even tighter hoping and praying that you could just simply disappear. You had been invisible most of your life and most days you hated it, today was not one of those days. Today you wished for it, prayed for it even.
“What-“ You whispered out, sure that the broken look on your face would trigger some sort of warm emotion from him. It did not. Instead Heeseung looked at you with disgust. An expression you had never seen from him before, at least not directed towards you.
“Did you actually think for a second that i loved you?” He spit out. The words had split your heart in two, if you had thought you were broken before you were wrong. You were shattered now a million pieces of yourself.
More laughter had filtered the room furthering your need to flee. “See?” Yeji asked the same smirk that you hated so deeply graced her face. “He just needed a quick fuck when i wasn’t around.”
“It was more than that and you know it” You said weakly. Trying your very hardest to stand your ground. You could tell it wasn’t working, if anything it was making you look more feeble. Yeji laughed again you began to wonder if that was the only thing she was capable in doing.
"Come on y/n, I know you're not that stupid. A boy like Lee Heeseung would never love someone like you. You're a complete loser." The words hurt more than you'd like to admit. You wish that you wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hurting you. She was winning this battle it was clear in the way you stood motionless. Letting her berate you as you stood there like a scared little stray dog. She was kicking you while you were down.
A sob bubbled up inside of you, pouring out of you uncontrollably no matter how much you wished to suppress it. It was no use. You were crying in front of more people than you could count. Each and every one of them reveling in your sheer humiliation.
It seemed that your body started to catch up with your mind and heart as you finally found the strength to run from the room. The sounds of the never ending laughter getting drowned out by your sobs and the hard beating of your footsteps against the school floor.
You emerged from the front doors of the school. The cold from the rain hitting your face and freezing your tears. It was mid December the bite from the cold had done nothing to calm the fiery storm that was brewing inside of you. Your mind was reeling a simmering anger boiling up within you. You hated Heeseung. And you thought that would never be possible.
You couldn't have ever imagined that there would be a time that you could hate Lee Heeseung. He had opened your world to new things, taught you so much about yourself. He had taught you to love yourself when you were at your lowest. You had showed him sides of yourself that no one had ever seen before. You had given yourself to him completely. Allowing him to take your innocence because you felt like he was trustworthy enough to do so. Because you felt like he was the most perfect person to lose it with.
You were wrong. He had used you, then left you to rot. Left you to deal with the repercussions of what you had done together, alone. He had promised you so much all of it coming to be a lie. Just like he had promised that him and Yeji weren't a couple. That obviously being proven to be a lie. As you ran to your car getting in and starting up you felt like you could never come back to this place.
You had decided to skip school for the past week, huddling up in your dorm room feigning sickness. It was clear to more than half campus what the real reason for your absence was. You had turned your phone off staying in bed day in and day out. You didn't want any contact with the outside world. The only human interaction you were getting was from your roommate, Shin Yuna. She was your saving grace, bringing you food from the cafe and forcing you to get up and shower.
She had loathed Heeseung and Yeji for what they did to you. She had half a mind to go straight to Heeseung and Beomgyu's dorm and tell Heeseung off. You had stopped her, not wanting her to fight your battles for you. No matter how much you wanted her to. You wanted to be the bigger person in this although that was very very hard.
After a week of missing class you received a email from your professor requesting your immediate presence in his next class. No questions asked, you were no longer able to hide under your covers. The real world was calling and you had to pick up unfortunately.
You woke up the day you were due to go back to work, a tight knot formed in your stomach. You weren't ready for this but it was something you had to do. After getting ready for the day just throwing on a pair of old jeans and a loose sweatshirt you had left your dorm readying yourself to take the semi-long walk to campus.
You had finally powered your phone on after it being off for a week. Tons of notifications poured through, text messages and random phone calls. Most of them from Yuna, some from your mother and siblings. A certain contact had surprised you more than the rest.
Heeseung had called you, multiple times. Your brows scrunched up in confusion. Why did he call you? He had said everything he needed to say a week ago in that classroom where he allowed his so called girlfriend humiliate you for something the both of you had participated in.
Scrolling through your text messages you noticed that he had also sent you various text messages begging you to call him back. The he needed to explain everything to you. You decided that texting back would be your best option. That telling him to fuck off and never speak to you again was the only way to get him off your back.
Y/n: Never speak to me again. Do not text me, I want absolutely nothing to do with you.
The response had came almost instantaneously, a plea from Heeseung to hear him. You scoffed at his text message deciding to block his number and continue your walk towards class. You were already not looking forward to seeing him during class today, him and Yeji were certainly both going to be there and you weren't entirely sure that you wanted to see them both.
Your plan was to lay low, get there early and keep your head down most of the day. You didn't want any unwanted attention on you, surely everyone hadn't forgotten about what had transpired a week ago. You definitely hadn't.
When you finally got to class you were relived to find that it was mostly empty. You found a spot in the way back of the class, tucking into yourself you sat down. Your glasses pushed close to your face you tried your best to appear invisible.
You didn't need Yeji, or Heeseung noticing you once they decided to get here.
The class started to fill up slowly but surely. No sign of yeji or Heeseung at all. All was going ok until you felt a presence besides you. The familiar scent of pine filling your nostrils. You went rigged in your seat.
"Y/n?" Heeseung voice whispered next to you. You turned away from him as much as you could, your heart beating wildly in your chest the anxiety you were feeling before just shot up by a tenfold.
"Y/n please can we talk?" Heeseung asked again in a low voice. He reached out a hand placing in on your elbow in a soft touch.
"No don't touch me!" You said making a show of yanking your elbow from his grip. "Don't ever fucking touch me" You spit out trying your hardest to keep your voice low as to not grow attention to yourself.
"please, we need to talk" He continued to whisper out.
"You said all you needed to say" You spit out at him. "Leave me alone." Your voice was firm with finality one that you hoped he caught onto. If he did he made no show in complying.
"This was not my fault" He said, a hint of anger in his voice.
"Not your fault?" You asked in bewilderment. Your anger was growing minute by minute and you weren't sure when you would explode. "Our entire relationship was put on display for the entire school to see, pictures of me basically naked were seen by everyone, from your phone Heeseung and you said nothing to defend me. Absolutely nothing, and you want me to hear you out? Fuck you Lee Heeseung."
Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise at the bite to your words. He was expecting you to say anything even remotely close to that. In all honestly he was expecting your forgiveness pretty easily.
"you're being ridiculous y/n" He muttered at you. Your simmering anger rose at his words. The audacity he had was truly appalling.
"How dare you?" You said exasperated. "I'm being ridiculous? Are you actually being serious right now Heeseung." You turned to look at Heeseung noting the look on his face. He looked tired and worn out, the bags under his heavy were heavy with spotted dark circles. "Go back to your girlfriend and please, please heeseung leave me alone."
"I didn't mean what I said y/n." Heeseung whispered again, almost in defeat. "I love you. And I was an idiot to say otherwise"
His words had hit you like a freight train straight to your heart. He rose from the seat besides you, going down the rows of seats and finally sitting besides a few of his friends that had trickled in.
A few times throughout the class you would notice his lingering gaze on you. Even after Yeji finally emerged, sitting down besides him with a huge smirk on her face. she ran her manicured nails up and down his arm the entire class period. Almost in a mockingly way. She took small digs at you without even looking at you one time.
It felt degrading, you felt disgusting and most of all you felt broken.
It had been a few more days since Heeseung spoke to you in class. His number stayed blocked in your phone not giving him the opportunity to talk to you. Everyday Yeji continued to subtly taunt you. She did little things like laugh out loud at any and everything Heeseung said, she loudly called him pet names and she continued to work her pesky nails all over his body. Her PDA was to the max even if most times he didn't reciprocate it.
Today had been a free day finally able to breathe and be at the dorms. Yuna was at her boyfriend Sunghoon's dorm all weekend so you had the space for yourself.
Yuna had texted you mid afternoon to check on you, making sure she didn't have to come back at all. But everything was going fine, you were huddled up on your bed, a bag of hot Cheetos next to you as you shamelessly wore Heeseung's old hoodie. You were comfortable and finally your mind wasn't plagued with the thoughts of Heeseung and yeji and what they could possibly be doing right now. Instead you were content watching your little YouTube videos alone in the comfort of your vacant dorm.
You were contently watching a YouTube video when a sharp knock was sound on your dorm room door. It made you jump in surprise not expecting a visitor. you are fairly certain it wasn't Yuna as she has key and would definitely just walk right in.
You got up from your bed hesitantly not wanting to be disturbed by people this late at night. When you opened the door you were greeted with the one person you wanted to see the least right now.
Heeseung was at your door, looking as beautiful as always in his sweat pants and plan black hoodie. You pushed your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose trying to make sure you were indeed seeing clearly and Heeseung really had the audacity to show up to your dorm.
"Why are you here?" You spit out, not in the mood to deal with his baggage.
"I needed to see you Y/n." Heeseung pleaded, he made a step towards you trying to get into the dorm. You let out a sigh, getting the impression that he was not leaving so soon. You allowed him to step inside.
"Heeseung please" You begged turning to look at the boy who broke your heart. "I'm begging you to leave me alone. You got what you wanted ok? What more do you want from me." You were pleading with him, begging him to give this up and leave you be. The damage was already done and you couldn't deal with the aftermath of what your relationship was anymore. It was way too much to bare.
"I need you to hear me out Y/n, you're not even giving me the time to explain everything" His words had made you irrationally angry. You were done letting him gas light you any further, you were about ready to speak your mind, truthfully now.
"You want me to give you the time to explain? After what you did to me? After what you allowed Yeji to do to me? I want nothing to do with you, I don't want to hear you out. I hate you" You spit the words at him like a canon, hoping it hit its mark and hurts him even a fraction of as much as he hurt you.
"You don't hate me" Heeseung said, a shadow of a smirk ghosting his lips.
"Is this funny to you? Is this all just a fucking joke to you? I was humiliated at your expense and it's one big fucking game to you." Your words had clearly made him angry, his eyebrows had a scrunch to them now.
"I didn't ask for our messages and pictures to get leaked Y/n is is just as much humiliating for me as it is for you!" His voice was raised in octave. The vein on his neck popping out just slightly and you would be lying if you didn't admit to yourself how hot it was. You scolded yourself for having that thought. Now was not the time nor place to be thinking of how hot Heeseung looked while he was angry.
"How did she even get them to begin with Heeseung, from you! You're her 'boyfriend' after all" Your volume raised just as loudly as his. Not ready to let him win this argument.
"She stole them from my phone while I was drunk at a party Y/n she took advantage of me." You rolled your eyes at his words, not believing his bullshit in the slightest.
"She's not my girlfriend y/n I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't with her." You scoffed at him, shaking your head.
"It doesn't matter-"
"It does matter y/n I love you." He spoke with fiver, like he was pleading with you to hear him.
"Stop lying to me" You whispered. "I can't take it."
"Im not lying damnit. How can I get you to understand that" No matter the desperation in his voice you felt like nothing was going to convince you that he was genuine with his words.
"No" You said standing your ground "I hate you."
Heeseung ran a hand through his hair a frustrated sigh leaving his lips once again.
"Stop saying that." He hissed out. The defiant person in you wanted to try your hardest to piss him off further. To hurt him more than he hurt you.
"I hate you." You said again. Heeseung advanced towards you pushing you against the wall in a rush. His big frame engulfed you, both arms surrounding you in a huddle.
"No you don't." His voice was raspy causing the heat between your legs to pulse just slightly. No longer were you arguing with anger, but now with lust.
A part of you was screaming at yourself to push him away, not allowing him to have even a fraction more of yourself. The other side of you was welcoming his advances, praying that sooner then later he would touch you more then he already was.
"I do." You said with a nod, the words leaving you in a single breathy whisper. "I hate you so much"
His lips were on you not even a second later attaching to yours in a rush of emotion and a blur of lust.
You gasped against his mouth giving him the leeway to dip his tongue in entangling yours in a fight for dominance.
His mouth moved from yours traveling down your neck and to your collarbone, you let out a tiny moan trying hard to suppress you noises as much as possible.
Heeseungs hand traveled up your body lazily landing on the outline of your breast in his oversized hoodie.
"You hate me but you're wearing my hoodie hmm." He said teasingly continuing to grope you over the hoodie.
"It's laundry week" You gasped out, arching your body into his. His hands traveled the expanse of your body landing in the hem of the hoodie. pushing it up and over your head to expose your name chest underneath.
Immediately Heeseung attached his mouth to your breast, licking and sucking at them with a desperation you had never seen from him before.
"Stop teasing" You whined pushing yourself further into him, grinding your lower body onto his. Your heat met the material of his sweatpants. The friction shooting a delicious surge through your body. You let out a whimper only spurring Heeseung's movements more. He sucked and licked at your breast like a mad man.
"Do you deserve it baby" He whispered detaching from your chest to say the words. His hand made its way down to your covered heat rubbing over the material of your thin biker shorts.
Your moans were high pitched exactly how you knew Heeseung loved them.
"Yes" You gasped out "I deserve it" You reached for the strings of Heeseungs sweatpants pushing them down in a feeble attempt to get him naked. Heeseung caught your wrists with his hands before lifting you up and plopping you down on the small twin sized bed in your dorm room.
He was quick in grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt lifting it over his head to expose his toned chest. Your breathing was harsh as you stared up him removing his clothing. You hurried in yanking your shorts and panties down.
The desperation for him felt palpable, a rush of emotions so hot filled your body. You wanted him badly, no, needed him badly. Soon the both of you were naked, the yearning you felt coupled with the emotion of your recent heartbreak had made all the lust that much more intense.
in the back of your mind you were kicking yourself. Scolding your heart for allowing Heeseung to have you again so intimately.
“Do you have a condom sweetheart?” Heeseung asked in his sickly sweet voice. You shook your head running your hands up and down heeseungs torso admiring the sculpture of his abs and toned forearms.
“Just pull out” You said, finally reaching his cock, grabbing it in your small hands you pumped it a few times causing a hiss of pleasure to leave his lips.
“You’re so wet” Heeseung panted attaching his fingers to your hole as you continue to stroke him lazily.
“Hurry” You pleaded looking up at him with wide eyes. Tears glistening at the anticipation of the moment. Heeseung removed your hand from his cock stroking it himself a few times before lining it at your entrance.
You held your breath at what was to come next willing yourself to relax, you had taken him plenty of times before but each time had felt like the first. With the stretch of his cock finally entering you, both heeseung and yourself let out a sigh of content. The pleasure of being filled to the brim was all consuming.
“Fuck” You squeaked out at a particularly harsh trust. Heeseungs hands held tightly onto your hips pounding into with a new found vigor. His groans of pleasure loud in your ears.
“So fucking warm” He muttered out, his head falling forward to watch where the two of you connected, the slick from your wetness causing a squelching sound to ring around the room. “You like that?”
The question was a hard one to answer, you couldn’t find words. The sounds you made growing louder and louder at every single push inside of you.
“Answer me” Heeseung growled quickening his pace. His hips now slamming into you over and over harder as his entire body dropped into yours over and over. “Does that feel fucking good?”
“Yes!” You gasped reaching your arms out and hooking them behind his head. “So fucking good. don’t stop” You yanked Heeseungs head down to your breasts. His lips reattaching to the perked nubs of your nipples.
“Tell me you love me” Heeseung whispered against your breast that he was currently latched to. The words didn’t register in your mind. You’re head filled with the feeling of him inside of you. You didn’t answer, instead letting out breathy moans at the continuous slam of his hips against yours.
Heeseungs grip on your hips tightened. His head rising from your chest to look at you. His hips stop, keeping his tight grip on your hips he punctuated his next few words with a slam inside of you. “Tell” slam “me” slam “you” slam “love” slam “me”.
Your mind was a frenzy, completely fucked out you whisper “I hate you.” Which only fueled Heeseungs need to be rough further. His hand creeped up to your neck squeezing just enough to make you see stars.
“No you don’t” He cooed continuing his relentless thrusts. “You love me. now fucking say it” You were stubborn you would try everything not to say it.
You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of you saying it. So instead you moaned out his name, something you knew for certain was a big weakness for him.
Praising him until he was so fucked out he forgot what he was asking of you. It was a manipulation tactic. You realized that but even in your lust filled daze you knew you could not give him the satisfaction of saying those three words.
“I’m gonna cum” You wheezed arching into Heeseung with your entire body. He nodded in a frenzy curses leaving his beautiful parted lips in a mantra. “Me too baby” He moaned out.
His hand traveled down landing on your bundle of nerves, circling his fingers over your clit furthering the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter ready to snap at any given moment.
You were in ecstasy the need to explode with pleasure growing more as he continued to trust into you at a brutal pace. The movement of his fingers on your clit coupled with constant slam of his hips against yours pushed you over the edging sending you hurtling to your release.
“Fuck fuck fuck” You squeaked out. Convulsing around Heeseings cock causing his breathing to quicken and become heavier.
“I’m gonna cum” He whined pushing a few more times inside of you before pulling out. He stroked his cock a few times allowing the spurts of cum to land over your stomach and breasts.
You took a moment to compose yourself, Heeseung calming his breathing from his position on top of you.
The clarity of the situation ran into you like a truck. The shame you felt quickly after the ecstasy of the moment was palpable. You quickly got up skipping to your bathroom to rid yourself of his spend all over your body. The tears in your eyes spilling out and over the apples of you cheeks.
“Y/n?” Heeseung asked knocking on the door of the bathroom. His voice laced with concern no doubt reading your distraught state.
“Please go” You whispered “We shouldn’t have done that” You stood naked in your bathroom against the door unable to will yourself to open it. You didn’t want to see Heeseungs face. You didn’t want to face the magnitude of what you had just done.
“What Y/n-“
“Go! Get out!” You screamed finally opening the door. Heeseung was dressed again. The look on his face shown one of pure confusion and panic. But you didn’t care. You needed him out. You wanted to scream, rip your hair out, trash your room, anything. He just needed to be gone.
“Get out!” You said again, Heeseung reached for you but you pulled away quick enough that he wasn’t able to make contact with your body. You reached your dorm room door in a blur opening it and pointing outside. “Go or i’ll scream and wake up this entire fucking floor.”
“I’ll be back” Heeseung said. You slammed the door before allowing yourself to fall against it. Sobs Racking your body as you brought your knees to your chest.
In truth you had felt filthy. You had loved Heeseung, that was a sad fact but you knew with absolute certainty that he did not love you like he claimed to. You cursed yourself for allowing him to have you in such an intimate way after what had transpired. Your mind racing with what will happen after this.
Will he tell Yeji? Will she have more fuel to torture you with. You weren’t sure you wanted to deal with the repercussions of what you both had just done. Your heart was in the pit of your stomach as you continued to sob on the floor of your dorm room, completely naked.
The next few days flew by the a blur. You continued your day to day life attending classes and hanging out with Yuna. Oddly enough Heeseung hadn’t been to class in days. You hadn’t seen him since the night you kicked him out of your dorm. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried about him wondering what was stopping him from coming to class.
Yeji had showed up everyday. Still flaunting Heeseung as much as she could even in his absence. She would talk about him loudly, claiming that they had gone on dates or went to parties. You scoffed at all her intentions of riling you up.
You hated her. That much was a fact, but you wouldn’t allow her to see the effect she really had on you.
Today had been a particularly rainy day. One that had immediately put a huge damper on your mood. Class had felt like a chore walking from class to class becoming increasingly more tiring by the second.
As you were walking to your dorm excited for the long tiring day to be over a buzz from your phone took you out of your train of thought.
Yuna was calling you. You answered the phone “Hey Yuna-“
“Come to the cafe NOW!” She rushed into the phone. “What-?” You were cut off by her yelling into the phone again “Now Y/n!”
The line went dead signaling her hanging up on you. In confusion you rushed to the cafe on campus, a place everyone who was anyone hung out.
When you arrived at the cafe you noticed a considerable large crowd forming. You looked around trying to find a glimpse of Yuna in this massive crowd.
Pushing your way through the people you noticed the multiple eyes folllwing you, watching you like hawk with their prey.
Finally getting to the front of the crowd your eyes caught a huge sign, one that usually hung in front of the cafe lighting up the specials, but today it was different. Today instead of the being lights displaying the daily specials it said one little sentence.
“I love you Y/n. Shouting from the rooftops - You’re heeseung” It was a simple message, but the impact was grand.
He was proclaiming himself to you. In front of the entire campus, in front of Yeji herself. She stood there looking up at the sign angrily. Heeseung sat still next to the sign. His eyes on you and only you.
“What the fuck” Yeji spit out, eyes searching wildly probably looking for you in the sea of people. “Heeseung what is this?” She screeched out her voice like nails on a fucking chalkboard.
“I’m done letting you ruin my life Yeji.” Heeseung spoke, eyes still on yours. “We aren’t together, we never were together. I love Y/n”
Your heart felt as if it were beating a million miles per minute, pounding at your chest yearning to burst out. Heeseung was making a grand gesture, and although you both had alot to talk about and it didn’t erase the hurt he had caused he was making a big effort. He was making it known that he chooses you.
Yeji was red with anger turning on her heels and rushing out of the crowd the eyes of everyone around us watching her meltdown front and center. You were sure she wasn’t done here but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care what she had planned next. Your only thoughts were occupied by Heeseung and what he was saying right here right now.
You walked up to him slowly, trying to savor the moment as much as you could. The crowd still watching your every movement. Usually that would be a pretty awkward thing but you honestly couldn’t care less.
“Heeseung-“
“i’m not ashamed of you.” He said cutting you off “I love you, and i want everyone to know. I don’t care what people think. I’m done letting someone like Yeji dictate my life i want to be with you.” He spoke with vigor, trying his hardest to get his point across. You could have sworn you had hearts in your eyes. Your heart swelling with pride for the man that stood in front of you.
“You’re not fully forgiven” You spoke softly “But i love you too.” His eyes lit up at your declaration “So i’m willing to try-“
You barely got the words out before his lips were on yours. Attaching to you like he would never let you go, and honestly you really hope he wouldn’t.
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kinktober - day 07 - virgin
gaz x f!reader | 2.3k words cw: gaz pov, some manipulation/kyle isn’t the most well meaning man in this, implied pining lol, mutual masturbation, piv sex summary: kyle's lifelong best friend happens to mention she's a virgin. it's a good thing he's a gentleman. sort of. a/n: i intended to stick to my wc but then the voices (kyle) kept talking banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list
Her bra hooks the back of her desk chair—lucky shot.
Kyle’s on a lucky streak, seems like. First, securing leave. A feat in and of itself. Second, successfully talking his way into staying at his best girl’s place. Third, though perhaps the most engineered, getting her not-quite-boyfriend to leave.
She was upset, of course. Cried into his shoulder for two days. She didn’t understand why Whatshisface had left so abruptly and stopped returning her messages. She bemoaned her return to sudden singleness and the barely-off-the-ground relationship. Kyle amused her. Comforted her. Assured her there was nothing she was missing out on.
(A leading statement. Makes targets keen to correct. She, being no different, immediately said—)
“Yes there is!”
“Doubt it. Matthew didn’t seem like one to carry particularly stimulating conversations.”
“His name was Michael, and let’s just say, I might as well convert and join a convent.”
Hook. “What do you mean by that?”
Line. Wiggling. “I just…I mean I’ve never…”
Come on. “Never what?”
“Fucked. Okay? I’ve never fucked someone.”
Sinker.
He thanked himself for acing every RTI course he’d taken, what with the journey his insides took at such an admission. Never in a million years did he think he’d get so lucky. He had wondered if he’d lost his chance ages prior, a lifetime ago.
And she said it all self-deprecatingly. She laughed at herself. But he watched her face fall.
Then, rise, tentatively, with his offer.
“Say the word, and I’ll save you from the sisters.”
Which led him here, her bra settling against a piece of furniture, a pair of fantastic tits spilling damn near his face.
Kyle lowers and buries his face into the cradle of her neck and shoulder. A moan slips from her mouth as he presses a kiss there, stubble rasping her skin. He grunts, teeth scraping and hands shoving up to palm at her chest. Thumbs swiping over her nipples, feeling them harden further.
Her honeyed voice in his ear, gasping softly. “Ah, Kyle.”
Kyle grins against her neck. So sensitive, so responsive. He cannot wait to hear what sort of sounds he’ll pry out of her.
He pulls back, meeting her half-lidded gaze with his own. Anticipating coiling in his stomach as his hands smooth up her thighs, then tuck under the waistband of her panties. Seeing no obvious distress or discomfort, he tugs them down, teeth resting on his bottom lip at the unveiling of her body. He groans at the sight of her coarse curls, he loves a woman with a bush, but his lips part at the sight of her pussy. It’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Another time, further down the road—he’ll ask her for a picture. Just for him.
“Won’t it be awkward?” She had asked.
“We’ve known each other since we could walk. What could be more natural?” He’d answered.
Kyle swallows thickly, coaxing her legs open through their squirming. Eating her up with just his eyes, stuck to the wet seam of her cunt.
He briefly considers diving right in, burying his mouth and nose until he suffocates, but he wants her worked up. Aching for it. So his eyes flick back to her tits, and his hands follow. He watches intently as he toys with her nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. He doesn’t miss a single twinge of her brow or inhalation. She’s good for him the whole time, hands stuck at her sides. She’s already clutching the sheets like a lifeline.
Soon enough, her mouth’s caught in a perpetual gasp, and he sinks back down to capture it in a languid kiss. He allows her to take the lead, rewarding her eagerness by letting her dictate its duration, and his chest cracks at the soft sigh she gives him in turn. With her thoroughly relaxed, he experimentally rocks his hips, letting his clothed tip gingerly bump against her clit. The fingers on his back muscles tense and dig in, but the little shiver he feels pass through her chest into his makes him smile into her mouth.
He withdraws, tongue passing over his lips as he reclines. Breathing heavily, he tilts his head, palming his cock.
“Touch yourself. Show me how you like it.”
“Kyle,” she pouts. “That’s not—can’t you just…?”
“No can do, babe. Don’t want to make a mess of this, ‘least not yet,” he smirks, ignoring the small smack she delivers to his knee. “I want to see what you do. Everyone’s different.”
“Don’t remind me of how many people you’ve slept with.”
Attitude is a defense mechanism. A cute defense mechanism but a barrier all the same. He pulls further back, delighting in the deepening of her frown. She needs to learn.
“And you don’t give me that lip. Touch yourself. I know you know how. No way you’ve neglected that pretty pussy for so long.”
She huffs and complains a minute more but rewards his patience. One hand snakes down and tentatively rubs her clit, movements stiff, still shy, and tucks a finger into her hole. It’s adorable, the shallow plunge. It’s a miracle she’s ever gotten off before, what with how unsatisfying it looks compared to what Kyle knows he can give her. Will give her.
His focus shifts back to her face as he slowly discards his pants, needing to free his cock with the sounds her finger makes in her hole. He watches her eyes widen as it bobs free, tracking every move as he maneuvers atop the bed, stripping them off entirely.
“Like what you see, babe?”
“Y-Yeah.” The way she lifts her gaze seems mechanical.
Already leaking, his cock twitches in his palm on an upstroke. He hasn’t slept with a virgin in so long—he’d forgotten what that meld of hunger and curiosity looks like. She doesn’t look away at the slick sound of his pre spreading over his head under his thumb, nor when there’s an audible, wet suction around her finger. She bites her lip, eyes watering. Sweet thing. So close to grasping what she’s been missing.
“Add another.” She hesitates but complies, and he nearly comes watching the pinch of her face as she dips a second finger into pussy. “Ah, no. Keep looking at me, angel. That’s right. Focus on the feeling.”
And like that, slow and steady, he talks her into a third.
“It hurts.” she whines, despite the weak buck of her hips into her hand.
If you think that hurts sits on the curl of his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. The backs of his fingers are drenched in precome. More than once, he’s had to pause. “I know, but it’ll ease up. I’m bigger than two of your fingers.”
“Then why don’t you,” she gasps, eyes briefly fluttering shut. “Why don’t you use yours?”
He’d like to. Truly. The thought makes him dizzy. But that would require him to be a better man than he is, if only she’d brought this up four, five years earlier. His fingers can go another day.
“Because,” his jaw works. He’s well aware of the knife’s edge he walks. Everything he says before he’s inside her is a coin flip. “I don’t want my fingers to be the first part of me inside you, babe.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, and to his relief, she moans. “Fuck, Kyle, that’s…That’s so…”
“I know.” He grins.
She ends up stuffing her pussy with four fingers, the last digit tucks in without his urging. He stops her after her breath hitches. She pouts again.
“Shouldn’t I come first? Before–?”
“You’re wet enough, believe me,” He teases. It’s a little mean, but he’s impatient. He’s never been able to maintain the same stillness his job requires out of the field. “I think you’re ready. Feel ready?”
Kyle barely kills a smug smile as she firmly presses her lips together before finally eking out a yes, steady but thin. Her shoulders are loose, but her slick fingers curl nervously over her belly like she’s trying to hold herself together. Her eyes flicker with something she’s trying hard not to show, something just beneath the surface, but she keeps her face neutral.
The sense of satisfaction is a small thrill. Not from her answer but from knowing he’s got her this far.
He chucks her chin as it dips, lowering his own to keep their eyes level. “You know I’ll be gentle, right? As much as I can? You trust me, don’t you?” He makes a show of opening and rolling on the condom. It’s a small travesty, but he’ll get her on the pill soon enough. If anything, it makes her less likely to back out.
As she nods, he lays her back. Listens to her intently. “I know, I know.” She mumbles, but her eyes snap to his cock, its weight resting in the crease of her thigh.
“Don’t worry, relax.” he whispers, brushing his lips against hers, then pressing into a kiss. He takes advantage of a gasp to deepen it, moving his hips and adjusting his cock to let it slip over her folds. He groans, nudging her clit with its head. She’s soaking, radiating pure heat.
This is the part where he should reassure her, say “If it hurts too much, or if you want me to stop, tell me.” He doesn’t. He’s gone years thinking this was out of reach. Impossible. ‘Natural’, he told her. Same as ‘inevitable’, he thinks.
Bracing himself on one arm, he guides his cock to her hole, eyes drilling into where his tip disappears. Just a hint, enough to make sweat break out along his neck. Warmth flows from her sex, as inviting as a hearth. Notched, he starts to push in, fingers leaving his length to return to her clit. Standby mode for when—
“Shh, you’re alright,” it’s automatic when a pitiful whine escapes. He looks from her wide eyes to the crease between her brows and parted lips. “Fuck, it’s so good, babe. You’re alright.” He kisses her chin and jaw, the corners of her open maw, as another uncertain, wavering noise strikes high from her throat.
He pauses to kiss her deeply again, swallowing a few more gasps as he lets her adjust a bit. He toys with her clit, continuing his push. Her nails bite into his shoulders, and she whimpers a weak apology against his mouth that makes his chest ache and restraint slip. He burrows in a few inches all at once.
His sudden burst punches a loud, surprised sound out of her, one that puffs right past his ear. She pants against the shell, muttering over and over as she adjusts around him.
“Ohgodohgodohgod—“
He quiets her with more kisses, eventually getting her to take it down an octave and use her words.
His arm burns from flexing, muscles working to keep him partly hovering above her, sweat dripping from his brow. She’s so unbelievably tight, wet, and molten around his cock. It’s everything he’s wanted and more. A slice of heaven gifted to him, made for just him. No one else. She might go on to sleep with other people—hopefully not, if he plays this right—but he’s the one she will remember.
“Kyle…S���big,” she slurs, lips moving against his cheek.
“You’re alright,” he repeats with a chuckle, a sample of the loud, mad laugh he feels tickling his throat. Triumphant. “Talk to me. How else do you feel?”
“It didn’t—It’s…weird?” She echoes a delirious giggle, twinging when he shifts his weight. She doesn’t look too sure. “But…”
“But what?”
“Can you keep touching…y-yeah, like that.”
He smirks, kisses her, and hastens the circles on her clit. He decides he can grind for a bit and find every last inch he can claim. Slowly but surely, her breathing levels and her cunt gives up territory. Lets him in until his balls are flush with the cushion of her ass.
“There we go, look at that.” He pulls back slightly to admire where he ends, and she begins, the smell of sex and sweat dizzying. “No convent for you.”
She lets out a shaky breath, one hand letting go of him to scrub over her eyes in giddy disbelief. “Thank God.”
“Thank me.”
That gets him a swat, but the hand that strikes scrambles around his arm when he pulls out and snaps back in. Beyond that, there’s not much talking. Not much thinking, either. Rapture gradually twists her face, and he practically watches any traces of her earlier shyness and embarrassment fly out the window.
A frisson runs down her spine, a sharp, electric shudder that tells him he’s found the right spot. He adjusts accordingly, setting course to hit with each thrust, and rubs her clit in tandem. Her knees knock against his sides, pressing, mirroring her cunt’s clenching and fluttering.
“‘M close, Kyle, I’m close—”
“I know, can feel it. You’re strangling me, shit, you feel good—come on, angel.”
Every roll of his hips makes her moan and gasp, the sounds climbing higher and higher. His shoulders are numb where her nails hold on like the pain’s settled beneath the surface or fled from pleasure. When her legs dig into his side and hold, he drops closer again, speeding up his fingers to draw her even tighter around his cock.
His name leaves her mouth broken over the sharp edge of a wail as she comes hard, body spasming beneath him, squeezing the life out of him. She goes lax after a moment, save for her hands, still holding on with a feather-light strength. Her teary eyes crack open and dart across what must be an ugly look of conquest on his face. He wonders in the seconds before he fills the condom if she sees the devotion there, too, or if it’s eclipsed by all his coveting.
After, she thanks him with a kiss so tender, his cock stirs. Laying face to face, entangled and intertwined, she feels it against her thigh and laughs tiredly.
“You joking? You’re insatiable.”
Kyle stares hard, chest heaving at the fleeting but vivid image of her on her knees floating through his head.
“You have no idea.”
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hello mae! you said that you’re tentatively thinking about doing poly! jily? how about them x shy!reader who is used to spending holidays alone but now that she’s in a relationship, James and Lily wanna give her experiences of like carving pumpkins, baking cookies, or something like that.
just cute and domestic fall activities!! I hope that’s enough.
Thank you for requesting lovely!
poly!Jily x shy!reader ♡ 845 words
You smile, and James plants his lips on your cheek just before the flash.
“Perfect,” Lily says while the camera whirs. She takes the photo it spits out, going to stow it in a shady corner of the porch.
“Now one with you,” James urges.
“No.” Lily waves him off as you second James’ request. “How would we get all of us and our pumpkins in it?”
“James has long arms,” you say.
"Yeah, Evans." James grabs you roughly around the shoulders, making your face heat even as you smile. "I have long arms. Give it here."
After some debate Lily hands over the camera. James holds it out as far as he can, waiting until you’re all holding up your jack-o-lanterns before pressing the button.
It goes beside the other photo, waiting for the film to develop. You know as soon as it does, both photos will be clustered in with the others on James and Lily’s fridge, held up by magnets beginning to lose their strength under the weight of so many. Lily has always liked to take pictures, and ever since you got together she’s been cramming ones of you into every empty space. This relationship is relatively new for you, and most days you’re still trying to figure out where you fit, but Lily and James do everything to make you feel welcome. In a million tiny ways, they show you all the time that they care just as much for you as they do for each other.
James looks between your pumpkins pridefully. “Whose do we think turned out the best?”
“Lily’s,” you say at the same time as Lily says, “Mine.”
James’ mouth falls open. “Mine was good too!”
“Sorry, Jamie.” You give his shoulder a consoling pat. “Hers is just better.”
The fact of the matter is, your girlfriend was simply patient where you and James were not. She outlined her jack-o-lantern’s face beforehand in marker, used a small knife to achieve the curvatures of one heart-shaped eye and one winking one, and took the time to make the edges of her cuts look nice and clean. James and you, however, tried to freehand things with much larger knives; it had not gone quite so well.
“I think there should be points for creativity,” says James, frowning at his botched pumpkin. He’d tried to give it round eyes, and in the process accidentally cut more than he meant to. The result is jagged and vaguely upsetting, so eventually he decided it was an ill pumpkin and trailed its entrails out of its mouth so it looks like it’s vomiting pumpkin guts.
“It was a very creative solution,” Lily tells James. And to you, “You did really well for your first time, too, sweetheart.”
You snort. Yours is nearly as bad as James’. Both of your partners had to show you how to saw through the pumpkin flesh more than once to keep you from yanking the knife out and stabbing yourself. After many tutorials, you’d managed two triangle-shaped eyes, but the teeth you’d tried to put in your jack-o-lantern’s mouth had fallen out, so now it just looks like a rather simplistic, very upbeat face.
“You did,” Lily insists, but she’s repressing a laugh too as she looks down at your pumpkin. “It’s cute.”
“It looks like something a five-year-old could have done,” you acknowledge.
“You and a five-year-old have about the same amount of experience carving pumpkins, so that’s not really so bad,” says James. He reaches for the polaroids Lily took. “Let’s see how these turned out.”
“James Potter,” Lily’s voice goes sharp, “don’t you dare touch those with your slimy hands.”
“Okay, alright.” James holds his hands up in the air. He stands instead, backing away slowly like Lily has him at gunpoint. “C’mon, lovie, let’s go fish the seeds out in the sink.”
“What for?” you ask, following him as he carries your large bowl of pumpkin entrails inside.
“If you separate the seeds and roast them, you can eat them.” James raises his eyebrows at you. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pumpkin seeds before.”
“Nope.”
“Ugh. You poor, deprived girl.” James takes your face in his hands, and you smile despite the slick feeling of his pumpkin-y fingers on your cheeks. His eyebrows scrunch pityingly as he kisses above your nose. “We’ll right that wrong today, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”
“You haven’t been missing out on much,” Lily says, slipping past the two of you with your photos. She wedges them underneath a magnet on the fridge. “It’s a lot of effort for a snack.”
“She only says that because she can’t stand the guts,” James tells you conspiratorially.
“Really?” You mash your hands into the stringy pumpkin bits. “I kind of like them.”
Lily makes a face. “They’re all slimy and weird. And sticky.”
“Wimp,” James teases.
“You’ve just called them guts, James. In what world does that sound appealing?”
“Angel,” James says in a quiet voice, “you’ll protect me, won’t you?”
You frown at him. “Why?”
He picks up a small mass of pumpkin guts and lobs it at your girlfriend.
“James!”
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be like water || fridlona rolfo x reader ||
you try to pull away from frido when your feelings become too much to handle.
you didn't think it was possible for you to be so stupid. there had never been a doubt in your mind about following frido and ingrid from wolfsburg to barcelona. they were your best friends, and it made ingrid feel a lot better if she was close enough to really look out for you. what you couldn't believe was how quickly you managed to fall for frido once mapi came into the picture.
in all actuality, you had always had feelings for frido. she was kind, caring, and gorgeous. however, she had always ever spoken about boyfriends. you knew that didn't mean your crush was completely hopeless, but you also had trouble imagining a reality where frido liked you back.
you could think of a million reasons why frido wouldn't have felt the same way about you. there would always be so many things standing in the way of your happy ending. you were fairly certain that frido was straight since she had never shown an interest in any of your other teammates before. if it wasn't that, then the age gap was sure to get you. you had been barely 18 whenever the two of you had met, and it didn't help that ingrid had introduced you as "the baby" of the norweigan team.
'baby norway' was what they had been calling you since your call up to the national team at the tender age of 15. you had been a super sub back then, but it had only taken you a year and a half to become a consistent starter. you'd been blessed with practically no injuries, none that required rehab or surgeries at the very least. however, all of that came crashing down around you at barcelona.
it had started with a little tweak of your ankle during practice. frido cursed herself for not noticing it earlier whenever you went down at the next game. you knew that it wasn't her fault, you had already begun to pull away from her. still, she sat with you in the trainer's room while it got checked out.
"frido, you don't have to stay here," you told her. ingrid was out on the pitch and mapi was sitting in the stands with the rest of the injured players. you had hoped that frido would have stayed on the pitch, but instead, she had been insistent on coming with you. it was hard for you to avoid your feelings whenever frido openly showed how much she cared for you.
"jona has already subbed me off. am i just supposed to leave you here all by yourself?" frido asked you. you opened your mouth to tell her that was exactly what she should do, but she cut you off first. "don't be ridiculous. you and ingrid were there for me whenever i got hurt. i want to be here for you too."
"frido, please. this is the last thing that i need right now. just, go take a shower and calm down," you said. frido couldn't come up with a reason to argue with you, so she reluctantly left you in the trainer's room. once she was gone, you laid back and took a deep breath. it felt like a weight was lifted off of your chest once she was gone, only to be replaced by guilt clawing its way through your throat. frido just wanted to be there for you, but you couldn't get over your stupid feelings for her long enough to let her.
…
"so, tell me again why i'm the one picking you up from the hospital when i know for a fact that frido asked to do this?" ingrid asked you. she had been around countless times when frido offered to take care of you or escort you from appointment to appointment.
"we haven't gotten to spend much time together lately, and i missed you, that's all." it wasn't a complete lie, but ingrid knew that it wasn't the whole truth either. she pulled down a side street and turned her car off. you couldn't get out on your own, so the two of you were trapped there until ingrid got the truth out of you.
"did something happen between the two of you?" ingrid asked. you shook your head as you pulled your good leg up into the seat in front of you. you rested your head against your knee to keep it turned away from ingrid. "you still love her, don't you?"
"of course i love her, she's my best friend. i came all the way from germany for her, ingrid. i just didn't know that i couldn't be around her alone," you confessed. ingrid paused as she took in your words. you had always been adamant that you came for both of your friends, even if ingrid knew otherwise. she knew all about the secret feelings you kept for frido, just like she knew how conflicted frido felt about you.
"mapi is going to kill me for this, but i want you to stay with me for the next week or so, okay? neither frido nor i want you to be alone, but i won't force you to stay with her if you can't handle it," ingrid told you. you thanked her quietly as she started the car up again and drove off towards her apartment.
she didn't tell you about frido already being at your place. ingrid didn't tell you a lot of things, just like she didn't tell frido anything either. she kept both of your secrets until one of you were ready to come out with it. she wanted to help you desperately, but knew that it wasn't her place to put it all out in the open.
…
"i don't get it. did i do something?" frido was practically tearing her hair out as she sat on the couch next to ingrid and aitana. your stay with mapi and ingrid had ended over a week ago, but you were still dodging all of frido's texts and calls.
"it's not you, i promise," ingrid reassured the older woman. "the baby just has some things to work out, that's all. this is a difficult time for her, she's going through a lot."
"but why is she pushing me away? i could help her, but she won't let me." tears sprung to frido's eyes. you had always seemed closer with ingrid because of your shared nationality, but it had never been an issue for frido before. "i need a minute."
"frido, wait!" ingrid shouted. frido was standing, but she didn't make a move to leave her place. "let me drive you to (y/n)'s. i think you two realy need to talk."
"she doesn't want anything to do with me. i'm not you, it's okay," frido said. ingrid sighed and pulled frido outside. the drive from your place was pretty short, usually just a ten minute walk.
ingrid felt bad about blindsiding you, but this conversation couldn't wait any longer. both you and frido were tearing yourselves apart trying to navigate feelings and your friendship. ingrid knew how easy it could be for both of you, and that was all she wanted. she just wanted her friends to be happy, even if the thought of making a move terrified the both of them.
you hadn't expected any visitors, so ingrid and frido's arrival had taken you by surprise. ingrid shoving frido through your front door and closing it for you was an even bigger one. ingrid knew practically everything, and yet, here she was forcing you to be alone with the person who had been giving you so much grief for the past few months.
"i think we need to talk, but i don't know what to say to you," you told frido. you hobbled over to your couch and sat down. frido just stood in front of you and paced around your living room. "fridolina, calm down."
"no, i can't. i am sick and tired of being calm about this. you've got me worried sick. i care about you so much, and i want to help you through whatever this is, but you won't let me. i know that i'm not ingrid, and i'm sorry, but fuck! let me help you." frido's voice grew as she spoke, but she never really got close to shouting at you. "talk to me, please. i miss the way things were in germany, it felt so much easier back then."
"trust me, it was never any easier. we just weren't alone back then like we are now," you told her. frido glanced down at you, a look of confusion on her face. "i don't want you to be ingrid, frido. i love you for you, and that's the problem."
"your problem is that you love me?" frido asked you. you nodded, unable to look up and meet her gaze. you kept your eyes down as you felt her approach you. the couch dipped down as frido sat down next to you. you shuddered when her arm wrapped around you, even though you had been craving her affection since you started to distance yourself. "look at me, (y/n), please."
"i can't," you whispered. frido sighed as she pressed a kiss to the side of your forehead. "i can't do this. i have to talk to jona. i have to go back to wolfsburg or just somewhere else."
"don't run away from your feelings. just look at me, please," frido pleaded with you. she was on the verge of getting on her knees and begging you to look at her. you didn't know why, but something in her voice compelled you to go against your instincts.
your eyes met tearful blue ones, and you nearly broke because of it. frido gently caressed your cheek, rubbing her thumb along your cheekbone as she stared at you. there was no disgust or pity in frido's eyes, which caught you by surprise. all you could see was relief. your friendship didn't implode on the spot because of your admission, which filled you with a relief that you couldn't even begin to describe.
"i love you too," frido told you. she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against yours. her eyes flicked down to your lips before coming back up to meet your eyes again. "can i kiss you?"
frido barely managed to finish her sentence before you were lurching forward. she caught your body in her arms, allowing for you to practically lay on top of her as the two of your lips met in a passionate kiss. frido began to push you back a bit to catch her breath. you let out a whine as her lips moved off of yours.
"i've wanted this for so long that i don't ever want to stop," you said quietly. frido smiled as she pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "i thought you'd hate me if i told you how i felt. i had tried for so long to be cool and casual, but i couldn't. the more time we spent here without ingrid, the harder it became."
"i wish that you had told me how you felt, but i am not sure that i would have accepted it at first. i think we were both going through something, but that's over now. we have each other, and if you're willing to give me a chance, i'd like to see where this goes." frido's words made your heart swell a little with happiness. it was an odd feeling, finally having your feelings reciprocated. you didn't know what to do with yourself. you didn't know where things were going, but you hoped that they flowed as easily and naturally as your friendship with her had.
#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#frido rolfo imagine#frido rolfo x reader#fridolina rolfo imagine#fridolina rolfo x reader
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like you should ✴︎ cl16
genre: just. Like. sexual tension…, reader is max’s gf, no explicit smut but heavy innuendos so just beware, everyone is Morally Bankrupt so turn away if u dont fancy that
word count: 11.3k
If you don’t learn from history, it’ll stick around and find a way to repeat itself – even if the history is with your boyfriend’s rival, and its repetition happens behind his back.
auds here… hi hi hi!!! not proofread sry; i wanted to write something like this for a while haha, i had a bunch of reqs from january(!!!) that served as the basis for it. title from this it was this fic's inspo savior. full disclosure this is fiction n doesn’t at all reflect how i view max/charles :) love love love u all sorry for being mia so constantly & enjoy this jumble of sexual tension haha. happy june friends!!!
Monaco is always an affair in itself. Humid, music blaring, and full of celebrities, you pose for a few paddock pictures, exchanging no words with Max. He’s idle beside you, cap drawn over his dirty blond hair, hand on your waist, the other scrolling through emails and Instagram. Your dad’s somewhere here, too, if you remember right—he texted you about being with Christian, at a meeting somewhere about Checo or something. You can’t be arsed to remember. You flew in two hours ago after a days-long inner turmoil, trying to decide if you wanted to come at all.
Max didn’t sound too eager for you to arrive, either, but you theorize it’s because you’ve both been tired with work lately. He’s leagues above everyone else now, but the demand of work snatches what little quality time you could’ve spent with him. You suck it up, lacing your fingers together and hoping this is a dry spell—physical and emotional—that just needs to be waited out.
How’s the weather? You ask casually when you’re inside his room, burying your face into his shoulder. He presses an absentminded kiss to your head. “Should be fine.”
“Anything you’re worried about?” You make yourself busy rifling through his closet. It’s more of the same. Polos proudly showcasing the logo of the team that’s brought him to the top. He usually keeps three spare ones, but there’s an extra smaller one that you unfold and dangle in front of you. “Whose is this?”
He glances. Kelly’s. When you gesture for elaboration—Nelson Piquet’s daughter? Christian asked me to give her one. You don’t pay attention to it, folding it neatly and placing it inside again. He pipes up to answer your earlier question, voice light as it is solemn. It’s Charles’ home race.
“So?” It comes out sharper than you intend, considering Max is more a friend than his rival. You turn to try and soften your hostile phrasing. “I mean. It’s… you’ve been dominating the leaderboard.” No way you’ll show him you’re worried for Charles, too. “Their car is horseshit.” It is and it worries you.
“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to him for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” He’s getting up already.
“Wait—” You pause when he’s kissing your cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”
“Make it dinner, then.”
“No,” you protest weakly. “I’m going to be with my dad.”
“Drinks.” He leaves no room for argument and leaves with the door shutting softly behind him. You exhale loud through your nostrils and shut the closet door, leaving to explore the paddock. It’s familiar grounds for you, not just because of Max but because of your dad, who began insisting you attend races again a few years ago. You should know Red Bull, he’d said then. The team I’m sponsoring. The team I give millions to.
Purely to appease him, you gave in and attended a race for the first time in a long stretch, just a few years ago. You’ve attended almost every race since then, and those have often blurred into one homogenous memory (sitting, watching, cheering, hugging, drinking), but the first race remains clear as the day your driver dropped you off at the entrance to the paddock, a VIP lanyard slung over your neck and sunglasses perched on your nose.
You stare at the just-closed door, his bag still abandoned on the bed, his dismissive tone, the polo you’ve just folded up. Max is hiding something—you just can’t put your finger on it.
—
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monza 2019! The host goes, a reporter-esque smile greeting the crowds on the big screens. Monza is intimidating. You’re being guided around the ups and downs of the paddock by somebody whose name you’ve forgotten and remembered and forgotten again, short in stature with a posh English accent. Your dad is somewhere, in a meeting perhaps, which means your re-introduction to the world of racing is up to this man alone.
“Christian!” Someone says behind you, and oh right his name is Christian. Christian—Hormut, or something. You’ve blurred his last name from memory, too. Christian ends up having to excuse himself to attend to a pressing practice problem, and he leaves you with one of his drivers.
Max is his name. He’s funny, charming, and vulgar in the way all Europeans are (you’re not at all surprised when he tells you he’s Dutch), and handsome, moreso when the topic gets to racing and he starts talking quick and with passion. It’s something you admire.
“You don’t know what quali is?” He asks when he hands you a vodka soda.
You laugh. “My dad was always insanely busy with work as a kid, so I liked not knowing anything about it.” You always wanted to remove yourself from the racing and just be your dad’s daughter. “I’ve only been to a handful of races, and even then I was way younger.”
“You’ll like this one.”
You squint onto the paddock and recall the motif that’s been teeming around you all day long—red. Red, red, and more red. There are fans whose faces are painted red, bold and shiny against the unrelenting sunny weather. Internally, your curiosity is piqued. Red Bull, perhaps? “Are those your fans?”
Max follows your gaze curiously. “Oh,” he says when he sees the crowd of red. He sips his beer. “No, that’s for Ferrari. They always attract a proper crowd in Monza.”
You hum, the name more than familiar to you. “Red sea.” You spot a few signs in Italian, a few fans taking pictures, and finally your interest wanes, eyes gravitating back to Max. “You nervous?
“Rarely am.” He smiles. “Will you be watching?”
“Probably,” you respond, momentarily searching the surrounding area for your dad. “I’ll be with my dad someplace.”
“You owe me a congratulations,” says Max as he gets up, his name being called from somewhere behind you. “Okay?”
“Sure,” you giggle. “I’ll save it.”
You’d spaced out mid-race and watched from a flatscreen TV inside instead, but lost the plot at some point, so you ask around for who the winner is. The winner ends up not being Max, you’re told by one of your dad’s assistants, Ben, when you emerge from his office after the flag is waved.
Everybody, however, is talking in a secondary racing jargon—they say things like P1 and front wing and strategist, failing to dumb things down for you. You piece things together and realize the winner is a Ferrari driver—but, if your memory serves you right, there are two drivers. You don’t know which one it is. Then again, you don’t know the drivers themselves, either.
You reunite with your dad and Christian Harper (you think) in the garage, where Ben hands you a pair of giant headphones that transmit scratchy, loud radio audio; you remove them and ask him a million questions instead. Nearby, the Ferrari garage is exploding with screams, but they don’t come close to the roars of the red crowd, which almost seems to breathe collectively, scream collectively, celebrate as one. You’re almost transfixed with how loud they are, how passionate they are, with their winner. Their golden guy. Your dad’s mouth is set in a straight line.
“Who won?” You ask, voice raised to try and become audible despite the cheering.
Ben points, squinting under his eyeglasses. You follow the direction of his finger to the finish line. There, parked beside the first place sign, is somebody standing atop his car. He’s wearing red. Showered in red. Surrounded by red. It’s tantalizing, the way his win has commanded the entire area. Your mouth is half-open, lips parted in soft shock.
You tap Ben again. “Yeah, who is he?”
“Leclerc,” he says, pinching his nosebridge. “Ferrari’s new guy. A friend of Max’s, but a rival, too.” He sighs lowly. “Your dad’s biggest problem.”
Christian Harris makes a quip about you having to go find and comfort Max, but you space out, still staring at the winner. Leclerc. You’ve got no face to his name, just the opaque visor of his helmet and the two proud fists in the air, inciting even louder cheers from the crowd. You focus harder, as if that would somehow reveal his face to you.
But he’s faceless, a winner of mystery for now—and for the rest of the evening as you’re ushered back to Red Bull alongside your dad.
—
“Do you want to come to an afterparty?” Ben asks, tapping away on his phone. Emails and texts crowd his notifications. “We need to know if you’ll need a car tonight.” He follows you around, exasperated with your quick pace that even he can’t keep up with. “And if so, which car.”
“No, no car.” You respond, walking. “Which afterparty?”
“Any, really. There’s, uh… a Red Bull one, a few yacht ones, Max mentioned dropping by APM Monaco’s and—”
“No afterparty,” you say with tense finality once you hear the option. “All the drivers do is drink and get sleazy.”
“O-kay,” he taps. “I didn’t realize you had such a… vendetta against the drivers?”
You laugh a little, peering over the lens of your sunglasses to try and spot familiar faces. Actors, models, drivers’ relatives—the place is packed, and the weather is hot. “When did I say that?” You ask, looking around at hyper speed.
“It was implied.” Ben pauses and eyes you, curious but already on the brink of suspicious. Your gaze is darting everywhere, clearly trying to find something to catch on. “What are you looking for?”
Caught red-handed, you slow down the speed at which your eyes scan over the paddock and settle them on your watch, pursing your lips. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow, turning the questioning back to Ben. “I’m not looking for anyo—”
“Hey,” comes a voice from right behind you, a hand coming up to tap against your shoulder. You don’t have time to turn and identify the culprit because he moves to stand in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks with a teasing smirk. “Max did not tell me you would be here.” He crosses his arms. “Excited? I know I am. Home race and all.”
You swallow but your throat is dry. “I’m excited to cheer for my boyfriend.”
Charles smiles, satisfied that he managed to get on your nerves. With curiosity and anticipation, Ben keeps to himself and watches the exchange unfold, arms crossed. Charles presses on. “Are you coming to the party later?”
“I might,” you say, mind changed.
“Alright, see you.” With the sun weakening the tint of his sunglasses, and his hair raked back by his backwards cap, you have a clear view of the way his left eye drops into a smug wink. He smiles again, boyish, before he’s turning to leave you with Ben, who turns to you.
“You’re friends?”
The most decent answer leaves your lips dismissively. “Acquainted.”
—
You lose all sense of inhibition (and navigation) as soon as you step a heeled foot into the club, but it’s nothing you haven’t experienced before. Years of clubbing and fake IDs have prepared you for the tactics used to snake your way through the crowd of people, eventually finding yourself at the VIP area of the Monza afterparty, where one look at your face is enough to let the bouncer let you through wordlessly.
“The team’s finest!” Christian greets jokingly with a smile. Why he’s here, you’ve no idea—you had an impression he had a family to go home to. “A drink?”
“I’ll explore for a bit,” you say warmly, smiling as he brings you in for a friendly hug. You peer at faces and over shoulders, taking shots off trays and flutes of champagne off tables to feel less stiff and out of place. You’re looking for Max.
But you catch somebody else’s eye, one who seems to beckon you over with a look. He’s laughing at something, decently tipsy, and—when you near him—he introduces himself as Charles. “Leclerc,” he adds, and suddenly everything clicks. The face you’ve finally matched to the name is handsome, chiseled and devilish and charming, with a warm smile that doesn’t match the dark in his eyes. He’s in the same kind of getup everyone is wearing—a tight black tee, blue jeans. But he makes it look insufferably attractive, unfortunately.
“You’re the winner,” you state, not lifting your tone to sound like a question. He is the winner. The champion of today’s race.
“Right I am.” He nods once, matter-of-factly. “You’re Red Bull’s princess, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call myself that,” you say, blushing inwardly. Your face is warm and you feel flustered, but you play it cool, feigning a casual laugh. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He takes a gulp from his drink, dark and potent looking. “Max mentioned you earlier.”
“Oh.” You’d completely forgotten you were looking for him. “Is he here?”
“Around. Hey, listen,” he says, turning to collect the makings of a shot, “I’m the winner, and I make the rules. Take a shot with me.”
Your eyes close in a laugh, nodding along. You’re already tipsy, anyway—what’s another shot? You take a wedge of lemon in between two fingers and a pinch of salt, smearing it along your hand as you grip a shot glass of something. You’ll know once you taste it, you suppose; no time for questions.
“You got the last lemon slice!” complains Charles across you, and you laugh, shrugging as if to say deal with it. Your glasses clink, and you throw back the liquid; it’s ten times stronger than you anticipated and for a moment you lose control over your motor skills, squeezing the lemon wedge a tad too strong so it dribbles down your chin, through your throat and the last of it trickles through your cleavage. You manage to get some, licking the salt off before the taste becomes nauseating.
Your grimace is ever so obvious, as is Charles’ inability to take his eyes off you. Fuck, he thinks. You’re exactly his type. Pretty, eyes twinkling and half-lidded with the alcohol. Your lips are bitten, caught between your lips—it’s a habit, he guesses from how puffy they are. He might have to kiss you now.
“Still need lemon?” You ask, leaning in. “I’ve got some on me.” It’s a joke but your tone suggests otherwise, eyes lingering on his parted lips for any sign of assent. Your breath smells of citrus and wildly expensive tequila. He could kiss you now. He would. He will. He has to.
You tip your head backwards, smiling and dancing lightly to the music, your hands wraped loose around his wrists, dragging him, coercing him closer. So he does, allows himself to give into it and smiles into the skin of your neck, licking over the remnants of lemon that remain. He kisses a lovebite onto the side of your throat, one dark enough that he knows—he just knows—at least one person will ask you about it tomorrow morning.
When he parts, smiling, he asks, “Wanna smoke?” He produces a cart and waves it in between you, taking a hit and blowing grassy smoke into the air. You nod, encouraging him to take another and blow the smoke into your parted lips. All the while, he notices, your hand is rubbing over the lovebite, the soft, sore skin there.
He thinks of what you might say. The flustered explaining, the hand coming up to cover it or the sponge dabbing concealer over it. He thinks of you lying. Oh, just a guy. No, a Ferrari driver. And you’re all his, if just for tonight. And he’d be right. You were somewhat his—just for that night. The day next, Max took you to breakfast, didn’t notice the blotch of concealer, and all settled into a messy pattern of history.
—
The race is about to begin, preparations in the garage reaching their stunning crescendo. “Good luck,” you say as a sendoff, pressing a kiss to Max’s lips. He smiles appreciatively, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wonder absently what’s been going so wrong, but you suppose it’s a two-person job.
You watch him board the car, your dad coming up beside you. “I still can’t believe how lucky it is that you ended up with one of my drivers.”
“Dad,” you say, warningly.
“Just saying, honey.” He smiles. “Can you imagine anything else?”
—
“I am sure I cannot be up here.” Charles’ voice is amused, deep and echoing in the empty space of your dad’s vast office. It’s dimly-lit because he’s not here—yacht dinners have become the new venues for business deals, leaving big offices like these ones woefully empty. And yours for the taking, you’d told Charles over text when he asked what you were up to tonight.
You hum teasingly, turning. “You won today, so consider this your prize. Provided generously by a friend.” The term embeds itself into the atmosphere of the empty office and you clear your throat, turning your back to him again and walking to the window.
The awkward air between you had, for some time, dissipated, giving way to a series of texts and calls that, for the sake of clarity and concision, you don’t tell Max about. Plus, you’re not even dating Max, you tell yourself. It’s just a fling right now, no commitment, no crazy heavy labels. You met only, what, three races ago. And to be fair, you’re not even dating Charles—you’re just friends.
“It’s crazy to think this office can be folded up and shipped halfway across the world,” you say honestly, eyes zeroing in on the city. “I mean, all this.”
“It is just four walls,” he simplifies, nearing you, staring at the way your hair falls over your back. He’s scared to explore around and touch things—touch you—so he settles on nervous looking. “I don’t understand how this is a prize. I’m in an opposing team’s high-level donor’s office with his daughter.”
“It’s not just four walls,” you say when you turn, ignoring his second statement. “It’s a couch.” You lay both hands on the leather sofa, pointing to the two matching loveseats beside it. “It’s… a desk.” You walk over to it and prop yourself up against it, your feet tiptoeing with the height of the surface. Charles, amused, watches your long-drawn out rebuttal and takes a seat on the couch.
“It’s a lamp. A carpet. A display of Seb’s old race suit.” You point at each. “It’s a drawer.” You pull it open. “…Filled with Red Bull porn.” An assortment of hats and tees meet your eyes, all displaying the same emblem. You tug out a team polo, the same one Christian and Max and Daniil wear—and you whirl around, unfolding it in the air so Charles sees what you’re holding.
An idea enters your head. “Try it on,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice. He shakes his head, laughing. Still insistent, you near him, leaning over where he sits and pressing the polo to his figure, aligning it to the best of your ability to his shoulder and chest so it looks like he’s wearing it. “Looks nice.”
He makes a noise of dismissal. “Never happening.”
“Can’t a girl dream?” You inch yourself forward so your faces are flush of each other’s. When his gaze switches to your lips, smiling and bitten, it no longer leaves. You think of how he’d look all donned up in one of these polos, these suits. The dark of the suit. He could use a break from all that red. You could give that to him.
“Okay,” he says, but it’s soft and distracted. His hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, craving for a form of your touch.
“We’d better go,” you respond, your voice decimated to a whisper. “Before my dad comes.”
“Come on, then.”
Your lips just barely ghost over his before you heave yourself back up, smiling teasingly. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”
—
You watch the Monaco race like a hawk. Ben doesn’t ask why, but internally he rumbles with questions. Why are you so invested in this one race? He chalks it up to the prestige of Monaco as a whole, and settles for that. But still—you’re interested. You watch from the garage, almost with an unrelenting stare, unwavering. Surely you shouldn’t be worried, he thinks. Max has won before.
And Max wins again, raising the totem like it’s a crucifix. The camera focuses on your wide, proud smile and shows it to the world—there, it seems to say, there she is, the one Max goes home to! Max wins the Monaco Grand Prix—but what will become of the native hero?
You watch Max win with a proud smile, and accompanied by a nasty feeling that lines the pit of your stomach, you find yourself wishing somebody else had taken his place.
—
You never did like dabbling in racing. Your dad often encouraged you to try karting, driving, even something like PR or marketing—he’d fund it all, he promised—but you grew to almost hate the career that robbed your dad of so much time. Perhaps if you thought about it, there was one upside, and it’s sitting down across you to eat lunch.
“What brings you to the paddock?” Seb smiles. “Rare occurrence.”
“It’s part of my bid to get you back to Red Bull in 2023.” You beam back, observing his Aston Martin-green getup. “I’ve got signs and speakers loaded up in my car.”
“You always were advocating for my return.”
“You’re my favorite,” you joke. But it’s an honest quip. “My favorite Aston driver, and back then, my favorite Ferrari driver.”
It’s a statement you regret as soon as it escapes, because it gives Seb leeway to start intense interrogation. He’s always known. He’s always been observing, picking up quirks and details until he forms his own crude recreation of the big picture.
“Not Leclerc, then?”
You chew slowly, eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
He says your name solemnly, and you pause. Sigh. “What?”
Sensing your irritation, he tries a different tactic. “How are you and Max?”
Seb’s ability to almost always see through you is unrivaled. He’d been one of your closest companions back when your dad would force you to attend races and hail Seb as one of the team’s greatest. Kind as he was, he was a stellar driver, which came with the fortunate gift (and unfortunate burden) of observing everything, and being right about almost all of his hypotheses.
It’s bullshit, and you know it. He doesn’t want to know about you and Max. He might as well could’ve asked how is the weather in Wales? It’s just that farfetched—a question so unlike what usually occupies your conversations with him.
He doesn’t want to know about Max. He wants to know about you—your feelings, your turmoil, your decisions. He wants to know what’s going on with you and Max’s rival-friend-then-rival-again-then-friend. “We’re okay.”
“All good?”
“Amazing, actually.” You smile, tight-lipped.
“I met with him last night.” Yeah, you heard, you say—a party with a few notable figures. “Yeah. Him and Charles.” Jesus, Seb always finds a way to get the topic right where he needs it to be. You prepare yourself for some serious advice-giving.
He inhales, exhales. “Charles asks about you. Are you two close at all?”
No, you tell him. We know each other and that’s all.
“Well”—he says, shrugging—“I just. I don’t want you to betray anyone, not even yourself.”
It’s despicable. All you need are two couches and you’re in free Formula One therapy. They should do this to the Ferrari fans, you think. “Do you hear yourself, Seb?” Your mouth is set into a straight line.
“I’m just saying that there’s a difference—there is always a difference—between what you think you want and what you really want. Now, I can’t tell you either. Neither can your dad, or Max, or anybody. It’s all in you. You’ll know you have what you want when it’s right there.” He jabs a gentle finger onto your open palm, laid on the table. “In your hands.”
“I have what I want,” you say.
“Do you feel it?”
Seb is met with silence.
—
“Dad?” You call, voice loud to try and capture his attention. Outside, the Monaco festivities carry on. “Simon’s just brought the car around. Are we still on for dinner, or—?” You freeze when you fully enter the office, seeing your dad on the couch pouring a bottle of Scotch. Your blood runs cold almost, and your stomach could’ve dropped right beside your sandals right then.
“Hi, honey. I was just having a drink with Mr. P6.”
Charles smiles charmingly from his seat. “Hi. You’re his daughter, yes?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out, so you shut it and nod instead. “Good race,” you say dryly, hiding your disdain under a façade of politeness as you move closer to your dad. Then, in a lower tone to him only, will you be long?
“We were just finishing,” he says with a professional smile. “Was telling Charles here that luck just wasn’t on his side today.”
“Sure,” you say, clipped. “We should go if we want to make dinner. Max wants me to visit the afterparty later, so.” You make sure to look at Charles after you say it, so you don’t miss his sudden eyebrow raise and clenched jaw. He downs the Scotch and, with a smile as warm as it is fake, excuses himself for the evening.
“Well, you two should get acquainted. Who knows what his future in Formula One holds? Once that contract’s over, it’s a bidding war.” He claps Charles on the back. “One I might like to win, eh?”
Your dad makes a signal for you to shake his hand, which you do. Like always, the touches between you, however small and indetectible, are electric; you try your best not to look at him when his hand wraps securely around yours, giving it a brief shake. You feel he’s burned you. Everything burns. “We’ve met before,” you say with a polite smile.
“Lovely to see you,” he says bluntly, acting like you haven’t had him lick salt off your neck before.
“You too.” You reply. He’s departing now, collecting his phone and keys.
He turns and smiles. “Hope I meet you again soon.”
“Nice fella, isn’t he?” Your dad asks when it’s just the both of you.
“Yeah. Nice.”
—
The APM Monaco party is the only one you end up attending. Max drives you both there and gets valet to take care of his Ferrari, leading you both inside. It’s not long before you split into separate directions—you’re looking for a friend, and Max is looking for his team, who have showed up to get drunk, too. You heard Kelly was around, if that mattered. Lets leave @ 2, you suggest. Good? You both discussed it en route, and neither of you wanted to stay late. A thumbs up and heart emoji greets you back.
It’s the same text you stare at at 2:45, antsily waiting for Max at the basement parking. The lobby parking—the main entrance to the place—is swarming with people; influencers, residents, YouTubers, anyone and everyone trying to gain access and catch sight of the lucratively famous drivers.
Thumbs up. Heart. Received 1:08.
See you at parking? Sent 1:55.
Video FaceTime Call. Missed 2:02.
WHERE ARE YOU? Sent 2:15.
Voicemail, voicemail, and more voicemail. The exit swings open and you’re 100% expecting it to be Max, profusely apologizing for forgetting your mutually-set curfew. Instead you’re faced with, as your father called him, Mr. P6.
He is, of course, smiling. Charming as ever. “I heard from my assistant that you wouldn’t be showing up to any parties. Then I hear Max wanted you to come and cheer for him,” says Charles, his usually jubilant voice low and only a little teasing. His accent is stronger here. It’s less of the English-French-Something he usually uses when speaking English and thick, more natural. “You are one good girlfriend.”
You look up from your phone and the unanswered texts—Maxie where are u? Are u bringing the car? Answer me—and narrow your eyes, mouth coming up into a frown. “What is your problem?”
“Problem?” He laughs. “I don’t have any.” He’s leaning against his car, content to watch you. Another car passes by without pausing to pick you up, leaving through the basement exit instantly. Not Max.
“Okay, then get back inside. You have a whole crowd of fans to appease.”
“I prefer it here.” He looks around the stale garage. “So peaceful.”
“It smells like gas and sweat,” you shoot back with a grimace.
He presses. “You should be happier. Your boyfriend got first place at a prestigious race.” For a moment, you pulse with empathy—you recall the beaten down look on his face when his car and his team failed him again and again and again. But you blink and swallow it.
“Yeah,” you say pointedly. “He always wins. Can you imagine if he got sixth place?”
A flash of something—something hurt, something shocked—surges in his green eyes. But like you, he blinks and it��s gone, replaced with a smile.
“Can you imagine if he didn’t go home at night?” He teases coolly.
“Right, right,” you say, letting him win that round. “And what’s all of Twitter saying about how all your flings look ‘exactly like Max’s girlfriend’?” You raise two delicate air quotes.
He gaze hardens, then flits down to your phone, open to the unanswered exchange. You quickly shut it off but it’s incentive enough for a continued conversation. “He’s okay?”
“Getting the car.” And like divine timing, a text from one of Max’s strategists dings in your inbox—a picture of your boyfriend, passed out on the floor of someone’s (you presume his) car. Should be fine by morning we’re about 5 min from his flat. But you don’t have a key to that flat, you realize, because Max suggested you both stay at a hotel for some “much needed relaxation” (you are anything, anything but).
Can you leave the key? You type, then stare. Max’s girlfriend for almost four years and you have no key. To his home. Embarrassed, you try rephrasing the text but nothing works. You’ll just sleep at the hotel, you think.
You delete the text and press a hand over your face. Fuck’s sake. You’re going to have to ring your driver—thus alerting your dad—at three in the morning for a car because your boyfriend is piss drunk.
“I’ll bring you home.” You look up, almost forgetting Charles was there. He pats the front of his car. “Hotel or Max’s flat?”
“Hot—hotel,” you say, breath catching from stress and embarrassment. “Hotel. Sorry.” You’re embarrassed. You’d gotten that dig on him for being P6 less than two minutes ago, but now you’re climbing into his car, meek and with small, unassuming movements. You almost want to apologize, but that might worsen the awkwardness of it, so you purse your lips and stay relatively quiet.
He doesn’t gloat, like you expect him to, like you maybe would if you were in his position. He does, however, sport a insufferably self-satisfied smirk, like he knows he won tonight somehow even if he didn’t even snag fifth. You grumble quietly from the leather passenger seat, opting to admire the lit-up nightlife of Monaco, alive as ever even as the night wears on.
“Is Max home safe?” He asks, stifling an even bigger smile.
“Oh, go fuck yourself.” You scroll through your many notifications, and find no text from your drunk boyfriend. You look up, finding you’ve turned away from the city centre and into the darker, less populated area. “Where are we?”
“A shortcut.” He revs faster.
“Yeah. Okay. Like, where, specifically?” Your eyes analyze your unfamiliar surroundings. You’re not familiar with Monte Carlo at all to begin with, so the lack of buildings is setting off every internal alarm bell.
“Well,” he chuckles, sensing your apprehension, “it’s a shortcut. Cuts six minutes out of the drive to your hotel.”
“I thought everything was close together here,” you quip, relaxing a little.
“Not to a native. I know places.”
“Sure.” Your voice wavers. “Charles, I’m going to jump out of the car window if you’re shitting me, I sw—”
Charles throws his head back to laugh, like he can’t even believe you just suggested that. As if deep in thought, he sticks his tongue into his cheek and laughs a little, with exasperation almost. This girl, he seems to think. You stare, transfixed with all the little flexes his face makes.
You break contact when his eyes flicker to your figure, looking at the console first then the window, as if caught stealing a cookie from the jar. “Sue me for being concerned,” you add, for an extra layer of defense.
“You are like your dad.”
Your face warps into one of disdain. “Never say that to me again.”
“Just in the way that”—he waves his hand around to get his point across, laughing as he focuses on the road ahead—“you two are always serious, always working. I mean, you never attended races, even before.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I like to think you and I know more about each other than we let on.”
He’s right, but you won’t say it. You two have a connection so unlike what two acquaintances, friends, share. It’s undeniable and thick and impossible to uproot, an easy and intense dynamic at the same time. You know so much about him. You know how to make him laugh, hurt his feelings, get his eyes to flutter all pretty. But he knows those things about you, too.
“You only attend races for Max, yes?” He adds.
The utterance of Max’s name gives you mild whiplash—it reminds you you’re on the way to your hotel, to check if your boyfriend’s okay, and not on some drunken joyride with his friend-rival. You clear your throat and try to segue out of the topic. “I just—I take work seriously. I take everything seriously.”
“You shouldn’t.” His eyes flit over to you again, up and down, the low cut of your dress, the way your crossed arms are effortlessly pushing your tits togeth—
“You should loosen up,” he says with a cough, looking back up.
“Thanks for the tip, Leclerc.” You smile phonily, eyes still out the window. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”
“Okay.” He says lowly. Then, as if to set a challenge—“Put it to good use now.”
“Now?” How? You almost add, parting your lips to let the question slip past. You stop yourself before you can, though, letting your still hazy mind run through your own fabricated answers. How do I loosen up? Then, to yourself again, for you?
It’s dark outside, and even windier when you roll down the window of his car. He drives fast, steadily but scarily fast—with the kind of control he’s built over a career around a car. You peek out, facing the dark hilly terrain, spotting the city lights in the far distance. Your hair flies over your face when you turn, finding more empty road. Everyone’s in the city. In the thick of the partying.
You dip out of the window more, letting yourself feel the breeze—it whips at your face, cold and smelling of the coast. In the car, you maneuver your legs to keep yourself upright properly, and more of your leg shows as a result, the material riding up on your thighs.
Charles maintains composure, his pace slowing so your hair brushes against your face more gently. Still, a soft, high-pitched yelp of excitement and nerves escapes your bitten lips. He wishes he could watch—he wants nothing more—but he has to focus on the road. He does allow himself fleeting, hot glances at you—your legs, your lithe hands on the window’s base keeping yourself upright, the way your dress hugs your waist. He might die.
“Careful,” he says, raising his voice firmly. He is genuinely concerned for you when he spots one of your hands lifting to rake the hem of your already short dress further down. It’s cold, you’re thinking, but you let your flimsy grip tell him the same story.
Still focusing on his next turn, he drives one-handed, reaching his other one over to help you out. Out of his immediate sight, you shut your eyes and allow yourself to shiver from the feeling of his hand, warm and calloused and big, on your knee, inching higher and higher upward and eventually wrapping loosely around your leg just above your knee, holding you steady.
A shaky breath leaves you, and you’ll say it was because of the wind, but you’ll know you’re wrong. Your hand moves down, to meet his, to let your fingertips skate over the expanse of his hand until your fingers are wound tightly around his. It’s dark. It’s intimate. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.
Your mind is buzzing, red hot and clouded, when you begin to lead him upward, higher, until your interlocked hands are just under the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you need him most. An invitation.
But when you crack your eyes open again you see you’re near the city, abandoning the safety and darkness of the shortcut, and the illusion is shattered.
“Get back in,” you hear, and when you feel the tension of his hand pulling yours, you let him tug you back inside. Your hair settles by your face, and you almost reach up to comb it neat before realizing your hand’s still caught in his. Slowly, your gaze meets his—his eyes bore into you, dark as the night outside. They don’t flicker when you hastily pull your hand from his grip, sighing shakily.
The next turn brings you back into the city, structures gaining a semblance of familiarity. The window, still open, is chilly against you, your cheeks cold with it, your shoulders inflicted by a mild wash of goosebumps. “Have fun?”
You clear your throat. “Not much,” you lie through your teeth, chewing on your lip.
“We are near the hotel.” The hotel, the party, the grand prix, Max. Reminders of what you’re supposed to be paying attention to ripple through your head as the car snakes through the city. It’s one of his other cars, so it’s not distinct enough that people are peeking inside; still, he rolls up the window for your sake.
He drops you off at the basement parking, not at the lobby. Privacy reasons, he says. He’s sick of parking outside. You bite back a quip about his nasty parking and stay still, heart beating quick.
“Thanks,” you say softly. “For driving me.”
“You’re welcome.” A hand rests on your thigh and you don't feel the resolve to jerk it, instead relishing in its warmth there. “Get there safe.”
“Safe? It’s one elevator ride,” you say tersely, rolling your eyes. He squeezes, his touch feather light, and your breath hitches. You need—
“I hope Max is okay.”
You blink and then move your thigh so his hand slides off; he doesn’t put up a fight, and you don’t encourage him to. “So do I.” It’s right as you’re closing the door when Charles says see you? You meet his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and shut the door fully.
—
“Yeah,” you say after a period of silence. “I feel it.”
Across you, hair raked back by a headband, Seb maintains lack of conviction. You’re not telling him the truth.
“How’s it feel then?”
“Just… good. Like thrilling.” Like danger, in a good way, peaceful and calm and patient and not complicated. You know what you want. You want the ring-clad hand wound around yours, on your thigh, stubble against your jaw. You want that. You know you want that.
But do you have it?
—
Max’s agenda in Barcelona starts on the eve of quali day. He arrives at your hotel and is greeted with music—it flows from the bathroom, where, upon his inspection, he finds you, swiping a dark line of eyeliner on in the mirror. You meet his eyes briefly, but you say nothing before continuing, humming softly to the Drake song that plays from your phone. He can tell instantly: you’re pissed.
“I’m leaving,” is all you say, dismissive and standoffish. You provide no follow-up.
Still, he tries to apologize. “The meeting ran late.” Silence. “Your dad discussed budgetary stuff.” Silence. “I’m optimistic for pole tomorrow.” And again, silence. “Come on, babe. I’m sorry. Really.”
“Okay.” You pause. “What was Kelly doing there?”
His mouth opens and then closes. “Wh—”
“Ben told me.” You wave a wand of mascara around.
“She was listening.”
“What’s her business?”
“Listening,” he emphasizes.
“Bullshit.” You’re on—he guesses—eyeshadow now. “Every time the topic gets to her, you get all skittish. As fuck. You think I don’t notice?”
“Babe,” he says, defensive, “it’s only because I couldn’t even stomach the idea of being with someone else.” And it’s cheesy and corny, but it must work, because your eyes flicker with something. Love, perhaps—clarity. Realization that you’re being irrational (are you?)
“I think I’m just,” you croak. “Just. Missing you. We never spend time together anymore—and after the stunt you pulled in Monte Carlo—” You press two delicate fingers on either side of your nosebridge to emulate your disappointment. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You were in someone’s car, blacked out. And no apology. Nothing. Just invited me to lunch the next day with your dad.” A topic you hate and a man you detest spending time with.
“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He comes in to hug you from behind and thanks the gods that you let him, your hands encircling his wrists. “I was being stupid. Won’t happen again.”
You just nod along, still annoyed but enough that it’s beginning to melt off. Max is sated. But even then, he should’ve known that the flicker of something in your eyes wasn’t love or clarity, the flicker he catches again in the mirror when he presses a kiss to your cheek.
It’s neither. It’s guilt.
—
Quali is relatively uneventful—Max gets pole, and Charles gets something something. A good place, front row you think, but you fail to remember. Ben told you the standings, but you weren’t focused; you’ve been spacey, distracted, mind irreversibly stuck on something else during the session. Max can tell, and offers to take you out to dinner, but you decline so he leaves you by yourself nursing a Tylenol. The night is almost over, and you’re collecting your car keys and slinging your bag over your shoulder—but the evening is punctuated by a familiar English accent.
“Come on,” goads Lando, voice petulant and whiny as he tugs on your wrists. “Max said he’d be busy so he needs a proxy. He sucks at the game, anyway, you’re not filling big shoes or anything.”
The tradition (you use the term loosely) of drivers’ poker, started by Lando’s desire to master the game, is apparently so important it demands your attendance. You’ve had your run-ins with poker before, so you feel assured, but none with a volatile group of competitive guys like this one, so it’s on the fence.
“Where?” You suppose, though, that your mind could use a little clearing. A game, a win of sorts.
“My hotel room. I’ve just”—he types rapidly on his phone and presents your text exchange with him—“sent you the number.”
“Who’s playing?” You walk to your car and he follows, still insistent.
“The yoozsh,” he says, shortening usual the way a prepubescent boy might. “Alex, me, Charles, Carlos, Lance. We play a good game. The stakes can get pretty high. And I’ve won a couple times, so beware.”
You laugh a little, raising your brows skeptically. “Sure.”
“I’m dead serious, mate.” He says solemnly as he waves goodbye, standing idly and watching you start your car through the half-rolled window. “See ya. I am going to kick your ass.”
—
“Is this the part where you kick my ass?” You laugh, everyone peering at Lando’s shit hand that he’s presented to the table. “Out!” The game’s since been decimated to just you, Charles, a pool of money, and a thick atmosphere of slow, deliberate silence.
The rest of the players watch you and Charles, conveniently seated across each other, entranced by the easy back and forth that swings between the both of you. You peer down at your cards, then half-lidded, back up at him. His eyes bore into you, challenging, amused.
Tense, you hear faintly. Lando’s unsolicited commentary. In between you both is a scattered pile of creased bills of varying currencies, chips, a condom thrown in by Lance, and a few spare coins. It’s a huge pool despite how random it is, and even if it doesn’t cost much to anybody in the room considering how much you all earn, the prestige of calling yourself a winner still takes precedence.
Underneath the table, your foot brushes against his, the tip of your heel to the side of his sneaker. You poke your tongue into your cheek to conceal a smile, refusing to meet his eyes again.
“You seem nervous,” he says, trying his best to elicit a reaction out of you.
“Could say the same to you,” you quip, tracing the hem of his jeans with your foot. His breath hitches and you take it as a win, smiling to yourself.
“I’ve had a four game winning streak.” He fans his cards out. “Nothing to lose.”
“Oh?” Your legs continue to intertwine out of sight of everybody else, the friction of your bare calf to the denim of his jeans a warm addition to your already intense match. “Say bye to five.” Lando deals the final cards and the tension hangs heavy, palpable in the air as you both calculate your next moves. Carlos eyes the two of you, sensing something else is at stake here. The air is just too heavy.
“We’ll see,” he whistles, revealing his cards. The group seems to hold one collective, bated breath, waiting for you to take your turn. You do so with a self-satisfied smile, your foot still intertwined with his calf as you begin laying your cards down on the table. You slowly reveal a stunning winning hand, and Lando is the first to get up and cheer loudly.
Charles shrugs and hands you your victory with a handshake, pushing the pool of winnings in your direction. “Congratulations.”
“When you’re with a winner,” you tease lowly, just in Charles’ earshot, “you are a winner.”
He snorts. “Whatever you say.”
You both miss Carlos and Alex exchanging a glance first with you and Charles, smiling teasingly at each other—and the way his eyes go from yours, to your lips, and back to your eyes—then with each other, eyes half-wide and half-puzzled.
—
The race is intense, and Max suffers damage in the middle of it. It’s a rare occasion, but it costs him place after place until he’s vying not for P1, but P4. He doesn’t win today. You watch Charles cross the checkered flag yourself, watch the footage of him throwing his fists up in the air.
You’re there to watch the Red Bull engineers grumble, mutter dissent, wish themselves luck for the next weekend. You’re there when your dad says Charles is the team’s biggest liability. Imagine if we had him, he’d said. You imagine Charles in a Red Bull suit, but the image is cut short by your boyfriend’s arrival to the garage.
The video feedback on your father’s TV, of Charles spraying champagne all over everywhere, his green eyes meeting the camera with a brilliant charm, is abruptly cut off and you turn to find Max entering. His demeanor is stormy.
“P6,” you say immediately, sensing the pending grumbling. “Not so ba—”
“It’s a shitshow,” he retorts, disgruntled. But he’s at the top of the standings, leagues above the rest; he has nothing to worry about. Driving-wise, at least. “Fucking shitshow.”
“Max,” you comfort. “You did well. The damage was out of your control.”
But he’s pissed, and in the thick of his emotion, he pays your sentiments no mind. To him. it’s all the same regurgitated bullshit. Eventually, though he calms down, finds you in the motorhome and wraps you in a loose hug. “Love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You smile. “Love you, too.”
He leaves early for a meeting—so many meetings, these days—and promises to meet you for dinner, requesting you text him. You watch him leave, slip into his car and drive off, and then call yourself a car to the hotel. You figure it’s high time you spend quality time with Max, what with all the instances you’ve been fighting or ignoring each other.
You leave at six, taking the elevator to the basement to get to your own car, parked there. You’re optimistic. A dinner. A date. Finally, some time with him. This is what you want. The coil in your belly, though, and the congratulatory text left unsent, tell you a different story. It’s one you choose to ignore.
The elevator has a bar slotted across the back wall that you lean on, typing updates to Ben and Max. The drive shouldn’t be long, you hope. You can’t navigate the new city fast enough. The door dings open and you make a move to exit, but you’re stopped by a figure across you.
Charles, in his Armani tee, arms crossed and eyes flashing with recognition when the doors reveal you. He’s still fussed up from the race, probably forced to stick around for promo pictures and interviews. His hair’s damp still. You notice the imprint of his balaclava is only just starting to soften and fade.
Your words tangle in your throat. “Congratulations,” is all you can muster when you see him. You don’t inch close. He, too, remains stagnant, standing perfectly still. Not even a smile. Like the tension between you forms a barrier as physical as it is emotional. “You drove great.” Your hand tightens around your phone, where you’ve just texted Max that you’re leaving the hotel.
“We should really stop meeting in parking garages.” He says lowly, with a small smile.
You step forward twice. “I was just leaving anyw—”
“Wait.” For a second, his voice breaks and he sounds—desperate, almost. “Remember Monaco? Last week. You told me you liked winners.” Somehow you find yourself allowing him to near you, stepping backwards for every step he takes closer, even if you realize you’re hogging the elevator, and that people might be waiting to arrive to this floor. “You told me… imagine if he got sixth.”
He steps into the elevator with you, and the doors automatically close behind him; it remains still, but he presses the stop button for good measure. He’s right in front of you, tired eyes and stubble and tall, broad, big. He sees right through you. He knows you. Your buttons, your quirks, everything.
“It was a joke,” you say, attempting to establish composure as you pocket your phone. You fail. You always fail. It’s him. Still, you try, hard enough that he thinks you don’t want him to come even closer, to cage you against the back wall of the tiny basement elevator. “I apologized.”
“Nevermind that.” A hand on the bar of the elevator, just by your waist. His grip is tight. He needs to channel all this want somewhere. “What do winners get?”
“Charles.” Your voice comes out shaky.
“Just this once,” he says. He needs it so bad. You’re so pretty today, eyes looking right up at him, lips bitten the way they always are. He’s taller, he’s bigger, he’s got the upper hand physically—what, with the way you’re crowded up against the wall, nearly having to go on your tiptoes if you want to maintain distance. Your eyes flutter. Just this once. Four years. Just this once. Break a rule. But this isn’t a rule, you remind yourself woefully—it’s all the rules. “I care for you, you know.”
Your silence grants elaboration.
“You’re too serious. But everyone around you is, too.” Closer. “Max, your dad, your coworkers. You just need someone who can calm you down. Help you get peace of mind. No complications, you know.” Closer, even closer. “Someone who’s patient. Calm.”
You stare up at him, your hands unmoving until they’re slowly coming up to press against his abdomen, the hard surface there. You could push him away. You should, in fact, push and forget and walk away and apologize for the delay. But they remain planted there, eyes still meeting his. They’re so green, green and staring right into you, his parted lips just a little chapped, his stubble uneven and getting longer. You want to feel it rubbing your chin raw. Your inner thighs.
He steps closer and now you’re on your tiptoes, legs spreading a little to accommodate him. His hands are still on the bar. Yours, on his abdomen. You miss the way he squeezes the bar, so strong and with so, so much pent up feelings you’d think he bent it out of shape. He wants so badly for you to be his. And more than that—if that were even possible—for him to be yours.
Lightly, you bunch up the material of his tee, cotton wound in-between your fingers. Push him, you tell yourself. Push him away. Let go. You’ve had your resolve tested before. But you know better. You know that it’s never come to this. Again, he steps forward, and this time a hand leaves the bar and rests, gentle as it is firm, on your waist, just below it—his thumb presses against your hip. Your breath hitches.
Push him.
He comes closer and you’re fully pressed against the wall, half-seated on the bar, half held up by him—your skirt’s ridden up, legs spread and dangling on either side of his figure. Silence. Your breathing. Your eyes, big and anticipatory, staring into his, dark and desperate.
Push him.
“It can be—”
You adjust your grip around his tee, ready to loosen it and let go and—and for a second you feel the solid plane of his abs—
“—my prize.”
Push him. You tighten your grip, and pull him in to slot your mouths together.
His lips are warm, and soft, and he has another hand on your jaw now, but it’s so big it’s at your neck too. You part your lips to let his tongue slip in, and the kiss is nothing if not desperate. He’s wanted this for so long, to feel you like this, have your lips pressed against his. And you’d be dishonest if you said you disagreed. You don’t want to part for air. You feel like this could satiate you enough, just the movement of his lips, the scent of his cologne.
He needs to be closer to you—so he places two hands on your waist and naturally, it lets your legs wrap around him. You can feel how hard he is, and the reminder is dizzying. He wants you. But there is no upper hand here. If he lets his hands wander, he’d feel the damp of your panties and realize you’re just as bad as he is.
But for now it’s a kiss, messy and hot—passionate and just one big breath of finally. Your hands go from his abdomen to his face, cupping him on either side. It’s romantic, fuck—but you’ve craved this for so long, you cherish every second. His stubble rubs your chin raw. You trace patterns on his face, find indents of moles with your eyes closed. The kisses are searing.
Even if you both want it, and even if this creaky elevator grants you a semblance of the privacy, you both know this won’t be leading to sex. Just this—just this. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Your hands on his jaw, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. His, on your waist, your throat, your hips. Your gasps mingling with his.
The kiss takes and takes and takes, and it’s long, but you take and give four years’ worth of want and tension and frustration. You part, forehead pressed against his, and the absence leaves you empty—you inch forward and kiss him again, let it consume you, before you part again.
His eyes won’t stop staring. In the way they always look at you. With want. With something. A glint.
“First and last,” you say, lifted against the wall of the elevator, your hands around his face. Your thumbs roam over his face. He sets you down, breath heavy, and still his hands are on your waist and yours on his face. It was your cue to leave. But you can’t. Not yet.
Your thumbs go over his eyebrows, his eyelashes so his eyes flutter; the mark of his balaclava, the indent there; his nose, his cheeks, wiping the sweat there, then lower, finally to his lips. One thumb rests softly in the centre. Just seconds ago those lips had been pressed to yours, bringing a type of clarity you never knew existed. Everything, for just those moments, made perfect sense.
“You lie.” He repeats.
You tiptoe to kiss him again and he can’t seem to get enough, his eyebrows furrowed—so much he almost looks angry, anguished—when you kiss. “First and last,” you say breathlessly when you pull away.
He shakes his head. “You’re going to come right back to me,” he says, with so much finality and conviction it’s almost a fact. “You always will, you always do.” His eyes are shut even when you don’t kiss, relishing in your proximity.
And when you part, he watches you leave, with something between desperation and anguish. You don’t realize, he thinks, just how deep he is in his attraction. His connection to you. It consumes him, burns him alive, and it’s leaving him for someone else.
You ring the elevator open again, wiping your lips. He lets it close, leaning against the wall himself. And you both realize, with a heavy breath as you climb into your car and he disembarks the elevator: there is no way either of you will resist it anymore. That was the first, yes. But to say it was the last would be stark, stark lying.
—
You’re still licking syrup off the corner of your lip when you walk out of the hotel breakfast buffet, letting Max explain the fundamentals of a race to you. He’d apologized earlier, for not meeting you at the Monza afterparty last night—he’d gotten caught in something or other. But he’s kind, and inserts a few jokes here and there to get a laugh out of you, your eyes crinkling under the heavy lens of your sunglasses, sandals clicking against the outdoor garden cement floor.
He’s talking, and then trails off. Oh, he says, this is a mate of mine. You look up to make small talk and smile politely, but your face falls faster than you can pick it up. Tall and in sunglasses, too, is Charles Leclerc. You thought they were colleagues, not friends—this is chaos. You reach out to shake his hand, your free hand coming up to press against the splotch of concealer. Just in case.
The handshake is stiff and it reminds you of tequila and lemon, salt and teeth and kitten licks down your throat and right to the crest of your cleavage. But you blink and shake once, up and down. Firm.
“Nice to meet you.” He says, smiling. Then, to Max: “Girlfriend?”
“Hope so,” jokes Max, eyeing you. You laugh.
Charles smiles to himself, smug. He eyes you through his sunglasses with something caught in longing and want. “I hope so, too.”
—
Dinner is short and, despite your best efforts to make it a good one, boring. The food is good and sufficiently expensive, the way all European restaurants are. But nothing flows, ebbs. You talk of the same things: Red Bull, Red Bull, and if you have time, Red Bull. You ask about work, but it’s nothing you haven’t already heard. Max doesn’t ask about work, so the conversation descends into a limbo of silence and sips of rosé. “I’m pretty sure the next race is going to be great.”
“Charles drove great today,” says Max. “Didn’t he?”
You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, objectively so.”
“I was going to congratulate him… lost him on the paddock though.” He sips, drawing it out. “You seen him?”
“No,” you say, pithy. “Haven’t.”
“Okay.” He waves his hand upward to signal the bill. “I’ll drop you off and head out for the night. Helmut stuff.”
You’re torn between feeling suspicious and recalling the events of the elevator, so you nod tersely instead and make the necessary small talk from the table to the car. His hand on your waist, the same place Charles’ was just hours ago. It sends you into a cloudy mental spiral. Just thinking about it—about the way he’d gasped your name in between kisses, like he’d die if you didn’t kiss him again.
“I’m sorry,” Max says when he pulls up at the hotel entrance. “For all the work stuff. And for inviting you to lunch with my dad.” A weak laugh escapes you and you find his hand to squeeze it. It’s okay, you convey, and hope it’s enough that he lets the topic quell for now.
Your silence is permissive, so he continues. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Leans over and presses a sure kiss to your cheek. “As soon as I can.”
You nod and climb out, praying he didn’t see you shudder. The trek to the elevator, eyes skittish and searching for a sign of Charles, is tiring, and you find reprieve only when you’re pushing the door to the penthouse suite open, toeing your sandals off and dropping your bag just by the entryway. You freeze when you hear a glass clink from the living area. You’d gotten this suite for you and Max, and definitely nobody else.
Brandishing a bunch of keys in-between your fingers, you tiptoe into the area and find, to your confusion and shock, your dad. He’s seated on the couch toying with a glass of whiskey, eyes lighting up when he sees you, even if you look like a psycho with claws.
“Hi, honey.”
“Dad.” You drop your keys on the coffee table as you near him, and exchange a kiss and hug. “Wh—did you get a key from…?”
“Ben.” He smiles. “I thought I would surprise you.”
“Yeah, you more scared me.” You quip, laughing. Then you recall a detail and follow-up on it. “Max—um, he said you had a meeting?”
“Meeting? None scheduled tonight,” he says, frowning and opening his Calendar app. Nothing.
A dry quiet creeps up into the room and settles.
You pour yourself a glass and seat yourself beside him, drinking. You share a conversation for the duration of two glasses and then he’s leaving. The kiss he stamps on your forehead, you notice, is more meaningful, conveys a deeper message, lasts longer. He knows what you know now.
The usual sleepiness that comes with alcohol doesn’t arrive and you fall into an uneasy sleep; it doesn’t help that Max calls in past two, saying he’s crashing at the hotel room he bought for his dad instead of your hotel. You listen to the slurred voicemail, eyes shut and nose buried in the pillow. Eventually you lull yourself to sleep, awaiting the promise of morning and clarity.
—
Morning brings a day off. A break. But your mind does not cease to be cloudy, instead becoming even more muddled with questions and pivots and forks in the road. It helps, you suppose, that Max isn’t home. It might’ve worsened everything. You wrestle your way through a glass of water and a cup of tea, try out yoga, and even attempt going back to sleep. But it’s no use; you’re antsy.
So instead of suppressing the thoughts, you theorize, it’s better to lean into them. Succumb to them, the tempt and guilt of them. It might help you navigate the confusion of everything. So you do—you think of your years-long history with Charles, your relationship with Max. The hiding, the suppression, the pretending. Fleeting touches.
You think of how well Charles knows you, inside and out, of how good he kissed you even if he hadn’t ever kissed you before. His hands, the way he said your name, the hitch in his breath when your hands dared to venture just a little lower. The want, the pure want—the want so unadulterated even one kiss was enough. Images of close calls fill your head. All the times you were high, giggly and leaning into him, on the edge of flirty in some dark corner of a club. Your connection has always been, and will always be, completely and absolutely undeniable. No matter how hard you try.
Guilt fills you at the same time. And with the guilt—confusion. Where is Max? He wasn’t at a meeting last night, and you suspect you know exactly where he is. Who he’s with. Can you really be angry, though? Is it a feedback loop of the same thing, the same morally grey actions? Is this all your relationship has been reduced to? Questions, questions, and more questions flood the corners of your head.
Thoughts are put to a standstill when the door shakes with two knocks.
You rake your hair back and climb out of bed, into the main room, still in your lace pajamas. It might be the complimentary hotel breakfast or Max arriving, you guess. Maybe your dad—he’s apparently in the business of keying himself into your hotel rooms.
So you don’t bother looking through the peephole, undoing the latch with haste and dexterity before you’re hauling the heavy door open and staring breathlessly at the other side.
—
Abu Dhabi greets Max and you with fanfare, with a plethora of paddock paparazzi and even a few gossip rags asking questions. Some journalists drop a check-in, cameras zeroing in on your intertwined hands and your shared smiles. She’s the World Champ’s! seems to be the pervasive headline lately, and your pictures from today will no doubt exacerbate it.
He squeezes your hand when you finally gain semi-privacy, entering the motorhome. Your dad sees you, sees Max, offers a wave that you both return. Your eyes go from wide and smiling to a little blank and dismissive, a change minute but noticeable. “You okay?” He calls after you when you enter his room.
You drop your Kelly—the bag—on the seat by the door and gather your hair to rest on one side. “Fine. You nervous?”
“The planned strategy was horseshit.” Max is right and for the sake of your dad, it worries you.
“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to Dad for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” You’re getting up already.
“Wait—” He pauses when you’re kissing his cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”
“Oh.” You pause to think. “We can get dinner, then.”
“No,” he says. “I’m going to be with Jos.”
“Drinks.” You leave no room for argument and leave with the door shutting softly behind you.
He stares at the just-closed door, your bag slung over the chair, the way you keep pressing against a certain spot on your neck. You are hiding something—Max just can’t put his finger on it.
#f1#leclsrc3000#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 x reader
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gruvia drabble
author’s note: HI!!! ok so im here. im risen. im inspired. here’s something FUNNYYYY about the inspo for this… so its based off of a theory from an anti gr*via post LMAOOO this feels soooo bitchy but i swear to GOD it is not a call out it is just genuinely something that gave me inspiration. so basically an anti said that gray doesnt actually have feelings for juvia and he is just saying that he does because he feels indebted to her for saving his life. sorta kinda something like that. im not gonna go back and look bc tbh i may have blocked the account? JFJDKDJDJ idk. anyways. here’s this. you’ll see where my heads at in a sec bc ur probably like “ok so how tf is that gonna be a gruvia fic” just WAIT ok my gears are turning. this one is a lot longer (and possiblyyyyyy OOC but in my defense!!!!!!!!! picture how gray would act if he were in an established relationship with juvia. like boyfriend girlfriend. for six months.) than it should have been BUT lets call it even for my million year hiatus. ENJOY BABIES!
~
Although Juvia had hardly gotten any sleep this past night, rolling around in her sheets all night with excitement, she certainly walked with a spring in her step when she eagerly made her way to the local convenience store.
She would’ve been lying if she said she hadn’t thought about setting up camp outside the little shop that night so that way she could hold those glorious, glossy, pieces of paper bound together by glue as soon as physically possible. Fortunately, she was reasoned with when Gray quickly pointed out the ridiculousness of the notion after she had brought it up to him as a genuine idea.
Making sure to get up bright and early the day of the big release would do. As long as she would be the first person in the store with the very first copy of that week’s edition of Sorcerer Magazine in her hands, she would be content.
Naturally, Gray initially rejected the idea. It was so completely and irrevocably unlike him. An interview about himself, just him, was a tall order, but an interview with him and Juvia, as a couple? There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. For Gray, opening up to the people closest to him was hard enough. Even finally getting the nerve to ask Juvia on a date was something that took a great deal of time and effort. Things so personal like this were hard for him.
All these years in Fairy Tail, and he’s hardly spoken more than a few sentences to Sorcerer Magazine, let alone sitting down for a tell-all interview.
Unfortunately for him, his enthusiastic water mage was over the moon when Sorcerer Magazine reached out to them for an interview.
Public displays of affection were never Gray’s strong suit, and after finally realizing his feelings for Juvia, he still isn’t a fan. As much as he would deny it, he had become quite a softy with Juvia behind closed doors, but as soon as those doors open, he retreats back to his shell-like and cool exterior.
Even after a good six months of dating, Juvia really didn’t mind. It’s not like he acted like he didn’t know her. They went on dates, they were finally an official item, and he would even do subtle things like resting his hand lightly on her leg under the table at the guild hall or give a “Love you, see you later” loud enough for Happy to hear even knowing he’ll snicker and tease Gray about it for the next few minutes.
All in all, they were both content with the amount of their relationship they let others see.
So something like an interview with a very popular magazine would certainly throw a wrench in all of that for Gray.
But Juvia begged, and begged, and begged, and finally, once they came to an agreement about the types of questions they would answer and the depth of their answers, Gray agreed to the interview. After all, it would make her happy, and he was comfortable enough with himself and his self esteem at this point to be able to do this for her.
Juvia was elated with how the interview went. Of course, she had done most of the talking, but she was happy to do so. She tried her best to hold back on doting too much as to save Gray some embarrassment, and she thought she mostly succeeded. Even when questions got a little personal, like asking about how Juvia got the scar on her side (of course, with her new stripping habit when in battle, her scar is easily visible for large enough periods of time), she answered as succinctly and lightly as possible while still giving an honest answer.
So to say the headline that Juvia saw that morning plastered on the front of that cold and stiff magazine was horrifying was an understatement.
“Gray and Juvia: Girlfriend or Guilt Trip?”
Juvia wasn’t sure how many times the clerk at the store had asked “Miss? Are you alright?” before her consciousness finally came back into this orbit. She blinked for the first time in what may have been minutes, and looked up at the clerk. Without giving a reply, she looked back down at the magazine, and saw the picture they used, which was Juvia clinging to Gray, wrapped around his arm.
Gray’s face in the picture became warped by a water droplet hitting the cover, and then another droplet, and then another. It wasn’t until she looked back up at the clerk who looked even more concerned than before that she realized those water droplets came from her eyes.
“Sorry.” She quietly said as she handed the magazine to the cashier so he could scan it, handed him a bill of some value that she wasn’t entirely sure of, took the magazine back into her trembling hand, and left the store without getting her change.
Juvia got back to her apartment even quicker than she got to the store that morning. Every part of her mind told her not to do it, not to read the magazine, but then why did she buy it? Her brain screamed at her to put it down, not to go to the page of that article, but then why did her fingers frantically flip to page 14, just as instructed on the cover?
Each word was not only a dagger to Juvia’s very soul, but also a twisted reasoning and explanation, that Juvia fully believed by the end of her read. She couldn’t quite make the words into sentences or the sentences into paragraphs but as she buried herself in her covers, some phrases repeatedly burned into her mind and punched her in the gut such as “clingy”, “desperate”, and “leech”.
The worst part of it all weren’t the attacks at Juvia, but it was what this all meant for Gray. He was trapped.
He was her prisoner.
A prisoner that was bound to her out of a crippling feeling of guilt and sense of responsibility.
She may have been in her bed writhing in agony and mortification over these words for hours until a bang on her apartment door jolted her back to reality.
“Juvia? You in there?” Said that voice she knew all too well. How could someone’s voice be both such a comfort and a misery? She needed to hear him more than anyone at this moment and yet, she couldn’t bear to hold him hostage for another second.
She hoped if she said nothing, he would go away. But this was not the case.
The door slowly opened. “Juvia? Are you here? I’m coming in.” She winced as his voice got closer, now coming from her living room.
Her apartment wasn’t very big, so he found her in her bedroom in the next few moments. All Gray could see was a lump that was seemingly her body, crunched up into a balled up position, bound under her covers. Not even her face was out.
He stood in her doorway, not wanting to fully intrude “So you are here. Good.” He said calmly. “I was kinda’ worried when you didn’t meet me at the cafe this morning like you said you would.” Juvia then remembered they had plans to get breakfast together, bright and early, so she could gush about their big debut as a couple. Those plans changed
“Oh.” She said softly. “Juvia is sorry Gray-sama.” She tried to speak as clearly as she could knowing her voice was muffled underneath her blanket. “Juvia didn’t feel well this morning.” She lied.
“Oh.” Gray replied. He took a step into the room. “You sick?” He stretched his neck over her a bit to see if he could get any sort of glimpse at her face, but to no avail.
“Yes.” Juvia sniffled, using her congestion from her tears as fuel for her lies. “Juvia thinks it’s just allergies.”
Gray raised an eyebrow. Something was off. “Allergies? Since when do you have allergies?”
Juvia remembered in this moment that lying was not one of her strong suits. She was far too unapologetically herself to ever lie about anything, and she was just plain bad at it. To say she doesn’t have a good poker face would be putting it lightly.
“Well— Um—!” The pitch in her voice jumped with nervousness. “This spring has been a really brutal one! Pollen has been all over the place, and it’s driving Juvia crazy!” She finished with a fake sneeze, sealing her fate.
“It’s November.” Gray said, dryly.
Juvia’s face lit up a red so bright, she was sure she was glowing from underneath her covers.
After a few more moments of no response as Juvia tried to think of her next plot, Gray spoke again. “And I know you wanted to see me at the crack ass of dawn so you could show me the newest Sorcerer Magazine edition.” Gray sat down at the edge of her bed. “Even if you were in an accident that tore off all your limbs, you would’ve been at that cafe, magazine in hand, ready to explode from excitement. There’s no way some sniffles would stop you.”
There was another pause. Juvia meekly responded. “Well. Since Juvia’s body is made of water, it’s actually impossible for me to have all my limbs torn off.”
Gray barely let her finish the sentence. “Juvia!” He snapped back, fed up with the antics.
“And what does it really matter?!” Juvia erupted from her covers, finally revealing her swollen eyes, puffy and blotchy face, and ratted hair to Gray, whose eyes softened with concern. “It’s not like Gray-sama wants to have to wake up at 7:00 AM to meet Juvia for breakfast anyway! Just for Juvia to show you a magazine that I made you be apart of against your will.” Her eyes were welling with tears.
Gray was taken aback. His eyes widened with surprise and confusion. “Well-“
“Don’t deny it.” She cut him off. “We both know it’s true.” Tears dripped down her hot cheeks. “Just like it’s true how Juvia clings to you, and suffocates you, and even forced you into a relationship.”
“Whoa!” Gray sat up straight, and turned himself more to position himself facing her on the bed.
“And I always thought Gray-Sama just finally let Juvia in.” She interrupted him again, and gripped the sheets of her bed within her fists. “But it’s got nothing to do with that.” She looked down and gritted her teeth.
“Gray-sama feels indebted to Juvia since Juvia saved his life.” She clenched her eyes shut, and felt tears melt from her eyes in pools.
Her tense body jolted and almost instantly released tension as she felt Gray’s sturdy hands grab onto the sides of her arms, clutching her.
Juvia opened her eyes and looked up to find him just an arm’s distance’s length from her, staring at her with so much intent it almost looked like anger.
“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice is low and gravelly. Juvia was glad her eyes would cloud with more tears so she didn’t have to see his dark eyes piercing into her. She looked away.
“The magazine.” She pulled one of her arms from Gray’s grasp and pulled the magazine in question out from under the covers where it rotted away with her minutes ago.
Shamefully, she held Sorcerer Magazine out to Gray who promptly took it from her hands. She was brave enough to watch his face as he first locked eyes with the cover, but wasn’t brave enough for anything else. She saw his scowl quickly scan the bold words and looked back down as she squeezed her eyes shut.
This was it. The end. He would see those red capital letters shouting at him, telling him “Run!”, and he would heed the advice. Of course he would. The magazine was right, after all. He would turn to page 14 just as eagerly as Juvia did and read, in gruesome detail, the truth of their relationship. At least after all of this, he would finally be free from her venomous clutches. He would be absolved of all guilt, now that the article plainly told him the truth of their situation. He would no longer have to pretend-
CRRSHH.
Juvia’s cruel daze was broken by the sounds of Gray tearing the magazine in half.
And then another half, and then one more half for good measure.
“Gray-Sama!” Juvia exclaimed, shocked.
“What a load of shit.” Gray said plainly, but with distinct irritation in his voice.
“But! You didn’t even read the article! It explained how-“
“I don’t give a fuck.” He interrupted and finally made eye contact with her once again once the magazine was finally in enough pieces to do no more harm.
“Well, you should.” Juvia looked down at the shards of Sorcerer Magazine.
“And why is that?”
“Because it all made sense. From start to end. Our relationship. I clung and clung and clung to you, and when I saved your life, you had no choice but to break for me. You felt like you owed me something. And that debt was big enough to do something as crazy as convince yourself that you love me.” Although Juvia explained the situation plainly and logically, her own words were like poison in her mouth, as tears had no choice but to fill her eyes again. She looked up at Gray who was at a loss for words.
This was good. There was nothing left to say. She smiled softly at the thought of their departure, and thus, Gray’s freedom. She knew she needed to swallow her tears, so she did.
“It’s ok.” She shook her head with her smile still curled through her lips. “You don’t have to force yourself to do this anymore. The debt is repaid. These last six months Juvia has spent with you have been filled with enough love to keep me content for a lifetime. We can go back to being friends, and we can both be happy.” Juvia paused and watched Gray’s brow furrow.
“Thank you for everything, Gray-sama. Loving you this closely for this long has been everything Juvia has ever wanted.” She closed her eyes, and a single tear crept through. She smiled thinking about how even though they won’t be together, she will love him for the rest of her life, and that was more than she ever deserved.
“That’s enough.” Was all Gray said as he used one hand to pull her head directly towards him onto his shoulder, and he wrapped the other around the middle of her back. They were positioned awkwardly because of how they were sat on the bed, but Gray didn’t care or even notice.
“Have you officially lost your mind?” Was his next question, and his tone was still low, but a bit softer.
“Eh?” Juvia was at a loss for words. How did she en up in his arms?
“I knew this stupid interview was a bad idea.” He grumbled, talking to himself, but obviously for Juvia to hear. “It’s a magazine. Of course they would twist our words into whatever made for a juicier story.”
“But-“
“Juvia,” Gray cut her off and sighed. He grabbed her by her shoulders, putting her back at arm’s length, and looked directly at her. “Here’s the truth.” He said certainly. Juvia’s eyebrows clenched with confusion.
“I’m not with you because I feel like I owe you anything. I’m with you because you’re clingy, you’re relentless, and you’re obnoxious about what you want, which is me.” Gray was serious. Juvia looked down in embarrassment.
Gray gently swept her bangs out of her face, and his hand traveled to her cheek where he cupped her face. She had no choice but to look back at him.
“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He finally smiled, and Juvia’s heart oozed.
“What?” She whispered.
“You’re the most passionate, determined, loyal, genuine, kind person I’ve ever met in my entire life. You were the person who showed me that not only did I deserve love, but I was capable of loving. After all the people I lost, I had walls on top of walls on top of walls. And one by one, you broke each barrier down with a smile in your face.” He used a thumb to swipe away a tear, and Juvia let out a chuckle.
“Never in my life did I think I would think about stuff like romance or love. I was too scared. Now I think about having an actual future with somebody. And I know for sure that somebody is you.” Gray was saying things that Juvia only heard in her wildest dreams.
“Really?” Juvia grabbed onto the hand that held her face.
Gray nodded. “The way you’ve loved me has showed me how to love, Juvia. It took me awhile to get that, but I got it.”
He paused. He looked at the shred of magazing beneath him. “Not only is the person who wrote this article too stupid to know that I would never do something I don’t want to do or be with someone I don’t want to be with, but they’re also too stupid to know that you are the best thing in my life. A ‘guilt trip’ couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Juvia smiled, and instinctively her hand reached down for her scar, remembering how her sacrifice to save Gray’s life was what brought forth that term. Guilt trip. Gray took note of her hand placement, and knew she was thinking about this.
“Yes, you saved my life, and that may have been the moment that changed everything for me— for us, but not because I felt like I owed you, but because seeing how close I came to losing you made me realize that life is short. And up until then, I had spent all that time pushing everything off when I should’ve been letting you in. That moment made me finally realize that.” He looked at her deeply. “And I know I love you.”
“I love you too, Gray-sama.” Juvia finally allowed herself to melt in his arms, and he wrapped her up in his warm embrace.
“Y’knowww~” Juvia almost sang. “Saying you see a future with Juvia is practically the same thing as a proposal.” She snuggled closer into him.
“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Gray reflexively replied.
Juvia giggled and nuzzled even further into Gray’s chest. “Thank you, Gray-sama.”
Gray and Juvia held each other for a little while longer as the discards of Sorcerer Magazine crumpled and bunched up within the covers where they sat, but they didn’t care.
They let the words be buried beneath them.
#gruvia#doyouevenshipbr0#gruvia drabble#fairy tail fanfic#fairy tail#fairy tail 100 yq#fairy tail 100 years quest#personal#gruvia fanfiction#ft 100 yq#gray x juvia#juvia x gray#juvia#juvia lockser#gruvia fanfic
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𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 || ‘𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’ Chapter I
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Abandoned. After going through hell and back together, she was left there to fend for herself. Y/n felt as though they’d left her in the dust at the facility. A facility that had taken young gifted children raising them in secret. The eight of them had been taken as children and grown up together at the facility and just when it they had the chance of escaping they made one crucial mistake, leaving her behind in the dust. One big mistake they hadn’t forgiven themselves for, and she would make sure they’d never forget it.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nct Dream ot7 x Reader.
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Angst, Fluff, Mystery, Psychological, Supernatural, Thriller, Trauma, Weird Humor.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angst, abandonment, cursing, mild fighting, talk of possible hallucination, tension.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,5k+
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: This does not depict an accurate picture of Nct Dream and this is strictly fantasy/fiction for entertainment purposes.
Taking in a crisp breath of air never felt so fresh to her. Even after a year out of her personal hell every breath she took felt as if she was breathing freely for the first time all over again, not taking any second for granted.
Just like any day she took in her surroundings with sharp calculated eyes only relaxing when everything seemed perfectly in order, not feeling the burning stare of those she was constantly on the run from, when you escape, you never truly escape. Hunted down like a dog until they finally give up hope.
Y/n looked around her differently now that she felt safe gazing at the bustling crowd going about their days, no one paying attention to her too focused on their own lives. How it should be.
South Korea, Seoul. Her current destination. She’d arrived exactly one hour ago and was now taking her time to take in the scenery, deciding to enjoy the sight in front of her before getting down to business. The true reason for her coming to the heavily populated area.
Either the dumbest place to hide seeing as it had eyes everywhere or the smartest place to hide from how many people were there to begin with. It went both ways. Her intentions were to find seven people that would no doubt be all together. It had taken her a year to search for them but she’d located them in Seoul from whatever hints she could find, now all she needed to do was find out where in Seoul they were.
She craved for answers, but not just that. She wanted them to see her, show them just how capable she was, how much she’d changed in the span of two years. What she’d become.
With a low hum her eyes met the sight of an aesthetic cafe, then again every store here in Seoul had its own aesthetic, something she hadn’t cared for in the past but now wanted to enjoy the little things she couldn’t in the past. Seoul stores were all aesthetic but clashed in how they looked next to each other.
Crossing the street to get to the cafe she opened the door, her ears picking up the sound of the doorbell clinging as she went. Not wasting time walking over to the cafe’s counter quickly catching the vibe of the cafe to be a soft and cozy area, not many people there. Perfect.
Her lips automatically slipped on a smile as she approached the counter, a young man in his early twenties like herself looking up at her with his own smile.
“Hello, welcome to Atiny, where our coffee is freshly grinded by us and served with extra care. What can I get for you today?” The man spoke casually, a smile never leaving his face as he gazed at her, taking her in speaking as if he’d said the line a million times. Something Y/n thought must have been true.
He was tall, having dyed his hair freshly silver, wearing comfortable clothing with a beige apron on with a sand timer glass as the logo on it. A sweet vibe coming from the man as if to say this place was safe. Though Y/n knew better than to think anywhere was safe.
“Hello I’m not usually in this area of Seoul often so I’m not quite sure what to order. Do you have any recommendations.” She swiftly asked, her smile softening as she tilted her head in question looking up at the worker.
“Well since it’s my shift I’d recommend either what everyone orders here which is of course an Iced Americano or the drink I make very well, a warm caramel macchiato. If you’re looking to also eat something I suggest the strawberry muffins, Wooyoung just finished baking them so they’re still warm and very fresh.”
The man spoke casually with his comforting vibe listing off some items they had available while trying to keep the conversation light and somewhat humorous.
“Well…” Y/n started off, eyes flickering to the man’s name badge before looking back up into his eyes “Yuhno, I would like a warm caramel macchiato with a strawberry muffin for here please.”
“Great choice, I’ll get it ready for you. Would you like to pay here first or at your table after finishing?”
“I’ll pay now.” Her response was just as fast as his was, not wasting time as her nimble fingers pulled her wallet out of her jacket opening it up.
”Sure thing, that is 7.25. Cash or c- ah alright.” Yuhno cutting off his own sentence watching her hold out a tener. Moving to take it hand brushing past hers noting how soft it was yet in a strange way hard, as if she’d worked a lot.
“Thank you Yuhno, keep the change for yourself or the tip jar, I’ll go find my seat.” Y/n spoke up before he could start handing her the change turning around to find herself a spot to sit.
Yuhno stood there for a second change in hand as he watched her walk across the cafe, eyes taking in her green dyed hair. Not an unusual sight for Seoul as many dyed their hair. Himself included. Not to mention one of his close friends and work colleagues had green hair too.
Clumsily putting the change in the tip jar once he noticed she’d found a spot in the corner booth and their eyes met, moving to grab one of the many clean mugs to start preparing her order.
Y/n watched with a small amused smile before turning to look out the window, quickly getting lost in thought. Her smile slipped from her lips as it usually did in these moments.
Eyes searching the crowd for familiar faces, none welcoming but came up empty. They most likely looked the same, maybe different haircuts and clothing style would be a given style change considering the clothing style they’d left in two years ago would send curious glances their way.
Before she felt lost, missed them even. But now her feelings on them had changed, the two years alone, isolated away from them had changed her perspective on them quite a lot. Of course there was a big factor as to why.
‘They left me’
The thought, consistent throughout the two years and still was there and her main focus and thought when it came to them. Whatever close bond they’d developed from not just surviving day for day together but because of their natural bond was gone, long gone.
“I hate to interrupt whatever has you lost in thought, but I wouldn’t want your drink getting cold.”
Yunho’s voice had snapped her back to reality, having to force herself not to react wrongly letting her body continue its relaxed posture, willing her muscles to not tense as she looked up at the young man who held her order on a tray. Silently scolding herself for being so off guard she hadn’t even noticed his presence.
A smile slipping back onto her face as she gave a nod thanking him quietly as he placed her coffee and muffin on the table. Though he lingered by her side before deciding to do something he normally wouldn’t do with customers. Yunho slipped into the other side of the booth facing her.
“Ah, I may not be familiar with the customs here in this part of Seoul but I’m sure that company from the cafe is not a part of your job with customers.” Y/n points out but her smile didn’t leave her face to show she meant no harm by her words.
“You’re right about that, but I couldn’t help but notice you seemed lost in thought. Not particularly good thoughts either. Plus you’re the only customer we have right now.” Yuhno awkwardly explained his hand automatically going to his neck rubbing it with a sheepish smile.
“Well, you’re right too. But instead of dwelling on the thoughts I’ll try to enjoy this instead. Though I wouldn’t mind the company.” She replied, keeping the warm conversation going as she gestured to her coffee and muffin.
Yuhno nods as he watches her pick up the coffee curious at her reaction as she closes her eyes for a split second taking in the smell of it before blowing cautiously on the caffeinated drink and finally taking a sip. He didn’t know he was holding his breath until she opened her eyes letting out a satisfied hum indicating the drink had been prepared well.
“I didn’t expect anything else, it tastes good.” Y/n complimented Yuhno while taking a longer sip of the drink enjoying how it warmed her from the inside.
“That’s great to hear.” Yuhno spoke giddily before coughing at his overexcited reaction shifting in his seat, coming up with a question off the top of his head on the spot “So, why are you in this part of Seoul if it’s somewhere you don’t come often?”
Y/n eyes that had gazed at her drink flew upwards to gaze at Yunho, to him it looked like any normal gaze but in actual fact it was her calculating the question, analyzing his words.
“Just meeting some… old friends that I haven’t seen in a while.” She casually stated testing the waters.
Yuhno hummed at her words leaning back in the leather brown booth seat hand absentminded fiddling with the sweet table cloth.
“It must be nice visiting old friends. I hope it goes well.” Yuhno replied with a genuine smile wondering what her friends were like.
“Hm, I’m sure it’ll go exactly how I think it will.” Y/n spoke. Yuhno nodded, understanding her statement completely differently than the double meaning she’d truly meant.
“Oh right, I never got your name.” Yuhno spoke up leaning forward slightly.
“My name? How about I tell you that next time?” She responded in a light joking manner, not wanting to give out her name so easily, nothing was safe.
“Another time? So you’ll be back?” Yuhno asked with a tilt of his head curious but somewhere inside him he felt hope light up at the thought of the green haired woman becoming a regular at the cafe.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be around here, but I’ll most likely visit this cafe a few more times, it's a gem here.” Her words flowed easily as Yunho looked down with a pleased smile.
Walking down the street, Y/n held her posture well, head up slipping past people left and right in the overcrowded as ever city. Making her way towards a crossing standing on one side waiting for the light to turn green, stilling at the edge of the pathway.
Her gaze forward as she watched the light, eyes drifting noticing it wouldn’t be changing soon, deciding to look wherever her eyes gazed during the wait. A flash of pink catching her eyes.
Her focus zoning on the figure, her hand by her side tightening into a fist as she took in the person. She’d been right, different styling but the same face, maybe only slightly more matured.
The coincidence of finding one of seven in the busy city was a slim low chance but it had happened as if the universe always tugged them back together. This just made it so much easier in locating them.
His gaze was unfocused as if lost in thought. How funny. The boy, now a man on the other side of a road crossing, seemed to not worry, as if he was free. The thought only caused her fist to impossibly tight by her side.
The beeping of the crosswalk turning green signaling for the pedestrians to cross had caused the pink haired man to look forward seemingly out of his dazed thoughts. Though his footing stuttered not being able to move forward at the sight in front of him.
As others started walking past himself he watched the other side where others did exactly that as well, all but one. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating, he’d done so in the past feeling as if in the corner of his eye he’d seen her here and there before but never like this. Not directly in front of him. The sight stealing his breath away.
She looked exactly like her. Though more matured, more held together. Green hair and a different styling choice, but it was still her. Catching her gaze. His stomach tightening not being able to move much like how she too had yet to move.
Y/n had caught his eye, it was obvious by the way he hadn’t moved a muscle. Not walking in her direction like others. So she made the first move, a slight tilt of her head as she gazed at him. The small action seemingly kicked him into taking one stop onto the crossroad.
But that was enough of a reaction for her. As she easily slipped back into the crowd like a shadow not crossing the road and instead disappearing with the crowd that had come opposite the crossing walk she’d originally planned to cross.
“Wait!” He yelled out eyes widening as he seemingly lost sight of her in a split second, his body properly propelling him forward now out of desperation as he moved across the crosswalk at a fast pace, eyes scanning desperately.
His feet passed onto the pathway now just as the crossing turned red. His body turned in every direction as he searched the crowds around him internally cursing at the heavily dense population of Seoul for once.
He had been so close, if he had of just crossed instead of staring dumbly he could have seen her up close, talked to her, touched her. To know she was really there and not just his mind playing tricks on him.
“Please come back.” He spoke to himself, desperate to believe it was her.
Jeno’s body finally stilling as he gazed at the crowd around him, before letting his head drop in defeat.
Oblivious to the gaze on his side profile inside an antique shop. Y/n stood there watching him. Knowing fully well she wouldn’t be satisfied with just making contact with Jeno.
No, she wanted them all in front of her when she met them properly. Her face that had been void of emotion, though slowly her lips slowly ticked up at one corner in a sort of satisfied way at how he had gazed at her. It was as if a ghost of the past had passed across his vision.
Eye’s trailing over his figure but stuck to one thing in particular, an ironed on badge that said ‘Glitch Mode’ on his bag, her eyebrow raising at this before turning to walk further into the store hidden away from sight.
Sitting down at an internet cafe wasn’t particularly something she liked doing seeing as it had taken her a year to catch up on technology, but now she knew what she was doing.
The search engine splayed across her screen from where she sat in the gaming chair, hand hovering over the keyboard in thought. Her fingers decided for her as they typed out the words still stuck in her head from just a few hours ago.
‘Glitch mode’
The first result was a place in Seoul that came up on the search engine. Her hand moving to the mouse clicking on the first result to be brought to the webpage. Instinctively leaning forward in her chair to get a closer look as she scrolled.
It was an arcade. Though mixed from retro games all the way to its very own new styled gaming station with Pc’s and all the like. Y/n wondering why he had an ironed badge on his bag with the logo.
Though her hand scrolling on the webpage stilled at one particular area of the site eyeing the paragraph.
‘Glitch Mode was created for the youth to be able to enjoy their time away from the responsibilities casted on them by society, a safe place for people to enjoy their time. For teenagers to adults up to their early thirties. A place designed and made by seven individuelles in hopes of creating a new environment for younger people to not only thrive but have a place to be themselves without the prejudice of the system we live in today.’
“Hidden in plain sight, what a bold move. How haven’t you been discovered yet?” Y/n whispered to herself.
“Glitch mode? It’s great there, better than these internet cafes but they always close up early on Thursdays and Fridays.” A voice spoke from beside her.
“They’re closed early today and tomorrow?” Y/n asked moving to look to her left at the person sitting beside her in their own gaming chair.
“Yeah, ever since they opened up last year they’ve been in big competition with places like internet cafes. Usually here and other places are empty when Glitch Mode is open or filled with more older people here.” The young man explained.
“Thank you for the information…” Y/n started to thank the random stranger but stalled not knowing their name, something they caught onto as they moved they dipped their head in a small bow.
“Jung Wooyoung.” Wooyoung introduced himself, causing Y/n to let out a hum at the familiar name she’d already heard from a certain barista this morning.
“Well thank you Wooyoung for the information. I have to go. Enjoy your time here.” She thanked him with a smile getting up after closing the browser search engine.
Wooyoung’s eyes following her action looking upwards once she was standing even when she turned to leave but stilled turning back to give Wooyoung a teasing smile.
“Your strawberry muffins are quite delicious, I can’t wait to taste them again another day.” With that she turned away, moving towards the exit.
Wooyoung staring dumbfounded at the spot she once was in. He’d baked fresh strawberry muffins for the cafe today but how did she know that? Shaking his head away from the thoughts when he heard his phone buzzing with a call.
Pulling the phone up to his ear, shoulders relaxing letting a smile grace his lips once again as Yuhno’s voice came out the other end rambling about a green haired girl who’d visited their cafe today.
“Oh by the way she never had a strawberry muffin before, but she was sure nothing would beat that one you made. She basically said your muffins were delicious Woo.”
“Yeah I know.” Was Wooyoung’s response as he glanced at the empty chair beside him in amusement now getting it, Yunho must have said his name when she’d been there.
“What’s the point of putting a calendar in the watch party room? No one is going to be wondering what day it is while watching movies with their friends, besides the room is bright yellow, and that calendar is literally a white base with blue and black.”
Chenle all but whined out from where he sat lounging on the yellow couch legs propped up on the table.
“Because something else needed to be hung up on these walls, plus the dark blue tilling at the bottom of the room matches well with the calendar now shut up.” Renjun retorted from where he leaned against the edge of the doorway frame.
“We can always swap it out for something else some other time.” Jisung chimed in after hanging the calendar up against the nail in the wall he’d just hammered.
“If we’d just put a poster up we would have avoided the whole hammering a hole into the wall, you know we have to plaster that up if we put away the calendar.” Chenle continued whining, obviously still not convinced.
“We could hide the hole with a poster instead.” Jisung offered up a not so long term idea for the hole in the wall problem if it came up.
Renjun was about to throw the nearest object beside him at the two but before he could the three turned to look in the direction of where they heard a door slamming open and shut.
“Jeno’s back.” Chenle pointed out, letting out a whine at Jisung pushing his legs off the table before following the two out of the watching room to investigate Jeno’s loud arrival together.
Jeno made his way back to the store walking in at a rushed pace, frustrated with the fact he was seeing her now in front of him rather than just the corner of his eye. Y/n was not there yet his mind continuously ate away at him.
“I’d ask who pissed in your cereal this morning, but I cooked fried eggs this morning.” Jaemin pointed out watching Jeno’s entrance coming into the staff room. From where he sat beside Donghyuck, the two passed each other an old retro game boy every time one of them failed a level.
“Just ask him who pissed on his eggs then instead.” Donghyuck piped in though his gaze was glued to the retro game boy, fingers intensely moving around to win the level so he didn’t need to pass it back over to Jaemin.
“I’m not in the mood.” Jeno gritted out through clenched teeth, his hand flying up to his pink stained hair tugging at it.
The two looking up at this, Donghyuck who’d normally whine hearing the game losing theme sound stayed quiet in favour of watching his pink haired friend.
“You saw her again in the corner of your eye?” Jaemin asked out softly, his hand moving to absentmindedly fiddle with his piercings against his ear at the slight thought of her. She’s always wanted piercings.
This caught the attention of Mark who’d been sitting at the desk finishing up some leftover paperwork.
“No… not like that. I swear I saw her, right in front of me. On the other side of the crosswalk. But then when I finally moved towards her it was like she just… just disappeared into the crowd.” Jeno stressed out moving towards where the two were sitting on the comfy worn out blue couch.
“Pretty sure she can’t just disappear in front of your eyes. It was probably just your mind playing tricks on you.” Renjun spoke as the three entered the staff room now two having heard him.
“No you don’t get it. It had to be her. Her face was the same, just a little more mature. She wasn’t wearing the uniform and her hair… It looked freshly dyed. Green it was green.” Jeno tried describing what she’d looked like. Everyone tensed up at the mention of their past uniforms they’d been forced to wear day in day out.
“Jeno, when was the last time you slept?” Mark spoke up for the first time in the conversation, his voice only hinting at concern from where he sat at the desk, paperwork long forgotten now.
“That doesn’t matter right now Mark. I saw her.” Jeno shook his head in distaste for what Mark was trying to do. He was using his lack of sleep against him as some form of evidence that he’d seen wrong.
“Mark’s right. This has happened before Jeno. When you have long periods of time without rest you start seeing her.” Jaemin pointed out trying to dull down the small hope that flickered in his chest at the thought of her managing to escape.
“No, not you too. Look, yes I haven’t slept in a while but this is different. It’s different this time and I know it was her. She looked so…” Jeno stopped defending himself in favour of rubbing his hand down his face. Struggling to find the words he was looking for to describe Y/n.
“It looked as if she saw right through me, I know for a fact that’s impossible she’d recognise me in a heartbeat no matter how different I look just how I recognised her.” He continued on hand returning to run through his hair, evident of stress in his actions.
“If it really was her. She would have approached you Jeno. Y/n… she’s not here.” Donghyuck denied his words, hands clenching hard around the retro game boy. Silence enveloping the room.
All seven wished she was in fact here in Seoul. But the most likely option was that she was still stuck at the facility. Alone. Being tested on like a lab rat. The one who didn’t get away, who did not escape.
“And if it was her? We just sit here? Let her walk around Seoul alone?” Jeno asked out, the slim chance of it being her.
“Stop. Just stop Jeno. She’s still stuck in that goddamn facility doing god only knows what to her. You don’t get to go around talking to us, giving us hope she’s out. Not when you’re the first one who decided we needed to leave without her.” Jaemin bursted, voice full of anger as he stood up now making his way towards his friend.
Though Jeno beat him to it cross the room to grab at Jaemin’s black vest tugging him harshly, fists tight against the material.
“Shut up. You know nothing! I tried to wait. If we had waited any longer none of us would have been able to leave that hell hole. If I hadn't spoken up we would all still be there being poked, proded, beaten and tested on.” Jeno nearly growled into Jaemin’s face.
“Enough!” Mark all but yelled out clearly frustrated as much as the others swiftly making his way over hand placed on top of Jeno’s giving him a stern look. Jeno not giving in, hands still tight against Jaemin’s clothing.
“Don’t forget Jaemin I may have said it, but we all were thinking it. We were desperate. In the end we all made the choice.” His voice, still loud but no longer held as much anger.
Jaemin stared Jeno down for a few seconds before looking away, choosing wisely to keep quiet on his words. His stomach was tightening with guilt, one he’d carried for two years now. One they all carried.
Jeno held back a scoff from Jaemin’s silence letting go of him but didn’t give anyone the chance to speak again as he stormed out of the room.
“I’ll talk to him. I’ll bring him back to the apartment and try to get him to sleep.” Renjun offered, patting both Jaemin and Mark on the shoulders as he went past and through the doorway following their pink haired friend.
“What about the calendar?” Chenle called out, causing everyone to look over at him.
“It stays up!” Renjun called back out loudly.
“Not the time Chenle.” Mark told him off lightly, shaking his head as he made his way over towards the desk again.
“When will it ever be the time? I still think we should get rid of the-” Chenle tried to continue his ideas but Jisung shoved him down against the blue couch and layed on top of him, cutting him off.
“Not the time.” Jisung butted in but let out a choked noise when Chenle wrapped his arm around Jisungs throat and the other hand went to Jisung’s head aggressively messing up his hair.
The two, messing around now on the couch, a leg flying out causing Donghyuck to duck, now focused on playing the level on his retro game boy again. Jaemin watched them but wasn’t in the mood to mess around or play games, deciding to make his way over to where Mark was.
Watching his friend continue the paperwork briefly before gazing over at the monitor next to them on the desk that monitored all the security cameras around. About to look away until something caught his eye.
Moving to sit beside Mark on the other gaming chair leaning forward, eyes squinting slightly at the monitor. Specifically on the back exit camera. Shifting in his seat when he was sure what he was seeing, a hooded figure standing there perfectly in frame. As if wanting to be caught on camera on purpose.
“You okay Jaemin?” Mark’s question caused Jaemin to whip his head towards Mark blinking dumbly for a second before nodding as he stood up.
“Uh yeah, yeah I’m good. I’m just gonna start locking up. I think it’s a good idea for us all to get out early today.” Jaemin thought up on the spot.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. I think we should make it a long weekend too. Keep closed tomorrow and reopen on Monday.” Mark decided thinking all of them needed a small break.
“Yeah great, I’ll be back soon.” Jaemin rushed his words out, turning towards the door to make his way towards the back exit.
Mark watched, his eyebrows scrunching slightly at Jaemin’s hasty exit but chalked it up to him just wanting to leave after what happened with Jeno a few minutes ago. His attention turned to the three left once he heard a thump, Chenle and Jisung now rolling on the floor together.
Mark letting his eyes shut inhaling through his nose trying to have one moment of peace before he’d have to try and break up whatever the two were bickering about now.
Jaemin made his way towards the back, slipping through the side door quietly, eye’s trying to focus on the new darkness surrounding him as it was night now and dark compared to previously inside.
The figure was still there standing still. Jaemin rolled his shoulders back as he spoke loud enough for the hooded figure to hear.
“Who are you? We are closed as of current. Tomorrow as well, come back on Monday during our normal opening hours.”
The figure turned towards him, yet because of the setting it was too dark to see the face that was hidden behind the hood the figure wore. His eyes squinted once again to try making out any detail.
“Do you understand what I just said?” Jaemin asked out yet the figure stayed silent causing warning bells to go off in his head. He’d hoped it was just some teenager due to the height of the person but now all he could think about was the fact the facility could be closer to them then he thought.
Before he could question further the figure finally did something. They turned around to face away from him. Taking a second to start walking away. Jaemin staying still watching the figure slowly leave cautiously wondering why they hadn’t responded and took their time to watch him before taking their leave.
As the figure went to turn the corner they walked under a street light, a small piece of hair sticking out of their hoodie being caught by the light. Green. It was green.
Jaemin’s heart dropped to his stomach connecting the dots fast as he remembered Jeno’s rambling from earlier.
“Wait! Y/n!” He yelled out, his tone bordering desperation.
The figure stalling for a millisecond in their walk but it was enough for him. It was enough for the hope to reignite in him as his body moved, shoes hitting the pavement underneath him heavily to chance her.
Y/n hearing his footsteps easily, racing past the corner as quick as she could causing him to call out once more. Skidding past the corner himself too, stopping in confusion once he came up blank. No one nearby.
“No.” Jaemin whispered hands going up to his head before shaking it off racing down the street taking a few turns that his gut wanted him to take. Almost deciding to stop the chase until he caught a hooded figure pass into an alley. Jaemin racing in the direction once again.
Entering the alley he stopped at the sight in front of him. The hooded figure taking a leap at the fire stairway that was suspended a few feet up in the air. Their hands catching the bottom of the metal ladder pulling their weight upwards.
“Just wait!” Jaemin yelled out making his way towards the ladder attempting to grab at it only to curse out when a boot made contact with his hand preventing him from climbing up with them.
Jaemin’s body fell down onto the dirty alleyway floor as he looked upwards watching the figure climb further up the ladder before disappearing over the ledge of the building's roof.
His hand moving to cradle his other injured hand, the hit wasn’t anything to worry about and would be fine by morning. His gaze lingered in the last spot he’d seen the figure, jaw clenching. He knew he had not been sleeping well either, just like Jeno, but this couldn’t have been a hallucination.
He didn’t want it to be a part of his mind playing tricks on him.
A few buildings was all that Y/n thought was enough to be deemed a safe distance away. Taking a few steady breaths in as she slowly pulled her hoodie down. Her breath catching in her throat, not from being winded from the sudden running but having seen his face.
Na Jaemin even in just two years had matured, taller and looked healthy.
“You’re closed tomorrow on a Friday? Good. I’ll see you soon boys.” Y/n spoke to herself eyes sharp, face highlighted from Seoul’s lights in the city at night, neon green shining against her.
Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2
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the boys finding out quinn has a gf and jacks all like ur my new sister and lukes js smiley cuz quinnies happy
Meet the brothers—
Quinn was enamoured with you, in every aspect of your being. The two of you had met through mutual friends, being Brock's neighbour meant that you had been acquainted with the entire Canucks roster.
The moment you met Quinn you knew he was the one, the two of you had hit it off the moment you had been introduced, solidifying what you believed to be your delusion.
It was like a match made in heaven, Quinn being a grumpy, level-headed hockey player, and you the more shy and sweet type.
It was as the saying goes, opposites attract.
You'd been nervous ever since Quinn brought up the idea of meeting his brothers over the course of the off-season, you'd met his parents at a game he'd invited them to. Jim and Ellen were certified sweethearts, but his brothers, who happened to also be his best friends were a different case.
Getting the stamp of approval from both Jack and Luke meant everything to Quinn, and by proxy, it meant a lot to you. If you were going to be completely honest, you pictured a whole life with Quinn, even if you'd only been together a short period of time. Quinn had given you a million reasons to feel like a future was in the stars for you.
Your life started the moment you met him and would stop the second he was no longer a part of it.
So now you sat shakily in the passenger seat of Quinn's rented car, his hand reassuringly on your upper thigh, feeling the nerves radiating off of you. Your nerves were wracked as you pulled into the driveway of the boy's shared Lake house.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, staring at you as you let out a loud sigh and nodded, "Don't stress over these two, I love you, so they are definitely going to love you" he mumbled pressing a kiss to your temple. "But we can wait here till you feel ready" his hand outstretched to hold yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.
"I'm okay," you whispered, placing a short kiss on his lips as he smiled into your mouth, "let's go in while I'm feeling slightly confident"
Quinn made quick work of his seatbelt before running to the trunk of the car to retrieve your guy's bags, ones that he would not let you carry into the house, claiming you were 'far too pretty to be allowed to do chores.'
The house sounded empty as you entered its walls, Quinn extended his hand out to you as he dropped the bags by the door. You gladly took his hand as he led you through the house and out to the backyard where the boys and their other friends found themselves by the pool.
You recognized Trevor Zegras' loud laughter first, the man was wrestling the middle Hughes in the pool, chuckles filling the air as Jack jumped on him and pushed his head under the water.
"Huggy!" Trevor announced as he popped up and out of the water, his arms extended out with a big grin on his face.
All of the boys turned around with smiles as they saw Quinn sheepishly smiling at them, blush rising in your cheeks as you watch the attention turn to you.
Luke was the first to get up from his chair to hug his brother, an awkward smile on his face as he greeted you for the first time. "You must be y/n? Quinn never stops talking about you, I think he might be obsessed" he pokes fun at his older brother who hides the embarrassment on his face. "Don't tell him I'm saying this, but think I might be as obsessed with him as he is with me" you whispered to Luke who laughed before he was shoved out of the way by a dripping wet jack.
Jack pulled both you and Quinn right into his arms, his body still soaked from being in the water as both you and Quinn hissed at his cold touch.
"Oh my god it's so good to finally meet you, I feel like I already know you, Quinn never shuts up about how perfect you are," he said excitedly as he drowned out Quinn's annoyed rambling. "It's really nice to meet you too" You smiled at Jack's contagious energy. "I love her already" he whispered to Quinn right before Trevor picked him up again and threw him back into the water.
Quinn introduced you to the rest of the boys before escorting you into the house to go and get showered and changed for dinner.
"See that wasn't so bad was it?" he mumbled into your neck before placing a sloppy kiss on your shoulder as he led you into the kitchen. "I feel like it went really good" you whispered as you turned to face him, a shy smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a soft kiss on his lips.
A smile worked its way onto his lips as he pulled you in by the belt loops, "they love you already."
Jack and Luke stood next to each other watching the interaction through the window, laughter leaving their lips as they watched Quinn break out into flustered mess.
"She's perfect for him, I can see it," Jack said lowly as he looked at a smiley Luke. "she gonna fit right in," he said watching as she whispered something in his ear he picked her up off her feet and threw her over his shoulder, heading for his room as she squealed.
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I am being smeared as a "predatory transphobe" to hundreds of thousands of people by Rainbow Passage, a so-called "trans rescue" nonprofit that's covering up its safety failures and misconduct by attacking me and placing my family in danger. Deliberately.
There's a headline I'll bet you never thought you'd see on this blog, and you can be sure I never expected to write it, but here we are. I want you to hear about it from me first before the smear campaign against me poisons your feed.
Regular readers know that I've been fighting for LGBTQ+ civil rights for nearly 40 years, with an emphasis on mobilizing against the "trans panic" sweeping America the past two years, the horrific laws already in place, and the stark plans for eradication laid out in Project 2025. The notion that I'm "transphobic" in any way is absurd. But -
Three weeks ago, YouTube streamer trolls went to the Rainbow Passage website - their unsecured, login-free website - looking for dirt that could bring their operations to a halt. They found my picture and bio listed as a director for the organization.
That was all they needed, and in short order I was the star of several full-length videos and livestreams featuring breathless, jeering takes on my kink life, my history, my family, my age, my AIDS, my September 11th survival (suddenly I was "running the organization" and "hosting 9/11 reenactment roleplays!"), my looks, my unsuitability to be involved with a trans rescue organization, and everything you can imagine a middle-school playground would highlight. At this writing, I've been held out for ridicule, harassment, and threats ("it's time for this dogfucker to be euthanized") to a quarter-million people and counting.
Why?
Because Rainbow Passage failed to implement even the most basic security on that website, despite my multiple warnings in board meetings that this scenario was likely to happen and that we were prime targets for this kind of abuse.
To be honest, everything that the streamers made fun of me for has been said and done to me a thousand times a year for the past 30 years. Heard it all before, nothing new, just the same old "lookit the AIDS-ridden perv faggot old man pretending to be a dog, hurr durr hurr durr!". All those hours of video and they couldn't come up with anything new? These people need better writers.
Here's the issue: Two of the leaders of this sad and tiresome brigade (one named "Blowcockx" or something equally clever, the other one is discussed below) seized on a recent exchange I had with a group of leftist "Trans For Trump" (yep, you read that right) that was mobbing me on Bluesky for objecting when someone referred to Biden as "Genocide Joe". These people were vile and vicious, saying that my gender was "shit beard" and lobbing remarks and insults at me that would make a MAGA blush.
One of the Bluesky mob (who may or may not have been transgender) said, "Prove you're an activist," to which I countered, "Okay, prove you're trans." (Screenshots of my three additional replies referencing "fake trans" to their accusations of my being a "fake activist" and other vomitous epithets, along with screenshots of the posts to which I was replying, can be found after the jump.)
During the mob attack on me and Rainbow Passage. a disgruntled former member of the Rainbow Passage community - a 20-year-old trans girl who had first warned me about the YouTube hijacking and who leaked my personal identifying information and private chats with her to the Twitter trolls and worse - went to Clearsky and harvested my replies without the posts I was replying to, leaked them to the YouTube streamers and Twitter trolls, along with selected portions of our lengthy private chat from Discord, then threatened Rainbow Passage with another attack if they didn't "denounce" me and my replies to the disgusting attacks on me by the Trans Trumpers of Bluesky.
To prove her point, this young trans woman and her girlfriend started a thread about me on Kiwi Farms, where I was the featured post for about a week, and told Rainbow Passage that the same would happen to them - and worse, including the revocation of their nonprofit status with the IRS and the end of their ability to raise funds - if they didn't publicly condemn me for my Bluesky attack replies.
And what did the oh-so-courageous chairwoman and board members who "cared so much" about me, do in response to those threats?
They caved. They capitulated. They allowed a troubled individual with an axe to grind and her little gang of fake-outraged trans shitposters to dictate their handling of a serious and sensitive matter where a former director of the organization and his family were in active danger and under siege. These people, who claim to have the bravery to "rescue" endangered trans people from Texas and Florida, folded like a cheap tissue-paper prom dress, revealing their utter lack of integrity, ethics, or courage.
The statement Rainbow Passage put out, which at this writing has been seen by at least 60,000 people on Twitter alone, is filled with false accusations about my attitude toward the transgender members of the LGBTQ+ community, outright lies about my character and conduct, weirdly characterizes me as a predatory stalker, and warns the general public that I am a bad, bad person who should be avoided and shunned as unfit for decent people in a civilized society. They provide ZERO evidence to support any of their claims against me, their accusations and assertions about me, or their characterization of me as "transphobic."
From my statement below: "Rainbow Passage knew that issuing this statement would intensify the threats, harassment, and stalking of me and my family. They issued it anyway. This statement is a willful and malicious act of violence.
"Rainbow Passage caused a queer elder with AIDS to be featured on a website known for harassing LGBTQ+ people to death and driving them from their homes, while smearing him to hundreds of thousands of people and inciting attacks on him and his family - but they want you to trust them to keep our most vulnerable members safe from harm."
If Rainbow Passage can't and won't protect their own staff (and volunteers, and clients) from harmful exposure to malicious attackers online and IRL, and shifts blame for their failures and lapses of care onto the staff members while caving to threats from random kids, how can they be trusted to keep the most vulnerable members of this community safe from harm during one of their "rescue" missions? If something goes wrong and that client ends up in jail, will Rainbow Passage blame the client for that outcome the same way they're blaming me for their colossal failure to keep their own people safe?
Rainbow Passage's rank AIDSphobia, their calculated smear of a four-decade veteran LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS activist, their capitulation to threats from an under-21 trans Kiwi Farms shitposter with an axe to grind, and their hateful, craven, deliberate act of putting my family and me in physical danger, show them to be not only a collection of unwise and uncaring individuals who have abused me and betrayed my trust: The current chairwoman, board, and staff of Rainbow Passage are manifestly and utterly unfit to run this organization. They are not capable of keeping our most vulnerable members out of harm's way, they should not be regarded as worthy of our trust in any way, personally or professionally, and the organization needs to be stripped of its nonprofit status and must cease operations so that a new LGBTQ+ and trans rescue group can quickly be established and get to work.
[Alt text and screenshots follow after the jump.]
STATEMENT OF ANIMAL J. SMITH REGARDING THE RAINBOW PASSAGE SMEAR CAMPAIGN
These allegations are false. Rainbow Passage is deliberately and maliciously spreading lies about me to hundreds of thousands of people on this and other platforms in a calculated smear campaign to cover up their reckless disregard for the safety of their vulnerable clients and their failure to protect them. To date, they have provided no explanation or evidence of "transphobic rhetoric and behavior" on my part. They failed to protect me, a former director of the organization, from sustained and brutal online harassment, threats, doxing, and stalking that began more than three weeks ago and continues unabated with the active encouragement of chair Amy Nicole Check and the members of the board, putting me and my family in danger of being driven from our home and causing major distress and disruption to our lives and health.
On Saturday, April 13th, I received word that the Rainbow Passage website had been targeted by YouTube streamers who had seen a rival say good things about the organization and went to the website to find information that would "expose" Rainbow Passage. The trolls found my name and photograph, then went into my public-facing social media and began streaming about me and my life and work.
In several lengthy videos and livestreams, the YouTube trolls held me and my family up for sustained public ridicule, humiliation, and targeted harassment, spreading to more than a quarter-million people details about my personal life, my sex life, my family, my being a survivor of September 11th, the fact that I have AIDS, and every other aspect of my life and history that they could harvest. Although my social media is largely public by design, the contents were never intended to be stolen and distributed to thousands in a malicious manner designed to damage me.
The only reason I was targeted and humiliated in this way is that I was a director for Rainbow Passage and was discovered when the organization's unsecured, login-free website was targeted - a scenario I had warned them about on multiple occasions. Despite my warnings, no security measures were ever implemented. On Monday, April 15th, I resigned my position due to Check's exploding at me in an unprovoked torrent of verbal abuse during a call that afternoon.
My work as an LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS activist over the past 38 years (including ACT/UP, Queer Nation SF, AIDS quarantine initiatives, medical cannabis, marriage equality, and prisoners with AIDS) is well known and has always included advocacy for the transgender community. In fact, I have prioritized trans rights activism in response to the rising tide of hatred toward transgender Americans, and I have received support from people in the transgender community who know me and have seen me in action as an activist and a friend.
After an initial offer of help that wouldn't come for a full week, I said that my family and I were in immediate danger, that this was happening solely because I was part of their organization, and that their security failure was to blame. They then instantly denied any responsibility, blamed me for the situation, and withdrew their offer of help. I have been told that they are aware of the ongoing harassment and cyberbullying being directed at my family and me. They knew that this statement would intensify the threats, harassment, and stalking of me and my family. They issued it anyway. This statement is a willful and malicious act of violence.
Rainbow Passage was threatened by the leaders of these attacks that if they did not "denounce" me they would face the loss of their tax-exempt status and worse. As part of the threat, I was featured on the front page of the notorious Kiwi Farms website, a 4chan-like forum known for driving their LGBTQ+ targets into hiding and to suicide.
Rainbow Passage caused a queer elder with AIDS to be featured on a website known for harassing LGBTQ+ people to death and driving them from their homes, while smearing him to hundreds of thousands of people and inciting attacks on him and his family - but they want you to trust them to keep our most vulnerable members safe from harm.
These liars want you to believe the fiction that a four-decade LGBTQ+ activist is a predatory transphobe. They think you'll fall for the stories they're telling and approve of the damage they're causing. What nerve. Their contempt for me - and for you - has no place in our community or in our lives.
- Animal J. Smith, April 25, 2024
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Pt.14
Bruce and Selena: *steps out to control the crowd of reporters and photographers*
Reporters: *yelling a million and a half questions at them as soon as they step out*
Photographers: *getting way to close for comfort trying to get the best pictures*
Raven:…..*clings to Damian*
Damian: *holds her hand* breath Beloved.
Jason, Dick and Tim: *walks outside with Bruce and Selina*
Jason: *covering his eyes from all the camera flashes*
Tim: fuck there wasn’t this many people here when B and cat mom got engaged
Dick: tell me about it
Jason: *whistles loudly* *yells* Yo!! If you assholes wanna actually talk to Rach and Damian, back the fuck up and calm the fuck down!!
Paparazzi: *shocked by his language but backs up a bit*
Selina:😑
Jason: what?
Selina: language!
Jason: hey it was effective
Selina: 🙄
Jason: *turns and waves for Raven and Damian to come out*
Damian: ready Beloved?
Raven: *nods*
Damian: *holds her hand and walks out with her behind him*
Raven: *clings to Damian’s arm and stays behind him*
Paparazzi: *immediately swarms them, yelling questions at them*
Dick, Jason, and Tim: *gets in between them*
Damian: *pushes Raven fully behind him*
Jason: *pulls his gun out and shots up at the sky* I SAID BACK THE FUCK UP!!!
Paparazzi: *backs up in fear*
Jason: better. Little D, the floor is yours
Bruce:😑
Jason: oh get over it. *steps to the side*
Damian: thank you Todd. *turns back to the crowd* If you all have calmed down enough to be civilized, then me and my beloved can answer you questions one at a time; no need to scream at us, understand?
Crowd: *nods*
Damian: good. *points at one reporter* you first
Reporter 1: is it true that you’re pregnant?
Raven: yes it is
Reporter 2: how far along are you?
Raven: 6 weeks
Reporter 3: was this planned?
Damian: no, but we’re excited and happy none the less. *puts his arm around Raven*
Raven: *smiles*
Reporter 4: so you have no plans to abort the baby?
Raven: ofc not. I love my baby and would never get rid of it
Reporter 5: did you only sleep with Damian for his money?
Raven: No!
Damian: *slaps the reporter* anymore questions like that and you will all be heading to the hospital!
Reporters:👀
Reporter 2: how long have you two been together?
Raven: 3 years.
Reporter 6: do you two still plan to get married or is the wedding on a halt?
Raven: we still want to get married…as for the wedding….um..
Damian: that is to be determined.
Reporter 1: what’s the baby’s sex?
Raven: it’s too early to tell.
Reporter 1: Will its gender be announced when you find out?
Raven: umm….im not sure yet
Reporter 5: will the baby be a bastard o—*gets punched in the face by Damian and KO*
Damian: why did I just say jackass!
Crowd: *backs away*
Damian: anyone else?
Reporter 4: how did your family react to the baby? Seeing as it’s the first grandchild
Jason: oh we about shit ourselves when we heard. B actually cried
Bruce: I did not😑
Tim: you did too
Paparazzi: awwwww
Reporter 6: is the baby’s name going to be announced?
Damian: no
Reporter 6: and why not?
Damian: because we have no obligation to announce our baby’s name till it’s birth
Reporter 2: oh! Do you plan to take the easy way out?
Raven: easy way out?
Reporter 2; a c-section. Do you plan to have a c-section or natural birth?
Reporter 3: and will the birth be recorded and posted?
Raven: *getting uncomfortable* umm…I haven’t decided yet…I still have a ways to go but I don’t see a c-section as “the easy way out.” And no…we’re not going to post a video of me giving birth…cause that’s weird
Damian: *seeings she’s getting uncomfortable* okay this interview is over. You people need to leave; now!
Reporter 6: last question! *turns to raven* is Damian forcing you to keep the baby?
Raven: No! Absolutely not! It’s my decision to keep it!
Damian: *slaps the reporter* LEAVE! ALL OF YOU! NOW!!
Jason: *shoots at the sky again* get!
Paparazzi: *runs away in fear*
Bruce: was that necessary?
Jason: yes
Damian: yes
Bruce:🙄
Selina: *sighs* *turns to raven* You okay dear?
Raven: yeah….*wipes the tears away from her eyes*
Damian: *puts an arm around her* come on, let’s get you inside. You’ve had enough to deal with today. *takes her inside*
Raven: *follows him inside* *hugging her belly* Damian…
Damian: yeah?
Raven: is this going to be a normal thing now?
Damian: not if I have anything to say about it *puts his hand on her belly* I’m not letting some fucking noisy assholes ruin this for you.
Raven: thank you
#damian x raven#damirae#raven dc#raven roth#raven teen titans#damian wayne#robin damian#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson#bruce x selina#bruce wayne#selina kyle
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I want more time with you…ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
જ⁀➴ pairing: idol boyfriend! Ni-ki x gn!reader
જ⁀➴ synopsis: Dating an idol is harder then you thought it would be.
જ⁀➴ genre: fluff, angst (?)
જ⁀➴ notes: TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY?!???!!!?? NEVER HAPPENING AGAIN PLS Once again it’s all over the place but it’s readable :) i hope !! pls request !!
The soft rustle of tree leaves brushing against each other and the piitter padder of the rain didn’t help in your situation. The feeling of longing in your chest was at its peck. You knew dating Riki was gonna have little to no time spent together. You where 99% willing to go through that just to be with him but that 1% is kicking in.
All you needed right now was him. It was bad day from the start. You had woken up late and got scolded by your manager at work. While working you had messed up an order and had gotten yelled at by a costumer. At this point you a hundred percent believed the world was against you today.
You shuffled through your bag and pulled out your phone. Opening the Camera app and begin to take pictures of everything you saw. Whenever you went out you always found something to send him. Whether it be the food you has ordered or how pretty a flower looked. Sending him pictures always made it seem like he was right there with you.
Pulling up his contact then picking the photos you found the prettiest and hitting send. You shut off your phone knowing he wouldn’t be able to answer since his schedule was so busy. Yet you still anticipated the little buzz from your phone.
Slowly walking through the crowded sidewalks, rapped up in one of his jackets. Umbrellas overtaking the sky as people passed. You couldn’t help but think about him even more.
How it would be so romantic if he was here and you two had to share an umbrella. Crapped under it as you found warmth in his arms. As you made it to the front of your apartment you let out a tired sigh. Yet another day without him in this sad sad place.
Opening the door as you had a million times, the familiar scent of home washed over. As you walked around the apartment your mind wondered to memories you had made here with him. Remembering all the movie nights you guys had and all the arts and crafts you “forced” him to do. Deep down you knew how much he loved them.
Making your way to small kitchen your eyes landed on mug. Not just any mug tho one that you and Ni-ki had gotten together on your 2nd date. You had once again dragged him along some fun adventure. Letting out a little laugh you couldn’t help but think that pottery wasn’t his strong suit. The clay was lumpy and slanted. Still, it was the best gift you had ever received.
A soft buzz interrupted your train of though. The bright light of your phone illuminated your face as you read the message.
“It’s so pretty. Just like you 🫶🏻 - Ni-ki boy”
You let out a laugh at how cheesy he was. Blushing at the comment. It reminded you of the first time he really called you beautiful. Yeah he has said you look beautiful on the first date and so on, but there was one moment you knew he really meant it from the bottom of his heart.
You remember it like yesterday. The gentle blow of the wind washed over you both. It was the evening after dating for a month or so. It wasn’t a special day or anything just wanting to be each others presence. Sitting on a park bench as you both watched the kids and dogs run around having the time of their life.
Your hands intertwined as you sat close to each other. The sun kissed you so perfectly. Riki felt his heart jump from his chest at the sight. Cheeks heating up as he’s hands started to get clammy. It was so cheesy and romantic it felt like it came straight out of a drama.
He let a sigh escape past his lips. Unintentionally grabbing your attention away from the others. You tilted you head towards him letting a smile paint your features. How could he be so lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend? He was truly amazed that he had you as his. He stared into you eyes as he let the words slip out of his mouth with ease.
“You are so beautiful”
Silence washed over the two. Not an awkward one. You took a couple of seconds to compose yourself. You are quite used to having someone to call you such sweet names. You tried to play it off by shoving him a little bit.
“Duh I know” You teased. Ni-ik let out one of his well known laughs. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him. His laugh was just as contagious as his pretty smile. Letting the moment sink in you wished you could stay here forever. With him. Just you two and no one else. That’s all you needed.
You let out a sigh as you remembered the fond memory. Soon the silence became overwhelming. You had always been an emotional person so remembering these memories did not help what so ever. Your water line fighting tears back as they threatened to fall. A knock at the door rang through the room.
Jumping a little at the sudden sound. Making your was slowly to the door, whipping your tears on the way. Swinging the door open gently it soon revealed your one and only boyfriend. He was covered from head to toe just in case not to get recognized. You stood there in shock since you didn’t expect him to come over.
“Ni-ki?” You hushed out moving to the side to allow him in. As he came in he pulled down is mask and cap. Revealing his highlighted hair.
“Hi baby” he said closing the door behind him before pulling you into a long, crushing hug. His familiar smell over coming all senses. Holding him back tightly the water works began to turn. Slowly tears started to fall on his coat. He felt you shacking and pulled back. Finally being able to see your shining eyes gloss over with tears.
“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” He asked, is a worried tone as he tried his best to whip your tears. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It was all to much. You didn’t realize how much you needed him. You had always pushed this feeling away because you knew you had to be strong about this relationship. Yet you couldn’t hind how you felt from him.
“I..” your own sobs making it hard to let a single word out. He was quick to pull you back into a gentle hug. This time letting you have some space to breathe. He softly rubbed the small of you back and let his hand run through your hair. Trying to help you calm down.
Soon your cry’s stopped. All that was left where dried tears and small hiccups.
“I want more time with you.. riki” you kept your head down hands still holding him. Afraid that if you let go all you’ll have left of him where memories.
“Aw baby, you know we have all the time in world.” he spoke trying to make you feel at ease. You looked into his eyes for the first time in a while. Getting emotional once again. “I’m scared… i’m scared i won’t have enough memories of us.” you sighed “I know getting into a relationship with you I would have to sacrifice seeing you ever once in a while.. but i just want more time with you. Before we know it this could be our last” thoughts of not having enough moments and adventures with him made you feel hopeless. Silence washed over you both. Your words that had been unspoken for many many months finally spilled out. Unable to stop.
“I want you to make unforgettable memories with you Riki. I wanna be young and dumb and in love with you. Just give me more time.” Ni-ki’s grip loosened around you. He moved his hands from around you to be placed in your hands. He intertwined them together bringing them close to his chest.
“And we can do all that y/n… I promise we have all the time in the universe. I’m not going anywhere as long as your with me.” He placed his lips on yours giving you a soft peck. Bringing his hand up to whip off the dry tears that had made there way on your cheeks. He closed the gap once again. Hoping this kiss would tell you all you needed to know.
He pulled away just enough for your lips to separate. He stared into your eyes, really taking in the fragile moment. As he pulled you close to him a hushed-
“I love you.” fell past his lips.
જ⁀➴ notes: Help idek what i’m doing in this one shit but i had to write it
#enhypen x reader#enhypen#ni ki scenarios#ni ki x reader#ni ki enhypen#enha niki#niki x reader#niki imagines#niki fluff#niki angst#enha fluff#enha angst#niki#niki dabble
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OTP questions | Heartbeat! AU edition
haiii guys ^_^ its my bday week so i thought id do something fun (granted if people participate hahah) im a little too busy to write full fics rn so... here we are :3
ive included some "OTP" asks ive sourced across the web, and decided i wanted to apply them to the heartbeat! au (one million percent inspired by @joosthead 's normal au otp questionary)
anyways.... i decided it would be fun to write about the little nuances of heartbeat! joost and reader's relationship that might not be addressed through regular fics... so if there's anything you'd like to know about our favorite toxic couple... ask away - separated by SFW and NSFW asks
see already answered asks here | asks in red have already been answered.
❤︎ SFW ASKS ❤︎
1. Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?
2. Who takes photos of the other while they sleep?
3. Who said "I love you" first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with "Because I love you"?
4. Who has the most nightmares, and who sings them back to sleep after?
5. Who steals the Blanket?
6. Who Cusses more?
7. Who is More Cuddly?
8. Who is the one to do something the other told them not to?
9. Who is more emotional/cries more?
10. Who is More possessive?
11. Who gets jealous easily?
12. Who is more protective?
13. do they have a lot of arguments? if so, over what?
14. who apologizes first? in what way? is it hard for either of them to apologize?
15. which one has more insecurities? over what?
16. who gets more riled up? do they show their anger?
17. who tries to make up first? does it work?
18. do they hold grudges? is it hard for them to let go/forgive each other?
19. what's their favorite pass time when they're upset?
20. who do they confide in when shit hits the fan (besides each other?
21. is it hard for them to talk about their feelings openly with each other? if so, is there any way that can be resolved, even in the slightest?
22. who grieves more when the other is away?
23. who misses the other more, or really thinks about them more?
24. do either of them have the other's stuff lying around their house?
25. how about teasing? do they tease each other while in a fight (whether it be with themselves or just general teasing)?
26. do either of them have any vices?
27. what's the thing they miss most about each other?
28. what's their go-to breakup/angst song?
29. who's more jealous?
30. who is the first to forgive?
31. which is more afraid of confrontation?
32. who's more patient? is it hard to break that patience?
33. who's more likely to do something out of spite?
34. who would be the first to say they hate the other? would they mean it?
35. who worries more?
36. who's quicker to walk away if a situation gets heated?
37. who is more prone to anger?
38. who cries more in an argument? do either of them cry?
39. does it take a lot for it to get to the point of yelling?
40. who sleeps on the couch? can either of them sleep without the other?
41. who ends up yelling first? are they always yelling when arguing, or do neither of them yell at all?
42. do they think about each other a lot? does it affect their performance/schoolwork?
❤︎ NSFW ASKS ❤︎
43. What is their favorite part of their s/o’s body?
44. Are they adventurous in bed?
45. Do their sex drives match?
46. What is their favorite intimately sexual thing to do to their partner?
47. What is their favorite intimately non-sexual thing to do with their partner?
48. What is the one thing their partner can do that will automatically turn them on?
49. Do they keep it in the bedroom or just do wherever they happen to be?
50. What is their favorite position with their s/o?
51. Are they into dirty talk?
52. Clothes on or off?
53. Are they into bondage at all?
54. Are they comfortable talking to each other about their fantasies and desires?
55. Have they ever been caught having sex?
56. About how many times a week do they have sex?
57. Do they sext/send naughty pictures/write each other steamy loves notes?
58. Are they loud or quiet?
59. Do they like to play games or tease each other before sex or even foreplay?
60. Who is always horny and will have sex, at any place and at any time?
61. Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?
62. Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on?
63. Who acts tough, but actually is really submissive?
i'll probably keep these asks up for a little while :3 happy asking!
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What is cuneiform?
@ipsomaniac asked if I could explain the cuneiform system, and so I am going to give it a shot. Here goes! (Update: it got long! But there's pictures!)
Part I: What does it look like? How do we work with it?
This is the cuneiform script:
This is a first-millennium BC text of Sargon II, in Akkadian (specifically Neo-Assyrian). My user icon is a much older Sumerian text. In a second we'll see some Hittite. Just like the Latin script is used for English, French, Turkish, and many other languages today, the cuneiform script was used for lots of languages in the ancient world. It changed a bit over three thousand years of constant use, but it remains pretty recognizable because of the wedges. "Cuneiform" is just Latin for "wedge-shaped," because scholars love giving things banal names and then translating them into Latin or Greek so no one can tell.
This is a Hittite tablet:
This particular tablet is part of the royal funerary ritual (which has many many MANY tablets, many of which are way more broken than this one, and/or missing entirely). It's been pieced together from lots of fragments, all excavated separately. (You can see their excavation numbers written on the fragments, e.g. 39/c.) It's written on clay, like most of their texts were. This is a pretty good amount of preservation for a tablet this size - many are more fragmentary. I wish the picture were better, but tablets are not catalogued by how good the pictures are and it would have taken a million years to find a really hi-res one suitable for our purposes.
You can see that each symbol is made up of a bunch of wedges. These were pressed into the clay with a stylus while it was still wet. If you look closely, you can also spot spaces between words (more obvious at the end of a paragraph).
Here's a little slice of our tablet:
And here's a drawing of that same little slice. This is how scholars usually interact with texts on a day-to-day basis, because taking readable photos of tablets is difficult and going to see the tablets is more difficult. Drawings are made by experts in the presence of the tablets and published so that everyone can look at them.
Here the scholar who did this drawing (published in Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi vol. 39, text no. 4) was working with only some of the fragments, and so has written in the transliteration of the left half, which they weren't copying. So you can see how each cuneiform sign corresponds to a written syllable, sometimes in lowercase, sometimes in all caps, and sometimes in superscript.
What does all this mean? How does it work? Okay. Cuneiform is a really difficult and frustrating writing system to read, for a few reasons. 1) It grew organically from a time before writing existed, so people were just kind of slowly figuring out how to use pictures to represent words; 2) it lasted for thousands of years, so there were all sorts of innovations tacked on without necessarily jettisoning any of the old stuff; and 3) it was borrowed through quite a few languages, almost none of which were related to one another, so it had to twist around and adapt to totally different sounds and word structures. So it's weird! And hard to learn, especially for us, because we are not native speakers of any of the languages that used it, and also we're not a single person existing in a snapshot of time, where cuneiform had a specific form and iteration - we're looking at its whole span of three thousand years.
THAT SAID. I can explain some stuff about it and how it worked! Here goes!
Part 2: How does it work as a writing system?
We start with a picture. Let's use a star. Like this: 𒀭
Or this:
(this is a student text copying the star sign over and over - ignore the leftmost column. I got it from this excellent thread here)
This is the cuneiform sign for the sky, or for a god. In Sumerian, the language that first used cuneiform, the word for "sky" is AN. The word for "god" is DINGIR. So this sign could be pronounced either AN, and mean sky, or DINGIR, and mean god. This sort of usage is called "logographic" - a sign equals a word. It started as just a picture of a star, and came to mean a couple of things associated with the stars.
Eventually, there reaches a point where it doesn't just only mean the word "sky," it also means the syllable "an." That is, you could use it to represent a part of a word, or a grammatical element, that was pronounced "an." (E.g., ma-ah-ha-an: mahhan, which is a Hittite word that means "when," and which is written with four signs, including our an.) This is called the rebus principle: like a rebus puzzle, a picture of an eye can also mean "I" because they sound the same. This usage supplements the logograms rather than replacing them: you could still use "an" to mean "sky." You know which usage is in play based on context. (Or at this stage, maybe you don't. Sumerian is real hard and we don't understand it perfectly.)
You can also use signs a third way, which is designed to make reading easier: as what's called a "determinative." A determinative tells you what type of thing a word is. So if you use the star symbol as a determinative, it comes before a word and indicates that upcoming is a god's name. It's not pronounced when it's used like that. Other determinatives include: male and female markers, plural markers, markers to indicate what something is made of, what kind of animal it is, etc.
So any sign you see could potentially be a word (logogram), a sound (syllable), or a soundless classifier (determinative). In practice, only some signs take on all three of these functions.
When we transcribe signs now, we write them in Latin script based on which function they're serving. That's why, in the above Hittite texts, some of the signs were written in all-caps (for logograms), some of them in lowercase (for syllables), and some of them in superscript (for determinatives).
So then Akkadian borrows the system. They like to spell words out a lot more than the Sumerians do, so more and more signs are used primarily for their syllables, rather than their meaning. The signs also take on more syllabic meanings, because Akkadian has different words behind the logograms, and also has different sounds than Sumerian. A lot of signs end up doing double, triple or even-more-ple duty (e.g. the sign for "ag" can also be read "ak" or "aq" in an Akkadian text). Once again, you know how to read a sign from context, and in Akkadian you usually actually do know, because Akkadian is a Semitic language rather than an isolate like Sumerian, so we understand it way, way better.
Akkadian keeps using the symbols as logograms, though, too. Sometimes they'll spell out a word, but sometimes they'll just use the logographic symbol for it - like how sometimes we write out "two," and sometimes just write "2". Sometimes there are full Sumerian words or combinations of words that have become logograms: that is, they're not loanwords. They're not pronounced in Sumerian. They're written as a symbol (like 2), and the Akkadian word would be pronounced underneath (like "two.") The Akkadians also keep using determinatives.
At this point, most signs at least have a logographic value and a few syllabic values. Also (to make it extra difficult) plenty of syllables have a couple of different signs that could be used to represent them. In total there's a bit over a thousand cuneiform signs, incidentally, but usually only a few hundred were in use at any given time and place.
Then Hittite borrows it! They actually overall reduce the number of signs used, and the number of signs doing double duty, so it's generally simpler to read. Hittite's sound system is totally different from Akkadian's, though - which is totally different from Sumerian's - so they do some weird stuff with which signs represent which sounds. (The result of this is that our understanding of Hittite phonetics is somewhat imperfect.) They do use a ton of logograms whenever they're talking about physical objects, especially ritual offerings. Ritual texts are A PAIN IN THE ASS to read because they're full up with obscure logograms, and so you pore over a signlist trying to work out what the bonkers twelve-wedge sign you've never seen before is, and then when you finally find it you're like, "oh ANOTHER kind of bread. cool cool."
Part 3: Let's Read Hittite! (This is probably excessive.)
So finally, let's read some together! This is two lines from the Ten-Year Annals of Mursili II, an account of the first ten years of that king's reign. It's mostly conquering, but this bit is calmer.
(ANNOYINGLY, Tumblr will not do superscript, or I cannot make it anyway, so I will put determinatives in parentheses.)
nam-ma (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši ú-wa-nu-un nu (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši
gi-im-ma-an-da-ri-nu-un nu-za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM i-ya-nu-un
That's the text rendered sign-by-sign. Everything that is separated by a dash, a period, a space, or a parenthesis is a separate sign. Words are separated with spaces. Here's a more normalized rendition of the words (still with the logograms, though).
namma (URU)Hattusi uwanun nu (URU)Hattusi gimmandarinun nu=za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM iyanun
"Then I went to Hattusa, and I spent the winter in Hattusa and performed the festivals of the sixth year."
The ú in uwanun in the first line is written with an accent because there are several signs that can mean "u" and this is the second one. Similar for EZEN4: there's more than one sign for EZEN, and this is the fourth. Scholars always write logograms and determinatives in Sumerian, because that's where the meanings were fixed. URU, used before Hattusa, is both the determinative for "city" and the Sumerian word meaning the same. ŠA in the last line is italicized and capitalized because it's a logogram that comes from Akkadian: "ša" means "of" in Akkadian, and the Hittites used Akkadian words as logograms just like the Akkadians used Sumerian words.
Anyway, that's how cuneiform works! If you made it this far you're a hero! <3
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My Brothers Best Friend. (Dave Franco x Female Reader) P A R T T W O
summary: After a night of lustfulness between Y/n and her brother's best friend, the morning after leaves no room for discussion. Knowing how wrong it feels, they can't deny their needs. Even if it means getting caught.
warnings: smut
Last night was crazy. I never in a million years would've thought that I would fuck my brother's best friend on our kitchen counter. It was now the next morning and Dave is still going to be here for one more night...
"Good Morning, look who decided to finally join us." My mom says to me as I walk into the dining room. Everyone was eating breakfast, and the table was covered in a spread of breakfast foods and juices. The only empty seat left was the seat next to Dave. I take a seat, making eye contact with Dave. I could see a smirk appear on his face as the events from last night both replayed in our minds.
"Were you up late last night? You're usually the first one up." My Mom says to me making my break eye contact with Dave. "Uh, yeah," I respond, taking bites out of my food. As the conversation around the table flowed, I stayed quiet, still trying to get the thoughts of last night out of my head. It wasn't long before I felt cold fingers graze the top of my knee. It was Dave.
His fingers trailed up my inner thigh, making my breath hitch. "What about you Y/n?" My mom says to me, looking at me, waiting for my response. "Uh, I'm sorry I wasn't listening," I respond. I wasn't even remotely focused on my mom's words, all I could think about was how Dave was making me feel. His fingers were now on my clothed pussy.
"I said, do you want more eggs?" My mom says, sounding a little frustrated. "No, I'm good," I respond, trying to act as normal as possible. Dave, on the other hand, was great. He was having a full-on conversation with my brother as if his fingers aren't playing with my pussy right now. I was so turned on, just begging for him to do something at this point, but he did nothing.
He slowly pulled his hand away from between my legs. I wanted to kill him for leaving me like that. He could sense my anger towards him, turning his head and smiling at me. This fucker. "Breakfast was great thanks, Mom!" I say before getting out of my seat and racing off to my room. As I lay on my bed, my mind couldn't stop racing with thoughts all revolving around Dave. His fingers, his smile, his kiss. My hands trailed down my body making their way to the hem of my shorts.
My fingers rolled over my clit. My eyes were closed, picturing the events of last night all over again. Small moans and whimpers left my mouth. I could feel myself getting closer. But my thoughts were interrupted by my door, slamming open. The sudden open door makes me jump out of my skin, pulling my hand out of my shorts.
"What the fuck?" I say trying to catch my breath, looking at Dave standing in my doorway. Dave closes the door behind him, walking towards the bottom of my bed. "We can't," I say, watching him make his way to the bottom of my bed. "Your brother and your mom are gone to the store." He responds looking at me up and down. That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
I pulled the hem of my shorts down as well as my underwear, exposing my bare pussy to him. His body automatically shifted, moving closer to my pussy. "Stay there," I say, looking him in the eyes. He listens, watching me from the bottom of the bed. My fingers made their way down to my pussy again, touching myself.
His jaw was open, watching me touch myself. "Please." He says looking up at me. I smile widely, nodding my head. As soon as he saw me nod my head, he was all over me. His body was on top of mine, kissing my lips roughly and needy. His hand made its way down to my pussy, wasting no time thrusting his fingers inside of me aggressively.
This time I was able to be as loud as I wanted. He broke our kiss moving his body off mine and down in front of my pussy. His fingers were deep inside of me, curling and thrusting in and out of me rapidly. Once his face was level with my pussy, he latched his mouth onto my clit. Sucking and sopping up all my juices.
The mixture of his fingers pounding in and out of me and his tongue flicking against my clit, I was already coming close. My back was arched off the bed. My hands were in his hair, pushing his face closer down on my pussy. "Fuck Dave" I was a whimpering mess under his touch. "Cum for me baby." He says to me. Picking up an even faster pace against my pussy. My vision went hazy, screaming his name as I came all over his fingers.
He pulled his fingers out of me, sopping my juices with his mouth. "So fucking good," he says to me, licking his fingers clean. I sat up grabbing his face and kissing him. I needed him inside of me. I laid down once again, this time pulling his body on mine. He straddled my body as he undid his jeans, freeing his hard cock. "Please fuck me," I beg him. I could feel his tip line up to my entrance, his body rolling against mine. We both let out a moan as his dick slides inside of me. His arms were on either side of my head. He started to fuck me hard. I couldn't think of anything other than how turned on I was.
His hand grabbed one of my legs, hooking it over his shoulder. "Oh, my god." I moaned out. The new position was causing him to hit my g-spot every time, making my back arch off the bed and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Dave was moaning and whimpering, his face was screwed up in pleasure. "ah fuck ma." He whimpers out. The nickname threw me overboard, grabbing onto his shoulders and cumming harder than ever before. Dave was quick to cum after me, becoming a whimpering mess. He then collapsed on top of me.
We stayed there for a second, Dave inside of me, both of us trying to catch our breaths. Until we heard the front door open. "Dave?" I heard my brother yell. "Shit, fuck." Dave says, pulling out of me and looking for something to clean up with. "Here!" I say getting up and tossing him a shirt from my floor. He wipes his cock off tucking it into his pants. He then quickly attempted to clean me up. "It's okay, go!" I say, grabbing the cum filled shirt from his hand. I pull the blankets over my legs not bothering to change at that moment. But before Dave could leave, my brother walks in.
Although we thought that the sight would be fine, my brother knew right away. Nobody said anything. My brother looked at me first, my body tucked under the covers, hair messy, cheeks red. And then he looked over at Dave, swollen lips, messy hair, belt hanging half off his pants. "No fucking way." My brother says, eyes bugging out of his head, storming out of my room. Dave was quick to follow him, storming out of my room. I could hear the muffled yelling through the walls. This is all my fault.
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