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viennakarma · 9 months

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Happiness is a butterfly

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: He wants you but he can't have you. But when a fatal crash happens, he realizes maybe he should just take the jump, before it's too late.

Word count: 6.4k

Tags: Female reader, teammate reader, smut, oral, angst, crash, very remorseful nano, cursing, mostly fernando pov, fernando is in denial, age gap (not defined), hurt/comfort, brief mention of Jules Bianchi, happy ending, not beta read

Relationships: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Notes: LISTEN I wish I could control my creative brain but I can’t. *taps mic* Ok, so, who's ready for our little monthly crying session? This actually came to me in a dream after I listened to Happiness is a butterfly, and I ended up incorporating some of the lyrics in the story. I was only contemplating writing this when Anon sent this request asking for angst after a big fight, and I thought it goes perfectly with what I had in mind.

Hope it's to your liking, Anon!

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“Fernando,” You whispered like it wasn’t wrong, like his name was a prayer.

Fernando knew it was wrong, not only because you were a driver and his teammate, but also because you were way too young for him. But whenever you two were like that, you in his arms, it felt so right, so perfect.

Sometimes he wondered to himself if he took advantage of you. Because ever since you first met, you looked at him with big shiny eyes, like you were facing a hero. He knew you were a fan of his, but then again, most of the younger drivers were. But when you two became teammates and got closer, he’d notice how your eyes would find his first thing after entering any room. Whenever you two had chats alone, you’d smile at him in a specific way you didn’t smile at anyone else, blush creeping up your face.

It was so easy to be enchanted by you, by your kindness and willingness. Fernando was drawn to you like a moth to flame, only you didn’t burn him. You were kind to everyone and very talkative, and for a while, Fernando wondered how you managed to get into Formula 1 and keep your spirit intact. Everyone called you a social butterfly. Then he started calling you Mariposa, as a sweet nickname, and he explained to you it meant “Butterfly”.

You two were always together, being teammates, so it didn’t take long for the dynamic shift. Soon, there were longing looks and lingering touches. The way Fernando would always touch the small of your back for a little too long when talking to you, or the way you lean too close whenever talking to him, or the way his eyes stare at your lips every opportunity. Or when you finished a good race and the first thing you’d do was jump on his arms. How you’d always knock three times on his helmet right before going off to the race, he started reciprocating the gesture, since he knew it was probably your thing for good luck or something.

Things went like that for too long, and neither of you were brave enough to take the jump, as you called it.

That until fate put you face to face during summer break. You were in Mallorca with a bunch of your friends for a girls trip in a resort by the sea. You were having brunch when you spotted Fernando at the same time he spotted you, his eyebrows raising in surprise, he muttered something to the people with him that looked like his family members, before coming to you.

“Mariposa!” He hugged you softly.

“Hi! Good to see you!” You chirped, nervously.

Fernando blatantly checked you out. You were wearing simple bikinis and a light beach robe. You were tanned, hair wild and cheeks red like you had come straight out of one of his wet dreams.

“Enjoying summer break?” He asked.

“Yeah, with my friends,” You pointed to where they waited for you at the table, “will you be here for long?”

“No, my family is going back today and I’m leaving tomorrow. We’ve been here for a few days already.”

You waved him goodbye after a quick chat. That night, the weather, the breeze and the empty villa tempted him into calling you. He didn’t want to be that guy so he resisted the urge, instead going for a walk by the beach, alone. As fate would have it, he found you at a small beach party with your friends, dancing and drinking.

Like a magnet, your eyes found his, and you said something to your friends before walking up to him.

“You came to the party?” You asked.

“No, I was just taking a walk and passed by,” He shrugged, and started walking away “I’ll let you go back to your friends.”

“No! No- I mean- Can I walk with you?” You asked and he just nodded.

You two walked away by the shore, the small waves crashing over your feet, and you two chatting about the island and all the adventures you got to go.

“So you went diving, surfing? Everything?”

“I have always been kind of a scaredy-cat, especially as a kid. My dad used to tell me ‘you just have to breathe ten seconds of courage and take the jump’. Funnily, racing was the only thing I wasn’t afraid of. I’m in control, me and the car are one.”

He listened to you for a long while, his eyes focused on the way the wind picked up your hair, your dress flowy in the wind and your bikini top peeking from under the neckline. You were looking delicious, he had to admit. You always were, but now, after spending the whole day under the sun, your skin was golden and glowy, and he imagined himself biting into your shoulder and kissing up your neck.

When you two finally stopped by the villa, Fernando looked at you attentively.

“Won’t your boyfriend be worried about you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you shook your head knowing that he was just trying to find out if you had someone.

“You don’t? Well you’re pretty and nice, I thought you’d have one by now.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked, blushing which made him chuckle.

“You know you are stunning.”

“Well, I know I’m pretty, I just didn’t know if I am pretty enough for you.”

“Mariposa,” his voice had a tone of reprimand, but his eyes falling down your cleavage and body, betrayed him.

“Just one kiss?” You asked, pouting, “and we don’t even have to talk about it after.”

“I can’t.”

“But you want to?” You asked, full of hope.

“We should not,” he whispered as you closed the distance to his face, your face barely centimeters from his, lips dangerously close.

“We could just,” you tried to come up with an argument, but your lips brushed his beard and you lost all train of thought.

“If we start, I will not be able to stop,” he mumbled, trying so hard to refrain himself.

“Then don’t.”

That’s all it took for him to press his fingers to your nape, pulling you in and smashing his lips to yours. And it felt divine, like nothing he had ever done before, you were sweet and the harder he kissed you, the more pliant you got in his arms, sighing and moaning softly as his hand found home over your ass, pressing firmly until your whole body was flush to his.

“Fernando,” you whispered, his lips going down your neck, his beard making goosebumps raise on your skin.

Then you walked inside without really breaking apart. Fernando pulled your dress from your body, staring at you in your bikini.

“This is tiny,” he said, hooking a finger by the string on the sides of the bottom.

You smiled some way you hoped was seductive, taking a step back so he could see you fully as you pulled the strings, letting your bikini top fall to the floor, followed by the bottom soon after.

Soon he had you bent over the back of the sofa, holding onto the seat for dear life as he knelt behind you and ate you out, fingering you ass all the way to a mind blowing orgasm. Then he fucked you senseless, whispering dirty nothings into your ear, switching English and Spanish back and forth. He slapped your ass until it was stinging, whispering about your “tempting tiny bikini”. He had you groaning, drooling against the sofa until your toes curled and you came around his cock.

“Nano… Fuck-” you moaned feeling him cumming too.

He cuddled you, both of you falling on the sofa, spent.

“Why were we holding back? We should’ve done this a long time ago.” You said, lips brushing his beard.

He didn’t answer because he knew why he had been holding back. You were young, sometimes naive, and his teammate. It was double the trouble. But he didn’t allow himself to wallow in those feelings, rather focusing on the feel of you naked in his arms.

“You know what we should do? Stay here a bit longer,” you rose from his chest, eyes glinting mischievously, “we should extend our stay here.”

“Just you and me?”

“Just us,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his chest.

And so you stayed with him. You sent your friends to Ibiza as a gift and Fernando extended his rent on the villa. You’d spend the day lazing around, cooking together and going to the beach or the pool. You played tennis and trained together in the small gym. You made love on every possible surface of that whole villa, which left you spent and satisfied every single day.

And you talked. Fernando considered you to be one of the closests people to him on the grid, but still, he learned so much more about you, about your mental strength to rise and thrive in motorsport. And you were clever and witty, joking around him, talking about life and all your dreams. And he could hear you for hours on end, never getting tired of you.

Unfortunately, your little time of uninterrupted happiness had to end. With a heavy heart, you kissed him goodbye, both of you aware that things would never go back to the way they were before summer break. But you two were also too scared to name anything, or to ruin whatever this dynamic was.

But you left Mallorca admitting to yourself that you had fallen in love even deeper.

You tried to keep texting and calling him, but you usually were in very different time zones so the texts were few and far between. Fernando even sent you a sweet text on your birthday a few of days later.

There was a gala by the end of summer break almost three weeks later, hosted by the FIA, it was mostly for mingling, and most drivers usually went, especially those trying to keep an image to the big shots.

Fernando went there because he rarely missed it. And maybe because he knew you would be there too, and maybe he could leave with you.

You arrived a little late, stunning in a green gown, with a tight corset and a big slit showing your leg. Fernando watched as you made rounds, greeting people and old men, other drivers that were your friends and their wives or girlfriends. You eventually made your way to Fernando, and he proudly waited for you when you walked up to him, the most beautiful smile adorning your lips and eyes shining just as much as the diamonds on your earrings.

“You’re beautiful, mariposa.” Fernando whispered.

“Thank you, you look handsome too. Love me a man in a tuxedo.” You whispered back conspiratorially, winking at him.

You two chatted for a little, watching the people around. You told him everything you did during summer break after you two parted ways in Mallorca. When the slow music started, you watched the couples getting to the dancefloor.

“Nano, can we dance?” You asked. He just stiffened, face unsure.

“Hm, I’m not sure.”

“Nobody will mind, we’re teammates,” you shrugged.

“I don’t think it's a good idea,” He looked at your face, still staring longingly at the couples slow dancing on the dancefloor. Yearning for something he couldn’t give you.

“Mhm…” You hummed, disappointed. You stood there silent for a couple more minutes, watching the dancefloor. Fernando imagined dancing with you, having you in his arms, listening to your voice, your hand on his shoulder. You cleared your throat for a second, “I’m gonna get a drink.”

You didn’t wait for his response, leaving with long strides to the bar, the opposite side. Fernando’s eyes never left you, he watched as you got a drink and sipped a little, sitting on a bar stool. Some people stopped to greet you quickly. At some point, Charles Leclerc stopped you, whispering something that made you giggle a little, then he offered you a hand, probably inviting you to dance, but you refused politely. You grabbed a second drink and turned on the stool, nursing your drink and still watching the party go on.

You wanted to dance with him, not anyone else.

Eventually, the party died down, and Fernando got close to you again, whispering in your ear to meet him in the most discreet parking lot and then he left. You watched his back as he made his way out. Downing whatever was left of your drink, you stood up, making a quick route to say goodbye to everyone.

Finally, you met Fernando in the car. He had driven himself in his expensive car.

As he drove away in the middle of the night, he put his hand on your thigh under the slit of the dress. You honestly wanted to jump him, to make him stop the car anywhere and just get into it.

Quietly making into his hotel room, you kicked your high heels off and kissed him, not giving him any second before deepening the kiss, pressing your body to his.

“Wait,” he managed to croak out. You took a step back. He went into his luggage and picked a small box, handing it to you, “I know your birthday was two weeks ago, but since I didn’t see you- well, happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to…” you whispered, opening the box to a beautiful and delicate necklace with a gold butterfly pendant with small diamonds all around the wings, “it’s so beautiful, Fernando.”

“Not as much as you, Mariposa.” He whispered back, taking the necklace, placing you in front of the full body mirror and standing behind you and locking the necklace around your neck.

“Thank you”

He kissed your neck, running a hand down your arm, then kissing your shoulders while pulling the hair pins out of your hair, letting your hair free. He kept leaving hot wet kisses on your skin, calling you “hermosa” and “my mariposa” all while unzipping your dress slowly. You let him do whatever, his hands pushing the corset out until the fabric pooled around your ankles kicking it away too, and you stood in nothing but panties and the necklace.

You gasped, staring at your reflection on the mirror and him behind you, his rough fingertips running over your side, getting to your front and cupping your boobs. You felt soft as his fingers pinched your nipples, making you moan softly.

“You ready to take me?” He asked against your ears.

“Please, Nano,” you moaned his name the way you only said it when you were alone and getting intimate.

“Foot there,” he pointed to a chair. You did as he said, one leg up so he could have better access to your panties.

He pressed his chest to your back, fingers sliding inside your panties to feel your obscene wetness dampening the fabric. His fingers slid right over your clit, spreading your juices all around, before diving into your cunt. You moaned, head lolling back against his shoulder, as he pleasured you nonstop. You had been turned on even since the gala, and the ride to the hotel had been pure torture not being touched. So it didn’t take much for him to build you up, his thumb brushing your clit. Your moaning got louder and with the way he could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers, he knew you were close.

And so he stopped, making you whine. He just chuckled.

“Nano! I was so close!” You pouted.

“Needy girl, get on the bed,” he pointed again, like an order, “you’re cumming around my cock first.”

You sat on the bed slowly, still reeling from almost orgasming. You watched as Fernando started undressing in front of you, so you just ran both hands from his chest down to his thighs, fingers barely touching the straining erection in his pants.

“Don’t get greedy now. Wait.”

With his words, you stopped touching him, leaning back so you could watch him undress. When he finally got rid of all clothing, he leaned, kissing your stomach and up your boobs, mouthing your nipples as his hands pulled your panties, letting you lay down on the edge of the bed. You held his head against your nipples, his eyes finding yours through his eyelashes.

When you were both fully naked, he just held your legs open and sank into your cunt, making you moan loud as you back rose up from the bed.

“Nano- oh, fuck!” You moaned, and pulled by his neck to kiss you.

He kissed you back slowly, patiently contrasting your desperate hands on his shoulder, crawling up his neck, fingertips sinking into his soft hair, as he fucked you slowly, pressing you deliciously into the bed, one hand firmly on the bedrest and the other holding your neck, pressing until you were cumming, his lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

You two were cuddling quietly when you decided to say what you’ve been thinking about ever since Mallorca.

“We should go on a date, Fernando. Take the next step, I really like what we have.”

You could feel him stiffening against you, and you closed your eyes, afraid of what his response would be.

“We can’t, mariposa. You are way younger than me,” He said somberly, “and we’re teammates. This would be too messy for the both of us, but especially for you, who is just starting your career.”

“I don’t mind if that’s the price I need to pay to have you.”

“We can’t take this kind of risk for something we don’t even know it’s real.”

That squeezed your heart and made you angry with his denial.

“Fernando, this is real- You know that!”

“Calling a cab to take you to your hotel,” he said standing up and picking his phone. His tone was cold, detached from you, like you were just some toy for him to have fun with, and now you served your purpose.

“Don’t be like that, Fernando. This is more than just sex,” you got up, covering yourself with the bedsheet because it felt too vulnerable having this conversation naked.

“We can’t be anymore than that. You’re too young to understand.” He said not looking at you.

There was a lump on your throat rapidly forming. He knew you hated when people treated you like you were dumb because you were young.

“Please let us just talk about it-”

“There’s nothing to talk about. This means nothing! Nada!” He exclaimed.

“You don’t mean that. Don’t be a jerk.” Your voice was already wavering.

You stared at his back as he turned around, going to the opposite side of the room, your tears started falling down.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He finally said but still didn’t look at you.

“I’m already hurt,” you said, picking up your panties from the floor hastily putting them on, realizing how Fernando had helped you with your dress, so you just picked up one of his sweaters and dressed, “do you want me or do you not?”

“I don’t want you.”

“You’re missing good things in life because of fear. Just take the fucking jump, Fernando.”

The next thing he heard was the slamming door behind you.

When he walked back, he noticed you had left the butterfly necklace on the table. Holding the necklace against the palm of his hand, he wondered if he did the right thing or just lost the best thing in his life.

You didn’t text or called him. And he didn’t either. Eventually he texted you, to tell you had “forgot” the necklace, to test the waters.

“You’re the only one who calls me mariposa. This necklace has no meaning to me if you’re not in my life.”

His mind would often wander back to Mallorca, to those few days you and him lived in paradise. Sleeping late, waking up even later, then making love lazily under the sun, sunbathing naked by the pool, and cooking together, training together. There was never silence with you, since you were always talking or singing or playing loud music.

And he missed it. As the weeks progressed and the more race weeks came, you didn’t try to talk to him about the two of you. You were still polite and talkative, usually filling his silence with stories, talks about the track and strategies. You still knocked on his helmet three times before every race, probably a pre race ritual by now.

He missed you. He missed not only the feel of your cunt around his cock, but he missed your loudness, and your laugh. He missed the light in your eyes that was slowly darkening each passing day. Like you were losing hope he would come around and change his mind.

The last race of the season, he was a little late from a meeting, so you were already getting in the car when he came out. Your visor was up, so you just looked at him, and knocked your own helmet three times as a sign to him, who did the same gesture back to you.

By around ⅔ of the race, there was an accident and the red flag was called.

It took maybe two or three minutes until all cars stopped on the pitlane, lined up under the red flag. As Fernando climbed out of the car, he turned around, looking for you, removing his helmet, guard and balaclava, he went inside the garage.

“Where’s Mariposa?” He asked, to one in particular. But then his eyes landed in Martha, your PT, and her eyes were watery as she pointed to the screen.

A sinking feeling expanded in his stomach as he saw your car, that now looked like an unrecognizable wreckage. He dropped his helmet, covering his mouth with a hand. The marshals were all around your burning car, various people with fire extinguishers, trying to lower the fire enough to pull you out.

“Has she responded yet? Did she say anything?” Fernando asked without removing his eyes from the screen.

“No,” Somebody said, somberly.

“She’ll be fine,” Fernando assured, probably trying to convince himself, and his rapid heartbeat. He had seen and had been in many ugly crashes, and in the end, the driver had come out unscathed. He was sure you could manage, you were very strong and stubborn.

When the fire died down enough, a couple of marshals pulled you out, and Fernando’s heart felt like it was stopping as they pulled you out unconscious. The marshals made a small shield around you and carried you to the ambulance.

Looking around, Fernando finally noticed how everyone was horrified by the crash, and all the drivers around seemed pale and worried. It took a couple of minutes for the FIA to decide to keep the race going, setting it to restart 15 minutes later.

“Fernando,” someone called, and he turned to be faced with George and Alex, who were your closest friends on the grid, “any news on her?”

“Not yet,” he paused, trying really hard to not freak out, “Mike went to the hospital with her.”

“That was ugly,” Alex muttered gloomily.

The tree of them stayed silent, eyes on the screen where a replay of your crash. It was probably a mechanical issue, since you were in high speed when the tyres locked, and you visibly couldn’t brake, going straight into the barriers, full force.

“Will-” George started but his voice failed a little and he cleared his throat, “will she be ok?”

“Yes. She’ll be ok.” Fernando said, not only to calm down the two young drivers, but also to convince himself, since no other option was acceptable in his mind.

You had to be fine.

“Fuck it,” Fernando went inside his room, changing quickly into more casual clothes, as he came out, the team was confused, “I’m sorry, but I have to check on her. Martha, come with me.”

He left knowing he would face terrible consequences with the FIA, not only for not going back to the race, but also because he avoided the press to go to the hospital you were taken to.

On the car, on the way to the hospital they had taken you to, his phone rang, and it was Mike, who had been the first one to go with you to the hospital. Fernando supposed Mike would want to tear him a new one for abandoning the race.

But no. Mike wanted to update him, telling you had a concussion that had knocked you out on the spot, inside the car. They were going to check if you had any more injuries with scans and tests.

By the time he got to the hospital, he met with Mike, and with Vince, your friend and manager, they said you were still unconscious and going through all the examinations necessary. The doctors wanted to see if you didn’t have any internal bleeding or fractures. They kept you unconscious during urgent care, hoping you would wake up after the tests and after the meds wear off.

Fernando sat in the waiting room unmoved, his fear eating him inside every minute you had not woken up yet. Martha was tearful the whole time, while Vince was making calls right and left, he got in touch with your family and closest friends. Alberto showed up around an hour after to pick Fernando up to go back to the hotel.

“I am not leaving,” Fernando said.

“Fernando, there’s nothing you can do. Vince said she will probably wake up late morning tomorrow, we can just-”

“I will not leave.”

Fernando’s words left no space for debate. He didn’t have any commitments for the next week. So he stayed after everyone left, waiting for news on his mariposa. He could barely drink the coffee because his stomach was churning with the lack of news. In the middle of the night, finally they finished the tests and they put you in a room.

After bribing his way inside, Fernando was able to get into your room and see you. You were sleeping, looking peaceful in that hospital bed, using an oxygen inhaler.

“Why does she need oxygen?” He asked the nurse checking on you.

“Here it says she inhaled some smoke before the fire was put off,” the woman explained, reading your chart.

“She will be alright, isn’t she?” He asked, his tone audibly worried. The nurse sighed, as if she didn’t want to say her next words.

“We can’t tell just yet. For now the scans and tests show she is fine, but we can only tell for sure after she wakes up.”

She left Fernando behind with dread consuming his every thought.

As he stared at your unconscious body on the bed, he couldn’t help but remember when you slept with him in Mallorca. Your naked body tangled with the blankets, hair splayed on the pillows and tanned limbs looking for him even in sleep, hugging him and keeping him in bed with you longer than he usually did. He sat by the bed, hand holding yours, running his thumb over your cold knuckles.

The remorse was eating him alive. You had to be alright. You had to wake up soon and laugh at his worried face, joking that you’re tougher than you look. Giving him those eyes. He couldn’t bear not looking at your eyes again, that would break him apart one last time.

Because you could have been his the whole time. He could have slept with you in his arms more often than not. He could have been stealing your kisses in dark corners and going out for dinner after late team meetings. He could’ve received random cute selfies from you throughout his day. He could’ve whispered “I love you” into your skin every night. Only he didn’t.

His last words to you were “I don’t want you” and he couldn’t take it if those were his last words for you ever. He never let himself admit to you that he had fallen. That he was absolutely crazy for you, that he loved you even before you ever kissed him.

He was about to spiral in guilt when your sister arrived in the early morning. She visibly didn’t expect Fernando there, holding her sister’s hand.

“I just talked to the doctor,” Mila, your sister, muttered.

“He said the meds will wear off later today,” Fernando said.

“You can go rest now, come back later.” Mila offered. Didn’t sound like she wanted him specifically out, but more out of worry.

“No, I- I want to stay until she’s awake.”

“Fernando, she wouldn’t want you to wear yourself thin because of her,” The way Mila said the words, it left a little unsaid.

“You know?” Was all he asked. Do you know about us? What do you think? What did she say about me? But Mila just nodded, she didn’t look judgemental.

“I know.”

He was about to leave to at least shower and eat something before coming back. As Mila got closer to your sleeping form, Fernando stood back and your sister touched your hand. Then she knocked three times on the bedside table. Fernando frowned.

“Why did you do that?” He asked Mila.

“When we were kids in karting, Dad used to do that to our helmets before races, each knock means a word. ‘I love you’, and with time it just became a silly habit of hers,” Mila explained.

Fernando’s heart twisted inside, eyes watering.

Knock. I. Knock. Love. Knock. You.

You had been doing the knocks to him for months, even before the summer break.

He left the room without a word, breathing in and out to stop the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He wasn’t an emotional man by any means, but the knowledge that you have been loving him for so long, broke his heart.

After going back to the hotel to shower and eat, he went knocking in Alberto’s room when he noticed he didn’t have his phone anywhere in sight ever since before the race had started. Like predicted, Alberto had his phone.

In his suite, Fernando unlocked his phone to hundreds of notifications, a lot from other drivers, asking for news about you, since not the Formula 1 or the FIA had released any notes about your condition. After shooting a few answers to the other drivers, he finally saw one notification, saying you had left him a voicemail the day before. From the time stamp, it was a bit before the race.

Wide eyed, he pressed play on the voicemail.

“Hey, I’m about to go out in the car, but I guess I just breathed 10 seconds of courage, well not enough to wait to say it to you face to face,” you giggled nervously, “but what I mean to say is, I love you. Probably not what you wanted to hear, but I do love you. And I know you don’t feel the same, but maybe you could… I don’t know, maybe you could take a chance on me. I know your reservations about the world, but… We should take the jump. I can make you really happy if you let me. And maybe one day you will grow to love me- god, that last part was pathetic- Shit- How do I delete this?” There was noise as if you were struggling with the phone and then someone called your name far away, “one second!” you told the person, “shit, I gotta go. Just please, can we talk over the winter break? I guess what I mean is that-” Then the beep ended the message, cutting your voicemail off.

He pressed play a couple more times, until he could breathe again, your voice offering some sense of peace to his mind. You were willing to have him, even after he kicked you out of his hotel room, even after he pretty much ignored your history all these past few months.

It would be alright. You would wake up, he would tell you he loved you and he was so sorry that he had wasted so much time being afraid of what people may think or how the world might treat you.

Only you didn’t.

You didn’t wake up after the meds wore off. And Fernando, your sister, Vince and Martha were all shocked when the doctor said it was possible you were in a coma.

“Everything seems ok, but she’s not waking up. Sometimes the body takes a little more time to recover from traumas like this.”

“When-” Mila’s voice failed, tears streaming down her face, “when do you believe she could wake up?”

“We can’t pinpoint that with precision,” the doctor answered.

“Get all the tests redone,” Fernando said suddenly, “maybe you missed something.”

“But-”

“I’ll pay for it.”

That’s all he said before leaving and entering a toilet by the waiting room. His chest heaving, he watered his shaky hands to try and calm down. You didn’t wake up. They weren’t sure when or if you would wake up. And, fuck, Fernando had seen that before with Jules, who was comatose for months before passing away.

He remembered the blinding pain of losing a friend and he couldn’t bear losing the love of his life too. Fernando stayed in the stall for a while, trying to calm down his terrified thoughts.

When he went back, your sister was still crying, being comforted by Vince.

“Fernando, can you stay here while we call my family?” Mila asked, and Fernando nodded.

As they left, Fernando sat by your side, holding your hand. With his thumb running over the back of your hand, he looked at your face.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, “I need you here. There’s still so much for you here. Please, I just need you to fight a little more, yes? You have always been stubborn.”

He waited for some kind of miracle, for you to wake up, for your eyes to find him like they always did even in a crowded room.

“When you recover, we will go out, on a proper date, and we’ll dance, like you wanted to. We’ll hold hands and I’ll take you to meet my family.” He kissed the back of your hand softly, “Wake up, Mariposa.”

He stayed there the whole day, letting your sister go find a hotel to stay and get some sleep. Then at night, she came back, assuring Fernando that he should go to sleep too, she knew he was more than a day and a half awake. Back at the hotel, he showered the smell of hospital off and made some calls to take care of his businesses. He texted George and Alex to update them. He also talked to his family, giving updates on his teammate, but not prolonging the chat as to not risk breaking down because of the state his mariposa was in the hospital. Then he went to sleep after a quick dinner, exhausted enough to sleep fairly quickly.

He managed to sleep the whole night, going in and off dreams of you, his brain probably too worried to really forget, even unconscious. He woke up at dawn, going back to the hospital so your sister could leave to rest.

Fernando checked on you first thing, and you were still unconscious, but your sister was on the phone talking to your parents, so he just left to give her a little privacy. He went into the cafeteria and drank a small cup of coffee.

As he went back, he noticed how agitated Vince looked on the phone right outside your room.

“Vince, what happened?” He asked, dreading that the worse had happened in the few minutes he was away.

“She woke up!”

Fernando’s eyes welled up with tears as he opened the door.

“-No, no, don’t talk just yet. Let’s wait for the doctor,” you sister said to you, then both of them looked at Fernando, who looked rooted to the spot, “Fernando! She woke up!” Your sister said through happy tears.

Your sister hugged again, kissing your head, whispering how she loved you all while Fernando stood there, trying to will his limbs to move. Then the doctor and a nurse came, asking you all to leave so he could examine you.

He waited outside as your sister went on the phone with the good news to your family again. Then the doctor came out, announcing you were looking good, and apparently no sequelae but they would still keep you for a few more days for close examination and to make sure everything was alright.

Barely registering anything, Fernando just entered your room, and you smiled at him. You smiled. Your eyes shining bright like you had just woken up from a simple nap.

And then he cried. Fully cried for the first time since the accident, like the relief of seeing you alive and well broke the dam of the tears he had been trying to hold back. And he could breathe again. Covering his face with both hands, he tried to get himself in control but he only stopped when he heard you.

“Na-” your voice was hoarse, “-no.”

“No, don’t talk yet. The nurse said your throat might feel a little dry.” He managed to subside his tears enough to talk.

When he sat down on the chair, you lifted your hand to hold his face. You were still a bit weak, but you wiped his face of the tears. He held your hand with both of his, kissing your palm.

“You gave us quite the scare,” Fernando said with a small smile. You smiled back, looking sleepy, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

You shook your head minimally but your eyes had that mischievous glint, like you were thinking of a silly joke about how tough you actually are.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for making you think I don’t love you, when I really do. I have for the longest time. We’ll make it work, however you want,” he just dumped the words, not wanting to lose another precious second not being yours, “soy tuyo, Mariposa. Te amo, mi amor.”

You just held his hand, squeezing it slowly three times. I. Love. You.

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

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kurikive · 2 months

Text

sticky | kim minji

things between you and minji are... sticky this summer.

— childhood friends to lovers, summer trip, soccer player!reader, slowish burn, lowkey bromance, futchish READER 💜

contains : cursing, kinda slight makeoutism, a lot of bro and dude, just a little bit of angst but i promise its literally nothing, NOT proofread at all i am tireeeddd

wc: 13.7k words

inspired by : Sticky — KISS OF LIFE

You're not really sure how you got here.

You’re watching the sunset at the beach with Kim Minji, your hand in between hers and the sand below you, your face two inches from her own, your lips two seconds away from colliding.

Actually, let's rewind.

It’s summer! It's been 3 long years of being away in Seoul. A soccer scholarship was always great, and you were having a fantastic time with your teammates and classmates, but you were completely burnt out after these exhausting last 6 months.

Korea University Anam Tigers proudly win 3rd place in the U-League for the first half of the season. 5 wins, 2 draws, 3 losses. Not too bad. You did better last year, but you're sure you'll recover and bounce back during the second half. Or maybe it was the alcohol and smell of grilled beef that was making you emotional.

After you finalize your amazing speech with a broken voice and a tear threatening to leave your eye, you realize you're actually quite drunk. The applause of your teammates startles you, and they may be mocking your sentimental state with their laughs and ‘aww’s and teasing pushes, but they cheer you on anyway.

“Han Y/N!” One of your teammates, Hsu Nientsu, also pretty tipsy, nudges your left arm as you sit back down, “Don't get so sensitive with us now!”

“Our Y/Nie gets emotional when drunk, huh?” Central striker Ahn Yujin, leader of the team, pinches one of your red cheeks from across the table, action to which you groan at.

“I just…” You sigh, drowsy and teary eyes block your vision yet you can still tell all your teammates are looking at you. “I really love our team and want us to do our best…” You make a mental note to never get drunk with your team again when they coo at you for a second time.

“Well then,” Oh Haewon starts pouring you another shot (she usually would make you pour it yourself, but your flimsy arms and hung head bring out the instinct to take care of you instead), “Let's climb up the leaderboard for Leftie!” She declares as she leaves the small glass of soju on your side of the table.

You hate the nickname. Nientsu came up with it the first year of your scholarship because when you were supposed to be in central midfield you spent most of your time on the left side of the field, for some reason. Her broken Korean and teasing nature muttered the name in an attempt to mock you and everyone started repeating after. You can't complain much about it. It stuck too well.

You take the shot and grimace at the bitter taste of alcohol. You're still not used to it even after countless team dinners.

Won Haneul, your roommate, best friend and goalkeeper, laughs at your expression. The other girls have already picked up their own conversation, yet she seems very entertained at your drunken state, “Unnie, are you sure you don't want to go?” You've told her multiple times to drop the formalities, it's a one year difference; she keeps refusing.

You look to your right and you (hardly) see her looking at you worried, but still smiling. It takes a couple seconds for you to process her words. “I… I think I should go.” You slur, you're sure you'll die if you take another shot.

Haneul nods, understanding as always. “Guys, I think me and Y/N unnie are gonna head back now!” You hear your teammates complain and whine but you can't make out anything they're saying.

“I'm too drunk!” You try your best to scold them, “And I have my last class tomorrow…”

A soccer scholarship didn't mean you were just in Seoul to play soccer and get drunk with your friends. You also had to study and attend classes, like everyone else. Maybe you would've had it easier if you had chosen Physical Education as your major. But no, you had chosen Media and Communication for some reason.

At least it was the last class before break.

“Go then! Quick! Get away!” You hear Jung Sunhye drunkenly shoo you two away. It makes you giggle. You wave goodbye to your teammates with your frail arms, it makes you look like a car rental inflatable. You hear a chorus of ‘sleep well’s and ‘Bye Y/N’s.

Haneul holds you as you walk out of the BBQ place, and then a cold wave of air hits you right when you realize you have to go up the hill to get to your dorm. You don't know if the chill you get in your spine is from the cool late night air or the dread of borderline hiking while drunk.

“Haneul, I'm sorry.” You don't even want to look at her in fear of getting dizzy. You're only a few steps up the hill but you're already breathing a little heavy. However, your apologetic expression is enough for her to understand your feelings.

“It's okay, unnie!” She's such a joy to have around not only as a teammate but as a friend. You hope her kindness never leads her to getting taken advantage of. You and the other girls would ruin the life of whoever could even dare.

“I'm really grateful for you, y’know?” You probably shouldn't talk while you're rapidly growing out of breath, but you're already sentimental.

“I'm flattered.” She says with a light laugh while pushing you from behind, making it easier for you to walk upwards.

“Are you going back to Suwon this summer?” You ask after a while of more heavy steps. Haneul had also gotten a scholarship and moved from Suwon to Seoul, therefore getting to be roommates with you.

“Mhm! Gonna go see my parents.” Her voice turns a little softer and you notice even when you're mostly out of your conscious mind. “What about you, unnie? Are you gonna stay here?”

It's been three years since you left your hometown and replaced the ocean with the river. Three years since you left your friends behind. Three years since leaving your mom and dad.

Of course you missed them. How could you not? It's not like you were avoiding them, the last summers were just filled to the brim with practice and studying and everything got tangled and you didn't even leave time for yourself.

That's over, though. You can already see yourself on the shore.

And then you're at the bus terminal. Hands shaky and heavy steps, just like the ones you took walking up the hill of your dorm building. You carry your backpack at your front and hold your gym bag on your left hand. You wait in line to step inside your bus and you think you're ready to fall asleep for the whole ride.

But once you're settled in your seat, your thoughts leave you restless.

There's a fear in the back of your mind that your friends will treat you differently when you arrive.

You've been gone for 3 years, and you talk slightly less now. But the group chat is still active, and you talk with them when you're allowed the time to. It's not like you've gone completely radio silent and disappeared from their lives.

It's just scary to be back.

But the scariest thing by far is the fear of being proven wrong. The fear of still liking her.

See, ever since you were a kid running around with a ball between your feet, you've had a crush on Kim Minji.

Neighborhood pretty girl. Class president in elementary, middle and high school. Best grades in your year. The most crushable girl ever.

You remember the first day you met her. You actually think about it a lot.

You were 7, playing soccer with your friend Gyuvin on the beach at sunset hours. There was no real goal to kick the ball towards, you were just trying to steal the ball from each other and keep it as long as possible. But then Gyuvin gets a little too close to taking the ball, and in panic you pass it to your right.

But there's no one to your right. And you realize you've just kicked it towards three girls about your same age building a sandcastle.

You see the ball roll away further and further away from you and Gyuvin, and closer and closer to the castle, and the girls don't seem to notice.

You don't know why you're frozen. You could've stopped the ball by now if you had run after it. Gyuvin notices your lack of movement and becomes the one who shouts instead, “BALL!”

It seems to wake both the girls and you up from your daze, and suddenly you're running as fast as you can to catch the ball before it collides with the sand clump. And you manage to catch it.

You had thrown yourself into the sand, and the ball gets stopped by your arms. But your head crashes into the sandcastle instead. It doesn't collapse completely, and it didn't hurt that much, but it suddenly knocked you out for a few seconds.

You hear Gyuvin’s voice behind you when your mind is back in its place. “We're really sorry! We'll help you patch it back up!” You shake of the sand from your head when you sit back up, and you can finally take a good look at the three girls.

They looked pissed.

The smallest of the girls speaks, “I guess you can help. You're lucky it didn't fall on your head.” She points at you and you feel guilt engulf your cheeks with its warmth.

“Great!” Your friend helps you shake off some of the remaining sand off of your head, “Let's get to work, Y/N!”

You're confused at his enthusiasm, you were just playing soccer with him a few seconds ago and now he wants to build a sandcastle with some girls you just met? “But… we were-”

Gyuvin cuts you off, “It's the least we can do. We almost destroyed it.” It makes sense, but you're still a little reluctant. You grab a shovel anyways.

Your friend is already introducing himself when you start digging a hole into the sand, “I'm Kim Gyuvin! What are your names?”

The short girl with short hair that spoke to you before is the first one to answer, “I'm Hanni Pham! I'm from Australia but we moved here a year ago.”

“Your parents like fish, huh?” The boy's joke makes Hanni's mouth open wide and her eyes dilate a good amount.

“How did you know?!”

“I'm Seol Yoona.” Says a girl with a voice so quiet you have to ask Gyuvin what her name was right after she said it, “What did she say?”

“Seol Yoona.” He repeats, and you get back to digging with a nod, not before you give an apologetic smile to the girl.

The last girl introduces herself, “I'm Kim Minji.” You notice three things about her. Her voice is deeper than the other two girls, her eyebrows are really pretty, and she's wearing a blue clip on her hair.

All three of the girls are pretty, but if Gyuvin asks you later who you thought was the prettiest you are sure you'll say Minji.

Said girl notices you've been doing nothing but dig since you started introducing yourselves. “What's the hole for?” She says.

“I'm gonna put water in it to make wet sand. It's going to make it easier to build and harder to collapse.” And right after you say that you stand up, bucket in hand, ready to go and fetch water from the shining ocean behind you.

But just as you're about to go, the girl with the pretty eyebrows calls out again, “What's your name? You never told us.” Right.

“Han Y/N.” You tell her with a smile.

“Han Y/N.” She repeats your name back to you, like you're not supposed to know it already. It sounds pretty coming from her.

The sunset glow crashes in the sea and bounces back into the eyes of the girl. You see them glisten as she looks into yours. Your heart starts beating as fast as it was when you were running around earlier.

“Don’t ever play soccer near my sandcastles.”

You look like an idiot, laughing by yourself in your seat. It's already night when you feel the bus stop in its tracks. You realize it's slightly warmer than when you departed, even at these hours of the night.

You're here. And you're not laughing anymore.

Everything you dread is getting closer by the second, and you don't want to face it.

It's been three years since the last time you saw your friends, since you saw Minji. Three years of only speaking to her in the group chat. Three years of believing you've gotten over her when in reality you were just getting distracted.

Because if you had truly moved on you wouldn't be worrying about moving on.

You step out of your bus and smell the scent of the ocean. Your worries fade away for the rest of the night. You'll worry about that tomorrow.

You're home.

It’s around 10:30 P.M. Knowing your parents they wouldn’t be asleep right now. They’re probably watching replays of soccer matches or some strange animal documentary. Even after three years you can tread lightly towards your home. Not much has changed.

The street lights are dim, and the wooden floor boards of the port are not much louder than the last time they squeaked beneath your feet. You take a picture of the moon watching over the dancing waves, then keep walking.

You wish you don’t run into any of your friends on the way to your house. It’s not like you don’t want to see them, but it’s late, and you couldn’t catch even a wink of sleep the whole ride. You just want to see your parents and sleep in between the warmth of their bodies like you did when you were just a kid. You chuckle at the memory.

You step into your neighborhood. Most of the lights are turned off, but you can hear a couple of things as you walk deeper into the block. Crickets, waves, and a couple different TV stations.

You get closer to the neighboring house from yours. Gyuvin’s house. The lights in the first floor are off, but there’s a dim light coming from the window of the bedroom facing the street. It (probably still) belonged to Gyuvin himself. You don’t really know what he’s doing at this hour of the night, but you won’t bother him right now, even when you get the urge to text him something like ‘look out ur window’.

You hear the voice of a commentator from outside the door of your house. They were watching replays. Knew it. You think about what to do next. It’ll be too loud if you ring the doorbell, Gyuvin might notice you’re here and come around to investigate, And then you get a sudden, bright idea.

You set your gym bag on the ground and start typing your mom’s number to call her, clicking on her contact when it shows up. You take a big breath and wait for her to answer, it doesn’t take her long.

“Hello, baby! What’s going on?” There’s a twinge of worry in her voice but she always answers so happily when you call her. You chuckle deviously, mischief is about to begin.

“Hi mama! I sent you guys a surprise, I’m calling to make sure if the package arrived safely. Sorry about the time, by the way.” You try to mask the smile appearing on your lips as you talk.

“A package?” She seems confused, “I.. We didn’t get anything.” She sounds a little more concerned.

“Really? Can you check the door? Maybe it came late.”

“I don’t think it’d come this late, darling.”

“Just check, ma. Please.” You hang up. You feel a little sorry for leaving your mother bothered and confused, but you try to telepathically tell her it’ll be worth it.

Your heartbeat starts picking up its pace when you hear the door unlock. You put your phone in your pocket and pick your bag up again.

When the door opens, the first thing you notice is your mom’s disheveled hair, probably from laying on the couch and watching TV. The second thing you notice is that her eyes immediately fall on the doorstep, and she frowns when she finds nothing. The third thing you notice is that, even before she realizes you’re there, she’s already taking out her phone to call you again, but she sees a pair of shoes in front of her before she gets around to doing that.

Her eyes travel from your old sneakers to the top of your head, and then they fall back at your face. Her jaw drops and her eyes look like they hold the moonlight in them when she realizes it’s actually you.

“Y/Nie…” She’s a little breathless when she says your name, and you laugh at the sound of rustling behind her. Your dad probably heard her.

“Hello!” You simply greet. Your father appears shortly behind your mother and you send a wave at him when you see he’s making the exact same expression as her. “Am I going to be outside all night? That’s how you greet your daughter?”

Your mother throws herself at you with a hearty laugh, it makes you happy too. “When did you get here?!” She asks, a little too loud for your liking, but you won’t complain. You pull away to greet your dad, who was frozen on the doorframe.

“Just now, actually.” Your father is in shock, but he does his best to hug you back, and the hug gets tighter when he finally understands it’s really his daughter. You giggle a little at his lack of words, then tap his back a little rougher when you start struggling to breathe, “Hey! Not so tight!”

He lets go and you hear him laugh more calmly now. “Let’s go in. Gyuvin doesn’t know I’m here yet and I want to surprise him tomorrow.” Your mom closes the door behind you, and then hits you on the back, quite roughly for your taste.

“How dare you not tell us you were coming?!” She rubs the same spot where she hit you when she hears you hiss at the pain, “It was a surprise!” You argue.

“Did you have dinner?” Your dad asks already in the kitchen, and your stomach growls even before you can respond. You giggle shyly at the noise, “I’ll take that as a no.” He says, “Go sit with your mom and watch TV with her. I’ll heat up something.”

“Oh, we’re not watching anything. You’re gonna tell me everything you’ve been doing.” Your mother taps the seat beside her on the couch, which you gladly take. “How was the season?”

You’re so happy to be back.

You wake up with the sunrise.

You fully expected to open your eyes and be hugging your mom while your dad was already up in the kitchen. And that did happen, except you wake up with your back sore from falling asleep on the couch. Your dad is in the kitchen, making breakfast for you three.

You rub your eyes and yawn. It wasn’t that late, you woke up pretty early actually. 8:27 A.M. Maybe it’s because your body is used to waking up early. Your dad looks back at you and laughs at your messy hair, smiles brighter when he sees one of your mom’s arms sticking out of the couch. “Rise and shine!” He says brightly.

“Morning…” The sound of your croaky voice seems to wake up your mom, as she’s already rubbing her face.

“Smells good.” She says in the same tone as you. “Is it almost done?”

“I just finished. Come take a seat.” Your dad turns off the gas from the stove. The scent of kimchi jjigae fills your home, and it makes you feel a lot more energized even before having a taste of it.

You run your hand through your hair to try and make it more presentable. Your mother goes up to your dad to ask for a taste, he waits for her approval. You start setting the cutlery and it makes you think of the mornings before school, but rather than getting sentimental, you enjoy the moment with a smile.

“Y/Nie, do you want apple juice?” Your mom asks with the fridge open, you just nod as you sit down.

When the three of you sit down to finally eat, you start to realize how much you actually missed this. You spent your mornings in Seoul either eating a quick and not-really-filling meal, or eating an energy bar and a vending machine kimbap with your teammates before practice. You don’t remember the last time you had a hearty breakfast.

The sound of laughter and birds chirping combined with the smell of a home cooked meal and the warmth of a seaside morning couldn’t compare to any of the emotions that crossed your heart whenever you won a match.

Your mom and dad gossip to you about your neighbors and everything you missed while you were away.

You don’t find it hard to believe when they tell you that the weird old man that used to drink his nights away at the port got arrested. One of your neighbors' sons dropped out of college to be a model, Kim Sunoo apparently. Good for him, you always thought he had a pretty face.

Supposedly, Minji keeps her title as the number 1 student even in college. You’re not surprised, but you do feel full all of a sudden. There’s just a little bit of stew left when you groan, “Ah… I’m full…”

Your mom raises an eyebrow, “Already?” She looks at your bowl and laughs, “Nevermind, you finished pretty fast.”

“Do you eat well in Seoul?” Your dad asks. You feel a little flustered at the question and stutter when you answer, “I mean… not in the morning, but I eat pretty healthily the rest of the day. Me and Haneul prepare meals when we have afternoon practice. I’d say we’re pretty good cooks.”

Your parents laugh, “I guess we’ll put you to the test one day.” Your mom nudges you, “And it’s ‘Haneul and I’, by the way.”

The correction makes your eyes roll as you stand up to wash your dishes, “Yeah, yeah, grammar queen. I’m gonna go take a shower and go to Gyuvin’s to surprise him, ‘kay?”

“Aye aye, captain!” Either your parents planned to do the same move and say the same thing at the same time beforehand, or they’re literal soulmates.

You get out of the shower and choose a simple outfit- some baggy, ripped jeans and a graphic tee that you found in your closet (you asked your mom if it was clean enough for you to wear, considering the closet looked a little dusty; she said it was fine). The shirt felt a little tight around the arms and it was quite smaller than you expected, but it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. If anything it made the outfit more interesting.

So you stand outside your friend's house, with nothing in your hands but a smile on your face. You’re not really sure if it’ll be him or his mom answering the door, but you hope either of them will be happy to see you.

You ring the doorbell, and immediately hear footsteps get closer from inside. You don’t know if your heart is going to race everytime this happens, but you just hope you get used to the feeling. The door opens and you're met with a familiar face, Ms. Kim, Gyuvin’s mom, dressed up and ready to go to work. It’s summer, though?

“Y/Nie?” She looks delighted to see you, and yet quite surprised. “You came back!”

You give her a bright smile after you bow in respect, “Good morning, Ms. Kim! How have you been?”

She steps back in a manner to invite you inside, “Oh, I’ve been well, dear. Gyuvin told me you weren’t able to visit these past years. We all missed you very much.” Her words surprise you, and you feel a little guilt squeezing your heart for two seconds.

“I’m glad to hear that, Ms.” She walks around the kitchen, packing what seems to be a lunchbox into her bag, yet still giving you her full attention. “Are you heading to work?” You ask curiously.

“Oh, yeah.” She looks a little agitated, “They don’t give me breaks, baby. I work for the news now!”

“Oh! How has that been going?”

She stops in her tracks, “Honestly, quite great.” She says, and you both laugh together. “Does Gyuvin know you’re here? I imagine he’s who you came to see.”

“He doesn’t.” The woman looks quite surprised. “I wanted to surprise him. I arrived just yesterday.”

“Oh honey, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.” She laughs and you chuckle, “I hope not!” You say,

“He’s in his room. He’s probably still asleep, but he’ll wake up if you knock hard enough. Make sure he doesn’t think you’re me, then he won’t get up.” The woman unlocks the door, coat hanging from her arm and bag over her shoulder, when she sees you nod. “I heard you won third place this half, right?”

“That’s right, ma’am.” You proudly say.

“Go Tigers!” Is the last thing she says before she walks out of the door. What a charming woman. You smile at yourself before walking up the stairs to your friend’s room.

Knock knock. No answer.

Knock knock knock. A groan.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. A louder groan.

“Kim Gyuvin, I will bust your door down.” You yell, “You think my legs haven’t gotten stronger?”

Fast stomps and the sound of a clutter of objects falling on the ground startle you slightly. The door opens so roughly you wonder if Gyuvin himself has also gotten stronger.

“Y/N?!”

“What fell on the ground?” You chuckle. He hugs you, possibly tighter than your dad. You didn’t quite expect it, but you welcome it anyway.

He pulls away like he’s checking if you’re not a hologram. You laugh the hardest when he pokes your cheek. He looks relieved, then mad. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?! When did you get here?!”

“I got here yesterday. You were still awake, I think. But I wanted to greet you properly, and I was really tired last night.” You explain with a little bit of remorse.

“Dude!” He hugs you once again, “Bro, I can’t believe you're back!” You hug him just as tightly. “I’m really happy I’m here.”

He pushes you lightly with a smirk, “Don’t get sappy on me.” He teases, “Congrats on third place, tiger.” You cringe at the nickname and push him back.

“Eww!” You both laugh, and you notice the bundle of things he has on the floor of his room, “You dropped all that?”

Gyuvin looks back, and pushes you out of his room, closing the door in shame. Unbelievable.

You hear him pick up the things and put them back in place, until he finally opens the door again. You’re right where he left you. “Get dressed. Your mom made you breakfast.”

“Wait, help me pick an outfit!” You’ve been here for less than a day and he’s already being annoying. Like always.

“Bro, I’m wearing a shirt that’s too small for me, I am not the one to ask for fashion help.”

“That’s your fault for getting swole!” You hear him yell while you go down the stairs. Maybe nothing's really changed.

You’re back at the kitchen. You look at the lonely plate at the table, it doesn’t look very appetizing. It’s not like it’s a bad meal, it’s an omelet and toast, but when you touch it it’s abnormally cold. Fuck you Gyuvin. He was probably supposed to wake up a while ago.

You take the plate and place it in the microwave, one minute should be fine. You open the fridge and snoop around to see if they still- yup, they still have a box of the triangle juice boxes you and Gyuvin always shared at school. Apple was your favorite. You’re sure he or his mom won’t mind you taking one while you wait for the food to heat up.

You take the little plastic straw attached to the juice box and stab it into the designated hole. Just as you close the fridge, you hear the shutter sound effect from a phone. You turn around and see Gyuvin already dressed up and smiling at his phone.

“Did you take a picture of me?” You ask. The microwave beeps, “That’s your food.”

“Check the group chat.” He says as he walks past you to the microwave. You take out your phone and rest your elbows on the counter when you open up the group chat. Gyuvin named it “Beach boys”, even when he himself was the only male.

You’re immediately met with a picture of you from your side, stabbing a hole into your apple juice box. You looked at yourself in the mirror this morning, but you only realize how tight the sleeves of your shirt look when you stare at the photo. “Damn…” You mutter

“Ow! Ow! Hot!” Gyuvin yelps as he walks beside you, plate in his hands. He sits down at the table while you scroll back up to check the other messages.

gyuv | 9:44 A.M.

guys Y/N got so swole its actually insane

sully | 9:44 A.M.

Well yeah shes an athlete what were u expecting

henny | 9:44 A.M.

did she post something on ig?

where is this coming from

minj | 9:44 A.M.

Good morning first of all

gyuv | 9:45 A.M.

yeah but ud expect her legs to get bigger or her thighs idk

tell me why this absolute gremlin has bigger biceps than me

i feel threatened

this feels like a bro code violation

henny | 9:45 A.M.

this feels more like you just being insecure

i checked her ig and theres nothing?

sully | 9:45 A.M.

Vin are you hallucinating be honest

minj | 9:45 A.M.

Why gremlin

If anything the gremlin is hanni

henny | 9:45 A.M.

literally so out of pocket

what compelled you to say that

gyuv | 9:46 A.M.

[1 attachment]

henny | 9:46 A.M.

Gyuvin is that ur fuckign house

is that han Y/N in your fucking house.

minj | 9:46 A.M.

What the hell

You | 9:46 A.M.

hi guys!

henny | 9:47 A.M.

Han Y/N are you in gyuvins fucking house

You | 9:47 A.M.

possibly

gyuv | 9:47 A.M.

[1 attachment]

guys im shaking theres a uleague third place winner in my kitchen

im so honored

sully | 9:47 A.M.

Omg she did get swole

Hiii Y/N

gyuv | 9:47 A.M.

RIGHT

IM SAYING LIKE

U DONT EVEM USE UR ARMS IN SOCCER

henny | 9:47 A.M.

Y/N when the FUCK did u get here

im gonna start vrying omg

You | 9:48 A.M.

i got here yesterday at night

i wanted to surprise u guys but ig gyuvin got too excited

pham hanni DO NOT CRY

hi sullyyy !!

henny | 9:48 A.M.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS

You | 9:48 A.M.

stop cursing so much omg

minj | 9:48 A.M.

This is actually crazy

How could you say nothing to us

I feel lowkey betrayed Han Y/N

You | 9:48 A.M.

IM SORRY???

so surprises are the worst thing in the world now huh

gyuvs mom was so much happier to see me than you guys fr

going back to seoul

it seems im not welcome

henny | 9:48 A.M.

Y/N actually stop playing rn

where do we meet

You | 9:49 A.M

me and gyuv will pick u guys up

were going to the soccer field

but i got money from the scholarship so we can buy stuff on the way

gyuv | 9:49 A.M.

guys just to be clear i had literally no idea she was here

she showed up at my house 20 mins ago

sully | 9:49 A.M.

Omg we can go to that antique shop thats close to our high school

henny | 9:50

literally how r u so calm abt this

minj | 9:50 A.M.

Maybe ur just abnormal

You cackle loudly at Minji's last text.

When you arrive at Yoona's house, she's already waiting for you two on her porch. She looks a little taller than when you last saw her. Her eyes light up when she sees you arrive.

“Y/N!” She runs up to you and hugs you so tightly your breath falls a little short. What's with everyone and suffocating you lately? “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Sully!” You smile at her when you pull back, and the first thing she does is poke your arm. Her jaw drops in awe at the toughness of the muscle and it makes you laugh.

Gyuvin comes up behind you both with his arms open and a silly smirk, “Where my hug at?” It's quite awful. Yoona gags and sends him a distasteful look, which quickly shuts him down

You missed this. And it’s like this - full of banter and laughs - the whole way to Hanni’s house, the three of you take turns at making fun of each other, with the brief recurring tease at your job as an athlete.

Your friends like to brag about you being a college athlete, and a good one at that, but they certainly enjoyed sitting you up on a pedestal as a joke. They talked about you like you were the main star of the national team when in reality most people had little to no idea who you were even on campus, with the exception of the Yujin fans who tried using you to get close to her.

“Y/N, I promise you, when you make it on the national team, there’s gonna be a ton of fan accounts for you.” You’re in the middle of pushing Gyuvin away and blushing at his comment, about to contradict him when you hear a voice calling you.

“Han Y/N!” You don’t even realize you were already at Hanni’s house when you look towards the sound and two girls are waiting for you at the steps of a big house.

The first thing you notice is Hanni’s hair. She cut it, a fuckass (affectionately) bob that looked exactly like the one she wore the first time you ever met her.

The second thing you notice is that Minji is right beside her, already smiling at you. She stands up from the steps she and Hanni were sitting on and shakes off the dust from her pants. She wears a simple white graphic shirt and oversized blue jeans, beige puffer jacket hanging off her arms, and she looks so much taller than how she did when she was 16.

(That’s weird, shouldn’t she have stopped growing by then?)

The third thing you notice is your heartbeat suddenly racing when her eyes and yours meet for the first time in three years.

It beats at the same pace it did when the afternoon sun hit her face when you were 7. It beats at the same pace it did when you stared at her sitting by the window in middle school. It beats at the same pace it did when she sat beside you on the bus and fell asleep with her head on your shoulder.

Nothing has changed. Nothing at all.

It hits you like a bullet through your chest, but you try your best to ignore it as Hanni runs towards you.

“You asshole!” She yells with a smile on her face, and it contaminates your lips when she hugs you. She doesn’t hug you as tightly, but it’s longer than you expected. When she finally pulls away from you you touch the short strands of hair that cover her ears.

“What happened here?” You ask, watching in awe at the striking change.

“I kind of had an existential crisis last night.” She responds shyly while caressing her trimmed locks. “Minji helped me make it look better. It did not look good when I did it. They didn’t know either!” She points at the two behind you, both of them with their jaws hanging when you look back.

“Dude, you literally look seven again.” You say. You don’t mean it in a teasing way, she genuinely looks younger, but you reconsider telling her that when she hits you in the arm. Hanni widens her eyes at the unexpected roughness, “What the hell… you did get swole.”

“Can we stop talking about that?” The topic of your arms is starting to tire you, but it’s mostly embarrassing, so you groan at the mention.

You hear Minji laugh when Hanni goes up to the other two and they immediately start touching her new hair. It makes you laugh too, but you gasp a little when you feel a hand touch your shoulder.

“Hey.” She says, her god-damned pretty eyes look at you so sweetly, and her voice is so soft, and-

“Hey!” You say before thoughts about her take up your brain and you awkwardly freeze.

She smiles right before she hugs you, and it’s surprisingly warm, but you’re sure most of it comes from your own blood rushing everywhere inside you.

Everything about her is gentle, her eyes, her voice, her embrace. It’s a complete one-eighty in contrast to the tightness of everyone else who’s put their arms around you for the past two days.

“I missed you.” She says so delicately, almost quiet, even if she says it right next to your ear. And you’re about to melt, and she has no idea, so you hug her back, a little less soft than how she does, and say “I missed you too.”

It comes out a lot more calmly than you expect it, and you internally praise yourself for not making a fool out of yourself. It’s not like you want to pull away, but you might start sweating if you don’t.

You take your arms off her back and her warmth suddenly fades away. When she looks at your face again, there’s a small grin painting her lips, “Congrats on the win.” She pokes at your shoulder and you laugh at the gesture.

“It’s only third place. I want first.”

“Oh wow!” Her amused smile makes you dizzy, “Didn’t know you were so ambitious.”

“People change, I guess.” You giggle with her. But you haven’t really changed at all.

“Well, you better get first place, tiger.” She teases and you groan even louder at the nickname as you get away from her to join your friends. Maybe getting over Minji won’t be so hard.

Getting over Minji is going to be fucking impossible. Matter of fact, you're sure it’s never gonna happen. You’re going to be 45 and still think about her, and it’s going to slowly kill you.

You stare as she holds a little cow plush in her hands, inspecting it carefully. Her round eyes shine just like the glossy buttons of the doll. You think of a believable excuse before you take your phone out of your pocket and open the camera app.

You zoom in and despise how your fingers tremble before you snap a photo of the girl, unbeknownst to her.

Gyuvin comes up behind you, his voice is quiet yet it still startles you, “What’s the pic for?”

You look at him with widened eyes and bring your hand to your chest. “Just… memories.” Truth lies within your (not quite) excuse. “I want to look back on things like this when I go back to Seoul.”

The boy narrows his eyes at you and smirks, “So sappy.” He teases, so you zoom out the camera to 0.5 and take a bad close up of his face, “Hey!” He laughs.

You get away and put your phone back in your pocket to look at more of the items in the store. Many things catch your eye, small, shiny, weird, big, you could buy it all if you had the money to.

You walk around the shop, your eyes examine all the items on the old wooden tables and your fingers lightly brush on some of the more eye-catching trinkets. You stare at the little ceramic figurines of dogs and cats and other animals and mentally consider buying the little calico cat on the far left.

There are some cute keychains with little black and white designs as you pass by. You add them to your roster too. Hanni’s voice catches your attention from a few steps away.

“Y/N! What do you think of this cardigan?” She’s in the clothing section of the store, sporting a vintage cream colored wool cardigan with little brown stripes on the sides of the sleeves. It’s a little big on her, but oversized is trendy so it’s fine.

“It’s cute!” Your eyes glance towards some of the clothes behind her, “I like that one better though.” You point at the blue-gray checkered sweater behind her and she frowns in confusion when she looks at it, “Y/N, that’s so ugly.” Guess you don’t have an eye for fashion.

“Oh well…” You sigh and keep looking for more artifacts.

As you walk around, you accidentally bump the top of your head on some of the ornaments that hang on the ceiling, the sound of multiple wind chimes emerge a little before your quiet “Ow!”, which grabs the attention of Yoona and Gyuvin.

“You okay?” The girl asks in concern, but you can hear her hold back a laugh between her teeth. Gyuvin isn’t so subtle, his laughs resonating on the walls of the shop.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You assure Yoona as you rub your forehead with your eyes closed, turned away in embarrassment. When your eyes open again, they land on an item that makes you freeze a little.

A small, pale blue hair clip. It looked oddly similar, if not exactly the same as the one Minji wore on the first day you met. The clip she lost on that same day while the five of you swam in the ocean together.

You remember her being so upset when she realized it wasn’t there anymore, so much she cried silently on the way back to your respective houses. She was over the sadness of losing it in less than a week, but it stuck with you after Hanni told you in a whisper that it was the first time she ever saw Minji cry.

You immediately take the clip in your hands, the first item you’re certain you will buy. Actually, you buy it in that same instant. Thankfully, none of your friends seem to notice your quiet purchase, too engrossed in their own item search.

The five of you spend around 40 minutes in total in that damn shop, and you could kind of tell the owner was getting sick of Gyuvin’s constant questions on how he acquired the items. “They’re mostly donations or things I find on trips. I don’t know anything else.” He says.

In the end, you bought a few more things apart from the hair clip. You did end up buying the little calico cat figurine, a silver necklace with a spiral pendant, a pack of stamps with really cool designs, and a love letter.

There was a cardboard box sitting on a chair in one corner of the shop with a sign that said “Old Love Letters, ₩300 Each”, and not only is it something you’ve never seen anyone sell before, but it’s also cheap. How could you not buy a chance to snoop around in unknown people’s love lives?

You put your stuff in the little tote bag Yoona had bought for you. She said the design made her think of you (it had three monochrome fish painted over it).

Now you’re making your way towards the nearest soccer field. You used to play there all the time with Gyuvin, sometimes the other girls joined, or some of the other kids in the neighborhood.

The five of you walked with you right in the middle, like you were the center of a K-pop group. It definitely made you stand out to the locals of the neighborhoods you passed through, and some of them even recognized you and went as far as to congratulate you.

Did your parents tell the entire town about your rank in the league?

“It’s like I’m walking with a celebrity.” Hanni voices just as you get back from shaking hands with one of the old men of the neighborhood. As much as you enjoy the praise and congratulations, it’s a little embarrassing to acknowledge you’re gaining a lot more fame within this town. You imagine this is how famous soccer players feel everytime they go out in public.

“Microcelebrity.” You clarify, “Aren’t you an influencer?” You recall Hanni spamming the group chat one time in the first year of high school because one of her Instagram posts had gone viral. After a while of her videos getting more and more views, she started gaining a small following and could be considered a daily-life influencer.

“Yeah, but most of my followers aren’t from here so I don’t get recognized everytime I go out.”

“To be fair, this is the first time this has happened to me. My parents probably told the whole town about this.”

“Oh, they sure did. Even my mom found out.” Minji states, to your surprise. Minji’s mother was well known for not liking any sports at all, and it’s not that she hated them, she just wasn’t interested. She didn’t even know who Messi or Ronaldo were.

“Wow… I knew they liked to gossip, but that’s… crazy.” You scratch your nape shyly. Your parents are known for finding out everything, but you didn’t know they also told everything they knew.

“She didn’t really know what anything meant but she was very happy for you.” She says with a smile.

Oh! There’s a strange giddy feeling that shows up as a smile on your face you can’t hold back. You’re not really sure what to say, but you don’t even have to worry about it, because before you realize you’re already at the field, and when the boys that are playing there take notice of your presence, all you can hear is screams.

Sounds of “Y/N Noona!”, “No way it’s Y/N!”, “You’re back?!” get closer as the match pauses and they start running towards you. Most of them are your high school classmates, some are your younger neighbors or underclassmen you played with during recess.

You get closer and they bombard you with hugs and questions, with countless reminders of how much they missed you. One of them complains about you not answering his texts, and another boy defends you by excusing your forgetfulness on being busy.

“Okay, okay. I’ll make it up to you with a match, okay?”

You end up playing for two hours straight, the first half with your friends as a team, but after a while it seemed like the only one with energy left was you. Not even Gyuvin could keep up your pace.

“No wonder she’s an athlete.” Hanni says, fanning herself under the shadow of a tree that trespassed the field enclosure. Your friends were all sitting down on the ground, watching attentively at the match you played against the boys while chatting.

It was 5v1 and you were winning 4-2.

Minji watched carefully at the way you carried yourself on the field, so graceful and yet not passive at all, a different perspective compared to how you usually are.

There's a little bit of sweat that glistens on your forehead, and after playing for such a long time you only now start to look slightly tired. “I pray everyday she makes it to the national team and gets rich.” Gyuvin says.

“Same.” Hanni answers, laying down on a blanket over the warm grass and resting her head on her bag and it makes Yoona laugh when she grumbles at the discomfort of feeling all the crystals she bought on the back of her head.

The boys score another goal at you, so you decide to get serious and start playing like you would at a normal university match. Minji stares when you run faster and slide through the opponents so easily. She kind of wonders if she could calculate your speed mentally.

Field length = 55 meters, Penalty area length = 9 meters

You were around 9.2 meters from the halfway line and traveled around 18 meters in a straight line, Minji counts 4 seconds.

18/4 = 5 m/s, 1 m/s = 3.6 km/h, 5 * 3.6 = 18 km/h

Han Y/N’s speed in that one moment was 18 km/h.

The average maximum sprint speed of La Liga athletes was 30 km/h, according to an NLM article (don’t ask Minji how she knows that; she isn’t even studying medicine).

Suddenly Minji feels the need to see you play an actual serious match.

“I don’t think you need to pray.” She says with a smirk, standing up from the ground and wiping away the bristles of grass stuck to her jeans. “She has it in the bag.”

The others notice her taking out her wallet from her pocket, “Can you buy me a Fanta?” Gyuvin makes puppy eyes at Minji, even while knowing they never work on her, or anyone for that matter.

She gives him nothing but a wave and walks away, “She’s not getting you shit, dude.” Hanni kicks Gyuvin in the back with the tip of her foot and Yoona laughs at the scene.

The grocery store is not far away at all, only a block from the field, and Minji treads lightly with her mind made up on what to buy. A bag of chips and two glasses of apple juice, and maybe a strawberry lollipop for Hanni, NOT cherry, she notes.

The owner is an older lady who used to babysit Minji’s mom. She’s seen her countless times in her life so it’s easy for her to greet her brightly. “It’s been so long, Minji!” The woman greets her, her aged features morphing into a kind smile.

It’s true, it has been a long time. She doesn’t really come here that often anymore unless she’s taking a walk out of boredom or walking the neighbors dog when she’s out of town. She used to come here all the time when you all went to play soccer, but the matches got less and less frequent after you left, mostly because the only one who actually wanted to play was Gyuvin.

Minji makes her way to the drink section of the store and lights up when she sees the chilled glasses of apple juice right where she remembers them being. She was honestly surprised you hadn’t brought a water bottle with you when you left, and maybe just water would be healthier and hydrate you better, but she’d rather make you happier with your favorite drink.

(You would’ve been happy enough even if she just brought you water.)

The glass is cold when it reaches her hand, a nice contrast from the heat of the afternoon sun. She was starting to get a little hungry so maybe instead of chips she’d get a sandwich. Maybe she’ll get two.

She excuses herself in her mind, she’s not excluding her other friends! It’s just… this day is about you, of course her focus would be you. And maybe tomorrow. And maybe the whole time you’re here. She laughs at herself while walking up to the counter. She meant it when she told you she missed you.

“That would be ₩4,200 but I’ll give to you for ₩4,000 because I missed you.” The woman beams her a warm smile and Minji can’t help but return it. She hands her 4,200 won anyways and is out the door before the woman can complain. “Bye, Mrs. Do!”

Minji walks back with a smile on her face, the wind hits and blows her hair back. Some leaves and dust get blown her way too but she doesn’t have to squint her eyes because they already do that when she smiles.

The sun isn’t as bright and the rays don’t burn her skin anymore. She hears louds screams just as she’s getting closer to the field, and when she looks through the gaps of the metal enclosure she sees Gyuvin running up to hug you while the boys you were playing with fall to the ground in defeat.

She missed your win. Minji puckers up her bottom lip and sighs, shoulders shrugging helplessly.

You hadn’t even realized she had left until you see her enter the field again, so you send her a light smile she almost doesn’t catch. She looks back to the other girls and when her eyes meet Hanni laying on the grass she realizes she forgot her strawberry lollipop. Oh well.

She sits down next to Yoona and takes her sandwich out of her bag.

“What’d you buy?”

“Just stuff. Nothing for Gyuvin.”

Yoona laughs at the comment. “The apple juice is for Y/N, right?” Minji nods as she looks at you tap the boys on the back to cheer them up, “You can have the other one if you want.”

Minji was just about to open the packaging of her sandwich when she sees you and Gyuvin walk towards her. She quickly stops her actions and takes the other cold glass from the plastic bag, struggles a little to open the lid, and just as you take your last step she holds the cold apple juice to your face, or the closest to it her arm could reach.

You’re a little taken aback, but luckily you don’t blush at her act. Instead you just smile at her, mirroring Minji’s own kind smile and take the glass from her hand. “Thanks.” You say before you take a sip.

Both of your hearts feel full, yours at the flavor of apple that fills your tastebuds and calms the thirst of running for hours, and hers at the fact she made you even just a little happy with such a small action.

You gulp down probably half the glass down and end it with a “Ah~” that makes your friends laugh. “You still do that?” Hanni sits up and rests her hands behind her on the grass.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve done that since you were a kid.” Minji says and your eyebrows raise,”Really?” All your friends nod.

“I never noticed.”

Minji goes back to her sandwich as you and Gyuvin sit down in front of the other three. You’re tired now, but you don’t wanna lay on the grass because you say it makes you itch, so you try resting your body weight on Gyuvin, to which he adamantly pushes you away, “You’re heavy, Y/N!”

“What the hell, bro. I’m literally not?” You pout at him to try and get him to surrender but he just pushes you away harder every time you try to lay your back against him.

“Go lay on Minji or something, not me.” He says as he pushes you for the last time, you hear Hanni laugh.

You look at Minji and she’s already putting away the plastic bag she had on her lap. Oh, okay, yeah, no biggie. No problem at all.

You do a great impression of acting normal and move to sit next to her. “The shadow is better on this side anyways.” You fake whine at the boy as Minji grabs your shoulder and guides you to rest your back on top of her legs.

You turn your body so that you face her and hope she can’t tell your heart starts beating faster when you notice she’s already looking down at you. It’s a beautiful scene.

Minji’s face, the green leaves of the trees behind her and the sun peeking through the gaps, the wind blowing her hair a little to the side, the way her eyes smile at the same time she does. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You answer.

Everything about this is normal! You have to close your eyes so you believe it, and you start to after a few seconds. Everything about this is normal. It feels so normal and you love it.

It’s soothing. The wind caresses your face and you lose focus on the conversation your friends were having beside you.

And then Minji starts running her fingers through your hair and you lose focus on anything that’s not her.

Your heartbeat picks up for a few seconds and then it doesn’t. And then it’s all calm again. Your eyes are closed but your mind pictures Minji so vividly, smiling at you sweetly while her eyes. Her loving eyes.

God, you hope you’re not blushing, because you can already feel yourself getting warm all over. Thankfully, the gentle breeze is there to save you when you need it.

And then there’s a moment where everything, the breeze, Minji’s hands caressing you, and the sound of playful conversation, all merge at the perfect moment and you experience a calm that feels heavenly. Almost divine, and it sends you into instant slumber.

You don’t really remember every detail of what you dream of, you just remember it being about Minji, Seoul and snow. Either way, you know it had something to do with her confessing her feelings to you after you win nationals. You remember that you froze after she kissed you, then called your name after she saw you not move.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You hear your name being called out, then your body being shaked roughly. “Y/N!” You hear loudly before you wake yourself up.

“Sorry!” You don’t know what you’re apologizing for until your body jerks away and your forehead almost hits Minji’s. “Oh, sorry.”

“You fell asleep.” She states the obvious with a giggle.

“No shit, queen.” You hear Hanni laugh loudly at your response. “How long was I out for?”

“It’s 5:25.” Yoona says behind you, only then you realize they were already packing up and it was time to go. Where? You have no idea.

“Shit. Sorry guys.” You sit back up and stretch your muscles before you can stand properly.

“My legs fell asleep, you know?” Minji announces, and when you look back at her she has a teasing smirk on her face.

“Yeah, well, maybe blame Gyuv for that.” You answer sassily, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Said male goes to grab the tote bag Yoona got you and the half finished apple juice you left behind and holds the bag it to your face while you’re still stretching, “Hurry up, girl. We gotta go to the beach before sunset.” He throws the bag at you and you catch it just in time.

“Careful! I have a cat in there!”

You arrive at the beach at exactly 6:00 P.M. and as soon as you get to the sand Gyuvin is already taking his shoes and shirt off. You look at everyone, confused on the plan you never actually listened to.

“We were going to swim?”

“Do you not want to?” Hanni asks.

“I don’t know…” You look at your friends with a sorry expression. You were already worn out from the whole match, and even after you slept a whole two hours on Minji’s lap, you still felt a little tired. “I’m kinda drained guys.”

“Bro… How could you?” Minji looks at you like she’s so betrayed and you laugh at her annoying little face that’s also so pretty and cute and annoying

“Bro… I’m sorry.” You play along. Calling the love of your life “bro” is crazy.

Okay, “love of your life” is an exaggeration (it’s literally not, in every sense of the word literally).

“I’ll watch your bags and take pics!” You tried bargaining, and they look at you like you’re crazy. “Guys, please, we can come swim tomorrow. The beach is not going anywhere considering we literally live beside it.”

Then Yoona gets real close to you and whispers, “You’ll pay for this.” then takes off her shoes.

“What the hell, man.”

Gyuvin and Yoona are already running at the sea and splashing each other, they don’t actually care about you not joining. Hanni hands you her bag with a strange force and you don’t know where it came from, “Take care of my babies.” She says.

“Your… babies?”

“My crystals.”

“Oh, right. I will.”

Minji walks up to you when Hanni walks away and hands you her jacket and another bag, this time plastic, “There’s one sandwich left in there. I told Gyubin not to eat it and I didn’t think he was going to listen but he did, surprisingly.” She tells you with a smile.

“Thanks. Very thoughtful of you man.” Alright, pack it up.

Minji sends you one last smile before she leaves and your heart beats when her eyes squint too. You watch her disappear into the waves and smile. You take out your phone and take a picture of your friends all swimming and playing in the water, their silhouettes clashing with the sun that was just about to set. It’s so pretty you make it your lock screen immediately.

You take out a blanket from Hanni’s bag, the same one she was laying on in the soccer field, and spread it on the ground to sit down. You take off your sneakers before they get filled with sand and take comfort in the warmth of the sand beneath you.

You stare at your friends for a bit, a beautiful picture presented just for you. You’re so happy to be back. Your stomach lets out a loud grumble before you even get to tear up. What a way to ruin the mood.

You take the bag Minji gave you and take out the sandwich. Ham, bacon, cheese, lettuce- oh, who cares. You take a bite out of it and it tastes like home. She definitely bought it from Mrs. Do.

It eases your hunger quite well. You hear the waves crash and Minji’s laugh from far away and, what a beautiful sound. What a beautiful person. You think of Minji and think of beautiful, not just from her appearance but her soul. What a beautiful soul.

You take your last bite and your stomach feels full, but you feel a little empty and can’t pinpoint what it is. You feel like you’re forgetting something. You reach for your new bag and search for whatever it seems you're forgetting.

Oh, right, the letter. Suddenly you feel excited.

The sun starts just in time. What a way to set the mood. You take out the white envelope and notice it still has some scent remaining. It kinda smells like something Minji used to wear, jasmine and liquorice. You didn’t smell it on her today, though.

You notice the envelope doesn’t have a sender or recipient name anywhere on it, nowhere at all. Maybe they didn’t plan to send it, or they changed the envelope at the shop. Eager to know more, you rip the envelope, careful not to damage the letter itself.

You take it out and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. You’re probably a little more excited than you should be, but whatever. You’re excited to intrude on a stranger's possibly failed love confession.

Except when you unfold the page, it’s not from a stranger.

You panic and fold the letter closed just as fast as you had opened it. You must have misread, right?

You open it again and the top says “Kim Minji, 23rd of June, 2021” like it’s a diary.

It must be another Kim Minji. There are hundreds of thousands in South Korea. It could be anyone. Anyone at all. So you keep reading in hopes it’s someone who’s not the girl swimming in the sea just a few meters away from you.

Dear Y/N,

It’s not a stranger. It’s Kim Minji. Your Kim Minji. You’re reading an old love letter from Kim Minji. You bought a love letter from Kim Minji for 300 won.

Wait, why is it addressed to you?

Now, you’re more confused than shocked. Now, you have to find out. You were going to put it down and not read it to not intrude and break your own heart, but now you have to find out why on Earth the first two words are Dear Y/N written in Kim Minji’s handwriting. So you keep reading.

Dear Y/N, I hope this finds you well. If you’re reading this, I gave this to you on the 24th or maybe even earlier on a strike of confidence. I hope you’re not keeping yourself up to read this at midnight. I wanted to tell you something I’ve been keeping for a long time before you leave for Seoul. Maybe it’s a selfish thing to do, and it won’t keep you from departing, but I think it would be worse to tell you this through text and I can’t bring myself to say it to your face.

I have feelings for you. Real romantic feelings. I like you a lot.

I like possibly everything about you and it’s killing me that I’m so scared and unable to tell you. I don’t even know what I’m so afraid of, really. Probably rejection, but even if you did like me back I still have to live without you for four years. My wish of you coming to visit me will probably depend on how harsh your rejection is, but I’d still like to see you back regardless.

When you first told us you got that scholarship for Korea University, I was so happy and proud of you. In a perfect world I would have kissed you and told you how happy I was for you and maybe even gone with you. But it’s not a perfect world and I just told you “Congratulations!” and you’re leaving tomorrow, without me.

I’m not one to take pictures, if anything that’s you, but right now I wish I had an album full of photos of you, of us, because I don’t know how I’ll make it without seeing you everyday. I think I won’t, actually. I hope you consider letting me borrow the photo album full of the countless pictures you take, even if they’re not of you they might fill the void you leave in my heart.

Anything from you will suffice, I think, but just your memory is not enough.

I kinda wish you could stay, but I also know you’re going to do your best over there and I hope you fulfill your dream of being a professional player. When you said you were going to choose to study mass communication I thought “that must mean she’s going to communicate with us a lot!” I hope it does. I hope you don’t miss us too much, but I do hope you miss me a little bit more.

I’ve never written a love letter before, if you could even call this that, so excuse me if this is not a good one, I’m sorry. I should probably state what I like most about you, but I don’t even know where to begin.

I love the way you’re driven to do your best even at the smallest of things. When we first met, you built us the best sand castle I had ever seen in my short life of seven years. The sandcastle was still standing when we went to visit it the next day.

You do your best at school, even when it gets hard for you, and I love that you’re not afraid to ask for help when you really need it. I kind of envy that if I’m honest. I hope you become the best student in your major.

I remember the time we babysat Ms.Yoon’s daughter and you were the only one who knew how to change her diapers and at what time to feed her. I also love how good you are with kids and sometimes it makes me think of very inappropriate thoughts of building a family together, but I won’t get into that because I don’t want to be weirder than I’m already being right now.

I love the way you always try your best to make me smile when I’m upset or stressed and even just the thought of you going out of your way to care is enough for my heart to melt. When I got sick in middle school while my mom was out of town you came to my house every day and made me chicken soup. I think that was the day I started thinking of you as more than just a friend.

I love the way you look when you put your hair up in a ponytail. I used to stare at you the entire time we watched you play during recess in middle school.

I love the way you’re clumsy and you’re never embarrassed about it. You always get up when you fall and you don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt when you scrape your knees. And I love the way you still try to smile when I’m patching up your wounds.

I love the way you always want the best for us and encourage us to be ambitious. I wouldn’t be on top of my class if it weren’t for you.

I love the way you like cats and they like you back. They always hiss at me unless you’re around. Maybe it’s a sign that we should be together all the time.

I love the way you say Ah~ when you finish drinking water after playing soccer.

I love (you) the way you love apple juice. I hope you feel the same. – Kim Minji

P.s. if you don’t i also understand and you’re free to do whatever you want with this letter.

You have no idea at what point you started to tear up, but you only realize when a tear falls from your eye into the paper and blurs the ink in the last “Minji”.

You don’t even process anything around you at that point. All you can think about is that Minji liked you 3 years ago and never told you and now you don’t even know if she still likes you.

No matter how much you think about it, you would’ve absolutely given her your photo album, if only the letter had actually gotten to you when it was supposed to.

“I saw you open the letter from over there, I came here to be nosy.” You can’t tell anything she says because you’re so entranced but you can tell it’s Minji’s voice. You freeze when she sits beside you.

“Is it any good?” She asks before realizing you’re completely paralyzed. “Hey, are you crying?” She touches your shoulder in concern, and it wakes you up a little bit, but the only thing you can do is hand her the letter.

She stares at you for a few seconds before she finally takes the page and mutters, “Oh.”

You don’t really want to look at her, and you don’t know what comes over you that makes you turn your head anyways. The red sun rays hit her face in a way that makes her tan skin glow. Her hair is damp and her shirt is stuck to her body but you don’t dare to look.

She’s clearly just as shocked as you are to see the object in her hands. And she still looks so beautiful. “Y/N, I-” You wipe your tears and sniff before she turns and see them in your eyes.

“Was this the one you bought?” You nod, and she looks back at it with her mouth hung low. “I… was wondering where this went. I thought I lost it.”

“You didn’t send it? At all?” Minji shakes her head. Wow, this is so great. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was supposed to give it to you before you left. I was hoping it would make you stay, but then I thought I was being too selfish and… just didn’t.” There’s clearly some regret still left in her face and the wind starts to blow. You hand her the jacket you put down next to your friends’ bags. “Thanks.” She says as she puts it on. You turn away to look at the sunset and gather your thoughts.

There’s no expression on your face for Minji to read, and for some reason she starts getting worried. “Y/N… I- It’s been three years, you don’t have to worry about-”

“Do you still?” You ask while looking away at the sea.

Minji stays quiet.

“Do you?”

She still keeps quiet. You turn to face her.

“Please tell me the truth, Minji.”

There’s something about how the sun makes your eyes glow and how you say her name that sabotages Minji at not giving in.

“Yes.” She speaks out with a sigh, “I do. I still do.”

You don’t know if your heart is beating faster or slower, but you feel it beat stronger. You turn away to get your bag, Minji just watches, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in distress and curiosity. The only thing she wants right now is to know how you feel.

You reach inside your bag for something, and Minji can’t really tell what it is when you take it out.

Finally, you extend the pale blue hair clip in your hand, “I have liked you since we were seven, Minji.” The girl looks at the clip then at you, her round eyes widened in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

You hold your hand closer to her, urging her to take the gift before you sniff once again, “I saw this and thought of you. It looks like the one you had when we first met, that’s the day I started liking you. I haven’t stopped since.”

Minji takes the clip from your hands and feels herself tear up, says nothing, stares at it, then stares at you.

“We’ve known each other for thirteen years and I’ve loved you for thirteen of them.”

“I had no idea.”

“We had no idea.”

“We knew nothing about everything.” It’s now Minji’s turn to sniffle but still smiles as she wipes away the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes.

“How could you never say anything? Thirteen years, Y/N.” Minji complains while caressing the blue clip in her hands like it’s a precious stone. “Thirteen.”

“I got distracted with soccer.” Minji laughs with you and pushes you away by the shoulder. “Every goal I’ve ever made has been for you, though,”

“That’s so cheesy.” Minji giggles to herself as she pops the clip open and places it on her hair, it snaps shut with a ‘click’. “What do you think?” She says, turning to you. She tries to ignore your eyes and how sweetly they look at her.

“I think I love you more than I love apple juice.”

That’s the last thing you say before Minji smiles and gets shy, she looks away but her hand searches for yours and you help her by placing yours over hers. She fights back by taking it back and placing hers on top of yours. It makes you laugh.

The sound of your laugh takes her attention and now she stares directly at you, a smile on her own face. Her cheeks now take a reddish color, and her eyes shine like the reflection of the sunlight on the water. It feels like a deja vu.

You think you could stare at Minji’s face all day and not complain. You think maybe she thinks so too with how intensely she’s looking at you.

You raise your eyebrow when her eyes trail down from your eyes to your lips, and she seems to notice when your lips form a smirk. “What?” She giggles at herself, her already red cheeks turn an even darker shade.

“I saw that.”

“Weren’t we about to?”

“So straightforward, You should’ve been like that when sending that letter.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Is the last thing she says before she leans forward, she hesitates a little bit and her eyes go from your lips to your eyes, a shine of expectancy as if asking for permission, even when she already has it.

She’s about to close the gap when the both of you hear a chorus of gasps from the sea. It takes your attention. Hanni, Gyuvin and Yoona are all pushing each other giggling and gasping, hands on their mouths. You hear a faint “It’s finally happening.”, You can’t tell who it’s from though.

Minji is visibly annoyed, yells “Look away!” and it bounces in the waves. It’s actually insane how dumb she looks, red cheeks, furrowed eyebrows, pouty, perfect lips. It takes you everything to control yourself and even then you still can’t help grabbing her face gently and turning it towards you to finally, once and for all, kiss her.

You don’t really care if your friends actually turned away or not, because you can’t really tell with how glorious it feels to kiss Minji. It almost feels holy. You feel like you died and went to heaven in five minutes.

It’s a new feeling, a new experience, and it feels so familiar at the same time. Like flowing with the waves, like dancing with the wind, like drowning in apple juice, drowning in love.

Your lips dance like that for a while. At one point Minji’s hand goes up to your face and it’s such a warm feeling it makes you smile into the kiss. You start running out of breath and you don’t even notice. You could die happily if it meant dying with Minji’s lips on yours.

But then your stupid survival instincts kick in and it’s such a shame you have to pull away.

Both of your breaths are heavy and you burst out in laughter at the same time when your eyes meet. When your laughs die down your eyes fall on the pale blue clip that adorned Minji’s head. “You look so cute.”

“Says you.”

And then you hear cheering from the beach again. “Finally!” Hanni yells. You watch in astonishment, “Did she know?” You ask Minji while the both of you watch the three of your friends jump up and down in the water.

“I have no idea. I didn’t tell her. She might’ve noticed.” The cogs start to turn in your brains.

“They all did.” You and Minji say at the same time, then laugh at the same time. What a friendship of thirteen years does to you. And when you see Gyuvin and Hanni get up from the water and get closer to you, you realize you’re about to be ambushed.

“Oh, hell no.” You mumble right before you stand up and grab your bag. Minji just looks at you confused, “Come on, get up. They’re wet.” But Minji doesn’t seem to cooperate.

“Dude!” You grab her hand and pull her up as you run away as far as possible from your friends. You don’t even realize where you’re going, but laughing with Minji while running on the sand at sunset feels heavenly.

You look back and Minji struggles to keep up. Gyuvin and Hanni don’t look anywhere close and they probably decided to just let the both of you go, so you stop running.”

“We…” Minji rests her hands on her knees as she catches her breath, “We didn’t have to run that much. I’m not the soccer player here.”

You send her an apologetic smile, “Sorry…”

Minji now can stand up and breathe stably. She looks back and there’s no one behind. “So, where do we go now?”

“Home. You need to get changed or else you’re gonna get sick.” You walk towards her to touch her shirt, “It’s still damp.”

“Isn’t your house nearby?” She asks, “I live further away, and it’ll be night by the time we get to my house.”

You squint your eyes at her, “My clothes won’t fit on you, they barely fit on me.” You flex your bicep and the sleeve gets so tight it’s going to cut your blood flow if you keep it like that. “And I haven’t seen your mom yet.”

“And I want to have dinner with your parents.” She confesses. “My first official meeting with them as your girlfriend.” You never actually established that but it’s not like you’re going to refuse the offer.

“You’re actually so annoying, bro.”

“Says you, bro.”

“I’m your girlfriend, bro.”

“No shit, bro.” Minji holds her hand out for you to take it, and you gladly do. You start walking in silence for a little bit.

“Also, my mom won’t let us make out at my house.”

“Okay, that’s enough, bro.” You take your hand back and walk faster to get away from Minji. She immediately sprints to catch up and stick to you.

“I was kidding!” She tries to grab your hand but you refuse it and take it back. “Hey! Hold my hand!”

You look at her and wouldn’t you know, she’s making puppy eyes at you. It makes you give in, it never fails. “You’re so sticky.”

“You wanna know something?” She says as you start walking together again.

“What?”

“When you kissed me it tasted like apple juice.”

end.

🗒️ probably one of my favorite things i've written i giggled a lot and had fun writing this.. there's probably lots of mistakes here and there but i beg u pls ignore it bc im dizzy i can't look at words anymore. Minecraft coming soon! love u guys 🫂

#newjeans x reader #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #newjeans fic

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allgoodnamesrgoneee · 2 months

Note

Can u write jude smut from this prompt

https://www.tumblr.com/kentoangel/754475951689236480/men-who-knead-your-thighs-and-hip-as-you-sit-on?source=share

Nights Like These

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You and Jude decide to spend the night in on his day off.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.7k

Warnings! NSFW! FLUFF, slight domestic fluff, sweetness, Jude is hornyy, SMUT (18+), unprotected vaginal sex, cowgirl, she a pro rider, soft sex, soft dom!Jude, sub!reader.

It was his day off today, and all you guys had done was lay in bed, eat, and watch movies. It was nice to be like this with him. Usually, he was so busy with football that moments like these were rare. You missed him.

But today he was all yours, so you treated him like a king. Starting with a morning blowjob to wake him up. Then you made his favorite breakfast. After that, you gave him a relaxing massage. He had been complaining about his sore muscles for days, so you decided to pamper him. That led to an afternoon nap, followed by a walk in the park.

Now you both were enjoying a quiet evening at home, snuggled up on the couch watching his favorite movie. It was perfect.

He was leaning back against the plush cushions of the couch, legs stretched out in front of him. You were straddled on his lap, running your fingers on the back of his neck. Occasionally you would kiss his forehead, neck, anywhere you could reach.

He was reveling in it, practically purring into your shoulder. His body was putty in your hands. You loved how he'd relax in your presence, and how much trust he had in you. How safe he felt with you. And you felt the same way about him.

The movie wasn't interesting to you, so you decided to talk to him about your plans for tomorrow instead. You and your best friend were planning a day trip to the beach. You traced lazy circles on his skin as you spoke, your voice a soothing murmur against the backdrop of the television. He hummed in response, his eyes half-closed, a small smile playing on his lips.

"We're going to hit the boardwalk first," you said, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Then maybe rent some bikes and explore the trails. It should be fun."

He nodded, his hands resting comfortably on your hips. "Sounds nice," he replied, his voice a soft rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He listened attentively to every word that came out of your mouth.

His fingers brushed against your thigh, making you shiver at the touch. The warmth of his hand against your skin sent tiny sparks of electricity dancing up your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into him a little more, craving the contact.

"And after that," you continued, your voice a little breathier now, "we'll probably grab some lunch at that little seafood place. You know, the one with the amazing shrimp pasta?"

His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a lazy, contented gaze. "Sounds like a perfect day," he murmured, his thumb now tracing small circles on your hip, mirroring the pattern you'd been drawing on his neck. "Wish I could come with you."

You let out a giggle at the ticklish feeling of his actions. "You've had me all day. Don't be greedy." you teased, your fingers playfully tracing along his jawline.

He groaned softly, rolling his eyes in mock frustration. "But you're mine." he pouted, his voice carrying a hint of playful possessiveness that made you grin. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, pulling you closer against him as if to emphasize his point.

Your smile softened, your heart melting at the way he held you so tenderly. "I'm always yours," you whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. His grip on you relaxed a little, and you could feel him smiling against your skin as you leaned in for another kiss.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss with a soft sigh of contentment. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. The feel of his warm, firm lips against yours, the way he held you so close, it felt like nothing could ever come between you.

His hands slipped further up your thighs, pulling you closer to him, until you were flush against him. His erection pressed against your stomach, and you could feel how hard he was already.

Your hips moved involuntarily, grinding against his groin, and he let out a low moan. His fingers trailed up your back, playing with the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. His warm fingers grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he traced circles on your lower back.

The kisses got more heated, the air growing heavy with want and need. You both pulled away, gasping for air, your eyes meeting in a smoldering glance. He didn't take his time to act on it, pulling you back into a long, deep kiss.

His fingers slipped under your shirt, stroking your skin as he pulled you even closer against him. Your hands found their way under his shirt too, running along the hard planes of his abs and up his chest.

He leaned back a little, his breathing heavy as he looked at you. His eyes were dark with desire, his pupils dilating as he gazed at you.

He licked his lips, his eyes tracing over your face. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. You blushed at the sincerity of his words, your heart beating a little faster.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, brushing against the sensitive skin there. You gasped at the touch, your hips jerking forward against him.

He smirked at you, "Tease," he accused, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He leaned in for another kiss, his fingers stroking your hip before sliding down to squeeze your butt. You both moaned into each other's mouths at the touch, your hips grinding together involuntarily.

You wanted him so bad.

Then you had a wicked thought. If he wanted you so bad you were going to make him work for it. So with all the strength and restraint you could muster, you pulled away from him. You tried to push yourself up off his lap, but his hands were still on your waist, holding you in place.

"Hey, where you goin'," he said, his voice laced with want. He leaned forward, trying to pull you back into a kiss.

"I'm sorry baby," you whispered, running a finger over his jawline. "I have to go shower."

He groaned at the words, his fingers tightening on your hips in protest. "Baby, please," he said, his voice soft and pleading. You almost gave in to the whine in his voice. But you stood firm. He was always teasing you. Time for a taste of his own medicine.

You smiled down at him, leaning in to kiss him one last time. "You'll have to wait," you said, standing up from his lap but before you could take one step his hands were on your waist dragging you back to his lap.

You let out a laugh, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not letting you get away that easy," he said, pulling you back flush against him. His eyes darkened as he gazed at you, his fingers already working on pulling down of your shirt. Leaving you exposed for his eyes.

"Jude," you whispered, your voice trailing off as you felt him slip his hands under the band of your sweatpants

"I want you so bad," he murmured into your skin. You moaned in response, your body arching into his touch. His hands roamed over your panties, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing. You bit your lip to stifle the whimper that came from your throat.

"Fuck it," you whispered. He growled in response, his hands tightening on you, pulling you closer to him. His lips were on your neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin there.

He pushed your sweatpants down, running his hands up your thighs, and you moaned as you felt his erection press against you through the thin layer of your panties. His hands were on your breasts, massaging them gently, and you arched your back in response.

You both were breathing heavily, the air was hot with desire. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. You knew he needed this as badly as you did.

"Let me fuck you," he breathed, his voice husky. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

He pulled off your sweatpants, running his hands up your thighs to push your panties down. You stood up on his lap, pulling them all the way down before tossing them to the floor. He took a moment to look at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

You sat back down on his lap, feeling the heat of his erection against your pussy. He groaned in response, his head falling back against the couch. Fuck you were so hot like this, he thought.

You ran a finger down his chest, circling his nipple before moving down to the bulge in his sweatpants. You stroked him through his clothes, watching as he clenched his jaw in response.

He was already so hard for you. You could feel his dick throbbing under your touch.

He grabbed your hand, pulling it away. "You're going to make me come," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I want to be inside you when I do."

He lifted his hips, pulling down his sweatpants. His dick sprung free, and you licked your lips at the sight. Hard, thick, and long. You wanted him so bad, it was almost painful.

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him. He hissed in response, his eyes closing as you began to stroke him.

"God," he breathed, his hips bucking into your touch. You stroked him slowly, watching as his face twisted with pleasure. He was so hot like this, you thought, your pussy clenching in response.

"Ride me," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. You nodded, straddling his lap. He helped you lift your leg, positioning his dick at your entrance. You ran his head over your clit a few times to make sure you were both nice and wet before slowly lowering yourself down.

You both moaned as he filled you, stretching you so beautifully, almost painful. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you closer against him. You let your head fall back, arching your back as you felt him fill you.

"Fuck," he breathed, his head falling back against the couch. You stayed still for a moment, adjusting to his size. He was so big.

He kissed your chest, licking at your nipples. His hands ran up your body to cup your breasts, massaging them gently. "You feel so fucking good," he breathed against your skin. You moaned in response, grinding yourself against him.

You both were breathing heavily, the air was hot with desire. You sat up, looking into his eyes. You knew he wanted you badly, but he was being gentle with you. His muscles were still sore from training, and you didn't want him to hurt himself. So you took matters into your own hands. Or rather your hips.

You began to ride him, slowly at first. Your hips moving up and down on his cock, stroking him from base to tip. He groaned at the feeling, his head falling back against the couch.

"God, baby," he breathed. "What are you doing to me?" He was losing his mind inside you. You feel so good, you're giving him goosebumps.

You grinned in response, leaning forward to kiss him. You were in control now, and it felt good. You began to move faster, your hips grinding against him at the end of every thrust.

He moaned in response, his hands grabbing onto your hips. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so tight."

You felt your pussy clench around him, and he groaned in response. "Move," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips. You did as you were told, lifting up and then sinking down on him. His hands were on your waist, helping you move on him.

"Jesus," he breathed, his head thrown back. You could see the pleasure written all over his face. "Keep fucking me, sweetheart. Doing so good," he murmured. He leaned forward, pulling you into a deep kiss. His hands were on your hips, moving your hips faster as his tongue danced with yours.

You moaned into the kiss, the pleasure building inside of you. He was so deep inside you, your walls clenching around him as he thrust up into you. You were both so lost in the kiss and the feeling of being filled by each other.

His hands were on your waist, moving your hips faster. You could hear his breathing quicken as you rode him faster. "Harder," he breathed, his voice hoarse.

You moved faster, feeling his cock throb inside of you. His hips bucked up to meet your thrusts, driving him deeper inside of you. You both were breathing heavily now, your bodies moving together in unison.

"Fuck, Jude," you breathed, your head falling back as the pleasure built inside of you. You were so close to cumming.

"Yeah baby," he murmured, his hands tightening on your hips. "Gonna come on my cock pretty girl. Cum for me. Cum on my cock baby." The dirty talk pushed you over the edge, and you let out a cry as you came. He groaned in response, his cock throbbing inside as you clenched down, oh so tightly.

"That's right, cum for me," he breathed, his voice husky. You kept moving, your hips rolling as you continued to cum. You felt him tense underneath you, his body stiffening as he came. "Fuck," he groaned, his cock pulsing inside of you as he emptied himself into you. You felt the warmth spread inside of you as he filled you, your bodies still moving together as you milked him dry.

You collapsed on him, both of you breathing heavily. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close against him. Your lips found each other in a soft kiss, both of your eyes closed as you savored the feeling of being together.

His head fell back against the couch, his eyes closed in bliss. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you as he came down from his orgasm.

"I think I'm dead," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. You giggled at the words, his chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

His eyes opened, his gaze soft as he looked at you. "You're perfect," he said, his voice full of emotion.

You leaned forward, kissing him softly. "So are you," you murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

"I'm so lucky. Thank you," he murmured into your neck, his voice filled with emotion. You could feel his heart beating wildly against your skin.

"For what," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"For choosing me. For giving me a chance to love you. For giving the best day. For being the best girlfriend on earth." He murmured into your neck. His hands stroked your back gently, holding you close to him.

You hugged him back, your face pressed into his neck, his words making you shy. "I love you," you whispered, your voice soft, timid.

He pulled back a little, his eyes dark as he looked at you. "I love you too," he murmured. You smiled, leaning in for a kiss. His lips were soft against yours as he kissed you. He pulled back a little, his eyes soft as he looked at you. "You're going to make me fall in love with you even more," he whispered. Your heart melted at the sincerity of his words.

You stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms. Then he pulled out of you, and you let out a pouty whimper at the feeling. He cooed softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

"You're okay baby," he murmured, his voice soft. You nodded, laying your head back on his shoulder. He held you like that for a while, stroking your back as you both caught your breath.

"Let's take a bath," he whispered, his voice husky. You nodded, getting off his lap to stand on shaky legs. Looking like a baby deer. He would have laughed at the sight if he wasn't so preoccupied with your well-being.

He stood up, his arms wrapping around your waist. "C'mon," he said, pulling you up. You went willingly, letting him lead you to the bathroom.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #football #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham #jude x you #jb5 #bellingham

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mascdestr0yer · 3 months

Text

You knew

Paige x Fem!reader

Warnings: angst, overuse of italics

Synopsis: Paige uses your voice mail box often,

Paige’s head was pounding from all— well it’s not like she was crying anymore. she physically couldn’t, it’s been four months, four absolutely long months.

She should be dizzy by the amount of times she’s changed spots in her bed, her floor. Now the blonde laid on her back, the cold floor making her skin jump.

She subconsciously picked her phone, calling the ‘wifeyy’ contact, something you laughed almost every time you saw it. Mainly because paige didn’t put a ring on it. she brought the phone to her ear, her heart pounding as if it were going to explode.

“hey baby.. i’m sorry i didn’t come see you today, i know i was supposed too, i just-i was busy, i promise,” her voice was trembling, she weakly tried to reassure you, more herself than you. she felt pathetic, four months and she still couldn’t see you.

All she was capable of doing was picking up her phone, to call. “fuck-i’m sorry, i’m so sorry..” Now she could cry, the numbness fading. “you probably don’t even want to listen to my constant crying in your voicemail, i just, i really need you right now.”

she paused, trying to recollect herself. “i went to the beach today, felt weird but, also refreshing in a way, wish you were there to see it,” the way her snot ran down her nose made her feel even more pathetic than she did. she wiped it with the sleeves of her sweater.

“i’m getting tired, i’ll see you tomorrow..i promise, i love you.”

The trees were beginning to change in their appearance into the fiery version of themselves. Autumn, you’re favorite season,fillied with gilmore girls, shopping, and watching movies with you girlfriend.

Paige stood in the cool and crisp air of fall, her fingers toying with the stems of the bouquet she bought you. she crouched down and she put the flowers in the vase, she stuck it in the grass.

she sat down on the grass, “hey pretty girl, i’m sorry i didn’t come sooner,”

she hated this, she hated coming home to you guy’s now empty apartment, she hated how she could only only see you in photos and oh how she hated she couldn’t hear your voice anymore.

It was unfair, she wants you, she needs you, why weren’t you there to comfort her.

To be honest, paige like felt she didn’t deserve you at times, maybe took you for granted. It’s like everything and anything she’s said or did to hurt you, even by accident, popped in her head the moment she got that call during practice.

you were too good for the world, you just had to go somewhere else.

She couldn’t even eat nor sleep, the first month of you not being there. how could you, you promised you would fight for her, why lie when you knew..

you knew

you knew fighting wasn’t helping, so you lied.

“i know it’s too late but, i can’t bring myself to sell it nor wear it,” she placed ring on the cold tombstone. “i had it made specifically for you, i was planning to do it on your birthday, I..”

and the funny this is,

i would’ve married you

if you’d have stuck around

How could she go on with out you, she felt so empty and selfish. she wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Paige stood up, she then looked at your picture, her eyes were burning. “i love you, y/n, always.”

#millie talks❀*̥˚#uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #wlw #paige bueckers x reader #drabble #fluff #uconn wcbb #uconn #paige bueckers headcannon #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige fans #paige buckets #paige x reader

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judespoets · 2 months

Text

welcome to miami | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: none

category: fluff

summary: jude and reader spend a quiet evening together on their little miami vacation

Jude and you were spending a lazy afternoon at the luxurious beachside resort in Miami.

Jude, looking relaxed in his colorful shorts, leaned back on the cabana's cushioned seat, holding a fresh coconut drink. You, wearing a bikini and large sunglasses, lounged next to him, basking in the sun's warmth.

"Miami really knows how to do beaches," Jude said, taking another sip of his coconut water. "This is perfect.

"Absolutely," you agreed, your eyes twinkling behind your sunglasses. "I could get used to this lifestyle."

Jude chuckled, setting his coconut aside. "Me too. It’s a nice change from the usual hustle."

You nodded, reaching out to playfully poke his arm. "You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard lately."

He smiled, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Thanks, babe. And you too. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate with university lately."

You shrugged with a smile. "It’s all worth it when I get to spend time with you like this."

You fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop.

After a while, you broke the silence. "You know that little café we found yesterday? The one with the amazing pastries?"

Jude’s face light up. "Yeah? That chocolate croissant was life-changing."

You laughed. "I think we should go back tomorrow morning. Start the day with another one of those croissants."

"Deal," Jude agreed. "We can make it a tradition. Every morning, a new pastry adventure."

You grinned. "I like the sound of that."

You continued chatting about your favorite moments from the trip so far.

Jude recalled your jet ski adventure, where you, despite your initial hesitation, ended up loving the speed and the spray of the ocean.

"I was terrified at first," you admitted, laughing at the memory. "But once we got going, it was so exciting."

"I knew you’d love it," Jude said, pride evident in his voice. "You’re braver than you think.

You smiled, leaning closer to him. "With you, I feel like I can do anything."

Jude wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Same here. You give me so much strength."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach, you decided to take a walk along the shore. Hand in hand, you strolled along the water’s edge, the waves gently lapping at your feet.

"This is paradise," you said softly, squeezing Jude’s hand. "I don’t ever want to leave."

Jude stopped and turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender. "We’ll take this with us, wherever we go. We’ll make our own paradise, every day."

Your eyes shined with emotion. "I love you, Jude."

"I love you too, Baby," he replied, leaning in to kiss you softly.

"Maybe next time we can explore Europe together," Jude suggested . "Visit some of my favorite spots."

Your face light up. "That sounds amazing. I’ve always wanted to see more of Europe."

Jude nodded with excitement in his eyes. "We’ll make it happen. Just you and me, discovering new places."

You walked back to your cabana as the sky transitioned from gold to deep orange. You settled back onto the lounge chairs, sharing a blanket as the air cools slightly

"What should we do tonight?" You asked, resting your head on Jude’s shoulder.

Jude thought for a moment. "How about a quiet dinner by the beach? Just us and some good food.”

"Perfect," you agreed, your voice content.

You spent the rest of the evening enjoying each other’s company, the stress of your everyday lives melting away in the magic of your little Miami getaway.

#jude bellingham #judespoets #jb22 #jb5 #real madrid #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fluff

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mialikeshockey · 2 months

Note

Could you do a Luke Hughes fic where he lets the reader do his skin care and than watch a movie 🥹

of course!! I hope you enjoy:)

Baby Soft - Luke Hughes

“You stink, and you’re sweaty. Get off my bed.” I groan, pushing my sweaty boyfriend off my bed. Luke just got home from a workout with Jack and Quinn, and he decides to come to my house all nasty and sweaty.

“I am not going all the way to my house to take a shower, you’re gonna have to deal with it.” Luke states walking towards my bed again. “Luke Hughes, if you step any closer to my, nicely made, soft and clean, smelling good bed, I will actually drag you out of my house by your ear and make you sit outside until you don’t stink anymore. You can shower here, you still have the sweatpants and the hoodie you left from last time you came over, they are in your drawer on the last part of my dresser.” Luke smiles grabbing his stuff and going to take a shower.

I sit down at my vanity and start taking off my makeup, I only had a bit of mascara, blush and lipgloss on, so it wasn’t so hard to take off. I start doing my skincare while watching YouTube. After a couple more minutes, I’m almost done with my skincare about to put a face mask on, when Luke walks in my room all clean. “What are you doing?” Luke walks over to my vanity and picks up one of my face mask bottles. “Can you put one on me?”

“Why would you want one on? I thought you didn’t like doing your skincare.” I giggled as Luke sits down on the floor waiting for me to put a face mask on him. “I wanna match with you, and then maybe we can watch a movie.” I smile, finishing up my face mask and moving onto his.

I start putting the face mask on his face and he can’t stop laughing. “I really don’t see what’s so funny, you’re gonna ruin the perfect lining if you don’t stop laughing.” I shake my head and hold his head still. “It’s cold.” Luke lets out another giggle.

I finish his face mask and we cuddle up on my bed and turn on a movie. Luke seems to not mess with the face mask nor pick at it like he claims he would. A couple minutes have passed and I look over at Luke, who is half asleep. “Come on love, let’s get this face mask off.”

I get a warm towel and start washing the face mask off of Lukes face, I do the same with myself. Luke goes up to the bathroom mirror and feels his face. “What are you doing you goober?” I laugh. “My face feels baby soft.” He turns out of the bathroom and walks right back to my room.

“You should do the rest of the skin care on me tomorrow.” Luke states before plopping down on my bed to finish the movie. “I’ll think about it.”

The next day rolls around, I just got back from going on a run and I see Lukes car in my driveway. I run up to my driveway and see him and my parents laughing and talking on the front porch.

“Didn’t know everyone was having so much fun without me.” I smile walking up to hug Luke. “Luke was telling us about how he finally let you put a face mask on him.” My mom smiles, knowing how much taking care of my skin is so important to me.

I walk inside giggling with Luke following me. “So when do I get the full treatment?” He runs up behind me and hugs me again, kissing the side of my face. “Maybe now, because I need to shower and wash my face since I just got back from a run.” Luke nods and i hurry up and take a quick shower while he sits in my room and scrolls on his phone.

I come back in my room holding some skin care stuff I used in the shower. “Come sit down and I’ll do your skin care.” Luke gets up with a big smile on his face. I start off with using my face wash and gently rubbing it into his face. Luke giggling the whole time.

Something tells me that this is gonna be more than a one time thing.

——

sorry this is so short, it’s currently 4:30am and I’m going to the beach to see the sunrise and I haven’t slept yet and I’m so tired 😭

also I did not proof read so if there’s any mistakes ignore them please

take care!!

#luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes ntdp #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes

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thatlittlered · 4 months

Text

time warp | aaron hotchner

warning(s): none, just hotch being delicious

GIF by @katebeckets

part one

author's note: I have never updated a story this fast in my life. Another part is coming tomorrow.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

The door to his office is open, chatter from the bullpen reaching him when you all get too loud. He can tell Morgan is pestering you about something and the others have gathered around to listen.

“You only have one watch?”

“How many watches do other people have? You act like it’s insane.”

Spencer, like always, feels the need to interject, “I have three.”

You sigh, abandoning your pen and notes.

“I have another one but that’s my grandmother’s, I can’t wear it to work.”

Derek is not satisfied with your answer.

“You have a thousand pieces of jewelry.”

“I know!”

“You are wearing most of them right now.”

“I know, Morgan, you can stop bullying me now.” You pout at him and he pouts back, but his grin is indicator enough that he’s not even close to finished with you.

“Where do you even spend your paychecks, sweetheart?”

“Important stuff. Like shoes.”

“I only have one pair of shoes aside of my trainers.”

Emily laughs, “Yeah, we know that, Spence. Their time is coming to an end, by the way.”

Morgan zeroes in on you again, poking a finger into your knee to get a reaction.

“How many pairs of shoes do you have exactly? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“They were twenty… at some point.”

Triumph.

You almost can’t stand his shit-eating grin.

“There you go. Too bad you don’t get to wear them here.”

“Where do you spend yours? A lifetime’s supply of V-necks at GAP?”

You stand up from your chair, eager to get away from this conversation.

“You’re only mean to me because you know I’ll love you anyway.”

“Maybe.”

He puts his hand over his heart in feign hurt. Garcia mutters something about a woman’s right to shoes in your defense and you kiss her cheek to thank her on your way to the kitchenette. Aaron still watches from his seat and squirms uncomfortably when he sees Morgan follow you.

You take his mug and pour you both some coffee while he takes a seat, thanking you. You don’t even see Hotch come in.

“Did your watch get lost?”

You almost spill your coffee at the baritone of his voice. Everything he says comes out so official, so professional, as if speaking orders, but not at that beach under the sunrise. Who was he then?

“Yes, it did. Totally on its own and not because I keep leaving my stuff in random places and not looking after them properly.”

“Maybe that’s why you spend so much on stuff, if you keep losing them.”

You quirk a brow at Derek, leaning over him menacingly from your position.

“I swear to God, Morgan, this might be the day you officially lose my affection.”

He takes the cup you’ve poured for him from your hand and slowly walks backwards in resignation.

“No, please, I didn’t mean it.”

You smile at each other and you point a finger at him. Hotch watches with a frown.

“Tread lightly.”

When Morgan’s gone, he can finally step closer to you. Getting to the coffee machine is only the excuse.

“You know, you’re really good at keeping him in check. Maybe you should be in charge here.”

You smile into your cup, “That’s alright, we already have a boss and he’s okay.”

“Oh, is he? Good to know, I can’t wait to have that all over my evaluation files next year.”

You nod. The fabric of his suit jacket brushes against your arm while he pours.

“Some might even use the words ‘pretty good’.”

He hums, “So eloquent.”

Your smile deepens, nose wrinkling upwards in a way that now really can’t be hidden in your cup.

-.-.-

It’s almost time for everyone to head home and for once, he’s trying really hard to make it out of the office before sundown; maybe spend some quality time with Jack.

There’s a knock on his door before it opens and he’s about to send whoever it is away but-

“Hi, sorry, am I interrupting?”

He looks up, uncharacteristically disoriented.

“Uh, no-no, come in.”

“Are you coming to Rossi’s tonight?”

He’s dumbfounded.

“I’m not really sure yet, I have some errands to run when I’m done here.”

“Oh, okay… I just found some old Marvel comics and I thought Jack might like to have them, but I didn’t bring them with me. Maybe I could give them to you tonight? That is, if you make it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you mind?”

“No, of course not, I just-”, he exhales, “I’ll be there.”

You smile and nod, ready to leave.

“Maybe I could give you a ride and you can give them to me then. I mean,” his thumb scratches his bottom lip uncomfortably, “your place is practically on the way.”

“Have you ever been to my place?”

Aaron laughs awkwardly, “No.”

“But you seem to know what you’re talking about, so I’m going to put my faith in you. Pick me up at seven?”

“That works.”

-.-.-

It’s not even half past six when he rings your doorbell and you open the door still clad in pjs.

“You are so early.”

Hotch suddenly looks so small for such a usually imposing man. He stands in your doorway with nervous hands in his pockets and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him act like this before.

“I’m sorry, I can wait in the car if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay, come in. I think I knew deep down that you would be; just not by this much.”

He clears his throat and moves inside to now stand awkwardly at the apartment’s entrance, “I’m sorry, I started way too early from my house. Overestimated how long it would take to get here.”

Your interactions do something to warp his sense of time.

“That’s okay, Aaron, really. You’re just going to have to give me a few minutes because I haven’t had the time to get ready yet.”

He watches, frozen in his place, while you walk towards the kitchen.

“Do you need anything? Coffee, orange juice?”

He almost smiles to himself. He just knew you’d be the type of person to always keep the fridge fully stocked even if you’re barely ever home. He likes the confirmation that he knows you, despite his inability to really make conversation and establish familiarity. He grasps at straws; little pieces of you that he sometimes finds and keeps them close to his heart.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You still bring him a glass of water, freezing cold, just like he likes it, and rest it on the coffee table.

“You can sit, if you want.”

“Right.”

He smiles and sits almost robotically. When he picks up the glass, he softly wipes the ring of water that’s formed underneath with his hand but you don’t see it.

“Let me just grab the box.”

“It’s a whole box?”

“Yeah, I got it at a yard sale.”

“You bought it? You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, now that him and I are officially friends I have to do something to maintain the relationship, seeing how I never actually get to see him.” You sit beside him while he looks through the various issues. There have to be at least fifteen in here.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he really appreciates the comforting hand on his shoulder, “This was very nice of you to do, thank you.”

You smile and nod at him.

“Actually, I also have something I wanted to give you; I just need to get it from the car.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, give me a moment, will you?”

He’s out and back in a second. Practically runs back into your apartment when you open the door; a small gift bag in hand.

“I would have brought in with me, but I chickened out at the last minute.”

His fingers linger when he hands it to you. It’s almost a caress in passing.

“You got me something?”

It’s a digital watch, neatly sat on soft velvet.

Was that the errand he had to run?

“Oh, Hotch, thank you so much, but you really shouldn’t have. I know I joked around today, but I would have actually gotten around to getting one. I am not that financially irresponsible.”

“It’s nothing really, it’s not an expensive watch.”

“Oh, okay, as long as it’s the cheap, trashy stuff. Phew.”

He laughs and you realize you’re both standing in your doorway again.

“I just wanted to do something nice.”

“You’re nice to me all the time.”

His brows furrow, “It doesn’t feel like I am.”

“It must come easy then.”

“It does with you.”

He meets your gaze and you stay there for a while.

“Can you help me try it on?”

“Of course.”

He clasps it high on your wrist, just like he’s seen you wear the previous one. The color matches your jewelry and it’s excruciatingly sweet just how much attention he pays to details.

“I just wanted to thank you, I suppose, for the other day. It meant a lot to me.”

Aaron’s hand doesn’t leave your arm, instead wraps gently around it instead, as if one of your bracelets.

“It meant a lot to me too.”

His breathing is heavy, his voice barely a whisper. What you are doing feels like a secret; like it’s meant to be hidden from the rest of the world.

“I’m not sure you mean that in the same way that I do.”

Your other hand comes to rest on top of his, thumb passing softly over protruding veins and scars. He thinks, for a moment, it might wipe them away.

“Then you’re not the people expert that you think you are.”

His laugh is heartbreaking.

“Guess I’m not very good at that either.”

You hum, “You’re okay.”

Neither of you is moving but it feels like you’re getting closer.

“So eloquent again.”

You can’t help but beam with pride at how comfortable he’s getting with your banter. A whole world unlocked and open for you to see. His body is drawn to you, almost folds over and around you to be closer. As close as he can possibly get without touching you more.

“It’s the worst moment possible now, when you’ve just given me a gift and picked me up from my place, but I think it deserves to be said that I would very much like to be kissed by you.”

His eyes flutter close.

“It really is the worst moment possible,” his hand slides slowly from your wrist to elbow, taking in the feeling of bare skin, “but I would very much like to kiss you.”

“But you won’t.”

His hand stops traveling up your arm, drops back onto your wrist and without really meaning to, pulls you closer.

“No.”

You stay like this for a while. Nothing but soft breathing to be heard in the room.

“I should probably go.”

You look up in surprise, “Are you not coming with me?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” he touches the inside of your palm and traces the lines as if to remember them, “I wouldn't know what to say or do after this.”

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

“It’s alright, I understand… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The loss of his touch is like a sudden drop in the temperature around you. You both feel it.

He doesn’t meet your gaze again, simply gathers the box and clears his throat as if that will magically return him to what he’s used to being.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You see him press his lips together before he turns to leave.

When you get to Rossi’s, the team is disappointed to know he’s not coming after all, but they’re not surprised. JJ asks you about the new watch and you lie. You can tell Emily is not convinced but she doesn’t say anything about it, merely smiles at you and inches closer with her chair.

Aaron spends another night alone. Jack is at a sleepover with a friend that he didn’t have the heart to pick him up from all of the sudden.

That’s the cost of being a stone, he supposes.

part three

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #thomas gibson

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achenetype · 7 months

Note

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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lemonlover1110 · 1 year

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 13] No Regrets

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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Kissing your ex-boyfriend back shouldn’t feel so wrong, yet it does. But you can’t pull away because your lips are stuck on him. He deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip before it enters your mouth. It should be your sign to pull away, but you can’t move.

Your tongue presses against his, while his hands stop cupping your face and they move down to your waist, pulling your whole body closer to him. The five years of pent up frustration are poured into the kiss from both of your ends. You know something though, that once it escalates neither of you will stop and you don’t want to do something you’ll regret.

When he pulls away to kiss lower, you get a glance at his eyes and it makes your stomach churn. You can’t do that with him. Never again. Your hands go to his arms and you unhook his arms from your waist. You take a deep breath, in disbelief that this is what’s happening– What you allowed to happen.

“That’s a funny answer considering you left me to get married to her.” You point out. You have nothing to say to him, and Satoru takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You have to work more, but you doubt you’ll be able to after what just happened. He’ll understand if you leave.

Actually, you don’t care if he doesn’t understand. Satoru is clearly not someone that understands your feelings, and you’re tired of considering how he feels when he can’t keep that same energy toward you.

“I’m leaving. We can do the rest tomorrow during work hours.” You tell him, and he watches as you walk away. He’s glued to the ground, and maybe he should follow to stop you but he can’t.

All the progress you’ve made crumbles to the ground, and he watches it fall right before his eyes. Yet he isn’t too sad. There’s a smile on his lips as his index and middle finger touches his mouth. When you slam the door shut, he’s knocked back into reality and he walks back to his desk. He puts the picture frame that he has of his wife down and opens his desk drawer to pull out a picture.

Eighteen-year-old Satoru with his new girlfriend, right before Satoru leaves for the airport to start his studies abroad. Maybe he should’ve stuck around, gone to the same university as you, things would surely be different. He probably would’ve still been married, but not to Sayo. He probably wouldn’t be in this position though, and now with how unhappy Satoru is, he doesn’t mind the thought. He would leave it within a heartbeat to get back with you, but of course that isn’t possible anymore.

If only he could go back in time and knock some sense into his younger self… But he can’t and he’s left to deal with the consequences of his actions.

You hate coming home so late to find your son sound asleep. It feels like you’re missing so much of his life and it reminds you of yourself, wishing you could spend more time with your own mother who obviously couldn’t since she was working. At least you had Satoru, Ren doesn’t have anyone other than the nanny. You need to quit soon, make an arrangement with Mrs. Gojo about bills and stuff, knowing that she’ll do anything for her grandson. She won’t let you go that easily though.

“I love you, baby.” You mutter as you kiss his temple. You pick him up from the bed and carry him to your room. It won’t matter much, by the morning you’ll be gone. You wonder if he’s beginning to like the nanny better than he likes you simply because he spends so much time with her. The thought does make you feel jealous, so you try to get it out of your head.

At the very least you have to take a vacation with him, go somewhere he really wants to go so you can make more memories together. You don’t want to take the role of his absent mother as well, his father already has that role. Maybe you can take him to the beach before summer is over… That would have to be soon though, fall is just around the corner.

You tuck him into the bed before looking in your drawers for your pajamas and then going to the bathroom to get ready to go to bed. It’s past midnight, and you have to get up early too. You feel so tired yet you know you won’t sleep. The only thought in your mind is Satoru and how he had the audacity to kiss you.

Yet you feel happy. You feel happy because you still deeply care about him even when you try not to. You remind yourself that what he did is wrong since he’s married, even when he acts like he doesn’t care about the marriage. You want no part in whatever the hell is going on there, you’ll be the one that ends up losing if anything happens.

You waste no time doing your nightly routine, cutting some steps since you want to get into bed fast. When you get out of the bathroom, you find Ren sitting up on the bed. He looks around confused, wondering how he ended up in this room. Until he notices you, causing him to get off the bed and run over to hug you. You hug him back, a big smile coming to your face.

“Hi, mommy.” He says. You hadn’t seen him in more than a day, he deeply misses you.

“Hi, Ren.” You answer, you pick him up and carry him back to the bed. “I missed you, baby. I promise we’ll spend a whole entire week together soon.”

“I missed you too.” He responds, his little eyes closing on their own. You tuck him in again, kissing his forehead. You lay down beside him, and you hug him. Thankfully it doesn’t take too long for you to fall asleep.

The next morning you get to work a little later than you’re supposed to, and you’re expected to encounter an enraged Satoru but you don’t care. You’re absolutely done with him, and if he dares to fire you, you’ll leave without a single complaint. The last thing you expect to find there is a vase of white lilies, but that’s what you’re met with.

You don’t have to think twice about who left them there, you immediately know they’re from Satoru. You still look for a card, and it’s buried within the flowers. You read ‘I’m sorry’ with no name, but you can also tell it’s him since it’s his handwriting. You bury it in the same spot before walking to the office. You knock on the door, and you don’t care to get a response before opening it.

“I was wondering when you’d get here.” Satoru says, looking at you as you walk into the office. You shut the door behind you before asking,

“What was the apology for?” And it feels like an eternity for him to answer the question. You know it’s for the kiss but you want to hear it from him. You need him to assure you that it won’t happen again even if part of you wants it to happen again.

“For kissing you.” He answers, and you smile at him. When you’re about to thank him for the apology because you didn’t think he’d be mature enough to take this step. But he opens his mouth again, “Even though I don’t regret it.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you’re married, Mr. Gojo.” You can’t believe you have to remind him. You truly thought that the man in front of you would result in a loyal husband, either to you or someone else. You didn’t think he’d stoop so low. “You left me to be with her, and now you want to do that to her with me? You’re ridiculous.”

“I guess you’re right–” He begins and you hate the way he starts his response. You can’t hear the rest before you snap,

“You guess? You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me, Satoru. The least you can do is act like a man and stick by your decision.” You slightly raise your voice at him, not caring that you’re in a work setting because he obviously doesn’t care about it. “Look, I don’t give a shit if you want to cheat on her but keep me out of it. You aren’t going to toy with me.”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t give in? You could’ve pulled away immediately but you didn’t.” He argues, and you sigh. He isn’t wrong, but this isn’t about if you did kiss him back or not. You don’t want this to happen again.

“I was tired and didn’t know what I was doing. You initiated it.” You remind him. Your blood begins to boil, and you didn’t think that you’d be having this argument this morning. You didn’t expect any less from him, you aren’t sure why you’re surprised.

“You knew exactly what you were doing–” He begins but the office door opens, and you both turn your attention to the woman that walks inside. His wife stuns, wearing a long black leather skirt with a red blouse. She smiles when she sees you and then at her husband.

“Sorry, I didn’t see anyone so I welcomed myself in.” Sayo says, and you glare at Satoru. You aren’t thinking straight. You and Satoru exchange a look for a minute before you look back at his wife.

“Your husband kissed me last night.” You tell her, and her brows raise. The moment the words leave your mouth you curse yourself for being dumb enough to tell on him– You know how this situation plays out, and you’ll probably be berated even though you aren’t at fault for it. She looks at her husband and then back at you.

“Oh… Okay.” She responds. She looks at her husband, and she keeps staring at him. She clears her throat before asking you in a calm manner, “Could you please leave us for a moment?”

You nod before walking out of the office, cursing yourself for even mentioning it. You want to listen in on their conversation, but in the end it doesn’t matter. The feeling of regret slowly washes away though when you take a seat in your chair. You won’t be affected negatively if you’re fired, after all, Mrs. Gojo is the grandmother of your child. She might not like you, but she won’t let it happen. Even if it happens, she has enough to cover for you and your son.

She won’t take Ren from you because she doesn’t want her son to find out about him, so you’re sure that you’re safe. You’ll be okay even if you get fired.

You try to focus on your job while you still have it, looking up every minute or so to see if Sayo walks out of the office. When she finally does, you tense up. She walks over to you, and you expect her to start yelling at you. But she doesn’t.

“I’m really sorry about him… I have no idea what’s gotten into him.” She apologizes. She looks around for a moment before she lowers her voice, “Could you do me a favor and keep this a secret between us? I don’t want the wrong rumors to spread.”

“Of course, Mrs. Gojo. No worries.” You respond.

“Please call me Sayo, we’re friends.”

Surprisingly enough, Satoru doesn’t need you for the rest of the day. He’s called into a meeting that takes up the entire day, and you’re left to handle everything for the charity event. You can’t verify everything with him, and you choose what you feel is right. Handling all of it alone makes you wonder when you’ll be sent back to work with Shoko, and when Mrs. Gojo will finally get a new secretary for his son. You doubt it’ll happen any time soon.

Most of the afternoon you find yourself staring at the flowers that he left on your desk, and you find yourself indecisive as to what to do with them. They’re beautiful, yet you don’t want them simply because Satoru left them for you.

The fact that Satoru isn’t there, lets you clock out earlier so you can head home to your son. Unluckily for you, just when you’re about to leave, he gets to the office. He leaves the door open so you peek your head in before telling him, “I’m leaving.”

“No. Come inside. We have to talk.” His voice is stern, and while you feel like talking back to him, you feel like you’ve done enough. You’ll just hear him out, and then tell him that you need to drop the subject. What happened last night can’t happen again.

“What is it?” You try to suppress the attitude in your voice but it’s hard to. Luckily for you, he only talks about your job, and he doesn’t bring up the fact that you told his wife that he kissed you. When he verifies everything, he dismisses you.

You rush to the elevator when he does, you don’t want to be there for when he changes his mind. While you wait for the elevator, he walks and stands beside you, but luckily he’s leaving too. You almost choose the stairs to avoid going into the elevator with him, but in the end, you get inside with him.

It’s weird that you’re alone in the lift since so many people are inside it at this hour. But it’s empty now. You stand on opposite sides, and you watch as the elevator doors close. You almost comment on how weird it is to see him leave so early, but you don’t want to initiate any conversation with him.

You glance at each other for a moment, and he clears his throat, putting his hands in his pockets before he shares, “You didn’t get me in trouble, if that’s what you’re wondering. Sayo doesn’t care.”

“What a shame.” You answer, your eyes focused on the tiny screen that tells you which floor the elevator is on. Your response earns a low chuckle from the man. You look at him again, and he’s staring at you.

You look at his eyes, and they immediately remind you of your son. You almost feel guilty as you gaze into his eyes. You’re keeping something so massive from him, something that he wanted as much as you did. You had no way of telling him then, but now he’s in front of you and you choose to keep quiet. You weren’t at fault at first but now you are.

“I’m sorry.” The words slip out of your mouth unintentionally, and of course he doesn’t know what you’re apologizing for. You watch his eyes soften, and he genuinely laughs.

“What? For telling her?” He asks, and you chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to respond. You can’t admit what you’re sorry for. He moves closer to you, close enough for you to touch but he doesn’t. “It’s fine. You did the right thing. I was out of line.”

“That’s nice to hear.” You respond. You stare at each other in silence until the elevator doors open. Before you can walk away he says,

“But I still don’t regret it.”

#[changes]#gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

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