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awearywritersworld · 7 months

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there can be no covenants between men and lions

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: sukuna would rather contemplate your murder than come to terms with his feelings for you, but you call him out on his bullshit. w/c: 3k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. aged up!yuuji. heavy kissing. features yuuji x reader and he is, of course, best boy. cursing. sukuna decides he wants to kill you (so obviously there are mentions of murder and such) but cant even stand the sight of you upset, what a goof. i'd once again like to think sukuna's not too ooc in this but im still more than likely delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i was so touched by all of the love that part one received, i wanted to try my hand at part two. i hope i've done it justice! just as part one references homer's the odyssey, this references homer's the illiad because sukuna is very hot and well read. achilles, the protagonist of the novel, is discussed. i'm definitely open to writing a part three, because this one is much heavier on the angst and i miss soft sukuna from part one. series masterlist // masterlist

you and yuuji rarely argue, but when you do, it's often over his aversion toward seriousness, even when a situation calls for it. though you really should have kept your mouth shut, because in this moment, you'd give anything to see his typical carefree expression.

his eyes are regarding you intently, taking in your flustered appearance with knitted brows.

"yuuji..." you trail off, wracking your brain for an explanation of your current predicament.

despite the fact he regained control of his body only moments ago, one of his hands is curled around the back of your neck, while the other is resting on your hip.

"baby, what happened?" he presses, the tone of his voice entirely unreadable.

"s-sukuna," is all you can manage to choke out.

his eyes darken immediately, his jaw tensing in a way that intimidates you. "he hurt you."

you really can't tell if it's a question or a statement, and your response comes a little too quickly. "no! that's not... no."

the next few seconds tick by in a slow sort of agony, heat creeping up your cheeks.

he notices for the first time that his head is eerily quiet. no snide remarks, no scathing commentary. just his own thoughts as he pieces together the situation.

his gaze drops to the angry, red marks littering your neck and you watch in helpless horror as understanding passes his features.

"oh."

the word hangs in the air as you await his reaction, fully anticipating disgust and betrayal. you're positive it's only a matter of time before he throws you out of the apartment and tells you to never come back.

what you don't expect, however, is the way his shoulders relax as the tension leaves his face.

he straightens himself, arms falling to his sides, but he doesn't put any distance between your bodies.

"how long have you...?" he's not quite sure how to phrase the question.

"a few months. this was the first time anything... um... happened. we usually just talk."

he tilts his head to the side, so you clarify. "after you've fallen asleep."

mulling over the information, he hums in response, looking thoughtful for a few more seconds. then, his usual demeanor is back and he grabs your hand. "wanna get dinner? i'm starving!"

he tugs you a few feet toward the door before you come to your senses. "woah, woah. wait a second, yu."

when he looks back at you expectantly, you find that his face holds not one hint of bitterness or judgement. "aren't you angry?"

you're amazed to find that he's the one looking sheepish.

"how could i be? it's not exactly easy to be with me when i have a thousand year old curse rattling around in my body, but you stay anyway," he expresses, making your heart soften. "i just want you to be safe, so i'll take whatever relationship the two of have now over him being a threat to you."

as your hands reach up to cradle his face and your eyes sparkle with adoration, you briefly wonder how you ever found such a sweet man. he places a quick kiss to your lips, the smile on his face easy going as ever. "sooooo, i'm thinking takoyaki or maybe udon—"

"we can get whatever you want," you glance at the spatters of blood across his chest left there from the mission, no doubt from sukuna's careless slaughter. "as long as you go wash up first."

"right!" he agrees quickly, bounding off to the bathroom.

you stand alone in the middle of your living room, left with the ghost of both yuuji and sukuna's lips against yours and a sense of bewildered excitement.

back in his prison, however, sukuna is furious with himself. he should have let you die that day he kept you from being run over. better yet, he should have killed you with his own hands before the brat won back control of his body.

he is a terrible being that delights in carnage, a fact that's well known even centuries later. so why, when he could have done anything in the world, did he go to you? you even asked that same question before you—

he rejects the memory of you pressing your lips to his disdainfully.

your foolishness and your naivete are revolting. your softness and your pliancy are nauseating.

he shouldn't have been anywhere near you, if not to rip your obnoxious heart from your chest like he'd always planned. it was a situation he'd dreamt about and now it's slipped through his fingers, even though those same fingers had graced your fragile little neck.

you were nothing more than a clueless mouse in the jaws of a snake, and though the pains of hunger have been tearing at its stomach for years now, the serpent let itself starve.

sukuna retreats to his domain, fingers prodding at his temples irritably. he allows himself to wallow for a few hours, shutting out both you and the brat.

then, steeling his resolve, he begins to watch and wait like the predator he knows himself to be.

lulled into a false sense of security regarding your safety, it's clear that yuuji has let his guard down. just barely so, but enough that sukuna can see a few weaknesses in his chains. ironic seeing that, now more than ever, the king of curses wants you dead.

it goes without saying that he promptly ceases his nightly interactions with you. it's beneath him, wasting his time with a human. he knows that now.

but while he may not speak to you, he cannot refrain from stealing glances as the days stretch on. you're usually reading, completely oblivious to his watchful eye. he convinces himself it's simply to keep tabs on you, as he's deemed you his foremost enemy.

he's not sure how much time has passed when you begin calling out for him in hushed whispers after yuuji falls asleep, the hurt and confusion in your voice plain to him. it's irksome, and evidently, you're incapable of taking a hint.

his silence becomes more painful with each turn of the moon. you're a bit mortified to find that you genuinely miss him, so you just want answers. did he finally realize that you're nothing special, not worth bothering with?

eventually, growing restless, you all but beg him. "sukuna, please. talk to me. what happened? what'd i do wrong?" his chest tightens with what he believes is vexation. "you can't just make me like you and then disappear. you can't kiss me like that and then—"

"you insolent, maddening little creature!" his eye flies open just in time to see you gasp, your body jerking away from him. "shut up already! can't you see i want nothing to do with you? don't you tire of being pathetic?"

you don't dignify him with a response, swallowing thickly and turning away from him.

finally, he thinks, some fucking quiet. though if he's gotten what he wanted, why does his chest still ache?

he stares at the back of your form until the sun rises.

sukuna is no simpleton. he can be patient when he is sure of a reward, but he's thrilled that the perfect opportunity arises just two days after your encounter.

yuuji is exhausted. gojo kept him out all last night, despite the grueling mission he had today, and when he all but stumbles through your apartment door, the moon is already high in the sky.

you never mention the change in your relationship with sukuna to yuuji. even though he was so understanding, you still feel a touch awkward discussing it further. and maybe in the back of your mind, you're holding out hope that it might go back to the way it was.

sukuna watches through yuuji's eyes when you greet him, your expression half concern and half 'i told you so'. nights out with gojo usually lead to this very situation.

he showers while you finish cooking dinner and once you both eat, he helps you clean up despite his exhaustion. after whispering his thanks and pressing a kiss to your temple, he retires to bed.

you promise you'll join him soon, but sukuna knows it probably isn't true. following his outburst, you've taken to staying in the living room until you're ready to sleep.

yuuji's out before his head hits the pillow and nearly two hours later, you're still not in bed. sukuna's eager, but waits until he's sure the brat's deep in his slumber before he tries to take over. it's relatively easy, and he pushes down yuuji's unconscious mind as far as he can before rising to his feet.

this is finally it. he stretches his limbs lazily, a dangerous smirk settling on his lips. the floor creaks with each step he takes, but he pays no mind to stealth. you're no match for him.

tonight, you'll be his first victim of many and the thought of making up for his past misjudgement has him giddy with excitement.

but the sight that greets him upon exiting the bedroom— you curled into yourself on the couch, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs— it stops him in his tracks.

he wants to move, more than anything, so what the fuck is wrong with him? is the brat taking over already?

and why is that uncomfortable sensation making it's home in the center of his chest once more?

when you notice his presence, your face shifts to him and reveals your wide, teary eyes. it's clear you're surprised by his appearance, but you quickly bury your face in your knees.

you just want him to leave you alone. you hate him for what he said, for what he did. he forced his way into your life, made you care about him, and then he just vanished. he's cruel and you feel like an idiot because you should have known that from the beginning. or maybe you did and he just made you forget.

"go away. i.. i don't want to see you."

he's disbelieving, for a brief moment, that here you are giving him orders while he stands in the doorway with the intention of taking your life.

he moves toward you, invading your space in a way that is meant to be intimidating, but when you look up at him, every emotion ranging from sadness to rejection to indignation is etched into your features. though the terror he hoped to inspire is noticeably absent.

"i said go away!" you swiftly stand up, your hands meeting squarely with his chest as you push him with every ounce of power you have.

you may as well have shoved a brick wall, as he doesn't move even a fraction of an inch. he seizes one of your wrists anyway.

"what is it you think you're doing, exactly?" he spits.

"let go of me!" you beat against his chest with the hand he left free until his fingers wrap around that wrist too.

"enough."

he's certain there isn't a being that has attacked him (if he can even call that an attack) and lived to speak of it, not once in an entire millennia.

so just end the insolent brat and be done with it, he urges himself.

but he can't and he doesn't understand why, so he just stares down at you.

"what the fuck do you want?" you mean for it to come out forcefully and full of spite, but your voice cracks before you can finish.

an excellent question, indeed. what does he want?

he doesn't answer you and it's so goddamn frustrating that you begin to cry again, rambling to fill the discomforting silence. "you've already told me i'm pitiful and annoying. it's clear you think my company is insufferable, that i'm undesirable—"

that ache in his chest is unbearable now. it claws at his ribcage and shreds the flesh of his heart. it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and rings shrilly in his ears. he can't even hear you anymore, but he can still see the tears sliding down your cheeks and the way you gasp between words.

the truth of the matter crashes down on him and the devastating weight of it is so crushing it squeezes the air from his lungs.

that feeling in his chest isn't annoyance or repugnance. its anguish— the kind that rattles his bones and leaves him sick with regret.

it's because you're in pain, and worse yet, he is the cause of it.

sukuna pushes you back against the wall before you can comprehend what's happening. his hands find either side of your face and you're alarmed to find that he looks... frightened.

"what are you doing to me?" he pleads for an explanation, because he sure as hell doesn't have one.

how can one little human hold such power over him? it's unnatural. it defies all logic and reason.

you stare at him, open mouthed. his face is so close that his breath fans across your skin and it makes you feel dizzy.

"what are you talking about?" you finally ask.

"you should be dead right now," he frets, despair seeping into every word. "it should be easy."

it dawns on you that you should probably feel afraid, but you just don't. his touch is firm, but careful. and there's no malice to be found behind his eyes. "you're not making any sense."

he thinks back on the time you've spent together, trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here— him at your mercy, rather than you at his. he remembers the first time he made you laugh and considers that it may have been the beginning of his unraveling. for the following two weeks, you both discussed homer at length as you made your way through his poetry.

"there can be no covenants between men and lions. wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other through and through." you blink at him, recognizing at once that he's quoting the illiad. his voice is low and unsteady in a way that suggests desperation. it makes you shiver. "therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall."

your eyes narrow as you begin to understand his his internal struggle, though you're unsure if he's attempting to reason with you or with himself.

"you quote achilles, and rightfully so i suppose, given your common qualities— exasperating pride and a penchant for meaningless violence." he looks relieved, like your seeming agreement eases his mind. it's short lived. "but you forget his passion."

his gaze shifts away from you, his hands withdrawing from your face.

"his passion?" he repeats as if it's the most incredulous thing he's ever heard.

"by the end of the story, is he not acquainted with regret, sympathy, and respect? he doesn't remain blind to the error of his ways forever."

"only a foolish human could make such fanciful deductions," he chides through gritted teeth, still refusing to meet your eye.

you actually laugh at him. "perhaps you shouldn't call upon achilles to make your point after all. at least he grows out of his utterly childish view of the world."

"how dare you?" he demands, his features growing wild as one hand finds your throat (his touch not nearly harsh enough to cause you any discomfort), the other colliding with the wall beside your head. his display doesn't fool you though. "you witless, wretched brat! you're nothing more than a blip in a universe you cannot even begin to understand. you sicken me."

you throw achilles' words in his face just as easily as he did to you. "hateful to me as the gates of hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."

his gaze hardens, and for a split second, you think you may have been mistaken in your fearlessness, but then his fingers thread themselves through your hair and he pulls your lips to his.

it's rough and commanding, and he tells himself it's only to get you to shut up. to wipe that expression of smug pity from your face.

it's not because, despite the fact you know how awful he is, you're convinced there's something salvageable in him too. nor is it because you tyrannize his every passing thought. and it's certainly not because the feeling of you pressed against him brings him more satisfaction than ripping the hearts from the chests of a hundred men.

ultimately, his denial is overshadowed by his desire. your touch is nothing short of needy as you tug at his shirt, an attempt to bring him even closer, and god does he hope that means you feel just as desperate as he does. he deserves at least a little consolation.

as his hands roam every valley and curve of your body, he deems it unfair that a being whose very existence spells hell on earth should be so taken with such a devastatingly divine creature.

"i've wanted you so terribly," he mumbles against your mouth before he can stop himself.

"then fuck you for making us both wait," you breath out.

his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips in response and his lips shift to your neck. "watch that pretty little mouth of yours, brat."

he nips at the spot just below your ear hard enough that it makes you gasp, doubtless a punishment for your impudence. you recover quickly though, wasting no time with your flippant reply. "or what? you'll go back to plotting my murder?"

he pulls away from you abruptly, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. "you truly have zero sense of self preservation, don't you?"

"guess so," you shrug, smiling at him bashfully. "can we watch a movie? i'll even let you pick."

you ask as if it's the most normal request in the world. as if he isn't a thousand year old curse that would be off turning the city to ash were he not here with you instead.

he rolls his eyes, scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. "fine."

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk angst

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dreamauri · 3 months

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♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part one max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( next )

One of the things Max Verstappen despises about being Max Verstappen is being Max Verstappen. Three time world champion, youngest race winner, mad max, f1 dominator, all the fame and media and people following him around. It's very hard to get a moment of peace or be treated normally. When people hear his name they either put on big smiles or ugly frowns. He hates the special treatment.

He misses when he could have a conversation without people recording or judging him. Without people whispering about him, or fake being his friend for whatever fame. When people would just spend time with him for the sake of spending time, or having a conversation for the sake of friendly socialization and conversation. Luckily though for the Dutch, in this day and age, Max could just enter a spare email in Discord and make a second lowkey account.

The pfp was a random photo of Max, a meme. Lowkey enough, Max decided after staring at the profile long enough before opening DiscoBoard. After scrolling and searching, he was dawned upon with a relatively small server with only 280 people online, surrounding sim racing. After he followed instructions on the welcome page like verifying he's not a robot and picking roles, he got his first ping.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max met you in August of 2022. The way you talked and messed around with him got him constantly checking his phone for notifications over the next months. The way you befriended him and were relaxed around him once the two of you got to know each other, it kept him sane. And although Max didn't really reveal a lot about himself except that his work required a lot of traveling and effort, you trusted him enough to share about your own life up in France, ranting about your weird encounters as an employee at Cisco.

The blonde’s favorite part about getting home was plopping in his gaming chair and switching his Discord accounts. Pulling his headphones on and navigating through the server, he joined the active voice chat. It was as if he was switching lives, turning off Max Verstappen to be an irrelevant 26 year old.

“A millioooon.” you sang like you always did, a nickname you’d given him since amilian sounded like a million.

“Laaaaa.” Max sang back with a chuckle before greeting the other acquaintances present on the call.

“How was your weekend?” You hummed.

“Same as always. Maybe a bit shittier this time.” He sighed, seeing you were on Gran Turismo from your shared screen.

“I’d love to beat up someone for you.” You always offer when he’s down. The blonde would laugh and shake his head even though you can’t see. You never cease to bring him a smile with your tone and jokes and hearty aura, despite being kilometers up north. "We're waiting for Josh to take a few rounds around spa, you wanna join?"

"Oh, yes please." friendly racing with no consequences, points or championship? just friends messing around and enjoying themselves? Yes please.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You see the new verstappen photos that just dropped, Mr. Max Verstappen nerd?" Max looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your dm chat where the two of you decided to move the call once everyone else put down the steering wheel for the night.

"This one is from Bahrain I think . . . you know, I'm starting to take a liking to him." Max rolled his eyes playfully at your words. "To be honest, I was kind of disappointed this weekend." Max rubbed his eyes, looking up at your profile picture.

"Why what happened?" He asked even though he probably knew all too well the events of the Australian grand prix.

"Max DNFed on the third or fifth lap." You sighed.

"Oh yeah?" Max hummed, pursing his lips, not wanting to recall the memories. "What's so bad about that? I thought you were a die hard Charles fan?" he asked.

"Excuse you, I'm a die hard Fernando fan." You joked in a sassy tone which pulled a chuckle from him.

"What is it about Max DNFing that is bothering you then?" Max himself asked, putting his phone down to concentrate on your voice.

"I just don't—" you sighed deeply. On your end of the call you rolled back in your chair, getting up and flopping on your bed with your phone in hand.

When you did answer his question, all Max heard was mumbles because your voice was muffled by your pillow. "Can't hear you, La. Aren't you happy about the Carlando podium? You were so happy about it last year."

"I am happy, I am. But Max . . . well Max . . . i don't know." you grumbled frustrated. "He's such a good driver, and deserves a lot— he works really really hard."

Max never thought he'd hear you talking about him like that. He'd usually hear other people on the server dissing him and cursing him. And although you were always mostly neutral with the drivers, the way you spoke about Max tonight melted his heart. It also felt very wrong.

While you turned and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling of your room, venting your feelings about a driver who you thought didn't know you existed, said driver folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms listening to you vent about how much you were amazed and proud even though you don't know him personally or him not being your favorite driver.

Max glanced up at his monitor as you sighed to gather your thoughts. "Sometimes when i look at him, he reminds me of myself. I never really got to go past karting, but for some reason I see a little bit of y/n in him."

"—Y/n?" He sat up hearing the name.

"I—" You face palmed upon the realization.

��"Is that your name?" Max asked. You nodded briefly with a sigh but he couldn't see.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "Weird name, I know—"

"I like it." He reassured. "It's not like Amilian is any better." he tried to lighten the mood, working slightly.

"A million." you giggled making him chuckle back.

"A million, " he repeated quieter, a small smile on his face as he leaned his chin back down on his arm.

Such a foolish thing to do, taking a liking to a woman you've never met.

Voice notes . . . ( my brain is like a zoo rn, starting projects and not being able to track anything while working on everything at the same time )Word count - ( 1, 165 ) credits for proof reading -> @classiclitfreak (check out their blog!!)

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runningfrom2am · 6 months

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the election // LTPF

summary: Coriolanus Snow, current President of Panem, we salute you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. this part is quite tame! idk, discussion of the games as a concept is pretty messed up? obviously r & coryo are both delusional but whats new??

a/n: y'all my country doesn't have a president so idk how tf presidential elections work so i just guessed LMAO. just a heads up.

also credit to @that-veela-girl bc she casually dropped "panem is her garden. the games are her flowers." in my replies when we talked about their future and that has haunted me ever since (in the best possible way).

based on this ask.

series masterlist // playlist

After the death of the President's son years earlier, no one had any plan on what to do when his father passed. Of course, there would have still been an election, technically, but everyone knew Felix would have won. He was raised to be the next President, but very few people knew that he wasn't the only one.

"No, Darling. You take it."

"What? No, we've always done everything together." You protest, furrowing your brow. "She's offered it to both of us, we can do whatever we want, no more waiting for her approval. We can run with it! Come on, it'll be so fun, Coryo."

"That's your dream. Not mine." He smiled at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

You frowned, focussing yourself on pulling the buttons of his shirt so they were perfectly aligned. "Are... Are you sure? I don't know if I can do it without you."

"You'll never do anything without me, you know that." He hummed, pushing your hair out of your eyes. "If you need help, just ask. I'm right here. Always."

"But... I don't understand, Coryo. Why not?" You pout. Sharing the position of Head Gamemaker was something you had dreamt of since the beginning of your internship together, shortly after returning from Twelve.

"Well," He sighs, shrugging slightly. "I've been pulling some strings, working my way up, and the President is on his deathbed, apparently. So I'm thinking I'll probably start my campaign soon." The smile on his face shows you he'd been planning this for a while- of course he had, for most of his life, his loved ones were telling him that would be his destiny: Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem. You saluted him, always.

You gasp, clapping your hands together in excitement. "Really?" You smile. "That's wonderful, Love! Oh, I just can't wait!" You squeal, throwing your arms over his shoulders and jumping into his grasp as he hugged you back.

That's the beginning of the journey that has led you here. Tireless hours planning campaign events and strategies, speeches, and everything that goes on behind the scenes. You knew he was a shoo-in.

The polls had closed days ago, the results were in, and the only one who knew the results was standing in front of your husband on the stage. You sat in the front row of the expansive audience, gripping tightly onto your brother's hand with nervousness as he sat next to you. He was an adult now, nearly. You had pulled him from school today for the event, and he had changed from his academy uniform into a tux you bought for him in the car on the ride over.

You were grateful that your father had allowed you to maintain a connection with him at the very least, though you wouldn't doubt that Coryo had something to do with that. He single-handedly granted every wish you'd ever had.

Your eyes are locked on Coryo sitting onstage, but he can't risk sparing a glance your way. He would smile, and he can't have that until he's won. He carries himself with such grace, such professionalism that your cheeks flush just looking his way.

"The new President of Panem will be..." A moment of suspense, tacky, but it still makes you sweat as you pull your brother's hands into your lap, forcing him to lean in closer to ground you while you wait for the announcer to continue. "Our youngest candidate, Coriolanus Snow!"

He's on his feet in a second, and so are you as you scream with excitement, practically jumping into your brother's arms. You feel the people around you putting their hands on you, patting you in a series of excited congratulations. He had worked so hard for this. He deserved it more than anyone, you were certain.

Your excitement is only quieted when you hear your husband's voice over the loudspeakers, having taken the podium for himself. As is his right, now.

"Thank you, thank you." He says to quiet the crowd, trying to curb the wide smile threatening to form on his cheeks to keep a mature, calm one. "Thank you, wow." He chuckles, and you stay clutching onto your brother's hand as you pay attention now, sitting back down.

"It is truly an honour to be here. I have a long list of people to thank, but I'd like to keep it brief for all of your sakes. So I'll say thank you to my family, who have supported me my whole life. Most importantly, I have to thank my beautiful wife. She's done more for me than anyone could ever fully understand." He looks at you, finally, and you blow him a kiss. "Come up here, Darling. Please. I wouldn't be here without you."

You blush, more than you already were, giving your brother a quick hug as he ushers you on, the cameras tracking the two of you as he escorts you to the stairs up to the stage and holds your hand as you carefully make your way up in your heels and long, red dress. You continue to hold it up so you don't step on it as you make your way over to your husband, who is waiting with an open arm for you to slot yourself into. You do, seamlessly, planting a kiss on his cheek as the audience cheers for you. You look out over it for the first time, pride swelling like a balloon behind your ribs. This was it. This was your life now.

"To a greater Panem!" Coryo calls out, attention once again returned to the people in front of you. The people of a country that's all yours. The people of the Capitol eat it up, cheers for you morphing into a roar that inflates your ego beyond belief.

"Congratulations, President Snow." You say in his ear, loud enough so he could hear it without the microphone picking it up.

Coriolanus smiles, wider now, squeezing your side and planting a kiss on your hairline. "It's all for you." He replies. "Panem will be your garden."

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#tbosas #tbosas x reader #tbosas fic #president snow #coriolanus snow #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fanfic #thg series #thg #thg fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo snow #snow lands on top #snow x reader

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zeroeightzeroone · 6 months

Text

bad days - kim seungmin

genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: seungmin x gender neutral reader

wc ~1k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"hey dummy, i'm home."

he says as he's shrugging off his black windbreaker, revealing a white t-shirt underneath and hanging it on the back of the door. seungmin turns around, noticing the way the lamp is clicked on at the same time the ceiling lights are opened as well, and then his eyes move over to you lying in bed. even with a blanket draped over you, he can see that you're curled up into a ball, the bottom half of your face hidden behind the pillow you're clutching to your chest. the brunette's heart drops when his eyes meet yours, glossy and avoiding his own.

"oh bubs…" he rushes over, kneeling to be eye level with you, "what's wrong?"

his hand moves to touch you, caressing your hair gently as you sniffle, no words coming from your mouth. seungmin scans over the top half of your face that isn't covered by the pillow, looking at your hooded eyes, eyelashes clumped together from the tears and your flushed, damp cheeks.

a pout adorns seungmin's lips at the sight of you, "what's got my baby so down? hmm?"

your eyes move to look into his, the tears caught in your eyelashes sparkling from the lamp.

"is it another one of those days?" seungmin asks softly, his hand still stroking your hair.

this time you nod your head slowly. at that his lips purse in a sympathetic smile; knowing how down you'd get on those bad days. the change in your eyes apparent on a good day versus bad, the bliss one day and misery in the next.

"ahh. how about this bubs? i'll take a quick shower, rinse off all the practice sweat and i'll climb in right next to you."

you nod.

seungmin leans forward and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. naturally your eyes close and he pulls away with a smile seeing your eyes flutter open.

you watch as seungmin pushes himself up, off his knees to get ready for his shower: snatching some clothes to change into, and grabbing the towel hanging on the back of the door before he scampers out of the room and into the bathroom. you hear the water running through the faucet, a delay, then the sound of the water rushing from the shower head along with seungmin singing; during longer showers he would sing songs from beginning to end, but during quick ones he would sing random lyrics and tunes. the sound of seungmin's singing has you sighing deeply, the tone of his voice washing a wave of comfort over your body, allowing it to release some of the tension.

even when the water stops running, he continues to hum different tunes as he quickly dries himself off and dresses himself. again, you hear the sound of seungmin's feet against the floor as he rushes back into the bedroom, he's still wearing a white t-shirt but this one has a design printed on the front whilst he wears a pair of plaid pajama pants. the boy hangs his damp towel on the door before shutting off the ceiling lights and climbing under the covers with you.

the fragrant smell of seungmin's body wash and laundry detergent engulfing your senses as he pulls your body away from the edge and into his chest, his breath fanning over the back of your neck. the heat radiating off his body and onto yours has you relaxing in his arms, your back pressed up against his front as he places his right hand over one of yours clutching the pillow.

"i'm here bubs," he says softly from behind you, "whatever you need, i'm right here."

the weight on your chest, lifts at his words.

after being together for over a year, through trial and error, he learned how could be of comfort to you on your bad days. the first couple of times, seungmin tried to talk to you about it, trying to find solutions to make you feel better. while his intentions were good, it only added to the stress and negativity looming inside your head. a lot of the time, you couldn't pinpoint the cause of these feelings. the emotional burden just weighing you down with no clear explanation or reasoning. of course, there were times when the reason for your feelings were apparent but talking about your emotions had never come easy to you.

eventually he learned that the solution wasn't always something that came with long discussions, it came with him just being there. seungmin's presence brought you a sense of comfort. a feeling of relief washing over you whenever he was near, knowing that you didn't need to go through these bad days alone.

seungmin would always be there: verbally or physically, whatever you needed.

seungmin's right arm draped around your body lifts up the slightest bit when he feels you moving. you're abandoning the pillow and turning to face him, his left arm moving under your head as your left arm is now draped around his body, hands fiddling at the fabric of his shirt. seungmin takes this opportunity to cradle your head into his chest using the arm under your head to push you a bit closer, his left hand now gently grazing over your scalp in a small massaging manner. the sound of seungmin's steady heartbeat has you further nuzzling into him.

"thank you," your words are barely even a whisper but seungmin can hear you loud and clear.

he hums, "anytime bubs."

the feeling of seungmin's body pressed up against yours, the steady rhythm of his pulse has your eyes growing heavy, the tranquil atmosphere lulling you to sleep.

seungmin notices how your body fully relaxes in his arms, your fingers stopping their movement around his shirt and how your breathing has slowed down. craning his head the slightest bit, he takes a peek at your face; your eyes closed, lips slightly parted as soft breaths pass through, your cheeks still the slightest bit rosy. seungmin's lips turn up into a cheeky grin, the sight of you peacefully dozed off in his arms never failing to make his heart flip.

"goodnight bubs, sweet dreams."

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steddieas-shegoes · 7 months

Text

if you call me back

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'mutual pining' rated: T wc: 864 cw: angst with a happy ending, mention of being drunk tags: mutual pining, long distance friends, friends to lovers

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"Hey, Eds, just me checking in. Dustin said you lost your job and I didn't know if you already had another one or not. Uh. Just call me when you can."

"Me again. Heard you got a new job! I didn't even know a record store opened in Hawkins. You must be happy about that. Um, well, I guess call me when you can?"

"I know this is kinda the worst to get a lot of voice messages, but I just...miss you? Sorry, I just. Needed you to know that. If I upset you or something, you can tell me."

"Eds! Listen! If you call me back, I gotta tell you something! Robin said I can't say it over the phone though! Ouch, sorry, just stubbed my toe. Uh, okay wait. I think I'm drunk."

Eddie listened to every voice message on repeat every night before bed.

He didn't know why he didn't call Steve back, especially after the last message that left him dangerously hopeful that he would admit he had feelings for him.

They'd naturally drifted when Steve moved away with Robin, though they'd kept up weekly phone calls for months. The highlight of Eddie's week was getting to talk to Steve about the kids and hear about his exciting life in the city.

But after a few months, the calls got shorter, and then Eddie decided that he had to pull away completely before Steve unintentionally broke his heart.

It wasn't Steve's fault he couldn't keep things strictly platonic.

The phone ringing startled him out of his thoughts.

He looked at the clock and frowned. It was much later than Steve usually called, even the one drunk message was from closer to ten instead of one in the morning.

He answered, hoping it was just Wayne checking in from work.

"Hello?"

"Edward."

Robin.

"How're things, birdie?" Sounding casual would work for him, right?

"Things for me would be a lot better if I wasn't dealing with the mopiest human being on the planet right now."

He could hear the crossed arms in her voice.

"Oh?"

"Oh? That's all you've got? You don't return Steve's calls for almost two months and all you've got is 'oh'?"

Had it really been that long?

"I-"

"Don't wanna hear it. Can you please at least call him back and break his heart so he can move on? I cannot deal with the pining anymore."

She hung up before he could respond.

Well.

He dialed the number for their apartment, hoping Robin would at least explain more of what she meant.

"'Lo?" Steve's voice, rough with sleep, answered.

"Uh."

"Eddie?" Steve sounded like he'd just had cold water thrown on him, much more awake. "Holy shit. Hi."

"Hey. Uh-"

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted.

"Sorry? For what?"

"Whatever I did to make you not wanna talk to me."

"Steve, I-"

"No, I just. I know sometimes I'm needy or clingy or whatever. Robin doesn't mind it because she is, too, but I know it's annoying. Like, you have a life that I don't belong in and I just have to get used to that. I should've taken the hint sooner."

Eddie's heart was racing.

Now. Do it now.

"Why would you think you don't belong in my life?"

"It's just that you always talk to everyone else, but not me. I kinda got the message, just, maybe later than you hoped."

"Stevie..." Eddie sighed, his grip on the phone tightening. "I miss you every minute of every day. I just thought...you seem happy there. I don't wanna make you feel like you owe me anything."

A whimper could be heard on the other end and Eddie felt his stomach drop.

"Eds, I." A pause. "I didn't wanna do this over the phone, but I won't be back in Hawkins for another month. I'm sorry this might change everything, but I can't keep doing this. I love you. I love you so much that some days I think about packing up and moving back there because having you laughing next to me on the couch sounds worlds better than anything this city has to offer. You've been one of my best friends for a year, and not having you next to me is like my chest is actually trying to cave in on itself."

"Oh." Oh.

"Oh?"

"Oh."

"Is that...all?"

"No, sweetheart, I just think I'd like to say the rest in person. Think you can make time for me to visit tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Don't you have work?"

"Not anymore. Tell Robin to stay somewhere else."

"Oh."

Eddie smirked as Steve let out a breath and cleared his throat.

"I have a shift in the morning, but I can be home right after lunch?"

"Perfect." Eddie started pacing as he mentally planned what he needed for his four hour drive. "Grab some lube if you don't have some. We've got a lot of time to make up for. Oh! And before I go, I love you too."

"You do?"

"Yeah, Stevie. Kind of been head over heels for the better part of a year."

"Oh."

"Mhm."

"Tomorrow?" Steve was smiling and Eddie could feel his heart melting.

"Tomorrow."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #mutual pining #angst with a happy ending

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zombiigrll · 1 month

Text

JUST FRIENDS, RIGHT? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 998 ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ fluff, friends to lovers, use of y/n, reader is maggies sister, just cute wholesome moments<3 .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ thank you all SO MUCH for the love on lonely OH MY GODDD i was not expecting that much traction for my first story! it was literally my first ever tumblr post ever too thats insane o_O i literally have like 0 idea how tumblr works it took me forever to write lonely because i had NO CLUE WHAT I WAS DOINGG if you have any tips let me know im so desperate anyways thank you all so much for the support it means sososo much!! <333 ───────────────────────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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you and carl had been best friends since the farm. after carl and his group arrived, the two of you had been just.. drawn to each other. you were there for him after he was shot in the side, despite not knowing him. ever since then, the two of you were inseparable. years had passed and you guys were now living in alexandria. after being in that safe space and finally feeling secure, you had more time to tend to your thoughts. one of those thoughts being the new feeling you were getting in your abdomen whenever you were around carl. he could be doing anything, smiling, laughing, whatever. it just made you feel something you had never felt before. something you couldn't describe. but that was challenged shortly after you guys settled into alexandria and carl had told you he had a crush on enid. "hey, can i tell you something?" carl asked, setting down his comic book and looking over at you. you looked up from your own comic and into his baby blue eyes. "yeah, 'course. what's up?" "i... i think i like enid." your heart dropped at his words. "oh." you softly responded, trying to hide how upset you were with a smile. "that's... nice." god, you wanted to explode right there. but you had to be supportive for your best friend, even if you had... some sort of feelings for him. ever since then, you tried your best to pretend you didn't like him. he never got with enid due to ron and her being together, but you didn't want to ruin his moment. you wanted to be there for him. you ignored the tightening feeling in your chest whenever he smiled at you and eventually, you were so caught up in this lie that part of you believed you were over him. sure, you still got those butterflies in your stomach whenever he hugged you, but it couldn't be love anymore, right? well, you were wrong. all of those feelings of love were confirmed after ron had shot him in the eye, which made you realize you couldn't lose him. he came so close to death, and you knew you couldn't live without him. you stayed with him throughout his recovery, and despite him being insecure, he let you stay. i mean, the two of you had been in this situation before back at the farm. you had to be there for him. after a while, carl had recovered, now rocking an eyepatch across his right eye and being able to function properly again through his physical therapy. and you were there with him throughout the entire thing. after carls recovery, the two of you had found an area in the woods for the two of you to have quiet alone time. as friends. just friends, right? today, you couldn't focus. you were so overwhelmed by the knot in your stomach as you watched him read his comics. your eyes went from his hat to his icy blue eye, then his hands, then back into his eye, which was now looking back at you. "are you okay?" he asked, causing you to come back to your senses.

"i.. yeah. i'm good." you awkwardly looked away.

"are you sure? you were staring at me." carl chuckles, setting down his comic book next to him and sitting up to look back at you properly.

"i'm good. perfect, even." you reassured him, but the blush on your face said otherwise.

carl moves closer to you, sitting right in front of you. now, your guys' faces are inches apart from each other.

"you know you can tell me anything, right?" carl softly speaks, smiling down at you as you move your hands up to covered your tomato-like face. he moves his hands up to yours and moves your hands off of your face.

"why're you so nervous?" he rubbed his thumb over your hands as he waited for your answer. you cleared your throat and averted your eyes, which caused him to bring a hand up to your chin and move your face back towards him.

your faces had the slightest gap between each other.

he smirked down at you before closing the gap between you two, kissing you softly.

you were caught off guard, more surprised than ever. your stomach was doing flips as you leaned into the kiss, but after a bit, you moved away.

"wait, but..." your facial expression changed to confused as you processed everything. "you said you liked enid."

"wh.. oh." he averted his eyes. "...would you be mad if i told you i just kinda.. said that to say it?"

"are you serious?!" you yelled. you weren't really angry, and it was apparent in your voice. "theres no way. no. you told me you liked her so confidently. you only didn't get together because of ron, but ron's.. y'know."

"y/n." carl put one of his hands on your shoulder. "i said it because i knew you liked me. and.. i didn't want you to."

"what?"

"i don't like enid. i like you. i was just... i was just nervous that i'd hurt you somehow." he explained.

"i think it hurt more hearing you liked another girl than anything else." you scoffed with a smile.

"i meant, i didn't want to be a jerk or something. i've never dated anyone before, i didn't know what i was doing. i mean, i still don't know what i'm doing, but..."

you cut him off with another quick kiss, moving your hand up to his jawline. you pull away shortly after, smirking at his dumbfounded facial expression and reddened face.

"...did you kiss me just to make me shut up?" he rose his eyebrow with a laugh.

"ha, no..." you rolled your eyes, pulling him in for a tight hug, which he returned shortly after.

he rested his head in the crook of your neck. "i'm glad we don't have to pretend anymore."

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#🌙 — maxines fics #the walking dead #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl x reader #twd #twd imagine #twd oneshot #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead oneshot #carl grimes x y/n #fluff #carl grimes one shot #carl x y/n #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook: 8:45 PM 🔞

Tags/Warnings: Adult, smut-heavy, making out, Idol!Jungkook, Fluff, Established Relationship, implied foreigner!Reader, not home AU though, Jungkook struggling hard, misunderstanding, angst with happy end, emotional smut, oral (fem. Receiving), protected sex bc this is me writing this and I teach you kids the true life lessons

Lenght: long.

AU-Masterlist

Languages are marked as English / Korean.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

He still can't believe your first time got interrupted by something as ridiculous as his manager calling him.

It's like a reminder that his career will always somehow wiggle itself between him and whatever happiness he tries to find outside of it- nothing ever truly personal for him, everything always meant to be well thought through so it fits into his public persona.

But he refuses to give you up, even knowing all of that.

Apologizing for it just feels.. odd now, like bringing up something awkward you did ten years ago that everyone forgot about anyway before you decided to rekindle the memory in their heads. But the problem here, right now, with you, is that he knows he should bring it up. Somehow. Because he's struggling hard to keep himself in check, even having had to embarrassingly rub one out in the shower this morning after you'd made yourself tea in his kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt and panties.

It's a problem.

He's hesitating to initiate anything now mainly because what if it happens again? He can't just put his phone on silent and ignore what could potentially always be very important calls from people who only want what's best for him in the long run- real life doesn't work like those movies where the protagonist throws it all away for his girl. He wants to, he truly does- but at the end of the day, he's also scared, because if he falls, he'll potentially take you down with him, and God knows how deep he'll fall with where he stands right now.

A drop from a height this high would shatter you inevitably, and he's sure he'd crack like delicate porcelain just as much by having to watch you suffer the consequences of his actions. You don't deserve that.

"..-ungkookie?" You try again, and he snaps out of his thought, looking at you.

"Hm?" He responds, looking at you next to him.

"I asked if you want me to cook for us tonight. Is that alright?" You wonder, and he nods, eagerly so, because of course he'd love to have you do something so domestic with him. He's always dreamed of being able to experience these things after all, despite his curse of being a public figure who's not supposed to appear unavailable. "Alright-!" You hum. "Gonna have to put pants on now though, gotta go get some groceries.." you whine under your breath as you stretch on the couch naked feet pushing against his thighs and oh, how your back arches-

No, bad brain. Not right now.

"I'll give you my card, hold on." He tries to save himself, getting up to fetch his wallet as you begin to laugh.

"Jungkook baby, I can cover some groceries, don't bother!" You argue softly, getting up as well before walking over to him. "You'll just have to survive some minutes without me, that's all." You tell him, hugging his middle as you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Also, people would think I'm a gold digger for using a black card looking like.. well, me." You joke, as he can't help but reach out to affectionately brush some hair out your face, hands holding your cheeks.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, and you part a bit from him, serious at his tone of voice used.

"Hm? For what?" You wonder, and he sighs. Why did he bring it up now? This is going to be so awkward, he already dreads it. But now that he's put the noose around his neck, he might as well stand on the chair too.

"Yesterday. Or.. day before? Technically it was, wasn't it.." he rants, before sighing. "I hate that we.. had moment, you know, and then.. nothing. Ruined." He complains softly, and you can't help but look at him affectionately. He's such a soft soul sometimes, worries about so much that doesn't even need to be worried about.

"Jungkook, it's fine." You answer.

"Not fine-" he shakes his head. "Not fine, I- ugh, I want you, you know? Want to, but now, it's awkward and I don't know how to initiate it because every time I plan to I keep thinking of that moment he called and-" he groans in frustration, head thrown back before he looks down at you. "I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, and you laugh.

"I forgot to pack socks for this trip, that's why I'm always barefoot in your apartment here." You say, and he blinks once, twice, before he looks at you, confused but amused the same.

"What?" He questions, tilting his head for a split second and you shrug.

"Now I've made an awkward moment for myself too. We're even." You explain, and he laughs.

"Thats not how that works-" he wants to argue but he inevitably leans down to kiss you- a peck quickly deepened by you, because God knows you want him just as much. But the struggle of initiating isn't solely his alone, because you don't know how to either. All is still new with your relationship, you don't even live together at this point in time, only a week more and you'll be back home trying to figure out how to move most of your stuff to his country so you can be closer. This was all a test, after all- to see if it's worth it. If you'll be okay.

And you know now, you'll be just fine with him at your side.

"Hm I need to get going now though-" you say, trying to escape him now- but he won't let you, hands firm on the small of your back as he keeps you against him, lips chasing yours making you giggle as you lean back as far as you can. "Jungkook!" You laugh, but he just playfully bites at your neck.

"No, I'm hungry." He mumbles against your skin, and you look at him, pushing against his chest.

"Yeah that's why I have to go? Get everything to cook?" You remind him, but he shakes his head, gaze making it clear that he doesn't care for that.

"Not.. that." He tells you. "Hungry for you." He says, raising his brows and you laugh at how ridiculous he's being. How can he be both so cute but also attractive at the same time? It's truly unfair.

"You're so cute." You tease, catching him off guard to escape his grasp and run into the bedroom to get some proper pants at least. But he's faster, palm slapping flat against the wood of his door before the momentum of his move slams it into the wall with a loud noise, making both of you jump for a second before he stalks towards you.

And once the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, you know you lost.

It's like his patience had finally snapped, his hands eagerly helping you out of his shirt, happily running his palms over your skin, warm and soft as you move around a bit to get comfortable. He sighs when his phone vibrates somewhere close- probably having fallen out of his pocket on the couch earlier, and you laugh, visibly uncaring of his misery. "Go get it." You tell him when it sounds again, and he groans out loudly as if he's in pain, angrily stomping back into the living room, where you can hear him answer the call with an annoyed tone to his voice. It surprises you when he walks back into the bedroom however, pointing to the shirt you're attempting to put back on, before he motions for you to put it back on the floor where he'd thrown it down earlier.

Just what is he thinking right now?

"Yeah, that's fine." He talks into the phone, his free hand untying the strings of your sweatpants, before he pulls on the hem, tapping your hips as if to silently ask you to lift them so he can get you out of those pants. "Not right now, but tomorrow is fine." He continues to talk to whomever is speaking to him over the phone, while simultaneously running his hand from the side of your knee, up to the hem of your underwear, the last item of clothing covering you at the moment. It's oddly exciting to see him so serious, yet clearly more focused on you than anything else.

You've never felt so adored before.

His fingers slip underneath the side of your panties, teasing you, so close yet way too far from where you'd like his hands to be most right now. And he's clearly aware of it too; if the hooded eyes and the small smirk on his lips was anything to go by. "No, right now.. I'm pretty busy. Sorry." He speaks again into the phone, thumb running over the dip between your inner thigh and your by now more than aching heat. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip for a second, before the whole thing visibly seems to edge him just as much- then tent in his pants evident.

"Alright, yeah, just- text the schedule to me and I'll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay?" He offers into the phone, moving to stand up and search for something in the drawer of his bedside table- colorful foil package pretty obviously hinting at what he means when he's said he's currently busy. "Alright, hmhm, yup- bye." He rushes out, ending the call before he throws his phone somewhere onto the shirt you'd been wearing, his eyes rolling in an annoyed manner before he takes off his own shirt, joining you on the bed.

"Did you really hang up on him like that?" You wonder, giggling when he has to sit back to slip out of his loose grey sweats as well, jumping on one foot for a bit as his other gets stuck in the fabric for a second.

"I'm not sorry." He shakes his head, crawling closer to you on the mattress to get a hold of both sides of your panties. "I've got my hot girlfriend all pretty and ready, no one can ever blame me for being needy." He shrugs, shaking his hair out of his face before he tries to pull your underwear off. "Hey come on now!" He whines almost, a stark contrast to the tattooed, muscled appearance of him currently already flushed and fully erect, straining against the cotton of his own underwear.

"Needy." You tease, and suddenly, as if you'd pushed a button, as he suddenly pulls on the fabric with more determination, successfully getting rid of the item of clothing with a gaze that screams fake innocence. Jungkook isn't new to sex, and neither are you- but it's the first time doing it with each other, which naturally places a bit of pressure onto you.

Or maybe it usually should be like that- because somehow, it all comes naturally.

When his hand finds your heat, you're already melting underneath his gaze, no words spoken as he leans further over you, catching your lips again. Only that this time, he truly seems hungry; no longer offering you fleeting pecks but desperate kisses that try and convey just how much he wants you right now. He knows that he could never truly make it clear to you though- because he himself doesn't even know if that's possible.

He's never wanted anyone so bad.

And while usually not too fond of it, his need to prove himself as the perfect lover- emotionally and physically- makes him detach himself from you for a second, before he adjusts his position, leaning down to have you lay your legs over his shoulders, hands holding your thighs apart as he lays his mouth onto your heat.

It's an entirely new experience for you, and he knows.

But luckily, if your Impatient whining was anything to go by, you're definitely enjoying yourself as he flattens his tongue over your sensitive nerves, eyes focused on you while he has to use a little strength to keep your legs apart, especially when you grow close to your first orgasm. He's eager to see it, moving away to gain a better view before one of his hands finishes the job, gaze on you as you arch your back and come undone from his actions.

And its now that he really can't take it any longer.

"Fuck I need you." He curses under his breath, finally getting rid of the last item of clothing he still had on until now, no need to give his length any form of help to get ready for you. He can't help but groan a little under his breath at how sensitive he feels, rushing the act of wrapping the condom over as to not rile himself up too much.

After all, he wants to be inside you for his own orgasm, no matter what.

"Hm I'll go slow, ok?" He asks, and you nod, hands reaching out for him, making him chuckle. "You're cute." He comments, earning a roll of your eyes in return. He lets it go for now- giving you a pass this time, but only because be truly feels needy now.

He'd love to tease you a little, make you all whiny and desperate for him, but right now, he just wants you as close as he physically can get.

Though in his haste to get onto his own road towards pleasure, he never forgets you- pride swelling as he watches you hold onto him, wanting him just as much as he wants you. He's a little sweaty already, and the sheetsbare tangled badly at this point from all your squirming, arousal already staining some parts of them but right now he really can't bring himself to care.

He uses one of his hands to aid him in finding your entrance, positioning himself to carefully push himself inside, and at this point, he just feels as if he truly became one with you. It's the last key experience in a way he's had to have with you, and now that he's in exactly that moment, things start to feel real.

"I love you." He almost whispers into your neck while he starts to move. "I'm.. so grateful you're here." He tells you, hips moving at a steady pace. "I want you to.. stay forever." He almost asks, in a way, and while you can't give him an answer to that right now, you probably will later.

After you're back with the normal thinking human beings, because right now, with his pace and strength gaining as he chases his high, your head is definitely unable to form thoughts.

In a way, he loves the sight of you like this. It's awfully sinful, a sight only he wants to ever be able to see, no one else.

He can't control his own noises at this point, uncaring of his groans of pleasure as he chases after his peak, noticing you growing antsy as well, visibly eager to cum as well. And he will make sure you'll get your attention as well- he'd never let you down, ever.

And with his hand reaching in between you both to find where he needs to be, you're gone and out; head thrown back into the pillows while he pushes himself in deep, condom filling with his seed while he slows down into almost no movement at all.

Catching his breath, he leans down to you to kiss you once more, ticking of his clock on the bedside table coming back into the background noise, as well as the cars outside from the opened window, and your breathing underneath him. His senses return one by one as he pulls himself out, moving to get rid of the condom and start the shower.

"Come on." He asks, tapping your thigh, but you just whine all grumpy at him. "Noo get up, get up- the bed's all messy and we're too.!" He laughs, all energized from his own afterglow, while you seem to be the exact opposite, having to be physically pulled into a sitting position by your wrists. Jungkook himself can't help but simply laugh, before he takes matters into his own hands, lifting you up over his shoulder-

And of course, landing a loud smack onto your butt for good measure.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

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Yandere coworker (part 8)

Tw: noncon touching, noncon kissing, afab reader anatomy, violence, toxic family dynamics

Masterlists, part 1, part 9

Thanks for the asks about cyprus guys, it do be helping me to unclog that authors block for this stimky

Especially the ones who wanted to know more about him, got the idea from themm

"...She's sick and she has a cert' to prove it. I'll ask her to send an email after this call."

You were awoken by Cyprus's voice early morning. Softly grumbling under your breath, you pushed yourself up and rubbed your eyes. Realizing that you were lying on top of his bare chest the entire night. A calloused hand holds you in place by the ass, while the other held onto his phone that is being pressed against his ear.

"Me? I told you. I'm not coming in today. An emergency came up." The annoyance on his face evaporated away as soon as he saw that you were awake. You grunted in displeasure as he pressed an audible kiss on your very sleepy form.

You tried focusing on his banter with Jane. But everything was gibberish to you as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Cyprus gently pushed you back down onto his broad chest as he saw you swaying side to side, obviously not at all fit to go to work.

You pressed your cheek against him and closed your eyes, letting your consciousness slowly drift away again.

"You figure it out, you're the manager." He barked before hanging up on her. Cyprus stretched his arm to open the drawer of his nightstand, dropping his phone next to yours inside it.

The brunette turned his attention to you. He groped your buttocks, it made you stir a little, but it looked like you were too tuckered out to care.

"Hey."

You replied with a weak hum.

"I want to smoke."

You let out a grunt of annoyance. Struggling to push yourself off him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cyprus pressed you closer to him.

You said that you're trying to get out of the way so he could do his thing.

He huffed. "You're supposed to stop me."

You said that he is an adult. You have no right to tell him what to do or stop whatever urges he may have. You told him that you wished he would extend the same courtesy to you.

"Oh yeah? Well, I have the urge to fuck you stupid right now." This woke you up immediately, making you push him away and creating as much distance as possible. You would have run away if it wasn't for him caging you against the bed.

You began whining and whimpering, about to break into a loud scream, until,

"Relax. I'm not doing that today." His voice took on a condescending tone. However, his fingers are still digging into your soft flesh, keeping you in place under him.

"Help me fight the urge to smoke." He ordered. "I won't let you go until you do something about it."

You frowned, forcing your brain to think early this morning.

You asked when and why he started smoking. His eyes darted to the side as he actively recalled the first time he did it.

"I started when I was twelve." He rolled to your side, but his arm still kept you in place. "My sister tried her best to keep me away from it, but I was a little shit. I stole a pack from her handbag and the rest was history."

You asked what kept him going. He shrugged.

"I looked... cool. And it calms me down, I had to work after school, to pull my own weight around the house. Juice boxes and candies weren't enough to soothe my nerves after a long night of dealing with fucking morons." Cyprus absentmindedly played with your hair as he reminisced about his youth.

You asked him what work he could have possibly done as a 12-year-old.

"You know, like. Shady ones. I would sell random shit on the streets, become a delivery boy for some local gangs, weirdos paid me to leave dead animals on doorsteps of specific people..." He trailed off.

You asked what he used the money on.

"Well, firstly, to keep the lights on. Secondly, on more cigarettes."

You asked how come the money from his mother and sister wasn't enough, that a young boy like him had to be robbed of his childhood to work. To that, he scowled, but not necessarily at you for asking such a question, but it was more like he wasn't fond of the memory.

"Looking expensive was apparently more important than her kids getting three meals a day." You waited for him to elaborate on that.

"We had a coffee machine when we couldn't even afford the right coffee. She had to outshine her so-called friends at church, wearing a new dress every week in her favorite color; gold. While we had to go insane and sleepless trying to put food on the table." He spat, feeling resentment for his mother for prioritizing her image.

"My sister was just like me, she had to juggle her studies while raising me and my mom." He mindlessly touched the back of his shoulder again. You wonder if his sister did something to him on that body part of his.

You asked if he still resents his mother for being materialistic.

He sighed. "...A little."

You asked him if she still is like this.

"Not anymore. It took me running away for a few days to sober her up. She was still shit at managing her money- my sister had to handle that on her own, but at least she knows she was a massive idiot back then."

You asked him how old he was when he ran away.

"Fifteen." A guilty look crossed his face. "My sister freaked the fuck out. It wasn't pretty when I finally decided to show my face again." You eyed the hand that touched the same spot as before.

You asked him if she hit him before.

"More times than I can count. She uses anything and everything, but it's mostly her cha- Slippers." He laughed.

You asked if she usually hit him on the spot that he kept rubbing whenever she was mentioned.

"Oh... no." He turned around to show you what he was touching. It's a long, large raised scar with mild discoloration, but it's clearly healed a while ago. You thought he had that while fighting. "She fucking stabbed me with a kitchen knife. Only once. But it hurt like a bitch, especially when she screamed that I was her biggest burden."

You offered him words of sympathy this time. He snorted.

"She didn't mean it. Because I heard her yell the same thing when she stabbed my mom in the hand. Plus, I was only 8, it wasn't my fault everything was the way it was."

You asked him if he gets to stab her as revenge. He chuckled at your question.

"Nope. My mom did, though. I stole her money and told her boyfriends that she has some sort of contagious disease instead." He pursed his lips and stroked his chin as he thought about the past deeply. "Yeah, I held a grudge against her for a while. I kept stealing her shit and laughed in her face whenever she breaks down. I have taken dodging and blocking seriously ever since I got stabbed."

You asked when you stopped being an asshole to his sister.

"About... fourteen. When I realized that my sister was more of a parent than my mom would ever be. It was awkward as hell, trying to make up for being this devil who's been sabotaging her for years."

You asked if he ran away out of guilt. He looked at you confused.

"Why would I..." He paused and thought about it for a while.

You continued, explaining that maybe he didn't want to be a burden to his sister anymore, so he thought running away was the solution?

"I ran away because I was sick of my mom leeching off me. She was the burden."

You asked if he thought about his sister when he took off.

"Yeah, I thought about how she's going to be fine without me. But I was mostly thinking about how I'm finally free from my mom siphoning my hard earned cash into her wallet."

You asked Cyprus what made him come back. He was chewing on his bottom lip throughout this conversation, possibly to try and suppress the urge to get up and smoke.

"My sister managed to find me one day and tore me a new one. She set my ass straight and put me back into school, kept an eye on me until I turned 18. Then, she told me that I'm free to fuck off and do whatever."

You asked him what he did.

"Finished university. I had some financial backing from my mom and my sister, but I still had to work like a dog to pay off my tuition fees. Thanks to them, I'm here today. Playing with my girl's cute and squishy ass."

You realized that he was fondling your rear during the entirety of this conversation. It made you slap his hand away.

He snickered when you angrily hit him on the chest.

"Oh come on, you liked it." Cyprus brought his face close to yours, to which you pushed him away with your palms.

You said that you did something about his urge to smoke. You asked if he would let you go now.

"Nope."

Exasperated, you let out a whine. Asking what more does he want.

Cyprus puckered his lips dramatically, even to a comical extent and made loud kissy noises. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, silently telling you that he isn't content just giving you kisses on the cheeks or forehead.

You told him that you're not interested in doing such things with him. But he cuts you off mid sentence by shoving his lips against yours.

You struggled, having Cyprus's unusually long tongue muffle your screams. But it only took a couple of seconds for you to calm down and grow limp in astonishment.

He is a... really, really good kisser. You grew more and more embarrassed each second you lingered, pathetically fighting back but clearly enjoying the dance of tongues. You liked the warmth, the erotic sounds he makes without the help of his vocal chords, the slickness and his rhythm. It's oddly satisfying and enjoyable.

He smelled of his body wash, a strong, earthy masculine odor mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke.

You couldn't tell what he tasted like except for the fact that he tasted nice.

You were too distracted by his skills to notice that his hands slipped under your oversized shirt that once belonged to your boyfriend. He's kneading your breasts and buttocks, perhaps adding to the pleasure train that you're experiencing.

However, despite not being a smoker, your lung capacity is much more inferior than Cyprus's. You panicked, repeatedly whacking him on the back as you tried to get him off you so you wouldn't pass out from oxygen deprivation.

He slowly pulled away from you, retreating his lewd hands along with him, admiring the string of saliva connecting your lips to his full ones. You're the only one panting in the room, Cyprus was calm and collected, yet you're there greedily gasping for air with your chest rapidly rising up and down.

"Thanks for the meal, princess. Next time, I'd like to know how it tastes down..." He brushed his fingertips against your clothed clit teasingly, making you jerk your hips away and squeeze your thighs together to process the sudden exciting stimulation. "...here. I bet it'll taste fucking delicious." Purred Cyprus with a pair of grey, bedroom eyes.

He laughed as you shied away from him. "You're funny" Cyprus cooed, tickling your sides until you audibly cackled.

He sat on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching. He puts on his glasses as he rises from his seat, stretching his back muscles and arms even more.

"Oh and, thank you, doll." He looked back at you.

You asked what for.

"i don't feel like smoking anymore." He bent down to give you an appreciative kiss on the temple. "For now, at least." Cyprus continued.

"Come out in ten minutes." He said, walking out of the bedroom door and into the kitchen. You hear him start to gather the cooking vessels, utensils and ingredients needed for breakfast.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc Cyprus #male yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #yandere x y/n #tw afab reader #tw afab anatomy #tw non con touching #tw non con kissing #male yandere oc

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.3

John having to get high out of his mind because he knows he's invited Paul to come play with him is so so sad. These are the same guys who used to sit facing each other on a bed playing guitars for hours, and now this is them?

Is John calling Paul “Jack Lemon” a reference to “some like it hot”? Because if so, I have questions. Anyway, when your estranged best friend shows up to hang out with you and a bunch of people, talking about being in love again and getting jizzed on is extremely normal and acceptable behavior.

This jam session is so fucking painful though. Paul's doing his best to just push through and get them to actually play something and John's just too far gone.

My theory: there's two reasons he did this. 1. He's avoidant and the last thing he's going to do is let on how bad he needs John in his life and how scared he is that if John gets back with Yoko that that'll be difficult. And 2. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. If he'd kept it from John that Yoko wanted him back and later John cried to him about how much he missed Yoko or something? Paul can't have that.

John singing a snatch of Yesterday before a take of “Whatever gets you through the Night”??? Did either of them ever write a song where they weren't thinking about the other? Did they ever have a minute of peace without the other rattling the bars of the cage in his brain?

“Hold me Darling, come on, listen to me. I won't do you no harm.” Duh it's about Paul. Oh my gosh.

And with Bless You I'm always so torn. There are so many obvious references to Paul which the doc points out beautifully, but situationally it could also be about Yoko. Maybe it's about both of them in the same way that don't let me down is about both of them.

Anyway the cosmic visuals are gorgeous.

Why'd you have to phrase it like that though? Twice?

Hall of Fame moment. It's a high point for him career-wise and he chose to pull Paul into his spotlight. Not only to sing Paul's song, not only to name-drop him, but to publicly call him an official romantic title. Not “boyfriend” or “ex-wife” which both could've been much more mocking if that's what he was trying to do. But “fiance”. It's official and respected, but it's still got the lustful, unsettled, connotation that something like “husband” lacks.

Johann Weener, everyone. What a loser.

Everyone who still refers to Lennon Remembers like it's the fucking Bible listen to this. It doesn't go on for the next five years, let alone fifty.

John refusing to walk to blocks to sign the papers when George and Paul flew over the ocean. And only on the basis of astrology. He really didn't want the divorce. My heart aches for him. But he made his bed as they say.

I'm putting on my tinfoil hat again here, but I do just have to point out that one of John's first songs, “Hello, Little Girl,” has a line that goes, “you never seem to see me standing there”. And the earliest draft of WISHST, which was started soon after, answers that line. “I saw you standing there.” (Yes, it said you originally, not her). So maybe. Just maybe. That song wasn't just a Paul song, but a song that John knew Paul had put a message in for him. Okay, I apologize for the insanity. On another note, I do wonder if he ever found out what Paul thought of that.

Interviewer: ≈ at this point, do you like writing by yourself, or do you want to write with Paul again?≈ John: ≈well it's a bit of both. It's the same for Paul. We were talking about it a week ago. Okay, cool. So they definitely talked openly and honestly about potentially writing together again.

John, about their partnership, “There was always the feeling that someone was there if you needed it.” Paired with the gayest picture ever taken and then Paul singing “if I can do anything at all, let me help.” Thanks. I hate it.

John was so excited for New Orleans! What happened? I mean I have my theory based on May's book and the sudden shift in behavior. But it's pretty dark.

You know how crazy Paul is about John in interviews now? How he can't seem to keep John's name out of his mouth? John was worse in the seventies. He's promoting his Rock’n’Roll album, talking unprompted and romantically about how he met Paul, when the interviewer reminds him what relationship he's supposed to be romanticizing right now. So John remembers too and dedicates the album to Yoko who he's just got back together with.

Biconic quote.

Interviewer asks, after John's brought him up, if John's pleased with how well Paul's doing. John expresses his relief that Ringo has "found himself a niche" and then

I really do think that last bit sums up a big chunk of how John feels about Paul, and why he feels alright playing dirty against Paul or slagging Paul off. Why it would have been the furthest thing from his mind that Paul actually struggled or was insecure. Why Paul had to remind him, “I'm only a person like you, love.”

What an insane thing to think, let alone say. What if Julian had heard that? I'm pretty sure Julian and Paul weren't in contact, really at all, until the eighties, right? So John's doing better than he is at this point (I mean he's his dad, he should be). John is insecure about every possible thing and compares himself to Paul in every possible way.

Baby. He needed some serious help. The thing that sucks about being ahead of your time is that you also have to live in a world that's behind your needs.

And then. “There's always a friendly tv channel to turn to that's going to make you feel less alone.” I wonder if Paul “Call Me Back Again, John I know you're not that tired from the baby just let me in the fucking door” McCartney heard this? It's possible with how obsessive they were, but it's also impossible with how busy he kept himself.

Okay, here's the first story we've been missing about Paul experiencing negative emotions. And, of course, as always in this doc, it's paired perfectly with “Don't Let it Bring you Down” which is the musical mission statement of Paul's clenched-jawed smile philosophy.

"I tend to get a bit absolute in my statements." Yes, John. Yes you do. Another quote that Big Lennon fans should keep in mind.

John on the three weeks he took to decide if he wanted to continue the band after the first Hamburg trip: The others were mad because we could've been making money. Yeah, John, Paul suddenly had to work in a factory after he'd thrown away an educated, white-collar career (the first in his family) to be in your band. I'd be pissed too if you just didn't even bother to call. Anyway I just hate how casual John is about it. Someone who never had to worry about money is just never going to get that.

John doesn't even remember a ballpark number of how much they were making. Paul remembers exactly bragging to his professors that he was making fifteen a week in Hamburg. Sorry to go on and on about this right before Paris, but to me it's an important difference between them.

Anyway, the fact that Paris was more than just a vacation for them. The fact that – according to Stuart and John at least – they might not have come back. It's dizzying. They really thought about just running off together. I wonder what made them decide to come back and continue the band.

No offense if you do, but I don't personally believe in this stuff. What would the motivation have been for the tarot reader to tell him that? Either way, fuck him.

Gosh the live version of “Call Me Back Again”. You feel it, physically, how bad he wants this phonecall. And the desperation from such a successful man is fantastic. Literally, John, how did it feel to be the only man in the world that could get Paul McCartney to beg? “Pretty baby” “what can I do?” “Boohoohoo babe.” “I tried the operator, but I just can't get through.”

Reporter at the Wings over America tour: No John Lennon, no George Harrison, and no Ringo Starr, just Paul McCartney. And for everyone here tonight, that seemed to be plenty! Obviously he's loving this praise after all the negative press. Anyone would, and Paul needs it more than most people actually. But I bet part of him is like “stop. Don't say it like that, they already hate me enough as it is.”

How many times has John admitted that he finds Paul attractive? “It was no surprise, you know, when the kids – girls saw him, they go ‘ooh! Ooh!’ right away, you know?”

“I know it's true. It's all because of you.” Playing over this? Are you kidding me? Anyway I've never seen the picture version of this, so I thought I'd screenshot it.

But actually, in a way, the original written lyrics to Now and Then are less depressing than what he sang on the demo. “I know it's true, I'm still in love with you, and if I make it through, it's all because of you,” is obviously sad because they're both married to other people. But at least in that version, John's saying his own personal resilience to life's struggles comes from his relationship with Paul, which is nice. Whereas when John, who is sliding into a self-hating deep depression I'm comparing himself to Paul's phenomenal success, sings “it's all because of you” in a general sense, it almost feels like a callback to the ‘I'm shit and I couldn't do anything but be a Beatle (and ride Paul's boat)’ quote. Which is heartbreaking. I wish he could've recognized his own genius.

But yeah either way it's enough to make your heart heavy. If anyone needs a good cry, just go to the last five minutes of this. That should've been the now and then music video, but Paul's too scared of feelings. Which. You know. Considering how much it affects me, I can't even imagine how much it affects him. So he gets a pass.

“Why must we be alone? It's real love. It's real.”

#mclennon #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #ringo starr #george harrison #understanding lennon mccartney #ulm

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syoddeye · 3 months

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useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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heeliopheelia · 11 months

Text

"i've missed you" (jungwon x reader)

genre: fluff word count: 0.6k requested by @i-am-confused-about-life <3

a/n: it's drabble time!! thought i'm not gonna post tonight but oh well 💀 dropping a little shorter one but i hope you guys like it just as much <3

What Jungwon has learnt throughout the entire two years you've been together is that you turn into a light sleeper whenever he's not around. So the turned off lights are enough for him to know that he needs to keep quiet and walk around on his toes. He quietly closes the door behind him, then sets his suitcase right next to the staircase.

Unpacking can wait couple hours more. All that he needs right now is to finally fall asleep with your body curled up next to his – the beloved feeling that he's been deprived of for two months as he's been away on a tour.

He walks up the stairs and pushes the tilted door of your shared bedroom open only to be met with a sight of you asleep. The dim moonlight peaking through the curtains lets him distinguish the way that your face gets smothered by a pillow in the dark, and he feels a smile creeping up on his face almost in an instant.

One look at you is enough to make him feel at home.

Stirring in your sleep, you feel a pair of all too familiar arms wrapping around your middle. The scent, your favorite scent in the entire world, of your boyfriend's cologne engulfs you warmly and you feel a sting of giddiness waking you out of your sleep.

"Won?" You ask groggily, turning around in his tight hold. The second that your eyes meet his sparkly ones, you let a tired grin spread your lips widely and you throw yourself on his neck, pulling him closely to your body. "You're home!"

Your breath tickles his neck but he would rather die than to find it in himself to complain about any of that that – not after he's been missing you like crazy for such a long time. So he nuzzles his head in your shoulder instead.

"Hi, love. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

You smack his arm lightly before going back to squeezing the life out of him. "I'm glad you did. Wanna greet you properly," you mumble in his neck, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head. He hums before pressing his warm lips to your temple. "You're early, though. Thought you were supposed to come in the evening?"

"We took an earlier flight. Couldn't wait to get home to you. See your pretty face again."

His hands caress your skin ever so gently, the touch nearly lulling you back to sleep. So before your eyes close back again, you tighten your arms around him and whisper a small "I've missed you" with a voice full of emotion.

Jungwon runs his fingers through your hair, carefully untangling whatever knots have created at the ends of your locks. He's well aware you're seconds away from drifting away again but he doesn't mind that at all. Because now he has you in his arms again – his love, his sunshine, and he relishes in the relief as his heart full of longing finally feels almost hundred pounds lighter.

"I've missed you too. So fucking much," he whispers back, letting his lips linger over your cheek after he places a kiss upon it. His nose gently nudges yours before he pulls you impossibly close to his chest and eventually allows his heavy eyelids to flutter shut.

With your body flush to his and the faint sound of your breathing soothing him as well as a lullaby, Jungwon knows he'll finally get a good night's sleep after two months of tossing restlessly in the hotel beds.

"I'm taking you with me the next time," he mumbles into your hair, not even sure if you're listening or if you're already fast asleep but he keeps talking, "I don't care, from now on I'm taking you anywhere I go. Couldn't deal without you for so long again."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @venividibitchin @ramenoil @jenjnk

#carly's 1k event ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა #1k event: requests ✎#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon

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maximoffwitch · 1 year

Note

Glad your back! Hope all is well and continues being so!

For any drabble or blurb, I’ll just be really happy with some Natasha x avenger reader, fluffy stuff with Nat being a little spoon? If possible please! Thank you! 🙏🤍

After a Hard Day’s Work

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

summary: After a long day, Natasha comes home to the best thing she could ask for: you.

word count: 660

a/n: at this point idk how long or short a drabble or blurb is even supposed to be?? anyways pls enjoy this and keep sending me some short ideas :))

Natasha let out a long sigh, as she stepped into the New York apartment she shared with you. A year into your relationship, the two of you decided to finally move out of the compound and settle in a home of your own.

Dropping her bag and keys next to the door, Nat couldn't stop the small smile from creeping onto her face when she heard you humming along to music playing in the kitchen.

"Nat?" you called out, knowing your girlfriend had come home, having sense her energy. You tried not to use your powers when they weren't necessary, but telekinesis wasn't something you could just easily turn on and off.

"Hey, detka," she entered the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist, careful not to distract you from whatever you were stirring on the stove.

"Hi, my love," you sank into your girlfriends embrace and turned your head to greet her with a quick peck. "Hard day?"

"Mhm," Natasha hummed against your skin, as she nuzzled her nose into the crook of your neck. "It was hell. Fury and Hill piled on the paper work from last mission, which took forever, so I'm sorry I'm a bit late."

"No worries," you clicked off the stove and turned around to face the redhead. You did well to hide your frown, but your heart ached, as you could see the exhaustion radiating off your girlfriend. "I drew you a hot bath so it's warm when you get in and dinner is almost ready."

Natasha returned your beaming expression with one of wonder. She would never understand how someone like her could ever deserve someone like you, and yet here you were.

Pulling you closer by the pockets of your apron, Natasha kissed you, pouring all of her appreciation and love for you into the kiss.

"You are the absolute best," she whispered, tenderly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "What would I do without you?"

"Hopefully you'll never have to find out," you gave her a cheeky smile.

"How about," Natasha's voice dropped an octave lower, as she moved her hands closer to your ass, "we come back for dinner later, and you join me in my bath?"

Never one to refuse your girlfriend, you fondly rolled your eyes and smirked, "If you wanted to see me naked, Romanoff, all you had to do was ask."

Natasha chuckled heartily and pulled you by the hand, dragging you towards the bathroom. The two of you quickly stripped your clothes before sinking into the warm bubbly water.

"Thank you for this," Natasha leaned back against your chest, intertwining your fingers with hers.

"No need to thank me, Nat" you beamed down at her, her moist skin positively glowing in the dim candlelight.

Leaning her head back so she could look up at you, Natasha bit her lip, "I love you."

"I love you too," you kissed her forehead, as the redhead contently closed her eyes.

You basked in the comfortable silence the two of you shared, taking great pleasure in the feeling of Natasha's skin against your own.

"Sometimes I wonder," you hummed, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "what the world would think..."

"What the world would think about what?" Nat sat up to lean her head back against your shoulder, furrowing her brows slightly.

"What would people think of the mighty, formidable Black Widow being the little spoon in a lavender-scented bubble bath with her girlfriend?"

"Oh, shut up," she bit back a grin and pinched you.

"Ouch," you pouted playfully, giving her your best doe eyes, "that hurt."

"I'm sorry, lyubov moya," Natasha atoned, as she turned so she now straddling you, her nipples barely brushing yours, causing you to inhale sharply.

You gulped, as you recognized the sultry look in your girlfriends eyes.

"How can I make it up to you?" she huskily whispered, pulling your earlobe between her teeth.

"I can think of some ways."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #my writing

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12-seconds-to-live · 9 months

Text

What If?

Pairing: F1Grid2021! x reader driver!

This is the story of how neither Max Verstappen or Lewis Hamilton became F1 Champions in 2021.

A girl did.

“What does it feel to be the villian of this season?” “This villian is going to be a world champion”

Abu Dhabi, december 12th - 16:30

"Are you scared?”

Tik tok, tik tok

I was able to hear the clock tickling on my motorhome.

A breathe

The eyes of George looking at me

“No, I’m not”

Yes, you are

“You got this and If you don’t...” I sigh

“Please don’t finish that phrase”

“Sorry, it’s just...”

“I know, there’s a lot on the plate but you know. I don’t have many options right now”

George take my hand “You’re really talented and the best option is winning and you’re making the impossible, like, in a Williams. You’re more clever that all those who want to see you fall. And for next year, did they called you?”

“Not yeat, I guess they’re waiting for the race”

“They’ll look like fools If they don’t call” We share a small laugh

“Thank you for this year, Mercedes is lucky to have you, Lewis will” He smiled

“I’ll still see you from the other side” We stand from the sofa and share a hug “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow”

Abu Dhabi, december 12th - 17:50

"Radio check"

"Loud and clear"

"We are all with you... whatever happens at the end, you're our champion, Williams is back thanks to you and George"

"Thank you, I need to hear that"

"Formation lap in one minute"

LAP 35/58

"Gap at 0.4 behind Lewis. So let’s just…"

"Why is Verstappen pushing me off-track"

"Yeah, yeah copy we aren´t happy with that. They're investigating"

"I'm gotta go menu dash position two. Tell them that he can't have the position back"

LAP 45/58

"Hamilton 26.8, 26.8. And let us know about the tyres for a Safety Car"

"How many laps left?"

"13 when you cross the line, 13 when you cross the line. Gap to Hamilton at 13.9"

"Copy. I'm ok with a set of hards. Do we have a chance?"

"I know you do. Stay still kid"

LAP 50/58

"And we’ve seen Norris with a front-left puncture, so just be careful on the kerbs"

"So we think the problem might be just turn 15, turn 16"

"I’m off kerbs"

"Okay, copy"

"Lewis still has free air"

"The gap is seven seconds and there’ll be eight to go when you cross the line"

"Copy. Status of Lando?"

"He's out of the car and well"

LAP 58/58

I crossed the line and saw all the fireworks over the finish line. I felt different, something like never before, not like winning in Monaco or Monza. I'm a world champion, the first woman of many.

I watched the people in the crowd weaving at me. I heard the screaming over the radio and while I was slowing down I felt tears runing down my face.

"I'm absolutely speechless. YOU DID IT! Thank you, we love you. Our world champion!"

"Oh, my God yes! Yes, yes! Oh, my God! Oh my God!"

"Y/N! I TOLD YOU SO! You are the world champion, the world champion!"

"GEORGE!? This is ours! WE DID IT!

"You absolutely deserve it, kid. Even if you're not going to stay with us next year, we owe you everything! What a year working alongside you"

"They haven't called so..."

"Are you kidding? The news dropped before the race. You're going to be alongside Max next year"

"No freaking way!"

"We are so proud of you. We always will"

"Oh, my God guys. I love you so much. From my teammate, my race engineer and everyone at the factory"

"You have driven like a champion all year. You deserve that. We needed a bit of luck. You got it. You made it happen. And we love you. We absolutely fucking love you" said George and the whole screaming in the garage was getting louder

"It is unbelievable guys. Can we repeat this If you guys want me in the future?"

After the whole podium celebration with Lewis and Max, one thing was clear. Max didn't win his first championship and Lewis lost his eight. My phone was blowing with messages from social media and my family and friends. But my eyes we're locked with Anthony Hamilton chat.

I knew that Lewis wasn't ok. He hugged his dad and even I can't see his face, he cried. He remains stronger on the podium but I can't look at him in the eyes.

I walked to the Mercedes motorhome. Toto was talking to George and stand up at the moment he saw me.

"I'm sorry"

"You don't have to. You drive so well this season that all of us knew that maybe we could lose"

"Oh. Did you guys talk?"

"Yeah, a few words. We have time"

"I'm gonna see him, it's just... I don't know"

"Go, y/n"

I knock at his door and his dad pat me in the back and let us alone. Lewis was laying down in the sofa with a towel covering his face. When he heard the door closing he remove it.

"Hi" I said

"Hey" He smiled

"I'm not going to make dumb questions, just, I'm happy of how this season went. You're been in the sport longer that I've been alive and even if the feeling of losing it's here, don't let it stay. You're still eveeryone's champion, even mine"

I sit down next to him and he took my hand

"I wanted you to win, you know?"

"You what?" I..." I gasp

"Yeah, you've been so amazing. You have the hunger of a champion and now that you made it, well, you're my idol now"

"Lewis..." I felt that I was going to cry

"Don't cry, baby. Go celebrate. I'm fine, I still more seasons ahead to beat you" I smiled to him and give him a hug

"Let me know when you're in London. To spend a day with you, all right?"

"That's a promise"

He hugged me again and I leave the room. A few people of Mercede's staff were around and congratulate me. As I was walking to my car to go to the hotel, I heard a text.

A thank you from Lewis.

Yeah, he's going to be back.

And maybe in the end ... We are all superheroes.

Each of us with a tragic back story

Specific sets of attributes

Some of us fly

Some of us read minds

And maybe some of us-

Are stronger than others,

We all have potential.

I believe the only difference

Between us all is ...

Who will stand up and fight?

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