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aliteralsemicolon · 3 months ago

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I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you.

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away.

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation.

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag.

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag.

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances.

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too.

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down.

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important.

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly.

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all.

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains.

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening.

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it.

He made you coffee.

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out.

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together.

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down.

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck.

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make.

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back.

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched.

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there.

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway.

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate.

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying.

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence.

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him.

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.”

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better.

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you.

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise.

“I was angry.”

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable.

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it.

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left.

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say.

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you.

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks.

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into.

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits.

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble.

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn.

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying.

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left.

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.”

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him.

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.”

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to.

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance.

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce.

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you.

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?”

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now.

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it.

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game.

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance.

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result.

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move.

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate.

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’.

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend.

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.”

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!”

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!”

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply.

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.”

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine.

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs.

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it.

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game.

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety.

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity.

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you.

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?”

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you.

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will.

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all.

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?”

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes.

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!”

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way.

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered.

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction.

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.”

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you.

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it.

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.”

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively.

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side.

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly.

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time.

“...right now.”

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position.

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt.

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence.

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout.

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence.

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–”

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.”

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to.

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him.

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?”

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you.

“Sorry?”

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.”

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight.

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately.

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head.

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move.

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches.

“You are!” His eyes widen.

“I am not jealous.”

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence.

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor.

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night.

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again?

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts.

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.”

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you.

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire.

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.”

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence.

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never.

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.”

Oh.

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time.

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word.

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless.

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect.

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?”

“Fair?”

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap.

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away.

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence.

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?”

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong.

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.”

“When you took it back.”

“What?”

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak.

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember.

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed.

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.”

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together.

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words.

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.”

You tearfully laugh at this admission.

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound.

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter.

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him.

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat.

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps.

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending.

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down.

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness.

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is.

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.”

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is.

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?”

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth.

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?”

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.”

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances.

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly.

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps.

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.”

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue.

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.”

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.”

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up.

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.”

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way.

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact.

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly.

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it.

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue.

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it.

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response.

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.”

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret.

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other.

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.”

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.”

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his.

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other.

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues.

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips.

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission.

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless.

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle.

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch.

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips.

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you.

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him.

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird.

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips.

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’.

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.”

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking.

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear.

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more.

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time.

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch.

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure.

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.”

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more.

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight.

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck.

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet.

“Spencer?”

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to.

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.”

“About…?”

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.”

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter.

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident.

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply.

“So you’re staying?”

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss.

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second.

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses.

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders.

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away.

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from.

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.”

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.”

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his.

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.”

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to.

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.”

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss.

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries.

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened.

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.”

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on.

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!”

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed.

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further.

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.”

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him.

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation.

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door.

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours.

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go.

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did.

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

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mantou-rin · 5 months ago

Text

Midnights With You

Prompt: You can't sleep and your boyfriend's lap looks too comfortable

Characters: Kozume Kenma, Reader

Genre: Fluff, comfort?

Word count: 551

A/N: I wrote this at work so please do not expect much, I'm just here to fuel your delusions. Also I didn't proofread this so I'm sorry if there are any errors

Aside from the clicking sounds of a keyboard, the room was otherwise silent. You lay aimlessly on the bed as you scrolled through your phone, your eyes taking in the various contents social media had to offer.

It was pushing 2am, and you knew very well that you should be going to bed soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep for some reason.

Looking up from your phone, you took in the sight of your boyfriend focused on the computer screen, his fingers moving expertly across the keyboard as he played his game.

Right. He did tell you there was a new update today so that was probably why he was so set on playing it tonight.

The lights at his table had been dimmed to a comfortable setting, one which he knew you had no problem falling asleep to. He was also a quiet gamer for the most part, so why was it you couldn’t fall asleep?

Perhaps there was a lingering feeling of you wanting to spend more time with him, but the two of you had already been out the whole day - both of you visited a cat cafe this morning and proceeded to go to a gaming pop-up exhibition that he had been looking forward to for weeks. You acknowledged that he had spent a good chunk of his time with you, and you also understood that he needed his alone time to wind down, which is why you didn't object when he told you he wanted to spend the night gaming.

So why were you being so needy right now?

You found your body moving unconsciously, and before you knew it, you were standing by your boyfriend’s side. He sensed your presence and immediately looked up from his game, his eyes meeting yours. Just a quick glance and he could tell you were exhausted, your shoulders were slumped and your eyes were about to close. Given he was smart, so he also concluded that somehow you had problems falling asleep despite the optimal environment he set for you.

Naturally he removed his headphones and adjusted his position in a way that you had easy access to his lap. He gestured for you to come take a seat and you felt your body falling into his, your head finding a comfortable position on his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Kenma…” you mumbled.

You felt one of his hands rubbing circles on your back, while the other held your head close to him. You felt so comfortable it was almost therapeutic.

Kenma went back to his game shortly after, and you could vaguely feel his arms moving, but his body was relaxed.

“He must be winning right now” you thought to yourself.

You weren't sure how long more you stayed awake, but you remembered falling asleep soon after - which was unfortunate because Kenma wore the faintest smile on his face and his cheeks were tinted a soft pink, a rare sight which you were not able to witness.

“I guess the gaming can wait” Kenma softly mumbled to himself before turning off the computer. Gently his hands found themselves in the same position as before - one hugging you tight and the other holding your head close to him.

Very soon he too, fell asleep.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu fluff #kenma fluff

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trashytracktales · 4 days ago

Note

Love the Lando fic. I am soooo desperate for a really smutty Max fic. He’s been feeling down that he hasn’t been winning and his best friend jokes she’ll give him head if he wins the sprint in Austin. You can guess the rest. I really in some need for friends to lovers smut

So we ride | MV¹

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none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

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💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for loving my previous work!! I hope you like this one as much 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── She’s been there for him even before his career in F1 took off. And now that Max is struggling, there’s no other place she’d rather be than beside him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Max Verstappen x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, smut, descriptive language & descriptive paragraphs (because I can't stop yapping), mature/sexual content, fingering, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, Filthy Mouth Max, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.4k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 4, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I swear I planned to make an absolute filth out of this one, but somehow, I low-key ended up giggling and kicking my feet by the end. Nice 👌🏻

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THE DISTANT CHEERS still reverberate faintly from the paddock as she waits by herself in Max's room.

She has no idea why she's suddenly nervous. It's just Max. Her Max. Her best friend.

She's been in his driver's room countless of times before, but something has shifted. The energy is charged, somehow, with the weight of everything that’s changed between them over the past month. He’s been making more effort to be in her life, but even though she thinks he does it only because he needs a break from his hectic life, she's not complaining. Quite the opposite.

They’ve been talking day and night, sharing calls and endless text conversations. Every message, every call, and every laugh they’ve shared has pulled them closer, blurring the lines that they’d always kept so carefully intact.

Memories creep in like old songs she can't stop replaying in her head while she rests in the small space that smells like him — a delicious, subtle scent that lingers wherever he goes, a clean mix of sandalwood and a hint of leather from his racing gear, with just a trace of something so uniquely Max.

Without having the privilege to stop her mind, she lets it wander to the first time they met, long before Max secured his seat in Formula 1. Even though he was only a teenager at that time, he was ferocious and resilient, and anybody could see the determination behind his eyes, to the point it was almost impossible to turn and look away.

At least that's how she remembers him.

From that day on, she’d been there for every milestone. Every point earned, every setback, every win, every lose, every title, every new girlfriend, and every break-up. She never questioned him, even when others criticized his aggression on track and his obsessive desire to win. She was aware that he had a cause to fight for and a lot to prove. And she understood that in a way that Max had told her no one else did.

She knows him better than anyone. Maybe because they go so far back. Or because he trusted her enough be unapologetically himself around her. They had always had a tight bond and, at some point, they ended up giving in to temptation. They were each other’s first, and even though both of them were so bad at it, that moment still remains until this day a mix of curiosity and comfort that neither of them had found elsewhere.

But they were young and very much not in love, and they didn’t want to lose themselves in the process. It made more sense to stay friends, because when it comes to relationships, timing is everything. He was going to be away all the time, and she couldn't wait for him — not that he would have ever let her do that. Max Verstappen is selfish in every aspect of the word, especially when it comes to the people he cares about, and she has always been his soft spot.

Being far too deep in thought, she barely hears the door open, flinching slightly as Max storms in, a tight smile plastered on his face.

“You’re here?” he asks in surprise, the second he sees her laying on the two-seater couch.

The first thing he notices is a papaya orange cap, and a Red Bull jersey that she stole from him two seasons ago, neatly tucked into her black skirt.

“Well, you won,” she shrugs, articulating her words, thoughtfully. “That was a cute drive.”

Max laughs, tracing a hand through his messy hair, “Cute?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“And simply lovely, congrats!” she giggles at the use of his catchphrase.

His skin is glistening with a mix of sweat and that post-win adrenaline that's still in his system. Even though it was just a sprint race, a win is a win. She can tell he’s tired, but he’s more alive now than she’s seen him in weeks. The second half of the season is not treating him well, and it has been hard for Max — though not impossible — to keep the cofidence up, given that the top step of the podium seems to get further and further away with each race week.

He even told her that he misses hearing the Dutch national anthem. Coming from Max, that means something.

It's frustrating, but he manages.

“Thanks,” says Max, leaning against the door as he unzips his suit, tying a knot with the sleeves around his waist.

She can’t help but take him in — his messy helmet hair that she always makes fun of, but secretly finds very, very attractive, the damp collar of his racing suit, the helmet marks imprinted on his rosy cheeks, and the muscles in his forearms flexing as he crosses his arms, still buzzing with energy.

“How’s Martin?” Max continues, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk while he crosses the room to sit next to her.

The room itself it's pretty small — just the couch, a table with his water bottle and energy drink scattered on top, and a change of clothes resting on a shelf nearby. But despite its plainness, Max’s presence fills every inch of it.

“He had the nerve to shush me when I started singing your song after you crossed the finish line,” she admits.

Max laughs again, a deep, rich sound, making the walls seem to hum with it. He leans back, his arm draping over the back of the couch, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from him. His scent is still there, more pronounced now that he's actually in the room and so close to her.

“You looked amazing out there,” the girl continues, turning to glare at Max, “Like you were fighting for more than just a win.”

“And you were in the wrong garage to see it. Isn’t that so sad?” he asks, his gaze softening as he studies her.

With a gentle touch, he takes her cap off and throws it across the room.

She gasps dramatically, pretending to be affected by his gesture, “That's bully behavior.”

“No, that's hideous and it ruins your pretty outfit.”

“Just say you're jealous, and I won't wear it again.”

“I'm jealous,” Max admits it in a heartbeat, making her breath catch.

There’s something raw in his expression, something he’s kept for himself for a long time. He reaches out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, the back of his fingers lingering against her cheek.

She bites her lower lip as she looks down at the tiny gap between them, trying to act like none of this is making her head spin, “Good to know. I'll come in full papaya gear at the next race.”

Max gives her a ‘don't push it’ glare, his hand sliding from her cheek to rest just a fraction of an inch away from hers. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” he murmurs, his voice rough with somethings she can’t quite decipher.

“I told you I'll come if you win.”

They both pretend to believe her insinuation, even though they know she always cares about Max, not just when he wins races. Which circles back to the conversation they've had last night, and the way she tried to motivate him; it's been on their minds constantly throughout the day. It was just a joke, sure. But still, Max took the podium, and unconsciously credits her with a small percentage of his performance today.

When their eyes meet again, the air is suddenly suffocating, as if the past is racing back between them. She has no idea who moves first and, somehow, Max's hand finds hers, warm and steady. It’s just a simple gesture — delicate, innocent, but somehow it feels like so much more. It anchores them in the present. It keeps them aware of each other.

“That's the thing, no? You’ve always been there for me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I want you to know that I never took you for granted. Not once.”

“Max…” she's not often at a loss for words, but when she hears his, it's hard for her to say anything else.

Every barrier they had both put up and every wall she had ever created around their friendship seems to be collapsing the moment Max starts caressing the soft skin of her hand with his thumb. There is an undeniable desire between them, and they are both aware of it. However, their bond is much more important than a passing feeling. Right? A feeling that forms like a warm ball in her stomach, and makes his heart pound even faster when he notices her breath intensifying.

“In my eyes, you always deserve it,” she assures him, deciding to intertwine her fingers with his.

“Is that so?” he challenges her.

She nods, “You deserve to have everything you want because I know how hard you work to—”

Max leans in, just slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I wants us.”

Her heart races as she meets his eyes — a flawless ocean blue, in which she would gladly bathe. Or drown, even.

“I want you,” he continues, his free hand traveling to her bare thigh, squeezing it slightly, “I want to stop pretending like you’re not driving me fucking mad, and that I don’t care who you’re giving your attention to.”

For a moment, they both hold their breath, his forehead dropping against hers.

“Is it clear enough what I want?” asks Max, and she nods again. “No, baby. I need words,” he frowns against her skin, as if it pains him not to get her confirmation. The confirmation that he waited so long for, but didn't feel he had the right to ask for.

Until it was too much.

Until now.

“I hear you,” she finally replies. “But what if—”

“If, if, if,” he cutts her off. ��I don’t give a fuck about imaginary scenarios anymore. If it's not what you want, tell me to stop, and I will.”

But she doesnt.

Instead, she spreads her thighs wider to make room for his hand to move forward — all the confirmation he needs. He grins instantly, closing his eyes for a split second, living the same feeling he gets when he's on the podium after a hard-won race, letting it all soak in.

Max’s hand is trailing further up her thigh, unable to help but keep the smirk on when he realizes that whatever they feel for each other, is mutual. He runs his finger lightly over the top of her lace panties, letting out a low sigh at the way her body responds to the slighlest touch. In return, she wraps her arms around Max's neck, looking at each other in anticipation. They know it right away — it’s like the fall of the Bastille, the moment before a revolution, when restraint gives way to a desire too powerful to ignore. They both know that after this, there’s no going back, no way to rebuild what’s been broken or control the outcome.

They know it’s not a calculated risk, and it can end so badly, but when Max leans in to kiss her — a kiss meant to suck every ounce of doubt out of her — the walls come crashing down. They melt into it, all the tension fading away. The hand between her thighs is now working her at the same pace as the kiss, soft whimpers cascading from her into Max’s mouth, making him lose it.

He almost can't believe this is really happening. But it’s as real as his win, and all he needs for tonight to get better is to bury his fingers in her cunt, preparing her for his cock, and pump her full of cum until none of them can take it anymore, just to make up for all the time they've lost while they were dancing around their insecurities.

Without any warnings, he drops to his knees between her legs as she lets her head rest on the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Max decides to take it slow.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he is afraid that maybe this is just a momentary lapse, and he won't get to have her like this for who knows how long. Therefore, he needs to take his time, savoring everything she's willing to give him. Now.

He gently pushes the thin fabric of her panties to the side, running his index finger over her slik, getting coated in her wetness even before he's halfway up to her clit. His thumb starts to gently rub against her warmth in circular motions over her soft skin of her moud, automatically feeling the urge to look up at her as she clasps her hands against the edge of the couch, her knuckles turning white.

His mouth goes dry.

“God, do you always get this worked up?” asks Max with a husky voice, trying to ignore how annoyed he gets at the thought of her pussy dripping as a result of someone else's touch. “Has anyone ever made you this wet?”

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand, but Max is way too focused on parting her folds with his fingers to register her whimpers and the way she's fighting to keep quiet — these rooms are not only narrow and practical, they also have extremely thin walls. Plus, her glossy, red clit is more captivating than any answer she'd give him.

The truth is, he doesn't even care, because his only goal now is to ruin her for whoever comes after him.

“So pretty,” he muses, pressing one digit inside, her pussy growing wetter as it tightens around his finger. Which encourages Max to add one more right away, gently scissoring them to stretch her out. “Fuck,” he exhales, as she pushes her hips into his hand.

“Max…” she drops her hand just as he's curling his fingers inside, touching her sweet spot repeatedly, pumping in and out with precision.

“Does that feel good, schatje?

“So. Good,” she whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling.

Max’s fingers start moving faster, establishing an agonizing pace, his eyes watching her reactions intently, seeing her back arching.

“Look at you, fuck,” he swears, leaning in to graze his lips against her thigh, leaving tiny kisses in their wake while he keeps his eyes on her.

A few more pumps of his fingers are enough to feel her clench hard around him, and finally letting go. Her moans are echoing in Max's ears like a siren call, tempting, potentially dangerous, while his fingers help her riding out her orgasm. His free hand is gently caressing her side the entire time, his lips pressing harder into her thigh, which makes her moan again.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. I can’t fuck you in here if you can’t keep quiet. And you want me to, yes? You want your sweet cunt fucked until you cum around my cock?”

“Mhm... The mouth on you, Verstappen,” she pants as quietly as possible, while grabbing his shoulders to pull him on top of her.

He helps her getting rid of her panties altogether, while their lips meet again in an explosion of new emotions, each more and more intense. Max knows their options are limited since it's such a small space, and doesn't hesitate to pull her into his arms, flipping them around so now he's laying on the couch, while she straddles him. His hands are instantly landing on her waist, listening to her giggle at the sudden change of positions.

“Hi,” Max smiles at her, his face radiating with pure excitement.

“Hi,” the girl parrots, wrapping her arms around his neck, tenderly playing with her fingers in the hair at the back of his head.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” she says, returning the smile.

“I fucking want to, but we don't have to if you have the slighlest doubt,” Max reminds her. “I'll jerk off in the shower later.”

She presses the pads of her fingers on his swollen lips to shut him up. “I want to,” she assures him, “I'm just scared it'll ruin us.”

Max cups her chin in his hand, his eyes heavy with understanding and the desire to prove her wrong, “Not gonna happen.”

“How are you so sure?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“I'm not, but I'll give you head if—”

She bursts out laughing as soon as she realizes Max is quoting her, “You are absolutely outrageous.”

Max keeps his hold on her waist as she shifts around, a slightly nervous but excited breath leaving his chest while she gets comfortable on top of him. “Tell me what you want, schat.”

In response, her fingers start fumbling with the knot he tied around his waist earlier, tugging at his fireproof with an urgency she can barely contain. Once her hands are making contact with his bare chest, warm and firm, she's sliding the rest of his racing suit past his waist, until it pools around Max's hips. She feels the rush as he pushes the rest of it down his legs, sucking in a breath of air at the sight of him.

“Max, you…,” she swallows the lump that got stuck in her throat, raising her eyes to look at him, slightly worried; nothing could've prepared her for how big Max is. “I've never heard you bragging about your dick.”

He chuckles at her words, his eyes turning into two adorable crescents moons on his face.

He's changed a lot over the years, of course. Max was only 16 when they had sex for the first time. But seeing him under her like that it's just a reminder of how small she feels against him now. His big hands can encircle her waist if he wanted to, and his arms could easily break her if he held her too tightly.

She looks down and notices the stark contrast between them: his broad shoulders, his strength, and their heights.

With her body nearly dwarfed by his, she is overcome with trepidation as she questions whether they will even fit together. However, she notices that Max is already trying to ease her concerns without saying a word, as he lifts her chin and meets her eyes with a tenderness that releases all the tension.

“You can take it, baby,” he assures her, guiding himself towards her entrance.

She lowers herself on him, slowly, intently, so easily that her hot cunt is practically sliding along his length, forcing Max to swallow a moan at how her wetness spreads over him. He pushes his hips forward, impatient, watching his cock disappear between her thighs. It drives them both absolutely crazy.

The intensity, the intimacy and all the places they make contact would normally be way too much. But then, Max pulls his hips down, only to fuck back in, feeling her relaxing on top of him.

The fit is perfect.

Her body is finally full. Complete.

“God, look at you,” he almost chokes, palming her ass under the skirt to help her spread more around him. “You're so beautiful.”

She cries out a moan, feeling as if her body gets split in two in real time, in the best way possible. His cock is so big that she's pretty sure she can feel him between her lungs.

Max means to say something else, but his words get stuck in his throat as the air gets knocked out of his lungs. A gasp leaves his parted lips as she sinks down on him completely — finally — his arms immediately wrapping around her waist, holding onto his girl like she's his lifeline. His chest sparks with a goran as he looks at her, the blue in his eyes darkening at the feeling.

“So tight, baby, I can’t wait to fuck you,” says Max, his hands getting lost under her shirt, palming her breasts. “You feel so good already. Gonna make me cum so fast,” he adds in a breathless mess, his heart pounding in his chest at the feeling of her body against his.

It’s a consuming feeling, that leaves them both senseless.

Max starts to move slowly, guiding her up and down his cock, until they set a steady rhythm. They're an amalgam of moans and gasps, as his hands rest on her waist tighter than before, fucking in deeper with each thrust. The sounds they make and the way they hold each other brings them together in a new way. It's scary and exciting and far too risky, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is the way she holds onto him, mouth ajar as they look at each other. She uses him to anchor herself while she sinks deeper, again and again, until pleasure is all she knows.

“Oh… Max. Max, please,” she beggs, the sound of them connecting reverberating throughout the entire room.

At the sight of her flushed face and parted lips, Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes trailing down her body to where they’re joined, just to see how she takes him in with such ease. The image causes a low groan to leave his mouth, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. She takes him so well, to the point of getting his own thighs wet as her pussy drips with their combined pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good on me, love. So good for me, that’s it,” he moans softly, his eyes falling shut to allow him to feel her everywhere in his body.

“Max… I can’t… Please, it’s too much.”

His eyes snap open to look at her again. Hearing her on the edge of desperation and feeling her body starting to shake with pleasure on top of him, it’s enough for Max to take charge, even though he’s not the one on top. Without a thought, he moves his hands back on her waist, holding her still as he lifts up his hips to start moving from underneath.

“Hold on to me, baby. I got you.”

He manages to send her to a whole another realm as he intensifies the pace, while the sounds of their bodies slapping together animates the room.

“That’s it, fuuuck. Let me take care of you,” he's breathing hard between thrusts, feeling dizzy as his climax builds, the heat in his stomach burning hotter.

He’s consumed by her in the most satisfying way — she is all that he feels and sees, her body pliant over his, her sweet noises in his ear being the only thing he can focus on as he looks at her through his lashes.

Max’s name cascades from her mouth, over and over again, until she starts clenching around his length — he knows that she’s close, and he’s right there with her.

His breath sounds shaky when he speaks again, “Where do you want me, baby?”

She knows that it's not a good idea for him finish inside her, but the thought of Max owning her like that gives her goosebumbs all over her body.

“Inside,” she gasps, burying her fingers in his hair and leaning over for a messy kiss. “Want to feel you...”

“Yeah, you want me to fill your pretty pussy? That you kept from me for so long?” asks Max against her jaw, his voice coming out in a low, sultry moan, just as a few drops of sweat gather along his hairline.

He lets his head fall back with a low groan, fucking his cock deeper and making her see stars in the process.

“Oh, god! Max,” she gasps, her voice coming out almost like a warning.

He takes it as an invitation to fuck her harder, feeling her tensing, then becoming boneless on top of him as he rides her orgasm. Max follows closely, moaning loudly as his hips move slopply, spilling inside of her, rolling his eyes at the feeling of her body milking his release.

“So fucking good, schatje.”

She wants to agree with him, but her mind is far too foggy and all she can do is run her hand over his skin, which is slick with a thin layer of sweat. She cups his face in her small palm while her other hand rests on his neck, sealing their lips together in a much slower, tender kiss.

Their tongues meet in a slow dance, tasting each other, making Max smile under it. She presses her forehead on his, a content smile appearing on her face this time, both of them completely blissed out.

Max’s hands runs along her thighs, admiring the feel of her soft skin under his touch as he speaks in a low, husky voice that still sounds breathless, “How the hell are you real?”

“Don’t ask me anything for the next five business days.”

He chuckles softly, giving her one more kiss before helping her up so he can gently pull out of her. She gasps again at the emptiness he leaves behind, feeling Max’s cum mixed with her own release oozing out of her. He swallows dryly, forcing his hand to gather up the result of their pleasure and fuck his fingers back in her cunt a few times before she collapses on top of him.

Max softens under her, tracing his hand through the waves of her hair, and for a moment, he looks as though he might say something. Something that could change the entire trajectory of their friendship.

Friendship.

He puffs out a laugh at the word.

“What?” she asks, curiously raising her eyes to look at him.

He looks so incredibly beautiful as he breathes slowly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. When it comes to Max, his beauty goes beyond his appearance; beneath the fierce, self-assured driver the outside world perceives, he displays now a softness and sensibility that only she has access to.

“You still owe me a blow job,” he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin.

A laugh escapes her, soft and giddy, but as she pulls back, the intensity in his gaze remains.

Oh, he’s serious.

“I’ll find you tomorrow, after the race,” she says, her voice soft, almost as if she’s making a promise.

“What if I don’t win?”

She laughs, “A podium also counts.”

For now, that’s enough for him.

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 2 months ago

Text

Toto's obsession

Hii guyss, I hope you like this idea I had.

You knew who Toto Wolff was long before you actually met him. Your brother, George, spoke of him all the time, describing him as a visionary, a man who turned dreams into reality. "He’s not just a team principal," George would say, his voice tinged with awe, "he’s a strategist, a leader—a god, really. Strict, yes, but there’s no one like him. He’s why I’m going to win a championship."

Strict, charming, busy—those were the words George used. But it wasn’t until the first time you met Toto that you fully understood what he meant by "charming."

It was at a celebratory dinner. George had just signed with Mercedes, and the room buzzed with excitement. You felt a certain nervousness, knowing you'd soon be face-to-face with the man your brother had so admired. But nothing could have prepared you for that moment.

"Y/N," George called, catching your attention, "come to meet Toto."

And then you saw him. Tall, imposing, with an air of calm authority that seemed to silence the room as he approached. His sharp, tailored suit, the confidence in his stride—it all added to the magnetic pull he had.

Toto’s hand extended toward you, and the moment your fingers touched his, a spark ignited. His eyes met yours, dark and calculating, but there was something else—something deeper. You could feel the intensity in his gaze, as though he was memorizing every detail of you in that instant.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice smooth, but there was a certain edge to it—something almost predatory.

From Toto’s perspective, the moment he saw you, time seemed to slow. There you were, standing next to your brother, but somehow, everything else faded into the background. You weren’t just George’s sister; you were something he couldn’t quite describe—captivating, delicate, and untouchable all at once.

He prided himself on being a man of control, a man who calculated every move. But you… you were a variable he hadn’t planned for. The way you smiled, the softness in your voice, the quiet confidence that emanated from you—it all struck him harder than he had anticipated.

She has to be mine.

The thought crept into his mind, uninvited but relentless. He barely heard George’s words as they introduced you, his focus entirely on you. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, and you, without even knowing it, had become something he wanted more than anything.

As the dinner went on, Toto kept glancing your way, watching how you moved, how you spoke. Every detail fascinated him—the way your lips curved into a smile when you laughed at something George said, the way your fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of your glass.

Obsessed wasn’t the right word. It was something more. You were a puzzle he needed to solve, a challenge he couldn’t resist. And in his mind, the outcome was already decided. You were meant for him, and nothing—not even the relationship he had with your brother—would stop him from making you his.

Later that evening, when George stepped away for a moment, Toto seized the opportunity. He made his way toward you, his presence commanding attention without even trying.

“You seem to have made quite the impression,” he said, his voice low, eyes locked onto yours.

Your pulse quickened as he stood closer than before, and for a brief moment, you felt a tension that you couldn’t explain.

“Oh? On whom?” you asked playfully, but your voice wavered slightly.

His smile was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the weight of his words hit you with full force.

“On me.”

You stirred awake in the soft, dim light of a hotel room, the warmth of Toto’s arms wrapped securely around your waist. His chest rose and fell steadily behind you, his breath brushing the back of your neck in a rhythmic, soothing pattern. For a moment, you simply lay there, allowing yourself to enjoy the peaceful silence, the comforting weight of him holding you close.

Since that night at the celebratory dinner, your life had taken a turn you never expected. It was supposed to be a harmless introduction, a fleeting moment in the whirlwind of your brother’s new career with Mercedes. But after that night, Toto had made sure you didn’t slip away. You had started seeing each other in secret, always in the shadows, far from prying eyes and cameras.

The world would have a lot to say about you and Toto if they knew—about the age gap, about you being George’s sister, about the power dynamic. But in these quiet moments, it all faded away. Here, it was just the two of you, hidden away from the world’s judgment.

You shifted slightly, feeling his arms tighten instinctively around you as though he could sense you thinking about pulling away, even for a second. His possessiveness was something you were still getting used to, something you weren’t sure you fully understood. He wasn’t just protective; he was almost territorial, as if the very thought of you belonging to anyone else, even in the smallest way, was unthinkable to him.

"Stay," his voice, deep and groggy from sleep, rumbled against your ear. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, smiling softly as you let your fingers trace his arm around your waist.

His hand moved to cover yours, holding it against his chest, his grip firm. "Good. I don’t like the thought of you slipping away from me."

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Where would I go? No one knows we’re here, Toto.”

He hummed in satisfaction, but there was an underlying edge to his words as he murmured, “And that’s how it should stay.”

You didn’t fully understand the depth of his obsession with keeping your relationship secret, assuming it was mainly about the media and the attention it would bring. After all, he was an incredibly public figure, and any news about his personal life would be plastered across headlines instantly. And yet, sometimes, there was a flicker in his eyes that made you think there was more to it.

Toto shifted behind you, pulling you closer until your body was flush against his. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he spoke in that low, commanding tone that always sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you ever think about how it all started?” he asked, his voice smooth and rich with emotion. “That night… the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you go.”

You tilted your head back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, but beneath it, there was something else—something more intense. “I didn’t know you felt like that then,” you said softly, smiling at him.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek gently. "You’re smart, but sometimes too innocent," he murmured, his lips curling into a faint smile. " From the very beginning, you were mine. I couldn’t let anyone else have you."

His words, though wrapped in affection, held a possessive edge that you had come to recognize. It wasn’t just love that fueled his actions—it was something deeper, a need to claim you, to ensure that no one else ever got close to you. But you trusted him. You believed in the love that you felt from him in these moments, not fully realizing just how consuming it was for him.

You giggled softly, brushing it off, still unaware of the full extent of his obsession. "Well, I’m not going anywhere," you repeated, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

Toto's hold on you tightened once again, his eyes darkening with a fierce protectiveness. “No,” he agreed, his voice low and firm. “You’re not.”

Here's part 2

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x y/n

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gghostwriter · 2 months ago

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Deepest Fear

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer wakes from a nightmare and you comfort him Trope: Comfort (can this still be considered fluff) w.c: 0.8k a/n: This idea has been in my list for so long and I just never felt the time to write it until now. My head canon of later Spencer Reid is someone who finds rest unsettling due to horrors so here's my take on that. Not proofread as I didn't want to think of how heavy and realistic this actually is. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The digital clock on your bed side table says: September 3, 12:35am. The hustling city in slumber as all its occupants rest and gather energy for the coming hours. Except maybe for one resident, you.

Nights like this were exceedingly rare—him asleep while you sit on your bedside wide awake. It had always been the opposite. With the terrors that graced his desk day to day bleeding into his dreams, creating nightmares that transform the victims into his loved ones. Some featured the team but most—most if it featured you and Diana at the mercy of an unsub that seemed three steps ahead of him.

It only got worse during his stint in prison with it become in a reality for his mother. Now, his nightmares of her were flashbacks of his time incarcerated, unable to do anything while Diana was held captive. Whatever his expansive mind conjured up to torture him when his eyes close were enough to make him like sleep less and less begrudgingly turning him into an insomniac.

Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night with him, back up against the headboard, arms tight round you, and eyes trained to every entrance and exit. It was unsettling but you learned to live with it—you’d learn anything just to have him still. That was how much you love him.

He twitched in his sleep, hand on your stomach tightening its grip on your borrowed Caltech shirt as if you were a buoy that could keep him afloat. Your hands found solace in softly caressing his locks of hair that were slowly sticking to his forehead due to sweat. It was a sign you knew all to well—a nightmare had come and hooked it’s long, black claws to his once pitiful slumber.

His hand shot up to yours with a grip so tight that a small whimper left your lips.

“Spencer,” you whispered. “Spence, it’s me—“ his eyelids still closed shut. “—I’m here. You’re safe—”

His voice hoarse from sleep. “No. No. No. Not her, please—hurt me—take me instead. Please.”

A single tear escaped from his eyes. Spencer was once again losing, begging, pleading to an unsub that is incapable of remorse and relishes in his suffering. You chewed on your lip before leaning down and placing feather like kisses to any part of his beautiful yet strained face you could reach.

“Come back, Spence,” you breathed out. “It’s me. You’re safe—we’re safe. Come back to me.”

His hand holding yours slowly losing it’s death grip as his eyelids fluttered to an open. Unfocused doe eyes staring into yours before his wetted lips opened to form a word. No sound came out but you understood.

It was your name.

It was you he was pleading for in his dreams.

A tremor passed through, his taught body relaxing onto yours. Spencer was coming to.

“Love?” He called.

Your pink lips stretched to form a small smile. “Hey, you. Are you alright?”

“I—I don’t—” he slowly sat up, matching your position, leaning against the headrest. “It was Cat Adams. I dreamt she had—” his calloused hand dwarfing yours. “—somehow escaped and got to you. And then, she got me too. When I came to, she had us tied in front of each other and a gun against your head and all I could think of was—” his voice trailed off.

Maeve.

“—and I just kept thinking, ‘not again, I can’t lose you’ and she kept taunting me about how I break everything I love. No matter how much I begged, she just kept laughing and laughing and I thought ‘I won’t make it without you. I refuse to. She’ll win and I’ll have nothing.’”

You wiped away the tears making its way down his face. The hatred that you felt for Cat Adams was dark and infinite. Yes, Spencer had beaten her twice at the sick, sick games he did not want to play in but during this moments when his guard was down and should be feeling safe in the confines of his own home, you questioned who really won and at what cost.

You cradled his head to your chest, near the cavity that enclosed your beating organ that he fully branded as his own. “I’m safe, Spence. You hear that?” A pause. “That’s my heart, alive and beating. You’re with me and you’ve kept me safe.”

He inhaled, fingers slipping past the shirt to feel your skin, leaving in its wake goose flesh and butterflies settling on your stomach. “I love you. Stay with me?”

“Always.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff

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vinvantae · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write the f1 grid reactions to their girlfriend enjoying privacy and not wanting to be in the spotlight at gps? Like for example choosing to go to the regular audience instead of the garage to watch races etc to avoid excessive cameras? If you don't want to do all could you do either Charles, Lewis, or Lando?

I won’t do all the drivers because I think there’s only so many reactions but I will do the three you’ve requested 🥰 sorry for the delay I’ve had a lot of stuff on recently!

***

Charles

Charles watched from across the room as you pulled your Ferrari cap over your head, adjusting it so you could slip your sunglasses on and off with ease. The two of you had been together for nearly two years now, but you had still never set foot inside the paddock - and whilst he understood your reasons, the selfish part of him really wanted you there this weekend. He was starting his home race from P1 and he was positive he had a real shot this year.

He cautiously stepped towards you, taking your hips in his hands so he could press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me in the garage, mon ange?” He hummed, resting his cheek against yours as you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Mhmm, I quite like being surrounded by your adoring fans.” You giggled, tilting your head so he could press kisses to your neck. “The roars of Monegasque feel all the more thrilling when you’re a part of it. Their home hero starting on pole? No way I’m missing out on that.”

Charles let you turn in his arms, your arms coming up to loop around his neck - you couldn’t help but smile at the fond look in his eyes as he looked at you. He really wished you were going to be at the barriers, so he could wrap you up in his arms when he finally won, but he knew all the cameras in your face would be too much for you.

“I’ll always respect your decision to enjoy the race from the grandstands, as long as you know if you ever change your mind, there’s a special spot in the back of my garage just for you.” His voice was soft as he nudged his nose against yours. “If they get too rowdy-”

“Charles, I’ll be okay… now, go win for me.”

Lewis

Being a 7 time world champion definitely came with its privileges - but privacy was not one of them. So keeping his relationship close to his chest was not only important to him but to you. You loved him more than words could ever describe, but the idea of walking through all of the press holding his hand was still daunting to you - so you preferred to support him nestled away in the crowds. In your 5 years together, somehow, you’d never been “exposed”, so blending in was easy.

Lewis was by no means ashamed of you, in fact, he was filled with nothing but pride when he spoke of you - but being able to keep his personal life private, out of the grasps of the greedy, was important to him as well. He spent his days with every movement, every word being picked apart by the media and he wanted to be able to protect you from it all.

“You could at least wear my merch, babe.” He laughed softly, as you emerged from the bathroom, donned in another team’s merchandise, holding his hands out for you to take. “How am I gonna do well knowing you’re in the crowd wearing that?”

You scoffed playfully, taking his hands, looking down at him from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I am wearing something for you… just for your eyes though.”

He quirked a brow, removing his hands from yours to hook his fingers into your waistband, pulling it away just enough to see his trademark colour against your skin hidden underneath. A groan left his lips and he lent his forehead against your middle.

“So…” you purred. “You gonna race well knowing what your prize is?”

“Fuck yes.”

Lando

Neon yellow was not your colour. When Lando first showed it to you, you weren’t sure it was anyone’s colour, but as you strolled through Silverstone - it seemed that it was everyone’s. You smiled softly to yourself as you adjusted your own hat, sidling up the grandstands to find your seat - nestled in between a group of Lando’s fans, who very quickly pulled you into the fray once they realised you were alone.

You’d ended up getting a seat at Luffield corner, not expecting your boyfriend’s car during the parade to pull up to be interviewed by Natalie. There was no way he’d ever know you were here - you told him you couldn’t make it, but in reality you wanted to enjoy it from the crowds.

The giggles that escaped you as his t-shirt cannon failed dramatically, made your heart swell. He’d come so far in the years you’d known him and to see him so adored was really special. You fished your phone out of your pocket when it buzzed, his name lighting up your screen, just moments before you knew he had to get into the car.

Miss u x

You smiled softly, turning as you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. The girl smiled gently albeit a little awkwardly at you. “Hi, sorry, you’re y/n, Lando’s girlfriend, right?”

“That’s me.” You chuckled.

“How come you’re out here instead of in there?” She asked, her voice laced with curiosity, not judgement.

You turned a little in your chair to face her better. “Wanted to enjoy the race from the grandstands, I’ve always loved the atmosphere and just because I’m dating him I didn’t want to stop.”

She gave you a knowing nod. “That’s absolutely fair. Well, when you see him, can you tell him I said hi?”

“Hey, how about we all send him a good luck selfie? He’s probably not got his phone anymore but he’ll see it after the race.” You beamed.

Everyone crowded around you and you took a photo - their smiles practically lighting up the screen. You knew Lando would love it, so you sent it back.

We’re all rooting for you <3 You’ve got this!x

Lando was a little disappointed not to win the race, especially at home - he’d managed to hang on to the lead just for a little while, but it just wasn’t enough. All he wanted was to wrap himself up in your arms and feel sorry for himself for not being able to hold onto the lead, but you weren’t here. When he finally got a moment of peace, he checked his phone - eyes widening at the selfie.

You were here, nestled amongst the floods of neon - your smile somehow brighter. He tapped on your name to call you, tapping his foot against the floor - biting at the skin around his fingernails.

“Hi Lando.” Your voice sounded like a dream.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were here.” He knew he sounded whiny but he didn’t care, he needed you with him ASAP. “Could’ve watched from the garage… given me a good luck kiss.”

“Well, looks like you didn’t need it. You raced amazingly today, baby, I’m so proud of you… maybe I’ll meet you back at your hotel, show you how proud I am?”

Lando couldn’t help but jut his bottom lip out a little. “Sure I can’t tempt you to come to the garage?”

“I’m sure. Too flashy for me. I love you, see you in a little while.”

“I love you too. Bye babe.” He smiled to himself, hanging up the phone - holding it to his chest.

As much as he’d wished you were in the garage, he loved the part of you that wanted to enjoy races from the grandstands - experience the race how you wanted, not just using your relationship to waltz around the paddock.

Now… he just had to find the quickest way back to the hotel.

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader

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kaiser1ns · 2 months ago

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#. FURIN HIGH SCHOOL LOVE CLUB

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. takiishi chika, umemiya hajime, endo yamato

fluff. little stories between you and the three scariest boys in their first years of high school.

TAKIISHI CHIKA is a child of the flame, a raging and unquenchable fire, the little spark that came out after having fun in another fight with Umemiya Hajime, in which again the redhead was always the winner. Over and over again, Umemiya was bothering Takiishi to fight to show he could be the winner too, and right now when they walked out of Furin's graphite corridors he kept talking to him.

"If I win, you gotta join me." but the other boy did not hear his words, "And you will acknowledge my goals." He was already getting bored because it was always the same — he fights with Umemiya, wins, and goes home. This happened several times every day, and today he just wanted, as strange as it sounds, to spend his time with someone else without fighting. "Hey, hey Takiishi! Are you listening to me? The rooftop is fre–" the white-haired boy stopped walking when he saw some girl approaching, not towards him but towards Takiishi.

She was very, very beautiful, with her smile being so warm and radiant, and her eyes seemed to shine not from sunlight, but from her soul. Then he looked at his opponent and how his pace towards her quickened slightly, he reached out and took the bag and threw it over his shoulder, and with the other hand he grabbed hers as they left the school grounds. Now it made a lot more sense why Umemiya was being ignored. It was you, the girl from the school close to theirs as he had listened to Endo talking about some girl Takiishi was hanging out with or dating, he wasn't quite sure about the information but could see it now. Well, it couldn't be helped, he will rest to have more power for the next challenge.

"Let's put it off until tomorrow then!"

UMEMIYA HAJIME is a wild child, he's always in trouble or is the reason causing it, but that doesn't stop him because he's having fun and testing how long he can take someone else's fists, while you can't take it all. He was grinning even though he was bruised all over, the dried-up blood barely coming off as you held the cotton to his face. "Umemiya, you seriously should stop bothering Takiishi... I can't be there for you every time after you two fight."

You took a new piece of cotton and wet it with rubbing alcohol as you carefully cleaned the blood from his nose. It happened a little or in this case a lot every single day, you don't even study here to know that he will always seek trouble. "But he is so strong! You should have seen him too, the way he–" You quickly shut him up by shoving the cookie, that you originally both for yourself, into his mouth as he munched on it. His face was almost clean and you went to get some towels from your kitchen. "Wefe afe you foing?" he was talking with a full mouth but you understood what he was trying to say.

And as soon as you came back to the bathroom you saw that he was only in his underwear. Your eyes widened, heat rising to your cheeks, you stopped moving and the towels fell to the ground. "Idiot, lock the door next time." you left the bathroom again, blushing furiously as you saw yours in the nearby mirror. First, he comes here unannounced, secondly, he eats from your snacks, and now he is half naked. Just who he thinks he is? Someone who can just go to you because he is hurt, someone who will hold your hand when walking you to school, or hug you tight when there are loud thunderstorms, or someone you have deeply fallen in love with. It didn't matter much because Umemiya Hajime is a wild child, and you liked every second of the wild nature.

ENDO YAMATO is a strange child, but in a good way. Somehow he always knew what the two people he cared for needed, even without saying a word. And on the rare occasions when he wasn't following Takiishi he was with you. It's like he can read you, even when you haven’t seen him in days. Today was no different. You were standing at the school entrance, watching the rain pour down, realizing too late that you’d forgotten your umbrella. Just as you were about to wait and stay inside the building, he appeared with a cheeky grin, holding up an umbrella in front of you.

“Don’t want you turning into the Little Mermaid now~” Endo teased, the playfulness in his voice making you roll your eyes, but you smiled anyway. You linked arms with him, sharing the small umbrella as the two of you began walking toward your house. The rain beat down around you, but with him, it felt safe—warm even. His carefree attitude made everything seem lighter, even the heavy clouds above you. When you finally reached home, you both quickly dried off and changed. You handed Endo a spare set of clothes, which he accepted with his usual smile. But just as you were about to relax, he began pulling chocolate bars out of his jacket's pockets—one after another, different kinds from your favorite brands.

“I know it’s that time of the month,” he said with a wink, leaving the chocolates on the table as he now stood next to you, the towel in his hand as he dried his hair. How did he always know exactly what you needed? You immediately wrapped your arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Endo just chuckled softly, pulling you a little closer. “I always got you.”

taglist :: @maruflix @heartkaji @stunie @17020 @kiurona @meidiary @nyxypoo @kazuhaiku

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vroomvro0mferrari · 4 months ago

Text

CL16 | Strategy to Your Heart

Summary: Ferrari hasn’t been doing well in the races lately, and according to Charles, there's only one person to blame for the bad strategies: you.

Charles Leclerc x colleague!Reader (enemies to lovers)

WC: 4.3K

Warnings: curse words, slightly misogynistic

Masterlist

Charles stormed into the garage, his eyes blazing with anger. His race had ended disastrously, again, and there was only one person to blame. As his race engineer, you were responsible for his strategy, which lately, had been lacking significantly and he despised you for it. The car was finally improving, yet he couldn’t seem to win a race. Simply because his race engineer managed to fuck up every time.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

You looked up in surprise as he approached you. Charles' anger was clear as day as he got in your face, making your hands shake from anxiety and your blood run cold. Your expression hardened as the accusation settled, a glare replacing the shock in your eyes. You opened your mouth to explain, to say something – to calm him down, but he cut you off.

“I don’t need your excuses! You clearly don’t know what you’re doing!” He yelled. The look on his face, and the posture of his body – which was much taller than yours – were intimidating. Never mind his unrelenting glare and the finger he pointed in your face before storming off to his driver's room.

His insult stung deeply. You understood that he was upset at how the race went, but he could’ve reacted differently. He just humiliated you publicly, in front of all your colleagues; he didn’t even let you get a word in edgewise. You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you at his behaviour. How dare he insult you like that? It wasn’t even your fault. You stared after him as he stomped away, before turning on your feet, storming off in the opposite direction.

You had known Charles for a long time now. Although you had never spoken much, you always greeted each other, until you got your new position in the team. Charles was already driving for Ferrari when you first started there as an intern. You joined in on meetings with the drivers and sometimes spoke to them during these, but you didn’t see the drivers much otherwise. After your time as an intern, you had gotten a full-time job and worked your way up the team, and now, finally, you had made it to race strategist for Charles Leclerc, where your decisions actually had an effect – or so you thought.

During all your years at Ferrari, the previous head of strategy, Rueda, always listened to and appreciated your opinions and suggestions for the race strategies. He supported your development over the years and saw you grow from an inexperienced intern to an expert with a unique view. Before he left Ferrari, he promoted you to Charles’ race engineer; he believed in your skill and thought you could provide unexpected, but well-working strategies that would lead Charles to victories.

However, after Rueda left, and Ravin Jain took over the job of head strategist, your opinions were ignored. You worked especially hard to convince him you deserved your current position. You developed numerous possible strategies for every one of Charles’ races, running tons of simulations to make sure you had a strategy for every situation. You thought about all the unexpected circumstances that might arise and how to maximise the outcome for each of them. You knew exactly what to do in every situation to ensure a good ending position for Charles, but Jain undermined you every single time. You would present him with all the information you had collected, and show him all the possible strategies and which ones you expected would work best, but he would never listen to you. Jain would always overrule your decisions with different options that somehow turned out much worse. As a result, Charles lost so many more places than necessary, and missed so many more podiums – wins even – than he should’ve.

The worst part was that Charles blamed you for everything. You were new in the position of race strategist, and you wanted to leave a good impression on the team and, most importantly, have a good working relationship with Charles. In your line of work, teamwork and cooperation, and consequently trust, are incredibly important. You wanted Charles to You wanted Charles to rely on you for strategy, allowing him to focus solely on driving. But he couldn’t. He questioned every advice you gave – whether it made sense – and more often than not, it didn’t. The relationship between the two of you was anything but one of trust.

Charles didn’t know what was happening between you and the head strategist. All he knew was that the strategies were awful and he was losing races that he could have won. He didn’t know how amazing and thought-out your own strategies really were, and how good you were at your job if you actually received the opportunity to do it. As a matter of fact, he had never had a real conversation with you before you got your new role. Previously, you just hung around in the background, only speaking with your team and some work friends you had made along the way, but never directly with the drivers. Quite frankly, he questioned whether you were even qualified for your job.

Although Charles didn’t know much about you, his opinion about you was formed and unchanging. To him, it seemed you didn’t know much about racing strategies or engineering; the results of your strategies and your silence during the debriefs were enough proof for him. There was only one logical explanation for how you’d gotten your role in the team; you had gotten your position through favouritism – or perhaps you’d done the head strategist a little ‘favour’.

– – – – –

During the next race, Jain had done it again. You had developed the perfect strategy for Charles, you had worked everything out so you were prepared for every situation. But when you showed the results to Jain and suggested your preferred strategy, he told you that your strategies could be better and you should ‘try this’. You knew it wasn’t a suggestion but an order to drop your strategy and use his instead. The result left you feeling defeated. Charles would undoubtedly be upset with the outcome, outing his anger on you, while you couldn’t do anything to make it better.

From your spot in the garage after the race, you could already see him stomping towards you. You couldn’t blame him really, he had missed out on yet another podium due to a bad strategy.

“What now?” you muttered under your breath as you saw him approach, bracing yourself for another confrontation.

“What now?” Charles echoed, his tone mocking. “You’re asking me that? You couldn’t form a proper strategy to save your life! How did you get this job in the first place? Sleep with the boss?”

You whipped your head around at his comment, narrowing your eyes as shock and anger coursed through your body. You had heard comments like this many times before; Formula 1 is a man’s world and you know what the men around you are like. You know you shouldn’t have expected anything less from Charles, yet you had. You were surprised that Charles would say something like this—something so vile. Yes, you had never really gotten along, but there had always been mutual respect. In all your interactions with Charles, he seemed kind enough, even if he was frustrated with you; to make such a misogynistic comment was a new low for him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you even say something like that? Do you know how offensive that is?”

“You’re not denying it,” he yelled back at you.

You scoffed. “I’m not doing this,” you said, shaking your head before walking away, the tears welling up in your eyes. It felt like a betrayal.

Charles followed you, “How about you explain why you keep screwing up my races?”

You ran your hands over your face in frustration as you rushed away from him, quickly making your way to your office. Charles had already upset you, and you didn’t want to cry in front of him – your job was already hard enough without him holding something like this over your head. If your colleagues found out you had cried on the job, you would never hear the end of how women can’t handle the pressure of F1. You tried to close the door as soon as you entered your office, but Charles was already there with you, staring you down. His arms were crossed in a nonchalant manner, but his face showed his annoyance clearly. “Well?”

You tried to avoid answering his question, but it seemed impossible. Even though you had kept silent (except for your scoff, that is), he wouldn’t leave you alone. God was this man frustrating. Your patience snapped.

“I’m not the one screwing up your races, Charles. If you have any issues with the strategies you should take it up with Jain, because he changes my plans every time.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, frowning.

“Every strategy I create, Jain overrules,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you closed in on him. “I come up with plans based on simulations, and data. I’m ready for every scenario. But he dismisses them and forces his own strategies, which obviously don’t work. You’re blaming the wrong person.”

Charles stared at you, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to confusion. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I tried,” you replied, frustration seeping into your voice. “But you were too busy yelling at me to listen. And honestly, I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly processing what you had said. “So, Jain is the one messing up the strategies?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “And it’s been incredibly frustrating to watch my hard work get thrown out and to then take the blame when it fails.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You’ve been yelling at me for months when it wasn’t even my fault.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Charles asked.

You laughed at his question. “What was I supposed to do? You know how it is—actually, you don’t, because drivers are privileged,” you sighed at the frown on Charles’ face, “no one would have believed me if I had told them, or they probably would have agreed. And if I had gone against Jain, I would have been fired so fast,” you trailed off.

Charles sighed. You were right; how on earth were they supposed to fix this? Jain would just continue to override your decisions no matter what, and that obviously wasn’t beneficial to anyone.

“For the next race, show me your strategy, okay? We can look at it together and if I agree we can work something out. Together.”

You smiled dryly at Charles’ suggestion. If he agrees? Who does he think he is? Nevertheless, you concur, if only to get rid of him. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but Charles is satisfied nonetheless.

– – – – –

For the next race, you had prepared more than usual. After the first few encounters with Jain you had given up on preparing your races thoroughly; it felt like a waste of time. But knowing that Charles would listen to you, and you might finally get to use your own strategy motivated you.

You carefully discussed your plans with Charles in his driver’s room, away from everyone else. He listened attentively while you explained all the possible strategies and the one you thought would yield the best results. This was the first time Charles actually heard you talk about the strategies with enthusiasm, and he admired your knowledge of the topic, although he was somewhat surprised after your previous interactions. Hearing your passion for your work and knowing that you weren’t the reason for the unsuccessful races finally allowed the much-wanted bond of trust to form.

“We're going to use your strategy,” Charles said decisively. “No matter what Jain says, we'll do whatever you think is best. You've thought everything out, it'd be foolish to do something entirely different.”

"And if Jain gets mad and wants to fire me?" You asked, a hint of concern in your voice.

"The results will likely be good, so there'll be no reason for him to get mad,” Charles replied confidently. “But if he does, I'll vouch for you."

You nodded in response, a nervous but grateful smile on your face. It was exciting to finally use one of your own strategies, even though Jain would probably reject your proposals again.

Your assumption was correct; during your meeting with Jain, he had once more told you to follow his strategies instead of using your own ideas. Although Charles had told you there wouldn’t be any reason for your boss to get mad if the race went well, you weren’t assured enough to follow his advice. You couldn’t take any risks with your job – you weren’t experienced enough to get a similar job anywhere else, especially with the reputation Jain had built for you. If you had to follow his strategy to keep your job you would.

To say Charles was upset with the strategy during the race would be an understatement. He didn’t know where it had gone wrong – you had discussed this, hadn’t you? You came to the agreement that you would use your own strategy instead of listening to Jain, yet you hadn’t. The things you were telling him to do were nothing you had discussed during your private meeting. Charles felt frustrated at your inability to follow through; you were ruining his chances of a win because you were a coward who wouldn’t dare to stand up to her boss and he wasn’t going to take it.

“Boxing next lap, Charles.”

Charles scoffed at your order before responding, “Box now? That’s ridiculous! The tyres are feeling fine, I can stay out longer.”

You sigh from your position on the pit wall. “Charles, the team thinks it’s best that you–”

“I don’t care what the team thinks! What do you think is the best move?”

“Charles–” you stammer, getting nervous from his reaction.

“You know the team always makes the wrong calls, Y/N. What do you think we should do?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the decision. If you go against Jain’s orders now and the race ends badly, you’ll be in big trouble. Charles said he’d vouch for you though, and the current strategy wasn’t going to get the team anywhere good either. You contemplate your options.

“Stay out a few more laps.”

Although you couldn’t see it, Charles smiled triumphantly in the car, knowing he had convinced you to use your own strategy. This was a good start, he just needed to do well now, to make sure you got your confidence back. So, for the next races, you would follow your own strategies as well instead of simply following Jain’s orders.

The race had ended up much better than anybody had expected, all thanks to your strategy. If you hadn’t switched up the strategy, Charles would have ended up significantly lower in the ranking. After finishing up his duties, Charles sought you out in the garage. You thought he would yell at you again, for going against your plan – going rogue, but he didn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Your strategy worked. Next time, we’ll use your plan again. From the start this time, forget whatever Jain tells you.”

You nodded in response, a tight smile on your face. It was nice that Charles showed his appreciation for you. However, now that you were standing still instead of moving around, you were easier to spot. So far, you had managed to avoid Jain by blending in with the bustling garage, but Charles’s presence made you easy to find.

“Y/N!” Jain said loudly, making your eyes shoot over to him quickly.

“We need to have a serious talk! Follow me to my office.” The look on his face was scolding and his body posture showed his anger clearly as he walked off.

You met Charles’ eyes for a second, a nervous smile on your face. “I better go,” you said before rushing after your boss.

“I’ll come with you,” Charles responded firmly, joining your side.

“I said I’d vouch for you if Jain became angry. I always keep my word,” he said after seeing the confused look on your face.

Jain had already taken a seat in his office when you walked in.

“What the hell were you thinking? Ignoring my strategy?” he hollered.

You took a deep breath, mustering the courage to go against him, but Charles beat you to it, stepping out from behind the door.

“There’s no need to yell at your employee like that, Jain. Besides, her strategy led to much better results than boxing would have.”

Jain’s eyes quickly darted over to him in surprise, having missed his presence, before focusing on you. “You’re here to follow orders, Y/N. Not to make your own decisions. You disobeyed a direct instruction.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Charles had already started speaking, his voice steady but firm.

“With all due respect, Jain, it’s clear that Y/N’s strategy was superior today. Her approach brought us better results, and we need to recognise that.”

Jain turned his glare to Charles, clearly not pleased with the driver’s intervention. “This is none of your business, Charles. She’s my employee, and she needs to follow my orders.”

“Actually, it is my business,” Charles shot back.

Your eyes darted over to him. This was not at all the right time, but he looked hot as fuck defending you like this. He hadn’t even had the time to change after the race, his driver’s suit hanging around his waist with his black fireproofs on full display. His hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed, whether it was from the race or frustration, you weren’t sure. You could feel your own cheeks turning hot at the sight, and you were certain a blush was spreading across your face, too.

“Her strategies directly affect my performance on the track. Today, she proved her worth. She deserves the chance to implement her plans without being overruled.”

The room fell silent as Jain stared at Charles, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

No, not the right time at all.

Jain finally sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. You’ve made your point. But if it fails there will be consequences.”

You nodded eagerly, “of course.”

Charles nodded as well, happy with the outcome.

– – – – –

The next few races turned out much better. Without interference, you could confidently present and implement your strategies. And the results spoke for themselves: Charles consistently finished on the podium. His performance improved so much that even Jain had to admit your strategies worked better than his.

When the next race weekend arrived tensions were high. So far, your racing strategies had proved successful, but you aimed for more every race. It was certainly helpful that you and Charles were a good team. Ever since the issues between Charles and you were resolved, there was mutual trust, and Charles supported every strategy you came up with, even if it seemed risky.

You wished Charles good luck with a nervous smile before he got in his car and, as had become a ritual, he responded confidently with a “we’ve got this” and a reassuring smile that somehow always calmed your nerves.

When the race began you confidently pursued your strategy while Charles navigated the track with precision. Everything went perfectly: the pit stops as swift and smooth as could be and every decision moving Charles closer to the front.

There were only a few laps to go with Charles steadily in second place, closing in on the leader. He managed to get within DRS range and, as the team watched in anticipation, executed a flawless overtake, taking the lead in the race. The garage filled with cheers and applause as the team celebrated his amazing overtake. Meanwhile, a big smile overtook your features as you watched Charles drive on the screen in front of you.

You stared in disbelief when Charles crossed the finish line in first place. The joy was immense; the whole garage was celebrating the fresh win as you hugged the rest of the team on the pit wall in delight. You had done it – your strategy had led him to a win.

Following your colleagues, you rushed to the parc fermé, wanting to be the first to celebrate this amazing race with him. You watched as Charles got out of his car, pumping his fist in the air in victory. The smile on his face was huge as he jogged to the team waiting to congratulate him.

“We did it, Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a celebratory hug. You laughed at his antics but hugged him back nevertheless. If there wasn’t a barrier between you, he would have lifted you up and spun you around, that’s how happy he was. Two months ago he couldn’t have envisioned a win any time soon, and now he had managed to snatch up the first place, all thanks to you.

After his weigh-in, he walked back to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I want you to come up on the podium with me,” he said.

“Ah,” he tutted, already knowing you would protest before you even opened your mouth, “it’s just as much your win as it’s mine.”

“Charles…”

“You deserve to be up there too! It’s your first win!”

You stared at him hesitantly.

“Come on, Y/N. Just this once. If you say no, I’ll just ask again next time, and the time after that, and—”

“Next time?”

“Yes. We’re obviously going to win many more races together!” Charles said with a childish grin. “Come on!” He continued, tugging on your sleeve.

You finally succumbed, nodding your head. “Okay, fine.”

“Ah perfect! I’ll see you up there!” He said with a big grin, before walking off to do his interview.

You used the time Charles was in the cooldown room to mentally prepare yourself. You were about to stand on the podium. Your face was going to be broadcast on live TV for everyone to see, and it made you nervous. You smiled nervously at the people guiding you up the stairs to the podium where you met Charles. He smiled comfortingly and chatted with you relaxedly while you waited for his name to be called out.

When the time came, you tried to stay in the background, hiding behind Charles who walked out in front of you before taking your place on the separate podium for the winning constructor. From your position, you could see the crowd cheering for Charles while the Monegasque anthem sounded over the track. You admired the sea of red that was here for Ferrari, for Charles. When the Italian anthem played you made eye contact with Charles, laughing silently with him over your colleagues singing along loudly.

You gracefully accepted the trophy for the team, smiling and lifting it up after it was offered to you. The sound of your team cheering and applauding filled you with joy. You couldn’t be prouder of Charles for this achievement, and maybe of yourself too, especially when you saw the admiring look Charles was sending you. It made your thoughts hazy, tuning out for a second as you enjoyed this moment of glory while staring out at the crowd in front of you.

Then, suddenly, you heard the pops of bottles. You could barely set down your trophy before your face was covered in champagne.

“Charles,” You gasped.

Barely able to breathe, you tried to cover your face with your cap. It was no use, however; the champagne was already pricking in your eyes as you blindly tried to push Charles away. When the other men on the podium targeted him, you used the moment to pop your own bottle of champagne. Of course, your goal was to completely douse Charles as payback, but he was quick to flee. Before you got the chance to properly drench him, it was already time for the podium picture. Charles grinned at you mischievously from his spot next to you. “You look good in victory champagne,” he teased.

You glared at him jokingly. You were certain that you looked ridiculous with your cap askew and your clothes completely soaked in champagne, not to mention the mascara that was probably running down your face. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Thanks, I think.”

He laughed with you, a gleeful look on his face.

“How about we go out for a celebratory drink?” He asked with a gentle smile.

You noticed the more serious tone in his voice straight away. His expression was one you didn’t recognise; he seemed almost insecure.

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Are you asking me out, Charles?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, yeah. I guess I am. What do you say?”

You laughed again, before nodding your head.

“A drink sounds good.”

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serejae · 5 months ago

Text

IF BY CHANCE ? | BND

WHAT ? - BND AS EXES WHO WANT YOU BACK (bnd realizing they messed up after you end things)

WHEN ? - (warning) this is not a REAL display of the members im just doing this for weeping entertainment:) attempt to unconsented kissing in jaehyuns, drinking in sungho’s, mentions of throw up/throwing up in leehans, major angst 😒

WHO ? - (a/n) i love angst but not like death but yearning and groveling, pls tell me yall relate. lowk went hard on jaehyun and leehans from personal experience 🤔🤔

uncapitalization intended and not proofread

theres a theory that you will always meet the same person twice

P.SUNGHO ; he was too focused on his career.

! - you knew and understood thst sungho’s job was very important to him but it started to feel like you werent his partner anymore. you started to feel like decoration in your guys apartment that he would just ignore when he got home.

! - to try and help your relationship you made him dinner, cleaned up the place, asked him about his day to which he blew up. his cold demeanor suddenly dropped as he yelled at you about constantly bothering him when he just wanted to sleep. you knew your intentions and knew you didnt want to bother but help sungho. you then realize you werent valued in this relationship and were pulling the whole weight by yourself, so you ended things.

! - it took him about 4 days to realize that he messed up. those 4 days his mind was constantly fogged up about work, after those 4 days he walked into the house and how he realized was when he alerted you (or tried to) that he was home with a “honey im home”, only to be met with silence. a bit confused not realizing his brain hadnt catched up yet, he walked into your twos room, or use to be. only to be met with the mess he left for himself in the morning. there is when he realized you weren’t there anymore. to shake his mind off of it, he decided to eat before doing anything ,he went to the kitchen to heat up some frozen dinner. as the meal heated he realized the house was so empty, cold, and quiet. the only sound was coming from the spinning microwave.

! - it’s safe to say the soulless house took a toll on him. everyday he dreaded going home, which is funny cause he couldve said the same thing before he realized how important you were. his friends who were tired of seeing him so lifeless decided to invite him to go to the bar to hang out…he wasnt much fun there either. that was until he caught a glimpse of you from the reflection of his empty shot glass. his eyes light up and he turns around to make eye contact with you. .

L.RIWOO ; trust issues.

! - you understood where riwoo was coming from, you knew that trust issues are normal , but it got to a point where his trust issues started to make you question him.

! - and it didnt help that each time you did try to reassure him that it somehow made it worse. “ri, of course im going to stay late, my boss asked me too. you have my location, i send you photos of me working, what else do you want?” maybe your approach wasnt the best but the way he snapped was when you knew no matter how much you tried to protect both you and his peace, he will try to tear it down again. “oh, so now your getting defensive. i shouldve known, especially from you.” he said it with no remorse or thought behind it. and to him he thought he was winning this argument but in reality he was going to make the biggest loss of his life.

! - it took him 5 hours to realize he messed up. when you left and packed your things he thought you’d run back and it’ll make him feel better about himself. but after 4 hours it was already 3 am and he realized maybe…you wouldnt come back as soon as he thought. but that last hour before he realized he messed up, he had a dream of you and him. you two were living that exact moment, before you left. you standing pacing back and forth as he sat on the couch. except this time, he talks to you about why he thinks the way he thinks and vows to do better. in that dream he sleeps with you in his arms. when he woke up he stared at the ceiling, and it was like it was talking to him. thats when he realized you werent coming back. you wont be in his arms again, you wont tell him about your day, and you wont constantly tired of arguing with him because of his doubts.

! - after trapping himself in his house and thoughts he decided to go on a walk, but to his suprise once he opens the door you stand there staring at him with a box of his things in your hands. his mouth goes dry

M. JAEHYUN ; girl bestfriend

! - you were the never the type of partner to care too much about the opposite gender best friends as you were very secure in your relationship, but in this case it wasnt him but rather her. you knew from the moment she laid her eyes on you she was no good. but you decided to give her the benefit of the doubt as this was jaehyuns childhood bestfriend, and if you didnt like her you could at least pretend for your boyfriends sake.

! - you were always calm and reserved around jaehyun and his bestfriend even on those dsys you wanted to push her off him. but today it was like a flip switched. you walked home soaked from the rain after not being to reach your boyfriend to pick you up. you get it he’s busy, but your blood boiled when you saw both of them sitting on the couch peacefully. she looked up at you and grinned as jaehyun ran up to you worried. “jaehyun lets talk in our room please” you simply asked. he followed you to you and his shared room with a towel drying you off as you spoke. “i really hate to do this to you but its either me or her.” he paused his movements of drying your hair “you know i cant do that. ive known her for so long do you not trust me?” he said defensive. “i dont trust her” you said blandly, he stared at you and started lecturing you on how his bestfriend gave you no reason to not trust her. you didnt argue back, you were too tired for it you just said “she likes you jaehyun”. he paused and continued lecturing you about how thats ridiculous. you shake your head and pack your things “clearly i know your answer.” he continues on and on on how youre being ridiculous. once you leave the door he puts his hand in his face.

! - it took him like 5 minutes to realize he messed up (bye.) his friend came into your room and sat down by him as he listened to him rant. “you know…” she said slowly “y/n’s not wrong” his ears perked up at that “ive always liked you jaehyun, your just too silly to realize.” he freezes at her words, feeling his blood run cold he feels her fingers on his chin and her leaning in. he backs up and kicks her out despite her protest. once he locked the door and is left in the empty haunting house alone he scrambles for his phone. after finding it he opens it to all your messages asking if he can pick you up. it made him nauseous at the thought he left you alone and cold for his ‘friend’ that was the cause of your breakup. he calls you to which you dont answer, he starts panicking at this point and paces in the house as he mass text and call you just wanting a answer. he pauses in front of him at the only room he hasnt stepped room in since pacing. your bedroom. he walks in and lays down only to be reminded of your scent when he lifts the blankets over his head. thats when he starts crying and realized you weren’t there to hold him like you normally did

! - he didnt have his safe space anymore.

H. TAESAN ; distant

! - you hated to admit it but one of the things that drew you into taesan was the thing that made you end things. his cold demeanor was what made everyone so curious about him, fortunately or unfortunately you were the one he picked to be into his very small circle to which you became his partner. during this you learned he loved his alone time which you were fine with, what threw you off was the way he signaled to you he wanted to be alone. he would ignore you in public and not reply to your messages as if you didnt know each other. you were okay with it at first since you loved your strange boyfriend but after a while you grew tired of it. tired of breaking down his walls and when you finally feel accepted by him only to be shut out again

! - and clearly it was a mistake bringing it up to him because it lead him to being the loudest you ever heard him, arguing back and forth. “i dont get why you just have to pretend you don’t know me. im fine with you needing your alone space but why do you have to act like you hate me?”

“im starting to if thats how your gonna react to me needing my time every so often.”

you couldnt argue anymore, especially when he just admitted he was close to hating you for communicating your feelings. the room went quiet, taesan looks over his shoulder to see you staring at the ground before walking off. after that day you didnt text first or initiate anything to see if he would, unfortunately to you. he didnt.

! - it took him about a month to realize he messed up (sorry taesan lovers:c). but dont get me wrong, its not like he went on with his life like normal. everyday it felt like he was missing something but he could never put his finger on this feeling so he just dismissed it. until one day by instinct he sat at your twos spot alone and your guys song started to play in his headphones. he was never one to communicate his feelings too well but that didnt mean he didnt care for you. he would dedicate songs to you and one just fit perfectly with you two. when the song played he looked around and realized where he was with what song was playing only to see something is missing

you.

and thats when it hit him, he didnt get his usual messages, his hugs, or his sneaky looks from you. he was alone, but wasnt this what he wanted?

he wanted to be alone right?

he loved it.

right?

he then realized

he loves you more then he loved being alone.

was it worth it to lose one thing you love more to prioritize the other?

K.LEEHAN ; too friendly

! - from the beginning you knew dating leehan came with a price. everyone wanted him. some more bold than others that would go up to him and ask him out even when he had a partner. his reaction to these admirers was a stranger then how a boyfriend would react to girls hitting on him. he’d entertain the girls in front for you just to see your reaction. you knew he loved seeing you jealous which was cute at first but after a while it got old. it started to make you doubt whether he really loved you or not. if the girls would compliment leehan he’d start asking for details, “oh yeah? how much do you like me?” “my arms are pretty strong arent they?” or he’d start teasing “calm down my partners infront of me, maybe later” to which the girls, including him would laugh as he looked over to see your fuming face.

! - but this one time, you couldnt take it anymore. if this is what dating someone admired upon was like, you wanted no part. it was like normal. girls would swarm around you and leehan and start flirting, but his one comment ticked you off. “yeah of course we can hangout, im sure my partner wont mind” he winked, he looks over at you expecting to see your puffy angry face but is met with you leaving the table. he follows behind you calling for you. when he finally catches up to you thats when you spew everything youve been feeling. “i can understand if your admired i get it your handsome! but your taken and you should know that, no normal boyfriend flirts back with girls who flirt with him. i have to deal with this closing feeling in my throat and chest all because you want a little enjoyment for your day and im done.” he looked at you confused with a hint of being offended. “youre overreacting yn.” he said before being cut off with you walking away.

! - he realized he messed up 6 days later. its not like he didnt care, but he was in his state of mind that youll run back like any of his fangirls would. during those days he continued to flirt back with them now that his flock was much bigger now that he was single. but this time he flirted back much less enthusiastic as he would before, because he had no reason to, no reaction, no partner to coddle after. he now felt sick with the thought of flirting with anyone to start dating if it wasnt you. he got up from the table to which he recieved a bunch of whines and pleads to stay. he just needed fresh air. he continued walking around campus until he heard a familiar laugh. he turned his head over and seen you with another person, laughing and getting all close like you and him use too. now staring from afar he understood what you meant. he felt his chest and throat closing at the thought sight of you reliving what you and him would do with someone that wasnt him. and his words replay in his mind

“you’re overreacting yn”

“your overreacting”

“overreacting”

in fact you were not overreacting but he knew he had no right to be jealous, when his urge for you to be jealous tore you two apart.

he was on the verge of spilling his guts and you looked happy. not angry, and thats what you deserved

K. WOONHAK ; always mad at you

! - woonhak has always been very open about his anger issues and you knew that. he was just a teen living his first life and you acknowledged that. on certain days he would hold grudges against you and not tell you why he was angry, leaving you alone to figure out and trace back to see what you had done. and it was always something small like giving him only 2 hugs instead of 3 for morning, afternoon, and night. and forbid you try to get him to communicate why he is mad at you. he’ll turn into a big angry ball yelling at every reason he should be mad

! - this one day you were so tired from school. you just wanted to walk home with your boyfriend and hopefully cuddle at home. but he wasnt waiting for you outside your class, instead you already saw him walking out of the school. catching up to him you say hi and start asking him about his day to which you recieve a mean face ignoring you. deciding to avoid that you talked about your day to which he paid no attention to. thats when you snapped “hey im talking to you!” no reply “why do you always do this, you just get mad at me and expect me to read your mind!” he turned over to you and yelled back “i dont know why you can never just think, is it that hard to realize what you did?” “no i cant read your mind woonhak!”. he just turned away and started to walk “woonhak if you keep walking were over!” he paused, to which you hoped he’d come to his senses but he kept walking

! - he realized he messed up 1 days after. day 1, he completely forgot about the night before as it was so normal for him to go back to not being mad at you when he felt like it. when you didnt walk to school with him he decided that was his reasoning for being mad you today. and when you didnt run up to him or walk up to him after school to walk together he started to be a bit confused. here is when youd start to cave but as he walked home he retraced his memory with each step and remembered what you had said when he was being petty.

‘ “woonhak if you keep walking were over!” ‘

he just kept walking, and now you werent his to walk anymore.

“is it so wrong of me to hope she breaks your heart, is it so wrong for me to pray she tears you apart?”

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allfearstofallto · 5 months ago

Text

I like writing Yandere Scaramouche as someone with a lot of rules because I like to think about how he enforced said rules.

Getting you to call him "my lord" instead of any other name you'd referred to him by was his first course of action. Scaramouche was already a man wound tight like a string about to snap, he believed that he only had to tell you once to get something done. Anything after that would result in a punishment of some form.

But Scaramouche has a soft spot in his heart for you. He does want you around after all. So when he comes to you that first day, when your big eyes are looking around your bedroom scared and shaking, but somehow still managing to shoot a glare at him, he smirks. You're like a little dog, you could bite any second, but you'd look so cute while doing it. Therefore, he decides to train you like a dog.

"Outside of this bedroom, you will only refer to me as 'my lord.' Understood?" this was your one and only time being told, and despite the fact that you scoffed and begged to go home instead of listening to what he said, he knew you'd think on his words eventually.

The next day you were free to roam his manor. You were mostly looking for your escape, testing doors and windows to see if maybe there was a way out, but your arrival was planned for many months before, even if he had less time to prepare the house for you, there wouldn't be an escape.

With his arms crossed, he watched as you tried to open the door to the back garden, locked of course. Even if you did manage to get out, eight armed guards were placed all through out the area, with orders of capture not kill in regards to you. You'd be dragged back before you even had a taste of freedom. But he didn't tell you that.

"You didn't eat today," he stated plainly. Your first meal in his home and you didn't even take a single bite of it. Even he, who did not need food to survive, didn't enjoy watching such a lavish dish go to the trash.

"You must think I'm stupid, Scaramouche-" your little huff of rude words was stopped in its track by his fingers hitting your lips. Your attitude was another issue he'd need to work on, but he wanted to fix one problem at a time.

It didn't hurt, the way the back of his hand met your mouth. Didn't even sting a little. It just felt demeaning. Like you were an animal being scolded and not a person. He did this every time you opened your mouth to call him anything, but his preferred title, and when you spewed profanities at him, he tap your lips a bit harder.

With a huff, you finally decided to call him, "My lord" after many disrespectful taps against your lips spanning over many days. Annoyance finally made you to decide to allow him to win this one, much to your dismay and his pleasure. Your reward for doing as you were told was a gift of sweets and confections, a treat you weren't given because of his vocal distate for such things.

You ate them with your arms crossed and your eyebrows knitted, glaring at him as he watched you eat. That little attitude of yours was going to be the next to go.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #yandere imagines

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aventurineswife · 6 days ago

Note

hear me out!

Reader was in a relationship with aventurine and Dr. Ratio, BUT! It was like Aventurine and Rayio liked eachother more than they liked the reader!

You following along?

Good! Cause I'm not done!

THEN! Reader goes to bar gets a little tipsy (read as drunk) and ends up venting their sadness and frustration to kind strangers willing to listen! (Aka Argenti and Boothill!) Things end up almost getting, suggestive to say the least before reader ends up stopping any more advances and leaves, little does reader know that her encounter with Argenti and Boothill would leave them desperate for more...

(Basicaly Yandere poly Argenti and Boothill x Reader)

And, this is just something else I wanted to say but what if Aventurine and Ratio notice reader kinda drifting away, ad they notice that reader is starting to make more friends and reader starts trying to spend less time with them? Maybe somehow they findout Argenti and Boothill are obsessed with reader? I see Aventurine and Dr. Ratio being possessive of things or people they consider "theirs" and slowly they start becoming as obsessive as Boothill and Argenti and now reader has 2 couples vying for her attention!

( I totally understand if this is to much or confusing!)

“I Wanna Make You Mine”

Summary: You are in a relationship with Aventurine and Ratio, but you began to feel like an afterthought as your partners’ interest in each other overshadows your bond. One night, seeking solace and a brief escape from your lonely frustrations, you meet two enigmatic strangers at a bar—Argenti and Boothill. Both quickly become captivated by you, their admiration bordering on obsession. You find yourself ensnared in a dangerous game of affection and desire, with each group willing to do whatever it takes to win your undivided attention. The question is; Who are you going to be choosing?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Ratio, Argenti x Reader x Boothill, Polyamory, Not really a love triangle since you pulled 4 men/Love pentagon, Jealousy & Possessiveness, Yandere Themes, Slow Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Longing, Light Drunkenness, Obsessive Behaviour, Emotional Tension, Emotional Angst, Slight Cheating Behaviour.

Warnings: Possessive and Obsessive Behaviour, Light Alcohol Use, Yandere Themes, Emotional Distress, Do not try this at home or think this is cute and all. This is fictional.

A/N: I'M DEFINITELY HEARING YOU & DON'T WORRY ANON I UNDERSTOOD YOUR REQ!! 🤭 THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR STUFFS LIKE POLYAMORY RELATIONSHIPS (SO DON'T COME AFTER ME IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG!!) AND YANDERE! 😪 I personally don't ship any characters in HSR but for the sake of this fic, they're being shipped.

In the dim glow of a hazy bar, the soft clinking of glasses and murmurs filled the air as you downed your third drink. The evening had started with only a desire to escape the gnawing ache that Aventurine and Ratio had unwittingly left in your heart. For so long, you had been the third in your relationship, watching the connection between them bloom far more intensely than their affection for you. It was hard to pinpoint when exactly you began to feel this way, but tonight, the loneliness finally hit.

You sighed, stirring your drink absentmindedly, lost in thought until a warm voice cut through the fog of your mind.

“Are you alright?” Looking up, you were met with the striking gaze of a man with fiery red hair and green eyes that sparkled with curiosity and concern.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine...” you muttered, masking your sadness with a weak smile. But even before the words left your mouth, you knew they were unconvincing.

“Ah, doesn’t look like it to me.” drawled another voice from beside you. Turning, you found yourself facing a man who looked like he walked straight out of a rugged holo-western. He had a silver gleam in his eye and a smirk that promised trouble, yet there was something comforting in his casual demeanor.

They introduced themselves—Argenti, the knightly-looking redhead, and Boothill, the roguish gunslinger. They struck an odd pair, yet somehow, they both seemed genuinely concerned. That genuine concern, however small, was enough to tug open the lock on the emotions you’d been bottling up.

“I just feel like… no matter how much I try, I’m always a shadow between them,” you confessed, the alcohol loosening your words. “It’s like I’m just… there. I know they love me, but sometimes, it feels like they’re happier with each other.”

Argenti’s gaze softened as he leaned closer, his voice rich and sincere. “A soul like yours deserves to be cherished, never neglected,” he said, his tone filled with a quiet reverence. “I see a light in you, something so rare and beautiful. Anyone who fails to treasure it is unworthy of your heart.”

Boothill leaned in with a sly grin, his eyes flickering with something darker. “If they can’t see what they have, then maybe you’re wastin’ your time on ‘em.”

The warmth of their words and the way they leaned closer, as if drawn to you, sent a flutter through your heart. It had been so long since anyone looked at you like that—with full, unbridled interest.

His hand moved gently to the small of your back, his touch radiating warmth. “Allow us to show you what it means to be honored—to be loved without restraint.”

His words lingered in the air, weighted with a knightly promise. You felt your pulse quicken at his sincerity, yet even through the comfort of his presence, something held you back.

The heat in his touch and Boothill’s gaze made your heart pound faster, and for a dizzying moment, you felt tempted. But, catching yourself, you pulled back, gathering the scraps of your resolve. “I… I can’t. Not like this,” you stammered, stumbling up from the table. “Thanks, but… I need some air.”

You barely noticed their longing stares as you left, desperate to clear your mind, unaware of the yearning spark you had ignited in both men.

Days passed, and you tried to shake off that night. But a strange unease began settling over you. Everywhere you went, you could feel eyes on you. Argenti’s soft, almost reverent gaze in places he couldn’t possibly be; Boothill’s devilish grin, catching you in your peripheral vision even when he wasn’t there. As if they were everywhere, waiting.

The more you found yourself in their orbit, the more their obsession seemed to grow. Argenti, once chivalrous, was now desperate for every glance, every smile you gave. Boothill, once a lighthearted scoundrel, grew possessive, his words laced with dark promises of keeping you safe… from anyone who dared come between you.

Your time with Aventurine and Ratio was no longer as comforting as it once was, either. They sensed the shift in you. Aventurine’s charming smile had faded into something sharp, his eyes assessing as he caught sight of Argenti and Boothill’s names in your messages. Ratio’s typical aloofness twisted into jealousy, his usual intellectual grace tempered by a fiercer intensity.

One evening, as you arrived home, you found Aventurine and Ratio waiting. Ratio was seated calmly, but his piercing gaze was anything but passive. Aventurine leaned casually against the wall, his fingers twitching as if he longed to reach out to you—or hold onto you, tightly.

“We’ve been worried.” Aventurine said with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Ratio inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me, have you… made some new friends?”

The question caught you off guard, and you stammered out a response. But their knowing expressions only confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in both of them.

That night, they wouldn’t let you go. Aventurine’s once-teasing nature had turned possessive, his charming smile a mask for the tension simmering beneath. Ratio was no different, wrapping his arm around you, his touch firmer than usual, as if reminding you that you belonged to them. They held you close, more than ever before, but their embrace now felt like a cage, one you couldn’t escape.

And just as you thought you had nowhere to turn, there came a knock on the door. The sound was calm, persistent, carrying a strange sense of finality.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was. The question that burned in your mind wasn’t if it was Argenti and Boothill waiting outside. It was what they would do now that they had come for you. And with Aventurine and Ratio on the other side, waiting to stake their claim, you realized you were caught in a game where escape might be impossible.

The question was: who would be the first to make their move?

Don't ask for part 2 lmaoo��

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revehae · 9 months ago

Text

undone

pairing ↠ enemy!jeno x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, enemies au, unprotected sex, choking, smacking, degradation

summary ↠ ever since the two of you could walk, you and lee jeno have had it out for each other. you think that there's a chance he's finally matured and gotten over his inexplicable loathing for you, but when you encounter him after a football game, you finally learn the truth about why jeno doesn't like you.

wc ↠ 4.1k

a/n ↠ part 4/5 of the college-capades series!

don’t like it, don’t read.

just like any other friday night, you were prepared to go home, take a hot shower, and wind down with a video essay while munching on whatever snack you were currently fixated on.

guess what didn’t happen.

bitch, we should really go watch that football game tonight, your best friend said. it’ll be fun, she said.

though you desperately wanted to change out of the jeans that had grown uncomfortable after twelve hours of sporting them, your best friend, persuasive as ever, manipulated your sympathy with claims of all her other friends being busy and the most shiny, pleading eyes.

ultimately, you somehow agreed. your stubborn walls were broken when your best friend wanted something. you told her you would meet her there and hopped in your car, heaving a breath. curse you for being nice. to some people, anyways. sometimes you wished you hated her.

football games were just the last thing on your mind. three years of being a student at this university and you’d never come to a single game. it just wasn’t something you were interested in, especially when the star player was no other than lee jeno, your lifelong enemy.

the disdain you felt for jeno was inexplicable. ever since the sandbox, you just never got along. your family’s never understood the mutual reproach you had for each other and after a couple of dangerously unsuccessful attempts at a reconciliation throughout the years that almost ended with one or both of you in the hospital, they just accepted that you two didn’t like each other.

over the years though, it started to feel more and more one-sided. jeno didn’t go out of his way to get on your nerves anymore. but it makes sense, you thought. we’re grown. it’s a good thing he’s kind of mature. you didn’t disturb him either, rather going out of your way to avoid him whenever you could.

so tonight was just one big slap in the face. almost like it was the universe’s way of telling you to go fuck yourself.

and afterwards, you were positive that you would never be seen at one of these events ever again. sure, your campus football team was everything to brag about if you were a hardcore sports fan that gave a damn, but it was definitely not worth the girls loud cheers that irked your ears when jeno scored the winning touchdown. it was not worth the hollering when his team hoisted him into the air in celebration. that, or you just did not like to see jeno happy at times when you felt borderline miserable.

so three hours later, plus the time it took for you and your friend to do some mandatory socializing with familiar faces, you bid her goodbye and tried to locate your car. given that you were definitely not the first to show up and your school was pretty popular, you didn’t find an available park in the lot.

“hey, wait up,” came a way too familiar voice from behind you.

you barely turned your head, not really having to, but your brows furrowed. why on god’s green earth was lee jeno following you? and in a change of clothes too. jesus christ, i’ve been here way too long.

“not happening,” you hissed irritably. you just wanted to go home.

“fine, i’ll just follow you then.”

you ignored him, not thinking he would genuinely follow you but when you still heard footsteps when you planted your feet in front of your car, you realized you’d definitely underestimated jeno’s weirdness.

still not turning around, you searched your purse for your keys and asked, “you do realize how creepy this is, right?”

jeno shrugged, not that you could see. “well, your idea of a good idea is walking alone in the middle of the night. anybody far more creepy than me could take advantage of an off-guard woman digging around in her purse.”

you scoffed, “i was only digging for a second.”

“that’s all it takes.”

not wanting to admit that he was right, you spun on your heels and snapped, “what do you really want, jeno?”

jeno grinned. “to talk.”

“to talk?”

“yeah,” jeno said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “i mean, first, i couldn’t let you walk by yourself. just in case somebody got to you.” somebody other than me.

you droned, “oh, wow. i guess i should be so grateful a big, strong guy like lee jeno followed me to my car. should i say ‘thanks?’”

“it wouldn’t hurt.”

“go fuck yourself,” you retorted.

jeno threw his hands up in defense. “like i said, i just wanted to talk.”

you rolled your eyes. god, you couldn’t believe you were entertaining this guy’s bullshit when you could be on the way home already. even better, you could run him over with your car. “jeno, i don’t like you. we have nothing to discuss.”

ignoring your balking, jeno continued, “i couldn’t help but notice your resting bitch face while watching the game.”

your voice was dripping with the bitter taste of irony, “wow, a stadium full of girls and you noticed me? i could almost faint.”

jeno snickered. “you’re funny.”

something is definitely up, you couldn’t help but assume. this was the longest conversation you’d had with jeno in… ever.

jeno crept closer, asking, “did you like the game?”

“my resting bitch face doesn’t speak volumes?”

“oh, it certainly does,” jeno said with a chuckle. “but i wanted to hear it from your mouth.”

you leaned against your car, folding your arms. “if you want approval so badly, go find one of your screaming fangirls that are just dying to meet you. i’m sure you’d get tons of attention. maybe even a blowjob or two.”

jeno cocked a brow, but that sly fucking grin never vanished from his lips. pretty as they were. “jealous much?”

you looked like you wanted to gag and dry-heave all over the place. “oh, honey, please. i just think it’s… dramatic. bleeding my ears out because lee jeno sweated a ton and got his pants dirty - woo hoo! what will he do next?”

“sports are an art form. you wouldn’t get it…”

you cut him off with a wince, “oh, god. you sound exactly like the type of guy i do not want to piss off at a bar.”

jeno took that in stride, changing the topic, “do you have any plans for tonight?”

you spat, “why do you care?”

jeno shrugged his shoulders, almost like he was absolutely clueless. “just curious.”

“even if i do,” you started, exasperated. you had plans with your bed, if the sleepy haze in your eyes said nothing. “that’s none of your business because i hate you and you hate me. remember?”

“you hate me,” jeno corrected, stepping so close he was now directly in front of you. “i let that go in high school.”

you were quick to retort, “right, after you found out what a vagina was.”

jeno finally started to break, nearly closing the gap between your bodies. “you’re so mouthy, you know that?”

you swallowed, damping your throat. he towered over you a little. never in a million years did you want to show jeno any fear, though you weren’t certain of what was going on. “jeno, what are you doing?”

jeno ignored you. again. “holding onto resentment from when we were fucking kids just because you want to be a stubborn little bitch. do you even know why you hate me?”

you blinked. you were beyond confused.

“i heard you fucked mark. and jaemin. oh, and haechan,” jeno snarled, extending a hand down to your ass. “all on the football team.”

“that’s none of your goddamn business,” you hissed, trying to pry his hand away from you.

jeno snickered. that was bizarre and the most hilarious thing you’d said tonight. “babe, it’s the football team. it’s everybody’s goddamn business. word gets passed around quick through us. clearly, so do you.”

you recoiled, affronted. though you tried to wrestle from jeno’s arms, he was infinitely stronger than you, and that seemed to please him because he wasn’t finished.

“do you plan on sleeping with the entire team - is that it?” jeno pressed. “johnny’s gonna make it big one day. are you going to get him to get you pregnant? live off an nfl player’s child support checks?”

you shoved at his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. “are you actually this mad that i don’t want to sleep with you?”

“get in the car,” jeno hissed.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “what?”

irritated, jeno opened your car door and forced you into the backseat none too gently. you whimpered in pain, having hit your head on the roof, and jeno clambered in the back with you, shutting the door behind himself. you didn’t even get the chance to sit back up before he unceremoniously threw your purse somewhere in the front.

now, you were officially beginning to panic. you never thought he would go this far. fear seeped into your bloodstream as your self-preservation instincts kicked in, and you swung your legs, successfully kicking jeno in the groin.

you tried to open the door on your end while he grimaced in pain, but you were too slow, jeno dragging you back towards him by your legs and holding tightly onto them. he went to unbutton them, grumbling, “god, i can’t fucking stand you.”

“jeno, stop. i said stop!” you exclaimed, eyes widening. “i’ll tell your parents!”

“don’t tell me you really think my parents will believe you over me,” jeno scoffed at how ridiculous that statement sounded, just before mocking, “i hate you and you hate me. remember?”

“then, i’ll tell mine,” you snapped.

“so like you to run and tattle to mommy and daddy,” he sighed, now reaching for your panties. “all that will do is start a family vendetta. now, is that really what you want, babe?”

you frowned. it was like he planned this.

jeno wholeheartedly intended to show you who was the boss, barking, “answer me, bitch.”

“fuck you.”

obviously, jeno didn’t like that, grabbing your keys and smacking you across the nose with them. you groaned, wincing your eyes closed.

“i said, answer me,” jeno growled.

you stood your ground. “and i said ‘fuck you.’”

he slapped your keys against your nose again. your hands flew to your face, a hiss slipping out of your mouth when you touched your nose. though it felt broken, you knew that it was most likely just bruised. you fought the oncoming threat of tears, never letting them reveal themself as anything more than a shimmer in your eyes.

“you might want to reconsider. or else you’ll probably have to ask daddy to buy you a new nose,” jeno warned. “now, like i said, is that what you want?”

you shook your head.

“with your mouth. i’m not afraid to bruise that lip, either.”

“no,” you cried out, fire in your tone.

jeno smirked. “there you go. was that so hard, babe?”

“yes,” you muttered.

jeno laughed, tickled. almost like something was funny. your panties were now thrown aside and you sucked in vicious breath when his finger landed on your pussy, trying to remain strong. you knew that he wanted to see you fall apart. that was just something he always wanted.

but this was something more than that. it was darker than pushing you to the dirt at a playground or bumping into you too harshly in a hallway. this was brutal tenfold.

“i would never tell them anything,” jeno said, referring to his team, you assumed. he pushed his fingers up your cunt, much to your dismay. “nobody deserves to know. you’re all for me. just for me.”

knowing that his teammates obviously kissed and told made it harder for you to resist the tears you desperately wanted to let fall, because you felt so violated in so many different ways, but you didn’t succumb to the sting. you could take it. you would have to.

“i’m not yours. i never, ever, will be yours,” you said with an alarming amount of vitriol.

jeno pinched the inside of your thigh, making you jolt. “yes, you are. i fucking own you right now. you’re going to do whatever i want. my fucking toy.”

before you could even get any spiteful words out of your mouth, jeno slipped a hand up your shirt and pinched his fingers around your nipples, making you holler a sharp cry. you didn’t understand why he was acting so mean all of the sudden, though you guessed he’d just gotten better at repressing his reproach for you and stifling the need to inflict torment on you.

never in your life had you ever felt so helpless before. jeno was trying to break your resolve and you couldn’t let him, but with every blow to your willpower, he was getting closer and closer to winning. for a second, it occurred to you that that was all this ever was, and all he ever cared about. being able to say that you lost and he won.

and he really had you convinced for a second that maybe he wasn’t so terrible of a guy anymore.

jeno tugged at his pants and you started to fret, trying to crawl away, but to no avail. you should have never came here. you should have stood your ground and went home like you wanted, because you didn’t want this.

“calm down. you’ve had dick in you before,” jeno chided, removing his underwear next.

this was the first time in your life you’d ever been truly scared of jeno. any other day, no matter the situation, you’d faced him bravely. but this was beyond your expertise. “jeno, please. please don’t do this. i’m begging you!”

jeno snorted in amusement. he almost couldn’t believe that you were begging him for mercy. you, of all people. he knew there was more vulnerability where that came from and he was hell-bent on breaking it out of you.

the tears were finally trickling down, hot and thick as they dampened your cheeks. “please,” you whimpered, hating how desperate you sounded. “if you let me go, i won’t tell anyone, i promise.”

“that’s cute,” jeno chirped. “not really tempting, but cute.”

you slumped in defeat. there was no getting to him. he was dead-set on sweet revenge for whatever perceived wrongdoings of yours that had wounded his poor, fragile ego.

all jeno could think about was how hard he was, watching your bottom lip tremble and your figure paralyze with fear. he’d seen you cry a few times in his lifetime, mainly because of him and when you were younger, but this was the first time he’d seen genuine fear glimmer in those eyes of yours. and he was addicted to it already. you always tried to convince the universe that you were tougher than you really were, and he’d always been determined to uncover the weak, fragile girl you truly were. to show you that he was infinitely stronger than you.

it happened in a blink. jeno pounced on you, lining his dick up at your cunt, whispering in your ear that he was going to fucking destroy you. you sobbed harder when he finally pushed inside, deep. the burn of the stretch was agonizing and you were inclined to scream, but you in no way wanted to give jeno that pleasure.

“fuck. you should’ve never been such a goddamn cunt,” jeno hissed, sinking his fingers into your hips, fueled by the noises of anguish that parted your lips. “now i’ve gotta put you in your place.”

“asshole,” you said through gritted teeth.

jeno grabbed your hair roughly, swallowing the little whine that escaped you, and stared into your glistening eyes. he could see the hatred smoldering in them, but most importantly of all, he could see how weak he thought you were and thought it was nothing short of pathetic. “baby, you don’t even know how pitiful you look. i’d shut my mouth if i were you.”

you didn’t want to know. you could feel your mascara running down your face, already realizing that your makeup was ruined, but that was the last thing on your mind when jeno was forcing himself into you.

your pussy was so warm and tight around his cock, he couldn’t help but want to shove himself deeper and deeper. the fact that he was a making a mess out of you only turned him on even more, he wanted to engrave the image into his memory indefinitely, and he considered taking pictures just to save it but that would’ve been too incriminating.

he thought many despicable things about you, but you weren’t worth his future. matter of fact, you weren’t worth anything to jeno. not a dime or a spare nickel and the way he fucked you said that loud and clear.

jeno ranted, “this is all your fault, you know. you’re just so damn delicate and breakable.”

“you will never break me,” you barked, though your voice was weighed down by your grief.

jeno burst into laughter and the sound was physically sickening. “hate to break it to you, babe, but i already have.”

you couldn’t bare to look into his eyes anymore, casting your gaze anywhere else.

“wasn’t that hard,” jeno continued nonchalantly. “should’ve done it sooner. i mean, you might have got away if you weren’t such a mouthy little slut that needs to have the last word all the time. hiding your weakness under all those - fuck - witty remarks, but i’ve always seen who you really are. fragile.”

you shook your head. his words were ripping you open and you hated it with every fiber of your being. you didn’t want to cave. “no, i’m not!”

“yes, you are,” he snapped. “you’re a fragile little whore that talks a big game but can’t take what she deserves. admit it.”

“no,” you exclaimed.

jeno wrapped a hand around your throat, firm and strong and everything in between, and your eyes went wide when he impaired your ability to exhale. your hands went to his, trying to pry him off of your throat, but you would never be stronger than him. never be strong enough to fight back. “admit it, if you want to breathe.”

the room started to reel. maybe it was all the hits you’d taken, all of his aggression that you’d accidentally elicited, that made it even more unbearable than the lack of oxygen causing the lightheadness, but there was a fleeting second where you couldn’t feel, where it felt unreal and dream-like, and you detached yourself from the moment so jarringly that the pain dissipated. and then that second was over, and reality seemed to hit you tenfold.

his hands felt tighter around your throat. his body felt weightier on top of yours. his breath was louder than it seemed before, and the flickering heat of loathing torched by his irises burned hard enough that you couldn’t even cry if you wanted to. it was just a silent agony. a cry of distress with parted lips, but no sound.

and when the lights felt like they were flickering, even though in reality there were almost none at all, just a distant street light stationed some feet away from your car, you accepted that you lacked the arsenal and power to win this battle, croaking with the last of your strength, “i… admit it.”

jeno’s grip on your throat slackened, though he didn’t let go. “you admit what?”

“i’m weak,” you confessed in a whisper, throat sore from his brutal touch. you wondered to yourself if he had crushed something or if the pain just felt more intensified in the moment. “i can’t hack it.”

“you never could,” jeno added, finally releasing your throat.

finally, you could breathe again, but your next breath was the most painful of your entire life.

when jeno spread your legs apart a little more, uncomfortably so, you whined, but you noticeably lacked the backbone to fight it. you just took what he had to spare, lying against the leather seat as the metal seat belt marked your skin and jeno’s body rocked you back against it from his movements. it was the least hurtful thing you were feeling.

mustering one last breath of fight, you whispered with all the venom you could summon, “i hate your guts.”

“i’m kind of loving yours right now,” jeno quipped, slapping your cunt as if to emphasize that statement.

every second started to bleed into each other, no more or less excruciating than the last. you gave up on fighting. no matter how hard you tried, it only resulted in jeno taking advantage of your weakness, smacking you across the face or dragging his nails across your skin. you knew your body was covered in marks, you could feel the ache, prickling everywhere.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” jeno hissed, running his hands up your shirt.

that much was obvious. his movements, though they had never not been careless, grew more erratic and rhythmless. quicker, shallower, even, but harder.

you set your fingers at his biceps, begging, “jeno, please don’t cum inside me.”

jeno scoffed. “of course not. you don’t deserve that much of me.”

all that you could do was sigh. as if you wanted to be pregnant with his baby anyways. you physically recoiled at the thought.

jeno pulled out of your cunt, and you were relieved for a second, until he rotated you until your face was towards his cock and instructed, “open.”

parting your lips, you sucked his cock into your mouth, knowing you would regret it if you didn’t. you already felt broken enough. if you weren’t careful, he might’ve fucked around and killed you. hell, he almost did.

“you’re so much prettier when you’re being a good girl instead of running that useless mouth,” jeno commented.

grabbing a fistful of your hair, jeno controlled your movements, using your mouth until he came in your mouth, grunting, “swallow.”

you tried your best, you really did, but you didn’t think he would cum so much, and so hard. there was an unsparing smack of his hips against your face as he fucked your throat until, at last, he came with a ravenous growl. you couldn’t help what slipped out of your mouth and drizzled down your chin, onto the leather seat. your leather seat.

still, jeno didn’t let go, roughly lowering your head to the seat. “eat my fucking cum.”

there was no way in hell that you wanted to, your stomach churned at the mere thought of doing such a despicable thing although you had practically swallowed most of his cum already, but it felt physically degrading to lick his cum off the seat of your own fucking car. his hold didn’t slacken until every spot was gone, and you slumped backwards onto the chair, facing the roof.

there was a kind of emptiness scraping your chest that was like nothing you had ever felt before. it was despair, yes, but to such an extent that it felt like nothing. and then it was so much of nothing that it throbbed and ached right there in your heart, and mind. probably your soul too. your entire being felt frozen, rigid. so cold that it burned.

this is what it meant to be broken, you would’ve thought, if you could think. though since you could not, all you really did was lie there, a misty haze in your soulless eyes as your hands were slumped at your sides. had not your chest been heaving like raging waters, jeno would’ve thought you weren’t even alive.

and really, truly, you guessed that was what he wanted. he didn’t want you dead, not literally, maybe. but to make you feel so deprived of everything that gave you dignity that life itself was lifeless.

“i think i’ll take these,” jeno said, holding up your panties to the air like they were a flag of some kind. “you know, as my reward.” for breaking you.

you said nothing. after everything else he had just taken from you, ripped from your very hands like it was nothing, you couldn’t be bothered to care about something so replaceable. you wanted your pride back. you wanted your dignity back. but he stripped you bare of everything, all of your strength and will, all of the fire inside your body that kept you alive.

he would never know what that felt like. in the time that he spent making a point, you’d lost your sense of self and direction.

and jeno just slipped back on his clothes like nothing ever happened, sneaking away like a thief in the night, without a goodbye as he left you there to fend for yourself in the chaos that he’d created.

and he did it all with a satisfied smile on his face.

#lee jeno smut #nct dream smut #jeno smut #nct dream hard hours #nct smut #nct hard hours #tw: noncon #revehae fics

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