#A promise he didn’t need to make but one he wanted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perdidosbucky-yyo · 2 days ago

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I apologize in advance for the person this fic turned me into 😮‍💨😍😩

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.

THE SEXUAL TENSION IS PALPABLE and Bucky is so charming 🤭

Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.�� He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

I-

God damn he is just yummy and so protective 🥹🥵

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused

“What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,”

“You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you.

This made me feel bubbly and warm 🤭 I would be constantly blushing next to that man

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response.

In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck.

👁️👄👁️ I want this energy I need it, I love the way you write

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you.

JUST WHEN THINGS CAN'T GET ANY HOTTER WE GET THIS FLUFFY MOMENT I LOVE IT😭

He is so needy and precious and he knows what he wants and I love it I love it I love it

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance.

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come.

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him.

There was no denying he most certainly had been.

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors.

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself.

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it.

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you.

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight.

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you.

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance.

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways.

Not that you would object if it did.

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much.

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky.

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time.

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account.

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night.

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you.

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions.

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help.

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you.

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for.

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to.

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad.

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him.

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse.

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you.

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend.

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is.

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you.

Bucky does not look pleased.

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?”

“Like in the way only I should be.”

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down.

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go.

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never.

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup.

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation.

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it.

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it.

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two.

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came.

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch.

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from.

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor.

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today.

“That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial.

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial.

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace.

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club.

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body.

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood.

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room.

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more.

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky.

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of.

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends.

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache.

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out.

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of.

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control.

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness.

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?”

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor.

The throbbing between your legs agrees.

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you.

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for.

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway.

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded.

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two.

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch.

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension.

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall.

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute.

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding.

“Are they hurting you?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake.

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.”

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh.

You honestly forget how to breathe.

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him.

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other.

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh.

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties.

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip.

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness.

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left.

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more.

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy.

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you.

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble.

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours?

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you.

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact.

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams.

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support.

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more.

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves.

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done.

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.”

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release.

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom.

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth.

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features.

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—”

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I��m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders.

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged.

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it.

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet.

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him?

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent.

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant.

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them.

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again.

You were in the same boat.

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in.

#carrot's fic recs

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no-144444 · 10 hours ago

Text

playing favourites- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

part one | part two | part three | part four |

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It wasn’t exactly your plan to have a DNF on your first race but, thus the joys of a backmarker team. Zak had promised you, sworn even, that McLaren would be up there, fighting with Ferrari and RedBull. He’d told you that leaving RedBull would be worth it. Now, you were getting beaten by a fucking VCarb, the seat you could’ve had. You stalked over to Oscar once you got out of the car.

“Care to fucking explain?” you scoffed. He looked at you, unimpressed.

“It was an error with the steering wheel,” he shrugged. “Nothing you, or I, could’ve done.”

You sighed. “Of course not. Nothing anyone could’ve done, do you think the media will take that? Do you think this won’t mark my fucking career?! Oscar I need you to understand-”

“Stop shouting at him, it wasn’t his fault,” Zak demanded.

“Exactly, it’s yours. Make your car drivable,” you said before walking away.

It was your reputation on the line, your career, your life. You’d worked to be in Formula One your entire life, you were the first woman in years. You didn’t have the option of ‘just having a bad race’. You had to impress every single time, or else you’d be ridiculed. You knew what you’d see online tonight. You knew what people would say. You knew what questions you’d get from reporters. You knew it all. You’d done the song and dance a million times before, and you weren’t interested in doing it again.

“SO, WHAT HAPPENED?” “YOUR FANS ARE DEMANDING ANSWERS?” “WAS THIS AN ACTUAL FAILURE OF THE CAR, OR JUST THE DRIVER?” “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO YOUR RACE ENGINEER AFTER?” “DO YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR RACE?” “WHAT DO YOU SAY ABOUT PEOPLE’S OPINIONS ON YOUR DRIVING AFTER TODAY?” “SHOULD YOU HAVE STAYED AT REDBULL?”

“ARE YOU EVEN A GOOD DRIVER?”

Walking out of the media pen, you had your head hung low and a blank expression. Every single reporter wanted to talk to you. Every question was more and more degrading, and you just felt empty by the end of it. Megan, your press officer, left you in the hallway of the motorhome and you leant against it and sighed.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

In recent months you’d been questioning whether or not any of this was worth it. Every single weekend of your career had been a step towards gender equality, you were the poster-girl for being a good driver, but it was always just not enough. You’d left RedBull because of it. You realised they’d never give you a seat and just continue to use you as a diversity hire. It hurt though, that had been your home for years. You’d always been a RedBull driver, since you were in karting. The whole lead up to your first race was months and months of questions, everyone wondering if you could finally show everyone that women deserved seats in F1.

And you’d just fucked it up.

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d started crying until you felt them on your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, but it wasn’t quick enough to fool Oscar. He frowned as he looked at you, walking towards you. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t fucking pity me,” you scoffed. “Come on, we have to debrief,” you said, walking into the boardroom.

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“Oscar, when am I pitting?” you shouted, hoping he would finally fucking answer you.

“I’m not sure yet, give me a moment Y/n-”

“Y’know it’s really fucking impressive how we finally get in the points and now I’m getting fucking undercut because you’re not fucking ready Oscar, this is ridiculous!” you shouted.

“Pitting next lap,” he said, neutral. It pissed you off how level-headed he was.

“Fuck off,” you muttered. You pitted next lap. You finished the race in P11.

Shit.

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“Fuck!” you shouted at Oscar, getting out of the car. “This is such fucking bullshit.”

“Y/n-” he started.

“Just fuck off,’ you sighed, pushing his hand off your arm. “That would’ve been our best finish! P5?! And then Lando turns into me?!”

He nodded. “Calm down,” he soothed. Your mood turned.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you ripped your arm back.

Lando DNFed. You DNFed. Shit.

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P15, another failure. At least you’d gotten higher than Lando, stuck down in P17. 5 races in and 0 points between the two of you? Fucking hell. You’d never scored so badly in your life. You walked over to the barrier, finding Oscar standing there.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “We’re so fucking slow.”

He nodded. “We’ll keep working.”

You nodded, but you felt that same nausea twisting your gut.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, somehow sensing it all. You shook your head.

He stared at you a second longer, then took your answer, despite the way he sensed your lie.

You two didn’t get along. He understood that. It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of your insane diet and work out regimen. He was completely aware of the way you blame yourself despite the car being the only issue. He watched you work yourself to the bone. He almost wished you would be a bit more arrogant, like Lando, he wished it fell off your shoulders as easily as it did his.

He couldn’t stand the media. The narrative they were pushing about you was ridiculous. You’d won every junior series, you’d waited your turn in RedBull, only to get kicked to the curb, you were good enough, but something told him you were starting to believe otherwise.

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“So what’s the issue?” Zak sighed, pacing the garage, starting one of his famous pep talks.

“Y/n,” a voice from the back muttered and everyone's heads snapped to you. It had been one of the mechanics who had preferred Carlos, but you just shrugged. A few chuckles were heard, one of them coming from Lando himself, and you just continued what you were doing, staring off into space.

“It’s the car we built,” Zak answered his own question, trying to do damage control.

“She’s not exactly Hamilton,” Lando said, a little bit too loud, as he joked with his engineer.

“She’s consistently placed in front of you in the same car,” Oscar pointed out, his voice neutral. “The only reason she DNFed in Saudi Arabia was because you turned into her. Also, you haven’t gotten any points.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” He chuckled, making the garage laugh. You rolled your eyes, getting up and walking off. “Is she fucking PMSing?”

Oscar’s blood boiled at the way his co-workers laughed at that, at you. You didn’t deserve this shit from Lando, from anyone. Oscar went after you. He stopped right outside your driver’s room.

“I don’t know what to do.

He heard your voice, thick with emotion.

“You’re not working hard enough, look at Lando. You have to pay your dues here, it’s how McLaren works. Go for a run and clear your head.”

“I’m exhausted-”

“I’m not asking.”

He stepped back, letting the door swing open. You stared back at him with wide eyes. “Run?” he offered.

“She should go on her own-”

“Yeah, sure,” you shrugged.

You didn’t like Oscar, but it was better than going alone.

“What’s Richards’s problem?” he asked as you two ran the streets of Miami in the pitch black of the night. Richard was your trainer.

“He’s just a bit of a pushover,” you shrugged. “He’s making me better.”

“He’s making you train more, relax less, and eat less,” Oscar pointed out. “Is that better?”

“So you’re a health expert now?” you scoffed. “The gaul of you, to always assume that you know better than someone just because you can. It is fucking insane how much of an ego everyone here has.”

“Maybe you should get one,” he scoffed.

“An ego? No thanks.”

“No, a backbone,” Oscar said. “You can’t let Lando walk all over you, he’s without.”

“Without what?”

He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” you continued. “Explain.”

Oscar smirked. “Talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so strange.”

And off you went, running again.

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P4, finally a good result, finally a result worth all the struggle, all the shit, everything.

But no one was at the barricade. None of your mechanics, no Zak, no one. Not even Oscar. You looked like a fucking idiot. Lando had DNFed. They were busy with him. McLaren was such a fucking boys club, and you didn’t fit in. You shook your head as you searched the barricade, not one familiar face to be had. Bullshit.

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You walked back into the motorhome after all of your media duties, and you scoffed when they let out a half-hearted cheer. No celebration for you, only sympathy for Lanod, who crashed because of his own reckless driving, Lando who was totally fine, Lando. You pretended it didn’t hurt. You’d been congratulated by everyone else, every other driver, especially Danny, Liam, Yuki, Max, and Checo. They all gave you the biggest hug, told you how well you were doing, and celebrated you. You wished you’d just stayed as their reserve driver. Maybe then you’d be something to someone.

You stumbled into your driver’s room and found a note on your table, beside it, your favourite chocolate bar.

Congratulations on your result, you deserve to be celebrated, but Lando sucks so we had to pretend that you aren’t incredible. I thought you’d enjoy something sweet, sorry we had to be the ones to leave the bitter taste in your mouth.

Osc.

You stared down at it for a moment. Oscar knew your favourite chocolate bar. Oscar explained himself and apologised. Oscar was there for you, even if it was just in spirit. Oscar wanted to celebrate you. He wished he didn’t have to leave you alone, standing in Parc Fermé with no one to congratulate you.

“Fuck you,” you said, to no one in particular. You were alone, as always. You crumbled up the note and threw it into the bin.

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When Oscar looked at his desk in MTC the next morning and found the same chocolate bar he’d spent 3 hours searching for, he frowned. McLaren was ruining you slowly. Your mental health was falling further and further away from ‘alright’, and he seemed to be the only one to notice it. He saw you out of the corner of his eye. “Y/n,” he called. “Come here.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to him. “What?”

“I don’t like these,” he shrugged. “You should take it, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t like them either,” you shrugged. “Go give it to Lando, since you’re his bitch now too.”

“I-”

“I don’t fucking care about where your loyalty lies, Oscar, but don’t play both sides. You picked one in Imola, so stick with it,” you seethed, hitting the bar out of his hand.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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daisymbin · 3 days ago

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43. "how could you think i didn’t care?"

reader and jeonghan arguing because she feels like he never takes her concerns seriously and he realizes how much he’s unintentionally been hurting her feelings

reading this, I can already feel the hurt :/ thank you for requesting!!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

angst prompt #43: "how could you think I didn't care?"

“you never take me seriously, jeonghan!” your voice cracks, and you hate how weak you sound.

jeonghan stares at you, his usual teasing smirk nowhere to be found. his brows furrow, lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out.

“all you do is laugh it off when i try to tell you how i feel,” you continue, your chest tightening with every word. “i’m always the one bending over backward to make sure you’re okay, but when it’s me—” you pause, swallowing hard. “when it’s me, you act like it’s nothing. like i’m nothing.”

his expression shifts, his jaw tightening. “that’s not fair,” he says, his tone low but firm.

“oh, it’s not fair?” you laugh bitterly, the sound foreign even to your own ears. “what’s not fair is how you always brush me off. i tell you i’m upset, and you crack a joke. i tell you i’m stressed, and you say, ‘don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’” your hands tremble as you clutch at your sides. “do you even care, jeonghan? do you even—”

“how could you think i didn’t care?” his voice cuts through yours, louder than you’ve ever heard him. it startles you, and for a moment, the room feels too small for the both of you.

your breath catches, and you finally look at him. his eyes glisten with something you can’t quite place—hurt, anger, regret.

“you think i don’t care because i don’t know how to handle it?” he steps closer, his voice softer now but no less intense. “do you know how hard it is for me to see you hurting? to feel so... useless because i can’t fix it for you?”

“then why—” you start, but he cuts you off again.

“because i thought if i could make you laugh, it would help.” his voice wavers, and he looks away, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “i didn’t know it made you feel like this. like i wasn’t listening. like i didn’t care.”

your heart aches at the raw emotion in his voice, but the hurt lingers, refusing to let you soften completely. “but you never said that, jeonghan. you never... let me see that side of you. all i saw was someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

his shoulders slump, and for the first time, he looks small—vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, the words heavy with sincerity. “i didn’t realize i was hurting you. i thought i was helping. i thought...” he exhales shakily. “i thought you knew how much you mean to me.”

silence stretches between you, broken only by the faint hum of the world outside.

“how could i?” you say softly, your voice trembling. “you never said it.”

he steps closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly before resting on your shoulder. his touch is warm, grounding. “then let me say it now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “you mean everything to me. you always have. and i’m sorry i didn’t show it the way you needed me to. i’m sorry i made you feel like you were alone in this.”

tears well in your eyes, and you hate how easily his words unravel you. “i just wanted to feel like i mattered to you,” you admit, your voice breaking.

his grip on your shoulder tightens ever so slightly. “you matter more than anything,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “and i’ll do better. i promise.”

you search his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is the boy you fell for—the boy who, despite his flaws, is trying his best to meet you halfway.

and for now, that’s enough.

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cutehoons02 · 2 days ago

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SPEED OR LOVE?

HYUNG LINE X F1 DRIVERS SERIES

*title: I’m in love an idiot

*trope: Grumpy for Sunshines

*F1 driver: Jay F1 Mercedes driver (inspo charachter: Carlos Sainz)

*synopsis: Being the daughter of the most famous engineer in the world for having won world champions like Hamilton or Vettel has advantages but a disadvantage is to hear about 24h on 24h from Jay Park. The new Mercedes star, with her gentle ways of communicating with fans and flirting with any girl in the paddock and with her look as a movie diva manages to make people do everything he says in a snap of fingers, except when he finds himself having to face the daughter of his engineer, super cynical and with a different idea than that is the real Jay during the European season of F1.

*title: Still hate me? Always..

*trope: Enemies to lovers/Social media manager

*F1 driver: Sunghoon F1 Red Bull driver (inspo charachter: Max Verstappen)

*synopsis: Sunghoon could not stand Y/n and Y/n could not stand Sunghoon. Y/n loved his work as a content creator for Red Bull because he could cheer on his favourite team and feel the adrenaline that was felt before qualifying or race and at the same time travel around the world and create fan content on various social platforms, but there was only one problem in his work and that was called Park Sunghoon "Ice prince" of the grid. Whenever Y/n tried to get some social challenge or interaction, Hoon hated it more and more because he didn’t need to have millions of followers or social interactions but just run and maybe taste for the first time the win of his first world champion in Red Bull.

*title: Kiss me, don't say no!

*trope: There's only one bed/reader is Jake's Pr

*F1 driver: Jake F1 Mclaren driver (inspo charachter: Lando Norris)

* synopsis: You thought being an F1 driver’s Pr was exhausting but you couldn’t imagine when you had to live three weekends in a row with Jake Sim, Jake represented everything that a Pr didn’t want to face in his career. Drama in his social media because Jake was born in GenZ and used social media without thinking that he was one of the most famous pilots of the moment, flirting with models or even worse fans during race weekends, duels and scenes with his teammate because the Mclaren had the unhealthy idea of putting two young promises of twenty years to command the team. Y/n would have wanted to kill him but under that cheeky face of F1 driver, Jake suffered from many insecurities and who knows thanks to his Pr things between the two could improve race after race.

*title: Romantic lover

*trope: Celebrity falss in love with fan

*F1 driver: Heeseung F1 Ferrari driver (inspo charachter: Charles Leclerc)

*synopsis: Heeseung loved the adrenaline and anxiety before having to risk everything to qualify for pole position or to win potter but those butterflies in his stomach every time he entered his fiery colored car had never heard them until a shy girl university did not win a content to spend a whole season writing the thesis on the post-pandemic boom thanks to the DTS series and various media platforms that have helped make this sport increasingly focused on young people. Y/n had always loved Heeseung from his arrival in Ferrari but would never be expected to share with him beautiful moments like his first victory at home moments as his continuous panic attacks due to an accident.

If your are interested in this story leave me your @ so that when i publish the story you will be first to trade. ♡

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poisonsage808 · 3 days ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie

Steb x Reader

warnings: set before and in season 2, language, angst, violence, police brutality

Judgement was a hard thing to shake. Topsiders were wealthy in their demeaning ideas of how the undercity worked. Fortunately, it often would work in your favor. They could say what they wanted about Zaunites, you took care of your own. Rumors and lies didn’t spread half as fast as a warning.

“Enforcers!”

Promises sacred down here too. Deals? Made to be broken, everyone knew that. Anyone could make a deal knowing full well that double crossings were a daily occurrence. Promises were special, though. Friends hooked their pinkies together in sincerity, a vow to uphold; while lovers whispered sacred oaths coated in devotion. A promise is a promise.

You should’ve known a topsider wouldn’t keep one.

Fuck, your lungs burned and itched like they were turning to cinders. You were on fire from the inside out, set ablaze when you couldn’t outrun the giant, moving, grey cloud that chased you. You could barely breathe inside of it, choking on the ashes of your lungs while your body tried to force them out.

You were staggering blindly on your hands and knees just trying to make it out of the death cloud alive. Another cough racked your body, desperate for air. Through your closed eyes you were blinded by white light. You fought against the hands that gripped you.

Swearing with a scratchy throat, you growled out, “Leave us alone!”

You heard your name, felt an obscenely gentle palm at your cheek and instantly knew who it belonged to. Behind that soulless mask was—

“Steb?” You croaked, peaking out of one bloodshot eye to no avail.

It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do something like this.

Not-Steb ripped off his mask and pressed it to your face. The hissing noise made you wince and pull away but the enforcer held it firm against you. Air— real air; not the poorly filtered kind that you were used to— rushed to your lungs. It was frightening, addictive. Something topsiders took for granted every waking day.

Barely clear headed, thoughts and questions began battling in your mind. Weakly, you wrapped your hand around Not-Steb’s wrist. The grey smoke was lingering in the distance but you’d been dragged just far enough that you could breathe again. Suddenly, you shoved the hand and mask away. You kicked back, hitting a wall that you used to get back on your feet. Blinking away the sting, you shook your head until your vision focused.

Your heart sunk.

“You’re…” Your brows stitched together in confusion and rising anger. “What’re you doing?”

Steb, the Steb that you loved and trusted, straightens at your accusatory tone. He blinks carefully, eyes darting all around as he tries to come up with an answer.

“I thought when you wanted to become a fucking bucket head, it was to help.”

You never minded that he was quiet, never made him talk when he didn’t want to. The two of you could sit in silence for hours. Sometimes the conversation would go on and on with only your voice filling the gaps, sometimes he felt like contributing more and you’d tease that he was being too chatty. He’d laugh, a sound you loved, and find a way to get back at you.

You and Steb found a way to communicate without words.

“How is this helping, Steb?”

However you needed a fucking answer for this.

Hurried footsteps rush towards you just when his lips part. A smaller enforcer, but an enforcer all the same. Orange whisps peak out from under the barrette and you can feel their glare underneath those haunting goggles. They point their gun at your nose, voice distorted from the mask.

“You got one!” They say, rather cheerfully, to Steb. To you, “Do you have information on the fugitive Jinx?”

You spat at their boots.

Steb’s eyes widen slightly, his brows tilting up. He’d never seen this side of you before. He’s never had to.

The enforcer turns their weapon and the butt of their gun comes crashing, aimed for your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, so you didn’t miss Steb throw his arm out to stop his colleague. There’s a moment of confusion, a struggle as he grabs their weapon and wrenches it away.

“What the hell, Riba!?”

“Yeah, what the hell.” You mock.

“That’s enough, Nolen!” Steb’s deep voice holds a bizarre sense of authority. You’re not used to seeing him this way either.

You’re almost jealous of the silent argument he shares with the enforcer, Nolen, until he pushes their gun into their chest. You smirk, feeling mildly satisfied at their walk of shame back into the grey but it falls the minute you find yourself back in Steb’s gaze.

“So that’s how it is, huh? Gas and beat the answers out of us?”

He reached for you quickly, desperate to tell you that wasn’t what was happening; it wasn’t what you thought it was; this was important. Something along those lines you were sure. Enforcers were predictable that way. And you knew if he managed to get ahold of you again, that you would melt into his touch and believe him because you so very badly wanted to.

“Why d’ya wanna be a bucket head anyways?”

Hopping off the last stone, you made it over the stream only to slip backwards. A hand shot out immediately and locked on your arm, yanking you to the rocky shore. You laughed but your friend didn’t. Steb’s vicious side eye was halfhearted but serious all the same.

“Yeah, yeah, you wanna help people. I didn’t forget! Jus’ think it’s stupid s’all. Never met one enforcer that wanted to help.”

Your heart constricts so tightly it brings tears to your eyes. Anger turns to mourning before you can stop it.

“We pretended as long as we could Stubby, but we can’t ignore it anymore.”

A familiar warmth encased your wrist, smaller sliding down until a smaller digit curled around your pinky. Your shoulder slumped upon contact. You knew when you turned around his ears would be flattened and his big, blue, crystal eyes, soft and pleading.

“Please,” he manages. His mouth open and shuts but he can’t summon any other words.

“Riba!”

You can see his ears flattening at the sound of returning footsteps, and more. Locking eyes with him, you make sure he knows what you can’t bring yourself to say. Steb winces as his name is shouted again, unable to tear his eyes from you. He’s scanning you like he’s trying to commit your face to memory, something he’s done in adoration and longing when you’re forced to part. This time it’s fear. His boot shuffles back, body angled to leave but he refuses to move, torn between duty and love.

“Go do what you have to.” You said as sweetly as you could in hopes it would cover the venom of your words.

“I didn’t forget, Stubby,” you tilted your head, wearing a lopsided smile. Intertwining all your fingers, you held his hand firmly and continued tugging him down the path, “You promised to be the first.”

You made the choice for him and took off running.

comment jinxer or firelight to help me decide part 2

firelight 3 _ jinxer 0

come talk about arcane (and more!) with us on [discord]!

#x reader #imagine #arcane x reader #arcane imagine #arcane x you #steb headcanon #steb arcane x reader #steb imagine #steb arcane #steb x reader #angst

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froggiewrites · 2 days ago

Note

hello i wanted to request a comfort fic with Law,Zoro and Sanji with their s/o being depressed,stressed

thanks in advance

Hi, sorry this took so long! This is the first time I've written a few smaller scenarios instead of one larger fic and I've gotta say, I really enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace! So thank you for requesting this 😊 I hope this fic brings you the comfort you need, and that you're doing well!!

Hard Times

Pairing: Law, Zoro, Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've not been yourself lately, and he's been worried about you. Warnings: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Word Count: 1.7k total (a little over 500 each)

It didn’t take him long to notice something was wrong. There was a subtle change in you, something a less observant man would have missed. But you always had his attention, and he knew you well. You were a bit slower to respond, your eyes a bit unfocused, your smile less bright. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that you were just a bit tired, but after the third time of finding you in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, he knew that you needed some more support. He was more than happy to be that support.

Law

Law is a deeply caring man, despite his attempts to appear otherwise, but he is also, unfortunately, terrible at showing it. So he doesn’t talk to you about it, not directly. He instead racks his brain, thinking of every possible way to reduce stress and ways to treat depression. His instinct is to opt for medicine, but he knows he should start smaller first.

“I have a gift for you.” He places it in your hands unceremoniously, trying to hide his delight at your small smile. That’s the most joy you’ve shown in days.

“Thank you, Law! That’s really sweet of you.” You carefully peel back the wrapping paper he had spent far more time than he would admit on, only for your face to show confusion. “A…lamp?”

“A UV lamp.” He says it as though the purpose is obvious.

“Okay?”

“It mimics sunlight.”

You blink at him. “I–you didn’t clarify anything.”

He shifts on his feet, eyes focusing anywhere but you. “We’re down on the seafloor a lot, so you can’t always go on deck for sunlight. And I think some sun will help you.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to put the pieces together. “Why?”

“Sunlight boosts serotonin production.”

You make a soft sound of understanding, before you give him a smirk he would normally hate to admit made his heart skip a beat. “You were worried about me.” You say it like it’s such a victory, like it isn’t something you expected. Clearly he had failed you somehow, if you thought he wasn’t always fretting about you. He typically tries to deny such things, the vulnerability making him feel unsure and small, but you were worth feeling a little weak.

“Of course I was worried about you.” He spits it, like it was so very obvious, and you laugh at him. Normally he would prickle, his defenses growing higher, but that’s the first time he’s heard you laugh in over a week. He would never admit the sound brought a tear to his eye, the relief tearing through him like a hurricane. He can’t help shifting forward, his hands cupping your cheeks as he checks to see if you’ve regained the sparkle in your eyes. It’s dim, but it’s there. He can’t resist kissing you.

You accept his warmth quickly and easily. You practically fall into his arms, nuzzling into his neck when your lips part. “You don’t have to worry. I can handle it. It always passes eventually.”

He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “Just because you can handle it on your own doesn’t mean you have to. You aren’t alone in this. You have me. You have the crew. We’re here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

Your voice comes out much quieter this time. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You aren’t.”

“...You promise you’d tell me if I was?”

He chuckles. “I promise.” He gently takes the lamp out of your hand, places it on your desk, and guides you to your bed. “Now tell me everything you need to get off your chest.”

And, to his relief, you do.

Zoro

Zoro is blunt. He doesn’t know how to dance around your feelings, and frankly, he doesn’t care to. The faster he breaks through your reluctance to tell him what you need, the faster he can help you, and the faster you’ll be happy.

“Why aren’t you asking for help?”

You jump, not having heard him come in, too busy struggling to ground yourself. “What?”

“Something’s wrong. Why haven’t you come to ask for help?” He’s still dripping with sweat, having just come from a particularly intensive workout that was a failed attempt to distract himself until you finally broke and came to him. He can see you try to avoid his eye, so he gently grabs your chin and steers you toward him. He tries to make his voice gentle, sweet in a way he can never quite nail. “Sweetheart, talk to me. I just want to understand.”

You still avoid looking straight at him, even now, but you finally speak. “I…didn’t want to be a burden.”

He can’t hide his obvious confusion. “Huh?”

You finally look at him, not understanding his reaction. “What?”

“Who cares if you’re a burden for a while?”

You look shocked, “I do!”

“Okay, well no one else does! Everyone is a burden sometimes. No one can do everything on their own. The crew’s job is to help each other.”

“None of you guys have ever been a burden.”

“Were we not a burden, or were you just happy to help?”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he can see the exact moment you realize you really have nothing you can say. You can’t deny helping your crew has sometimes made your life harder. He’s seen it countless times. Your Captain alone has gotten you into dozens of situations you could hardly think about without wincing. But you were always happy to help, and a burden shared is a burden halved.

“Everyone here is happy to help you if you need it. All avoiding us does is make us worry.”

You seem to shrink in on yourself. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls you close, chuckling a little at the discontented noise you make when you realize he’s still sweaty. You squirm halfheartedly, but it doesn’t take long before you snuggle into his warmth. He can feel the muscles in your back slowly start to relax under his hands as you accept his touch. “No need for apologies, sweetheart. Just fix it. Talk about it.”

You hold him tight. “I don’t know exactly what I need. Everything’s just…hard. I don’t remember it always being this hard.”

He tries to ignore the way his heart breaks at how pained you sound. He instead focuses on the positives: you’re here, you’re talking, and you’re willing to accept help if it comes. “It won’t be this hard forever. I’ll be right here to make it a little easier, alright? And you can talk to Chopper for some help, too.”

“...Do you think I should?”

“I think that’s up to you. But we’re here. That’s what matters.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon in Zoro’s arms, and if he sees you sneaking to Chopper’s office later, he doesn’t mention it, though his relieved smile might give him away.

Sanji

Sanji is very in tune with your emotions, often realizing you’re upset before anyone else, and sometimes even before you register it yourself. It’s not uncommon for him to suddenly appear, food and drink in hand, ready to pamper you to your (or, maybe more accurately, his) heart’s content. So you don’t seem to suspect a thing when he starts setting up picnics for you on the deck, each dish carefully prepared to boost serotonin production and the drinks designed to reduce stress and anxiety. You’ve probably had more chamomile tea in the past few weeks than you’ve ever had in your life.

He sets up the picnic blanket in the perfect location: enough room in the shade for you to rest if you get too hot, but positioned in a way that encourages you to soak up the sun. As you eat, he oh-so-subtly encourages you to talk, maintains skin on skin contact as much as he can, and observes everything he can to improve the next one.

You sit blankly for a while, letting him do as he pleases but not reciprocating, before you finally speak, your voice much flatter than usual. “Sanji?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He freezes. “Why am I doing what, angel?”

You shift in his arms, forcing him to look you in the eye as you do so. He can’t help but brush a stray crumb off of your cheek, his thumb tracing down to your jaw. You gently catch his hand in your own, squeezing it. “These picnics aren’t just little dates, are they, Sanji? Something is clearly wrong.”

He doesn’t know how to explain he’s worried about you without you feeling pressured to speak. He doesn’t want to push you if you aren’t ready, but he can’t stand to sit by and watch as you drown in your own head. “I–do you have anything you want to talk about?”

“What?”

“You haven’t been yourself lately. I just thought…you could use something like this.”

You seem to relax a bit. “So you’ve been worried about me?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to push you, but you clearly need some help, darling. I was hoping I could make this a bit easier for you.”

You give him a real smile for the first time in a while. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking me so many little treats? And why you’ve been so desperate to keep me away from caffeine?”

He tries not to flush. “I thought you could use a pick-me-up. And I read getting better sleep can help with mood.” He pulls you closer, pressing your face into his neck to hide his redness from you. “I was hoping it’d make talking about whatever’s wrong a little easier for you.”

You snuggle into him, accepting your warmth. “Talking about it is always hard. Everything is, right now.”

“Are you willing to try? I think it might help.”

He can feel your sigh. Your reluctance. But slowly, carefully, you unfurl the tension you’re holding, and you allow him to carry some of your burdens for you. You talk for hours, about everything, including things you were clearly frightened to speak aloud. By the end, you may not be perfectly happy again, but he can see your steps are a little lighter. He’s never been more relieved.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

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kinzhae · 1 day ago

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"Left Behind."

Gojo x Reader, angst with no comfort, reader and gojo drifts away as they enter jujutsu high, being left behind, reader sacrificing her life in order to keep gojo safe.

The first time Satoru left you behind, you brushed it off.

“Gojo Satoru is going to change the world,” you told yourself, smiling as you watched him walk off with Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, his laughter echoing down the hall. His carefree attitude was infectious, and while you were happy for him, it hurt to know that you weren’t part of that laughter anymore.

It hadn’t always been this way. You and Satoru were inseparable once, bound by childhood promises and shared dreams. Back then, the world wasn’t complicated, and neither was he. The cocky smile he wore now was once reserved just for you.

But Jujutsu High changed everything.

---

You noticed the shift slowly. It started with missed conversations—whispers in the hallway you weren’t invited into, a glance over your shoulder to see him too far behind to call out to. Satoru didn’t mean to push you away. You knew that. But as his new friendships deepened, it became clear that your bond wasn’t the unbreakable connection you once thought it was.

Suguru was kind, brilliant, and calm—the perfect foil to Satoru’s chaotic energy. Shoko had a quiet wit that matched his sharp tongue. Together, the three of them felt untouchable, like the rest of the world could only stand by and watch as they carved their own path.

You were no longer part of that world. You tried to let go, you really did.

Even as the ache settled in your chest, you told yourself it was enough to simply watch him thrive. If Satoru was happy, wasn’t that all that mattered? You repeated those words like a mantra, trying to ignore the sting when he barely noticed you anymore.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But the cracks in your heart didn’t care for reason.

One day, everything changed. You were heading back to the dorms after a long day of training when you overheard the conversation.

Two voices in the shadows.

One familiar, one chillingly foreign.

“Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes... He’s too dangerous to keep alive,” hissed the first voice—a higher-up whose name you didn’t dare utter. “The balance he disrupts, the power he wields... If he continues unchecked, no one will be able to control him.”

“And what do you propose?” growled the second voice, raspy and cold. It wasn’t human.

You froze, your blood running cold as you peeked around the corner.

“I want him gone. Do it cleanly. I’ll ensure you have what you need—resources, bodies, whatever it takes. Just make it happen.”

The curse smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Consider it done.”

Your world tilted.

They were going to kill him.

Satoru.

The boy who laughed too loudly, who stood by you even when the world felt too heavy, who once promised you that you’d always be by his side.

You had already been left behind. But you wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

That night, you sought out the curse.

Its presence was suffocating, the weight of its aura pressing down on you as it materialized in front of you.

“And what do you want, little sorcerer?” it sneered.

“My life,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Take my life, my powers—anything. Just leave Satoru alone.”

The curse’s laughter echoed around you, harsh and mocking. “Anything, you say? Bold. And what makes you think I’ll honor such a deal?”

“Because if you don’t,” you said, lifting your chin, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A lie, of course. You were no match for it. But the curse seemed amused enough to agree.

“Very well. Your life for his. But once the deal is struck, there’s no turning back.”

“I know.”

As the curse’s claws reached out, you closed your eyes, picturing Satoru’s smile one last time.

You disappeared that night.

No one saw you leave. No one even knew why. You left behind nothing but questions and an empty dorm room, your name slipping further from their lips as the days turned into weeks, then months.

Satoru didn’t notice at first. You hadn’t been close lately, after all. But as time passed, he started to feel the absence.

It was subtle at first—a glance around the training field, expecting to see you standing at the edge, watching with a small smile. Then came the ache, the nagging sense that something was missing. He asked Shoko, then Suguru. Neither had seen you.

When he went to your room, it was stripped bare, as if you had never existed.

Satoru wasn’t the sentimental type, but the emptiness you left behind gnawed at him. He tried to brush it off—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. He didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t need to.

But late at night, when the silence grew too loud, he found himself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of the way you used to scold him when he pushed himself too hard. Of the way you had always been there, steady and unshakable, even when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping out of control.

He searched. Of course he searched.

But you were gone.

---

Satoru never stopped looking. Not really. Even years later, long after the grief had settled into something dull and hollow, he still found himself scanning crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He told himself it was guilt—guilt for letting you slip away, for not noticing how far apart you had grown. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He had left you behind.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

#jjk angst #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jjk gojo #angst with no comfort #maybe part 2

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absurdthirst · 2 days ago

Text

The Thanksgiving Departure {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.7k

Warnings: Vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, family issues, heartbreak, alcohol, Dieter being a dick, revelations of infidelity, dishonesty, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of breeding kinks, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex

Comments: Married to Dieter Bravo, Thanksgiving turns into the worst day of the year when he abandons you to go to Hollywood for his big break. Never divorcing you and deciding to stroll back into your life on Thanksgiving again years later

Happy Thanksgiving!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dieter sighs as he stares at his script. Another community theater project that he took when he got rejected from his latest audition for Law & Order. He rubs his forehead as the words blur together and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this. He wants to be successful. He wants to be famous...and rich. He can't do that in the middle of fucking nowhere. His hometown is picture perfect. Pumpkin patches in the fall, Christmas parade during December, flower show during spring. Town festivals and even a fucking gazebo in the town square. It's like a movie set but it's not the movie set he wants to be on. His entire life he's dreamed of Hollywood. His dad, before he died when Dieter was ten, showed him the greats. John Wayne. Cary Grant, Marlon Brando. He wants to be like them. A leading man. But he can't do that without going to L.A. "Hey baby." You coo as you walk into the kitchen, frowning when you see his script, "you want me to run lines?" You offer, leaning over to grab the papers, and he growls, shoving the papers across the table.

"No. No. I don't want to run fucking lines." His tone makes your eyebrows raise and you back away until he reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I'm sorry. Shit. I- I didn't get the part. The Law & Order part." He admits, feeling sorry for himself.

“Oh baby.” You soften slightly, knowing how much Dieter hates rejection. He wants so badly to be famous and you support him, but it’s honestly not realistic for where you live. Still, you encourage him to pursue his dreams. “They are missing out.” You step closer and wrap your arms around him to give him a hug from behind. “You are the best actor and would have made the show the highest rated episode of the season.”

Dieter huffs, shaking his head, "I love you, but don't flatter me now. I just - I want to give you the damn world and I can't do that stuck here. I know your mom is sick but baby, I want to go to L.A. I can do this. I know I can. I know I can make it." He whines, shaking his head and he turns his head to press his head against yours.

You sigh softly, knowing this is a conversation that has been going on for months. “I can’t- baby- mom needs us here right now.” You’ve been taking care of your mom for months, you and Dieter moving in and providing in-home care so she didn’t have to go into a care home. “When she’s better, we can look at moving out there.” You promise again. One thing that you love about Dieter is his persistence, but he’s also impatient. He doesn’t really want to wait, every day could possibly be his big break in his mind. “Besides, you don’t want to plan a move around the holidays.” You remind him. “Thanksgiving is in two days.”

Dieter doesn't respond, knowing that his dream is slipping away. Your mom doesn't seem to be getting better and you are young but everyone is asking when you're going to have kids. You just got married six months ago. He's not ready to have kids and all it takes is one slip up on your birth control and he's stuck in this two bit town. He pats your hand, "yeah. Yeah, of course. Let's focus on the holidays." He says but his tone doesn't match the smile he offers you.

You know he’s disappointed that you aren’t immediately jumping to pack your bags, but he will have to understand. “I’m baking your favorite pie.” You hum teasingly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Right after mom’s appointment tomorrow and your mother has already said that she’s bringing the turkey.”

Dieter eyes the script and he wonders about the tape he sent off last week for the role in a new TV show about a detective. He took a chance and auditioned for the lead. It’s a pilot, but could be picked up and he doubts he will get the part. He taps his fingers against the table and turns his head to press his lips to yours. He loves you, he really does, but he feels trapped. “Come here.” He demands, wrapping his arm around you and dragging you into his lap. “Fucking love your pie.” He smiles and presses his lips to yours.

Melting into Dieter easily, you kiss him back, straddling him. Your mother is upstairs resting after a particularly rough day and she will be asleep for a few hours. “I love you.” You coo, grinding down on him with a smirk when he groans. “You want to have sex?” Dieter finds it sexy when you just bluntly ask, so you have taken to doing just that.

Dieter groans, sliding his hand down to squeeze your ass, “yes. Fuck yes.” He smacks your ass and kisses your jaw. “Here or you wanna go to our room?” He asks against our skin, wanting you to decide but he’s already hardening beneath you.

“Here.” Spontaneity has been a little lacking lately with your mother requiring a lot of your time and you know that Dieter will enjoy it. “You can think about it when we are eating dinner here with the family.” You tease.

“You’re too fucking good to me. Think about your pussy while eating your pie.” He teases as he slides his hand under your shirt, “get your damn jeans off.” He demands as he pulls your shirt over your head.

You bite your lip as you stand up, pushing away from him so you can get undressed. “Strip down baby.” You beg, wanting to see him. Dieter has an amazing body, lean and naturally athletic, every time you see him you get wet.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor, and he stands up to strip his jeans. He never wears underwear so he kicks them aside and sits back down to watch you strip while he wraps his fingers around his cock, pumping himself. “You’re so sexy.” He murmurs, dark eyes watching you with lust. You’re still in your honeymoon stage after six months of marriage and Dieter is always ready to fuck his wife.

“Me?” You snort and shoot him a playful wink. “I’m the one with a hot, actor husband.” You remind him, reaching up and cupping your tits. “You want to fuck me? Or you want me to ride that pretty cock of yours?”

He scoffs at your comment about him being an actor. He wishes. He’s a community theater actor at best. He reaches for you to drag you into his lap, “come here and ride my cock, my beautiful wife.” He demands, groaning when you straddle him and he bends down to take your nipple into his mouth after he cups your tit.

Passion is something Dieter has in spades. He never fails to make you fall deeper in love with him. It’s not like you haven’t been together since you were almost too young for love, but it just keeps growing. “Dee.” You moan, fingers sinking into his short hair. “You should grow your hair out so I can pull it.”

"Can't." He murmurs against your sternum, his face buried between your tits. "I need it short for the show." He presses a kiss to your skin before he lathes his attention on your other breast. His free hand squeezes your ass, "fuck, you're so gorgeous. Wanna eat you out later." He declares after he bites down on your nipple.

You hum, knowing that he can’t grow it out right now, but you would love it. “God, Dee.” You whimper happily, letting him do what he wants while you grind down on his hard cock and roll your hips. You are wet and getting wetter, but he will still stretch you out.

He doesn't want to hurt you if you aren't wet enough so he slides his hand down to cup your cunt, his fingers easily finding your clit to rub slow circles on it.

You moan his name again, loving how he is patient with you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a big cock and he knows it. He’s proud of that fact, even if neither one of you has slept with too many people. “God baby, you touch me so perfectly.” You praise breathlessly. “My husband.”

He kisses up your chest until he's pressing his lips to yours while he continues to rub your bundle of nerves. "My sexy, beautiful, smart as fuck wife." He murmurs against your chin and he is throbbing with need for you. "You ready for me?" He asks, his tone a little whiny as he aches for you.

“Yessss.” You hiss, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock. “I want to ride you, baby.” You pant, lifting your hips as he pulls his hand away and you position him at your entrance.

Dieter hisses as you start to sink down onto him. You’re so fucking perfect and he has always thought it. Ever since you were kids. You’ve always been the most beautiful woman in the room. His hands are everywhere, sliding along your body until he squeezes your ass, letting you adjust while you take him inside your tight cunt.

Dieter always feels amazing, you moan his name as you squeeze him with your muscles. “Fuck I love you.” You pant, kissing along his neck when he turns his head. “You’re my forever baby.”

He groans, helping you rock on top of him, “fucking love you too. So much.” He murmurs, squeezing your ass and his hands slide up your back to pull you even closer as you move on top of him. You’re on your tiptoes as you lift up and slowly sink back down onto his cock. No one has ever made him feel like this, like he is home, but it’s still in the back of his mind to want more from his career.

You don’t know what is rolling through Dieter’s mind as you ride him. All you know is that he feels incredible and you love the way he moans. The way he kisses you. He’s always been a passionate person but he truly makes you feel cherished when he’s touching you, praising you. “I love you. I love how you feel inside me.” You moan, grinding down on him.

Your moan makes him twitch inside you and he watches you as you ride him, taking what you want from him. “Love you too, baby. Tell me - tell me how much you love me.” He whines slightly, needing reassurance from you. He can be insecure and considering his lack of money due to his chosen profession, he feels like he can’t provide for you like he should.

You can tell that he is needy right now and you press your lips to his briefly before you caress his cheek. "To the moon and back." You promise him. "The only one I will ever be married to."

Your words have his heart racing and his stomach clenching when you look into his eyes and you stare at him like he’s the only person in the world, in your world. He loves it and he surges forward to reclaim your lips, needing to be as close as possible to you at this moment.

You love when Dieter is like this, needy and greedy for you. Holding you tight and kissing you like you are the only woman in the world. Even if he dreams big, what you have is real, it’s not an act. You kiss him back just as eagerly, pouring your feelings for him into that simple act while you bounce on his cock.

You take him so well and he groans into your mouth, his tongue sloppily sliding against yours. His hands are everywhere, greedy for you, and he knows you’ll be by his side no matter what. He loves that about you. He tries to get as much of you as possible and it’s so not enough.

Both of you dissolve into moans and grunts of pleasure, the pace picking up to where your tits are bouncing and you feel like Dieter is in your guts. Breathlessly panting praise for him and how his cock feels into his mouth as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming.

He needs to feel you fall apart for him so he slides his hand between you, finding your clit to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves and he groans when you fall apart for him within a few swipes of his fingers. You clamp down on his cock and soak him, collapsing against his chest and he moves fast to wrap his arms around your body, rocking you on top of him as he seeks his own orgasm.

Dieter is frantic and greedy, bordering on desperate as he starts to shuffle his hips up. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” You cry out, gasping as he pushes it towards overstimulation. “Cum for me, baby.”

He falls apart as the command leaves your lips. His cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants as he stiffens beneath you, his face buried in your neck as he cums for you, only for you.

You whine softly, loving how you’ve stopped using condoms since you’ve gotten married. One day you will go off your birth control and start a family, but you’ve decided to wait until your mother doesn't need as much care and Dieter is better established. “I love you.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair gently.

He pants, kissing your chin as he looks up at you, “love you too.” He murmurs, caressing your back as you embrace while the pleasure echoes through your bodies. He sighs and presses a soft kiss to your lips just as your mom calls your name from upstairs.

You sigh softly. “At least we finished this time.” You chuckle, kissing his lips again before you pull off his cock with a groan. “Coming!” You call up the stairs as you move to the sink to clean up quickly so you can redress.

Dieter sighs, shifting to grab his pants from the floor. He knows you are an incredible person to take care of your mom and moving in with her has helped you both to save up money, hopefully for a move to L.A, but his mother in law has been a cock block since he moved in. He watches you rush around and get dressed before you run upstairs and he redresses, looking down at the script on the table. The phone rings on the wall and he calls out “I’ll get it.” He answers and frowns when they say his name. It’s his agent. The one he’s scrapped money together to get some auditions booked. “You got it! You got the part!” He announces and Dieter’s eyes widen, “th-the lead?” He asks, wanting to confirm. “The lead!” His agent grins and Dieter’s heart thumps in his chest. He got the lead. He got it. He finally did it. He grabs a notepad to take down the details. “So you need to move to L.A. Read through for the pilot is the first week of December.” His agent says and after writing down the details, Dieter says goodbye. His grin makes his cheeks hurt and he shakes his head in disbelief.

When you come downstairs, his hands are shaking. “She wants some tea.” You announce as you walk to the stove and Dieter spins you around, pressing his lips to yours. “I did it!” He announces and you frown, “did what?” He chuckles, cupping your cheeks, “I got the part.”

“The part?” You’re confused for a moment before your eyes widen. “The part! That’s great baby!” You kiss him again.

“Yeah we have to be in L.A by December first.” He tells you excitedly, making your face fall into a frown. “In L.A?” You ask, hoping that he is joking. “Yeah, we can go out this weekend and see about getting a place.” He immediately starts rambling and you get more and more worried as he starts to plan out leaving and catching his big break before he finally takes a breath. “Baby….” You bite your lip. “I can’t move to LA. What about mom? What about our life here? My job?” You don’t want to say it out loud, but Dieter has never been the financially stable one of the two of you. You wanted him to chase his dreams and you had always thought once he got it out of his system, he would settle down.

His excitement falters and he stares at you, his brow furrowing. "I, uh, I thought this was always the plan. You know, us, moving to L.A. You working on your art. Me on acting. Our fucking dreams baby. Have you forgotten we have dreams?" He growls, stepping back from you, "or are we gonna fucking die in this goddamn town like our fathers?"

You rear back from the venom in his voice. “Of course I haven’t forgotten we have dreams.” You tell him, hating how he is looking at you. “But sometimes you have to put your dreams on hold. Mom is sick. What am I supposed to do? Leave her alone? Who would take care of her?” You demand. “How will you pay rent if the part falls through? Or the show isn’t picked up? We have stability here. I’m not saying we don’t dream, but I have responsibilities right now.”

Dieter frowns, taking in your words, and his heart breaks. He can’t follow his dream and be with you so he’s going to have to give up his dream. This is his chance, he feels it in his stomach, but he knows you won’t leave your mother. “I can’t stay here forever.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“I promise it won’t be forever.” You murmur softly, relieved that he is seeing reason. You step closer and he’s not pulling away again. Reaching out and caressing his cheek gently. “Within the next couple of years, we will be chasing our dreams for real.”

Dieter nods despite the part being in the back of his mind but it’s Thanksgiving. Maybe you’ll see reason in a couple of days. He doesn’t phone his agent back to turn down the role, wanting to see how things go. You work on getting the tea ready for your mom and Dieter stands up, “I’ve got a rehearsal for the show later so I’m gonna go shower.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, heading upstairs to the bathroom with Hollywood in the back of his mind.

After taking your mother her tea, you start prepping Thanksgiving. It’s a huge relief to have your family bringing dishes so it’s not all on you. You know you will have a lot to do and taking care of things now will help. Humming to yourself as you make the pie Dieter loves, you smile to yourself. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday.

****

Dieter taps his fingers on the table, listening to your uncle ramble on about the election and he clenches his jaw, trying to not snap at him. "Did you vote for that piece of shit or not, Bravo?" Your uncle Frank asks and Dieter sighs, not wanting to get into an argument. "I don't really get into politics." He answers diplomatically and Frank scoffs, "if you guys value your future, you would pay more goddamn attention." Dieter picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip, glancing across the room to where you are rushing around to grab what everyone needs before you all sit down for dinner. "You need any help, babe?" He calls out and you shake your head, "no. No. I'm nearly done. Everyone sit down!" You demand and you carry the mac and cheese to the table while everyone admires the feast in front of them. Your mom wants to say grace so Dieter reluctantly takes your hand, keeping one eye open as he holds his mom's hand on the other side of him. Your mom clears her throat before she speaks, "thank you Lord for the food we are about to eat. Thank you for family, friends, and loved ones. Thank you for every day we wake up and see the sunshine. May we have many days to come." She finishes with a cough and Dieter sees a tear roll down your cheek and he lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it while everyone says "Amen." You clear your throat and smile, telling everyone to dig in.

The table is soon full of food and drinks and your aunt Susan decides to sour Dieter's mood. "So when are you planning on having kids? You two have been married for six months. I was five months pregnant by that stage." She giggles and turns towards you.

You feel Dieter tense beside you and your hand quickly slides under the table to squeeze his knee in reassurance. “We’ve decided to wait.” You remind everyone, the exact same thing you said when you were getting married. “Why? You’re married now, it’s time for you to start a family.” Frankie insists and you shake your head. “We have things we want to do before we have kids. If we even have them at all.” You add.

Frankie scoffs, "don't tell me that you are putting a family on hold so Dieter can become a fucking actor?" Dieter stiffens even more, knowing your uncle wasn't impressed by his career plans and thought he should get a real job to support you and any kids that come along. "I, uh, I got a part, actually. In a pilot, in L.A. It's about a detective." Dieter tries to defend himself and his mom chimes in with "really, baby? That's amazing. Oh I'm so proud of you." She coos, knowing how much her son wants to be an actor. Ever since he was a little boy it's been his dream but your family is relentless.

"Proud of him? What's he gonna do? Drag her to L.A and leave his mother-in-law when she's sick? She's got fucking cancer and her son in law is gonna fuck off so he can follow some dream and come crawling back here when he fails and get a damn divorce because he didn't put his goddamn family over his selfish ass. He will never be famous." Frankie shakes his head and Dieter drops his fork, shrugging off his mom when she rubs his shoulder and pushing your hand away.

“Uncle Frank, that’s enough.” You hiss, although you aren’t shouting because you want to keep the peace as much as possible. “No, it’s not nearly enough.” He snorts and you shake your head. “Your vision of our life doesn’t matter. If Dieter wants to try to make it big in Hollywood, you should be proud of that.”

"Don't." Dieter murmurs, clenching his jaw, and he shoves his napkin on the table, "I'm sorry. I - I gotta go to the bathroom." He declares and you frown, "babe" but he strides off without glancing back at you. He storms into your bathroom, leaning over the vanity to look at himself in the mirror.

"I have a fucking role. I know I can do it. I know I can be an actor. Just need a fucking chance." He hisses through his teeth. "All I need is a chance. I'll fucking prove that asshole wrong." He growls to himself and glances at his toothbrush sitting next to yours. He will never make it in Hollywood if he stays here. He will never prove them wrong. You'll get pregnant and he will give up on his dream. He'll lose his hair, go grey, get wrinkles, and a beer gut like every other fucker in this town. He will be a loser just like them. "I'm not a fucking loser." He mutters and grabs his toothbrush.

“Why do you have to be an asshole?” You hiss to your uncle as everyone else shifts uncomfortably. “The boy has to face reality.” Frank insists, frowning heavily. “He’s not going to be an actor. He needs to get a better job to support you instead of you paying all the damn bills and running yourself ragged while he pretends to work at that stupid little community theatre.”

Dieter rushes around your bedroom, packing essentials, and he grabs a piece of paper from your nightstand, scribbling out a message to you. You'll come to find him any second so his handwriting is awful. He slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and looks at the bed you share. Hopefully you understand why he's doing this. He loves you but he needs to do this for himself. He has to prove everyone wrong. He hesitates for a second when he sees your wedding photo as he turns towards the door and he sighs, shaking his head before he makes his way downstairs quietly. "You need to dump his ass. That Grayson boy wanted to marry you and he works at his daddy's dealership. He's got a career and he's gonna be a big deal in this town. Should've married him." Frank scoffs and Dieter swallows harshly, making his way down the hall to the front door. He opens it softly and steps outside, the cold air making him shiver and he gets in his car, not hesitating as he backs out the driveway and begins his journey. "L.A here I come." He mutters, knowing he will return to his hometown a fucking Oscar winner.

You finally have to leave the table. Not even your mother chiding your uncle has helped and you are sick of his damned opinions. “Dee?” You knock on the door to your shared bedroom, wanting to give him a chance to compose himself if he’s upset. He’s a lot more sensitive than most would believe. “Baby….” You open the door and frown when you don’t see him sitting on the bed and looking miserable. “Hun?” The bathroom light is off and you sigh. Thinking that maybe he had gone outside until you spot the paper on the bed. Stomach sinking in dread, you stare at it for a moment before you reach for the slip of paper. Hand trembling, you unfold it and see that Dieter has scrawled “I can’t wait for my dreams. I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, realizing that he’s left and you don’t even know when he’ll be home.

****

"Fuckkkkk yessss." Dieter groans as he watches the woman take his cock into his mouth while her boyfriend slides into her from behind. It's a naughty sight he's familiar with and he fucking loves it. "Look so fucking gorgeous." He coos and the man smirks, "says the Oscar winning actor and People's Sexiest Man of the Year 2023." Dieter smirks, chest puffing slightly as the woman giggles as she squeezes his cock. "should get best cock of the year too." She coos and Dieter caresses her cheek, "fuck. You two are gonna make me cum with words." He smirks, "you free next weekend?" He asks, wanting to spend more time with his co-stars.

"We are going to New York. It's - fuck - Thanksgiving." The man reminds Dieter who frowns as his cock is pushed further down the woman's throat. Thanksgiving. Something he hasn't celebrated in the years since he left you during the middle of dinner. His assistant has probably booked for him to go to Hawaii again. "Guess I'll see you when you get back." He says and smirks when he shifts onto his knees to kiss his co-star.

****

"What do you mean the fucking flight is canceled?" Dieter growls at the check in assistant at the first class desk. He would travel private but holidays are fucking expensive. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bravo, but the flights have been canceled to Hawaii. The fires..." She trails off and Dieter scoffs, "what a joke. So what the fuck am I gonna do?" He asks her, eyebrows raised above his aviators. "We can get you a flight somewhere else. Or a refund. If you want to go somewhere, this flight is leaving at the same time as your previous flight." She turns the screen and his jaw drops when he sees the flight is to his hometown. "No. No. Not there. Anywhere but there." He demands and she nods, "I can issue a refund but-" Dieter cuts her off, "actually. Get me a ticket. First class." He demands, remembering that he hasn't seen his mom in years and his co-stars talked about how nice it is to go home for the holidays. He will go home and show everyone in that fucking town that he's back. The Oscar Winning Actor who won Sexiest Man of the Year 2023 is fucking back. "There you go, Mr. Bravo. Enjoy your trip." She hands him the ticket and he smirks, "oh I will."

****

“Mom, I really don’t feel like celebrating this year.” It’s the same comment you make every year, but you are always overruled. “Don’t be ridiculous.” True to what you had told Dieter, your mother had beaten cancer and was now happily in remission. You still live with her, not because you are taking care of her, but because you didn’t want to live alone after Dieter had left you. “Don’t worry, I’ve already invited Sean.” She assures you. “And Debra won’t mind him being there.” You roll your eyes, wishing that Dieter’s mother wasn’t also your mom’s best friend and automatically invited to every family event. Even if you were technically still family since Dieter would never sign the damn divorce papers.

Dieter takes his glasses off his face when he rings the doorbell of his childhood home and his mom answers within a few moments. "Dieter?" She gasps, shocked to see her son, "hi mom." He smiles and she squeals, surging forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're home. I can't believe it." She cries and Dieter embraces her. Despite his playboy reputation in L.A, he's always been a momma's boy. "I missed you. Let me look at you." She cups his cheeks and frowns, "you don't eat enough and you pierced your ear. And got more tattoos." She tuts, "but other than that, you are my boy." She kisses his cheek and lets go of him when he flushes, "mom." She steps back and ushers him inside, "come in, come in. I'm just cooking." Dieter follows her inside the familiar home and it hasn't changed.

"I'm just cooking for the dinner tomorrow." She explains and Dieter raises his eyebrows, "dinner?" She nods and says your mom's name, "it's Thanksgiving." She says with a giggle, "silly goose." Dieter frowns, "I, uh, I should probably stay here. I'll be fine." He promises and his mom nods, "yeah. She will be there." His mom never mentions your name on the phone when she discusses her best friend and her life. He heard about your mom beating cancer and he took a hit of coke to celebrate. "She's engaged. So it's probably best that you don't go." She says, still protective over you despite Dieter being her son. She was shocked when you came back in to announce that Dieter had left and she wanted to slap him silly for leaving the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he was preoccupied with his dreams. "Engaged?" Dieter chokes, knowing he has no right to be shocked but his stomach twists. "She's happy." His mom says and Dieter scoffs, "happy. Still in this damn town. She can't be happy. Who's she engaged to?" He asks and Debra sighs, "Sean Grayson. He's good for her. Baby, I know...I know you left and wow, you've made me so proud seeing you as an Oscar winner and all but...it's time to let her go." She reaches for his hand and Dieter pulls his hand away before she can touch him.

"I want to meet him. I'm going to dinner." He declares, spinning on his heel to call around, see if he can at least get some weed from someone around town. "Oh boy." Debra mutters, knowing this year will be drama filled but maybe it will be good for everyone to get closure.

Waking up on Thanksgiving is always so damn surreal for you. You dread the day, wouldn’t do anything but hide in your bed if you had your way, but you can’t do that. Your mom only let you have the first year after Dieter left to sulk. After that, she had decided Thanksgiving would go on, and so would you. So you just wake up and stare at the ceiling, knowing that this would be the last year you would sleep in this bed. The same one you shared with Dieter although you had replaced the mattress five years ago. “Fuck.” You groan, looking over at the nightstand where another copy of the divorce papers are waiting to be mailed after the holiday.

Dieter wakes up with a groan as his mom bangs on the door to his childhood bedroom. "Dieter! We are leaving in twenty minutes!" Debra shouts through the door and Dieter winces as he rubs his cheek. "Ugh, shit." He rasps as he glances at the clock. It's nearly eleven. He managed to find some weed last night. Ironically the dealer was the same kid who would sell weed in high school and he was shocked when Dieter met him. "No way man, I fucking loved you in Hunger Strike. Here, some E on me." He shoved the baggies at Dieter who offered him a polite smile and paid him before smoking in his room like he used to do when he was sixteen. He rolls out of bed and showers, groaning at his reflection. He's older, wrinkled, graying hair. Everything Frank said he would be but he's famous. He's successful. That's all that matters and today, he gets to show that to everyone who doubted him. He dresses in nicer jeans and a button down, wanting to appear successful since they cost more than someone's rent for the month. "You ready, mom?" He asks and Debra nods, "are you ready?" She emphasizes and Dieter smirks, "let's go."

Even though you would rather be anywhere else, you come downstairs dressed nicely and make sure that you put on makeup this morning. Sean likes when you dress up for him and since this is the first Thanksgiving spent with him here, you make the effort. Hours later, it is almost time for everyone to arrive and you are putting your pie in the oven.

The drive to your mom's house is quiet and Dieter looks out at the town he left in the dust. It hasn't changed and he is nervous. He knows you must hate him. You've sent him divorce papers several times throughout the years but he has never signed them. He doesn't really know why. Sometimes he's gotten high or drunk and signed them but never mailed them. Sometimes he's ripped them up and had his assistant overnight them back to you. He should give you a divorce but he can't do it. Even if he doesn't know why. Pulling up on the familiar driveway, he adjusts his sweater and follows his mom to the front door, bracing himself as she rings the doorbell.

“I’ll get it!” You just texted Sean, so you are pretty sure that it’s Debra. If you can get the talk about Dieter out of the way before he gets here, you would feel a lot better. The last thing you want to do this year is be reminded all day that your husband left you. “Hi, Deb-“ your smile freezes as you open the door to your mother in law and find not only her, but your absentee husband standing on the doorstep with a disgustingly charming smile on his handsome face. “What the fuck?”

Dieter slides his eyes down your body, taking in the sight of you after so many years apart and God, you’re just as fucking beautiful. But you are glaring at him like he just shot your dog and he guesses he deserves that. “Hi honey. I’m home.” He jokes, unable to do anything else right now.

“Are you delivering the divorce papers in person?” You demand and he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “What divorce papers?” He feigns ignorance and Debra chuckles awkwardly. “Now, now, it’s Thanksgiving!” She reminds both of you before she calls out to your mom. “Where do you want the casserole?” She slides by you into the house and leaves you staring at Dieter.

“I wanted to come home and see everyone. Is there something wrong with that?” Dieter continues to smile, loving how affected you seem to be by his appearance. “I missed my mom’s casserole.” He pouts, “and you.”

You rock your jaw, seeing how Dieter’s smile has shifted to a smirk. “Missed me?” You snort and you know that you have to let him in or risk causing a scene. “I doubt that. Where’s that fitness model you were dating? And the hotel concierge?” You watch him shift and his arms drop to his sides, telling you when he’s feeling guilty. “Guess they couldn’t make it?” You don’t invite him in, but you turn and just walk away with the door still open.

Dieter clenches his jaw, knowing his flings have been well broadcasted and his relationship with Anika fell apart because she wanted to get married and he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell her he was already married. He huffs and strides into your house, one he knows well but there are differences in decor since he was last here. Shutting the door behind him, he follows you down the hall into the living room where your family is gathered. “Uncle Frank.” Dieter grins, walking over to the old man to slap him on the back, “so good to see you.”

Your uncle Frank’s eyes widen in shock when he turns to see the man he had once called a loser standing next to him. Dieter is successful, famous and rich. He chokes out a “Dieter,” without swallowing his tongue. “You’re here for Thanksgiving?”

Dieter wishes there was a camera to take a photo of the man who ridiculed him so many years ago for chasing his dream. Dieter nods, “yes. Figured I’d come home and see everyone. How you doing?” He asks and Frank chokes out “I’m the same.” Dieter tuts and shakes his head, “that’s a shame. You’ve done nothing with your life.” He mocks and your aunt Susan comes over to him, “you were amazing in Hunger Strike. You really deserved the Oscar.” She says and Dieter grins, standing straighter, “yeah. Thanks. I, uh, I worked my ass off on that role.”

You walk into the kitchen, seething in anger that Dieter just waltzes back into your life and now it could ruin everything. “Why the fuck is he here?”

Your mom sighs, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know Deb was bringing him. Hell, I didn’t even know he was back home. What - what are you gonna do? Sean is arriving any minute.” As soon as she says that, the doorbell rings.

“Oh shit.” Your eyes close in frustration and you rush out of the room to open the door before anyone else. Luckily Dieter is letting your aunt fawn and coo over him, as if she’s not completely aware that he had broken your heart.

Dieter watches you rush past the living room down the hall and he offers your aunt a smile as she gushes over his movies. This is what he wanted. To return to adoration. To come back be someone. Not a loser. His grin is cocky as he accepts her praise until you walk into the living with Sean Grayson behind you. He hated that kid in high school. He was a jock who’d make fun of Dieter for being the weird theater kid.

“Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we stay.” You murmur to Sean. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffs. “I’ve been looking forward to Thanksgiving with your family.”

Your family, especially Uncle Frank, all coo over Sean as he strides into the living room and your uncle reaches out to shake his hand. “So glad you could come.” He grins and Dieter rolls his eyes, he’s never been greeted like that by your asshole uncle. Sean makes the rounds to say hello until he’s facing Dieter. “Oh. Wow. Bravo. You’re back in town.” Sean says and Dieter nods, holding out his hand, digging his rings into his flesh a little harder than normal. “Yep. Back in town. Figured I’d have a small town Thanksgiving for once instead of trying to cool down in Hawaii.”

You bite your lip and watch your fiancé interact with your technical husband. He smiles that smarmy smile you’ve noticed he’s developed over the years when you’ve accidentally seen interviews and articles with him in them. The one that you can tell is fake. “I need a drink? Does anyone need a drink?” You ask. “Sean, why don’t you come help me, sweetheart?”

Dieter watches you walk off with Sean and Uncle Frank nudges the actor. “New man on the scene. You know, his daddy gave him the dealership. Boy is making good money and he bought her a hell of a ring. Much nicer than that tin you gave her.” Frank snorts and Dieter clenches his jaw and gives him a tight smile. “I wasn’t rich then. I could buy her a million dollar ring and still not touch the sides.”

“But why would you?” He asks. “You’re banging everything you can get your hands on. We aren’t so small town that we don’t know what you’re doing in Hollywood.” In the kitchen, you are rushing to get the wine glasses while Sean gets the wine. “I can’t believe Bravo came.” Sean snorts. “Got to be a shock to see your ex-husband here.”

Dieter snorts, wishing he had a cigarette or something to distract himself from the hell he volunteered for. He imagined you would be grateful for his return and he’s found you engaged to a fucking asshole who used to bully him. “True. You know, I was in a throuple.” Dieter smirks, “wore me out and I ended it because I needed to give my body a break, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Frank curls his lip and turns away from Dieter, moving over towards his wife and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. “Yeah- uh, it’s kind of a shock.” You tell Sean, quickly opening the bottle he opened and pouring out drinks. “Just- um, please don’t talk about the wedding or anything?” You beg him. “I don’t want Dieter to try to bring up the past today. I don’t know if I can handle it.” Sean knows all about Dieter leaving you on the holiday and has been supportive of you so far. You can only hope that Dieter doesn’t run his fucking mouth. You’ve never actually told Sean you are still married to the actor, assuming he would get bored of whatever little game he had been playing and sign the damned papers. The judge wouldn’t grant you a divorce without Dieter present because of his fame and the wealth he has, despite you promising the old coot you just wanted the divorce. He had also been the one to marry you and Dieter forever ago and had a history of no divorces amongst the couples who had been married by him. It makes you want to tear your hair out.

Sean nods, coming over to you so he can rub your upper arms. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s gonna be okay. We won’t let him ruin this holiday again.” Sean murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Just ignore him and if you want, I’ll kick his ass.” Sean smirks, “been wanting to do it since high school anyway.”

You frown slightly, hearing an anticipation in Sean’s voice that you didn’t like. You know they didn’t get along in high school, but that was so long ago. “No, nothing like that.”

Sean nods, "fine. Let's get a drink and ignore his ass." Sean reaches for a bottle of beer and opens it, talking a gulp. Meanwhile, Dieter is thanking your mom when she hands him a glass of white wine. He wishes it was stronger but he doesn't want to get sloppy. Today, he's here to show everyone that they were wrong.

You try not to even look at Dieter when you come back into the room, reassured by the kiss shared in the kitchen and the weight of Sean’s hand on your waist. “Dinner should be ready in fifteen.” You tell everyone, smiling but avoiding looking over towards Dieter and Debra.

Dieter's gaze drops to the hand on your waist and he shifts from one foot to the other. He knows he has no claim over you but he feels jealous. He talks to his mom who smiles at him, happy he's home, and finally, everyone is sitting down for dinner.

"So, Bravo, why'd you come back? To this town?" Sean asks after you walk into the kitchen to grab the salt and pepper. "To see my mom. To see everyone since I've been gone for so long." Dieter answers and Sean snorts, "yeah. Years. Looks like you've been busy too. Work wise and with partners." Dieter snorts, "true. I have been very busy." He smirks, "that's why I came home. I needed rest."

You look down at your plate after sitting down, pretending not to care about the conversation but it stings. A knife to your chest just like that time….you reach for your glass and take another gulp of your wine. Dieter had moved on, obviously, and so have you. It does no good to delve into the past. “Well, our small town is the perfect place for rest.” You manage brightly, picking up your fork again.

Dieter hums, “that it is. That it is.” Sean narrows his eyes slightly when he sees the way Dieter looks at you. “So what are your plans? Just hanging around? Or you gonna go out? We don’t need the town to be disrupted.” He bites at Dieter who chuckles and nods, “I’m used to signing autographs and taking photos. I just don’t want fans to be stalking me. I’ve had some issues back home with fans following me home. I did take one to bed once but she ended up being crazy.”

You shudder, forking up a bite of your food and holding it at your mouth. “I’m sure that after tonight Dieter will go back to LA where he belongs.” You look towards your fiancé. “Our small town is boring and there’s nothing here for him.” You’ll give him the papers again when Sean leaves.

Dieter shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. This town has its charms.” His dark eyes focus on you, “but enough about me. What about you two? Tell me how you met.” He orders, setting his fork down to take a sip of wine.

You are about to change the subject, but Sean actually reaches over and squeezes your knee. “Well, her car was on its last leg, a rolling road hazard really, so she came in to find another vehicle.” Sean explains. “Since dad turned over the dealership to me, I find that I actually like to be on the sales floor. I sold her on the idea of that pretty little car in the driveway and a date.” He chuckles at his own joke and you smile at him when he looks over, although your appetite is gone and your stomach is in knots.

Dieter chuckles, a fake smile on his face as he looks at you. You look a little sick, definitely look like you want to floor to swallow you up. “And do you make her cum?” Dieter asks bluntly, “because she used to love it when I ate her out.”

“Dieter!” His name is not only hissed by you, but by his mother, and your own. Your aunt gasping and your uncle grumbling about degenerate behavior while you wish you could just disappear. Sean stiffens but he looks over at you and smirks. “Well, I’m the one taking care of her now.” He turns back towards Dieter. “And I’m not talking about my fiancée like that.”

Dieter falters for a second upon hearing you’re engaged to that asshole but he recovers and smirks back, “so you eat her ass? She used to love that. Would make her drip onto the bed sheets.” He continues to push the boundaries and his mother slaps his arm, “I cannot believe you. Be quiet.” She pleads but Dieter stares at Sean, silently challenging the man you’re engaged to.

Your face feels like it’s on fire, thoroughly embarrassed by Dieter’s childish behavior and the very personal questions. Sean snorts and shakes his head. “You’re something else, Bravo.” He tells him. “It’s a good damn thing she didn’t stay in LA with you. You would have mortified her in interviews.”

Dieter leans back in his chair, his brow furrowing, "what are you talking about? She didn't come to L.A." He scoffs, "she never wanted to come to L.A. She wanted to stay in this shithole town and have babies and die having never achieved anything."

Sean frowns and looks at you. “I thought you said you met up with him in LA to give him the divorce papers?” He asks and you huff out a nervous smile. “I mean- I did, but I-“ Dieter chuckles. “Nope. Never happened.” He announces. “Dieter-“ you try to stop him, but he just smirks at Sean. “We’re still married.”

Dieter watches Sean's face drop and he chuckles, "she didn't tell you? She's still Mrs. Bravo." He reveals and his mom nudges him but this moment is so satisfying. To see that smug look fall from that asshole’s face. "We don't have a pre-nup so it's not financially viable for me to divorce."

“You told me you were divorced.” Sean’s eyes narrow towards you and you know that he’s pissed. “Baby, I’ve been trying to-“ “You know how I feel about shit like that!” He hisses, his chair scraping the floor as he pushes back from his plate quickly. “You’ve been lying to me. I can’t-“ he shakes his head and stalks around the table to edge towards the door. Leaping up, you rush after him, hoping you can explain.

Dieter smirks and his mom slaps his arm again, “why would you do that?” She asks and Uncle Frank scoffs, “because he’s an asshole.” Dieter hums, feeling satisfied to make Sean angry. “Well, let’s not let the food go to waste.” He declares and digs back into his food.

Outside you are chasing after Sean. “Wait! I can explain.” You tell him, making him stop and spin around. “You can explain how you’ve been lying to me?” He demands, his face showing how hurt and upset he is. You sigh. “I’ve been trying to divorce Dieter since I went to LA. But he refuses to do anything with the papers I’ve sent his lawyer, his agent, him directly.” You wave your arm around in frustration. “And the judge will not do anything until he does sign them!”

“So you accepted my proposal knowing you are already married? What were you gonna do? Be a bigamist?” He hisses and you shake your head, tears in your eyes. “I can’t- I can’t marry someone who lies to me and I need time. I- I’ll call you later.” He shrugs off your touch when you reach for him and he stomps over to his car, getting in and speeding off down the road.

You watch the car for a moment, angry and hurt, even though you know that he is right. You lied to him, afraid of losing the first stable relationship since Dieter had left you. Walking back inside, you find Dieter calmly eating Thanksgiving dinner like he hadn’t just turned your life upside down again. “Thanks for that, you fucking selfish prick!” You yell. “Why did you even come back here now? To ruin Thanksgiving for me all over? Mission accomplished!” You turn back around and rush out of the house again, tears streaming down your face.

Dieter scoffs and stands up, following you outside because he needs to say what he’s been thinking since he arrived. You spin around when you see him, telling him to leave you alone. “Like you really wanted to marry that prick. He just wants you to be a homemaker. Pop out his babies. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about your dreams. I did, remember? But you didn’t follow your dreams. You stayed here to fucking rot in this fucking town.” Dieter growls, “you’re the one who gave up on us. Not me. I left to do what we always said we’d do. I had the balls to follow my dreams.”

“Fuck you.” You hiss, glaring at him and wanting so back to slap him. “Apparently following your dreams was also fucking other people!” You watch as his eyes widen and you laugh at the irony. “I went to LA, Dieter! A week after you mailed me your apartment key, I flew out to surprise you. Mom had just been told the cancer treatment had been successful and I wanted to tell you in person.”

Tears are streaming down your face as you tell him. “I crept into the apartment only to find your dick down some bitch’s throat while her boyfriend was fucking her. Allllllll while you moaned about how you were going to fuck them both. So I left.”

He flinches, remembering that night, and he wondered why his door was unlocked at the time but figured his guests hadn’t locked it. “I- I- what was I supposed to do? You didn’t want me. You made it clear that I didn’t matter when I got the part and you refused to follow me. Your mom could’ve come with us. I don’t - I refuse to apologize for living my damn life.” He growls back before he swallows and slumps, “I’m sorry. I- fuck - okay? I’m so goddamn sorry. I missed you. Whenever I got drunk, I’d pick up the phone and call you and you’d answer and - and I’d lose my shit and hang up. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left but I achieved my dream. I couldn’t stay here and be called a loser by your family anymore. I had to prove myself and my chance came. I had to take it. No matter the cost.”

“No matter the cost.” You nod, feeling deflated. “That cost was our marriage. But I guess it was worth it, right?” You ask. “You get to fuck whoever you want, everyone wants to fuck an Oscar winner.” You turn around and rush off, wanting to be alone.

He lets you walk away this time, knowing how you feel and he can tell you hate him. He’s ruined everything for you because he was selfish and wanted to achieve his dreams. Your mom was sick, he should’ve stayed, but it’s too late to turn back the clock. He watches you walk off and feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s your mom. “I- I’m sorry. I ruined her life.” He murmurs and turns to look at his mother in law.

“You know, I was so angry when you left. On Thanksgiving of all days. She fell apart. Wouldn’t speak to me. Just helped me get better and I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her, but I feel guilty. She never got to achieve her dreams. I held her back. And to know that I could’ve stopped you from your success is equally as bad. I hate you for leaving her but I love you for accomplishing your dream. When I was sick, I had so many regrets. I had to face death and I realized I didn’t do anything that I set out to do. After you left, I decided to do all the things that I wanted to do when I was better. I did all that and it’s because of you. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be regretting all the things I didn’t do. You are a great actor, Dieter, but right now, you need to be yourself and be honest. Do you want to be married to my daughter when you are in L.A and she has found someone who can give her what she needs? She wants children. She wants to be happy. She can’t do that if she’s constantly clinging to the past. Do the right thing.” She urges and Dieter sighs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll go talk to her.” He promises, knowing where you are. Where you used to go. It doesn’t take long to walk to the park, finding you on the swing set you’d hang out at as kids.

You sniff as you kick at the rubber that they replaced the old sand with. It’s not nearly as satisfying as you had thought when you got to tell Dieter off and him being here has stirred up emotions you had thought you had buried deep enough. Sean is a good guy, but he isn’t Dieter. He doesn’t dream with you, and he can be annoyingly practical all the time. You hate how your heart had kicked in your chest when you opened the door to see your husband standing there. As if you sense his presence, you look up to see him walking towards you. Making you sigh softly and kick off to start swinging.

Dieter approaches you cautiously, not wanting to be screamed at again, and he sits down on the swing next to you. “Your mom talked to me. She’s still the same. Like my second mom.” He chuckles and glances at you until he turns his gaze to the falling leaves. “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I have been selfish and I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed. Talked to you. Made a plan together.” He inhales deeply, “I’ll sign the papers. No arguments. I’ll let you go so you can be happy with Sean.”

You sigh, continuing to swing as you absorb what he is saying. “It doesn’t matter now.” You finally admit. “Sean’s first wife had an affair so he hates liars and cheaters.” You snort to yourself. “And technically, I’m both.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve really fucked up your life. I’ll sign the papers and get you one of those uh, what is it the models want, a Birkin bag.” He teases and you roll your eyes. “I won’t fuck your life any more. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises softly.

“Why wouldn’t you sign them before now?” You ask. “Seriously? I asked for nothing. Not one dime. No spousal support, no alimony, nothing. But you wouldn’t sign them while you were galavanting around the world and having public relationships with models.”

He looks down at his hands, the tattoo he got when he was eighteen of the circle you’d draw on his hand during class. He rubs the circle and sighs, “because I never stopped loving you. I know you won’t believe me and I’m not asking for anything but I thought if I signed the papers…it’s over. We are over. I didn’t want to face that when no one in Hollywood ever loved me. Not for me. Not like you did. I love you and I was selfish to keep you trapped in our marriage while I did whatever I wanted, whoever I wanted. I’ll sign the papers and I’ll talk to Sean. Tell him it was my fault. I threatened you to not sign the papers because I- I don’t know, because I didn’t want to give you any money. I’ll take the blame and you can be single and marry him, if that’s what you want.”

“You know you broke my heart, when you left?” You ask softly. “That's why I wouldn’t talk to you in the beginning. I was upset. If you had just talked to me about a plan that didn’t just include dropping everything, I would have gone along.” You continue to swing as you talk. “I wanted to be with you in LA. Wanted to help you make your dream come true, but you didn’t need me. You had everyone else.”

Dieter shakes his head, flexing his fingers, “everyone else?” He scoffs, “no one really wanted me. They wanted fame, money, connections. They didn’t give a fuck about me. The real me. I had to get lost in the haze of drugs and booze to feel something. No one has ever made me feel like you do.” He admits, “no one ever came close to you.”

“Poor Dieter.” You don’t murmur it sarcastically like you probably should have, despite everything you have to admit to yourself that you still love him. “You have everything you wanted and are more alone than ever.”

He knows he should put his walls back up and say his life is amazing but he is exhausted from pretending. “No one loves me. Not really. They only love what I can give them.” He sighs and rubs his hands.

“Your mom loves you.” You point out, even though you know that’s not what he means. Dieter huffs and you smile at his pout. “I still love you.” You admit. “It’s why I’m so fucking angry at you.”

Dieter clicks his tongue, “you still love me? Why? I’ve treated you like shit. Worse than shit. You should hate me. Fuck, I hate me.” He confesses, staring at the tarmac beneath his feet. “You deserve everything.”

“You can’t help who you love, Dieter.” You remind him, scoffing at both of you. “You broke my heart and refused to let me move on, but I watched the Oscars the night you won.” You confess. “Got drunk when I saw you making out with that model at the Vanity Fair after party.”

“I had - my PR needed me to date and make a name for myself until it became about me helping those girls make a name for themselves. I didn’t connect with anyone. Never had a relationship. Just one night stands. It was never serious. It was never you.” He closes his eyes and sighs.

“There’s no way I could compete with those women.” You scoff. “And men. They are gorgeous.”

Dieter chuckles humorlessly, "pretty but so fucking dumb. Trust me, baby. None of them had a lot of brain cells. They are beautiful but none of them wanted to talk about life. They just wanted to be seen with me and go on their way when they got what they wanted."

Some might call you stupid, but you feel bad for him. Dieter has always had this need to feel love, to be connected to someone. “I’m sorry that fame hasn’t been all you thought it would be.” You murmur. “I know that after I came back from LA, I- I just lost my passion. I couldn’t work on my art anymore. Everything was just dismal.”

“The grass ain’t always greener, huh?” He snorts and kicks his feet as he swings. “I’m sorry. I sent you that key when I was high and I always miss you when I’m high. I wanted to see you and figured that was one way to get you to L.A. I didn’t know…fuck, I wish I’d known.” He admits, “I, uh, I haven’t been with anyone for six months. Kinda lost the appeal. Casual sex. I miss how we used to be. Our sex.” He confesses, glancing at you.

“We had great sex.” You admit, never telling Sean that he didn’t quite measure up to your ex. That would have been wrong. “Maybe too good of sex.” You sigh again. “A month after you left, I found out I was pregnant. Or I thought I was.”

Dieter’s eyes widen, “you thought you were-? Did you-? I mean, I completely understand if you decided to, you know.” He finishes softly, his stomach twisting.

“No.” You quickly shake your head. “I, uh, lost the pregnancy a couple of weeks later.” You had confirmed with your doctor that it was likely you were in the early stages but it obviously wasn’t meant to be. He told you that stress could have caused it, or there was something wrong with the baby to not be viable. Either way, it had felt like the universe was telling you to let Dieter go. And then a month later you found him fucking another couple.

He hates that he wasn’t there, that he possibly caused it if you were upset by him leaving. “I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, “I know - there’s nothing I can say that will make that better or make it right.” He reaches for your hand to squeeze it, “I ruined your life. Your happiness.”

It’s the first time Dieter has touched you since he left so many Thanksgivings ago, but your heart still pounds and your skin tingles. “I wish we could have done things differently.” You squeeze his hand back gently.

Dieter nods, “me too. I wish I hadn’t fucked up. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” He confesses and kisses the back of your hand, “even better than an Oscar, but…that time of our lives is over now. I know you can’t forgive me. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises, letting go of your hand.

You frown to yourself as you wrap your hand around the chain for the swing and push off again. “Do you remember that weekend we each told our parents we were going to stay at a friend’s house and we went to that little cabin your grandfather owned?”

Dieter frowns, the memory is one that got buried beneath the haze of drugs and booze but he remembers. “Yeah. Our first time.” He smiles, fondly reminded of the night you first slept together. “It was so fucking cold and I couldn’t get the fire started. Turns out having sex is a great way to keep warm.” He chuckles, starting to swing alongside you.

“That was the day I decided I was going to marry you.” You hum at the memory, smiling softly at the way a very young Dieter had panicked that he had ruined the moment for you. You had both been kids at the time, growing up together. “That’s a fun fact that the world doesn’t know about Dieter Bravo.” You tease. “You married the girl that took your virginity.”

Dieter chuckles, “Entertainment Tonight would have a field day.” He winks at you when you giggle, “it took me way too damn long to propose to you but I was scared you were gonna say no. Who wanted to marry a wannabe actor making his money in a community theater with no house? I was a shitshow.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself.

“You were my shitshow.” You laugh, leaning back in the swing and kicking your feet higher. “It was us against the world back then, and I didn’t believe you would make it honestly, but I wanted you to try.”

“Hey. My improv was fucking great.” He defends himself playfully, “but I had to try. Even if I went to L.A and failed, I had to try. I couldn’t live life thinking what if. Imagine if I hadn’t gone? I’d be sat at the kitchen table with our kids wondering what could’ve been. I just wish you’d been by my side when I left.” He says as he swings.

“Hard to be by your side when you left without a word. Just a note on the bed.” There’s no heat in your tone, just irony. “It just- wasn’t meant to be.”

“And Sean is meant to be?” Dieter snorts. “Do you really want to marry that asshole?”

“He’s…..” you blow out a sigh, “safe.” You admit to him and to yourself. “I like him, he’s a good man……” you know you aren’t answering the real question and it’s ironic that Dieter is the only one to ask you that since you and Sean got engaged. “No.” You confess after a moment. “I don’t to want to marry him.”

Dieter nods, quiet for a moment as he absorbs your words, “I can’t sit here and lecture you. I have no authority in your life but you need to do what you want. Fuck everyone else. You sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you. Even me. I was selfish and you are still sitting here talking to me. Do what you want. Be selfish for once.” He demands, wanting you to be happy.

You want to be selfish and you drag your feet along the ground to stop yourself and hop off the swing. Turning towards Dieter, you grab the chain and pull him to a stop. His eyes widen and for a second, you both think that you’re going to slap him. He would deserve it. Instead, you lunge forward and press your lips to his.

Dieter is shocked when your lips smash against his and he reacts within seconds, wrapping his arms around you to drag you into his lap. As soon as your lips touch his, his muscle memory kicks in and he deepens the kiss. Reminded of so many kisses shared all those years ago.

You are shocked by how quickly Dieter clings to you. You’re angry at him, how could you not be? But you’ve missed him so much that it doesn’t matter right now. Your fingers sink into his longer hair and you moan, enjoying how it feels. You always wanted him to grow his hair out.

Your fingers pull on his hair and he groans into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass. He devours you, knowing this is wrong, and you’re going to push him away any second, but right now he’s greedy and he wants you.

You let yourself be taken away by the moment. Leaning into him, breathing him in. His base scent is still the same, woodsy and you swear he is still wearing the same cologne you had picked out for him years ago.

He knows you’ll pull away any second and he readies himself for that rejection as he leans back, pecking your lips until he kisses your cheeks and finally, your forehead. “I never stopped loving you.” He promises breathlessly, his hands sliding up your back. “I just wanted to make you proud but I fucked it all up.”

“You did fuck it up all up.” You won’t spare his feelings, but you reach out and caress his cheek. “But I am proud of you, Dieter. Every movie broke my heart and made me proud. Every role, even when you were on Broadway.” You sigh. “I went to your performance, the second week in.”

“You did?” He asks, eyes widening as he looks at you and his heart is pounding in his chest. He hasn’t felt like this in so many years. He hasn’t felt anything real for so long.

“I had to see it. You talked about Broadway the entire time you were at our local theatre. I honestly didn’t expect you to take the role, but when it was announced, I bought tickets.” You tell him. You cried through the entire thing, but people just thought you were moved by the performances.

He smiles softly, loving that you came to see him even if you hated him. You are kind enough to support him even when he ruined your life. “So what now? You gonna tell Sean you don’t want to marry him? I go home and we act like this never happened?” He asks quietly, worried that you’ll nod and send him away.

“I don’t know.” You bite your lip. “I don’t know what you want. You have a life in LA, a …..persona.” You add. “If you want that life, still….” You shrug. “I don’t think I can be a part of it.”

“Come with me to L.A. There’s nothing keeping you here. I want you to see my life and I want you to do something for yourself. Make your dreams come true. Paint. Do whatever you want. I’ll support you. I don’t give a fuck about my persona. I want to be with you and if you want to go home, if you get sick of me, I’ll book you a private jet straight back here.” He promises, “just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

You lick your lips, staring at him and watching him start to shift nervously. “You want me to move to LA? Live with you?” He nods enthusiastically. “I do, baby, I want you to come be with me.” You lick your lips. “What do I have to lose?”

He nods, not allowing himself to get too excited. "And if you hate it, hate me, wanna come home...I'll sign the papers." He promises, nudging his nose against yours.

You snort. “I doubt that.” You tease, closing the gap to press your lips to his again. “I’ve never hated you, even when I hated you.” You had been so upset at him, but it’s only because you loved him so much. You still love him.

****

“Baby! Did you get the juice boxes?” You call out and Dieter strides into the dining room with the boxes for the kids. “Here you go.” He leans over to kiss the head of his three year old son before handing another box to your five year old daughter who opens it herself while saying “thanks daddy.” It’s so weird to hear that even now and Dieter can’t believe he’s a father. He smiles at his daughter and leans in to softly kiss you. “You need anything?” He murmurs against your lips, pulling back to look at you. “No. No. Sit down and eat.” You order and he sits down. “It looks amazing.” Debra compliments your mom who beams, so happy to be spending the holidays with her grandchildren. “Thank you.” She smiles at Dieter who is happy to be sitting here. So different from that Thanksgiving so many years ago. You had moved to L.A with him after your mom encouraged you and after that, you had decided to try and repair your relationship. It was easy to fall in love again and now, you have two kids.

You have everything you wanted back then, finding some small success as an artist, but you really prefer spending time with your kids, and your husband when he is away on location. You bring the family now and the press is marveling over the change in Dieter Bravo’s behavior. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone.” You raise your glass of wine but you don’t take a sip, smiling at Dieter mischievously. “Next year we will need to set another place at the table.” You announce. “Baby Bravo number three will be coming to a nursery near you in April.”

Your mom’s eyes widen as much as Debra’s and she grins, “that’s - that’s incredible, baby!” She cries and tears fill her eyes. “Oh my loves. Another baby.” Debra coos and reaches out to caress Dieter’s cheek before she smiles at you. “I’m so happy you both came back together.” Your mom sighs, loving how you and Dieter have worked everything out.

It hasn’t been easy, there have been times when you’ve been angry at Dieter, but he’s sober, you attend couples counseling and he has become your rock. “Thanksgiving miracles, huh?”

Dieter nods, “our miracles.” He murmurs, reaching for your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. You all dig in to the food and soon the kids are in bed after everyone is full, the house is clean, and your moms are watching tv. “You ready for bed, babe?” You ask and Dieter glances at the clock. “It’s only eight.” He frowns until you raise your eyebrows and his eyes widen, “oh yeah. I’m tired. We are going upstairs. Wifey needs all the rest she can get.” Dieter teases and your moms say goodnight while Dieter takes your hand and guides you upstairs.

You snort playfully and reach around him to slap his ass. “You almost didn’t get the drift.” You tease him. “And I thought you always knew when someone wanted sex.” Dieter huffs at you. “I didn’t think you would want it tonight.” He whines, defending himself.

You chuckle, “you know how horny I get when I’m pregnant.” You remind him and Dieter snorts, “but you’ve had turkey and pie.” He defends himself again as you make your way to the room you used to live in when you first got married. He opens the door and closes it behind you, groaning as he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

The years apart and the life that Dieter had lived in LA had just given him new skills to use on you. While it wasn’t perfect, you have to take the good with the bad. The good is that you have Dieter completely. Your arms wind around him and pull him close as you moan softly.

His hands are gentle but firm as he slides his hands down to squeeze your ass, pulling you against him as he hardens in his sweats. “Fuck. I love you.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he guides you backwards to the bed.

“I love you too.” You promise, trusting that he will make you feel amazing. “How do you feel about another baby?” You ask as you fall back into the bed.

“Happy as fuck.” He admits, “we have money. We have a big enough house. We can have as many babies as you want.” He teases as you lower to the bed and he shifts to kneel between your legs, “and you’re so fucking beautiful full of our babies.”

You have discovered that Dieter has kinks surrounding having kids now. Breeding, pregnancy, lactation kinks all have made for some amazing nights. You love the confidence that it gives you when he works with some of the most beautiful people in the world. He’s now the one that is showing pictures of his kids to his co-stars and inviting them to meet you, rather than asking if they want to do a line of coke with him. “You just love proving you aren’t sterile.” You tease, reminding him of The Inquisitor article that claimed all your children were born via sperm donor.

He snorts, “all conceived on my cock, baby.” He declares smugly and he reaches for the hem of your shirt, dragging it over your head. “You are gorgeous, baby.” He murmurs as he bends down to kiss your stomach, not quite a bump yet.

You hum, running your fingers through his hair again like he loves. He’s always sweet and considerate while you are pregnant and this will be your last baby, so it’s a special time for both of you. “All yours.” You promise.

He’s gonna get the snip before you have the baby, just so this is your last baby, and it’s bittersweet but he is going to enjoy every moment. He hooks his fingers in your leggings, dragging them down your legs and he groans when the scent of your arousal hits his nose. You’re so sensitive when you’re pregnant and he loves it. “All mine. And I’m yours. All of me.” He promises as he tosses your leggings aside and surges down to press his nose against your clit through your panties.

“Deeee.” You moan softly, loving the devoted look on his face as he looks up towards you. “I know I have you baby.” You promise, smiling down at him. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He murmurs and hooks his finger in your panties, leaning in to slide his tongue through your folds. He loves the tang of your arousal when you’re pregnant. You taste sweeter somehow and he groans, reaching for your thigh to push it further away so he can slide his tongue into your cunt.

Whimpering with Dieter’s tongue inside you is as natural as breathing. Closing your eyes and letting him eat you out because he wants to. He loves doing down on you and hearing his name break from your lips. “Fuck baby, I love you.” You pant. “Deee.”

He loves hearing you moan his name. He laps at you, wanting to show you how much he loves you through his tongue. One hand caresses your stomach and the other pushes your thigh back to spread you more so he can bury his face In your pussy.

You don’t have to worry about waking the kids up, they are used to sleeping through anything although it’s usually just dinner parties and the two of you having sex. “Fuck, Dieter.” You moan. “Want to cum all over that stupidly handsome face of yours.”

He chuckles into your folds, knowing he's getting wrinkly and despite his co-stars in Hollywood investing in plastic surgery, he is surprisingly not interested in preventing aging. He is happy to be old beside you. His tongue laps at your clit, wanting you to fall apart for him.

Your hormones make you sensitive and in no time you are crying out in pleasure. Gasping out his name as your thighs cinch down around his head and your body shakes in pleasure.

He groans when you squeeze his head between your thighs, his hand reaching for yours as he works you through it. His cock is aching and he grinds against the mattress while he works you through your orgasm.

Dieter doesn’t stop until you are gasping and pushing his head away from you, clit aching from his attention and he pulls away with a playful smack to his lips. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and pulling him up. “I need my husband.”

He groans, shifting to hover above you, and he lets you pull his shirt over his head. He pushes his sweatpants down and his hard cock bounces as he kicks them aside while you throw his shirt on the floor. “Like this?” He asks, caressing your side and when you nod, he shifts to kneel between your legs, “I love you.” He murmurs as he grips his cock and positions himself at your cunt to push inside you.

The stretch of him is something that you will always love. Moaning as he fills you with a smooth, steady thrust that doesn’t stop until he is buried to the hilt and both of you are breathless. “Fuck.” You whimper, caressing his back as you squeeze him tight. “Feels so good baby.”

Dieter groans as he twitches inside you. You’re so damn hot and wet around his cock. “Fuck, I love you.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Marry me again.” He murmurs, keeping still inside you.

You’re surprised when he says that. You’ve talked about it before, several times. He had always said that you should renew your vows, but you’ve never really planned anything else. “You want that?”

He nods as he stays still above you. “I want to renew our vows. Either before or after you have the baby. Whenever you want. I want a proper wedding. We got married at the courthouse when we were so young and I want to give you the wedding you deserve. A dress and a cake and - and a party like no one has seen.”

You giggle quietly. “It will have to be after the baby is born then.” You huff, knowing that while he has the money to pull off a wedding in weeks, you would rather enjoy the entire event rather than feeling rushed. “We’ll sell the pictures to People.” You tease, reaching up and caressing his face. “I love you.”

He snorts, nudging his nose with yours, “this will be for us. Our friends and family.” He promises and starts to move inside you. “I love you. So damn much.” He murmurs, sliding his hand up to squeeze your breast, shifting his weight to one arm.

He keeps his pace slow and loving, wanting you to enjoy it and sometimes the harsher thrusts aren’t what you want. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you move with him. Enjoying the way he fills you and never leaves you empty for too long. Slow lovemaking. “I love you too.”

He loves how you wrap yourself around him and he keeps his weight off your stomach while he rocks into you. It’s slow and sweet and he kisses along your jaw while he murmurs how beautiful you are. He knows how to make you moan and he grinds into your cunt, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes you moan his name. “That’s it, baby.” He coos, his back starting to ache but he keeps moving.

You breathlessly moan for him, finding it so sexy how he keeps the pressure up just like you need it. You know that his back is hurting and yet he keeps rocking into you at the same angle. “So good baby.”

He keeps the pace and angle as he pushes into you, wanting to feel you fall apart beneath him. He groans your name, “baby. Baby. Cum for me.” He demands, pressing his lips to your jaw, his breath puffing against your skin.

You let go of him and reach between you, pinching your nipple and making yourself fall over the edge. Crying out softly, your cunt starts to spasm around his cock and soak it with your juices.

He groans against your jaw as you cum around him, clamping down on his cock and he hisses. “Fuck baby. Feel so goddamn good. I - shit - I love you.” He murmurs, rocking you through it.

You whimper, eyes closed and your fingers dig into his shoulder. “Cum for me.” You beg softly. “I want you to fill me up.”

He grunts in response, thrusting into you at a sloppier pace than before as he feels that tingling in the base of his spine. His lips press against yours as he buries himself deep after several thrusts, muffling his groan while he paints your walls with his cum.

Even when he’s exhausted and happily riding out his high, Dieter collapses to his side so he doesn’t press too much of his weight on you. More considerate than anyone would have ever believed the selfish bad boy of Hollywood could be. “I love you.” You whisper in his ear with a smile on your face. “Happy Thanksgiving, love.” Thanksgiving had been a heavy burden for you, a reminder of your husband leaving you for years until he had come back to you on that same holiday. Now, you both give thanks for being together and more in love than ever. You accomplished both of your dreams and now all of them you still work towards are ones you want to accomplish together.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo imagine #dieter bravo fanfiction

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short-honey-badger · 2 days ago

Text

Doll 2

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Shanks can't stop thinking about you and how you'll fit in with the crew

Warnings: late night thoughts and mentions of abuse

Doll Masterlist

Later that night, while Shanks lay in the room he'd rented, the redhead couldn't stop thinking about you. Even while pleasantly buzzed still from earlier, his mind was a whirlwind of thought, and as much as it disgusted him to consider, he did want to know what kind of slave you were. The Celestial Dragons were known to keep all kinds of races, from Fishman to Giants. Labor, entertainment, pleasure.

Shanks hoped that you hadn't been part of the latter. You didn't seem like it, didn't have the innate sultry look that Shanks had seen before, but that didn't mean you couldn't hide it from him. He could go ask you, demand you tell him since he was the one who decided to bring you on board, but the thought of doing that left an awful taste in his mouth. Shanks wanted you to trust him. He wanted to be your friend.

You hadn't told him much about your past, only the little bit that you’d been willing to share with him so far, but Shanks wanted you to feel safe enough that you would want to share everything with him eventually. He wanted to see you smile more, wanted to see you relax and feel at home with him and the rest of his crew. You wanted to know everything, so Shanks would make sure you got what you wanted.

A knock on his door tore the captain from his thoughts, and he jumped from the bed to open the door. You stood on the other side, a contrite expression on your face. His own schools into one of concern and lean against the doorway.

“Everything okay, Doll?” He asks quietly and has a hard time not reaching out to cup her face when you bite your lip and avoid his eyes. He waits patiently for you, not willing to rush you into anything that you might not be read for.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t earlier, and it’s been bothering me,” you ramble and then fall silent. You don’t want your new captain to rescind his offer to join him, but you’ve been instructed to say please and thank you since you could remember, even if whatever you’d been sent to do ended in punishment.

Shanks softens even more at your admission. He can see the old fear lingering in your eyes, and it makes rage boil in his chest that you’ve been subject to such treatment that a simple thank you made you so nervous. He doesn’t fight the urge this time to reach out to cup your face in his hand, his lips turning up in a sad smile.

“Sweetheart. You don’t have to thank me for something like this. Don’t think you have to treat me and mine like you had to treat those bastards. I don’t own you, Doll. You own yourself.”

He watches in mild panic as tears form in your eyes, and then he has a chest full of sobbing woman. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to try and provide some form of comfort. Shanks isn’t the best at this, but for you? He’d try his damndest. He dips his head and presses a kiss to the top of your head and listens as your sobs begin to slow down into quiet sniffles.

You grimace as you pull away and look at his shirt from where your face had been pressed, “I’m sorry, I got you all nasty.”

Shanks laughs and shakes his head. You were adorable like this, and he couldn’t get enough of it, “Darling. I promise you that this shirt has had worse than some snot and tears on it.”

The look of disgust that paints your face is all worth the confession, and Shanks only laughs harder when you pull away and wipe your face. You crinkle your nose and eye him with a now skeptical look, “When was the last time you washed that shirt?”

Shanks aims an innocent look, lips pursed as he shrugs a shoulder. You scoff and cross your arms, but your fear from earlier seems to be gone, so the redhead is happy.

“Maybe it is a good thing I’m coming along. A crew full of men probably needs a woman’s touch,” You quip, and Shanks can’t help but silently agree. He won’t lie and say that the laundry doesn’t get piled up on occasion. Or the dishes despite Lucky Roux keeping the kitchen orderly. He’s guilty himself for letting his quarters get a little too messy. But he didn’t bring you along so that you could be their maid.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, _,” Shanks murmurs, tone dropping the playful tilt as he catches her chin in his hand, “I’m not bringing you with us for that.”

His heart thuds in his chest at the smile that you send him. You slowly reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing softly before letting your hand fall back to your side. It makes you feel good that Shanks is taking your comfort in mind, but you wouldn’t be a burden on his ship.

“I know that, but I don’t think I could physically just sit around and do nothing. I’ve worked… my whole life, Shanks, and I don’t want to be just another mouth to feed. I want to be helpful,” you say and shrug a little helplessly. The only break you’ve ever had was in the last month of your escape, but even then, you were constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering if this would be the day that someone recognized you and dragged you back to Marie Geois. The guilt of leaving the other slaves behind still ate at you, and you wished that you could have been able to take them with you.

“Then we’ll figure it out as we go, Doll,” Shanks promises and strokes his thumb along your jaw like he had earlier before he drops his hand. He doesn’t want you to think that he wants you for anything other than your company. Not that you’re not beautiful, but Shanks doesn’t want you to think he expected something like that from you. Not unless you wanted it.

You blush at th efeeling of the rough pad of his finger against your skin. You didn’t like it when people touched you, but you found that dislike absent when Shanks did it. It felt natural and kept you grounded in a way you didn’t expect. You flick your eyes up, catching his own and send him a small smile, “Thank you again, Shanks.”

The redhead meets it with a grin of his own. A yawn suddenly catches you off guard, and you cover your mouth with a hand, eyes squinting as you look away from him. Shanks snickers at the way your nose scrunches up and steps back into his room.

“Go catch some sleep, Doll. We’ll stay here a couple more days to resupply, and then we’ll be on our way,” Shanks yawns himself halfway through, his words coming out slow and choppy before they even out. He smirks when his antics make you laugh, and then he is watching you turn on your heel and lope down the hall, “Night, Doll.”

“Night, Shanks,” you call softly back, and then you disappear around the corner. Shanks sighs once you are gone. Mind stuffed even more with thoughts about you as he shuts the door and lays back down. He rubs a hand down his face and rolls to his side, vowing to figure out the details in the morning.

#reader insert #one piece #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #opla shanks #one piece x reader

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kathlare · 1 day ago

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sneaking glances

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a post-race debrief, Lando struggles to focus as a live stream of Amelie's final performance on the Eras Tour captures his attention. What begins as a secret moment quickly turns into an impromptu team viewing party, exposing his feelings to his colleagues in a humorous and heartwarming way.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

March 9th, 2024 - Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

The post-race debrief felt like it had been dragging on for hours. Lando sat in the dimly lit McLaren meeting room, surrounded by engineers and strategists dissecting every second of his race in Saudi Arabia. P6 in qualifying had felt promising, but slipping down to P8 during the race was frustrating.

As the head engineer clicked through lap data on the screen, Lando leaned back in his chair, his leg bouncing restlessly under the table. His phone, strategically tucked in his hoodie pocket, vibrated softly—a notification from Instagram Live. His heart jumped.

He didn’t need to check to know what it was. Amelie’s last night opening for Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour was happening in Singapore.

Lando had known how much this tour meant to her, how thrilled she was to perform on some of the biggest stages in the world. And tonight was special—her final show. She’d been glowing over FaceTime earlier in the week, buzzing with both excitement and a tinge of sadness that it was coming to an end.

He shifted in his chair, pretending to adjust the waistband of his hoodie as he slid his phone out. Keeping it low and angled away from the team, he unlocked it with a swipe.

The live stream loaded almost immediately, and his chest tightened as Amelie’s voice filled his ears.

Her silhouette was bathed in soft purple light, the crowd roaring as she belted out the final notes of her song. She was dressed in a sparkling outfit that shimmered with every movement, her hair flowing as she twirled across the stage with her signature energy.

She looked breathtaking.

—Lando?— Andrea, his performance coach, nudged him gently, bringing him back to the room.

—Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,— Lando replied quickly, his eyes darting to the screen and back. He adjusted his posture, tapping on the table as if he were fully engaged in the conversation.

But his mind was anywhere but there.

Amelie laughed into the mic, her voice warm and effervescent as she addressed the crowd. —This is my last night opening for Taylor, and I just want to thank every single one of you for making this journey so unforgettable.— The audience erupted in cheers, and Lando couldn’t help but smile. She always knew how to command a room.

He angled the phone closer, careful not to make it obvious, but the subtle glow of the screen caught the attention of Oscar, who was seated beside him.

—What’s that?— Oscar whispered, leaning slightly over to peek.

Lando flinched, quickly tilting the screen away. —Nothing. Just checking... stuff.—

Oscar raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. —Is that… a concert?—

Lando sighed, realizing he wasn’t getting out of this one. He lowered his voice. —It’s Amelie. She’s performing in Singapore.—

Oscar’s eyes widened in recognition. —Wait, Amelie? Like, your Amelie?—

—Shut up,— Lando hissed, his cheeks flushing.

But it was too late. The exchange had drawn the attention of one of the engineers, who leaned over curiously. —What are you watching?—

Lando groaned, sinking lower into his chair as the small crowd around the table grew more intrigued. —It’s nothing, guys. Just focus on the debrief.—

Andrea’s sharp gaze narrowed. —Lando.—

—Fine!— he relented, holding up the phone. The live stream displayed Amelie mid-performance, her voice soaring through the room.

There was a beat of silence before someone muttered, —Damn, she’s good.—

One by one, the team leaned in, captivated. Even Andrea, who had been ready to scold Lando, seemed impressed.

—Isn’t she friends with you?— one of the engineers asked.

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool. —Yeah. We’re... close.—

Oscar snorted. —Close? Mate, you’re grinning like an idiot. You’re in love.—

—Shut it, Piastri,— Lando muttered, but his smile betrayed him.

The debrief quickly devolved into a makeshift watch party. The engineers abandoned their laptops, the strategists leaned against the table, and even Zak Brown appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

—What’s going on here?— Zak asked, his tone amused.

Andrea gestured to the phone. —Lando’s watching his... friend’s concert.—

Zak crossed his arms, clearly entertained. —Friend, huh?—

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. —Can we just finish the meeting?—

But no one was listening anymore. Someone connected the phone to the meeting room’s projector, and within seconds, Amelie’s live stream was on the big screen.

She was mid-song, the crowd swaying to the rhythm as she poured her heart into every note. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her, his chest swelling with pride.

—You know, you could’ve just told us you’re dating her,— Oscar said, nudging him playfully.

—We’re not...!— Lando started, but the room erupted in laughter.

Zak clapped a hand on his shoulder. —It’s okay, kid. We’re rooting for you.—

As Amelie finished her set with her traditional Nonsense outro, Lando’s phone buzzed again, a text from her.

Ames💛: You better not be ignoring your meeting to watch me.

He grinned, typing back quickly.

Lan🧡: Busted. The whole team’s watching now. You were incredible.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Ames💛: Told you you’d fall for me all over again ;)

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone.

—Alright, alright, back to work,— Zak called, though his tone was far from serious.

As the team reluctantly turned their attention back to the race debrief, Lando couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in his chest.

Amelie had always been his biggest distraction—and his greatest joy. And as he glanced at the projector one last time, watching her blow a kiss to the crowd, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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dadvans · 3 days ago

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wip wednesday

bucktommy mpreg :: buck finds out he's pregnant after tommy breaks up with him and they make a mess of the boundaries

Tommy comes up the stairs two at a time when he doesn’t find Buck downstairs.

Think of it, Buck tells himself: Tommy bringing over another guy he knows who can fuck his mouth as good as Tommy can fuck his ass. It drives him right to the brink, and Buck promises himself, he can make it through the finish line and fake a sweaty, heaving nightmare by the time Tommy finds him.

He doesn’t.

“Buck?” Tommy says again, and then he sees Buck like a slug furled out in his sheets writhing and chasing the orgasm that just won’t come, so then he takes that awful one step back down, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh.”

Buck finally stops fucking his fist and slams his good hand palm flat into the mattress beside him. “Shit! No, I am. I am. Please don’t go. Give me a second. Fuck.”

“Buck,” Tommy says from the stairwell, deeper now, like he’s been weighted down by despair. Buck twists to look at him, but he can’t even see Tommy’s face.

“Sorry, I thought I could,” Buck continues unthinkingly, “I thought I could finish before you came up here. I’ve just been— the hormones are making me crazy. I wasn’t trying to—“

“You told me to come over when our calendars synced up to discuss a birth plan, and—“

“—Yeah, yeah, I absolutely said that and I meant it, and maybe I hoped you would have called or texted first—“

“—I called—“

“—Shit! Sorry, fuck. Have you ever heard of pregnancy brain?” He feels delirious. Too horny and trying to find the one branch on his way down that will bear his weight. His dick is throbbing, even when its only half-hard now. There’s this ugly need to get off roiling through him like a hot pot of water left on a stove too long, ready to boil into nothing at all if left alone. “It’s that, I swear. I’m so fucking horny right now I wish I knew what’s right and what’s wrong. I thought I could fake it, get off and whoever came in, no one would know, but I heard your voice, and, fuck, Tommy, please.”

“Buck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your call.” He looks away, chin tilting back up to the ceiling as he slides his flat palm down the underside of his hard dick and thrusts against it, dry grooves and all. “It could’ve been my fucking mom, I wouldn’t have known.”

Buck hears Tommy breathe in and out from so far away, the same measured, shaky rhythm as his hand, slow and cruel, keeping every last ugly feeling alive.

“Want me to meet you outside, what, ten minutes?” Tommy asks. “Twenty?”

He should say yes, sorry, yes, please, he’s so fucking sorry. It’s these goddamn hormones, it’s this goddamn oops baby, he’ll get his shit together, buttoned up and on schedule, regular, as soon as he can.

But then there’s the thought of Tommy, two fingers in his ass, gritty with lube and slow as anything, them rocking together in the same spot he’s in now. There’s Tommy picking him up behind the thighs to get the back of Buck’s knees cradling his shoulders, driving into him so deep that Buck could taste him, right in this bed, moaning shaky into the same pillow he’s already sweating into like the walls would’ve fallen down around them. There’s Tommy, voice honey warm, saying, “There you go, baby, take it, take it all.” A ledger of things that would make his breaker box burst if he were an old home.

He closes his eyes, grinds his teeth together. “These hormones are just over-riding everything else in my brain, okay. And it doesn’t have to mean anything, but it would be a lot quicker if you came up here instead and helped.”

He expects Tommy to say no. He expects Tommy to say, in the best case scenario, “You know I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” He expects Tommy to say, in the worst case scenario, “Go fuck yourself.”

The tiniest hope, the ugliest hope that lives too deep down for Buck to think about, bursts hot and heavy when Tommy sighs and takes the few steps back upstairs.

#bucktommy #911 abc #mpreg #delaney writes #wip

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no-144444 · 8 hours ago

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choices- c.sainz

summary: charles gives you an ultimatum.

pairing: carlos sainz x fem! leclerc! reader

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When Carlos overtook Charles you knew he was racing purely for himself. You both knew it could be his last podium, and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to share it with his teammate. It just sucked that his teammate was your brother.

Charles had never been good at sharing when it came to racing, but he was a Ferrari driver through and through, he’d be a team player if he had t, and they were boh supposed to be team players. Carlos was done with it, and you understood why. He’d been second to Charles his entire time at Ferrari, second to Max in Toro Rosso, ousted by Danny Ric in Renault, and now he’d be in Williams. He was sick of being seen as less than his teammates, when, if he had that same backing they did, he could’ve been a World Champion.

You waited at the barricade for the both of them, not quite sure how they would react. Charles came out first, you’d heard his radio message.

He walked over to Alexandra with a sigh. “It’s such bullshit,” he scoffed. Then his eyes met yours. “You have to make a choice now, and it isn’t about love. It’s about blood, it’s about dad. He’s not welcome in our home. He’s not fucking welcome at Christmas, at birthdays, ever. You need to pick.”

You stared at him for a moment. He’d never been so harsh. He’d never given you an ultimatum before. Alexandra looked at you, concerned. “Charles, no. That’s not fair-”

“You’re not in this conversation,” he quipped. “Y/n. Choose.”

“Don’t talk to her like that-”

“Y/n,” Carlos was in front of you, looking at you, practically pleading with you to choose him. You loved him, he loved you. Charles was your brother.

You looked at your brother. “Carlos,” you said, your voice strong and clear. Carlos wrapped his arms around you as you stared at Charles. He nodded, his lips a line, before he walked off.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin. You could feel the mix of sweat and tears against your neck. He pulled back with a smile. “Thank you. I love you.”

You smiled, tears welling up in your eyes. “Congratulations,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too.”

If Carlos had taught you one thing, it was that love shouldn’t hurt. Charles hurt you time and time again, always playing the older brother card whenever he wanted you to do something. Carlos never did that. He actually loved you.

He wiped the tears off your cheeks as they fell, “We’ll work it out,” he promised you. “I’ll speak to him.”

You shook your head. “Enjoy tonight my love,” you smiled. “You’re a winner. I love you.”

He offered a gentle smile. “I love you too.”

You’d figure it out. Together.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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theonottsbxtch · 4 hours ago

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99 PROBLEMS | MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by.

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had.

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

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daisymbin · 2 days ago

Note

angst 2. "you promised you wouldn’t hurt me."

reader says something mean during an argument and dk starts tearing up. happy ending pls!

reading this req already hurts 🥲

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // seokmin's m.list

angst prompt #2: "you promised you wouldn't hurt me."

it started with something small. a mix-up about dinner plans spiraled into something deeper, words sharper than they needed to be. the kind of argument that left no room for clarity, only feelings.

“do you even care, seokmin?” you snapped, your frustration peaking. “sometimes it feels like you’re just… here. like you don’t even love me as much as i love you.”

silence.

the moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. the way seokmin’s expression fell—like you’d reached into his chest and crushed something fragile—made your chest tighten painfully.

his brows knitted together, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. he just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to convince himself he’d misheard.

“you don’t mean that,” he said softly, his voice trembling.

you didn’t respond, too caught in the regret and shame that threatened to drown you.

“you don’t mean that,” he repeated, louder this time, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

“seokmin, i—” you started, but he cut you off, his voice breaking.

“you promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. his words were shaky, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you said i could trust you. that you’d never make me feel small, like i wasn’t enough.”

you froze, the weight of his words settling on your chest like a boulder.

“is that really what you think?” he asked, his voice cracking. “that i don’t love you enough? after everything?”

“no, seokmin, that’s not—”

“then why would you say it?” he demanded, his voice rising just slightly, the pain evident in every syllable. “you don’t get to say something like that and act like it doesn’t hurt me. like it doesn’t make me feel like i’m failing you.”

his words knocked the breath out of you. you’d never seen him like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“i don’t think that,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. i know you love me, seokmin. i know how much you try, how much you care. i just—” you exhaled shakily, your throat tightening.

your chest ached as you stepped closer to him, your hands trembling at your sides. “i was frustrated, and i didn’t know how to handle it. but that’s not an excuse, and you didn’t deserve it. you’re the last person i’d ever want to hurt, seokmin.”

he looked at you for a long moment, his breathing uneven as he tried to process your words. then, slowly, he shook his head.

“i’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “i’m scared that one day you’ll decide i’m not enough for you. that you’ll leave, and i won’t know what i did wrong because i tried so hard to love you the best way i could.”

your heart shattered at his confession, and you couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from your eyes.

“seokmin,” you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. “you are enough. more than enough. i was wrong to say what i did, and i’m so, so sorry.” you squeezed his hand tightly, desperate for him to believe you. “i love you, seokmin. i love you so much, and i’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”

his gaze softened, though the pain was still evident in his eyes. “i don’t need you to prove it,” he said quietly. “i just need you to mean it. to not say things like that, even when you’re upset.”

“i promise,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears streaming down your face. “i’ll never hurt you like that again.”

he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a faint, trembling smile. “okay.”

you pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly as his arms wrapped around you. he buried his face in your shoulder, his body shaking with a mix of relief and lingering emotion.

“you know,” he said after a long moment, his voice muffled, “this is the part where i’m supposed to make a cheesy joke to lighten the mood.”

you laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness in the room. “go ahead. i could use a cheesy seokmin joke right now.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still red but his smile brighter now. “okay, but don’t get mad when it’s so bad you forget why you were sad.”

you rolled your eyes, a small grin tugging at your lips. “i’ll take my chances.”

“why did the scarecrow win an award?” he asked, his tone serious but his eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth.

you blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. “why?”

“because he was outstanding in his field.”

the laugh that bubbled out of you was instant, and he grinned, his expression softening as he watched you.

“see? you’re already forgetting,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

“you’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless.

“that i do,” you whispered, your voice steady and full of conviction. “and i always will.”

“yeah, but you love me,” he said, pulling you back into his arms.

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grapejuicestyless · 2 days ago

Text

What If I Don’t Know?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: In an alternate universe where the pogues gave up the hunt after their win with El Dorado, Y/n breaks free of the island dream and runs off the college. Only to find that maybe, being away isn’t what she wanted after all.

My boots danced across the thick yellow lines on the deep black pavement. The traffic lights were flickering yellow, reflecting off of the void and rippling across the building puddles by the clogged sewer drains. An intersection at midnight, no dead stop and no definite go. Just the trust that the other cars wouldn’t blow past the warning signs. The trust that metal was made to bend, to rupture to save a life.

I didn’t have a car, I couldn’t afford one, and I never needed one. Everything I ever wanted was always just a few steps away. Laughter used to echo through the halls and cold rings hit the doors repeatedly. You grow used to people that way. Used to the sound of their footsteps, of their breath. You know who’s on the other side of the door always when you memorize the pattern of their movement.

JJ promised me once that we’d make one. We would run our way down to the junkyard and pick out old parts of cars and Frankenstein them together into a piece of shit that would run like a dream.

That was something I missed. The smell of gasoline. Maybe that’s why I stumbled down through the college town, balancing between the thin stripe of black between yellow and twirling in the center where road met road. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. The image of JJ bent under the hood of a truck. The same Ford that sat broken in the front yard for years, the sound of metal twisting and the breathy grunts with each violent twist of the wrench. It would run like new one day, he swore. I never doubted him, and I still don’t. One day, we’ll run down to that junkyard, a graveyard for cars, and we’ll find that missing piece.

Rain dripped from the bridge of my nose, falling on my soaked shoes and flattening out my fuzzy socks. Everything up North was colder. Maybe it was because of how bitter people were. The semi-warm summers and the sweltering months of autumn, only for the two week beach bliss to be swiftly replaced with a harsh winter that didn’t let up until the next summer. Cold nipped at my nose. I felt bitter the longer I was here, which was weird because when I was sixteen, I could have sworn this place was home.

Then again, I had never really been anywhere long enough to know what home really was. Everywhere I went became rushed by the sweet adventure that was chasing riches. Maybe it was the idea of settling down that intrigued me. To be sat in one place for a while and to slow down, to increase my chances of living through my twenties without some pirate knocking on my front door, a gun to my head. But this wasn’t home, this wasn’t settling. This was restlessness mixed with a deep urge to find something like home. An emptiness emotionally that I just couldn’t understand.

Like a dog chasing its own tail, I felt stupid, and I myst have looked drunk dancing among the silence of my college town. I should have been happy, this should have been home. I got out, I got what Kiara always dreamed of, I sought out a higher education, a dream that Pope had thrown away. My record was clean and my future had meaning. I should have been ecstatic to receive this opportunity, after all the grief and death and scandals of my childhood, a stage in my life that was stripped away by all the realities that unraveled with each new treasure found. But, I wasn’t. Even then, sick, dirty, and cold, I wasn’t happier than then now.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. In the dormitories, in the bathrooms, in the halls. It’s me, or, a version of that girl. She has my hair, and we share the same eyes, same curve of our lips too. But she’s hollowed out, gutted, and so indescribably not me. Different, not greater, but worse. I think of packing my bags quite often. Going quietly and without a fuss. To swallow my pride and withdraw my debt I would surely acquire if I stay any longer here at some institution I knew I couldn’t afford the moment I sent in my letter.

My roommate would be disappointed, but she’d move on. She doesn’t know me, she understands the concept of me, but she doesn’t know me. She’s nice enough, keeps her room clean, which inspires me to do the same. She brushes her hair regularly, almost obsessively, and is really pretty. We get along fine. We are friends, to a degree, but we are sure to find other roommates and never speak again. Still, I wonder if she would be mad if I left without telling her.

JJ was mad when I told him. He didn’t like the idea of abandonment. Though, I promised I would return in just a few months, and then a week after, and a few months later. It would feel like I am forever home, only with short intermissions where he gets to enjoy all the things that the island could offer with the others to hang off of his arm. He didn’t even indulge in that idea. He thought even an hour apart was too much.

I promised him it wasn’t abandonment, and swore to call him every night. I do. Sometimes I call him in the morning, and I almost always call him in the afternoon. I like to hear his voice. It sounds like home, it makes me feel warm. I forget about the redness of my nose and the tingling numbness in my fingers. He sounds like the waves crashing against the shore and the sound of wet spaghetti hitting the walls during dinners at midnight. He is laughter and the summer sun, the swells that ripple in mid July and the best seashells on the beach.

My knees bend beneath me, kneeling against the wet cement beneath me. I feel the wetness soaking through my jeans. It’s cold. Like it could be snow if it were a degree cooler. I kneel in the middle of the intersection, and I look up at the sky. It’s dark. I check my watch, it’s nearly morning again. The yellow light flickers against my skin, illuminating my face and leaving me in pitch black again. Everyone is sleeping in my college town. All is quiet.

My neck stretches out, upwards and I open my mouth. My tongue touches my chin, and I can taste the dirt in the droplets that swallow down my throat. My eyes are closed, because I have nothing to fear but loneliness itself, and whether my eyes are opened or closed, the feeling will still be there, and the fact will be too. I am alone, in this journey. I have nothing friends to lean on and no campfire to light. Nobody here knows about the existence of Kildare, of the marsh, and the restaurants that line the cut. They wouldn’t care, they don’t care about an environment they are not accustomed to. They only have so much space to consume what they need to know. To drink up their studies, they have no space for empty thoughts of a life they never lived.

I have my old phone in my pocket. The keypad is burned into the screen because it’s all I use it for now. My life revolves around nothing but the stress of failure and the relief of my best friend’s voice at the end of the day to ease my stress. The truth is, I understand the void in my passion now better than I did when it first appeared, the black hole that seemed to swallow up all my excitement for the new beginnings. I understand the bitter feelings I have for my new house, because I refuse to call this place home. Home is not a place you reside, though, familiarity breeds contempt, home is a connection to the people who reside in respect of you, who stand by you. So though the people I surround myself with here are perfectly friendly, they are not my friends, and they will never come close to the feeling of home I feel with them.

“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep. He has that rasp men get early in the morning, a rich deepness I rarely hear anymore, but something I once bathed in with his arms wrapped around me through the night.

Theres a soft rhythmic ticking that comes with the flickers of light, and the soft patters of rain drenching the pavement create solemn acoustics around me.

“Hey, JJ.” It comes out in one breath. A sigh of relief that he even heard the buzzing of his phone in his usual dead-to-the-world like sleep cycle. My fingers slip on my phone case and I have to catch it, the rustling on my end of the line echoing back through the speaks to me. I can hear the playback of my breathing through a short delay that spans over a vast distance.

“Is everything alright? It’s…three in the morning. I don’t know a lot about time zones but, I think we’re both on the east coast.”

“No, it’s the same time zone, Jay.” My cheeks already hurt with how big my smile was. He just had that effect on me. His goofy, unknowing attitude always managed to make me laugh, especially because deep down I knew he was a lot smarter than he led on to be. When he let that mask slip to reveal his true self, it was always a wonder the ideas that spewed from his lips. He had one of the greatest minds I’d ever known, only to be undermined by the tragedy of his last name.

“Is it a crime to miss my best friend?” My eyes found a home on my wet knees, and my free hand began to play around in the water. Dragging my nail through the small puddle forming around my body.

“At this time? Yes.” He chuckled softly. “Somethings up, what are you speculating? Whats the word? Ovulating? Because I can’t help you with that.” He made himself clear, smiling through his sentences.

“What? No! Why would I call you of all people if I was photo-ovulating?” I corrected myself with a laugh.

“Don’t knock it until you try it. I happen to be irresistible.” JJ defended himself with a teasing tone. Our conversation was light like it always was, even though my homesickness ran deep, and the sadness I felt was heavy, he made it feel like even the rain pouring down around the city I lived in was letting up.

“Lord knows John B’s walls are too thin for me to not have some kind of clue.” I snickered, pushing back the wet strands of hair that had fallen down upon my face.

Rain clung to me in every crevice, drenching me completely until I felt nothing but cold wash over me. It was a shower I didn’t need, one that did not cleanse me but instead poisoned me with the reminder that this was reality, I was miles away from the voice that was soothing my hearts ache momentarily. I would mull over it later.

“Nah, you got off on that shit.”

“Don’t be a pig, I’ll hang up.” I threatened half-heartedly. We both knew I never would. I could never cut the calls first, so the responsibility fell to JJ, who suffered the same inability to let go. Our calls usually stretched for hours, and the voicemails left in my inbox from the few times I would pass out with my cheek pressed firmly against some dusty book in the library took up all remaining storage in my phone. Right along side the folders of photos of us that collected by the thousands.

“So why’d you call?” He asked finally. I had no real answer. I used up all my excuses. Could he check for a sweater I left behind, the very same one I had on, or if he could just catch me up on what the others were up to. As if I didn’t call to hear all their stories daily, hourly if possible. What was I to tell him? What excuse could serve as something plausible without bearing a burden on his wide shoulders.

“You’re my best friend. I love you, I don’t need a reason.”

“You always have a reason.” He argued softly.

“Well, tonight I don’t.” I hummed. He hummed too, and silence filled the line.

The homely yellow flicked was accompanied by the blinding lights that came in pairs, growing brighter and wider with each passing second. Like a deer, I stood quickly, tall in my path but frozen in fear. I couldn’t meet the eyes of the man behind the wheel, recklessly racing across the intersection with no caution. Yellow meant slow, yet in the night, it only called for feet hitting the floor.

Puddles splashed violently, wheels screeching against the wet cement, leaving trails of where wet met soaked. I could see the distance between the wheels, I could lay my chest against the ground and measure it with my wingspan. The car swerved, laying down on the horn until the sound sputtered away into the distance, and nothing but the soft ticking of the lights and the sound of rain smacking the pavement filled the silence of the line again.

“Are you outside?” JJ asked finally. The sound of sheets crinkling and shuffling of legs against the mattress told me the loud alarm had stirred him from his relaxed state. I nodded at first, forgetting he couldn’t see me, and then I cleared my throat.

“I’m standing in an intersection.” I confessed quietly.

“Why?”

To clear my mind, to escape everything that was bothering me. To find peace with the silence, to try and find comfort in a home that wasn’t mine. There were a lot of minor reasons. The smell of gasoline was high on the list. I rationalized a lot of reasons in my head. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. Still, my gut wouldn’t settle.

I had left home to find something good for myself, to do myself the favor I always promised myself I would if I ever had the chance. But now, now that my feet had carried me to a place that was usually bustling with life, life that felt dull compared to even the most calm days on the island, I felt like I could never go back. A chance, a life, a future that I craved, I was throwing away because my feet refused to lift from the ground until I was sure I would only take my next steps home.

“I miss you.”

My answer was clear. It was true. I missed the waves, I missed the concrete roads freshly paved down in figure eight and how they met the old dirt roads of the cut. I missed John B’s chicken coop, though the chickens were long gone. I missed the dying tree carved with his name, and the rusted latch on the chateau’s porch door that left a yellow stain in the crinkles of my palm. But more than anything, I missed being no more than a breath away from JJ Maybank.

“Come pick me up?” I asked with uncertainty. Not because I even doubted for a moment that JJ wouldn’t come running to me if I even for a moment doubted where I stood, but because the morning was still young and tropical paradise was far away from the whistling winds of the North. Ferries only ran during certain hours, and money was hard to come by, even when we scrape together our pennies. Thats what happens when you drink up your success, you’re left with the repercussions. So, even if he did catch the boat, where would he get a ride from? How much more would it cost to bring the Twinkie alongside hime and ride it all the way to the hills where the colleges welcome signs were illuminated by colored lights, shining in school colors and pride.

He let out a stifled breath. He was choking on emotion I couldn’t read over the phone.

“I’ll be there, yeah.” He promised.

“Okay…I’ll go pack.” I said, suddenly and awkwardly. Yes, I dreamed of this day, kissing everything goodbye and running back to my roots, but now it was real. I could hear JJ slipping on his boots already. Why waste this chance?

“Pack?” He questioned.

“I’m leaving for good, Jay. I know I tell you that this is great and all, but I hate it here. This isn’t…this isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s not what I want.”

“So, you’re coming home?” He asks even though my answer has always been obvious.

“Yes.”

The line falls quiet again. I can hear the shuffling of his feet quickening against the rotting wood floors of the old Maybank property. A broken home flipped into something good. We share a bed there, I imagine he’s already grieving the loss of his starfish sleep position now that he’ll be bound to the same mattress as me again.

“I’ll be there soon.” The line falls dead.

Water splashes around me. If I wasn’t already soaked, I would be now. I can see why John B loved having a car so much now. The cold was fine at first when it was numbing, but now that I had feeling back in my chest, it was too much for me. My feet hit the pavement in harsh slapping movements, I pump my arms for some kind of friction against the wind. My lungs burn, they taste metallic. I want to wheeze and stop running, but I don’t think I could if I tried. I should feel embarrassed how quickly I up and left the place I was once stuck in, how I turned on my heels to run far away. But I’m not. I feel nothing, actually. Nothing but cold, determination, excitement. I have the energy of a child. I am an olympic runner, I have the right motivation. Get the fuck out of here, run myself right into JJ’s arms. I pray I don’t wake my roommate up when I reach my room.

The room is empty when I get there. I open the door so slowly, not even the rusted hinges make a sound. The carpet groans under my weight, even on my highest tip-toes. But the beds are empty and neatly made like they were left this morning. Rains pelts the windows. Theres a fan running. It’s my fan. I can’t sleep in the heat, not even in the winter. My bedding consists of borrowed blankets that I buried myself in, subconsciously trying to suffocate away the homesick feelings.

I barely had any clothes to pack, anything to throw into my duffle bag and my old backpack that was once Kiara’s. I never really got around to unpacking anyway, because there was so little to fill the bags I brought. Looking back on every decision I made before even stepping foot on campus, I should have known I would never stay. This was merely a vacation from hell. I don’t get the privilege to relax, I am worked and forced to prove myself over and over again among my peers who will never know me. I can’t wait to go somewhere where I am known again.

Somewhere along the way, I begin to collect up the posters on my walls. I rip them down hazardously, crumpling them and leaving them in the empty trashcan. It’s empty because there’s nothing I’ve touched in this room. Not the books, or the pens. I have a singular pencil up on my desk that’s much shorter than it once was, only half of its once lengthy size, and a nearly full set of flashcards. I don’t need the memory of this place to follow me. I consider it a favor to my roommate. To gift her with all the supplies she will ever need. She is nice enough, and a lot smarter than me. She’s sitting here on a full ride, though, the collar of her shirt says she could afford it without a penny. I convince myself she deserves it even though I do not know her.

I check my phone repeatedly, and I sit on the bench under the old overhang by my dorms. I stay out of the rain, I stay near the warmth and huddle up. I feel anxious waiting for him. It’s only been a few hours. I swept over the room for the few things I did want to keep. Like one of JJ’s bracelets, though it never even left my wrist. Or the soap I used in the shower. It was brand new, I had just bought a new one. I wait for his call. I wait for the familiar honking of the rusted horn. I wait, and wait as the sun rises. Time ticks by. I am impatient, I wasn’t bred this way, but good things have made me this way. I cannot wait.

“Popes probably gonna kill me.” I mumbled softly.

The car was warm, but my hands still lingered with the outsides touch. I sat on that bench for hours waiting for him. I saw people rise from their beds and lean out the window, taking in the smell of the dewey morning. A few gave me puzzled glances. A drenched girl, dripping down on the bench, wetting everything she touched.

But then, he came. I could see the rusted van before he even put it in park. Just between the brick lined buildings and the paths decorated in dying shrubbery. There was a small gap between the campus lawn and the visitors parking lot. A small slice of the outside world creeping into the sheltered space that was college.

I ran. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Faster than when I used to race for desert back when Big John used to ruffle my hair and let me sleep over if I wanted, faster than when Ward held a gun to my head and made me pray for some kind of miracle. I ran until my feet couldn’t keep up, and I fell into JJ with a gasp.

He held me back, lifting my feet from the ground they stood on. I swore I heard him mumble something sappy under his breath, but he quickly shrugged it away when he saw the look in my eyes. I never felt love until I felt the desperation in the way he wrapped his arms around me. The way he squeezed the air from my lungs and only let me breathe when he was sure that the feeling between his elbows and his chest was really real, until he knew that this was for good.

He had slung my bags into the back seat and laughed as he told me to get in the Twinkie. When he started driving, he played the old CD we burned together in middle school filled with soft rock and Bob Marley. Occasionally, a song I had written into the playlist without him knowing would play. He always acted angry that I’d done that, but his fingers tapped the wheel and he couldn’t help but hum along. He would never admit to liking trashy pop songs, but the pink on his cheeks gave him away.

When the CD was spun to an end, we debated playing it again. We fell into silence, into the comfort of company. We both took the time to process the fact that this was real now, this was the decision I had decided to make. The thoughts that ran through my mind, what if I took off? What if I packed my bags, what if we moved back home? Let’s adventure down the coast, let’s live our youthful dreams that are unrealistic. Let’s make a home. They were real now, in this car, in him. We sat comfortably knowing that there was no limit on our company now, no restrictions on how much time there was left to borrow.

My socks tapped against the dashboard, my toes tracing the outline of the stickers scattered along the interior. Wet residue was left over, soggy folds gathered at my ankles. My body folded into itself slightly. I let the warn air from the dusty vents dance across my skin. Goosebumps faded like the sinking feeling in my gut. The smell of gasoline filled my nose once more, the smell of his deodorant reminded me that he was close.

“No doubt about it. Don’t know how you’re gonna talk your way out of this one.” JJ sighed contently.

“Well, you’re pretty good at sweet talking.” I buttered him up. Compliments were his weakness, I knew it all too well.

“I love you, but no.” JJ laughed.

“What! Oh, come on, please!”

My hands wrapped around his right bicep. My chin sat perched on his shoulder, batting my eyelashes at him and tickling the peach fuzz on his jaw that he had missed while shaving. I wanted to rub my palm over it, tease him for it with a smile. He had a toothy grin that I could see reflecting back in the rearview mirror.

“I get shit done, but I’m not a miracle worker, ‘kay?” He lifted his arm out of my grasp reluctantly, waving his finger to make his point.

“I thought Papa J was a miracle worker?” I teased with a raised brow. My arms crossed over my chest with a huff. My back fell gently against door. I turned to face him, a pout on my face and lines between my furrowed brows.

JJ let out a breathy laugh, his resolve quickly breaking at my endless begging. He had soft spots and I knew just where to aim.

“No, no! Don’t use my ego against me!” He laughed. I held my stomach this time, trying to keep my ribs together while I struggled to contain the fits of giggles bubbling up my throat and fighting past my lips. If love was a sanctuary, I was certain I had both feet in it. If it was a fire, I was burning up, and if it was the waves, they had crashed down relentlessly against my shivering body, bringing relief with each blow.

I bit the inside of my cheek and chewed at the skin. Laughter faded into even breathing, and my limbs curled up against the wrinkling fabric of the passenger seat. It had just barely started to rain again, a soft pattern of droplets hitting the windshield every so often. The closer we got to the dock, the more it lightened up. Though, the storm came in waves in the shape of the clouds that covered the blue skies. With each opening with sun peaking through, the tapping on glass stopped. When the grey swallowed us whole, it resumed. I didn’t mind it again. Not for the reasons that I wallowed in just hours ago, not to seek comfort in my homesick nature that cane purely from the soul of a homebody. But this time, because the swelling my my heart made me want to pull over to the side of the highway and spin around until my half-dried socks were coated in mud and my skin didn’t recall what the dryness felt like.

“Can I tell you something?” I murmured, my eyes locked in to the passing view that was the trees speeding past the windows.

“Yeah.” JJ hummed.

“I only came back for you.”

JJ hesitated on what he thought he wanted to say. He was biting his tongue. I shook my head.

“That sounds bad.” I laughed. “I only decided to leave because of you. I guess…just sitting in the middle of the road, I already felt really far away from everyone. I missed everyone more than I’ve ever missed anything in my life, but I was convinced that maybe I could suffer through it. But…just being with my thoughts, and hearing your voice after thinking for a while…kinda just convinced me.”

JJ took it all in. I saw the whites of his knuckles deepen the harder he pressed his fingertips to the wheel, the vast expanse of road ahead daunting now. This was beyond quality time together, and he knew it now that the newness began to settle and he began to realize it was the same old me. This was my future, and I had tossed it all away.

“I just…I guess I always thought you’d be the one to make it out. To really go for it. Kildare’s bog enough for me, but I always kinda thought you’d go somewhere…more.” JJ spoke softly, eyes glued to the road.

“Maybe I already did get out. I got out and I tried to change everything about me to be that girl who wanted to get out, but she’s dead. Getting out sounded so freeing when we were younger, but now…now that we’ve seen the world and…and done so much in such little time, I’ve already lived a whole life, I’ve seen the world and I still feel like I don’t know who I am yet. But I know what I love, and I know that I hate every second that I’m away from it.”

JJ hummed again, raising his brows.

“You don’t need to explore every single corner of the earth to be something or-or someone. And maybe I didn’t realize it when I sent my letter in but I know now and I know that, I feel only half as good when I’m anywhere but where I should be. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing or if Pope is going to lecture me for days and you have to listen to it, but I know I have such a better chance of being who I want to be where I can be her than in some Northern University where people wear coats year round.” I rambled. My hands moved quickly. I cut through the air with each slice of my palms, and my eyes ran wild across the landscapes and the curve of his nose down to the bend of his jawline.

“I’m just trying to make sure this is what you want.” He finally cracked a smile. His head turned for a moment to meet my eyes, and I could see the flickers of light brightening up his affectionate gaze.

“Jay, I sat in the pouring rain in the middle of the road and begged you to come get me.” I deadpanned, but a small smile still graced my face.

Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to stick my toes back in the warm sand back home. To look down at my boots and dance along the gravel roads instead of balancing between two yellow lines that shot straight down the neat pavement.

Home was a foreign concept for a long time. The idea that it was something that could be bought. Through a mortgage, monthly rent, out of pocket. I never had those kinds of expenses. What was pocket change for some felt like gold to me, so maybe when people sat around talking about how they craved a big house to reside in, I never fully understood. Then again, I was never anywhere long enough to know.

I wouldn’t change a thing, how I ran around with my friends for years looking for gold that seemed to become buried under more and more stories, leading us to an even greater prize. I wouldn’t change the way I threw it all away to be with them. Subconsciously, I was smarter than I thought. Pope talked about packing up his bags, skipping town and moving to Idaho. Somewhere where he meant nothing to nobody and could start over. But I never indulged in it, or the fantasies of having a little more money. Being stable out be nice, but I always knew I had what I needed. I had a home and it was built on the structure of my four best friends that soon grew in size to six, and they had toothy smiles and stupid jokes.

“Do you think they’ll be mad?” I asked suddenly. Sure, this was right and it was what was true, but this was a dream that nobody else ever got to experience.

JJ pulled his lip between his teeth.

“Nah.” He sighed. “Pope will have your head, but Pope gets wound up easily. Could use him as a fishing pole.” JJ joked. It made me laugh and I felt any stress melting away. It was funny that he could do that anytime he pleased. I didn’t know if he ever knew he could do it, but he had a smart mouth, and a funny bone that always seemed to tickle me just right.

“But not you?” I asked once again.

“Not me what?”

“You wouldn’t? Be disappointed in me, that is.” I clarified softly, the roads becoming softer the more me drove along them. It was only moments until we’d soon roll onto the metal bridge connecting us to the boat that would send us home.

JJ breathed out through his nose.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” I responded plainly.

“And it makes you happy?”

“Yes.” JJ sighed, his eyes flickering from the wheel, to the road, and back to me. But only for a moment.

“Then no.” He answered just as plainly as I did, but there was a twinge of happiness itching at the corners of his lips. Selfishly, he wanted me to come home, and selfishly, I did too.

“Well, are you mad at me?” I continued to press him.

He laughed. “I could never be angry at you.”

“Not even if this is the wrong choice?” I picked at the skin by my fingers. My skin hurt a lot less now that it was shedding the smell of foreign land and letting the faint smell of the Twinkie stick.

“Who am I to tell you if it’s wrong?”

“Well, Pope would tell me it’s wrong.” I argued weakly.

“And am I Pope?”

I shook my head silently, and my eyes glued to my fingers. Blood stained my cuticles, where skin met nail. It stung, but it hurt a lot less than what I felt before.

“Y/n/n, you could send me into bankruptcy and act like we’re rich and I don’t think I’d even have it in me to blame you.” JJ smiled. I focused on the slopes and curls of his hair.

We sat in silence for a moment. It wasn’t like he was Shakespeare, but it wasn’t often JJ said something truly sappy. Usually, his philosophies revolved around excuses for his own stupid actions, which, now that he had explained his view on me, I had come to realize I never fully saw the extent of his behavior because I had never had the courage to blame him. I never would.

“So, you’ll talk me out of trouble when we get back?” I smiled sweetly, leaning my head on his shoulder and batting my eyelashes desperately.

JJ let out a laugh from deep in his stomach, his cheeks turning pink from his gasps of oxygen.

“I love you, but no.”

“I thought JJ was the reckless one, but holy shit, Y/n/n!” Pope ran a hand over his hat, pulling it off by the brim in one quick motion. The hard fabric hit the wooden counter of the bait and charter shop, the slap echoing through the homely space.

“Can you blame me? It’s so far away, and we just got back! I haven’t been in one place for more than a month in years, and I’m so god damn tired of feeling homesick all the time!” I tried to argue against the growing rally against me. I pleaded my case, but they all looked at me like I was brain dead.

“You had a chance, Y/n. A really good one too and you blew it, for what? To sell bait? To slum it in the cut? You can do that when you’re done earning your other options!” He scolded me like I was a kid. But I’m not a kid, and the worry lines slowly creeping up onto my once vibrant face are only evidence of the ever growing number attached to my bones.

“Yes, but a chance I didn’t ever really want! I mean, how could I even know if I ever wanted it, I don’t know who I am!”

“Thats what growing up is for! Not growing down. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not a kid anymore, Y/n. And you never will be again!”

Silence fell over the small room. Even the waves rolling against the dirt didn’t dare to whisper through the large windows and gaps for doors.

“I sacrificed that for you.” I spoke softly, bitterly. For so long, I’s bitten my tongue for everyone. Hidden my resentment for chasing after a gold, I never really wanted because in my eyes, I already had it. But it was what they wanted, so I let myself age out of the period of my life I had dreamed of since I was a kid.

“I gave up my childhood so that you could figure out yours! You got to know who you are, I never got that because no one ever stopped to ask me what I wanted! Nobody! You were all too caught up in your greedy treasure hunt to ever look around and think about if everyone wanted to do this!”

“No one made you come along.” Kiara stepped forward, the same disapproving look in her eyes. She was only defending her wordless friend, but my feet felt heavy and my joints were warm. I felt myself creating sentences I should have never admitted out loud.

“Well I did! I did, and it’s too late to change that, and I did it because that’s what friends do. But what do we have to show for it? Nothing! We didn’t get the cross, we didn’t get the gold, hell, we already spent all of the nuggets John B managed to grab!” It fell silent again, and suddenly, I was standing in the center of a circle I didn’t want to be a part of.

“So what? Because we failed, it condemns you to leave college?” Kiara always had a smarter mouth than me. She was quit witted and observant. Yet, she failed to understand that my choice to come home wasn’t something merely of the way the treasures slipped through our fingers. It was a homesickness she never had to feel because she had plenty of them where she was consistently welcomed.

“Why is it so wrong for me to be unhappy with something that everyone else enjoys? Just because my dreams do not inspire yours does not make them any less important. A-and honestly I’m sick of standing here and listening to all of you yell at me for getting out of there instead of letting myself waste away! I’d be dead if I didn’t leave, I’d be dead because you all mean a lot too much to me for me to be away from you guys for so long. In four years I might be rich, but I would be unhappy. I would be bored. But you guys—us; we will be interesting, and funny, and bold, and unpredictable forever.”

I swallowed hard, and my eyes met the blues of the boy who had the courage to go against the majorities better judgement and bring me home. He had the same wild look on his face.

I hadn’t expected JJ to speak for me, to try and mellow out the anger I knew I would receive and backtrack against the backlash I would surely face. But out of everyone, I thought I could count on him to have my back.

And he just, didn’t.

I decided then I wouldn’t stay in the eye of the hurricane when I knew what it was capable of. I wouldn’t let myself become part of its destruction if I knew I could separate myself from it for just a moment, to remove myself from all the disappointed stares.

My feet hit the wood of the long dock, the bottoms of my shoes echoing through each plank of wood, all borrowed from the destruction of a past home.

I thought of packing up, leaving, heading over to some other place I could call home temporarily, but my fingers hesitated to reach under the bed, and my knuckles curled away from the zipper that connected to the duffle bag that was squished between dirty clothes and shoe boxes filled with memories.

A hand spun me around, pulling me from the daze I had put myself in the second I walked into the new bedroom that was mine to keep in the newly fixed home. It was calloused and warm, yet the coolness of the rings decorated on each finger revealed who the strong hold belonged to.

“Why couldn’t say something?” I asked bitterly before my eyes even met his. It was just JJ and I in the confines of our bedroom. The door shut without a crack and the windows sealed off from the outside.

“I told you I wouldn’t.” He smiled. I didn’t find it funny.

“No, but you could have defended me. I would have done it for you.” My lip wobbled. My throat stung, and JJ’s eyes softened. He must have believed it was because he hurt me, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just the idea that nobody would ever deal with what I felt because they hadn’t been burdened with the feeling of it ever before. And therefore, nobody would ever get it, nor have an inkling of an understanding of why I had to come home.

“Y/n/n, come on. It’ll blow over. They’ll be happy to have you back as soon as they get over it.” He tried to comfort me.

When his hands found my shoulders, it felt belittling, condescending, though I knew it wasn’t the case. I convinced myself it was because I was angry. Spiteful, maybe.

“No, JJ, stop. Stop touching me like you care, I can’t…I can’t stand it right now.” I stepped away, throwing his hands off of me like they were poison, or fire, or both.

“Everyone is looking at me like I’m a failure! Like…like I’m something to be embarrassed about. But who are they to say that I failed? Right? I spent my whole life, the years when I’m supposed to be finding myself licking the dirt off of other peoples shoes! And I took it and I didn’t complain because I thought that maybe my day would come, and it hasn’t! How is that fair? And to think I was stupid enough to think that something good would happen to me. But the truth is I hate being out of this stupid town, and this stupid town hates me. I-it’s like they’re all spitting on me and blaming it on the wind. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy because I love you too damn hard to be looked at like that by a boy I would give my whole life for!”

I breathed heavily through my teeth, and my chest raised with so much vigor in my voice, I shook the air with a desperate anger I had felt marinating for decades beneath my skin. Yet, the manhunting and the blaming had pushed it down, and the failure and the fear had only boiled it back up. But it was always there, simmering. JJ just laughed.

“I’m only looking at you like you’re crazy because I think you’re too good to care what anyone has to say about you.” He explained with a smile.

“To you, maybe. But that doesn’t make it true. Whats true is that they all had some image of me painted for them the second I made the decision to go to college, and it was wrong. Because I’m not nearly smart enough to be as interesting or independent as they want me to be. I can’t do organic chemistry, I’ve never passed a calculus test, I’m not a doctor. Nobody ever supported those dreams anyways, not even me, because as amazing as it would be to become those versions of myself, it’s not me.” My face crumpled in defeat finally.

“I’m not…good enough for anything outside of this town.”

For the first time in my life, I saw something in JJ’s eyes as I confessed how I saw myself, how I let my friends—no, my families anger affect how I saw my decisions. I saw dapples of disappointment flickering in the sea of his eyes.

“Do you really think thats true?” He asked calmly, softly. He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to reach out for me, but he too shared that feeling of uncertainty that had consumed me in the past months.

“Good god, maybe they were right. Maybe you are a failure.” JJ sighed, and my breathing halted. “How can you for one second believe that anything they have to say is true? How can you believe that these things you think about yourself are true?”

“Well what am I supposed to believe? We were all raised to believe the same things, right? The engineers and the scientists are necessary but nobody needs the family man or-or the artists to carry on, right? So why should my dreams of just simple living be tolerated when everyone else craves so much more?” I cried.

“Do you even hear yourself? It’s contradictory in every sentence!” JJ yelled furiously back at me. But his anger wasn’t placed at me, but at the things that led me to believe what I thought.

“Just a few hours ago you were excited to come home. You were certain that this is what you wanted because it was your dream and your life! You wanted to find yourself, to know who you are. And you were right! More dead on than anyone had ever been in my life, and hearing you speak about what you knew inspired me to think more for myself than for the benefit of everyone else! College, or some fancy job, or money won’t make any of us know who we are, that’s your job!” JJ’s eyes were wide. He had decided now, and his hands found a home on my arms, squeezing hard and passionately.

“Anyone can be those things they want you to be, but I promise you, if you stick with what you know you want, everyone you touch will remember you for centuries.” He promised me softly.

“And how do I know if I even know myself? What if I’ve never been home enough long enough to know?”

“Then you’ll find it. You’ll find it, and I’ll find it too. We can find it together.”

My eyes searched his. I could no longer blink away my tears. The liquid was much warmer than the rain that had pelted against my skin, that had slipped down my back and under my shirt to touch the most painful and terrifying parts of myself that I had refused to acknowledge or recover for some time. It was hard to recognize it all, to know exactly who I wanted to be, so, I did what I did know.

I wrapped my arms around JJ tightly, burying my head in the wrinkles of his shirt and let the patterns his arms rubbed circles in my back guide the way I swayed. I let him hold me, because if anything could be uncertain then he was nothing. He was the one thing I’d always known, and maybe that was why I had called him that night. Because in every memory I ever had, he was the one defining memory of home. He was home.

“Will you be mad at me if I never find it?” I asked pathetically against his chest.

“No.” He responded softly, muffled by the way his lips pressed into the top of my head affectionately.

“I could never be angry at you.”

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