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d-z20 · 8 months ago

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The Agent Next Door (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. And an awkward encounter results in having your fantasy come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Master List

The Worst Morning Of Your Life (so far)

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you.

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here."

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. You’re hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.”

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you.

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That is all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, cumminng hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down.

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started.

alright folks, I've got a sequel in the works but can't decide on the vibes (there'll be smut regardless): READ PART 2 HERE

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daemonbrain · 1 month ago

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Part 1 | Part 2

cw: murder, simon's a perv, reader's husband is a piece of work, smut, can be read as a standalone. a/n: This was rushed lol

I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. I wasn’t thinking straight.

Simon Riley could remember the first time he had heard those excuses. In a rundown burrow of Manchester, fiddling with the telly until a show he was much too young to watch blinked on to the cracked screen.

He’d sit there with beady eyes, attention locked on to the program while his mum did fuck knows what. It was distinctly American with muscle cars, high speed chases, guns, and most morbidly fascinating to an already tainted young mind, death.

Censorship and all, the show never did the gory details of killing someone justice. They never elaborated on the high of having a man stare down the barrel of your gun. It was never described how good it felt to have someone piss themselves in fear of you. The power a person can have when they know they could beat the life out of somebody.

They made excuses for those feelings.

It was always a righteous fuckin’ accident. Good guys versus bad guys, black and white.

A slight breeze whistled through the dim alleyway. Both idle chatter and music from inside the bar behind him wove together in a pacifying hum. It rang in the Brit’s ear as his chest heaved with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The blood had splattered over his pale skin, still warm droplets sliding past his wrists down his forearms. His knuckles split and bloomed into a haze of purple and red from the force of his hits. None of it was some mishap, it wasn’t a lapse in judgement.

On the contrary, Simon hadn’t felt more alert in months. Not since being in the field.

He glanced at the body crumpled at his feet with both disdain and the closest thing to giddy he was able to feel. This pathetic fuckin’ tosser looked just as miserable as he had any other day. Broken and disfigured with his bodily fluids still bubbling up through the splits in his skin and bone.

Your idiot husband who dragged you into the depths of his abhorrent ways, brain-dead and awful like a stain that needed to be removed.

He crouched down and loomed over the guy as he would terrorists and people who threatened the very world's security: Menacing and threatening. The difference in offenses mattered little to him. Sure the latter bombed, maimed, and endangered whole countries of people for their own warped means to an end.

But this guy? He wanted to ruin the only decent thing Simon had encountered in a long time. Uniquely different in a vast sea of bad, you steadfastly remained joyous despite having to put up with someone like this.

Your husband's pulse still throbbed, weak as it was. Simon leaned in close and followed the way his breaths puffed out feebly. It was quiet and perhaps if he wasn’t trained to spot the difference between a dead man and one teetering on the edge of their demise, he might’ve missed it.

Unfortunately for your husband that wasn’t the case.

“Please…” He rasped, a ghost of the words really.

Big hands grabbed the collar of his soiled white shirt. It had been crisp and showy for the woman he had been drinking with. The same woman whose thighs he was reaching for, the curve of her waist he’d held. The same woman Simon surmised he had been leaving you lonely for, his dinner and your kind heart growing colder while he got his little prick wet when he was supposed to be working.

He was cheating on you.

It was the flashes of your little yoga sets which came to Simon’s mind when he first connected the dots of what was happening. You who came into that butchers shop every Friday after your session for a cut of meat to make this poor excuse of a man a meal. All smiles and good like a slice of heaven that felt wrong for someone such as him to witness.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.” Was all Simon replied before he moved his grip to the fool's throat.

His fingers squeezed around the adams apple, effectively cutting off any air being wasted on the near-dead man.

He snarled up close and personal, though your husband was rendered relatively incapable of seeing much. Simon had gotten good hits on his eyes, one of them bloodshot and unfocused, the other already blackened, puffy, and too far gone.

“She’s not gonna remember a bloody thing about ya’.” Simon spat, more to himself than anyone, before the ex-soldier piled his crushing weight on the windpipe.

It was only a moment before the frail thrashing ceased.

The rainy weather had finally begun to wane and the pollen which once scattered the air, tinted windshields, and led to bright flowers had finally receded. The sun rested high in the sky for longer and its rays beat down harsher than it had in the past few months.

Spring and all the hardships it brought had come to pass and summer was now upon the city.

Simon’s hand rested on the cool metal of the door handle. The flimsy barrier between yourself and him. Hell, he could kick it in with minimal effort if need be. To get to you, he’d rip it off the squeaky old hinges which held it to the frame. Luckily for your entrance, that wasn’t necessary.

Not anymore at least.

Poor, sad you had taken to him like a moth to flame. In your grief it wasn’t drinking or drugs or any other vices you had used as a balm to soothe your weary soul, but Simon.

The jingle of the keys sounded out before he nudged them in. He twisted and unlocked the door before he opened it.

You had stopped coming to the butchers shop, no one to make meals for anymore, no reason to waste time in that place. It had certainly impeded his ability to accidentally run into you, but he supposed that was bound to happen. You needed time to mourn that prick you married. You were too sweet, too free with who you gave your affections to and this was the downside to that.

The concern had started as a result of Simon’s frequent… observations. No matter how long he would watch your apartment, you wouldn’t step a foot outside. Gone were your freshly manicured hands, well-maintained hair, and skin-tight yoga sets. Instead, you opted to wallow and waste away in your own anguish.

He pushed through the threshold and closed the door behind him, a soft thud accompanied the motion. He peered around for only a moment. It was still in the common areas of your home. Too quiet for his liking.

Without invitation, he started down the hall towards your room. His heavy boots thudded against wooden floors, bits of dirt coming off them as he went.

You had been all too accommodating when he had finally had enough and came to the source to see what was really happening. Had even invited him in for a cup of tea. To see you in the flesh had been enough to quell the invasive anxieties which had begun to settle in his chest. You certainly didn’t look the same, but strangely enough, you seemed more at ease with yourself than he had ever witnessed.

If he didn’t know any better, he might’ve thought you seemed more confused than upset.

As he neared your door, his skin prickled as his ears picked up on the faint weeping behind the polished lumber.

You had easily come into the habit of letting the Brit into your personal space whenever he stopped by. Maybe you became too comfortable with a man you had known less than a year, but to his benefit, it was easy to get you to fork over a spare set of keys.

Privacy be damned (and Simon’s emotional range of a turnip aside), he couldn’t stop the surge conviction he had to be near you.

It was only a second before he barged into your room, met with a sight he definitely hadn’t expected.

“Simon… what the hell!” You squealed as you scrambled for your covers. You threw them over your heaving body as if that would erase what he had gotten an eyeful of.

Maybe the universe was kind to him. Perhaps it had finally thrown him a damn bone after years of trying to kill him. It could’ve only been divine intervention which guided him to you at this very moment, to have you so distracted you hadn’t heard him come through the front door.

“Well don’t just stand there-” You started in shock, body gathering itself from its horizontal position upwards.

That was the wrong thing to say to a man who just saw your bare tits pushed up in frustration, cunt glistening with a scant amount of slick as you carelessly shoved your fingers into the hole. Baby hairs stuck to your sweat beaded forehead, tears gathered at your lash line as yet another manifestation of your stress laden body.

He ambled towards you and in that moment there was nothing short of a tank that could stop him.

“Wait. Hey. What are you doing?!” You sniffled, a weak caution as your hands dipped into the sheets of your mattress.

To his relief, you didn’t shrink as his shadow enveloped your quaking form. Your breath stuttered and Simon could only stare in something similar to awe. There was a beautiful defiance he didn’t often see from you as you refused to cower before him.

“What’s going on?” You asked, wide eyed and somewhat gentle tongued.

Even now you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him, to say something in fiery rage that he’d interrupted your private time.

“I can help.” Was all he mumbled before he descended to his knees in a slowed manner. “Jus’ give me… give me the bloody word and I can.”

As if showing he meant no harm, he braced himself beside the bed. He hoped the act placated you with the knowledge that you could kick him straight in his crooked, already broken one too many times nose if you really wanted to.

“Are you crazy?” You whispered in response.

You hadn’t slapped him in denial yet, as good of sign as any.

He saw the way your legs twitched under the thin sheets. You bit your lip in what he only hoped was contemplation. Another moment passed in silence as his eyes met yours in earnest yearning and absolute want.

The want to brush the tears from your eyes, or to create new ones as he speared you on his cock and bludgeoned into you like a fucking battering ram.

He had waited patiently for months. Had fucked his fist harsh and unforgiveing to the thought of pounding into you until both of you knew nothing but the other’s body. His fantasies of your pleasure addled-mind being anchored by nothing except him stretching you out beyond comprehension. Your cunt would clench over him as the head of him nudged into you with dull pressure that bordered on too much, insistently reminding you of his encroachment inside of you.

“I… I can’t do it myself. It’s like no matter what I try I just can’t.” You choked out embarrassed and sudden.

His blood began to pump hotter the moment you began to inch from beneath the sheets and it was moments before was upon you.

Simon’s usual precision was far from present as the two of you wrestled in a tangle of limbs and positions, but eventually the both of you settled. He knelt before you, your ankles resting on his shoulders, and his hands holding your hips in place (though, it was more an anchor for himself).

He sucked in a sharp breath before his mouth latched onto you. Simon was never one to mince words, nor his actions. When he wanted something, when he wanted someone to feel something, they did.

Your nails dug into the sheets as you threw your head back. He could see the frustration ebb away with each flick of his tongue. He prodded some and then some more, circled and suckled at your clit.

A cut whimper was what caught his attention. Through pale lashes, he peered up at you. The scratch of the sheets, heavy breathing, yet not a peep. He could see the way your lip wobbled, only encouraging him to close his eyes and go in with another lick, harder this time.

Your teeth held on to your bottom lip as if your life depended on it, little moans starting to surface regardless of your intentions.

“Let go.” Was all he murmured before going back in. “Nothin’ t’feel bad about.”

Small groans left him, leaving vibrations in the most pleasurable of ways. Nothing mattered more to Simon than drowning himself in you, your slick coated his mouth, his nose nudged between your folds, knocking into your more sensitive parts like a bull in a china shop.

“Fuck, please!” You begged as your hand blindly reached for any piece of him, taking purchase on his buzzed hair as you curled forward awkwardly.

His hands dug into your hips as his tongue poked in and out of your cunt. It squeezed the muscle everytime it invasively half-entered, either your body’s way of coaxing him deeper, or an attempt to push away the unfamiliar, he did not know.

When was the last time someone went down on such a pretty thing? The last time you were worshipped like this? Fucks sake, when was the last time you came? Not a little bump of pleasure, or a fast reaction, but properly came?

Your body began to tremble and that’s when Simon decided to hook a finger inside of you. He thrusted it slowly as you whined and shifted. One finger in and out until eventually he joined it with another, much to your cunnys resistance.

“Ah! Just… ugh,” You groaned, continuing to push into his scalp. “Fuck I need more… Simon please.”

More was chanted through his mind like a fucking mantra. His cock twitched again, as hard as a metal rod by this point. He wanted nothing more than to give you what you wanted. Simon Riley was a weak man when it came to a pretty bird.

He wasn’t one to withstand the pleading look on your face, he realized. He knew for sure as his hands went to undo the belt of his pants. He knew when he practically ripped his shirt off.

Your soft hands touched the planes of his chest, the hardened muscles of his abdomen wrapped beneath a layer of fat, and whatever else you could reach as he mounted you. It was gentle as you gazed upon him in a dazed manner. He tried his best to keep his weight off of you, not keen on crushing you beneath him.

It was sudden the way you took his face between your palms, lips parted slightly as you pressed them to his. Still covered in your slick, it took Simon a moment to respond, allowing you to tilt into the kiss a bit more before he firmly kissed you back.

He pulled away reluctantly, and fixed you with the hardest of looks, only to be met with rounded and ready eyes.

“Fuck me.”

Wordlessly, he guided himself to your entrance. He rubbed himself up and then down your slit, head catching on to your hole once while he wondered just how far he’d be able to stretch you before you broke.

You gasped when he pushed in, hands clutched onto his bicep as he fed you his cock slow and restrained. He’d sink until the tip was fully enveloped by your warmth, and then begin to pull back his hips ever so slightly before thrusting in a bit more.

“Doin’ good, yeah. Pretty thing like you can take it f’me, right?” He bumbled on, almost in as much shock as you were from his ministrations.

Your walls constricted tight against the intrusion, but to Simon it felt as if he were the one being invaded. You flooded him with slick and pressure and the safety of being almost fully sheathed in something so sweet. Better than a hug could ever be, to be surrounded by your very essence.

You nodded along and babbled your yes’s and please’s just as he had imagined you would. It took a few more moments before he had forced himself to the base.

He almost felt bad when he saw the ways which you winced with every thrust forward. But everytime he considered slowing his pace, the notion was shut down as you stroked his face so tenderly.

“I need this.” You whispered through tears.

You touched his sweat beaded hairline, his dark under eyes so dearly. As if he were something made of glass. As if he wasn’t a killer and you weren’t the brightest light he had ever been guided to.

He didn’t deserve this.

But you did. You deserved to be fucked hard and deep and taken care of. Put over everything else like you so clearly deserved.

“You do. And ‘m gonna give it to ya.” He replied, curt and confident in his choice.

He began to fuck you in earnest, grunts escaping him as he did. He was quick to go from slow and shallow to a pace more vigorous. Your creaky wooden bed frame shook and squealed as his pace began to pick up, your head jostling and grazing the lumber everytime he pushed forward.

Your feet wrapped around his waist and dug into the divots of his back as if spurring him even farther into you, as if trying to trap him inside you forever. Not that he needed any encouragement to do so.

“Closer please. I…ah! I… I want..” You tried to say between each push in as his cock plunged into the deepest crevices it could find, kissing your womb and stealing the breath from your lungs.

Simon could tell what you wanted as you attempted to pull him closer with desperate effort.

“I’m already- bloody hell,” he grunted. “‘M fuckin’ inside o’ you. How much closer can I get?”

Nonetheless, he obliged and tipped his head forwards as your arms looped around his thick neck, clutching onto him like a lifeline.

“Closer.” was what you managed to say. You reached for his arm and put it to your waist and good god Simon felt and chip in that impenetrable armor of his. He held you firm to him and rutted into you like it was the last time he’d ever feel a cunt wrap so snug around him.

It was soft even as he bombarded it with all he had. Comforting, like a pillar of pliable to his unshakeable and unchangeable nature.

Simon felt his peak build and he watched as your face warped into something that could only be compared to a kettle that was about to whistle from the built up pressure within.

“Fuckin’ cum. Cum with me, cum on my cock.” He said with urgency.

His balls slapped against you and he felt them distinctively tighten up.

He felt you clamp down on to him like a fuckin’ vice as you nodded up and down like a mad woman against his skin. He could feel the gentle prick of your teeth as you simply held yourself against him.

Simon could have sworn his vision turned white as you wrung him out for all he was worth. He felt his cum flood your insides until they turned soaked and sticky and warm. He couldn’t stop the instinct which rose in him to fuck his cum deeper to have it seep into places your limp dicked late-husband could never. Your body yielding and pliant as he pierced into you, riding the remnants of his high within you.

You felt weightless as Simon slowed within you. You really had no clue what was happening, the heavy feeling of being stuffed past your limits was the only prominent thing on your mind.

No one had ever fucked you like that. Not boyfriends or hookups of the past, and certainly not your late-husband.

But you supposed that was the difference between Simon and those other men.

He took care of you.

He always had. Since the beginning he had. Sharing meals with you when you had no one, talking to you when you had been left alone. You might’ve felt bad for taking another man to the very bed you laid next to your deceased spouse once upon a time.

But was it really so bad to desire someone who put you first?

All those years of sitting quiet, of being isolated, of being the perfect wife and getting little in return. It wasn’t grief which came over you when you were told of your husband’s grizzly murder, it was guilt that you felt more lost than anything. Lost that you were no longer bound to the life that man gave to you, lost as to where to go next.

And there was Simon who showed you the way in his own strange, round-about method.

…

Simon who you suspected would do anything for you.

#call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley

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karlachismylife · 9 months ago

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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f1cflcfic · 6 months ago

Text

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) Part I

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy". note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. Also, this story is angsty with a happy ending - it does not contain any smut or suggestive themes. [A/N: This is my first SMAU and hooooooly shit did I totally underestimate how much work it is, and how things work within Tumblr to make it look alright. If you have any tips, let me know lol. I had to split it up in pieces, but i've got all the content written out already, so will be updated soon with the next part!]

♥･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♥

December, 2025

February, 2026

[Excerpt from red carpet interview at the Grammy's with Y/N]

How are you feeling tonight? You're up for 3 awards, one of them Album of the Year for All I Ever Needed - that's huge!

"It's so overwhelming, to be honest."

Even when you've gone through this experience before? This is your fourth time attending, second time as nominee.

"Yeah, maybe even more so! It's a great chance to hang out with friends and meet new people, but it's also really prestigious still. Being nominated - I try to act like it doesn't matter, because awards always involve politics too - but at the end of the day, you do want it."

And who're you most looking forward to seeing tonight?

"Honestly? I came alone tonight, so I can't wait to find Sabrina [Carpenter] and Jade. I'm gonna need my girls."

Your friend Miley is also up for an award tonight in the same category, what's that like?

"Ha, if the Grammy's do the right thing tonight she'll win it - I know I voted for her!"

You'll also be performing one of your songs - Ruin My Life, can you tell us a bit about what to expect?

"I really wanted this to be visually interesting, but it took me a while to get the right concept for it. I think it's because to me this album and song already feel sort of far removed, and lived in? I'm in a different phase of my life right now, so I had to find a new way to still connet to it. I was really grateful to work with a great art director to bring a different version to the stage."

March, 2026

July, 2026

[SkyNews excerpt]

Lando Norris wins Silverstone GP, dedicates his 20th podium win to his family

The man of the hour is none other than Lando Norris, who’s just gone on to claim his 20th victory at his home race. You’re reading that right, his home race! While he still owns his apartment in Monaco, Norris revealed today that he’s been living back in England for the past few months. “I just wasn’t in the right headspace anymore and wanted to live closer to my family. Especially now that my brother’s kids are growing up, I just like knowing I could drive over – rather than having to fly across countries.”

Speaking on the importance of his family being present, Norris shared that it means everything to him. “In this sport you need to have skill, talent, trust and investment from your team, but also you need that stable sense of safety from the people you love. If your mindset isn’t there, you can’t be competitive.”

Norris has been vocal about mental health in the past, and has advocated for more access to mental healthcare facilities and professionals across motorsport.

“Especially in tougher years where there’s just a lot of noise and turmoil, it’s nice to have a professional coach you to mental fitness as well.”

It was the only notable reference to Norris’ private life, which ended on a low note last year after splitting from long-time girlfriend y/n l/n. The two were originally thought to have had an amicable split, but recent reports hint at a different story, with Norris unfollowing his ex and her friends unfollowing him in return.

August, 2026

September, 2026

♥･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡｡.:*･ﾟ♥

Part II can be read here! likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

#lando norris #lando norris smau #lando norris x reader #formula one x reader #formula one fanfiction #rpf x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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babyjinsu · 3 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ inevitable ꒱ ˎˊ˗

sungchan x fem!reader x sunghoon || 3.5k

౨ৎ blackmail, pictures without consent, fighting (these boys are punching each other lol), sungchan's a creep, open-ending, the word "slutty" and "sloppy-second" and "used" are used about you, sweet sunghoon but is he really, alcohol, if i swap sunghoon n sungchan or the other way around just ignore it pls. please read end note!

“does sunghoon know?”

the moment you saw sungchan studying in the library—you should’ve left right away. you shouldn’t have thought that he didn’t see you just because he had his earphones on, and his eyes were fixated on his textbook.

because now—you knew better—he had you cornered against the bookshelves. far from the prying eyes of students coming to study.

“does sunghoon know?”

the words slithered out of sungchan’s mouth like a threat disguised as curiousity.

you didn’t answer right away. not like you had to but because you didn’t know what to say. maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, he’d take the hint. maybe he’d back off too. just this once.

but sungchan didn’t.

his arm only pressed firmer beside your head, caging you between the wall and his body. the scent of his expensive cologne with that woody scent and a hint of vanilla—dragged you to that night you wished you hadn’t been so careless with your alcohol consumption.

you stared down at your mary janes, shifting on your weight. hoping your silence would smother the fire licking at the edges of your chest. hoping your silence would scream that you weren’t in the mood, and never will be, to entertain his jokes and teasings.

“hey,” sungchan murmured, leaning down slightly and tilting his head to look at you. “i asked you something.” his voice dipped lower in a mock gentle. “does your perfect little boyfriend know how you ride me? how your slutty little body bounced on my cock?”

you flinched in disgust. your nose wrinkled slightly, your upper lip curled.

your eyes snapped up, fury overtaking fear for a split second. sungchan might’ve missed it if he wasn’t paying so much attention to you.

“stop—it was one time. that was a mistake.”

his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “sure. a mistake you never told him about.”

you wished you could merge one with the wall, or the floor beneath sunk you in black hole. but this was reality, one that you couldn’t simply escape from.

you wanted to tell him that there was no use telling sunghoon what happened before the relationship. even if you did, what would change? mistakes are inevitable. it wasn’t like that night could just disappear once you told him.

so you shoved at his chest, but he didn’t move nor did he budge. “don’t bother. i’ll tell him tonight so you can stop this bullshit.”

sungchan blinked. the shift was instant. his body relaxed, but his gaze sharpened. he didn’t know what he was expecting from you when he said that, but he didn’t think you’d have the balls to say it. “you’re serious?”

“i don’t want you near us anymore,” you breathed out despite the trembling voice. “it’s funny that you think this is some power play—i don’t give a fuck. you’re not ruining this for me, sungchan.” you tried to squeeze past him.

but his hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist. it’s not tight, but enough to hold you in place.

“don’t you think it’s already ruined?” he let out a soft chuckle, murmuring. “i have pictures, yn. even if he understands, it’ll always be in the back of his head like a splinter.”

your blood ran cold. you didn’t know about that.

sungchan leaned closer like he was letting you in on a secret, like he was doing you a favour. “it’ll fester. every single time he kisses you, touches you—he’ll be reminded that i’ve had it all before.”

“sungch—”

his eyes locked into yours. “i won’t even have to do anything crazy. one text message and you can say goodbye to how your relationship used to be,” he murmured, his thumb circling around your pulse. “he won’t look at you the same, yn.”

you were shaking by now, both rage and fear. how dare he?

“you’re disgusting.”

“maybe to you,” he shrugged. “but to him? baby, that’s all you.”

it didn’t even register to you that your other hand was raised—and made contact with his cheek. maybe it was both out of rage and fear.

your palm stung, echoing between the rows of books like a gunshot, but sungchan only smiled wider, almost proud as he pressed his palm against his cheek in disbelief. you truly had it in you. he straightened up and took a step back with a slight groan, finally giving you space. but the tension didn’t ease despite him letting go of your wrist.

“tell him, yn,” he said, his voice cool now. “but don’t act surprised when he looks at you differently. used,”

then, sungchan walked off, casual, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just lit a match and tossed it at your feet.

and you stood there, frozen in the library’s dead silence. sunghoon occupied your mind.

——

it took you a little more than five cups of alcohol for you to not realise you had your arms wrapped around sungchan’s neck in the kitchen. you thought you could handle it, pacing drinks meant something.

but sungchan’s warm and larger hands were already on your waist, trailing down to the dip of your hips. your voice had dipped into something softer and slurred. you don’t remember what you were rambling about. probably something stupid—something that made sungchan smile that crooked smile of his’.

then it made your stomach and heart flutter, but you blamed it on the alcohol.

“i think you’re drunk,” sungchan murmured, tilting his head slightly as he looked down on you.

“you think?” you hummed, letting out a small laugh as you intertwined your fingers together behind his neck. he nodded, his thumb circling around the curve of your waist as he lightly pulled you closer. almost subtle.

sungchan didn’t move nor did he push you off. he didn’t even try to or pretend to dislike it.

“how many drinks did you have?” he asked. he probably had more too, more than nine cups. which was enough to keep him slurred and lose control—but still knew better not to make bad decisions.

tonight was just not the night to care though.

“um,” you hummed, pursing your lips in thought. “maybe 6.”

sungchan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip slightly curled into a smirk. he looked at you like he didn’t believe you. “six and you’re all swayed and giddy like this.” he murmured, his voice low and eyes never leaving yours.

if you weren’t so drunk you would’ve complimented him for being so good in maintaining eye contact. you just replied with a soft chuckle.

“yn,” he suddenly said, bodies flushed and pressed against one another. you looked up, leaning in anyway. “what?”

his hands rubbed on your sides, all hot and touchy. “you’re drunk.”

“so are you.”

“yeah,” he breathed out. “what should i do?”

your lips parted to reply but sungchan wasn’t asking for an answer. he leaned in and crashed his lips against yours.

he tasted like alcohol and something cherry—his lipbalm maybe—but all you could think of was nothing. not with the way your head was spinning and jumping, your skin—his too—was warm. but you could feel it, the proximity and the non-existent gap between the two of you.

sungchan’s slender fingers digging into your flesh just enough for you to feel it. your back hit the counter behind you with a soft thud, and you gasped into the kiss, gripping the back of his neck like it was the only way to anchor yourself to the ground.

the kiss itself wasn’t slow or passionate—it was needy and desperate—

“are you su—” you pulled away just slightly to catch your breath.

“i don’t care,” he said, too quickly. that was all it took.

sungchan crashed his lips against yours once again, rougher this time. hungrier, like he had been waiting all his life for this. tonight was the night he’d let himself take it.

you don’t remember how the two of you went from the kitchen, to a vacant bedroom. you don’t know who pulled who, who closed the door, and who whispered in whose ear.

you just remember the heat and a lot of kissings and loving.

and then waking up in your own bedroom.

——

karina told you what happened the next morning.

nothing explicit, not too much on the details, just— “sungchan texted me that you were in minho’s bedroom. you passed out so we just carried you with us,”

“did… you know, you and him… hehe, no judgments but i think… he took your bra…”

despite your pounding head and blurry vision, you had immediately texted sungchan to apologise—and tell him,

yn: i’m sorry about last night. i didn’t mean for that to happen i was drunk and stupid. please don’t bring it up again.

yn: and you can keep it :/

you hovered over the send button for a minute before sending. no fluff, no greetings, just truth and guilt. sungchan didn’t respond. the next minute, hour, or the next day.

people do dumb shit when they’re drunk and if you were being honest, yours wasn’t even that bad. at least you didn’t start stripping in the middle of the living room or got into fights with people. it’s just one night—it didn’t mean anything.

you avoided him at school too. it was easy since you guys didn’t share classes and your schedules didn’t align either. although there was silence, it wasn’t clean nor was it peaceful. every time your phone lit up—you were fully expecting a message from him. every time you passed a crowd of boys, you half-expected to see him amongst them.

you felt it in the back of your neck sometimes, like that strange itch as if someone was watching you—but when you turned around, there was no one.

the longer the silence stretched, the worse your anxiety got.

but then came park sunghoon.

a boy from sports science you had never seen around campus before.

he had joined a volunteering committee with you to clean up a cat’s adoption centre for extra credits. sunghoon was very easy to talk to—effortless in the way he leaned against the doorway and made people laugh without trying.

sunghoon had that friendly charm that didn’t feel intimidating or overbearing even if he was stupidly attractive.

when he introduced himself to you, he had his hand out for a handshake with a boyish grin and a joke you don’t remember, and you smiled back, taking his hand in yours before you even realised it. it was nice.

he was nice.

maybe that’s why even after the activity had ended, you still let him walk you to classes, let him call you at night, and allowed him to take you out on dates and casual hangouts. maybe it’s just him—because by the time you knew it, he went from calling you by your name, to something only boyfriends say.

——

“hoon?” you called out to him from the kitchen. your boyfriend was sprawled out on the living room couch, watching a recap of a football match he had missed, simply replying to you with a small acknowledgement hum.

you wiped your damp hands on the handkerchief hanging from a drawer. the words were sticking at the back of your throat. this was it—you’re going to confess it.

not because you wanted to—god,—but because you had to. you had to because now, if you didn’t say it first, sungchan would. and that would be worse. who knows what kind of bullshit he’d spout out to sunghoon.

you walked into the living room only to stand beside the couch, fingers jittering and fiddling with the hem of your top. sunghoon looked up then and gave you a soft smile, patting the empty spot next to him. “what’s up?”

you didn’t sit. “i need to tell you something.”

that was all it took to feel the air subtly shift. he muted the tv and sat upright, his eyes never leaving yours. “everything alright, pretty?”

now both of you could hear your heartbeat. you breathed in through your nose, steadying yourself and tightening your grip around your top. “...it happened before i met you. before i even know your existence—i was drunk and out of my mind,” you started, each word slow and careful. you watched as your boyfriend nodded slowly, a gesture for you to continue.

“i made a mistake. i slept with someone—but, but i didn’t even remember what happened,”

sunghoon blinked but said nothing. his lips parted slightly, but then closed again, like he was thinking of something to reply but nothing came to his mind.

“i didn’t know back then that sungchan—” you continued, forcing your voice to stay even despite the internal shakiness. his eyes widened ever so slightly,

“my bestfriend?” he asked, his brows arching in disbelief.

a breath caught in your throat—yeah—yeah your bestfriend, you wanted to say. confirm. yeah, i drunkenly slept with your bestfriend months before you came into my life.

“did you really do that? did you really sleep with him?” he added, his voice quieter now.

you didn’t nod, you didn’t have to—sunghoon knew the answer because you literally just said it. you swallowed the lump in your throat and felt your breath hitch. “he… he was threatening me and i—i didn’t want you finding it out through him or anyone else and it was way before the cat cleaning thing so it didn’t matter because i didn’t even knew you then, and i didn’t know he was related to you in any way—it was a mistake, hoon.”

sunghoon just stared at you and stayed quiet.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” his voice was too calm.

“i—i told you it was a mistake, and i was scared. i didn’t want to lose you…” you murmured, biting the inside of your cheek.

“so you waited until he cornered you to come clean?”

you stood still, averting your gaze elsewhere. sunghoon ran his hand over his face and shook his head, ruffling his hair in frustration and disbelief. you heard him let out a soft sigh.

“he really said he’d tell me?” he asked again, softer this time. you nodded, no words came out. sunghoon leaned back against the couch, throwing his head back against the headrest. “i’m such a fucking idiot,” he murmured.

“no wonder he kept asking if i really liked you. i thought dude just wanted a confirmation,” he scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. you wanted to reach out and apologise, and tell him that if you could erase it, you would. you wouldn’t even go to the party if you knew this would be the outcome. but mistakes are inevitable, and there is no such thing as regret. it happened—sooner or later, won’t he know anyway?

that his girlfriend had slept with his bestfriend before?

“hoon—”

“don’t,” he cut in, running a hand over his face. “i’m not mad at you, babe, i just—” he exhaled sharply. “i need some time to think.”

you stood there, heart sinking.

——

after that evening, sunghoon told you that it’ll be okay—you guys will be okay—and that he just needs a day or two to think it through, then you guys will have this conversation again. to properly talk it out, tell him everything—he doesn’t care about the details, he needs to know.

you nodded and walked him out, but not before kissing him goodbye, and asking him to call you whenever. the whenever came two days after that. he texted you to tell you that he had thought about all of it, and that he was coming over, and then he’ll bring you out for dinner.

so now here you were, sunghoon laying on your bed and mindlessly scrolling through his phone, while you were getting ready for the night-out. you kept glancing at him through the mirror—he looked slightly relaxed from earlier, although not entirely.

sunghoon had forgiven you and admitted that you were right. whatever happened before the relationship didn’t matter now—and that it’d be unfair to have you take accountability over a drunk and honest mistake. even if the mistake was his own bestfriend.

he caught your eyes in the reflection, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you look pretty.”

“don’t make me cry,” you replied with a half-laugh.

“i’m serious,” he murmured. “weird day but i still wanna see you dressed-up.”

he locked his phone and sat up, extending his arm to pull you into his lap. but before that could happen, the doorbell rang—

you blinked, looking at sunghoon. “did you forget to change the address?” you asked, implying sunghoon's habit of not changing your apartment address when he went online shopping. he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “no? i don’t remember buying anything.”

you purse your lips, placing your lip gloss down and make your way towards the door, leaving sunghoon in your bedroom alone. confusion tightening in your chest. and when you opened it—there he was,

sungchan,

hair messy and hood over his head.

“sungchan?” you breathed out, confused and frozen. it wasn’t in your head to shut the door in his face immediately. sungchan flashed you a smile.

“so? broken up yet?” he asked, taking a step forward into your doorstep. you instinctively gripped the door handle, eyebrows furrowed. “what are you doing here?”

sungchan shrugged, his eyes flickered over your attire. a dress and full face makeup and your hair done too. “came to your senses? i thought i’d do you a favour and help with your broken heart.” he grinned.

you parted your lips to reply—”who is it?” sunghoon’s voice rang out from behind you.

you turned your head just slightly. “it’s—” but you didn’t get to finish.

because sunghoon appeared at your side, curiousity shifting into something colder the second his eyes landed on the person standing at the door. you saw as sungchan’s eyes widened a little, his smile broadened.

so sunghoon accepted that his girlfriend was a sloppy-second?

“wow,” sungchan murmured, nodding in mock-disbelief.

the silence that followed was loud.

“fuck off man,” sunghoon said, stepping forward. his voice was tight with annoyance.

sungchan only clicked his tongue, lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “i guess i was wrong. thought she would’ve told you to pack your things by now.”

“seriously, fuck off sungchan.” he snapped, his grip tightened at the edge of the door.

“should i?” he shot back, eyes flickering towards you. “she wasn’t even going to tell you. how long were you going to let her lie to your face, huh?” sungchan nudged his head up. “yeah, yn? when are you actually going to tell him how bad i fucked you up?”

you breath hitched, “stop it,” stepping in between them, your back pressed against sunghoon’s chest. “you need to leave.”

but sungchan barely glanced at you, his eyes were locked on your boyfriend now. “what? you think this is love?” he scoffed, letting out a dry laugh. “you wouldn’t have ever known that i fucked your girl before you did if it weren’t for me.”

sunghoon moved from behind you before you could even register it.

his hand curling into a fist and flying across the space between the two of them. it landed with a sharp, echoing crack against sungchan’s jaw, sending his head snapping to the side. the sound was sickeningly solid that you let out a gasp.

sungchan only stumbled, caught himself against the wall. then he looked up beneath his front hair—eyes gleaming with blood beading at the corner of his lip. “oh,” he laughed, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. “that’s all you got?”

in a second, his fist came flying.

you barely had the time to scream before he slammed it into sunghoon’s side. the blow wasn’t clean—it was messy—but it was enough to send sunghoon stumbling backwards and tripping over the threshold. your boyfriend crashed into the floor inside.

“you fucker,” sungchan murmured, stepping forward like he was far from done. his voice low and trembling from something uglier.

this wasn’t a fight for him—but a payback.

sunghoon pushed himself up, blood trickling down from his nose as he wiped it with the back of his hand. “you wanna go again?” he spat, voice heaving.

sungchan didn’t answer with words, instead, he lunged.

the two boys collided at the doorway—shoulders to shoulders, fists against skins with reckless force. the scuffle was messy—shoves and thrown words that didn’t make sense. you heard the sick thump of knuckles you weren’t sure belonged to who, the dull crash as sunghoon shoved sungchan against the wall hard enough to rattle frames.

sunghoon twisted and knee into sungchan’s side—sungchan swung a wild punch that clipped sunghoon’s temple.

you screamed for them to stop but didn’t try to pull them apart. you feared that one of them would end up in a coma—or worse, dead.

sungchan pushed forward with another blow, but sunghoon caught his arm and tackled him. both of them crashed into the narrow console table. the sharp edge cracked as one of them hit it—hard—and the sound that followed wasn’t just wood.

but a body hitting the floor. hard and still.

by then, you were on the floor. your eyes couldn’t focus properly, your ears were ringing, and all you could feel was the pounding in your chest, so loud it felt like it would rip straight through your ribs.

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“this is the consequences of your action, yn.”

💭 wow hi ;( rlly sorry for not updating... uhhh for a week now i think (it felt so long for meee). i'm occupied with university and i feel like writing is slowly draining me (is this what they call writers block wow). after the last post, i'm so happy n grateful that some of you actually reached out to me with comforting and reassuring words ;( i'll reply n post that soon so others can read it as well. they meant sm to me because i was genuinely reflecting that i just made these boys bad people lol.

i'll post some fluff too alongside to balance it out! being in uni makes me sooo lonely abt not having a s/o so i'll use this 'advantage' to come up with scenarios of riize as your university boyfriends so look out for it please :D.

anyway, i'll be sure to answer my inboxes pretty soon :( so plsplspls don't hate me and i hope you guys enjoy inevitable! it's kind of rushed n bad idk but i hope it's not THAT bad... <//3 also!! congrats sunghoon side-debut on babyjinsu! and first time writing punching n fighting haha... of course,, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooo appreciated tysm tysm tysm :((( i love and miss all of you (i hope its reciprocated xoxo)

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yanyandam · 3 months ago

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ILYYY SM BBYYY PLS I NEED MORE FANFICS !!!!!! I HAVE A REQUEST (I have so many in my head) The members of the bonten confess to reader but a few hours later mikey (or if mikey is part of it someone more important) asks them to sleep with a girl from one of the clubs for information and reader ends up knowing about it even though they confessed their feelings to him just a few hours before LOL

My English is so bad I’m sorry BUT I LOVE U AND ALL UR WORKS ❤️❤️❤️😓😓

(Ignore this request if you're not interested, darling.)

YOOO thanks for requesting! Love the scenario!! ILYT BTW, I appreciate the kindness a LOTTT. Did my best here! WARNINGS: None I think

Manjiro’s confession had come at 3AM, after a long silence between dorayakis on the balcony of a rundown hotel. “I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. You make me feel like I still exist.” At that moment, you knew there was no escape: not that you were afraid of him, but your consciousness couldn't let go. He was already at the end of his rope, so you might as well try to save him a little. You’d felt it too. That hollow inside him softening just for you. That night was fragile, real.

Then the next day, a whisper from the wrong person at the wrong time. He was seen leaving a club. With a woman. Not just any woman, a known informant. You’re crushed. Sick. You confront him, trembling with rage. He doesn’t flinch. He stares right at you. “I didn’t sleep with her. I was supposed to. Intel said she’d only talk if she thought I wanted her. I played the part. Then I left.” You study him. There’s no shame in his face, but there’s something else, restraint. “I’ve done worse for less. But I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not after you.”His face is neutral, empty. You're getting on his nerves, so why can't he just get rid of you? “You made me hesitate. That never happens.” He flicks ash into the wind, and for a split second, the mask drops, and you see a man trying to believe he’s still redeemable. He doesn't have much strength (or courage) left, but he still tries to hold your hand. Then you seem to hear a little 'Don't leave...'.

Sanzu’s confession was a strange blend of aggressive and awkward. Like it offended him to feel anything. “You ruin my focus. That’s not a compliment. It’s terrifying.” But he meant it. You knew. He dropped this in a message before asking you to join him for the evening. Not that he didn't care, but he didn't know how to verbalize 'love'.

A few hours later, you hear about it. He was seen walking out of a VIP room in a club, fixing his belt. Your heart sinks. You corner him. He laughs, at first. “You’re mad? It was a mission. Mikey’s orders. I got what we needed.” You glare. He scoffs but there’s a crack in his voice. “I didn’t finish, alright? I started it, but I couldn’t go through. She smelled like desperation. All I could think about was you.” He shakes his head like he’s disgusted with himself. “You’re in my head. She touched me, and it felt wrong. I wanted you. That’s pathetic, huh?”

You see it then, the panic underneath the cruelty. He’s terrified of losing control. But more terrified of losing you. “Just… be careful with me, alright? I’m not good at this. But I want to try.” He looks away. But his fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

Kakucho confessed during your fifth date, at a restaurant. His confession had been calm, like reading you a weather report. “I care for you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be telling you this.” No theatrics. Just truth in between wine sips.

Then the news comes. Someone saw him at a high-end bar, cozying up to a woman known for dealing gang secrets. You confront him in private. Your chest aches. He doesn’t look away. “Yes. I was tasked to extract intel. She wouldn’t talk otherwise. I did what was needed.”

You whisper, “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes. It was sex. Cold. Functional. Nothing more.” The honesty stings. He doesn’t apologize. He just explains. “You want sugarcoated lies? Find someone else. I did it because the job demanded it. But I felt nothing. I feel for you.” He moves closer. “I won’t beg. But I won’t lie to you either. This world is built on blood and pain. But what I feel for you? That’s the only pure thing I’ve got left.” His voice doesn’t shake. But his hand on yours? It’s trembling.

Kokonoi told you he loved you while having next to him a suitcase full of money. The simple fact that he let down his unhealthy obsession to look at you only, in the eyes the whole time was enough to prove his sincerity. “I don’t say this shit lightly. But if you left, it’d gut me.”

Then a call comes. A high-stakes job. A political aide’s mistress with key financial data. He accepts without hesitation. You find out hours later. He doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, I slept with her. She gave me what we needed.” You stare at him like you don’t recognize him. He sits back, jaw clenched. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not wired like you. I see survival, I take it.” But then his voice drops, almost too quiet. “But I hated every second of it. She wasn’t you. I kept thinking about how your lips taste. How your eyes look when you’re annoyed.” He sighs and sets down his ring. “If you walk, I get it. But I meant what I said. I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my miserable life trying to prove that.” He doesn’t beg. But he doesn’t look away either. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he won’t chase you.

Mochi’s confession came in the back of a luxurious shop while he was choosing a dress for you. It was pretty random. “I think I’m in love with you. That’s not weird, right? Shit. It’s weird.” You laughed. He blushed so hard he looked like he was boiling.

The next day, you hear the worst: he was spotted seducing a girl in the back of a club. Intel operation. You confront him. He’s pale. Sweaty. Instantly panicked. “It wasn’t like that! I didn’t do anything. I was supposed to, but I faked it. Told her I had STD or something, don’t judge me, I panicked!” You blink. He’s dead serious. “I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking about your laugh, how your nose scrunches when you’re mad.” His eyes shine, full of guilt. “You make me wanna be better. Like, so much better. I’ve done horrible shit, but the idea of hurting you? That’s…” He wrings his hands. “Just... please don’t go.” He’s pathetic. And sincere. And yours.

His confession was whispered in the dim lounge above his club. Ran didn’t like big words. “I’ve fucked a lot of people. But I’ve never wanted one the way I want you.” And you believed him. You felt it.

Then comes the knife? He left with a woman from his own VIP section. You confront him with shaking fists. He shrugs, slow and smooth. “She threw herself at me. This was necessary. I kissed her. Thought I’d go through with it. But I didn’t.” You narrow your eyes. He holds your gaze. “I couldn’t. I thought about your voice. Your skin. And it felt... cheap.” He moves closer, surprisingly gentle. “I’ve had empty sex for half my life. What I felt with you? That wasn’t empty. That scared the shit out of me.” You see it then, the man behind the arrogance. A guy who’s been alone too long. Who maybe, just maybe, wants to believe in something again. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll walk. But if you do... I swear, I’ll make this real.”

Rindou’s confession was short. Muted. Probably by the noise of the club at the back of the VIP section. “I like you. Like... really like you. More than I should.” You smiled. You reached for his hand.

Hours later, you hear about the girl. A waitress. He left with her after his shift. You confront him. He’s red-faced, jaw clenched. “I was scared. Of you. Of this. So I did something dumb.”

You snap, “So you slept with her?”

He looks down. “Yeah. I did. It was fast. Gross. I didn’t even say her name right.” He looks broken. Ashamed. “I thought I didn’t deserve you anyway. So I sabotaged it before it could matter.”Silence. Then: “But it mattered. You matter.” He takes a shaky breath. “You can go. You should. But if you don’t… I swear I’ll never mess it up again.” And in that moment, you see not a gangster, but a scared young man begging for one more chance.

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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Coriolanus Snow had once a sweet girlfriend that helped him in his darkest days. Until he betrayed her and on the post-Hunger Games celebration, he gave her all the reasons to leave him. Not without causing her a breakdown that makes him regret everything.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ capitol ballerina!reader, soft!Coryo at the beginning, slight canon divergence, manipulation, sex implied, violence, reader has a mental breakdown that ends in tragedy, if you don’t want to read about mental health, beware!!!!!!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ I had to split this into two parts. Next part will be slowburn, early politician!Coryo realising he married a half rebel woman and many many dramaaaa. Songs for this: Stop, you’re losing me and tírate lol.

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t possible. But Coriolanus could swear that even days after, the smell of fresh paint was still lingering on the air of his penthouse. Maybe because the smell was actually gone since a week ago, but he refused to let go the memory of you and your face with splotches of paint.

On a bright winter morning, you appeared early with buckets of paint. Tigris insisted that none of the Snows could accept the offer, saying it was too much. The walls were full of humidity, paint falling by itself. You could see the sadness on Grandma’am, Coriolanus and his grandmother were very patriotic, the old woman would frequently miss the days before the war, where the penthouse was bright and full of life.

Through a peaceful argument, as Tigris insisted on not taking the buckets of paint, you had already opened one and with a big brush, you splashed a wall from the entrance. The new color was shiny on top of the old layer, and it brought a giant smile to the elder woman.

Coriolanus had so much fun, thinking his girlfriend was the best and spent the day together, listening to the old radio as both of you painted the whole place.

Now, the apartment was still a mess, but the bright olive-green walls made it better.

It had been a thing of destiny that you appeared on the second year of the Academy. You were a loner, always choosing to work on your own for projects. During lunch, you only had two girlfriends, and Coriolanus was able to see that you laughed so hard every time you were with them. He also learned you had a dark humor, making fun of everyone. Like the school staff, Arachne Crane, other classmates, even the president. He grew curious of you. And one random day, after only you and Coriolanus where the only people missing a partner for a science project, a teacher matched you two.

Some months later, you discovered about his financial situation. And Coriolanus had been so scared, thinking you would share the secret and ruin his life. But the next morning, you handed him half of your lunch, knowing he was starving, because at the time, the Academy didn’t offered lunch yet.

The act made Coriolanus Snow realize he could trust you. You met his cousin and grandmother, bringing a giant box full of pastries as a present for them.

Tigris was at the verge of tears and immediately thought you were the one for her little cousin.

Soon it became real. After you turned seventeen, he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend. Now, time had slowly passed, moving you two into a different season.

“CORYO! IT’S ABOUT TO START! HURRY UP!” Tigris shouted from the kitchen. He sighed, only to end up coughing.

“ALMOST DONE!” He shouted back. His wet hair making him shiver, rapidly wandering across his room to find his body lotion. Eucalyptus. Coriolanus used to hate the smell of eucalyptus. But he started liking the odor since you had a candle made of it in your room. A little after, you gifted him a lotion and perfume of eucalyptus.

Only that Coriolanus couldn’t smell since his nose was congested. He caught a flu, and while he was feeling better, he was still struggling to inhale and breathe properly.

“IF YOU ARE NOT HERE IN THE FOLLOWING FIVE MINUTES, I’M COMING TO GET YOU!” Coriolanus giggled at his cousin threatening him. After putting on a warm sweater and some dressing pants, he came out of his room.

His family was already gathered in the living room, with the tv on. He turned to the dining table, looking at the bouquet of white and red roses, he smiled, hoping you would be happy to see them. Spring was around the corner, the firsts flowers from his grandmother’s top garden had bloomed. At the same time, your first-year anniversary with the young Snow was coming.

The annual gala of arts had existed since the first days of Panem. With music, sculpture, paint, drama and dance performances. It used to be private, then the war happened, and it was suspended. And now, it had been five years since it started to be a show anyone with a tv could see.

Your father was the owner of production establishments of Panem, who happened to have married a famous dancer, also owner of the biggest dance company in the Capitol. No clue how you turned out to be a wonderful sight on stage.

And that’s why Coriolanus was expected to come and see the tv. You were about to perform in the gala.

“Who’s out now?” He asked, sitting beside Tigris.

Grandma’am was crocheting something pink and the whole place was cold as the North Pole.

“A girl from District 1.” Before meeting you, Coriolanus had less than the slight knowledge on dance styles. He just knew it was mostly for women, with exorbitant gowns and shoes that seemed pretty. However, the girl on the screen was dancing with bare feet, along a man.

Some weeks after Coriolanus accepted he had feelings for you, he questioned if it was a good idea to join your mother’s dance company so that you would fall easily for him. It wasn’t necessary because you liked him as soon as he made you smile and laugh.

“Oh Coryo! She’s next!” Tigris said, taking his hand while looking nervously at the tv. Coriolanus always thought Tigris was a worrier most of the time, she always got so into her job, always thinking of what if. Seconds later, you appeared, immediately Grandma’am started to cheer and say out loud how beautiful you looked. Red and black dress with a ruffled tutu, your pink thighs and pointe shoes in a perfectly hidden ribbon. And a red flower with feathers and sequins in your head that had Tigris worried about. She made the headpiece for you. And she feared it would fall from your head. Coriolanus soothed her before coming back to smile like an idiot on the tv.

That was his girlfriend. He had literally pulled one of the most beautiful, if not the most perfect girl of Panem.

The music started and it was a delight for him. He always enjoyed classical music. And the one you danced along was a little faster and vivid than usual, making it impossible to keep any eye in any other place but you and your cocky smile.

Coriolanus knew you had an ego. And he loved to fuel it by saying how gorgeous you were all the time. So, he couldn’t wait for you to arrive on his door. Even when he pleaded you not to come, since he didn’t want to be a contagious asset for you. You hadn’t care, bringing some medicines, chicken broth soup and a lot of mint to help with his congestion the day before.

That’s why he felt even more empowered to keep going and win that prize. It was announced before the winter break and the holidays. He promised himself to win so he could become someone. Enough greater to make him worthy from having you. Because now at eighteen, he aspired to be in your life forever.

So, as you shined on that stage, spinning and standing on pointe, Coriolanus mentally repeated that he loved you. He said it occasionally to you, but most of the time he preferred saying it by holding your hand, kissing you and helping with your homework. Sometimes he wondered what true love was. If he was a capable of giving that to you. He wasn’t able to give you presents, only a tiny bouquet of flowers from his grandma’am. He couldn’t take you out on dates to fancy restaurants, not even offering you to stay for dinner in his place. Your dates where on his old rooftop, your bedroom or patio. Unlike you, who came every Friday after school with food for the family. You constantly gifted little things, like perfumes, a new shirt, anything to make his life easier.

His smile only grows bigger as your performance is about to be over. He admires the way your body is able to be so flexible and consistent. He had also seen the pain behind looking like an elegant feather. Some afternoons when he visited your room, you were tired, soaking your feet in warm water to soothe the ache.

But for now, he treasures the image of your smile as you make some reverence, ending your presentation.

“Oh dear… She was perfect!” Grandma’am said happily, with the round of applause on the tv in the background.

“And the headpiece survived the whole time!” Coriolanus rolled his eyes, smiling at his cousin.

As his family talked about your dress and the investments of your parents, the blonde boy returned to see the flower bouquet.

He really hoped you would love them, that you hadn’t turned bored of only receiving flowers from him.

One day, he would buy you expensive jewelry. He would give you the finest dinners and he would find the most beautiful house around the area for you. Only that way he would feel worthy of having you. Only that way he would find appropriate to call you his in all matters.

For now, he was just hanging there. Doing everything to win that prize. Giving you the least he had and shyly accepting all the things you provided him. That’s how he knew you truly loved him. You cared for his family and him. And Coriolanus swore nobody on earth would care that much for him like you.

Making it the main reason why he knew he had to rush it. He had to give you everything.

Not that you minded.

As you encouraged the family driver; Trevor, to take the route he considered most convenient to make it faster to your boyfriend’s place. You smile.

Oh, how you loved your boy.

You loved greeting him with a kiss on the lips followed by little pecks around. He giggled, probably believing you were so silly, but he would lean to kiss you so deeply again.

“We’re almost there, miss” you nod, looking through the window.

“Thank you, Trevor.”

“Should I wait or send Roger to pick you up late?” Roger was your father’s bodyguard. He was tasked to take care of you for his night shift sometimes. You liked Trevor better; he was a kind man of family. You had met his wife and beautiful daughters, sending them presents for their birthdays.

“Not sure yet. But you can go home and rest. It’s Friday and you need to be with your family, Trevor” he smiled, thinking how sweet you were. He cared a lot for you, almost like another daughter.

“Your mother won’t be happy. She was already irritated that you left the gala so early…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out” with that being said, he parked outside of the building. Trevor handed you some bags, full of food, wood and other things. Then your ballet bag. Ready to leave. The whole day, after leaving the Academy, you were only lounging to finish with the gala to went straight to your man’s arms.

“If anything, you call me. Alright?” You smile nodding at the man.

“Alright.” After a exchange of smiles, you wave him goodbye, and he disappears through the empty street.

It was a cloudy day, Lucky Flickerman said it was going to be a thunderstorm night at the Capitol. Gripping your coat tightly, you enter the building.

…

The door suddenly is open, and Coriolanus hears your voice calling from the entrance.

“Where’s everyone?” Tigris volts out from the living room, hurrying to greet you.

“But of course, we were watching you on the tv. Where else?” You laugh, hugging the young woman.

Then Grandma’am also joins to greet, saying you are gorgeous on stage.

“And where’s my boy?” You asked, wandering around. Coriolanus finally appears from the hallway with a smile. You could tell he had showered. His curls looked softer than ever.

He wants to laugh; you are still on thighs. With some black heels, and he can see a tutu under your coat.

Tigris and the elder woman decide to take the food to serve dinner, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. Both of you hear them saying how thankful they were to have food another week.

You open your arms, and he goes straight to hug you. Your hands cradle his face before standing on your tip toes to kiss him.

“How are you feeling?” He seemed to look and feel better. Apparently, the medicines worked.

“A lot better…”

“I missed you.” He also did. If his health hadn’t been compromised, he would’ve attended the gala with you.

“Me too. But you should have stayed home.” It had been a rough week at the Academy, the rehearsals for the gala, acting as a nurse for your sick boyfriend.

“We always spend Fridays together, silly.” He doesn’t deserve you.

“You were beautiful today. Although… you’re always perfect.” You blush, kissing his cheek before following him inside his penthouse.

The smell of mashed potatoes, the piece of ham you brought, and bread fill the place. It had been a little while since Coriolanus could only smell the boiled cabbage and hear his stomach painfully churning.

When you enter the room, you see the big bouquet of roses. You turn to see Coriolanus in disbelief, smiling.

“I hope you like them” the jar is old, but it looks amazing with the perfectly accommodated flowers. Your fingers gently grasp the soft petals. You are so in love with him.

“I will never get tired of this. I love them!” You turn around and Coriolanus sees your face full of adoration. You literally jump to kiss him. Always being received by the passionate yet slow and delicate of his kisses. One hand gently on your neck while the other rested on your cheek. Some strands of his blonde curls brushing against your forehead as your heels make it slightly even when it comes to height.

“Look at them. My future president of Panem and his First Lady.” Tigris giggles at her grandmother, but smiles deeply, happy to see her little cousin in love. And extremely thankful that he found a warm and generous woman like you to have in his life. Because in her head, Coriolanus deserved better.

“Let’s just pray that they graduate for now, Grandma’am.” She adds grabbing the old porcelain plates they have to serve the food.

And it’s a thunder what startles you, squirming away from your boyfriend. He laughs, holding you closer again after seeing you got scared.

“It’s raining!” Tigris announces from the kitchen.

“Guess you’ll have to stay the night.” His cheeky smile makes you gently push him. Your mother was going to be mad. But Tigris would intervene and say it was okay.

It wasn’t the first time you stayed though.

…

There are at least six candles around the room. The temperature decreased significantly after dinner. The water you used to clean the dishes was almost freezing. And Coriolanus wanted to die out of embarrassment when you started heating water on the fireplace to take a shower.

You had said it was nothing and that you don’t mind. But still, he felt so wrong.

Now, he was seating against the head of his bed. Watching how you curated your swollen feet. You pinched some blisters with a needle that had carefully been burned with a match. And now, it was time to put some cream and finally wrap the area with bandages.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asked.

“Not much. I’m used to it now” you replied without looking at him. Still concentrated on your feet.

“I’m sorry about the water.” You frown, finally turning to see him.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” He shrugs, slightly irritated.

“Because I wish I could give you more and I can’t.” he didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he does. Your lips form a line, before crawling until you mere kneeling bedside him on the bed.

“I hate to see you doing things you don’t have the necessity to do so. I hate not being able to treat you like my girlfriend and more like friend. I want to give you the world and I can’t.”

“Coriolanus… Look at me.” You take his hand, and with the other, you are tracing invisible line on his chin with your thumb. He looks at you, eyes slightly watered, making your heart swell for him.

“Life could’ve been so different, I could’ve been in your position, and you in mine.” He closes his eyes, thinking about his terrible luck.

“You charmed me before I knew everything about you. You know it, right?” He nods, tilting his head just to feel more of your touch. In response, you are again grabbing his cheeks.

“You have to let me help you now. That’s what couples do. They help each other. One day you’ll be able to give me anything you want. But for now, I will give you anything just to not see you struggling. Nor your family” your forehead is brushing his, and he can only attempt to nod as you speak.

“And remember, my love. You already make me happy. I’m already proud of you.” He doesn’t cry, but he’s at the verge of. He just hides his face on your neck. And there’s a wet spot on your skin, but you don’t say anything, you just tighten your embrace of him, smiling as you kiss his hair.

“I love you.” He says and it surprises you. While you know he loves you, you are aware that he’s not used to say it very often.

“I love you too, Coryo.”

He promises himself that he will do everything in his will to chase power. To change his faith and give you what you deserve.

The thunderstorm was powerful enough to scare you once in a while. As you were playing cards with Coriolanus, he took your hand every time you got startled. Tigris said goodnight and suggested to keep the door unlocked. Making you blush and Coriolanus too.

“I’m bored.” You said, laying on your side, facing your boyfriend. He dropped his joint of card too, hand landing on your hip, caressing the skin.

“What do you want to do?” You notice the way he’s touching you. It’s slightly inappropriate and it makes you grin.

“You are already suggesting something” his eyes widened, embarrassment flooding him.

“I’m sorry” you chuckle, noticing how shy and insecure he could be.

“Don’t you want to?” It’s your next move what almost makes him choke. You move forward, taking a sit on his lap.

“Of course I want to. Just not here.” You roll your eyes, hands massaging his shoulders, making him groan in delight. Your cream nightgown had lifted, showing him your bare legs. The long sleeve felt so soft against his hands.

“As long as you’re with me, I don’t mind where we’re doing it.” He’s unsure, but he can feel himself getting hard. Finally, after months of having only the company of his hand, he could claim you. He doesn’t love that it’s going to happen in his old bed, in his messed-up room. But you look so gorgeous with bare light from the candles. Now half naked showing him for the first time your naked body.

“Are you sure?” He asks one last time, feeling a string of saliva connected between your lips and his. It’s dirty, messy and extremely erotic to be the first time.

“Believe me, nothing wakes up Tigris and Grandma’am. We’re safe…”

“Alright. I trust you, Coryo.”

“Good. Now get on your back and spread those legs for me.” His possessive side would always surprise you. But you enjoyed it. And now, as the thunderstorm keeps going you let his possessive side dominate you.

“God, I love you.” You say as he makes you believe the rain falling outside were actually stars.

…

“Look at the tragic lovers, already in pose for a war memorial portrait”. You roll your eyes at Arachne. You hear Felix, Festus and even Clemmie laughing along other classmates. Coriolanus ignores her, taking your hand, reassuring you. The building was getting crowded. The Reaping was around the corner, but you were only praying for your boyfriend. Hoping to leave the place with the prize on his hands.

“Careful, Arachne. One day they might have a portrait in the parliament building” Clemensia says giggling.

“How? Because Coriolanus would be Panem’s president and y/n as First Lady? Allow me to laugh…” you can listen to her annoying voice. Something you always wished was a good friendship with your classmates. But it was difficult. Arachne was very competitive and judgmental; Festus was tedious along Felix. Persephone was extremely quiet; Livia was too naïve. Only Clemensia and Sejanus seemed to be genuine with you.

“Who knows?” Sejanus spoke from the other side of rows, walking to seat beside Arachne and your boyfriend. You smiled at him, and he reciprocated it. Coriolanus was too lost on his thoughts to pay attention to the little argument. Until Sejanus tilted his head to whisper something to him.

“There is no prize anymore.” The blonde turns to look at him in confusion. But the ceremony has officially started. He feels you taking his hand in disguise. And it’s the only reason why he feels less nervous.

Until Dean Highbottom reveals the sudden changes, which makes your heart pound faster. And without a warning, the listing of tributes begins. You look away when you see the little girl named Wovey being focused on camera, the sadness and uneasy churn in your stomach hitting you by the end of District 11 tributes.

And finally, the songbird is paired with Coriolanus.

He sees the way you frown, cringed by her singing. Even when she had a wonderful voice, it was unexpected and certainly odd for some. Then, he sees you cover your mouth in disbelief when she curses on the microphone. Coriolanus can’t tell, but he assumes it’s gonna be a little difficult to deal with that girl. Seeing zero chances to win.

Then he realised the tributes were mentioned. The Reaping had finished.

It’s over. Everyone has a tribute except for you. Dean Highbottom resumes the listing walking away, making you turn to see him, raising your hand immediately. Ready to ask questions.

“Put your hand down, Miss y/l/n. It’s not a mistake the order of the listing” you hear Dr. Gaul saying firmly. When you turn around, she’s there, offering a cold yet deep look with her unmatched eye irises.

Slowly, your hand goes down, laying on your lap, slightly shaking.

“Your parents have been generous enough to become official sponsors of the games.” Voices echo across the room, gossiping about the news. Even for you, this was a surprise.

Coriolanus looks at you but doesn’t say anything. He just wondered how much this would make your family richer.

“The mentors have to make their tributes a spectacle. But your task is to make all of the 10th Hunger Games a massive spectacle. Propaganda, production and strategy…” your face goes pale. But you dare to question it.

“Is this some type of punishment?” Gaul laughs, offering a genuine smile later, her hands together, like she was comfortable on her spot.

“Consider this your admission test. You won’t be fighting for the prize, but this would give you enough honors to automatically join the best branches of the Capitol’s University.” Quietly, you nod under the curious look of your classmates. The look of Arachne full of envy, Clemensia confused, Sejanus doubting. And your dear Coriolanus, he was happy to be honest. You could easily make his tribute look presentable so he could win. He would get the prize, get into university, become a political figure if not president and finally give you anything he couldn’t before.

But for now, the ceremony is over. You say goodbye to your friends, and you walk with Coriolanus, he takes your hand and together leave the place.

…

Your vision looks lost, but seemingly focused on the cracked floor. Coriolanus had been looking at you, he crossed his arms, but still nothing. Your heels were scattered, but you looked very comfortable at the edge of his bed.

“What’s on your mind, sweets?” You feel the cushions sinking beside you, his palm goes to rub your back, taking you back to reality.

“I don’t want the weight of all those upcoming deaths on me. On making it an entertainment…” rarely you spoke about the games or politics with your boyfriend. Mostly it was about university, future plans, music, and random pieces of your lives.

“It won’t be your fault, y/n. This will prove to everyone in the Capitol how worthy you are” he tries to soothe you.

“Still. While I do believe we deserve peace and to gain the respect the First Rebellion took from us, I do believe that putting some children to kill each other in the arena each year isn’t going to make a change” he sighed.

“That little girl…” he had seen the kid. But he grew indifferent to that, he was only focused on winning, and he was going to try to psyche you into the same.

“What terrifies you so much?” He asks, finally making you look at him in the eye.

“I have a bad feeling, Coryo. Like everything is gonna go down bad” you admit. You couldn’t tell if it was the change, your new task or Lucy Gray Baird. You were avoiding being judgmental, but as soon as you saw what she did with that snake, your initial thought was that she was a problem.

“None of that. You are making this Hunger Games unforgettable; I’m winning the prize. And that’s it, we will go to university together and make all those things we’ve talked about. That’s all that matters, y/n. Right?” It’s inevitable, you know it’s some sort of manipulation.

He does it with good intentions, but you don’t like it.

“I will give my best to make this whole thing memorable. I will try to make your songbird win. But none of this will wash away the guilt.”

Before the moment can get uncomfortable, Tigris enters the room. She smiles before standing against the little desk Coriolanus had.

“How was it? Tell me everything” she’s anxious to know everything, but for sure knows Coriolanus didn’t get the prize.

“We’ll give you the details in the table. But for now, I’m mentoring the tribute from District 12. y/n is in charge of the game's propaganda” her blonde brows furrow.

“The girl who singed?” Both of you nod. She sighs, crossing her arms.

“This isn’t what was supposed to happen…” Tigris adds. Again, you let yourself fall against the mattress, covering your face.

“Making the games’ an spectacle. What were they thinking?” Coriolanus exchanged looks with Tigris. She understood his look. Mentally telling him to give you some female soothing advice. She decided then to take seat too. You end up sandwiched between them.

It’s her hand brushing some hairs away your neck and face. Tigris had always treated you like family. And that’s why you felt more guilty. Because you wanted Coriolanus to win so badly, to help his family but you also thought about the tributes. About making their deaths some type of entertainment for everyone to watch.

“Sounds unfair. A lot of things from the Capitol are wrong.” You nod. When you see them, you are received by the cousins giving you soothing looks.

“I just want this to be over…”

“It’ll pass. Everything will go great. You’re smart and very talented. And we’ll help you in everything we can” you have to give her a little hug.

“And I’ll help my boy too. That girl is going to be a problem” Coriolanus rolls his eyes, thinking the same as you.

“See? Let’s just be optimistic.” Tigris stands up excitedly, later looking for something on her dress pocket.

“Tigris. I’m making dinner. Do not boil any more cabbage” you giggle, and Coriolanus has to smile, admitting to himself that just by seeing you happy he felt better.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“Please. Just let me go for some groceries.” She nods shyly. Then she pulls out some little bag from the pocket.

“Fine. But you are taking these from now on…” she throws the bag and dissapears. When you look inside the bag, you take out a box of pills. Immediately your cheeks turn red.

“Oh my god” you hand the box to the boy.

“Oh…” they’re birth control pills.

Soon both of you start laughing before you have to give him a kiss. Probably it was for the best because Coriolanus Snow never pulled out. And luckily you weren’t pregnant yet.

“I’ll get the groceries from Trevor” he nods, watching you walk away.

You briefly stop after seeing the picture on a frame. Of Coriolanus as a baby and his mother carrying him. Beside that picture, there’s one you hadn’t seen before. It’s you, from the gala of last year. You wore a red dress with pink ribbons and long gloves that matched the gown. You are smiling, not at the camera.

You were smiling at Coriolanus, who had insisted the photographer to take a picture of only you.

The feeling of happiness, bliss and peace hit you, making it impossible to leave your boyfriend’s room without a giant smile.

…

Speaking out loud had never been your thing. You sucked for speeches, debates. Well, only to prepare for them. Your hands would shake, and your face would turn red. But at the moment to step into the highlight, you were wonderful.

And it was noticeable.

“Here I am with the lovely y/n y/l/n, who’s in charge of directing the course of this games this year. Tell me y/n, was your idea to bring the tributes to the zoo?”

“No. To be honest, my directing journey officially starts as soon as the tributes are here. For now, I’m not doing anything… Yet.” Lucky Flickerman laughs.

“Well… I believe this is going to be a heated road. Don’t you think so? OH-, forget about her opinion, no one cares. THE TRIBUTES ARE HERE!” You turn behind to look. The vehicle opened its doors and the tributes fell. But you have to move away from the cameras after seeing a red uniform of the Academy. What the hell was Coriolanus doing there?

He doesn’t notice you yet. But you are able to see him talking with the girl. You see Lucy Gray Baird in person for the first time. She’s very pretty, short as you and her dress is very pretty. That’s not the problem though. You don’t like the way Coriolanus leans to whisper to her something, then he pulls the rose on his uniform and pins it behind her ear. Hearing Lucky Flickerman calling them, the couple holds hands, and they start answering questions.

It’s just for the views. It’s just to win that damn prize. Relax… You can trust him.

When Lucy Gray starts talking with a girl, Coriolanus spots you. You can’t decipher his look, but he knows for sure you aren’t pleased. Your hands making fists against the fabric on your wide dressing pants.

As soon as the cameras are gone, you go on a straight line towards him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He drops the songbird’s hand, looking seriously taken aback.

“I told you I was meeting my tribute” Lucy Gray looks intrigued by your sudden appearance. Your moles, orange makeup, heavy golden earrings and perfectly painted lips. You’re perfect.

“This is embarrassing. What are my parents going to think? This could get you into trouble, Coriolanus” he sighs. Takes your hand through the giant cage but you whisk away, looking very angry.

“I’m sorry. This is just… too much.” He will talk to you later, he knows you’re head is spinning. Probably the rose and taking the songbird’s hand wasn’t a good idea.

“This is Lucy Gray…” he introduces the girl. And you finally acknowledge her. You give her a fake smile, just trying to look calm and be polite. She only stares.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry this is the way were meeting” she looks proud, like the fact that you look gorgeous, and she had just been thrown into an animal cage wasn’t humbling for her.

“Aren’t you in charge of making this a good show? Like putting us here like we were some kind of animals?” She must hate the Capitol. And it pisses you off the way she’s talking to you. A hostile tone in disguise.

“I’m only working for this to get more views and get into Univeristy. Where etiquette and manners are taught with much emphasis. But I’m not the one doing the rules” you respond colder, giving a little hint that Lucy Gray needed to be refined. After that, you proceed to ignore her again.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your back with Highbottom if anything happens” you whisper to the blonde, and before he can say anything you leave. You exchange some words with Flickerman and the camera production before leaving with them.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asks. Coriolanus turns to see her.

“That’s my girlfriend.” His confirmation slightly surprised the girl. You seemed very… Capitol. Like the perfect match for him.

“She’s very pretty.” He wants to chuckle, but he only nods. In his mind, he wasn’t sure if Lucy gray meant it or if she was just trying to be sarcastic. Either way he doesn’t care much.

You’re perfect.

…

In your room, only the gentle morning breeze can be heard. You look at the balcony, looking at the mountains that surrounded the Capitol. It was summer, soon after fall began, the white would cover the city.

There’s a knock on your door and when you turn to see who it is, there is your mother.

“How did Coriolanus end up with the tributes?” You look away, already feeling ashamed.

“I don’t know, mother. He was supposed to meet the tribute at the train station. I don’t know how he ended up there…”

“It was a… messy entrance. But he seemed to have charmed the cameras on his favor. Don’t you think so?” Your mother liked your boyfriend, but sometimes she thought he had some secrets hidden, and that made you set some alarms. Probably because only, you knew about his financial problems.

“As it was expected. How do you think I felt when everyone knew he is my boyfriend? It was embarrassing.” She giggles, stepping inside of your room. Grabbing your perfectly ironed Academy uniform and accommodating the sleeves.

“I didn’t like the way he… forced that interaction with the girl.” You admit in a quiet tone.

“They were holding hands. He tucked his rose on her ear.” Your blood boils at the memory, making you groan in discontent.

“Yes.” You confirm to her.

“You’re jealous. And you shouldn’t be… Coriolanus loves you. Why would he even turn to look down at a dirty and disheveled girl from District 12? When he has you, a gorgeous and already successful young woman. Who’s capitol to his luck.” You smile. But the uncomfortable omen would have you spinning until the games were over.

“You can’t let any feelings get in the way of your task, my dear.” Says your father appearing at the door. You just stare at him.

“Let the boy play along the untidy girl for now. It will help to raise the views and create dubiety. You will complete your duty and that will make you memorable. As a daughter of mine and your mother we want you to exceed our accomplishments, this would be the first step. As soon as you make it, all the doors will be open for you. And the boy will be eating from the palm of your hand.” You know that’s not how it works, but he is right. As much as you wanted your boyfriend to win the games. You had to think on your own for the first time.

“You’re right.” Your dad smiles, only entering the room to leave a kiss on your head. Silently telling you how proud he is of you.

“Good. Now put some makeup and the uniform.” You nod at your mom, replying at her smile but feeling slightly empty on the inside.

…

Once again you have zoned out.

Coriolanus sees the way you are lost in your thoughts. As Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul are slightly debating after he was almost penalized for the zoo events, the gossip between the students doesn’t flush away easily.

You were quiet since that day. Same kisses, same smile, and same giggles. But the sudden lack of communication and sex was worrying Coriolanus.

Then Arachne died. Clemensia hadn’t been on class for some days. You weren’t around to see, but the news made you feel weird. Coriolanus was getting obsessed with the songbird, but that didn’t mean he was leaving aside… yet.

He had heard and seen how most of the student's made fun of you and your task for the Hunger Games. Saying that you had been put on that position for your parents. Very much like what everyone thought of Sejanus Plinth on daily basis. It made you feel anxious, that guilt only increasing. And unfortunately, Coriolanus hadn’t been around to soothe those fears.

“Are you sure you’re okay, y/n?” He asks once for all. You seem to hear him, but before you can answer him. Gaul had made everyone go quiet.

“Has a decision been made, Miss. y/l/n?” You raise your head, looking at the woman and slowly you nod, standing up.

“A decision has been made with the council of the games and the production team. The mentors and their tributes have to make a strategy, it’s obligatory. The mentors have to make detailed research on the district of their tribute. In two days, the research must be submitted so the tributes can be guaranteed an interview before the games. Only that way, the sponsors will come and by the end of the games, the mentors will be honored in the post-games' celebration.” The more you talked, the more the students seemed to hate you. Coriolanus can only think that you’re doing it because of rage, and he isn’t unsure if he likes it or not.

Dr. Gaul wants to laugh, believing you had shut everyone’s mouth. She can see a female enraged lover can react when cards are played against her. And she is savoring the way her Hunger Games are making everyone fight for their own good, not only the tributes.

When class is over, you don’t wait for Coriolanus. You just start grabbing your stuff and decide to leave.

He has to hurry so he can follow your pace. He calls your name once, but until his hand gently grabs your forearm, you stop.

“What is going on?” He asks, ignoring that both of you are in the middle of a hallway.

“About what?” There’s a lot to say, but you just can’t seem to be able to respond.

He sighs, and looking around, he drags you to an empty room. Open to public, but perfect for some minutes of privacy.

“You can talk to me…”

“I know… It’s just…” he inspects your face, looking at any details to try to understand you.

“Just what, sweets?”

“There’s too much going on at the same time. I’m just stressed out. I’m sorry for being distant, Coryo” you refuse to admit you’re jealous, that you are following your father’s advice, that you are sick of everything.

“It’ll be over in three more days or so. Then you know what departs for us…” you nod as he leans to close the distance, your foreheads touching. It was Coriolanus silent way of saying I love you and I’m here. So you take the moment to treasure it.

“Just one thing, Coryo…”

“Yes, dear?” He asks on your lips.

“If things get tricky… Are you going to fight for me if needed?” He smiles, your lips trembling against his chin.

“I would walk the whole territory of Panem just to get you, y/n” and with that, he kisses you so hard that it makes you remember why you choose him.

And why you would always choose him.

…

It’s late in the night and you opted to stay for late rehearsals. Your nails are a mess as you had anxiously been biting them. You see a burgundy spot on the right side of your pointe shoe. Your feet are bleeding. But that doesn’t compare to the waves of chills you had every day.

“AGAIN!” Your instructor yells. You are the opening act for the celebration. Every district would have a dance and some mentors would have an honorific mention. However, yours was a delicate piece of ballet. The music was beautiful, but it made you feel little, very vulnerable.

You try every single time, but your instructor kept saying that you needed to look sadder by the end.

“Miss y/n?…” your mother’s assistant came to the door of the studio, making you stop and your instructor to pause the music.

“Your mother has informed to me that there was a rebel bombing on the games’ arena earlier. The tributes were there with their mentors.” Your heart stops, remembering Coriolanus and his own task of taking the songbird there.

“Your partner, Mr. Snow… he was injured…”

Half an hour later, you’re entering the hospital. The wide room is empty. At the end of the bed’s row, you see Tigris and Sejanus. The young woman being the first to notice you.

“Y/N!” She hurries to hug you and offer her jacket since it was slightly cold. And you were once again in your ballet attire, pointe shoes still on.

“It’s okay. But… How is him?”

“Stable. Just his back was compromised” Sejanus reveals, making you smile sadly. Coriolanus is sleeping. His forehead looks sweaty, and you can only attempt to brush some of his curls.

“They said it was a rebel attack. The president’s son was heavily injured” you sigh.

“Felix?” Sejanus nods at you.

“This is where I side with the Capitol.”

“Exactly. This isn’t the solution” neither of you say out loud. But Sejanus was a rebel sympathizer, Tigris was only against the capitol but not with the rebels. And you were a neutral.

“I just hope this doesn’t come with long term injuries…” you finally add. Under the curious look of Tigris, she feels bad for you. Although she offered her help, there wasn’t much she could do. Only to design the attires for the upcoming celebration. But other than that, she could feel the stress on you.

Only worsening when Coriolanus woke up.

“Is Lucy Gray fine?” You act like it didn’t hurt you. And both Tigris and Sejanus pretend they didn’t see your sad face.

“She’s fine.”

“How do you feel?” You ask, and Coriolanus finally sees you.

“My shoulder and back hurt” the tv ends up disconcerting everyone. When you turn there is a video of you being played with the logo of the Capitol behind you. Coriolanus wants to smile, but he’s too unsure of what’s happening to say you looked adorable in a tulle skirt.

[Citizens of Panem, welcome back. We are less than 24 hours away from the start of the 10th Hunger Games. To make the wait less painful, we are about to explore about this year’s tributes. We’ll get to know them in this section. For the first time, we are about to see an exclusive series of interviews with our lovely host; Lucky Flickerman. Now, it’s turn of of the final district, which is District 12. Do not forget that anyone can be a sponsor. Enjoy the show!]

You ignore the looks. You weren’t proud of yourself for filming that type of promos. But that is quickly forgotten after Lucy Gray was introduced and she started singing again. You have to roll your eyes. You have to bite your tongue after seeing the way Coriolanus literally jumped out of the bed to see the songbird closely.

He seemed hypnotized by her. And without even processing there are tears forming on your eyes.

The end is coming. The end is coming. Get ready…

You try to ignore your head. But it’s like a prolonged free fall. Since the moment of the Reaping Ceremony, you knew it.

That bad omen was something you should’ve payed more attention to.

Now you let some tears fall as you see it. Tigris is also crying, and you have to admit how wonderful Lucy Gray Baird is. But it leads you to question.

How could Coriolanus just be… losing you?

When you look down at your feet, your brain can pay attention to the damage, immediately releasing a lot of pain.

Your pointe shoes are almost soaked in blood. You quickly seat in one of the bed, hurrying to untie it. Your heart beats faster. With the sudden increase of negativity, you feel panicked.

And it scares you, because you feel like you don’t have enough control.

Sejanus is the first one to look away.

“Oh my god, y/n” he knees in front of you. Looking at the mess. Now that the pointe shoes are gone, the damage is more than visible.

Tigris follows and finally Coriolanus remembers you. He seats beside you, frowning in disgust as he sees the pointe shoes covered in dry blood. Then your feet, you try to stop the bleeding, cleaning it, sobbing in silent.

You feel his hand on your shoulder. But you ignore him. You feel hurt by everyone. Your parents, the Capitol, and Coriolanus especially.

You squirm away from him.

“I’m just trying to soothe you.” Coriolanus admits in shock after seeing your reaction.

“I can handle it on my own” you spit out crying quietly, cleaning the tears with a hand, while the other holds some gazes against the wounded skin.

“We’ll bring a nurse” Tigris says, grabbing Sejanus and walking out of the room.

For the first time, Coriolanus knows something is going wrong. He officially sees how things are getting tricky.

Only you would know that your tears were for your boyfriend rather than the blood soaking your feet.

He was losing you. And later that night, he sealed the faith of your love for him after visiting Lucy Gray in the zoo one last time.

…

When the 10th Hunger Games started, you were making sudden apparitions at the camera. Coriolanus was focused on Lucy Gray moving through the arena. And you were too invested on following all the procedures. After some hours, a lot of people had left. Coriolanus was growing tired. He started eyeing you out, he saw your lilac makeup that matched your sweater. He saw the way your hips and waist looked in a pencil skirt.

After some failed attempts to make you look at him, he made eye contact. And minutes later, both of you ended up having a quick fuck in the restroom. Somehow it had worked as a makeup, he made you smile before you had to leave again. He kissed you and he promised to himself that no more mistakes were allowed. He would win the games with Lucy Gray and then… only eyes for you.

Things took a turn after Sejanus meant to give a proper goodbye to his tribute and old friend.

Coriolanus had killed a tribute. You are still unable to comprehend how you feel about it. He had come to your house during the night, red eyes and disheveled uniform. You wrapped your arms around him, shushing him to not disturb your parents.

He told you everything as you prepared the tub for him. He cried on your shoulder and stayed there for hours.

“You are good, Coriolanus. You are a good man. This doesn’t make you a monster…” you had said.

“What about the power I felt?…” you knew that was a warning sign.

“In the Hunger Games’ arena anything feels like power, my love” it was supposed to be enough to make him avoid thinking on power and death at the same time.

And now, adding the fact that he seemed to have built a connection with the songbird, you were everything but calm.

Nonetheless, that night you hold him protectively. You assure him everything would be fine.

“I would be lost without you” Coriolanus says, his nose pressed against your chest.

“I help the people I love, Coryo. That’s how will always be…” he reminds himself, no more errors. He holds tighter at you, knowing he had already messed up his promise one night ago.

…

You run, ignoring the pain of your wounded feet. The nurse said to take it easy if you wanted to dance after the games.

But you can’t help it. Coriolanus had won. While you ignored Lucy Gray Baird as the victor, you acknowledged your boyfriend as it. You run faster than Tigris, so you get to hug him before kissing him. He replies immediately. Holding your waist and smiling like an idiot. Everyone was looking and cheering around but neither of you cared. He deepened the kiss, feeling peace, he knew he had won. He had a good future secured. Along you.

“You did it, my love” you say in his lips, giggling. He also smiles, taking your hand before going to find Tigris who stayed back.

“You also did it.” He speaks. Making you realize it’s over.

And for the rest of the day, you are happy. You leave early because of the celebration.

You really want to stay with Coriolanus. But he was called away. Tigris stays with you the whole day. She calls Grandma’am as soon as you both enter the theater where the celebration was being held.

Both of you give the elder woman all details. She really cries and says she can’t wait to see his boy coming home that night. She wishes you good luck and the call is over.

“Okay. Let’s get over with this so we can celebrate with some posca tonight.” You laugh, taking a seat on the vanity.

“Coryo hates posca, Tigris.” She also laughs.

“If he can pretend to like it for formal events, he can pretend at home for his win and yours.” Between laughs and jokes, she starts to help you with makeup and hair.

An hour later, you start receiving good luck flowers and notice of being on the stage in fifteen minutes.

“You look perfect, y/n” she says smiling, making you turn around to see the pastel tutu and flower corset of the attire.

“I can’t breathe but this will make my shoulders look so aligned…” you thank her and after good luck wishes and a hug, she excuses herself to go to her seat.

Now alone, you make sure the makeup is perfect. Until you see Coriolanus in the door frame. He enters and closes the door. He looks so lost and sad, which worries you.

“I cheated on the games” you frown, hurrying to get to him. He sits on the couch, head between his legs, notifying to you how serious the issue is.

“What did you do?” He explains how he cheated. He kept it secret. He didn’t tell you.

“Is there a punishment or penalty?” He nods, looking at you now.

“Exile. Serve as a peacekeeper for twenty years” you look shocked. Your heart stops and you lean to grab his shoulders.

“I’ll go with you. University can wait. I’ll find a job where you’re sent to. And work with my mother at the same time. We’ll send money to Tigris and Grandma’am and-“

“No, y/n. I can’t let you do this.” You start to feel panicked again. You need to hear a solution.

“So what? You’re just leaving like that?” He remains quiet.

“You said you would fight for me.” He thinks about possibilities. He could marry you as soon as training was over. You two could find a little house, live there and send money to his family like you said. You already said you were willing to leave the Capitol for him.

“Oh, Coryo. Why did you had to do this?” He sighs frustrated.

“To win. For my family. For you… to give you all I promised.” You are at the verge of crying. And he has to be honest. If you were going to leave everything for him. He would be honest.

“I kissed her.”

You can only hear your heartbeat after that.

You don’t say anything for some seconds. His hands are sweating.

Something stronger than silence fills the room. You slap him.

Your hand burns afterwards. But the damage is done.

“Get. Out.” You spit out, quietly, yet extremely filled with poison.

He’s too shocked to say something back.

You are mentally collapsing. Finally feeling betrayed and mocked by him.

“You won’t get out? I will…” it’s bad when you start hearing a pitch in your ears. You know it’s not a good sign. But you’re so traumatized, that you lean closer to him.

“You’re a mistake… Such a big lie.” The last memory he sees before you have disappeared is the layers of tulle of your tutu, your perfume of jasmine and the sound of your distant sobs.

If he had lost you. His last memory of you would be dancing.

He stares from the backstage. And he wonders if destiny wanted you to dance such a melancholic song. Because he can literally see your sadness. You look so fragile that he curses himself. Maybe if he had mentored another district. Or maybe if he just had decided to shut up and avoid mentioning the kiss to you.

Did he ever love you? Why wasn’t enough?

However, that’s not enough suffering. While your head was spinning with many thoughts, the rest of your body was pleading you to stop. But you keep dancing. You feel the music and you let yourself to give the most emotional presentation of the history of Panem.

You don’t realize you have captured the same effect as Lucy Gray Baird singing. There are people crying. Throwing flowers at you. You don’t see it; you’re starting to see everything blurred.

As you leave the stage, people congratulate you. Coriolanus sees you look pale, darkened lips. You stop hearing, only the annoying pitch. Every step feels heavier than the last one. The sudden nausea makes you give up.

Coriolanus sees how you faint. Your body collapsing to the floor.

“Get a doctor… GET A DOCTOR, PLEASE!” He yells at a girl who was also in a tutu. She nods in shock, running. Some people gather, but only Coriolanus is there holding your unconscious body.

…

“I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I wanted. I wished so many things for us.” Coriolanus is crying. Holding your hand as you are asleep on a hospital bed. Your diagnosis said you suffered a collapse due to stress and traumatic experience. He knew it was caused by him. But he lies to your mother, saying it must’ve been for the pressure of the games and the death of Arachne Crane.

“I’m not a good man. And you deserve someone better than me…” he can now see the purple under your lashes, eye bags and cracked lips.

“But I’m coming back for you.”

After memorizing your image sleeping and kissing your forehead, he quietly leaves.

Your mother enters his line of vision.

“Coriolanus. Are you coming tomorrow? She’ll likely be awake” he swallows the rest of his tears and shakes his head.

“Unfortunately. I have peacekeeper duty away from the Capitol, required for me to get into university.”

“Oh no. Y/n knows, right?” He nods.

“But don’t worry, I’ll send her letters every week” it’s a promise. One he would make no matter what.

His hopes increase by the time he’s able to serve in District 12. Knowing he could give some closure to his situation with Lucy Gray but sickening because he’s also going there to soothe his urges to see his songbird again.

As for you, when you wake up, you feel beyond broken. You just hope and pray your sole image to haunt Coriolanus Snow for the rest of his life. Because the moment you walked out of that hospital, you would do everything to get rid of him and his memory. Promising to make his mere existence the most insignificant matter. Even when you knew your heart would never beat again the same way it did for him.

______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @edb954 @poppyflower-22 @dear-bunnyboo @bryandechartisasmolbean @taylordaughter @coryoskywalker @maryvibess @reader-bookling123 @astarborntowrite @ewwwitsel @spring-goddess1 @real-lana-del-rey @electraphyng @athanasia-day @folklorelogy

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

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uramakimochi · 9 months ago

Text

THE BETRAYAL

Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader

!!!DISCLAIMER!!!: English is not my native language and since i didn't watch the show in the original language and i have no idea about the difference between English/Irish accents like Finan's, i'll write using the classic english they teach in school lol. But you are free to correct me on it if you wish to. And i haven't read the books so i'll write my stories based on the show.

WARNINGS: this is a bit long i'm sorry. Based on s3ep6-7, angst + comfort fluff, established relationship, FEM!R but no use of Y/n, little platonic moments with Finan and Osferth because we love them<3.

Something wasn't right, you could sense it. You still didn't know what it was, but you had that bad feeling of anguish that was slowly sprouting in your heart.

Thanks to Edward and Alfred you had won the battle against Haesten, but there was no party atmosphere at Aethelfled's estate.

Everyone could feel the tension going around in your group and the cause was only one: Skade. Or at least, that's what Sihtric claimed. You all hated that witch, but the only one who still hadn't gotten rid of her was Uhtred. Because of that woman's curse you were all suffering: when Uhtred had fallen ill he had risked dying and even poor Osferth, despite having fought bravely, had been wounded in battle, but fortunately he had survived.

Sihtric and Finan wanted nothing more than to kill her, but Uhtred would listen to no reason. So the only thing you had to do was follow his orders, as you swore to him.

While Osferth rested in his room, you, Sihtric and Finan sat at a table. Sitting in front of you, Sihtric was eating with an unrelaxed expression on his face and you, worried for him, exchanged a look with Finan, who however raised his shoulders slightly, just as confused as you.

You swallowed the morsel in your mouth to reach out for his hand, before he could drink from his goblet. Sihtric looked up from his plate to you and you gave him a small smile.

"Is everything okay?"

Sihtric nodded slowly, squeezing your hand weakly.

"I'm just tired..." he only replied.

From the tone he had just used you understood that in addition to being tired he was also a little annoyed, but you didn't push the topic, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere which was already heavy.

Before you could say anything else, Uhtred entered the hall and came to sit with you, next to Sihtric.

"Where is Osferth?" he asked.

"He's sleeping" Finan replied. "As we all should do"

"I suppose we can't leave the witch with Haesten" you said, looking at your plate. "We have to go get her, don't we?"

"Again" Sihtric commented.

"We have to" Finan answered you and then looked at Uhtred. "As long as she is free you will be cursed"

"Skade is with the danes, i cannot get to her" your lord replied. "And we will not die for her"

"Death will find us regardless" commented Sihtric again, but this time giving Uhtred an annoyed look. You touched his foot from under the table, but he ignored you, still glaring at Uhtred.

"Do you want to tell me something Sihtric?" Uhtred retorted, equally unnerved by his attitude.

"No, he does not" Finan answered cautiously for him.

But Sihtric did not back down.

"Aren't too many men dead already?"

"Dying is a warrior's risk" Finan continued.

There was silence for a few seconds while you looked between the three men, hoping that the discussion had ended there.

"I will return to Ragnar" Uhtred then said. "I have to help him find peace"

"You will only find ghosts around his grave" Sihtric retorted once again.

"Sihtric stop it" you whispered and he looked at you for a split second, then looked away.

You weren't mad at him, you understood his point of view a little, but you didn't want him and Uhtred to get into an argument.

"Continue to protect Aethelfled and rest" Uhtred concluded and then stood up, while you and Finan nodded.

Uhtred headed for the door but before he could leave, Sihtric's voice rang through the hall.

"Those who serve Uhtred will not rest. Not while Skade is still free"

Uhtred stopped in his tracks, turning to look at him.

"Sihtric you're tired and you're drunk" Finan interjected again, trying to calm things down.

"Yes, i am tired" Sihtric replied, then turned to Uhtred. "Of marching from north to south, being called a traitor and not to being able to live my life in peace with my woman. And for what?"

Your heart sank when he glanced at you as he said the last words and you looked at him pityingly. Yes he was right, you too missed life in Wessex with your beloved Sihtric before Uhtred was banished and the affair with Skade had only made that whole situation worse than it already was. But you didn't even like the hatred that had arisen between him and Uhtred. Yours was a united group and you couldn't let that witch split it with her curses.

"Then leave" Uhtred replied, moving closer to him again.

"Uhtred, you truly don’t mean that" you murmured worriedly, but he ignored you, continuing to look at Sihtric.

"If you're unhappy then take your wife and leave"

Sihtric jumped up in anger and gave him a small shove backwards.

"I have fought for you!" he exclaimed.

Uhtred smirked. "You fight because you like it"

"You would let me go that easily?" Sihtric hissed.

You and Finan stood up to join them, placing yourself between them.

"Leave or stay, i do not care" Uhtred replied.

"Yes he does care, he's not serious. Now enough arguing, let us sit down" Finan said seriously, looking at them.

You took Sihtric's hand and although your touch and warmth were always enough to calm him, this time they had no effect.

"Leave or stay Sihtric Kjartansson, it's your choice" Uhtred continued, looking at him defiantly. "Make it"

Sihtric stared back, thinking for a couple of seconds about how to respond, until he tilted his head.

"Do you want to make a square Uhtred of Bebbanburg?" he asked menacingly.

"Both of you stop! Neither of you will fight" you interjected, placing your hands on Sihtric's shoulders and making him take a couple of steps back.

"There won't be any square, we. just. sleep." continued Finan. "Sleep"

Uhtred and Sihtric continued to look at each other and Finan sighed a curse, tired of the situation. Then he approached Sihtric.

"Take the prisoners to the pigs, tied up" he ordered, knowing it was best for him and Uhtred to remain separated.

Sihtric moved his gaze to your eyes as if he wanted to know your opinion and you looked at him seriously without saying anything, wanting him to understand that Finan was right. You all needed to sleep and put the fights behind you.

"Sihtric!" Uhtred's voice boomed once again and you all turned to look at him. "I will leave at dawn. But i will return... And if you are still here, i will kill you"

Your eyes widened, bringing a hand to your mouth and Sihtric stiffened. Uhtred said nothing else and turned to leave again.

"Uhtred please-" you tried to call out to him, taking a step towards him but he walked out and closed the door behind him.

You ran a hand over your face, feeling your eyes watering, but you stopped yourself from crying and turned to look at Sihtric.

Finan shook his head, looking at his friend with disappointed eyes.

"Why?" he just asked him.

But Sihtric didn't seem to be as sad and upset as you were, in fact he just got angrier at Uhtred's threat. With a wave of his arm he threw away the cup that was on the table, causing it to fall to the floor.

"He has cursed us all!" he exclaimed, looking at you and Finan, who sat back down at the table with his head in his hands.

Dagfinn, Haesten's companion whom you had taken prisoner, had witnessed the whole scene like the rest of the men and decided to interfere.

"She has cursed you" he commented, while he was busy eating with the other prisoners. "And Uhtred let her"

"Be quiet" you murmured.

"Leave him, it's your only chance" Dagfinn continued to Sihtric. "You are a dane first and foremost"

When Sihtric left the hall to take the prisoners to the pigsty, you watched him go heartbroken. There was no way in your mind that he and Uhtred had actually said those things to each other. I mean, you can understand sometimes not getting along and having different opinions, but Uhtred had threatened to kill him! How did you end up at this?

Someone placed a hand on your shoulder and when you turned you met Finan's pitying gaze.

"Are you okay sweetheart?" he asked thoughtfully and you nodded weakly.

"Do you think…" you murmured. "Do you think Uhtred was serious? Would he really kill Sihtric?"

Finan let out a small sigh, stroking your shoulder with his thumb. "Part of me doesn't want to believe it, but... We know what Uhtred is like"

"But Sihtric didn't do anything wrong" you replied worriedly. "Finan, it's not his fault it's Skade's fault. Why would Uhtred kill him? I understand that he was angry about what Sihtric said, but... B-But it's not fair!"

Finan hugged you, caressing your head and bringing it against his chest and you let yourself be lulled by his caresses. You loved Finan like he was your older brother, you protected each other and he had always been there for you in times of need, even when there were problems between you and Sihtric.

"I don't know what to do" you continued, your voice muffled by his clothes. "Would you really let Uhtred kill Sihtric? Would you let our group be destroyed in this horrible way because of the witch?"

Finan tilted his head to press a small kiss to your hair and then placed a hand on your cheek, pulling you away so he could look you in the eyes.

"Why don't you go and talk to Sihtric? You're the only one who can make him see some sense, little one, and we all know that. And when Uhtred returns we will clear up the situation once and for all. No one will kill anyone, i promise"

You nodded, closing your eyes to let out two lone tears and Finan wiped one away with his thumb.

"Thank you Finan" you said with a small smile. "We're lucky to have you here"

He smiled back and removed his hand from your face to let you walk away as he watched you walk out the door.

When you were about to reach the pigsty, you saw Sihtric walking in your direction, after he had finished binding the prisoners.

"Sihtric" you called him softly.

Sihtric froze and raised his head to look at you as you stood in front of him. You were both silent for a couple of seconds until you gave a small smile mixed with a grimace.

"You carry the smell of pigs with you" you said. "Unless it's the one of the danes'"

Sihtric smiled and then shook his head.

"Have you come to scold me?" he asked you and even if he didn't want to address you in a rude way, you clearly heard the bitterness in his tone of voice, probably because he was still angry with Uhtred.

"Oh no my love. No..." you replied immediately, shaking your head.

You reached both hands forward to take one of his and Sihtric relaxed, squeezing your hands back.

"I just want to talk to you. I understand your point of view, i know you miss our life in Coccham and i miss it too, i really do" you said trying to reassure him. "But why did you talk to Uhtred like that? Why did you get so angry?"

"You ask me why?" he asked in turn. "You ask me why i was the only one among all to have the courage to rebel against him after he did nothing but use us for a whore who only made us suffer? Is that what you ask me?"

"Sihtric, he is our Lord. We have sworn loyalty to him-"

"No. His mind is cursed and he no longer thinks. That is not the man to whom i gave my axe, do you understand?" he retorted, placing his hands on your shoulders. "The Uhtred i know wouldn't have thrown me away like i was shit and wouldn't have threatened to kill me"

You shook your head again, placing your hands on his cheeks. "He didn't mean it, he would never kill you. Uhtred... I'm sure there's a reason behind his actions, you have to trust him, like we always have"

"Do you trust him? Do you still want to serve him? After everything we have done for him?"

You reluctantly nodded and Sihtric took a step back with a grimace.

"I should have expected that you would stay on his side and not mine"

Your eyes widened as you felt your heart skip a beat.

"What? Sihtric, no-"

"You would rather listen to the words of a cursed lord than those of your own husband"

"What are you saying? Why do you think that?" you asked, taking a step towards him.

"What would you do if i asked you to come with me?" he retorted.

You fell silent for a couple of seconds, not understanding his question.

"What do you mean?"

"I no longer want to follow Uhtred's orders. I can't stay here, i want to leave"

"But... But where to? Sihtric i don't understand"

"Anywhere but here. Uhtred doesn't want me so i'll leave"

"No. My dear please, you don't really mean it" you tried to say, but he nodded.

"Yes, i do. And i want you to choose once and for all" Sihtric said, moving closer to you again. "Me or Uhtred"

You shook your head, looking at him with teary, teary eyes.

"I can't. Please don't ask me to answer this"

"You can't or you don't want to?" Sihtric hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't you want to stay with your husband?"

You lowered your head, sniffling, scared. What did you have to do? Could you really choose between the man you loved and the one you swore loyalty to for life? Of course not. But by now Sihtric was blinded by rage.

Sihtric looked at you with an almost disappointed look and took a couple of steps back.

"Just as i thought. I can't trust anyone anymore. Only the Gods" he said, turning his back to you.

Those words and the feeling that he wanted to leave forever pushed you to run to position yourself in front of him again, intent on making him reason for the last time.

"Sihtric, please listen to me. Listen to me my love" you said, looking intently into his eyes as he saw your pupils flutter. "I love you with all my heart, i trust you and you know i would follow you to the end of the world. But i also love Uhtred, the same way i love Finan and Osferth. I know you're angry, but you must not let that witch destroy everything our friendship has built"

Sihtric let out a deep breath through his nose, remaining silent to listen to you and you took one of his hands, bringing it to your chest.

"Don't ask me to choose between you and Uhtred. I don't want to lose any of you. We're family" you murmured through tears, stroking the tattoos on his fingers. "Please. Stay with us and we will solve everything. Together"

There were a few seconds of silence that were broken by the sound of someone walking nearby and the noises of the night. Then Sihtric sighed and leaned over to rest his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you against his body.

"You're the only one who will always be able to convince me. And that's why i love you" he murmured against your skin.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his body and rubbing your cheek against the soft fur he was wearing.

"Glad to hear it"

The next morning you woke up with sunlight hitting your face. You reached out beside you, believing you could touch Sihtric's body and you were surprised when you felt his side of the bed empty. But you didn't worry too much, thinking that he was already with the others. You stood up and after getting dressed you went down to the hall to eat something, joining Finan and Osferth who were already sitting at the table with Aethelfled.

"Good morning" you said with a smile, not noticing the worried looks your companions exchanged.

The princess smiled at you, greeting you in return and you sat down in front of her, next to Finan.

"How are you Osferth? Are you feeling better?" you asked, turning to the young monk, who nodded slowly.

"Um, yes thank you. Much better than yesterday"

"That's good. Have you guys seen Sihtric? I thought he was with you" you asked then.

Finan put down the piece of bread he was chewing and looked into your eyes.

"Sweetheart" he called to you cautiously. "Sihtric is gone"

You looked at him in silence, your brain still busy registering his words. "What do you mean?"

"He left with the prisoners. This night" Osferth replied this time, sounding sad and disappointed at what your husband had done. "He betrayed us"

You looked between the two of them and Aethelfled who tried to give you a reassuring smile, but that wasn't enough to calm the doubts and confusion that were clouding your mind.

"What? It-It's impossible, no..." you replied, shaking your head. "Why he would betray us, i don't understand. I-I, i talked to him Finan, you know that, right? We talked, i told him we would help him and he told me he wouldn't leave. No, no..."

Finan looked at you with pity and you lowered your head, seeing a couple of tears that you didn't even realize you were shedding fall onto your plate.

"Why did he do it?" you murmured, sniffling.

You balled your hands into fists above your thighs and Finan leaned in to rub his palm on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. But now it was all useless. You trusted Sihtric and he had taken advantage of your moment of weakness to escape without even saying goodbye. You had lost your husband and your companions had lost a friend. And the pain caused by betrayal burned more than that of death in battle.

"Hey"

You lifted your head, seeing Osferth sit down next to you. Around you, Uhtred's men chatted and laughed among themselves, and Finan played dice with them. You were watching them in silence, happy that at least they were enjoying their stay at Aethelfled's estate.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, looking at you with the usual worry lingering in his eyes.

You nodded, smiling slightly but didn't say anything. Your mind had been troubled since the day Sihtric left and you didn't know what to do or think anymore.

"How about we have a drink to relax?" continued the monk. "And we can also have our new slave serve us"

You stared at him confused by his words, but when you noticed Finan approaching you with two cups of beer that he handed you, you smiled amusedly. You and Osferth clashed your beers in a toast, while Finan leaned towards the window to look out. Osferth swallowed the drink he was taking to look at him.

"What is it?" he asked and you also turned to Finan.

"Better to say who it is" replied the other with a smile, and then moved away from the window and headed towards the door.

The doors flew open and Uhtred entered. You and Osferth stood up, also happy with his return, while Finan walked towards him.

"You're back" the Irishman said as he hugged him with a smile and Uhtred hugged him back.

"I'm back"

The two broke away and Uhtred placed a hand on Finan's shoulder.

"Sihtric?" he asked.

"He has left. A long time ago" Finan answered. "Along with the prisoners, Lord"

Uhtred nodded and after giving him a couple of pats on the shoulder he also noticed your and Osferth's presence.

"Osferth" he called, walking in your direction.

"Lord"

"You're still alive" Uhtred said in a teasing tone and Osferth smiled.

"Of course Lord"

The two hugged and then Uhtred turned to you, calling your name.

"I'm glad you're back, Lord" you murmured, moving closer to him. Uhtred gave you a smile that seemed more made out of pity and hugged you. You tightened your arms around his body and he caressed your back a couple of times, then pulled away and looked you in the eyes.

"I'm sorry about Sihtric" he murmured, though those near you could still hear him. "How are you?"

You shrugged with a sigh. "I can't say that i didn't suffer from his choice, like everyone else here. My heart is broken in half. But i try not to give in to the pain and move forward"

Uhtred nodded and in the meantime Aethelfled also joined you in the hall, having learned of Uhtred's return. And when their eyes met they smiled at each other.

Uhtred had to take Skade back. But entering the camp of the danes, who were more than two thousand men in the service of Cnut, Brida, Haesten and Bloodhair, was impossible, practically suicide. But Uhtred was no fool and you were proud to have sworn your sword to a man of his valor.

Luck, or fate and the Gods to some, came your way when you stopped at the village of Crugland, where the Mercians (or buttered bishops as Finan said) who lived there wanted to keep you trapped as bait for the danes. But after you had rid yourself of Aethelfled's traitors you went in the direction of the danes' camp, knowing that some of them would leave thanks to your diversion.

"Uhtred"

You rode your horse closer to Uhtred's, who was trotting at the head of the group and he turned to face you.

"I was thinking…" you murmured and he had no trouble hearing the tone of concern decorating your voice. "Do you think we will meet Sihtric when we enter the camp?"

"Very likely, because he knows i want Skade back" Uhtred nodded, then looked forward again.

You looked down at your horse's mane and tightened your grip on the bridle. You wanted to ask him something else but you didn't have the courage.

"You're afraid i'll kill him as soon as i see him, aren't you?" Uhtred asked you and you looked back at him with wide eyes. It was like he read your mind.

Uhtred let out a deep breath from his chest, as if he was still pondering something.

"Would you really do that?" you murmured. "Would you kill him?"

Uhtred smiled, turning to you.

"You still care about him, despite what he did"

You remained silent for a couple of seconds, thinking about what to answer him and you ran your tongue over your lips.

"When i fight in battle i always try to kill my enemies with the first blow, so as not to make them suffer. Because i don't wish the worst pain even on my greatest enemy. And Sihtric is no different. He is still my husband, but even if should our paths part forever, i will worry about him until i die"

"And tell me, would you defend him from my sword?" Uhtred asked you seriously and you looked at him in surprise. "You stayed with me and i appreciate that. But if he and i found ourselves face to face dueling, what would you do? Would you try to save him from his fate?"

His words caught you off guard and for the second time you found yourself with a dry mouth. Your heart beat faster knowing that Uhtred was right. You had to make a choice. A choice from which this time you couldn't back out. Sihtric or Uhtred?

"In all honesty i still don't know, Lord” you said. "I guess we'll find out about that once he's with us"

You looked back at the horizon, where the sun was slowly starting to set. Inside your brain there was a tornado of thoughts and doubts that never stopped. Uhtred, however, managed to keep himself from smiling.

There were a few hours left before darkness arrived and you, Uhtred and the others were hiding in the trees near the camp, waiting for the right moment to infiltrate.

"Someone is coming" Finan whispered, pulling out a dagger. Osferth remained kneeling at your feet, while you and Uhtred clasped your hands on the hilts of your swords, ready to attack.

"It's Sihtric" Osferth muttered and your eyes widened.

You felt your heart skip a beat and exchanged a look with Finan, while Uhtred took up his sword.

And Osferth was right. It was him, it was Sihtric.

When you saw your husband emerge from the branches your first instinct was to go to him, but Uhtred beat you to it and took a step towards him.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked menacingly. Sihtric looked him in the eyes and nodded.

"I do" he replied before drawing his sword and pointing it at your lord. "Yield to me"

You expected one of the two to attack the other and you weren't ready to know what you would had to do, who you would've defended. But much to your surprise and confusion, Uhtred raised his arms and let his sword slip from his hand. A second later, Sihtric planted his sword on the ground and approached Uhtred to embrace him. They both laughed, while you all looked at them in shock.

"You fooled us!" Osferth said with a surprised smile, reaching back to touch Finan's leg. "They fooled us! Why?"

Uhtred and Sihtric stepped away from each other, while the monk and Finan approached your husband. You, on the other hand, remained motionless on your spot and stared at him.

"You had to believe it for the others to believe it too" Uhtred replied.

"I knew it" said Finan to Sihtric.

"No, you did not. Was i good?" your husband replied with a smirk, then turning back to Uhtred.

"A little" said the other with a wave of his hand.

"I'm telling you i knew it" continued Finan and then hugged his friend, followed by Osferth who did the same.

At that moment you also decided to approach them and Sihtric finally laid his gaze on you. It was in that precise moment that you saw his mismatched eyes fill with joy and love, two completely different eyes than the ones full of anger he had on the night of the "betrayal". That was the Sihtric you could recognize.

"My love" he said with a relieved smile, stretching his arms out towards you.

You stepped towards him, but just before you could hug him you had a second of hesitation. You quickly looked over his shoulder at Finan and Osferth, who gave you two reassuring smiles and so you took them as signs to wrap your arms around your husband's body. When your cheek came to rest on his warm, fur-covered clothes, you let out a breath of relief from your nose as he pressed his hands on your hips to pull you towards him.

"I missed you" Sihtric murmured.

"I missed you too"

You felt his fingers caress your body as he tilted his head to press a kiss to your hair. You remained in that position for a few seconds and while he seemed to be calm, you felt a strange sensation begin to invade your body.

"I thought you were angry with me" Sihtric murmured with a chuckle, making the others smile as well.

At those words you suddenly detached yourself from his body and punched him on the arm, a gesture at which everyone's eyes widened, taken aback.

"Ow!" Sihtric exclaimed in surprise. "Why did you hit me?"

"Angry? You thought i was just angry with you??" you asked, frowning at him.

"Honey what-" he tried to ask you but you cut him off.

"Do you have any idea what i've been through, Sihtric Kjartansson?" you asked angrily again, pointing a finger at his chest. "Do you have any idea how i've felt these days, thinking you betrayed us? Thinking you hated us? Osferth, tell him"

Osferth jumped, not expecting to be involved, while Uhtred and Finan exchanged looks like two people enjoying a show.

"U-Um, you felt bad-"

"Bad, yes! That's how i felt!" you spoke in Osferth's place, continuing your speech. "I felt very bad, Sihtric. I wasn't just mad, i was also sad and so fucking disappointed. You left without saying anything and i thought you had lost faith in me"

You stepped back and turned your back to him, not wanting him to see how you were rubbing a hand over your eyes to keep the tears from coming out.

"I-I thought you didn't love me anymore, i thought... I thought i had lost you forever..."

Sihtric's gaze softened when he saw your shoulders move with small spasms in the throes of sobs and he slowly approached you. He placed his hands on your shoulders, making you turn towards him and you let him.

"My love, look at me" he said softly, placing both hands on your wet cheeks so he could look into your eyes.

Oh, how you missed feeling his palms on your face.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through this" he said, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks. "I want you to know that i've thought about you day and night since i left. There were never any secrets between you and me and having to keep the truth of the plan hidden from you destroyed me. I felt so guilty for leaving you alone to suffer, believe me. I didn't mean a single word of what i said to you that night, i never doubted you and your loyalty. And i will never stop loving you. Never. Understood?"

You nodded and sniffled as Sihtric leaned in to give you a long kiss on the forehead, while thanks to his comforting words you felt all the doubts that had invaded your head dissolve like fog.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked when he pulled away from your skin.

What a stupid question, of course you forgave him, you already had. And how could you not when he was looking at you with that pleading look of a guilty man?

So you raised your hands to wrap them around his wrists and nodded once again, smiling heartily.

"Of course i forgive you"

Sihtric smiled back and without wasting time he attached his lips to yours. You both closed your eyes, enjoying that kiss that sealed the renewal of your love and that would never fade.

When you pulled away you punched him again on the other arm and he looked at you offended.

"And what was that for??" he asked with wide eyes.

You pointed a finger at him, then crossed your arms and looked at him with a fake serious look.

"You stupid. Play another jest like that on me and next time i'll be the one that leaves you. Am i clear?"

Sihtric nodded with an amused smile and the others chuckled too.

"Yes my Lady"

Then you turned to Uhtred.

"I'll punch you too later Uhtred" you said and he looked at you in surprise.

"Me? What did i do?"

"Well, i think that this ingenious plan wasn't just my husband's idea, right?"

And while Uhtred looked at you with an embarrassed smile, Sihtric, Finan and Osferth laughed.

off topic but I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SHIP SIHTRIC AND SKADE!!!!! LIKE, I'M SORRY DID WE WATCH THE SAME SHOW???

"ThE cHeMisTRy BeTwEeN tHeM wAs So sTRonG!"

GIRL BFFR🤡

I haven't read the books, but in the serie they only spoke like once or twice in all the season and she never showed any interest in him. And he fucking despised her!!! He was clearly scared of her and he just wanted to kill her, like everyone else!!

Is it just me??? Please, i can't be the only one who saw it.

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allfortheslay25 · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!!! I love your blog and was wondering if you have any Milo and Warren hcs?

Spoilers for Milo’s Future

The first cordial conversation these two have actually happens at Eden’s (before it is ruined lol)

Like I’ve mentioned before, Milo’s goal while being with the Foxes was to improve their teamwork and help them win a game. One of their team bonding things he suggested was clubbing together so he took them to Eden’s since his family has a history there (and he could house them in the Columbia house which he bought from an old Fox when he was 15)

Wymack allowed the team to go out as long as they stayed in doors and didn’t get into too much trouble. Milo was stuck babysitting the real trouble makers and he unfortunately had a rude awakening that the bartender he met back as a kid (Roland) was not as chill as he thought he was

Warren let the cigarette burn away at the tips of his nails. Christen leaned closer to his knuckles to blow at the cherry end, smirking when he recoiled in disgust.

“You need to smoke it or it’ll die.” Christen said.

Warren stuffed his free hand into the leather confines of his jacket pocket, clenching his fist so hard his scabs split open.

“Disgusting. Let it die.”

Ash stumbled, leaning her weight into Christen as she blew a mouthful of smoke his way. “I’ve been sooooo generous. We’ve been so generous. You don’t want to let your lungs stay a virgin forever, babe, it’s embarrassing.”

The striker had been nothing but a nuisance to Warren since he moved to the states. Intoxicated and naked, she preferred to press his buttons and rob him of his anger management progress. But Ash was scum and Warren found hanging out with someone like her made him feel better about himself, as horrible as it was. He felt indebted to her after knocking her out of last year’s season. Warren looked down at the cigarette between her fingers. It was hard to tell the arm had ever been broken at all.

When her hands reached for his face, he moved his arm up, stopping her in her tracks. Christen pulled them back, far enough that Warren would be forced to take three steps forward if he so much as wished to snap their necks.

“My eyes are up here,” Ash cooed.

Warren glanced away from her long throat and scowled at the two oufs.

“Really, though, how do you expect to manage all that crazy without something to take off the edge? Smoking a cigarette is the least dangerous option we’ve offered you.”

Christen jostled her. “I don’t even know why you bothered asking the retard.”

Warren dug his thumbnail through his pointer finger and clenched his teeth so hard he’d be sure to crack his jaw.

Ash grinned and hip checked Christen. “I like him. Big scary European dog. Woof woof.”

Warren curled his lip. He didn’t know how far intoxicated she was but it couldn’t be as hard as their usual routine. He saw Milo empty their pockets before they left.

Just like that, Warren’s body sagged in content. The image of Milo’s beautiful eyes swirled through his brain like crystal waves at the beach. Sometimes, Warren got jealous of the sun, being that the evidence of its kisses freckled his skin every time he saw him. Warren would not insult God by praying for the man, but he begged his forgiveness every night for he knew who he’d see in his dreams. Such a twisted form of fate to introduce him to someone so addicting. It wasn’t right. Warren was sure you’d have to first taste something for it to control you so, yet here he stood, poisoned with no antidote for heartache. Oh, Warren wanted so deeply it burned. It will burn. The devil smirks at me now.

“Hey!”

Warren startles, his fist coming out of his pocket but then he sees the eye of the sea and stops. Milo was a sight to behold. He’d demanded everyone dress their best for this night out, as if it were a requirement for entry at this so-called ‘Eden’. Warren had allowed Ash to dress him and in turn, he’d lent Christen a few things. But Milo had surely tricked him. The man must be planning Warren’s murder, why else distract him with a flash of his gorgeous and freckled abdomen. So many freckles.

Milo stomped over to the blonde mooncalves. Christen once again pulled them away, far from where the young Minyard-Josten could smell their deceit.

“You two! Get back inside!” He shouted.

Christen and Ash moved faster than Warren thought possible, hiding the cigarette and Ash’s positively large pupils. Milo chased them to the back door of the club, a breathtaking view as the moonlight earned her turn to caress his face in her light. Warren swallowed the lump in his throat or maybe the Lord holds his tongue as punishment for his unfathomable lust.

“Don’t ruin the night for everyone! You both know Coach said to stay indoors!” Milo hisses at their backs.

He huffed, shoulders going down as he muttered something venomous under his breath. Warren’s face flushed at the intrusive idea that Milo ought to shout at him instead. Don’t waste your words on the air or the piss covered concrete. Cuss at me. Spit the poison at me, burn me with your glare. Warren vaguely recognized the heat from the cigarette threatening at the first knuckle of his finger. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his longing. Milo’s teal coat emphasized the color in his irises, but paled in comparison to the makeup he asked the Captain to frame around his eyes after Barry David called him a slur. Warren had begun to realize Milo lived to spite others. He wore makeup to spite David, sung in the locker rooms to press the men’s buttons, trimmed his hair because Ash said long hair was more attractive on him, and pressed his chest against Warren’s just because he stole the ball from him during scrimmages. And if Warren found more ways to knock over Milo’s stick, just to feel the idea of Milo’s heartbeat against his own—

“Oh, Warren…” Milo noticed him, awkwardly dropping his tensed fists behind him.

Warren was too dumbfounded to speak. He bit his tongue to prevent it from getting him in trouble. Despite what the team thought, he wasn’t slow. English wasn’t easy, he found it hard to form a sentence that wasn’t as vulgar as he learned from the Sharks back in France. They taught him all the bad words first, then worse things so he’d follow along during their threats. But English, Greek, nor French—none of their vocabularies held the words Milo deserved to hear. However, this was his chance was it not? Couldn’t he start fresh? Couldn’t he apologize? He hadn’t ruined it all just yet. Milo isn’t like the rest. He closes the distance with Warren everytime they speak, he stands too close, closer than anyone on the team had the courage to. He could close the distance. He didn’t need Milo to hold him or fall in love with him. Warren was okay watching from the sidelines, listening to his voice was enough. Let me watch as you play exy with the kind of fire that devastates our earth, let me listen to you ramble on about anything. I’ll hang on to every word like clothes on a line or a painting on a wall. Just say yes.

Milo smiled, as if he heard Warren’s thoughts.

“Having fun?” He asked.

Warren bit down harder. He shrugged in lieu of an answer.

Milo glanced down at his cigarette. Warren was about to crush the offending stick until Milo leaned closer, taking a deep breath and giving Warren a soft look. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, “the smell reminds me of simpler times. It’s nice.”

“Do you smoke?” Warren blurted.

Milo paused, maybe not expecting Warren to speak at all.

“No… I can’t. But it’s a nice reminder that things hadn’t always been so bad.” He gives the cigarette one last gentle look before shrugging off the wall. “I’d better go back inside, make sure everyone is safe.”

Warren watched him go, because it’d be cruel to force him to stay. He looked down at the cigarette still holding on between his crooked fingers and brought it to his lips.

This is what the sketches looked like from three years ago lol

I would’ve added the rest of the scene (I wrote it three years ago) but the post was getting too long. Anyways, unfortunately the night ends when Milo is really put off by Roland (who’s been flirting with him since he found out who he was) so he’s trying to get his foxes to leave. Ashely refuses and is just doing drugs and chatting up some dude. Warren, pent up from the anger Chris and Ash stacked on him all night, went to civilly bring her to the cars. Ash badmouths him and comments on his mothers and his hard on for Milo (which is a joke since no one knows he’s crushing) so Warren snaps and breaks her jaw on the counter of the bar. They’re kicked out of Eden’s and Milo has to get them to the ER

Warren ruined his development with Milo who begins to be cautious around him now, keeping Warren at arms length and worst of all, Warren watched Milo’s hands tremble as he dialed coach on the way there.

#aftg #all for the game #art #doodles #oc #oc art #aftg oc #miloverse #all for milo #Milo Minyard josten #milo josten #ed warren #ash salazar #chris herman #my foxes #all for my foxes

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justarkive · 3 months ago

Text

TABLE 3 | JJK ch17

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chap contents: mentions of unsafe driving ( dont ) jungkook is an idiot. he cries for half the chapter again, nari being our fav supportive bestie, we love her, oc is in her elle woods era LOL. alc consumption, jk is so heartbroken and so is oc, jungkook spamming oc, oc accidentally replies while drunk ( spoiler: they dont fix anything btw) theres honestly more humour then angst!!

wc: shortttt

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: im gonna upload the next part in a few because i had to split up the chapter since it was super awkward to keep in one long part!! this part isnt that angsty ngl, im also NOT good at writing angst if u cant tell. but yeah, enjoy loves <3

masterlist, < prev | next >

Jungkook sits in his car for a long time outside your apartment building.

Long enough for the engine’s low hum to become a dull vibration against his hands. Long enough for the tears burning his eyes to finally spill over.

He grips the steering wheel. His knuckles turn white. He can still hear you.

Still hear the crack in your voice when you told him to leave. Still see the way you flinched when he tried to touch you.

He squeezes his eyes shut. His chest aches.

His lungs feel tight.

His stomach is turning and twisting and burning and then, he pulls out his phone.

Dials the number without thinking.

It rings twice before, “Jungkook, what’s up?”

The second he hears Taehyung’s voice, Jungkook shatters. He doesn’t even get a word out. Just breaks. His whole body curls inward as the sobs hit him all over again, raw and ugly and relentless. There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

Then, “Jungkook?”

Jungkook tries to speak. Fails.

His hands shake against his lap. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead, trying to hold himself together, but it’s pointless.

“She knows.”

His voice barely comes out. “She fucking found out.”

Taehyung exhales.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “You fucked up.”

Jungkook lets out a hollow laugh. “No shit.”

He swallows, trying to get his breathing under control. His chest is heaving. His skin is burning.

“It happened so wrong,” he whispers. “I was supposed to tell her, I was—I was going to tell her, I had this whole fucking plan, but—”

He cuts himself off. His mind is racing.

The guilt turns into anger. “She would’ve been upset anyway.” His voice is sharper now, defensive. “Even if I told her weeks ago, she still would’ve been hurt. Like—like, this was always going to happen, right?”

Taehyung sighs. Doesn’t say anything at first.

And then “Jungkook.”

His tone is flat. Calm. Unwavering.

“Stop.”

Jungkook blinks. And suddenly, it all collapses. The weight of his own bullshit slams into him all at once.

He was making excuses. Trying to convince himself that you were just as responsible for getting attached. That this was inevitable. That it wasn’t entirely his fault. But it was. It was all his fault. There is no one else to blame. Not you. Not the situation. Not even time itself.

Just him.

And the realization guts him. His lip trembles. His head drops. His vision blurs all over again.

“I ruined everything,” he chokes out.

Taehyung doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell him he didn’t. Doesn’t try to make him feel better. He just lets him sit in it. Jungkook grips the phone tighter, his breathing unsteady.

“I gotta go.”

And before Taehyung can respond, he ends the call.

He drives. Fast. Faster than he should. Blowing through streets he doesn’t recognize. Ignoring the blaring horns from pissed-off drivers when he swerves too suddenly. Blinking past the tears making the city lights smear together. His mind is loud.

His heart is pounding. And then, somehow, He ends up at the field. The one place he always runs to.

The one place he stupidly introduced you to. His escape. His getaway. And now—now it’s just another thing that reminds him of you.

He stumbles out of the car. His legs feel weak. The air is cold. He doesn’t care.

He walks to where you both sat that night—his spot in the grass is worn in more than yours.

Because he comes here all the time. Because he always ran here when things got too much. Because this place was his before you—

But now, somehow, it is you.

He sinks down onto the grass, knees bent, hands shaking. He stares at the tree where he hung the fairy lights that are still barely there. His gaze drifts—

There.

The paint. A tiny splash of color against the bark.

Leftover from that night you painted together.

That night you chased each other, breathless and laughing, Jungkook with streaks of red and blue smudged across his cheeks, you with splatters of yellow on your sweater.

That night he thought— No.

That night he knew he had already fallen for you.

Completely. Helplessly. Stupidly.

Jungkook clenches his jaw. He loses it.

A broken sob tears from his throat.

He grips his hair in his shirt, tugging like it’ll somehow lessen the unbearable ache in his chest. He gasps for breath. His whole body shakes. It feels like something inside him is splitting open, too fucking much.

His hand fumbles for his phone.

He barely sees the screen through his tears. His fingers move on autopilot. He opens your messages.

He starts spamming.

Jungkook [10:47pm]: please

Jungkook [10:47pm]: im so fucking sorry

Jungkook [10:48pm]: let me explain please.

Jungkook [10:48pm]: please, please, please.

Jungkook [10:49pm]: please pick up.

His thumb hovers over your contact. He calls. It rings. No answer.

He calls again. Still nothing.

And then, finally, On the third attempt—

The line clicks.

For a second, his breath catches—

“Stop fucking calling.”

Nari’s voice is sharp. Low. Whispered. Lethal. And then—

Click. The call drops. His whole body deflates. And then, before he can even process it—

A new notification.

Y/N has turned on Do Not Disturb.

Jungkook stares at his screen. The lump in his throat expands.His vision swims. And then, finally, Finally—He gives up.

Drops his phone.

Presses his palms into his eyes.

And sobs until his whole body aches.

——

You wake up feeling…nothing. Not empty. Not heavy. Just numb.

Your eyes flicker open to the soft glow of daylight peeking through the curtains. The sheets are tangled around you, stiff from dried tears. The weight of Nari’s arm, which had been slung over you at some point in the night, is gone. She’s still here, though.

Curled up beside you, knocked out cold. You should’ve known. Nari was always a deep sleeper, but last night—last night, she stayed up.

She always knocks out first. Always. But last night, she stayed awake, waiting for you to sleep first. Probably because she knew you wouldn’t.

You glance at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

Your body is exhausted, but your mind is still replaying everything in loops.

Your parents.

The dinner.

Jungkook.

His voice.

His silence.

The way he looked at you.

The way he didn’t look at you.

Three weeks. He had three weeks left, and he wasn’t even going to tell you.

You inhale sharply. Throat tight. The thought should hurt.

But instead, you just feel like…static. A long, droning sound in the back of your head that won’t go away.

Eventually, Nari stirs.

She groans, stretches, then pops her head up up without a word. She doesn’t look at you immediately.

Just rubs at her face before swinging her legs over yours, sighing heavily.

And then— “We are not going to work today.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a statement. You don’t argue. Just exhale, closing your eyes.

Your boss is going to freak.

As if summoned by your thoughts, your phone vibrates aggressively on the nightstand.

You barely register the caller ID before you answer, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Where are you, my darling!?”

You wince. Your boss’s voice is already dramatic as hell first thing in the morning.

“We miss you so much,” he continues, not even giving you a second to answer. “Everyone is looking for you—your regulars, my dear customers, even the damn coffee machine won’t start without you. It’s broken in your absence. The diner is nothing without you, my sweet angel—”

You fake a cough into your fist.

“I’m sick.”

A beat of silence.

Then, suspiciously, “You don’t sound sick.”

Before you can respond, Nari—who was previously lying face down into the pillow—suddenly lifts her head and groggily groans,

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking tired, bitch.”

Your eyes widen. You slap a hand over her mouth so fast. But it’s too late.

There’s a long, long pause on the other end of the call.

And then, “Is that Nari?”

You sigh.

“Yes.”

“My other darling? My other baby?”

You don’t even know what to say.

Nari, meanwhile, is staring at you, eyes narrowed, clearly trying to process what the hell is going on.

“We’re sick,” you repeat weakly. “I promise we’ll be back tomorrow.”

Your boss hums, unconvinced.

Then—

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“I love you.”

And then the line clicks.

You blink.

Nari blinks.

And then—

You both burst out cackling.

She flops back into the pillows, groaning, “What the fuck?”

“Our boss.”

“He’s obsessed with us.”

“I know.” You both laugh for a while, but it doesn’t last long. Because then. The silence creeps in again. And with it—everything else. Your smile fades. Nari notices.

She doesn’t say anything—just nudges your arm gently before pulling you out of bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “Let’s make breakfast.”

You both shuffle into the kitchen, still in your pajamas. Neither of you are particularly great at cooking, but Nari makes you try, at least. You attempt to make pancakes. Somehow, they come out crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside. You both look at each other, horrified.

“Is this safe?” Nari murmurs, poking at one with a fork.

You deadpan. “If we die, tell Jungkook I hate him.”

Nari snorts, rolling her eyes. “He already knows.”

You attempt a bite. It’s disgusting. So you order takeout instead.

And then, you both curl up on the couch, burritos in blankets, watching rom-coms.

It’s nice, for a while.

The movies are cheesy. The food is objectively bad for you. The apartment is dimly lit by your closed curtains, the only sound filling the room is the over-exaggerated dramatic background music of the film.

And then—

Somewhere between a Titanic rerun and a Legally Blonde binge, it happens.

You’re staring at the screen.

A happy couple is kissing. The music swells.

And suddenly, “Fuck you, Jungkook.”

The words leave your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them. You grab a piece of chocolate and chuck it at the screen.

Nari startles. You don’t stop. You throw another one.

And another.

Mascara ruining your face, wrapped in your blanket like a cocoon, ugly crying in real time—

“Fuck you, Jungkook,” you sob, chucking another piece of chocolate.

“Fuck you for—” throw “—lying to me—” throw “—for making me think—” throw “—for leaving—”

Nari is watching, wide-eyed, rubbing your back.

“You’re in your Elle Woods era right now,” she murmurs, amused.

You sniff. “She had a better ending than me.”

Nari sighs, squeezing your arm.

“You will have a better ending than this.”

You don’t know if she’s right. But right now—You need to believe it.

It starts with rom-coms. It ends with wine. A lot of wine. You and Nari should’ve known better.

It starts off innocent—just a bottle, just a few glasses, just something to take the edge off after a long day of doing absolutely nothing.

But then— Oh, you think. Wine tastes good. So you have another glass. And then another.

And then suddenly, the two of you are sat on the couch, legs tangled over each other, deep in a drunk spiral that neither of you can pull out of. The TV is still playing in the background, but neither of you are watching anymore.

You’re both just talking. Well. More like crying. You start it.

Sniffling, wiping at your nose aggressively, voice thick as you grumble, “I hate him.” Nari, equally drunk, hums into her glass.

“Bitch, please.”

You glare. “I do.”

“Right.” She nods. “And I’m a nun.”

You huff, sinking into the couch, gripping your blanket tighter around you. “I hate him,” you repeat. But your voice cracks. Nari doesn’t call you out on it, though.

Because, for the first time tonight—

She’s crying, too.

You both just sit there, staring at each other, faces blotchy and wet.

Then, suddenly, Nari groans, rubbing aggressively at her face.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad I don’t have a boyfriend.”

You blink at her. “You literally cry about not having a boyfriend all the time.”

“Yeah, but—” She gestures wildly at you. “Look at you right now.”

You scoff. “Rude.”

She grins. “Love you.”

“Whatever.”

She giggles. Then— You don’t know what compels you to do it.

Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the desperation. Maybe it’s the fact that—deep down—you don’t actually hate him.

But before you even realize what you’re doing, you pull out your phone.

You hover over his name in your contacts, fingers trembling, heart pounding.

And then—You tap the voice message button.

Nari, through her haze, immediately senses danger.

Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

You sniff, still crying. “I don’t know.”

“You better not—”

But you’re already speaking, slurry and all.

“I miss you.”

Nari lunges.

“NO—”

Too late. Your finger slips. The message sends. A long, long silence follows.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed. Nari stares at your phone, horrified.

You both turn to each other at the same time.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?”

You shriek.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

Nari snatches your phone, unlocking it so fast you don’t even process it. You lunge for it. “Nari—”

“YOU JUST BEGGED FOR HIM.”

“I WAS DRUNK—”

“YOU’RE STILL DRUNK.”

She shoves your face away as you try to grab it.

“No, no, no, NO—”

She fumbles with your phone.

“DELETE DELETE DELETE—”

Your phone buzzes. You both freeze. A message. From Jungkook.

You both stare.

Then—

Nari, not even hesitating, launches your phone across the couch.

“NOPE.”

“NARI—”

“NOPE. WE ARE NOT DEALING WITH THIS TONIGHT.”

“But what if he—”

“NOPE.”

You pout. “I wanna see what he said.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pause. Then—You sigh. Flop onto the couch. Bury your face in a pillow. And accept your fate.

At some point, you get stupid. And by stupid, you mean—you sneak off to the bathroom. Like an idiot. You don’t even make it subtle.

You just go, wiping aggressively at your tears, swaying a little from the wine, locking the door behind you. And then—You open your phone.

Nari’s outside in seconds.

She bangs on the door. “BITCH, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING—”

You giggle.

But also—sniffle.

You don’t know why you’re crying again.You don’t even feel sad anymore. You can’t.

But for some reason—this whole situation is so stupid that you can’t help but laugh and sob at the same time.

You unlock the message.

Jungkook’s name glares at you.

One new message.

You hesitate.

Then, you open it.

It’s just a short recording.

You press play.

His voice, thick and hoarse, fills the tiny bathroom.

“Baby…”

You freeze.

“Are you drunk? Please don’t do this to me.”

Your breath catches.

“Please text me, call me, anything.” The sound of him sniffling. Your heart lurches.

“I love you.” Your stomach twists.

I love you?

Surely he doesn’t mean it.

You brush it off, pretending it doesn’t make your heart beat stupidly fast in your chest.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m so sorry, baby. Please, just… don’t hate me.”

A shaky inhale.

“I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”

And then— The recording ends. You just stare at your screen. Your chest aches.

You hate him.

You hate how he can just say those words and make you feel everything you’re trying so hard to push down. You feel sick. You feel stupid. You feel like—

Maybe you don’t hate him at all.

Suddenly— The door rattles.

Nari kicks it.

“YN, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN—”

You startle. Fumble to turn your phone off.

“I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING—”

“BULLSHIT.”

You giggle.

“YOU’RE FUCKING CRYING, AREN’T YOU?”

“…No?”

“YOU ARE!”

Another bang.

“I swear to god—”

You sigh dramatically, unlocking the door. The second you do— Nari snatches your phone out of your hands.

“NOPE.”

You gasp. “HEY—”

“NOPE. GIVE ME THAT SHIT.”

She drags you to the bedroom. Practically throws you onto the bed.

“I’M LOCKING YOUR PHONE AWAY.”

You groan. “That’s so dramatic—”

“YOU’RE DRUNK AND EMOTIONAL.”

You pout.

Nari glares.

Then—

She flops onto the bed next to you.

And just like that—

You both knock out.

…

But not before—

You suddenly sit up, eyes wide.

A horrified gasp rips out of your throat.

“SHIT.”

Nari jerks awake.

“What?” she slurs. “What happened?”

You grab her arm, shaking her violently. “WE PROMISED OUR BOSS WE’D BE IN TOMORROW—”

Nari’s brain short-circuits. She blinks, then “Oh, fuck.”

You both just stare at each other.

You let out a synchronized scream.

Poor neighbors

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miupow · 1 year ago

Note

I beg u for some crave hyuka thoughts pls 😥😥😥

im gonna end up making one of these 4 every member aren't i... first this ask and then one for soobin… i can see where this is going (i love it)

CRAVEVERSE ; werewolf!hueningkai headcanons .ᐟ ♡

cw ⸝⸝ sfw + nsfw hcs .ᐟ werewolf!hk (and werewolf!rest of txt) , fem!reader , no dark content warning for these hcs but general dark content warning for crave as an au. unprotected sex, gangbang mention, knotting, size kink, creampies, group sex, anal mention, possessive and protective behavior, pervy kai hehe

SFW ;

-> crave!kai who is the sweetest of them all!! has been so sweet and kind since he first met you, a genuine friend to turn to when the others are being so obtuse and mean :(

-> crave!kai who has the least control over his wolfish instincts though, both from being the youngest and from being only a half blooded wolf. he can get so aggressive if you piss him off, to the point he’s genuinely dangerous to be around.. he can’t help it though, and he always feels like garbage afterwards once he’s calmed down :( he can just crack. despite being such a sweetheart, you can’t help but still be a little afraid of him…

-> crave!kai who is always looking out for you! you can always count on him to tell you the truth, defend you, stick by your side… unlike his brothers, he loves humans, and by extension he loves you! such a cute silly human girl <3 so small and soft and cuddly

-> crave!kai who loves cuddles, loves scenting you, makes him purr like a kitty when you pet his head and let him muzzle into you!! is very physically affectionate and always giving you tight bear hugs <3

-> crave!kai who sees you as a person and not as an object. who loves listening to your stories about your life before them, who loves talking with you, spending time with you, getting to know you. who he falls in love with because of who she is as a person, not because of some divine instincts.

-> crave!kai who is babied by his older brothers, and he hates it so much though he never puts it into words.. he’s tired of being treated like he’s a stupid pup, he’s a man!! and you make him feel so manly when he provides and takes care of you…

-> crave!kai whos personality takes a complete 180 if he’s ever set off, possessive or jealous or territorial. a violent angry beast you don’t even recognize…

-> crave!kai whos overall ur biggest simp and ur biggest fan !! probably the most down bad just behind yeonjun lol (i imagine reader as older than tyunning in crave so take that as you will… tyunning x their noona kink will always be famous)

NSFW ; (under the cut!)

-> crave!kai who is still a juvenile in werewolf terms even if he is an adult by human standards. he’s not fully matured into his instincts or his powers, and therefore they control him more than he controls them . he hasn’t even had his first run yet by the time you come into his life, but maybe the pretty human girl always around him sets off his first rut cycle …

-> crave!kai who doesn’t know how to deal with any of his wolfish feelings! can’t help but be so embarrassed about how obsessive he’s become about marking, mating, and breeding, protecting his territory, providing for what’s his. he used to never feel like that before!!

-> crave!kai who needs to be held back from ruining you completely during his rut <3 first time he ever goes into rut he loses himself and hurts you!! and baby just feels so bad about it!! needs a hyung to show him how to control himself while breeding you good <3

-> crave!kai who has a big fat dick he doesn’t know how to use !! so big it scares you a little w a knot that’s even fatter , cums so much it gets everywhere, spills out from where he’s plugged you up and drools down your thighs in a nasty creamy mess

-> crave!kai with the biggest size kink in the world, who gets hard as a rock from seeing just how tiny you r next to him and his big broad frame.. he feels so protective over u :( even when he’s splitting you open while you cry that his cock won’t fit and he’s shushing you that it will, trust him, just relax! still so protective…

-> crave!kai who while being protective doesn’t mind sharing you with the others, likes watching you get gangbanged ruined from every hole n turned into a breeding cumdump <3

-> crave!kai who loves anal, who gets teased for it because it goes against his instincts but he just loves it so much omg

#crave kai my baby…#lia’s hard hours 🔥#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #hueningkai hard thoughts #hueningkai hard hours #hueningkai smut #[ 💌 ] — requests!#[ 💌 ] — anon!

343 notes · View notes

retireddaddyric · 18 days ago

Text

The beginning of the end

(“You’re nobody” Part VI)

Synopsis: part 6. The ‘hater’ journalist with whom Daniel has an affair texts him again. They end up having almost a date and that.. ruins it all.

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact please. Toxic behavior, smut, sex without protection, fluff, oral sex, fights, heartbreak.

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors. Don’t know if I will stop this lol.

Your phone vibrates on the table. You hesitate, thumb hovering over his name.

Maybe you shouldn’t. But the ache in your chest wins.

You press “call.”

Seconds later, his voice: it’s calm, steady, casual. “Hey.”

You hear him breathe. Long, slow. You imagine him leaning back, hands behind his head, trying to play it cool.

“Hey,” you say, voice tighter than you want.

There’s a pause.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna call,” he says, voice low. “Thought you were pretending to be better.”

You swallow, “I wasn’t.”

“Good.” There’s something beneath the words..hunger, desperation, something almost like relief.

“I want to see you.” You whisper.

His laugh is soft, like he’s been waiting to hear that all day. “Yeah? I’m guessing this isn’t about a friendly chat.”

“Definitely not.” You chuckle quietly.

“Okay. Come over.”

You hang up before he can say more, heart pounding.

You don’t even knock. You just open his door like you’ve done it a hundred times before. You’re not sure what you expect, but the moment you step in, he’s already there standing shirtless by the kitchen counter, holding a glass of water, like he was waiting.

“Two minutes early,” he says, setting the glass down. “You really must’ve needed it.”

You drop your bag by the door, without a smile. No words.

He crosses the space in three strides and slams your back against the wall. His mouth finds yours in a brutal kiss. No greeting, no teasing, just teeth, tongue, hunger.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, “you taste stressed.”

You yank his sweats down. He’s wearing mo boxers and he’s already hard. Big. Pulsing. Like he’s been like this since your name lit up his phone.

Your fingers wrap around him and he groans into your mouth. “You came here to use me again?”

“Yes.” You breathe on his mouth while you stroke him slowly. “Unless you’ve gone soft.”

His mouth splits into a wicked grin. “Not a chance.”

He spins you, hands gripping your hips, dragging your jeans and panties down in one hard pull. You step out of them, chest heaving, already soaking.

“Look at this pussy,” he mutters, running a finger through your wetness. “You’re dripping. You’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he laughs darkly, lining up behind you, “you don’t get to make demands when you’re this fucking needy.

He slides in slow, thick and hot and stretching you until you’re gasping, forehead pressed to the wall.

“Oh my—Daniel—”

“That’s right,” he growls in your ear, slamming into you harder, deeper. “Say it.”

“Daniel.” You whine.

He fucks you relentlessly, one hand gripping your throat, the other fisting your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper filth into your ear. “This pussy’s so good, so fucking tight. Like it was made to take me.”

You cry out with every thrust, your body slamming back into his.

He spanks you hard, twice. You moan, legs trembling.

“You like that?” He says husky, his palm squeezing your ass.

“Yes. Fuck. More.” You moan out.

He bends you lower and drives into you so deep your knees almost give out. You scream into the air, eyes rolling back.

Then he pulls out. “Get on your knees.” He commands.

You drop, mouth open before he even asks. He shoves his cock between your lips and fucks your mouth like he owns it, hand in your hair, hips moving fast.

“Look at you,” he grunts, fucking your throat. “So fucking perfect like this. Filthy little thing.”

Tears stream down your face, spit everywhere, but you don’t stop. You love it. He sees it. You moan around him and he twitches on your tongue. He pulls out fast, jerking you up.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You don’t walk. You run.

He follows throwing you onto the bed, flipping you onto your back, spreading your legs wide.

“No more talking,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Just fuck me like you need to.”

“Oh, I do need to,” he says crawling between your thighs. “I think about this cunt every fucking night.”

He slams into you again, both hands gripping your thighs holding them wide as he fucks you hard. It’s brutal, deep, skin slapping, sweat dripping.

You claw at his back and bite his shoulder.

“Faster.” You beg.

He does. He drills into you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else (and he is). That’s exactly what he wants.

“You’ll never let anyone else inside you again,” he growls, fucking you harder. “No one else gets to make you come.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “It’s yours. Just fucking—don’t stop—”

And you come. Hard. Body spasming, screaming his name, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging bloody into his skin.

He follows seconds later, roaring your name like it’s a prayer, collapsing over you as he spills inside, his cock twitching deep inside your pulsing cunt.

The room goes quiet. You’re both panting, tangled in sweat and slick and each other.

Then he slowly leans down and kisses you softly. Once. Twice. The kind of kiss you don’t expect after something that savage.

You kiss him back without thinking.

Then you speak against his mouth, your voice is barely a whisper: “…can I call you again.. and again?” You try dissipating the weight of the kiss.

His eyes meet yours. He nods once, brushing your hair back.

“I want you to.”

You rest your forehead to his, breath still uneven.

This wasn’t just release.

And you both fucking know it.

He rolls off of you, one arm flung across his face, chest still rising and falling. You’re both drenched: from sex, sweat, exhaustion. The room smells like him and you and everything you’re not supposed to feel. You reach for your clothes lazily, trying to sit up, legs shaky. He notices and asks without looking “You okay?”

“Fine,” you mutter. You’re already reaching for your bra.

He turns his head toward you slowly, propped up on one elbow. “You don’t have to rush off.”

“I’ve got work.” You say fast.

He raises a brow, that easy smirk tugging at his lips. “You always have work.”

“That’s how jobs work.” You explain.

“Tragic.” He stretches out, arms behind his head, shamelessly naked. “I was gonna make food.”

You look at him suspiciously. “Since when do you cook?”

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “But I’ve got frozen pizza. Good wine. Might even let you put on one of your favorite films.”

You stare at him but he doesn’t meet your gaze. He stretches again, too casual, like this is nothing. Like he hasn’t just wrecked you and whispered your name like it hurt to say it.

“I don’t need pity-invites,” you say flatly.

“Jesus,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “It’s not pity. You think I ask anyone to hang around after I come inside them and ruin their life?”

You raise a brow.

He grins. “Exactly.”

You pause, the hem of your shirt bunched in your hands. He sits up, runs a hand through his messy curls, trying to look unaffected.

“Just stay for an hour. Eat garbage food. Watch something depressing. You don’t even have to talk.”

You hesitate. You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I just.. don’t want to eat alone tonight.”

The silence stretches.

You pull off your shirt and take his one from the chair. You wear it.

He smiles wide and heads toward the kitchen.

As he passes, he throws a line over his shoulder:

“Don’t get comfortable though. Still hate you.”

You scoff. “Yeah, well, your frozen pizza better be good.”

He laughs. “You’re not here for the pizza, babe.”

And neither of you says what you’re really thinking: that you just want each other to stay even if it’s only until the crust burns.

You sit on his kitchen counter, legs dangling, wearing only your underwear and his old t-shirt, soft cotton, worn thin, smelling like him. He pretends not to notice that you’re not dressed. Pretends he’s cool. But you catch his eyes every time they flick down your legs, then quickly away.

He moves around the kitchen like he’s done this a thousand times . But you get the feeling it’s different this time. That he’s performing a little for you.

You watch him open the freezer, grab the pizza box with a dramatic flourish.

“You know,” you say, “this is very sexy. Your idea of cooking.”

He shoots you a grin. “It’s gourmet. Thin crust. Three cheeses. Classy as fuck.”

You roll your eyes. “Truly Michelin star material.” You never liked frozen pizza but you don’t tell him.

He slides it into the oven and turns around, leaning against the counter, arms folded. Bare chest still flushed from earlier. He’s not trying to hide the way he’s watching you now.

“What?” you ask, voice lower.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just… you look good here.”

You go quiet. That was almost a real thing to say. “Don’t get romantic,” you mutter, hopping down from the counter.

He catches your wrist as you pass him. Not hard, just enough to stop you.

“I’m not.” His voice is steady. “I just like looking at you. That’s all.”

You don’t pull away.

He lets your wrist go, but your fingers graze his as you walk past, a touch that lingers too long for people who supposedly hate each other.

Later you sit on the couch, legs curled under you, watching him pour wine like it’s not a loaded act.

He hands you a glass, his fingers brushing yours again. Still subtle. Still soft. You sip.

“God, this is actually decent.” You smirle.

He raises a brow. “Shocking. The washed-up ex-driver has taste.”

You smirk. “Somewhere deep, deep down, I guess.”

You let the silence stretch as he drops next to you, the pizza between you on the coffee table, a movie already starting. Something dark. Pretentious. He let you pick it. You noticed.

Thirty minutes in, your feet are in his lap. He didn’t ask. You didn’t ask. He just… let them rest there. One of his hands moves idly over your ankle, tracing absent circles on your skin. Neither of you says anything about it. You shift, leaning slightly closer and he notices, because of course he does, but doesn’t say anything. His arm moves behind you on the couch. You lean into it, just barely.

You feel him breathe.

He presses his lips to your temple. Soft. Too soft for someone who’s supposed to be a fuck-buddy. You freeze for half a second.

“Don’t,” you whisper, not quite sure what you’re asking him not to do.

He doesn’t move.

“Don’t what?” He whispers against your temple.

You don’t answer.

He kisses you again, same spot. No tongue. No teeth. Just warmth.

You close your eyes.

This isn’t sex.

This is worse.

It’s almost gentle.

And you don’t pull away.

The movie ends. The credits roll. You’re curled against him now, barely breathing, barely touching, but the heat between you is impossible to ignore.

His fingers are still brushing your thigh. Just softly. Like he can’t help it.

Your head tips back against the couch as you exhale slowly, eyes half-lidded.

Then he turns. Slowly. Looks at you like you’re something he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. He leans in, just a little and you meet him halfway.

The kiss is so soft it almost doesn’t happen. Bare lips, warm breath. Just the edge of a sigh between you.

Your hand finds his jaw. He cups your cheek and you kiss again, this time deeper, slower. You melt into it and he pulls you gently into his lap like he’s afraid to break the spell.

When his hands slide under your shirt, there’s no urgency, just exploration. Reverence. Like he’s never touched you before.

Your shirt slips over your head. He kisses your collarbone, then your chest. He doesn’t rush, you feel his mouth lingers everywhere.

You reach for him, fingers trembling. Your hands go under his shirt, feel the heat of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heart.

You tug it off him, slowly. He lets you.

Then he lays you back gently on the couch, covering your body with his own like he’s shielding you from something.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. “I—this feels different.”

You nod once. Barely.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Your legs wrap around his waist.

He slides inside you like it’s not about sex anymore. Like he’s coming home.

Your fingers find his and you lace them together, palms pressed, his weight heavy over you, buried deep.

You both moan softly, they’re helpless sounds into each other’s mouths.

He rocks into you with a tenderness that makes you ache. Each thrust is slow, full, deliberate.

You hold onto him tighter. Fingertips pressing into his shoulders like you’re scared to let go.

He says your name, not like he’s teasing, but like it’s a prayer.

And you kiss him again open-mouthed, you let yourself be bare. Vulnerable.

Then something shifts.

He freezes for a second. You feel it. That panic.. like he’s realizing how close this is to something real.

He pulls back suddenly, breath ragged.

You look up at him. “What?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer. He pulls out roughly.

Then flips you onto your stomach.

“Turn over.” His voice is tight.

You obey without thinking. He enters you again from behind, fucking you harder now, faster, almost violently, like he’s trying to erase what just happened.

But it’s not the same. The rhythm’s wrong. The breath’s wrong. The feeling is wrong.

You clutch the back of the couch, lips parted, face twisting not from pleasure, but confusion.

It hurts now, not your body, your chest.

He grabs your hips harder.

You snap.: “Stop.”

He stills. You twist around, eyes wild. “What the fuck are we doing?”

He blinks. “You started this.”

“You kissed me.”

“So? It was a kiss.”

“No,” you breathe. “It wasn’t. You felt that.”

He’s already pulling away, grabbing for his jeans. “Don’t start this shit.”

“Oh, right. Because feelings make you weak, huh? Can’t let the slutty journalist in your lap matter more than your ego.”

He zips his pants roughly. “It was a mistake.”

You stare at him like he just punched you.

“You’re a coward.”

“And you’re a fucking mess.”

Silence.

You don’t cry. You grab your things, yank your jeans on, and head for the door.

He doesn’t stop you.

You don’t look back.

(Last part here, part 7)

#daniel ricciardo #smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #max verstappen #lando norris #one shot #oneshot #oscar piastri #lance stroll #franco colapinto #Spotify

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favefandomimagines · 4 months ago

Text

Now That We Don’t Talk - Alternate Ending (j.b)

Summary: now that we do talk…

AN: here is ‘Now That We Don’t Talk’ with its alternate ending!! Spoiler alert: it’s fluffy lol please read the original work before reading this one!! The lead up is exactly the same as the OG, the ending is just different

Now That We Don’t Talk - Original

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight.

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

You good?

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

No.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Joe Burrow Breakup Rumors

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N’s New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

The night of NFL Honors should have been a celebration.

Joe had spent the evening shaking hands, giving interviews, and sitting through speeches about some of the greatest moments in football. People congratulated him, smiled at him, told him how great he was.

But he felt empty.

Because the one person he wanted to share it with—wasn’t there.

He had spent months pretending he had moved on, convincing himself that throwing himself into football would make him forget. But no matter how many games he won, how many records he broke, none of it mattered if he couldn’t share it with her.

Y/N.

Joe let out a breath as he sat on the hotel bed, running a hand through his hair. His phone was in his palm, the screen illuminated with her name.

Y/N.

He had never deleted her contact. Never even considered it.

And before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he hit call.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then it went to voicemail.

Joe swallowed hard, waiting for the beep.

Then—

"Hey."

His voice was rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I don’t know why I’m doing this," he admitted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I guess I just… I needed to say this. Even if you never hear it."

He exhaled, his free hand gripping his knee.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For not prioritizing us, for all the times I made you feel like you were on the outside looking in. I know you’d tell me it’s not all my fault, and maybe you’re right. But I played a big part in it. And I hate that."

His voice dropped slightly.

"I still love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, because you were it for me. The one who made all the bad stuff feel like a small footnote compared to the good. And maybe I never said it enough, maybe I never showed it enough, but… it’s always been you."

Joe exhaled, his jaw tightening.

"And I know I don’t deserve anything from you—not after New York. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve tried. But I knew if I came up to you, if I even looked at you too long, I wouldn’t have been able to hold it together."

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"I’m not asking for anything. I just… I needed you to hear this. I needed you to know all the things I never got to say that night at the restaurant."

He paused, then softly—

"That’s it, I guess. Take care, Y/N."

And then, before he could second-guess himself, he hung up.

He set his phone down beside him, staring blankly at the muted TV playing some sitcom he wasn’t even paying attention to.

Now, all he could do was wait.

Joe had just about given up when his phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He sat up quickly, his heart hammering.

Y/N.

He grabbed the phone so fast he nearly dropped it before answering.

There was silence for a beat. Then—

"Hey."

Her voice was soft, hesitant.

Joe swallowed. "Hey."

She let out a small breath. "I got your voicemail."

Joe nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. "Yeah. I, uh… I wasn’t expecting you to call."

Y/N sighed. "I wasn’t expecting to, either. But… I wanted to."

Joe ran a hand over his face, his chest feeling too full and too empty all at once.

"Y/N, I meant everything I said," he told her. "All of it."

"I know," she whispered. "And… I’m sorry, too. For everything I did. I wasn’t perfect, Joe. I made mistakes, too."

He closed his eyes, letting that settle.

She hesitated before adding, "I guess I’m just surprised you called."

Joe let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah. Me too. But I finally had the courage, and I just… I had to do it."

There was a pause.

Joe swallowed hard.

"I love you," he murmured. "And I’m sorry."

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"I love you, too."

And just like that, the weight he had been carrying for months finally lifted.

They weren’t fixed. Not yet.

But they weren’t over, either.

And that was enough.

It felt like a dream.

Joe stood in the middle of the field, his jersey stained with sweat, his heart still pounding from the final whistle.

The Bengals had done it.

Super Bowl champions.

Confetti rained down, the crowd roared, and cameras flashed as he stood there, taking it all in.

Then—

She was there.

Y/N.

She had been in the stands, watching, waiting.

And the moment she reached him, he didn’t hesitate.

Joe wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground as she let out a breathless laugh.

"You did it!" she said against his shoulder.

Joe pulled back, looking down at her, his eyes shining with something more than just victory.

"We did it," he corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She smiled up at him, the confetti catching in her hair, the stadium lights making her eyes sparkle.

Joe cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"I love you," he said, the words feeling even more right than they did a year ago.

Y/N grinned. "I love you, too, Burrow."

Then, in the middle of the biggest moment of his career, in front of millions of people watching—Joe kissed her.

And suddenly, the championship ring, the MVP trophy, the confetti—none of it mattered as much as this.

As much as her.

Because, in the end—she was the biggest win of his life.

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